#have you seen the art piece on tumblr called i want you to quiet down.

[scionshtola]

from the kiss prompts :> 9. to shut them up 💗

ty azia!! this was a lot of fun to write 😌

kiss prompt 9. to shut them up || Corisande x Y'shtola || 794 words || divider credit

Y’shtola’s childhood bedroom had changed little since she last called Matoya’s cave home. The same books lined the shelves, the same quilt spread across the bed, the same quill and ink sat on the desk. Though the room had obviously been kept free of dust by Matoya’s enchanted brooms, they had seemingly left everything else untouched since her last visit. The only additions were done so by herself: new books stacked in front of the old ones, her notes scattered haphazardly across the desk, and Corisande standing in front of the bookshelves, studying the spines. 

They pulled a book from the shelf, idly flipping through its pages before setting it back in its place and pulling another. After a few more books, their soft hum of amusement made Y’shtola’s ears perk in their direction.

“Is there something amiss?” she asked archly, glancing at them from where she was perched at the end of the bed. 

“All of your childhood books are quite…academic.” They turned a few more pages in the book they were holding, and Y’shtola could hear the grin in their voice when they added, “‘Tis exactly as I expected.”

She pursed her lips, feigning indignation as they sat cross-legged on the rug, the book held open in their lap. “You were a scholar of the arcane arts in your childhood, were you not? Was your own library not similarly curated?”

“I was hardly so difficult to please as you,” Corisande teased. “My library was not a curated collection so much as a hoard of every book I could get my hands on. At least, as many as we had room for.”

Corisande tilted her head back, looking up at the shelves that stretched high along the wall. “Though I would have loved to have a collection such as this—mayhap with a few adventurer novels thrown in the mix.”

A soft ache thrummed quietly in Y’shtola’s chest for that younger Corisande. She remembered the way Corisande had devoured each book she’d recommended to them from the library at the Waking Sands. After so many years spent teaching themself all they could about arcanum, they had been so eager to discuss their readings with Y’shtola and Urianger, both of whom happily obliged.

Y’shtola may not have had peers her own age, but she had always had Matoya to learn from. She always had the cave to which she could return.

She rose from the bed and knelt next to Corisande, her shoulder brushing theirs. “Had we known each other then, I would have been only too pleased to share my library with you.”

Corisande turned her head in Y’shtola’s direction, a soft smile gracing her lips. She started to lean in, her fingers twining with Y’shtola’s, but at the last moment she veered sharply to the right. Y’shtola pulled back, watching as she stretched across the floor and reached her hand under the bed.

Y’shtola’s stomach dropped—how could she have forgotten? But it was too late to stop Corisande now. 

“What is this we have here?” Corisande said, rising back into a sitting position. She held aloft a plush creature, exhumed from its tomb beneath Y’shtola’s bed. “Evidence that a child once resided in this room after all?” 

“‘Tis only a plush paissa,” Y’shtola muttered. She could not make out the features well, but she recognized the malleable roundness between Corisande’s hands. “A poro roggo brought him to the cave for me when I was young.”

“Does he have a name?” Corisande asked, a gentle fondness in her tone that softened the teasing.

“No,” Y’shtola said pointedly, ignoring the growing warmth in her cheeks. “He does not.”

Corisande’s smile only grew wider. “Shall I guess then? Given your history of creative spellwriting, I imagine ‘tis something special. Let’s see…mayhap—”

Before Corisande could finish her sentence, Y’shtola leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips. Corisande leaned closer, her smile giving way to parted lips for a brief moment before she pulled back, evidently undeterred.

“No guessing then. Mayhap the poro roggo will tell me.” She fell silent as Y’shtola kissed her again, but pulled back to add, in a tone far too delighted for Y’shtola’s liking, “Or mayhap I ought to ask Master Matoya herself.”

“I assure you Matoya is not inclined to such conversations.” Y’shtola slipped her fingers into Corisande’s hair, tilting their head back as she leaned over them. She kissed them again, deeper this time, until she felt one of their hands find purchase on her waist. “Nor would she be so kind as I in her discouragement of the subject.”

Corisande laughed against her lips, and settled her other hand on Y'shtola's waist as well. Y’shtola, pleased by the acquiescence, set about ensuring the subject would not rise again.

[bambiiflowers]

EP. 2: Dandelion

You left. Of course, you did. That’s how these things go. It’s strange, isn’t it? That feeling of missing something you didn’t even know you were missing until it was right in front of you? That’s what I feel now. But good things happen to good people. And I'm a good guy. I have your name, handwritten by you, as if you were giving me a piece of yourself.

The day drags on. Slow. Miserably slow. Every time the bell above the door chimes, my eyes instinctively snap up, but it’s never you. It’s always someone else. Another tired, unremarkable face, looking for their next distraction. But it's okay, this isn’t some cliched 2000s rom-com where you’ll come running back, realizing you left something behind; Your scarf, your phone, your heart. I’m not Matthew McConaughey, and thank God you’re not Kate Hudson. This isn’t some predictable story. No. This one is different. You’re the missing piece, and I know it. It’s you. And I’m here, waiting. Ready. I can be that guy, the one who does the work, who’s patient, who’s loving. The guy who’ll go after you. Not some fleeting crush. No. I’m different. I’ll make sure you feel seen, loved, heard, wanted. And I swear to God I'll make you finish every time.

I’m done for today with the so-called cultured people who think they’re better than the rest because they know who Shakespeare is. I lock up the store and head back to my place. It’s quiet now. The silence feels almost right, like I’ve been waiting for it all day. I sit at my desk, flicking the laptop on. My fingers hover over the keys for just a moment before I type in your name. I’ll be the man you want me to be. But to be what you want, I need to do my research. You didn’t give me much to work with, but that’s fine.

I type your name into the search bar. The results are sparse, but enough. Just enough. You’re not Beck, posing for Instagram like a contestant on The Bachelor. No, you’re her. You're Holly Golightly, Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Effortless. Unique. Real. You don’t perform for an audience. You live.

Twitter? No. Tumblr? Empty. Instagram? Private. Smart girl. But Facebook, that’s where I find you. You stick to the classics, and I like that about you. I click on your profile picture, zooming in. Your hair is down, cascading over your shoulders like a dark waterfall. You’re smiling, but it’s not the forced smile of a thousand other girls. It’s genuine, like you’re in on a secret joke. The kind of smile that makes me want to know what you’re laughing at. What you’re thinking. What you’re feeling.

Your relationship status. Single. Yes. Of course . You’re too perfect, too unique, too special for anyone else to handle. You need someone who understands you. Someone who sees you. I scroll down, past the photos of you with friends, with family. The photos of you at art galleries, at concerts, at protests. You’re not just a pretty face. You have substance. Depth. You care about things. You stand for something. I like that about you. I respect that about you.

And then, bingo. You own a flower shop of course you do, so natural, delicate, colorful, just like you. This is all I have, but if I've learned anything, it's that I can make the most of the information I receive.

I go to bed, I can't sleep, I can't stop thinking about your face, your long black hair, the way your hips move from side to side when you walk, your hands with too many rings. All I can think about is how warm your skin is and how cold your rings are, and my mind wanders to how your hands would feel around my cock, giving me pleasure. I get hard just at the thought of it. Would you take them off? Would you keep them?. I can't take it anymore, I reach down with my hand grabbing my cock, I stroke myself, imagining it's your hand. Your soft, delicate fingers wrapped around it. I picture your face, your lips, you, looking up at me, your dark eyes locked with mine as you take me deeper, your lips stretched around me.

I stroke faster, my breath coming in short, sharp gasp, a muffled moan escaping my lips, I'm coming. My cock pulses in my hand, the hot ropes of cum all over my stomach and chest. I don't mind, I keep stroking, milking every last drop, imagining it's your mouth, your throat, your tight, wet pussy. The regret kicks in almost immediately, what am I doing? This is not what you deserve, a stranger jerking off to the thought of you? C'mon, no. But fuck, it feels so good. So right. Like this is what I was made for. To be wanted by you. To be needed by you.

The next day, I wake up with a plan. I can’t just show up at your flower shop and, oh my God, the guy I just met a day ago is here by a twist of faith. No. I'm smarter than that. I'm more patient. I can't buy flowers, I can't. It leads to questions, who are they for? Me? Narcissistic. Mother? Too soon to but I'll get there. Girlfriend? God, no. Definitely not.

For the next few days, I drive past your shop casually just checking on you, making sure you're okay, safe. I'm learning about you, always kind, always with that smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes, but that’s okay. It’s still more genuine than anything I’ve seen in this town. You gift an extra flower to the person buying them, like some sort of whimsical fairy with a soft spot for the hopelessly in love. It’s cute. A little predictable, sure, but cute. You want them to feel special just like the person they’re buying flowers for. You don’t have an assistant. Of course, you don’t. You’re strong, independent, almighty. The world doesn’t get to see you struggle, doesn’t get to see the cracks. That’s what makes you so fascinating. So untouchable. But you're not that different from the rest, just like everyone you have a routine, yes, even you.

Every morning, you leave your apartment at precisely 8:03 AM. You don’t rush. You don’t even glance at your watch, because you already know the time. You head toward the bike rack, where your bike, red, classic, the kind of bike that’s way too small for you stands waiting. It’s almost like it was made for you. Your little eco-friendly rebellion against the world. Of course, you ride a bike. Why take a car when you can be one of those carefree girls who doesn’t need to worry about traffic? Plus, it’s probably good for your "girl next door” vibe, right? Makes you seem even more perfect, doesn't it?

I watch you pedal off, your hair deliberately flying in the wind, your pink, frilly dress swirling around your legs like you’re auditioning for 500 Days of Summer. You’re so goddamn perfect, it’s almost irritating. But you don’t know that. You think you’re just existing. Cute, charming, a little naïve. I bet you think you’re the first one to pull off that look. You’re not. But you do it well.

At 8:38 you stop at the coffee shop near your shop, and I watch from across the street. You don’t even pretend to like coffee, like the other pretentious hipsters. No, you go straight for the chai latte, sweet and sugary, just like you. I can practically hear the barista’s condescending tone as they ask, "Is that everything?" You don’t even bat an eyelash. You don’t need to fit in. You're too busy being effortlessly “different,” aren’t you? You step up to the counter, place your order with that casual air of someone who’s been here a thousand times before, and they hand you the drink with that weird, practiced smile that means they know you’ll leave a tip because you always do. Because you’re perfect. Too perfect.

I see you sip the drink slowly, walking with a deliberate pace towards your shop. You’re not in a rush. You don’t need to be. You’ve got all the time in the world. The world follows you. It bends to your will. And I do too just like everyone else.

I’ve made myself comfortable in the knowledge of your every move. But even patient people like me get tired of waiting. I can’t just keep watching you from the outside. I need a reason, something that feels natural. I can’t be the guy who just walks in and says, “Hey, I’ve been watching you from across the street for weeks. Want to grab coffee?” No, again, that’s not how this works, this is a different story, not the cliched romcoms you love. I don’t know anything about flowers. I’ve never been the type. I’m not one of those sensitive guys who gives a shit about floral arrangements and delicate petals. I don’t care about which bouquet symbolizes what, roses for love, lilies for purity. It all just feels... cliché. But for you? If you let me enter your world, I’ll learn every flower name, every meaning, every perfect combination. For you, I’d become a damn florist.

I drive past your shop again this morning. It’s a Tuesday. You’re opening up. Same routine. At 8:03 AM you emerge from your apartment, 8:35 you're arriving at the flower shop, your hair a little wild from the bike ride, dressed in that ridiculously short lilac dress that makes me want to rip it off. I watch you lock up your bike and enter the shop. It’s time. I need to do this.

I pull into a parking spot right across the street from your shop. I walk in, trying not to look like I’ve been planning this moment for days. I can’t come off as too desperate. That’s not my style.

I enter the flower shop, and the bell above the door chimes. You’re there, arranging a bouquet, so beautifully clueless, so focused on your passion, you don’t even look up. I make my way to the checkout, trying to be casual, but I can’t help but notice your hands, no rings today, just your delicate fingers working with flowers. Was that intentional? Were the rings just for me? Were you trying to get my attention?

"Good morning, I'm looking for some flowers" No shit, at a flower shop? Smooth, Goldberg. Real smooth.

You smile, as if you’re reading my mind, and stop paying attention to the bouquet, shifting your focus entirely to me. “Sure, are they for a special occasion? Anniversary? Funeral?” You smirk as you say funeral, as if you already know I’m not here for any of that.

"Actually, it's my grandma's..." I said that and I immediately see your face panicking, and you look so cute, like some scared little puppy. “I’m joking,” I continue, “It’s for a book club. I own a bookstore and I’m doing this special event.” I guess now I do that.

You tilt your head, looking at me for real, your eyes locked onto my face. "Wait, I bought a book from you a few weeks ago. You probably forgot..." How could I forget you? But fuck, yes, you remember me. You were thinking about me just as much as I’ve been thinking about you.

"Diary of a wimpy kid?" I ask with confidence, looking as surprised as you for this crazy coincidence.

You laugh. It's a short, sharp laugh, the kind that shows you’re a little embarrassed but not enough to care. "That’s me," you shrug, and somehow, that makes it even more endearing. So cute, so unembarrassed to admit you bought something so far below your intellectual standards. I admire that.

"So, what type of flowers are you thinking of?" You ask. and your voice is lighter now, almost teasing, as if you’re genuinely curious. You're not even realizing it, you're not even aware of what you do to me.

I lean a little closer, trying to think of something to say. But I'm too distracted by your posture. The way you tilt your head when you think. The small movements of your hands as you gently place flowers in the vase. You’re so… effortless. Like Julia Roberts in Notting Hill, except instead of a movie star, you’re the girl who owns a flower shop and wears ridiculously short pink dresses to work. The kind of girl who doesn’t realize that every man in the room is already thinking about her. But you're the kind of girl who's too good for any of those men, I'm the one, I'm what you're looking for.

“Surprise me. I hope your taste in flowers is as good as your taste in books,” I say, trying to match the playful tone, leaning in just enough to keep you interested. And you smile, no, you chuckle, and the sound of your laugh is perfect, smooth, like an old classic book. So beautifully done, but everyone forgets why it’s a classic. I don’t. I never will.

You’re so goddamn perfect, standing there, oblivious, as if this is just another day for you. But I’m not just another guy in your flower shop. I’m the one who sees you. Your smile fades a little, but you don’t seem to notice. “I’ll pick something for you,” you say, your voice light, still playful. You turn to grab a bouquet, and I watch you move. I notice how you adjust your dress as you crouch to reach for a vase. The subtle curve of your hip, the way your fingers brush against the flowers so delicately, like you're handling something fragile. The way you look so effortlessly… beautiful. And, oh my god. Are you showing me your ass on purpose?

You hand me the bouquet, our fingers brushing. It's like a jolt of electricity, and I let it linger for just a second longer than necessary. You don’t even seem to notice.

“Here you go. It'll be 25 dollars,” you say, your voice soft, almost too soft, like you’re not fully aware of how you affect me.

I look at the bouquet. cheap. Basic. Not what I would’ve chosen, but it's not the flowers that matter. Not really. It's you. I hand you the money, my fingers brushing yours again, and this time I let it linger for just a fraction of a second longer. You don’t seem to notice, but I do.

You smile, and I can almost hear your thoughts: just another guy buying flowers. But you’re wrong. I’m not just anything. I’m the one who sees through the surface, who understands what you really need.

I take the bouquet, and I turn to leave, but before I step outside, I glance back. You're already back to your flowers, unaware, lost in your world of petals and colors. I walk out into the street, I don't need to say goodbye, no, no, not yet. This is just the beginning.

[plu-mes16]

"Creative living is any life that you live, where your decisions are based more strongly on your curiosity than your fear. And if you consistently, habitually, routinely, at every sort of intersection and decision in your life, make decisions that are based on curiosity rather than fear, then you will be engaging with creativity. Your life itself will sort of become a work of art, if you could consistently live that way."

I heard this sound on tiktok today. It's really interesting how tiktok is something we quote nowadays, though I guess that it does make sense, seen as it is-though questionable-a source of genuine media. In a way, some tiktok creators have managed to recreate the feel of a tumblr post, with image and sound. Perhaps not quite though, tumblr was indeed a unique platform, I miss it (it's not the same anymore). So I heard this sound on tiktok-and yes I did transcribe it word for word-and at first I didn't think much of it. In fact, I scrolled down a few more videos before I paused. The words whispered in my mind and something felt off. My curiosity was piqued. I went back.

It's interesting, truly, how sometimes we do things so unconsciously and routinely, that we lose-or perhaps forget-why we do them in the first place. And this got me thinking.

And I realised, a little to my dismay, that the reason I have not felt fulfilled in a while is because I forgot. I forgot not to be afraid. I think that somewhere along the road, I fell. And I called myself stupid, and weak, and told myself that I wasn't enough. And maybe someone else backed me up on it. Actually I know someone did. But that's beyond the point. Because I let them. And somewhere along the way I believed it. And I got scared. So I played it safe. I think on the timeline of things, this would have been around two years ago. A long time to be lost when the passing of it keeps you awake at night.

I've wondered what I did wrong, or perhaps differently. I concluded, begrudgingly, that perhaps I just wasn't good enough. That I was scared because I had reason to be.

But I forgot what had driven me up until that point, what had made me who I am.

Some people live for hope, others out of spite perhaps. I had feared failure my whole life until one day I didn't. Because I convinced myself that I wouldn't fail, and that if I did, I would just go onto the next thing. The world doesn't end with one failure.

But lately I've been scared again. Not of failing, but of losing this routine. This monotonous, safe and boring life I've built. It's safe, it's quiet. I've been shielding myself from reasons to be scared, because life has been throwing them at me lately, like hot cakes. And I've had no choice but to gobble them up. Why would I create more reasons for myself to be anxious, afraid?

So I didn't.

But this sound made sense to me. This is what I should be doing. This is a little piece that the old me-yes I sound dramatic bear with me-would never relinquish.

The girl who always gave herself her best chance, the girl who switched schools left and right and fed herself books and science and all the knowledge she could gather. The girl who looked up at the sky because she was too afraid to miss something. I now notice that I look down a lot. I do.

She travelled across the ocean, away from everything she'd ever known, at 17. Had the worst year of her life and yet she didn't go back, though she would have been safer. She kept going, she pushed and pushed and pushed. I've stopped moving at some point. And now I'm stagnating.

And it hurts.

I want to live creatively. I want to reach out to the sky again and leap. I want to leap and not worry about whether I will fall.

(appreciate the dramatic gif pls)

I need to go on.

[tinyhousegirl]

Astro - Chapter Two

TW: mentions of sex, cursing, etc. DNI if under 18!

Read the synopsis and master list here!

Like what you're reading? Buy me a brick to help me save for a house!

Read on Tumblr below. Coming to AO3 soon!

Bradley’s phone alarm blared into the darkness, causing the pilot to shoot up out of bed. He hadn’t slept well at all, the jetlag of being overseas for so long hitting like a train. He shut off the alarm and leaned over to turn the bedside lamp on, wincing at the sudden brightness. 

He was preparing to get out of bed when a familiar pair of arms wrapped around his torso. He felt her warm skin against his bare back as she kissed in between his shoulder blades softly. 

“Good morning, I made coffee.” He turned slightly, the barely visible morning light glowing on Taylor’s face as she smiled at him. She was still in his shirt from the late night before, but she was a lot more awake than he was. He noticed her hair was wet. “Bradley?”

He shook the tiredness out and smiled back. “Hi baby, you’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep. Didn’t want to wake you up. I know how exhausted you are the first few days home.” 

Home. He was home. 

“You want coffee or nah?” He nodded slowly. “Okay, I’ll be back.” She planted a kiss on his cheek and skipped off. He would never get over her cheery morning personality. 

Bradley finally got up and beelined to the bathroom, knowing a shower would be just what he needed to kickstart his body. He was in and out in a few minutes, toweling off as Taylor appeared with a cup of coffee for him. He quietly took it as she disappeared into her closet to change. 

The morning routine came like second nature to them as if they hadn’t spent the last few months apart. The pair had both mastered the art of dressing at this point in their careers, working in tandem to make sure no piece was out of place. He loved helping her pin her hair back with bobby pins while she finished her makeup. She loved tucking his shirt in and buttoning it up, making sure it was pressed tight against his body so his abs would poke through so she could trace them lightly. They always seemed to get ready much faster together, and today was no different. Neither would complain about the extra makeout time they got before heading out to base. 

The ride to base was quiet. It was early enough that most sane people were sound asleep or crawling home from the bars, and the peace was just what Taylor needed to calm her nerves before they walked into the hangar at Fightertown. A classroom setup had been built, and she could already recognize a few faces that beat them there.

More faces showed up before each seat was taken in the makeshift classroom. The California sun had risen and the sound of fighter jet engines rang throughout the large hangar. Phoenix leaned over as they awaited instruction.

“Did the Admiral let you in on any insider secrets for this mission?” She asked.

“For once, Iceman didn’t blab to me.” Astro cheesed at her friend, but deep down she knew who was coming. Her father’s appearance at The Hard Deck last night had knocked her off her axis a little bit. She wanted to warn Rooster, but knew that would be above her rank. She’d just have to see how this played out. They hadn’t seen each other in two years, even longer since they exchanged words past simple greetings. She just wanted to ride the little bubble of ignorant bliss that her and Bradley had as long as possible. 

“Attention.” A voice called, and all twelve pilots stood up immediately. Two officers walked in. 

Taylor recognized them as Cyclone and Warlock, two men she worked with sporadically in her years as an instructor for the new recruits. They introduced themselves to the group, then introduced their own instructor.

“Captain Pete Mitchell, callsign: Maverick.” 

Rooster tensed next to her as the pilots followed their instructor’s walk from the back row of seats to the podium at the front. Phoenix turned to Astro with a confused look, switching between the father/daughter duo. Astro shook her head slowly and kept her gaze forward as they were instructed to sit. 

“Good morning aviators,” Rooster’s hand found her thigh, tightening his grip with every word Maverick spoke. She tried to ignore it, focused only on the instruction. Maverick held up a book. “The F-18 manual. I’m sure you all know everything about your aircraft without it.” A few of the pilots acknowledged him with whoops, which were immediately shut down as he tossed the book into the trash can next to the podium. “So does your enemy.”

“Your target…” 

Maverick explained the mission parameters - a low entry, tight-turning terrain with a nuclear site hidden between two steep mountains at the bottom of a valley. Then a high G climb that no pilot had ever conquered in an F-18 before, with dogfighting inevitable against 5th generation fighter jets and surface-to-air missiles. They had just two and a half minutes to target and two miracle bombs to land in those 150 seconds. Taylor finally understood why they needed the best of the best on this op. The look Ice gave her before she left his house a few nights ago finally made sense.

“Today we’ll be pushing your limits. Suit up.”

The group of pilots stood up and filtered out of the hangar to the locker rooms. Taylor stayed back a moment, locking eyes with her father. The older Mitchell nodded at her solemnly as he walked to suit up himself. 

Taylor lagged behind her fellow aviators into the barracks where their lockers were located, but a hand pulled her aside before she could reach the women’s door.

Bradley pulled her into an alcove, eyes angry. “Did you know?”

“Brad-”

“Don’t ‘Bradley’ me, did you know he was part of this?” He whispered angrily, head on a swivel to keep an eye out for anybody else in the hallway. 

Taylor sighed. “Yeah, I had a feeling.” Rooster let her go forcefully, a hand coming up to run through his curly hair. “I wasn’t supposed to know, Bradley.”

“You should’ve warned me.” 

“How am I supposed to do that when I didn’t even know if you were alive 24 hours ago? Would you have come if you knew?” She snapped and that shut him up. “You had orders, so did I.”

She stalked into the women’s lockers, Natasha already stepping into her flight suit. 

“I didn’t realize your father was teaching us, Astro.”

Taylor opened her locker and began to pull her uniform off forcefully. “There’s no one else as insane as he is to teach this. This is a suicide mission, Phe.” 

“Maybe. But to pull that many Gs in an F-18, how cool!” Taylor laughed. Nat’s semi-sadistic humor would never fail to lighten the mood. “I mean, I know the plane may not be handle it, but-”

A loud thud pounded against the entry door, causing both women to jump. “C’mon ladies, let’s see the show!” Hangman’s cocky voice echoed around the lockers.

“Fuck off, Bagman!”

“Hangman!” He corrected, and Taylor could see the cocky smile he probably had on his stupid face. “I’ll see y’all out there.”

Both ladies laughed to themselves as they finished suiting up.

—

As the sun set over the California sky each night, The Hard Deck became their relief off base. The last few days had consisted of basic maneuvering and light dogfighting against one another, but tomorrow was a new day. They would be showing their skills against Maverick, in a two-versus-one showdown in the sky. 

Taylor sat at a high top near the bar, nursing a drink as she buried her head in her laptop. Amelia tapped her pencil against her homework across from her. Penny smiled lightly at the pair from the kitchen doorway, watching and waiting for their nacho plate to be finished. This little tradition of working side by side stuck with Amelia and Taylor, finding comfort in the quiet presence of one another as they hashed out homework assignments and Naval projects. Despite the rocky relationship she had with Pete, the Mitchell girl remained close friends with the Benjamin family, becoming something akin to an older sister to Amelia over the years. Amelia did much better in school when Taylor was home, and the older girl made sure her presence was still there while she was away on missions. One year, she bought a life-size cardboard cutout of herself for Amelia to use as a stand-in, and the younger girl was so embarrassed. She still used that cutout to this day.

Taylor finished sending her email before Penny walked up with the plate of food, setting it in front of the girls. “Thanks, Pen. These look amazing.”

“They’re the same ones you get every week.” Penny remarked with a smile as she sat down next to them. 

“Yes, but imagine,” Taylor shoved a chip full of queso in her face, “imagine how amazing these taste after flying fighter jets with your insane father all day.”

Penny laughed as she pinched Amelia’s nose teasingly, who shooed her mother’s hand away with a smile. “I’ve flown with your father, I don’t think I could eat for days afterwards.” 

Taylor shook her head as her phone buzzed. “Not this girl. I crave the air.” She shook the crumbs off of her hands and grabbed the phone. “Oops, the boss man must be checking his email. It’s Ice.”

From: Ice Ice Baby

I thought I told you not to worry about the exhibition while you’re at Top Gun?

To: Ice Ice Baby

These emails aren’t gonna write themselves. And I don’t see you volunteering to call news outlets for promotional pieces.

From: Ice Ice Baby

Ha ha, very funny. Make fun of the man who can’t talk. I can have you demoted, you know.

To: Ice Ice Baby

Then who would bother you all the time? You already sent your boyfriend to the Mojave Desert, you can’t send me anywhere worse, what kind of Godfather would you be??

From: Ice Ice Baby

Alright fine, I wouldn’t demote you. Only cause you’re more tolerable than my ‘boyfriend.’ Thought he and Penny were getting back together?

To: Ice Ice Baby

Jury’s still out on that one. Will report back when I know more. Astro, out.

She sat her phone back down and continued to dig into the nacho plate until the door burst open and a bumbling mess of aviators stumbled through the door. The rowdy crowd had arrived, interrupting her peace and quiet with the Benjamin ladies and the few patrons at the bar for dinner service. 

“Astro! We’re doing shots!”

Oh boy. So much for staying on track with her exhibition to-do list. 

“You buying, Coyote?” She teased, closing the laptop for the evening, winking at Amelia as she laughed to herself and packed her school work up. 

“Only if you beat me at pool.” The gang slowly filtered to the pool tables with drinks as Coyote racked the balls. 

Taylor leaned down to break, a shit-eating grin plastered on her face. “Here’s where you’re in trouble, Coyote. You’re in Astro's home turf.” Hangman laughed when she broke, sinking two balls in the back pockets much to her opponent’s dismay. A couple of shots later, and Coyote was buying the first round of booze. 

Taylor hung with Fanboy, Phoenix, and Bob as the next pool game began, Coyote now finding purchase in Hangman as his next target. 

“So, how did you and Rooster meet?” Bob yelled over the music. He was one shot and a drink in, and it was adorable how tipsy he was getting already. 

“Childhood best friend.” Taylor responded shortly. Once the rest of the pilots found out the two were a couple, the teasing and joking remarks were relentless. Taylor didn’t mind, and it usually got Bradley more riled up which meant she got more fun out of him at night in the comfort of their bed.

“Isn’t he like five years older than you? How did that work out?” Fanboy piggybacked off of her response. 

“Only three years, geez, Fanboy! He’s not that old!” Astro shoved him playfully. “I guess for us we were just destined to be stuck together forever.” She winked with a dramatic tone.

She didn’t need to bring up the fourteen months he didn’t talk to her after the fallout with Maverick. How she begged and begged for her best friend to please let her in, to separate her from her father’s horrible decision when she was just sixteen. How, at seventeen, she was wooed by a boy from school into taking a romantic weekend trip to Los Angeles only to be left stranded in the city. Bradley would never forget her name popping up on his phone at 3 AM, and knowing something was wrong. His instincts were correct as he answered, and could only hear her sobbing on the other end. He had never driven so fast in his life, making the two hour drive in just over an hour to get to her. It was the first time they had talked in over a year, but he couldn’t find it in his heart to leave her home alone in San Diego while Maverick was overseas. He had stayed the weekend and they awkwardly rekindled, but that fleeting attempt went out the window as soon as he was sent overseas three days later.

A few months later, she was so terrified to tell him she got accepted into the academy at eighteen while he was still trying so desperately to get in at twenty-one. They only leveled out after he was finally accepted, and she could finally breathe around her best friend again. A couple of years of rebuilding, even more years of pining in between deployments and missions, and one very aggressive yet effective aviator named Jake Seresin led them to the almost four years of dating they were quickly approaching, minus a few months when they would take their extended breaks courtesy of Bradley’s inability to commit. 

“Anyways, enough about me. What about the rest of you? Any special lovers back home?”

Bob raised his hand with a drunken smile. “Ooh! Me! She’s the most beautiful thing.” He was quick to pull his phone out, showing them a photo of the most stunning couple. Bob was dressed in a tan suit, and the woman on his arm had the most gorgeous wedding dress on. 

“Holy shit, Bob. She’s stunning!” Taylor and Nat grabbed the phone, almost drooling over the details in the picture. 

“You’re married?” Fanboy exclaimed, peering over Taylor’s shoulder to see the couple, too.

“Last June.” Bob smiled proudly, pulling a wedding ring on a necklace out. “She’s the love of my life.” 

“Yeah, we’re gonna have to meet her someday.” Phoenix teased lightly, handing the phone back to him. “Rumor has it that Hangman has a girl in town now, too.” 

“Oh god, that poor girl.” Taylor joked before she felt a hand slide into her back pocket. She turned her neck slightly to meet the eyes of her own dreamy aviator. “Hey Roo.”

“You guys talking about me?” He smirked.

“Only because you’re Astro’s arm candy.” Fanboy joked, causing the rest of the aviators to ooh under their breaths. 

Bradley shrugged. “I’ll take what I can get.” The rest of them continued talking as he leaned into her ear. “Arm candy is requesting we get out of here.” He said lowly, causing a chill to run down her spine. 

She bumped her butt into him, causing him to stumble backwards slightly. “One more drink then I’m all yours, Lieutenant.” Bradley smiled, running to grab another round.

A few more drinks and over an hour later, the couple snuck out to Bradley’s Bronco, speeding off in the heat of the night. They could barely keep their hands off one another. He kept her hand laced tight in his as they drove out towards the mountains, finding escape from the city with one another. Before Rooster could fully remove the keys from the ignition, she was flipping on him, straddling his lap as she planted a rum-flavored kiss on his lips.

“Mmm, baby, mmm.” Bradley mumbled as her hands slipped under his shirt to trace his abs. He could already feel himself getting hard as he scrambled to move them to the backseat. “C’mon, you know it’s so much better back there.” 

He didn’t even realize he had zoned out, unable to take his eyes off of how stunning and beautiful she looked as she huffed playfully with an eye roll. She pulled her hair out the ponytail and draped it over his shoulder as she climbed into the backseat, knowing exactly what she was doing to him. He was so in love with this woman, it hurt. She knew exactly how to push his buttons, how to get him riled up, but also how to make him feel safe and comfortable. He was going to spend forever with this woman if he had anything to say about it.

“Rooster, if you don’t fuck me right now, I swear to God.” Bradley pushed the thoughts out of his head and climbed on top of her, laying his lips on hers happily as she laughed. 

The Bronco rocked in the quiet peace of the mountains until the early light of morning.

---

Tag List: @alanadetigy

[withcolebrock]

I Drew That

Corpse Husband x fem!reader

Summary: Corpse finds out that Y/N has a drawing of him as her background

Warnings: swearing :)

Word Count: 1,818

Author’s Note: I’ve spent weeks trying to write this piece :/ I just couldn’t find a way to make it how I wanted it if that makes sense but I tried my best. This idea was very cute because I can totally see this happening lol. Especially with like the whole flirty voice thing Corpse has been doing with like Brentman and like James and stuff haha. I hope you guys enjoy it!!

~~~

Tonight was one of the many nights that she was playing Among Us. It had taken over her life, a flood of success followed her once she had played with Sean and Felix. She had gained over two hundred thousand subscribers on her YouTube channel. It had changed her life for the better, in many ways.

For the last three rounds, it had been strict imposter wins. Felix won two of those. Everyone was shocked when it was him the second time, Felix was getting great at the game. The group then decided to switch lobbies because Felix was throwing a fit about getting imposter too much. It was the usual group of Felix, Sean, Poki, Rae, Sykkuno, Leslie, Toast, Dave, Corpse, and Y/N.

Over the last few months everyone in the group had gotten a lot closer. Especially Corpse and Y/N. After the first time they played together, a lobby Sean had created, they had talked for hours after the first game they played. This had continued almost every time they had played  Most of the time, Corpse would be editing his videos while talking with her. It calmed him as he worked. She would be working on her art or scrolling through Pinterest or Tumblr.

They had even FaceTimed several times, where Corpse revealed his face to her. He made a big deal out of it, saying a whole monologue before he turned the camera to his face. She followed in pursuit being very dramatic as well. Whenever they would talk he would play her his music, waiting to see if she liked it. She loved any song he put out, despite it not being her usual music taste.

One night she was scrolling through Tumblr and found an artist who was drawing Among Us players with their little characters. One particular character made her smile and her heart flutter slightly. It was an amazing drawing of Corpse and his little character sitting on his shoulder. It was an art style she was familiar with, she loved supporting smaller artists. It was the cutest thing she has ever seen. Weirdly, it perfectly described him. She loved it so much, she decided to keep it as her phone Wallpaper.

The round started on Mira, where Y/N was a crewmate again. Throughout the whole night, she still hasn’t gotten imposter. “Dammit,” she groaned at the screen. She stood still at the start of the map, waiting to see if anyone would fake tasks at the start. Everyone ran off, not doing them. She quickly followed.

After a long thirty seconds lights get shut off. She ignores the emergency and continues doing her tasks, she stood by the vending machine when Felix killed her. “It’s fucking Felix again!” she leaned back in her chair groaning. She covered her face with her hands. “He’s gotta stop killing me first,” she shook her head. She tried to hide how annoyed she was.

Her body was called by Poki, she was the only dead one. “Oh my god,” Poki said once the screen popped up.

“Y/N no!” Rae yelled, “You guys, she’s died first the last three rounds,”

“Wait really? Oh Jesus, sorry Y/N,” Sykkuo said, a breathy laugh leaving his lips.

“I’ll protect you next round, Y/N, I promise,” Corpse said. Y/N tried to hide her smile and the heat rushing to her cheeks.

“We’ll avenge you, Y/N!” Sean yelled. Soon after everyone grieved her death they began asking each other where they were. Everyone had a solid alibi making it impossible for them to figure out who did it.

“Guys, guys, Y/N died first the last three rounds right?” Toast started, everyone hummed, “Who was imposter these past few rounds?” he explained. Everyone gasped.

“You really think I would kill her first three rounds in a row?” Felix tried to defend himself as the voting time clock turned red.

“You’ve done it twice already!” Sean yelled, voting Felix. Felix was saved since half of the group skipped. She floated around the map trying to get her tasks done quickly so she could talk to her chat without holding back the rest of the group.

She glanced towards her chat, reading a few questions, she shifted her gaze to the game and thought about the questions. “I’ve been working on a cute little animation for you guys, I might do another art stream with you guys. Only if you guys want it, of course.” she read through a few more questions while answering them, while she waited for the meetings to end.

Once all of her tasks were done, she began to talk about her art and fanart. “Yeah, there’s an artist on Tumblr, they are amazing, they deserve so much more recognition,”  she explained as she showed them her lock screen with the drawing of Corpse; without thinking about her chat being curious as to why it was him. Turning her phone back towards her, her eyes widened as realization dawned on her.

The chat began to flood in with questions, begging Y/N to tell them why she had Corpse’s drawing as her background. She chose to ignore the question and continue talking about her own art and showing fan art. Despite trying to change the subject, she sighed dramatically. “Chat, there’s no reason why Corpse’s character is my background, the artist is just good, stop talking about it,” she giggled as the victory screen popped up on her screen.

“Felix what the fuck!” she unmuted in discord. He began laughing as he began to defend his actions. “No, no it doesn’t matter if I know your liar voice, Felix-” After about five minutes of everyone talking the next round started. She was a crewmate again, “I feel like I’m bugged,” she groaned as she started running around doing her tasks. Corpse’s little black character was following her.

“Looks like I got myself a little body guard,” she smiled as she spoke. They walked passed the medbay room, as Corpse moved his character dramatically. She rolled her eyes as they both walked into the medbay room. She didn’t have medbay, but she sat waiting for Corpse to finish. They continued doing tasks together until a body was called. It was Sean’s.

“Y/N’s cleared I was with her the entire time,” Corpse said confidently into his mic. She said the same about him. Poki was acting a little weird during the call, which made Y/N a little suspicious of her.

~~~

When the lights were shut off Corpse was killed by Poki, and he groaned as his body was killed immediately. Poki called out Y/N right away, saying that she was with Corpse the whole time. Corpse glanced towards his chat, finally able to try and read everything everyone was saying. His eyes lit up as he saw her name flash the screen several times.

One person kept spamming the chat saying, Y/N’s has your Among Us character as her background, he smiled as he read it. He knew exactly what the picture was, “Oh really?” he hummed as he continued reading. Everyone was saying how nervous she got when they kept asking her about it. He pressed his lips together nervously. He decided to drop it for now, but he was curious. He looked back up to the screen and began to listen to what was happening during the meeting.

“...You really think I would spend this whole game marinating Corpse for me to kill him in front of Poki? What about that double kill that happened, there was no way I would’ve done that if I was with him.” Y/N explained, over Poki trying to defend herself.

“I think she’s got it guys,” It was down to Toast, Y/N, Sykkuno, and Poki. Everyone quickly voted for Poki. The Victory screen popped up. “I knew you had it, Y/N,” Corpse said as everyone started shouting into the discord.

After a few minutes of them discussing the round, they decided to switch over to Polius. “Hey, Y/N, can I ask you something?” Corpse asked, the group quickly went quiet.

“Sure,” she giggled.

“My chat keeps saying you have my character as your phone background, is that true?” he asked, teasingly. He smiled widely. The entire group started cheering while teasing Y/N and Corpse.

Her mouth dropped open as she tried to find a way to explain it, “Well, uh,” she cleared her throat, “I do actually, it was great art, what was I supposed to do?” she laughed.

“Oooo, someone has a little crush,” Sean teased, Felix quickly joined. The rest of the group was simply laughing along. Corpse stayed silent while the group was teasing Y/N, and Corpse for that matter.

He pulled up Y/N’s Twitter and began to scroll through her feed to find the perfect drawing. He took the drawing that Y/N did of her own Among Us character. It was a drawing of Y/N holding her little character in her hand. It was his favorite piece of art she has done. Mainly because she drew it while on FaceTime with him. He quickly changed it to his iphone background, he glanced back towards the screen, seeing if the game started. He took a screenshot of it and immediately texted it to Y/N.

“Y/N, look at our messages,” he said simply into his mic. The group slowly stopped talking as they waited for Y/N to open the message.

“Corpse, I’m scared,” she whispered, everyone started laughing.

“Just open the message,” he giggled.

She sighed dramatically while she pulled up the messages with Corpse, seeing the screenshot. Her lips fell into a pout as she saw it. “I drew that,” she mumbled into the mic.

“You did,” he whispered, as he felt heat rise in his cheeks. He loved hearing her voice. “It’s my favorite,” he continued.

“Corpse,” she whined as her eyes began to tear up. She didn’t know why, but her heart felt so full. “You didn’t have to do that,” she mumbled, readjusting herself in her chair. She shifted her gaze towards the contact name, Corpseyyy.

“Of course I did, It was beautiful art,” he muttered while he looked back towards his phone, admiring his new phone background.

“Is this..a possible.. New relationship starting?” Sean whispered dramatically into his mic.

“It sounds like it,” Rae interjected. Corpse rolled his eyes dramatically, but he didn’t oppose the idea; neither did Y/N. Rae quickly started the game, letting the tension ease between everyone. Corpse and Y/N got imposter together.

“Oh my god finally,” Y/N said into the mic as she started faking tasks, “Chat, please stop saying I’m blushing, you aren’t helping,” she giggled as she continued the game. She raised her hand to her cheek, feeling the warmth.

[fanficimagery]

Friends in High Places

Summary: When Spencer comes home with files to a case that has his team stumped, he's surprised when you- his neighbor for a couple years now- is the person who gives them a new lead to follow. That and that you're ex-SHIELD.

Words: 8K Warnings: This is what I get for starting a rewatch of Criminal Minds and then watching Marvel movies all in one day. Fml. I've never written for Criminal Minds, so please excuse the mediocre-ness of their characterization. I have no idea what I'm doing; I just knew I wanted a crossover between these two fandoms. Also timeline? What are those? All you gotta know is that this is an AU where Bucky's joined the team and Steve DIDN'T ruin the life Peggy Carter would have had. As for the CM side, this is sometime after Hotch has left and Emily took over. Idk.

Having the night off and wanting nothing more than to just be lazy, you're sitting on your couch in your most comfiest clothes and mindlessly scrolling through Tumblr as your TV plays some program on Animal Planet. You're not even paying attention to the program, but the low sound is perfect for background noise.

You're queuing up some art posts that catch your attention, as well as some gif sets of the TV shows you've become a constant viewer of in the past few years, when there's a knock at your door. But not just any knock. It's a specific knock that you and your neighbor came up with after you got to know each other and became fast friends, and it was to let the other know they were home and wanted company. You mostly worked nights and his work schedule was always all over the place, so it's surprising you're both home at the same time.

Picking up your phone, you shoot him a quick text that you'll be over in five.

Spencer Reid is literally the man of every woman's dream, even if they didn't know it. He's cute and adorable and sometimes dangerously hot all rolled into one, and the best thing about it all is that he doesn't even know it. You had met him on one of your first few days in the apartment complex, but unfortunately it was during one of your slight panic attacks when a thunderstorm had caught you off guard while you were sitting in your car and you didn't have an umbrella.

He had seen and heard you freaking out as he was passing by, and knocked on the passenger window. You had collected yourself just long enough to roll the window down a few inches when he asked if you were okay, then proceeded to answer his own question by stating you obviously weren't. When he realized you lived in the same complex and asked if he could climb inside your car and out of the storm, you had stared at him in confusion until he realized that might have been a bit weird since you were strangers. He stammered his way through his explanation of being an FBI agent and after showing you his badge you had let him in.

You didn't have to tell him what was making you panic and he proceeded to keep your mind occupied. He asked about you and where you had moved in from, and spewed random facts about anything to temporarily make you forget about the storm raging outside. But the torrential rain wasn't letting up and the lightning was only getting closer and closer. He made you realize you had to make a run for it and even offered up his umbrella for you. You had thanked him with tears in your eyes and made a run for it on the count of three when you were settled just enough.

Inside the lobby of your apartment building, you had stood there trembling while Spencer nervously gripped onto the strap of his messenger bag as he stood across from you. When you were shaking the water off his umbrella, you hesitantly told him your reasoning for your freak-out. It wasn't necessarily the thunderstorm, but rather the torrential rain that wasn't letting up. A few years back you had a drowning incident and too much water on your face tended to bring back those memories. He said he understood and then with a sympathy tinged smile he offered to walk you to your apartment. It was a pleasant surprise to learn you had only lived two doors down from him.

Weeks turned into months and months into a couple of years, and you and Spencer were nearly inseparable when you both had the same day/night off.

So after quickly fixing your already messy hair so you don't look like a complete slob, and pulling on a loose hoodie, you grab your phone from the sofa and then head on out. Your socked feet keep your footsteps quiet as you head down to Spencer's door where you knock three times on it before opening it up and stepping inside.

But before you can greet him with a cheesy welcome, he's already calling out, "Hope you haven't had dinner. I picked up some burgers on the way home."

On cue, your stomach grumbles. "God bless you, you beautiful, beautiful man!" You hear him laugh from a room that's not where his kitchen is, so you make a beeline for the kitchen instead of accidentally walking in on him changing. There are two paper bags on the table and you quickly grab plates from his cabinet to separate the food on. Spencer enters the kitchen in a shirt and some gray joggers, and you greet him with a beaming smile. "You're home and in one piece! Yay!" He laughs and you quickly lean in to peck his cheek, not saying a word when you catch sight of his pink tinged cheeks. "You have any beer?"

"Yes. Grab two, please."

"Got it." You hear one of his kitchen chairs creak as you open his refrigerator to grab two beers, you then searching a nearby drawer for the bottle opener. Once you find it, you walk back over to the table and open each beer before handing one over to him.

"Thanks."

"Mhm." Taking a seat, you set your beer down before unwrapping your burger and dumping your fries out onto the plate. "So what's up, doc? You're home surprisingly early."

"We've hit a wall on our latest case," he says, keeping it vague. "There was nothing for us to do while Garcia did her thing, so Emily sent us home for a bit."

"Nice." You take a bite of your burger and your eyes widen when Spencer's eyebrows raise in surprise. When you realize how your words sounded, you're quick to backtrack. "Wait! It's not nice that you hit a wall, but nice that you got sent home! I got free food out of it. That's why it's nice. Not because, you know, you haven't found the-"

"Y/N, you're rambling," Spencer says, lips twitching. "I understood what you meant."

You sigh, shoulders dropping, and grab half a fry to toss at him. "Eat your food, Reid. It's getting cold."

It surprisingly doesn't take long for the two of you to eat your dinner, you both being hungrier than you first thought. After you're done, Spencer turns down a second beer but tells you to help yourself. You do. And on the way into his living room, you bump into one of his chairs and knock his bag over. You gasp and set your beer down on the coffee table, falling to your knees to scoop up his files that had spilled out.

Chuckling, Spencer crouches next to you as you profusely apologize.

"It's okay. It was an accident." A few pictures had slid out of their files and normally you'd just shove them back in because his work wasn't any of your business, but the face staring back up at you makes you pause. Blonde hair, blue eyes, a little heavy on the eyeliner, and a lip piercing. You know her. "Y/N?" You gulp and flip to another picture- brown hair, brown eyes, mole above the right eyebrow. You know her too. "Y/N? Are you okay?"

With trembling hands, you flip back to the first picture and show it to him. "Is Lilian dead?"

Spencer's eyes widen. "You knew her?"

Knew. Past tense. She is dead. Showing him the second picture, you nod sadly. "Kyndall too."

He seems to stop breathing then and from one moment to the next he's opening files and pulling out picture after picture. As you stare at each of them, you grimace and swallow down the bile that's threatening to climb its way up your throat. "Y/N, do you know any of the others?"

Shakily exhaling, you point at each picture. "Desiree, Celeste, Maria. I don't know this one, but I think her last name was Valdez? And then the male is Tim."

Spencer falls on his butt, staring at you in surprise. "That's right. We know their names and their current line of work, but that's about it. Their files only seem to go back a few years. Everything between the end of their high school career and current line of work seems to be scrubbed clean. Do you- do you know of any connection between these people? Any little thing you know can possibly be a big help to my team."

Your gaze darts up to him and your heart sinks. You've managed to keep your past mostly hidden, but now it seems the time has come to tell him what you did before. "They, uh, they're all ex-agents of SHIELD. The real SHIELD, not HYDRA."

"What?"

"If I remember correctly, they were computer analysts or paper pushers. They had gun training as one would think an agent would have, but they were agents who didn't really have to train in hand-to-hand since they never made it out into the field."

"You're positive? How do you know this?"

You gulp. "Because I'm ex-SHIELD too."

Spencer blinks at you, but then in the next moment he's up on his feet and reaching for his phone. He places a quick phone call, stepping into another room and leaving you alone. Your stomach sinks and you have a feeling that this confession might have just put a wedge in your friendship. After all, though ex-agents were being picked up by other different branches of the government, you weren't sure just how exactly trustworthy all ex-agents were being treated.

Spencer reappears, nervously tucking his hair behind his ear. "Do you mind coming with me back to work? My co-workers could really pick your brain about this."

You blink at him. "W-What? You're not mad at me?"

"Mad?" He chuckles. "Why would I be mad? I mean I wish I had known what you did so I didn't have to worry about you being alone when I left for a case, but I can see why you would keep that underwraps. HYDRA made a lot of people paranoid."

"Tell me about it," you mumble. Then after a few seconds, you finally climb up to your own two feet. "Um, just let me go put on some shoes. I'll meet you in the hall."

Spencer's smile and nod eases some of your worries, but you still quickly make an escape to go put on some shoes. Your front door bangs open and you hurry to your hall closet. Yanking open that door, you pull on the first pair of Converse you come across. Then taking a moment to think, you grab a pair of knee high boots that you use every once in a while. Reaching inside, you grab your old badge and a USB stick, sticking your badge in your back pocket and the USB in your front pocket. Then grabbing your keys from the hook by the front door, you shut the door after exiting and lock it. Spencer is waiting down the hall for you and you jog towards him. He tightly smiles and then leads you downstairs, towards his car, and you sit quietly in his passenger seat while he drives.

On the way towards Spencer's place of work, he can't help but ask, "So what exactly did you do with SHIELD if you don't mind me asking."

You shrug. "Cat's out of the bag now, so I don't mind." You chuckle though it kind of falls flat. "I was, uh, a computer analyst for a while. But then I was taken on a field trip with a few agents and we ended up trading bullets with several not so nice guys. The field agents liked the way I handled myself and requested I level up, so to speak."

"And you never thought of trying to get hired on with anyone else? If I recall, the FBI and CIA were picking up ex-SHIELD agents after the fall."

You shake your head. "Remember that drowning incident I mentioned? Or the reason why I can't take baths anymore and have to turn my shower on and off between washing?" Spencer hums, remembering what he thought were odd quirks until he realized it was all because of your fear of certain amounts of water. "That drowning incident was HYDRA's fault. I spent months in rehab and just- well, no one wanted a damaged agent."

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm kind of glad they didn't. I quite like my neighbor who picks up take-out and bakes sweets for me after a rough case."

You try not to think too much about his words and instead choose to smile at him before looking out your window. The drive is only about twenty minutes and fortunately the radio fills in the semi-tense silence.

When you get to the FBI building, Spencer escorts you inside with a hand at the small of your back. You're given a visitor's badge and you quickly clip it onto the hem of your hoodie. The elevator ride up to the BAU's main floor is a short one and it opens up to a wall of glass where you can see several desks behind it.

Spencer opens the door for you and you can't help but make yourself seem as small as possible. You cross your arms over your chest, hugging yourself as you enter the room. There are several people milling about, but no one pays you any attention. Only one female, dark bangs covering her forehead while the rest of her hair falls just passed her shoulders, heads towards you once she spots you and Spencer.

"Y/N," Spencer says, introducing you to the woman as she nears, "this is our Unit Chief Emily Prentiss. Emily, this is my good friend Y/N Y/L/N."

Emily is all smiles as she reaches to shake your hand. "Hi! It's nice to finally meet the girl who takes care of our boy wonder after cases."

Spencer nervously chuckles and you find yourself genuinely grinning. "It's nice to finally meet you too. I've heard some funny stories about all you guys."

"I will neither confirm nor deny any of those."

Emily then leads you towards a room where three others are waiting. "Guys, this is Y/N Y/L/N. Friend of Spence and ex-agent of SHIELD. Y/N, this is Special Agent Derek Morgan and Jennifer Jareau, and our very own technical analyst Penelope Garcia."

Everyone happily greets you and Jennifer even gives you the go ahead to call her JJ. You're offered a seat at their round table and you glance at their board filled with pictures of people you used to work with. Spencer sits next to you and you offer him a feeble smile when he reaches beneath the table to squeeze your knee.

"Alright, guys, I know we're all interested in the girl who lives next to Spence, but we need to get down to business." Spencer groans as his teammates all chuckle. "So Y/N, is there anything else you can give us about the victims? What exactly did they do? Did they all personally know each other or just enough because they were coworkers? Even the smallest bit of info that you think is inconsequential can help us."

"I, uh, I can do you one better," you say. You shift in your seat and reach into your front pocket, pulling out the USB stick. "Since I figure all those NDA's we signed are now null and void thanks to Agent Romanoff's data dump, and because you're Spencer's friend, I feel comfortable handing this over. It kind of made me nervous keeping it in my house anyway."

You slide the USB towards Penelope and she gasps, snatching it up and holding it as if it were the holy grail. "Is this- are these files? Because let me tell you, I tried to download those files as soon as they hit the net but there were just so many and not even our WiFi could download it fast enough before they were scrubbed clean."

You grin and nod, chuckling at Penelope's squeal. "I started collecting everyone's files that I could get my hands on. I started with the baby agents- agents whose files wouldn't toss up red flags when their files were opened. The more clearance I was granted, the more files I was able to download."

"Oh my god. Yes! You are my new favorite person." Penelope rushes around the table, bending down to kiss your cheek with a loud mwah! "Reid, keep this one. I'll be in my lair."

The group all chuckle as you blush, but then Agent Morgan is clearing his throat. "Not that I'm not grateful about what you're giving up, but isn't what you were doing illegal?"

You shrug. "It possibly was, but then Director Fury realized I was memorizing it all and didn't have a problem with it so long as those files didn't leave my office."

"But you have them on you now," Morgan says.

"Yeah. The USB was hidden within my belongings in my office. My office surprisingly survived unscathed after Captain Rogers crashed the helicarriers into the Potomac, and my stuff was packed up and shipped to me while I was in rehab."

"If you don't mind me asking," JJ wonders, "but were you at the Triskelion when HYDRA came out or..?"

"I don't mind the questions at all," you say. "It's actually quite nice to talk about it with people who aren't eyeing me suspiciously." The group flashes you small smiles. "I was actually on a consulting job with a recently formed SHIELD team whose base was a humongous plane that was constantly on the move. Anyway, one of those trusted team members ended up being HYDRA. He led a group of his men onto the plane, killed half of us to get control of it, and then locked me and two scientists into a holding pod before dropping us into the middle of the ocean."

"The drowning incident," Spencer suddenly realizes.

You smile sadly at him, nodding. "We sank to the bottom of the ocean floor. There were three of us and only one little oxygen tank." Spencer grabs your hand beneath the table and you're grateful for the grounding pressure. "We gave it to Jemma. Fitz and I were going to attempt to swim, but we didn't make it. Fitz blacked out first, then me, and then- then nothing. We woke up in a trusted SHIELD facility, and Fitz and I couldn't operate like we used to. With our brains having been deprived of oxygen, it messed us up for a while."

"Wow," Emily says. "I am so sorry."

You shrug at her with a small smile. "It was all part of the job."

"What do you do now?" Morgan asks. "I hate to say it, but with all our victims being ex-SHIELD, and you as well, we have to rule you out as-"

"I get it." You smile in reassurance at him since it kind of pained him to admit that you could be a suspect and have Spencer glare at him for even thinking it. "I'm a bouncer at a bar most nights."

Morgan chuckles. "A bouncer? You!?"

"Hey! I might not look like much, but I did train with Avengers. I could probably give you a run for your money, agent Morgan."

"Okay, okay," he muses.

"I also work as private security for Stark Industries when they throw galas. If you need the exact dates I've been working, I can get that for you."

"Please," JJ says. "Spencer's already vouched for you, but protocol and all that. You understand."

"I do. I'll just- I'll text my bosses to email my clock-ins and clock-outs."

Pulling out your phone, you immediately text your boss at the bar and Pepper Potts. You keep the explanation vague as to why you need it, but assure them it's very much needed for a case the FBI is working on. They completely understand and you even have to make Pepper swear not to get Tony involved.

The emails come in not even ten minutes later and JJ happily takes your phone to run the dates with Penelope, promising to be quick about it. You remain in your seat, watching as Morgan and Emily walk towards the board and start tossing their thoughts back and forth over what they've learned so far.

Your hands are atop the table, thumbs chipping away the already chipped nail polish you have on. The second you raise your hand with the intent of chewing on your thumb nail, Spencer catches your hand. "You okay?" He quietly asks and you stare at him. He then lets your hand go as you pull them back into your lap.

"Yeah. Just getting kind of tired. And a bit anxious. Someone's targeting ex-SHIELD agents and I- well I'm one of those people."

"No one is going to hurt you, Y/N. I promise."

You feebly smile, not taking his words to heart because you know he can't actually keep that promise. He might want to, but you know better than to take these types of promises seriously in situations such as this.

JJ reappears, a bright smile in place as she hands you your phone. "I'm pretty sure Penelope programmed her number in there."

"That's fine." You chuckle. You lay your phone on the table, giving your attention back to Emily and Morgan who's now being joined by JJ.

"Guys, Garcia is having a ball right now. There's so much information she wasn't privy to before, but I'm not sure how any of it is going to help more than Y/N already has." Emily and Morgan look at JJ, waiting for her to explain. "We already know victims weren't the best at hand-to-hand, which the unsub clearly took advantage of. But we need to know what they were presently doing and if they were checking in with anyone because there are a lot of dead ex-agents. That's not a coincidence. Either someone who's ex-SHIELD or HYDRA is picking off ex-agents one by one, or someone who has a grudge against SHIELD found a list of ex-agents and is working their way down the list."

"Where do we even start?" Morgan asks, incredulous. "SHIELD technically doesn't exist anymore and those who are operating in the shadows are nearly impossible to track down thanks to the Avengers. None of them are exactly easy to get a hold of after General Ross made it his personal mission to bring in James Buchanan Barnes for crimes HYDRA made him commit. They like working on their own."

"We'd have to jump through a bunch of hoops just to get a face to face," Emily says, sighing. "If we're lucky they'll want in on the case since it's related to SHIELD."

"Um, actually.." You nervously raise your hand, calling all attention on you. "You can bypass all those hoops."

Emily stares at you, sitting on the edge of the table as she crosses her arms over her chest. "You still have connections, don't you?" At your sheepish grin, she huffs in amusement. Every other team member straightens with hope in their expressions.

"Agent Prentiss, I am the connection." As you pick up your phone once more, JJ and Morgan step closer to the table. You scroll through your contacts, finding the one you need and tapping on it. Then putting it on speaker, you try to soothe your nerves as the ringing through the speaker seems to make the atmosphere of the room become tense.

The ringing stops as the connection is made and then, "Well, well, well. If it isn't my second favorite human on God's green Earth." You roll your eyes at the charm oozing from him. "What kind of trouble are you in now, doll?"

Emily and JJ's eyes widen, and you shake your head in amusement. "Put your boyfriend on the line, Barnes. I'm calling in a favor."

"Are you calling to finally take us up on that offer of joining us for a night?"

Everyone in the room seems to freeze, although Morgan is highly enjoying where this seems to be going. You close your eyes, scrunching up your nose. You can't believe they just heard that. "Steve really needs to put a muzzle on you."

"Well if you're into that-"

"Bucky!" You bark. "You're on speaker." Morgan finally loses the battle with his laughter and you wish you can sink into your chair. Instead you have to settle for just insanely blushing and covering your face with one hand. "I'm currently with the BAU of the FBI. They have a case that they could use some help on."

"Oh." There's a beat of silence. "Christ, Y/N. You should have stopped me sooner. Stevie's gonna lecture me again. Hold on. I'll go get him."

The line goes silent and you nervously meet Spencer's gaze. He's the only one who doesn't seem as amused which is why you don't find Bucky's greeting as funny as you normally would. Something about his expression actually makes you wish Bucky hadn't said anything.

"Y/N?"

You sit a little straighter in your seat. "Hey, Cap."

"What's going on? Buck mentioned the FBI."

"Uh yeah. I'm with Agents Prentiss, Morgan, Jareau, and Doctor Reid," you tell him. "They've been dealing with a case that had gone cold and well I kind of made a connection they hadn't seen before because they couldn't, and uh I'm sure they could use your help."

"What was the connection?"

You look at Emily and she nods, letting you tell him. "Steve, all the victims are ex-SHIELD. Specifically agents who wouldn't have had too much training; who couldn't hold their own without a gun in hand."

There's a sharp inhale. "What do they need?"

Emily's eyes close in relief and she holds her hand out for your phone. You happily oblige her and hand it over. "Captain Rogers, this is Special Agent Emily Prentiss. I'm the one in charge of my team here."

"Hello, Agent Prentiss. How can my team and I be of help?"

"Well we mainly need to pick your brains and ask some questions. We're aware that SHIELD is still operating to an extent, even if it is in the shadows, so we'd like to know if the victims were still affiliated with you. If we're dealing with someone who is or was from SHIELD or HYDRA, we'd like to have you involved since you have more experience with how they operate."

"That's fine. I'll gather my team and set up a room. Are you okay to set up base here in the Compound?"

"Yes!" JJ says, starting everyone. She clears her throat and calms herself. "Yes."

Steve chuckles. "Very well. Gather everything you need. I'll be sending a quinjet for you all since it'll be faster. Y/N knows the pick-up location."

"Thank you so much, Captain Rogers."

Emily hands you the phone and seeing that the call is still connected, you say, "Hey, Steve? Thanks for this."

"It's not a problem, sweetheart. Are you okay though? You're an ex-shield agent yourself."

"I know, but nothing has been out of the ordinary. I'm okay."

"Good. You coming too?"

"I was actually planning on going home after driving the agents to the location. I'm not an active agent anymore, bub."

"I know you're not, but with that agent neighbor of yours coming here I rather have you here as well so we can keep an eye on you." You sigh at his protectiveness. "Bring a change of clothes for a week. I'll have Nat get a hold of your boss and let him know some of what's going on so you'll have a job to go back to once all of this is over."

"You're a pain in the ass, Rogers."

Steve laughs. "See you soon, Y/L/N."

The call ends and you set your phone down. Glancing up, you smile sheepishly at the team staring at you. "So, uh, I guess I'm tagging along. Sorry about that."

Emily opens her mouth, her words getting stuck as she shakes her head in amusement. "Don't be. You got us working with the Avengers within minutes as opposed to taking hours, possibly even a day if I had to put in a request."

Morgan whistles appreciatively. "This is insane. I'm gonna give Garcia a heads up about our field trip. Expect another tag a long. I don't think she'll pass up this opportunity."

You chuckle as JJ says, "Rossi is going to be so pissed he took a vacation and missed out on working with the Avengers." Then looking at you, she adds, "Do you think Spider-Man will be there? My son absolutely loves him and I would be the coolest mom ever if I got a picture or video with him."

"I'm sure Pe- uh, I'm sure Spider-Man will make an appearance," you say. "He's always hanging around after his classes are done for the day."

JJ's eyes widen. "You totally know who he is."

"I do. And let me tell you, he absolutely adores kids. Ask and he'll happily oblige."

"Guys. Guys!" Emily says. "Case first, fangirl later."

Spencer snorts and you elbow him on reflex. He grumbles, Emily and JJ grin, and you innocently smile at Emily. "Sorry, Agent Prentiss. I'll just- I'll go sit on that couch over there so I'm not in the way."

Emily starts telling her team what needs to be done, repeating herself again when Morgan returns with a clearly excited Garcia. Morgan informs everyone he'll go gather the boxes of files while Spencer immediately sets out to disassemble the board of pictures and post-its. Garcia excitedly rushes back to her own office to pack up a few things, while Emily and JJ figure out what all they'll need to be taking with them.

To keep yourself occupied, you waste a few minutes by playing a game on your phone.

You're not sure how much time has passed, but someone hesitantly sitting next to you takes your attention off your phone. Glancing up, you see Spencer sitting there and realize everyone else has cleared out of the room. "We should be ready to head out in about ten minutes."

"Oh. Okay."

There's a moment of silence and then, "Soo.. Bucky Barnes." He chuckles, running a hand through his hair, and you can tell his amusement isn't exactly genuine. "He's- he's not the type of person I pictured you with if I'm being honest."

"Barnes?" You snort. "Ew. No." Spencer seems surprised by your reply. "Bucky likes to flirt with me because he knows it won't go anywhere. He's well aware of the actual person I have a crush on and he respects that. Mostly."

"O-Oh? So there is someone in the picture then?"

"Well, not really," you say. Squirming in your seat, you're not totally comfortable with the direction this talk has taken until you see you're not the only one squirming. Spencer is avoiding eye contact, but he's also clearly awaiting your answer. There's also a telltale flush up the side of his neck to the tips of his ears, and- oh. Oh. Seeing how nervous Spencer suddenly is makes you feel better. So better, in fact, that you feel you should speak up about something that you've kept secret for a while. "Well I mean I'd like there to be," you say, grinning when he freezes. "The thing is, he actually lives down the hall from me." Cue him holding his breath. "He's totally adorable, but also secretly hot which is so unfair, and he works for the FBI." Spencer's head snaps in your direction, eyes wide. You smile sheepishly and shrug. "The only downfall is that he's way too good for someone like me, so I settled for friendship."

Your heart is beating terribly fast and the only thing keeping you glued to your seat is Spencer grinning bashfully, cheeks pink. "If you ask me, I don't think he's too good at all. I-If anything, he probably thinks you were too good for him which is why he never made his own feelings known."

Relief washes over you and you laugh. "We're idiots, huh?"

Lips pressed together, he smiles wide. Then, "A little."

"Rain check on this discussion? We've got Avengers to greet and you have a case to solve."

"Of course!" Spencer hastily stands, offering you a hand up. Grinning, you take it and let him pull you to your feet while shoving your phone into your back pocket. "Wherever we're going, is it okay to leave our vehicles there?"

"Yeah. It's private property and pretty secluded. No one gets in without codes."

"Okay then. We'll swing by our building for your bag and then you can direct one of the drivers while the other follows."

"Sure. Sounds like a plan."

Because of the connection between the list of victims, you have an escort up to your apartment while you pack a bag. Emily and JJ happily accompany you, leaving Spencer to fend for himself with Morgan and Garcia.

In your apartment, the two female agents waste no time in subtly trying to figure out your exact feelings for their dear friend and you take great amusement in skirting around the answer they so desperately try to pry out of you. And it's only after your duffel is packed do you tell them you and Spencer had admitted some things to each other, but you are planning to talk about it further after their case is closed. JJ seems oddly giddy and Emily coos about their boy genius growing up. You blush, relieved that they've taken a to liking to you. Then when you get back to the vehicles, you know Spencer has been questioned as well given the smirks being sent your way.

The drive to the field isn't long and the team is impressed by the level of security for a seemingly abandoned airfield. There's an unmanned gate which you get off at to speak for voice recognition, punch in a specific code, give a hand print, and then secretly have your forefinger pricked for a blood sample. Then when the gate swings open, you quickly climb back into the car and instruct Emily towards the second gate where a guard sits. The guard greets you warmly and, after you introduce those in the vehicle with you, he assures you he knows all about the impending pick-up.

"So what exactly are we in for?" Morgan asks. You're all waiting in an opened hangar, the boxes they'd packed sitting on the ground.

"Your perceptions about them are about to be changed," you admit. "I'm sure you've all told yourselves that the Avengers are just like you and I, but you have no idea how true that it is until you meet them."

"Who is the nicest?" JJ wonders.

You take a moment to think about. "Honestly? They're all nice, but if I had to choose I'd choose Spider-Man. It's hard not to like him. The kid's a puppy."

"Who gives the best hugs?" Garcia quickly adds.

Everyone chuckles at her eagerness. "That's a tough one," you say. You ponder on it for a moment. "I say it's a tie between Steve and Thor. They hug full on, chest to chest. None of that half-assed, one arm hug nonsense."

Garcia practically swoons. "Oh to be wrapped up in those beefy Asgardian arms." You snort and shake your head in amusement.

Another twenty minutes pass and you regale Spencer and his friends about some of your work with SHIELD. But all too soon the telltale sound of a quinjet reaches your ears and when you look up you see one incoming.

"Well that was hella fast," Garcia muses when she spots the quinjet herself.

JJ grins. "Stark technology. Gotta love it."

Emily nods in agreement. "We definitely need an upgrade."

Whoever is flying the quinjet lands it with ease, and Spencer, Morgan, and JJ immediately pick up their boxes. Shouldering the strap of your duffel bag, you start heading towards the quinjet when the ramp is being lowered and the team follows a few steps behind.

Clint Barton walks off the ramp and you chuckle, hurrying your steps. Both your arms go around his neck and one of his arms wraps low around your waist. "Short stack," he says. "What trouble did you get into now?"

"Why does everyone assume I'm in trouble?" You pout as you pull back, pinching his cheek and cooing before stepping back out of range. "And what are you even doing here? Shouldn't you be on the farm with those precious little heathens?"

"I was, but Laura had leftovers for Nat and Wanda. I was just dropping them off when Steve rounded up the team."

"Oh nice." Then turning around, you gesture to the BAU team. "Clint, meet Special Agents Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan, Jennifer Jareau, Doctor Spencer Reid, and the brains of the beauty of the team Miss Penelope Garcia. Guys, meet Clint Barton formerly known as Hawkeye."

Everyone shakes hands, with the exception of Garcia who slaps his hand away and pulls him into a hug.

"Baby girl," Morgan laughs, "what are you doing?"

She squeezes a chuckling Clint before letting go, she then whirling on her own friend. "This is my first time meeting the Avengers. Do not take this from me!" Morgan's eyebrows raise in amusement, the whole team and Clint chuckling.

Then not wasting anymore time, Clint ushers everyone on board. He shows them where the boxes and your bag can be stowed before taking the pilot's seat up front, only to be joined by Morgan moments later in the co-pilot seat. You show Emily and Garcia how to buckle in, and then take your own seat between JJ and Spencer.

Clint counts down for lift off and you grip your harness as you feel the quinjet take flight. Spencer nudges you with his elbow and you glance at him, grinning to assure him you're okay. But when you can feel the quinjet picking up speed thanks to the feeling in your gut, you close your eyes and are thankful that no one brings up the fact that you're actually really nervous right now.

Your left hand is grabbed and gently pried from your grip on the harness, and your eyes fly open in surprise. You look towards your left and JJ smiles at you reassuringly as she squeezes your hand in comfort. Then when your right hand is grabbed and given the same treatment, you glance over at Spencer and can't help but blurt, "I-I've never been nervous about flying before."

"It's perfectly normal to subconsciously be nervous or anxious after we trudged up your past earlier," he says. "Just close your eyes and relax. We won't let anything happen to you."

You nod, smiling shakily and turn your head to rest it against the headrest of your seat. Then closing your eyes, you're grateful for the team not asking you anything for the duration of the ride. Instead, they save their questions for Clint who's all too happy to answer what he can.

You know the Compound's come into view when Morgan whistles in appreciation. Clint lands to quinjet with ease and then everyone's unbuckling themselves when he gives the go ahead. Before you can grab your bag, however, Spencer is grabbing it and beaming at you when you sigh with mock annoyance.

One by one the BAU team disembarks after Clint, leaving you and Spencer to bring up the rear. You hear Clint introducing everyone and notice everyone's congregated around in a circle. Then just as you and Spencer join, you notice that Garcia is petting Bucky's vibranium arm. You snort, catching an amused Steve's attention.

"Y/N," he greets.

"Steve." You step forward, briefly hugging him and then Bucky. As you step back in line, you gesture towards Spencer to introduce him. "This is Doctor Spencer Reid. Spence, this is Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes."

Steve leans in for a handshake, but then pauses mid-shake. "Wait. Spencer Reid? The Spencer Reid?" He grins. "Are you- are you and the agent neighbor one in the same?"

You sharply inhale, eyes widening when everyone turns to stare at your rapidly blushing face. Steve's grin turns rather teasing and your eyes narrow at him. "Two words; octopus dick." Steve's amusement vanishes, and everyone turns towards a now blushing Steve as Bucky guffaws. You turn your gaze on him next. "I don't know why you're laughing, dolphin boy."

Bucky immediately shuts up and Steve shakily grins before addressing the team. "Okay! Now that we've all been introduced, lets get inside before Y/N starts a war she can't finish."

Morgan and JJ are the only two to follow after Steve, Bucky, and Clint. Emily and Garcia remain with you and Spencer, and both females look to you with pleading eyes.

"Please tell me how four innocuous words got two supersoldiers to blush like that?" Garcia asks, Emily nodding along with her. "I need to know!"

"Sorry, girls," you tell them. "Those stories get out and I'm dead meat."

The both of them grumble about not getting answers, but move on without fuss. Before you can follow, however, Spencer steps closer to you. "You won't even tell me?" He asks, voice quiet.

You huff. "You already know."

Spencer's answering smile is enough to make you roll your eyes and he's quick to keep pace with you as you enter the building. There are numerous people milling about, but since it's late most of the trainees are in bed. Every piece of furniture and fixture still seems brand spanking new, so you don't blame the BAU team looking around in awe.

Heading into the chosen office, you lead Spencer inside before catching Steve's attention. "I'm gonna let you guys get to work. I'll be setting up in my room if anyone needs me."

No one objects, so after taking your bag from Spencer you take your leave. You leisurely make your way towards the living quarters of the compound and find your room with ease. Opening the door, the familiarity of it brings a tired smile to your face. The lamps have been turned on, awaiting your arrival, and even the TV has been turned on with its volume on low. The walls and bedding is the same as everyone else has, but you know it's your room because of the personal pictures on the dresser and bedside tables.

Since you're going to be staying until the case is over and then probably a couple days more after, you decide to put your clothes in the dresser rather than leave it in your bag for the entire time. After that's done and you've switched your TV to a movie you like, you pick out a standard set of black sleep pants and a blue/gray shirt that every trainee at the compound wears to bed so you can shower before crawling into bed yourself.

You're grateful for the private bathroom and even more grateful to see the products you use already waiting for you. You turn on the water to the shower, grab a towel from the bathroom closet and set it on the counter along with your change of clothes before you start to strip.

You keep your hair in a topknot as you shower since you had washed it earlier that morning, so your shower is over within ten minutes. Then by the time you're dried off and dressed in fresh clothes, and your teeth are brushed, you exit the bathroom.

Stepping into your room, you startle at the sight of Spencer sitting on the small cushioned bench at the foot of your bed. He's staring up at the moving playing, the corner of his lips quirked up in amusement. But at your small gasp, he looks towards you, lips spreading into a fond smile.

"Captain Rogers said it was okay that I wait for you. I don't mean to intrude."

"Spence," you huff a laugh and then continue on towards your bed, "we have keys to each other's apartments and sometimes barge in without warning. I think you waiting in here is more than okay."

"Just needed to make sure," he says, "what with this being a new place and all."

"Mhmm." You sit on the edge of the bed that's right behind the bench, putting your feet on the cushion beside Spencer and practically hug your knees as you stare at him. "How did everyone settle in?"

"E-Everyone's good." Spencer turns sideways, grinning up at you. "We got our own rooms here so we don't have to be back and forth from a hotel. When we left, Garcia was being introduced to the holographic tables and now I don't think she's going to sleep tonight."

You chuckle. "I knew she'd fall prey to all the pretty tech here." He chuckles along with you. "And how did everyone take the news to hearing the details about the case?"

"They're taking it very personally," Spencer tells you. "Mr. Barton even asked to stay on as a consultant. He and agent Romanoff are not very happy."

"Well they might not be as smart as you, Doc, but I think they're going to be a big help. You guys will be out of here in no time with the bad guy in cuffs."

"Is that so?" He muses. You grin and nod. "And if we're out of here in no time, are we still waiting until you go home for that discussion we still need to have?"

"We can table the discussion," you say, "but I really need to do this before I chicken out."

"Do what?"

Without thinking too much more about it, you reach out to cradle Spencer's jaw in the palms of your hands. You bring his face closer to yours, pausing with barely an inch between your lips. It seems he's held his breath in surprise, but when he notices you're waiting for some sort of unspoken permission it's him who closes the gap.

There's nothing heated or rushed about the kiss- it merely being a chaste kiss of several little pecks before he catches your bottom lip between his teeth. You smile, your lip popping free from where it stretches, and you giggle as he leans up to chase your lips.

"Ahem." The interruption causes you to jerk back from Spencer, eyes wide when you catch sight of Bucky leaning against your door jamb and looking quite smug. "Hope I'm not interrupting." You groan, laying your forehead on Spencer's shoulder while he quietly snorts. "So with this new development, does this mean our threesome will now be a foursome?"

You can't help but laugh and sit straight once more so you can see your friend. Unfortunately, the question actually gives you pause and there's a split second where you actually give it thought. But in the next moment your nose wrinkles and you shake your head. "What? No!"

He points at you, eyes gleaming. "You paused! You paused which means that no just turned into a maybe. I'm gonna go tell Stevie we're back in the game!"

"James!" Spencer finally laughs and you groan again when Bucky pushes off the door jamb, whistling as he walks away. "I hate my friends."

"Just wait until Morgan finds out. It'll be worse." Spencer chuckles as you sigh, and he gets up before walking around to the side of your bed. He places his palms down on the mattress, leaning over you to kiss you once more. "I'm gonna go to my room before Sergeant Barnes brings back reinforcements."

"Okay. I'll probably see you around the compound, but I'll do my best to stay out of your hair while you're looking for your unsub."

"Are we still talking after?"

"Of course. Well we can either talk or order in some Chinese and hole up in one of our apartments for a weekend. Your call."

"I like the second option," he says.

"I figured you would." You kiss him one last time and then push against his chest. "Now go. We'll figure things out soon."

[glowingbadger]

You may have a little Lorenz Prompt as promised. As a treat. Here goes~

Lorenz taking thorough notes to surprise his s/o (is it the blog owner? the reader? some random character? It doesn't matter~!) with the most lovely, romantic date imaginable based around everything they like. He wouldn't put in this much effort to TRULY impress someone, but you're worth every step and more.

Enjoy where this takes your thoughts~!

(and pls don't eat it, Tumblr)

Y'know what, I've had a shitty day and I just finished writing some darker content- so I am going to ~indulge~. Normally I try to make my Reader character as broadly relatable as possible, but today we're going with MY preferences and interests because I WANT A NICE DATE WITH LORENZ GODDAMNIT

Lorenz (FE3H) x GN Reader - perfect date

Fluff - SFW

Today simply has to be flawless- the Gloucester heir will not accept any less. Not when it comes to you. Of course, Lorenz holds himself to high standards in all things, but the thought of providing anything less than perfection for you is one that pains him to even consider. Especially now that he'd finally gotten the courage- or, rather, found the right and proper time to ask you to spend the day with him.

You approach him at the Monastery gates not long after noon that day, and find your pace slowing as you eye him before he's noticed you. Without his usual elegant set of armor, you can appreciate the way constant marching and training has toned his slender frame- and appreciate it, you most certainly do. Though he soon turns to face you, and your eyes dart back up from a rather ignoble place to meet his instead.

"You're as radiant as ever, I see," he says with a warm smile. He offers you an arm and you take it, replying with a grin,

"You've already got me for the day, Lorenz, there's no need for flattery."

"'Flattery' implies a measure of falsehood," he says with confidence, leading you towards town, "and I could never bring myself to lie to one so lovely."

As your time together proceeds, you can't help but feel that, some way, somehow, Lorenz has some kind of psychic insight into your preferences. Everywhere you turn, whatever your heart could desire is immediately available and set before you with hardly any negotiation at play. At the first flower stall you find, Lorenz takes a moment to exchange words with the owner while you admire the sprawling array of colorful blooms; and by the time he's returned, he's holding a woven crown of delicate little white flowers. With an admiring smile, he carefully places it on your head, a hand trailing down a lock of your hair as he pulls away to observe you.

With a shy grin, you perform an exaggerated curtsy, prompting Lorenz to laugh fondly and take you by the hand. He twirls you slowly under his arm, watching you all the while, then says,

"They suit you every bit as wonderfully as I'd thought."

"They're my favorites," you reply.

"I know- erm, that is- I know of a superb bakery down the block this way," Lorenz seems a bit red in the face, but you chalk that up to nerves.

He's not wrong though- this bakery is something else. The selection and quality of ingredients is on an entirely new level compared to the Monastery's dining hall, and you find yourself overwhelmed even reading down the list of items posted to the wall. By your third pass over the full range of options, the words are starting to dance in your eyes- but a warm touch at your arm shakes your focus. Lorenz leans close to be heard over the rapidly growing crowd at the bakery's counter,

"Might I make a recommendation?" you nod, and he goes on, "I happen to have it on good authority that there's an item not included on this menu that you may like. It incorporates three different treatments of Brigid cocoa, if that is of any interest to you."

Your eyes light up and you can practically feel the rich sweetness across your tongue already.

"That sounds incredible," you reply, enraptured by the very thought. When you start to ask how he'd heard of such a thing, Lorenz has already turned to speak to the worker taking orders, and your words drown among the crowd of customers. The speed at which he acquires this mythical pastry only fills your mind with more questions. How did he manage to purchase an off-menu item so quickly? Wouldn't the cost of something requiring those many luxurious imported ingredients be astronomical?

But then, Lorenz returns to your side and guides you out of the crowded shop, and the sight of the delectable chocolatey treat in his hands dashes all other thoughts from your mind. He hands it to you wrapped in a handkerchief, and you can't help but immediately plunge in for a bite.

"Mmmm-!" you wear an expression of pure bliss as your mouth fills with sweet, savory chocolate, "Oh- Lorenz, it's so good!"

When you glance up at him, he's watching you with a strangely heavy expression. Once more, his fair complexion is painted a light red. You tilt your head curiously, and he seems to resurface from whatever thoughts had taken him for the moment.

"Here- you should try some," you break off a piece and hold it up to him.

"Are- are you certain? I had intended for you to enjoy it to your heart's content," he stammers out, evidently still a bit flushed.

"I want you to get to have some too. Please?" You hate to resort to puppy eyes with him, but it's hard to argue with the results. He leans forward and accepts the piece of pastry from your hand. You don't shy away from him in the slightest, and so a brief brush of his lower lip along the tip of your finger simply can't be avoided. Lorenz does his best to move past this without acknowledgement, and you two enjoy your treat together as you take in the bustle of the town around you.

The day continues in kind, with Lorenz apparently having painstakingly arranged every element of this date from start to finish. At a local seller of antiques and luxury goods, he secures permission to view and explore rare and dazzling paintings from around the world. Here, he's rather uncharacteristically reserved. Wandering the storage area like your own personal art museum, he watches you with evident warmth as you exclaim at the rich and varied pigments, the innovative expressions of human form, and so on.

After this, he brings you to a tavern at the far end of town, where he's reserved the second floor exclusively for you two to enjoy a quiet, intimate meal together. By this point, you've finally gotten around to considering just how much gold must have gone into this singular date.

"Lorenz," you say cautiously, "are you sure it's okay to go through all of this and spend so much just for-"

He raises a hand to cut you off, then replies,

"I assure you that it is," he takes your hand in his, holding it warmly from across your private table, "wealth has no value that we ourselves do not assign to it, and I have chosen to spend it on your pleasure. I can think of no greater use for a bit of coin."

The rest of the early evening is filled with pleasant chat and the occasional subtle sweet-talk. As you discuss everything you've seen and experienced that day, Lorenz engages you with surprisingly astute comments and observations. He's always at his best when he feels permitted to simply talk with you, as one person to another, free of the pressures and expectations of his birthright that he shoulders without a thought.

The sun is steadily lowering behind the hills and walls of the surrounding town by the time you make your way back together. As you walk hand in hand watching the Monastery gates rise ahead of you, Lorenz clears his throat abruptly and says,

"If I may steal you away for just a little while longer, there was... actually someone I thought you'd like to meet."

"Oh? What an honor," you say with a smile, "Do I get any hints?"

Lorenz gives a good-natured chuckle and says,

"Only that I think you'll get along splendidly."

And of all places throughout Garreg Mach's grounds, you begin to recognize that he is leading you towards the stables. You've met Lorenz's horse before- a lovely mare with a calm and agreeable temperment. If not her, then...

"Eloise?" Lorenz calls out in a gentle voice, "Eloise, come say hello- Ellie? Come now, don't tell me you've chosen tonight to become bashful..." at his call, a svelte black cat with delicate little white paws comes trotting out to meet you. Your heart positively aches and melts at the sight of her eagerly approaching Lorenz with clear comfort and familiarity.

"Lorenz, you... have a cat?" You say with obvious disbelief.

"She's one of the Monastery's strays, to be clear," he says, "She helps with the mice in the stables. Evidently, she had become quite fond of my preferred horse- and so eventually became fond of me as well."

Fond seems an understatement- she very clearly adores him. With a chorus of happy little mews, she circles his legs and rubs against him until he crouches down to offer her his hand. As he does, a shred of parchment flutters from his pocket onto the ground. Eloise targets it like a seasoned warrior and pounces at it with gusto. With a laugh, you kneel down to retrieve whatever this paper she's captured might be.

"Now Eloise, none of that- you must behave genteel-like with guests."

As he firmly lectures the cat, you glance at the paper in your hand. Nearly every inch of it is covered in an elegant, curling script that you imagine must belong to Lorenz. It looks like a... list of some kind. As your eyes scan down the page, you begin to recognize a pattern. Your favorite flowers, favorite desserts, favorite types of books and places around town- plus, to the side, the word "cats?" underlined several times. For a moment, you simply cover your mouth to hold in a snort of laughter. Then, you come to kneel beside Lorenz as he's failing to convince his feline friend to stop swatting at his hair.

"So- you've been taking very thorough notes lately." you say, nudging his arm playfully. He turns to face you with an immediate look of panic. Lavender eyes widen and glance down to the parchment in your hand, then back to you. He visibly deflates and says,

"Goddess- you must find me such a fool-"

You press your lips firmly to his before he can say another word. With a soft noise of surprise, his eyes flutter shut and he leans into your kiss. His lips are wonderfully soft, and the subtle scent of his cologne surrounds your senses as you tilt your head to seal your lips to his more firmly. You're not certain how long you remain like this, but only the dull ache of kneeling on the dirt and the incessant sound of Eloise bapping her paw against the paper in your hand bring you back to your surroundings. When you part from him, you brush aside the silky curtain of his hair to run your hand along his face, and say,

"I had a wonderful time today, Lorenz- and it means the world to me that you put so much thought into this. But next time, you don't have to study so hard, okay?"

For a moment, he seems speechless. Then, he gives a shy chuckle.

"You have bested me yet again, it would seem. How can I ever hope to become a man worthy of you when you are ever more lovely with each passing day?"

Eloise gives an insistent chirp and rubs once more against his leg, evidently tired of distractions from the attention she feels she's owed. Your smile widens, and you scratch her ear fondly.

"I think there's at least two of us who like you just as you are, Lorenz."

[doomstypewriter]

Excuse me while I panic

New chapter, yay! Didn't I tell you I'd be faster?

Thanks for all of the lovely comments and interest, it really motivates me to write more.

Word count: 3041 | AO3 | <<Previous

Summary: Roman gets to work. Wooing Virgil will be a piece of cake!

Right?

CW: Swearing, anxiety, mild angst, maybe unsympathetic Janus (I don't really think so but it could somehow be interpreted as such because of Virgil and Roman talking about him, so I might as well give a warning). I don't think there's anything else, but, if you spot it, do tell.

Be yourself and let things develop naturally... that's just boring

Once he returned to the main living area, the noises of arguing and Logan’s screams could not be heard anymore. They were instead replaced by the clicking of spoons against teacups and mugs.

The moment the three noticed him they looked upwards at the same time. Patton, Logan and Janus were sitting at the table, drinking hot chocolate, coffee and tea respectively. The lights in the kitchen were on, illuminating them partially.

Logan nodded at him.

“How did it go?” he asked.

Meanwhile, Patton smiled and Janus stared at him inquisitively.

Roman went fully downstairs, hurrying to move a chair back. With his hands still on the backrest, he began to speak.

----

“Haha… I actually wanted to ask you…”

“Did something happen?” Virgil held his breath. “Is it about me?”

Roman could not stand the tension emanating from every pore of Virgil’s body. Thinking optimistically, he probably had no idea about his real motivations to come there, still, the thought of it eliciting such a reaction made Roman feel even more frozen in place.

“No!” he answered all too fast.

His body language went even stiffer with worry, to the point where he raised a hand to his mouth and began to nibble on the sides of the tip of his thumb.

“Then…”

“Everything is fine, Pierce the Nerves, I promise”.

“Okay… hmm what’s up with the rose?”

“It’s… uh…” Roman looked at it and began to felt ridiculous. “I just picked it up and it’s the same red as my sash!” he laughed as he placed it on the lapel of his suit.

“No comments. What did you want to ask me?”

----

Janus looked at him with a mix of horror and disbelief as Roman finished his recollection of the events.

“So I panicked and then I said that you had decided to help Patton bake something and now we need to make cookies this instant because Virgil will suspect something if we don’t!”

For a moment there was silence. Then, Janus ran his hands over his face.

“Roman, please take a seat already or put the chair back in place”, said Logan.

“Yeah, right” Roman sat down.

“Brilliant idea, Roman, there’s no way Virgil won’t buy that I’m making cookies and, of all things, invited him to try them. Why would you get me directly involved in it?”

Roman stood up, earning an exasperated eye roll from Logan.

“I drew a blank! I cannot come up with perfect stories on the spot while under pressure!”

“So you thought putting me in it would just magically fix how terrible you are at talking to your crush?”

“He’s not my--” Roman went deadly quiet, rethinking his life in a matter of microseconds. “Look, if I can trust you to do something is lie. So when Virgil comes down those stairs you need to help me fix this! You were the one who insisted I talk to him, so it’s your problem too”.

“Can I trust YOU not to mess up any of my--”

“Hey”.

“Aaaah!” Roman and Janus screamed in unison.

One sigh later, Virgil added:

“You invited me to have cookies”.

“Oh, yeah, well… about that…” Roman began saying. “Patton and Janus haven’t started--”

“Kiddo, we already got them ready while you went to call Virgil” Patton interrupted him. “They’re cooling in the kitchen” he pointed.

“If you had paid attention you would have noticed the bowls in the sink” Logan added without bothering to look at him.

“Roman, close your mouth, you’ll catch flies” Janus finished the series of comments directed at him.

----

Virgil’s chair moved back as he stood up.

“Well, uh…” he said. “Thanks for the cookies. Hmm…”

A frown appeared on Virgil’s face as he was leaving. His feet stopped all of a sudden and he turned around.

“Janus?” it sounded like saying the name itself pained him.

The side in question raised his head, looking openly confused. Or was it an act?

“Yeah?”

“Hmm… Roman told me you invited me. And that’s… em…” he bought time, wondering what to say. Whether to lie or not. “Suspicious. So, a word?”

Janus raised his eyebrows, not buying it, but he followed him nonetheless.

They left the room, both walking at a distance from each other. For a second, Roman thought he saw worry in Janus’ face.

“What the hell was that?” Roman asked no one in particular.

“He’s trying to be nice” Patton smiled. “I’m so proud of him!” his tone was ecstatic.

“I guess… hey, padre, how did you know I’d ask you for the cookies?”

“Patton anticipated a few outcomes from your confession attempt and decided cookies would serve as a suitable response for either” Logan replied matter-of-factly.

“Yes…” he grimaced apologetically. “I thought that if everything went well we could celebrate, and if it didn’t… well, we’d be there for you, so the cookies might cheer you up”.

----

A few days after the confession fiasco, Roman decided to try again and woo him a little before pouring his heart out.

He popped into the living room, only to find Virgil and Janus sitting six feet apart. One was listening to music and, presumably, checking out Tumblr, while the other read a thick book.

With the volume of the music, Virgil didn’t notice him, Janus on the other hand…

His face stopped being obscured by the wing of his hat as he looked up at him.

Janus shook his wrist, making Logan’s watch appear on it. The other side wouldn’t be happy about that, but if Janus had survived stealing his crofters, Roman figured he could get away with pretty much anything.

“Well, look at the time!” he said theatrically as he stared at the watch. “I need to take care of other things, pitty to miss out on your company”.

Virgil moved his headphone to the side, managing to listen to the last part of what Janus had said.

“At least he doesn’t make it awkward”.

“What?” Roman asked.

“Yeah, you’re still angry with each other, right? I can ignore him, but having the two of us in the same room with him would be like asking for an argument”.

One short stare later, Virgil spoke again, a bit unsure.

“Do you want me to move so you can sit here too?”

“No”

“Oh, okay”

“I mean, I didn’t come here to be on the couch, actually I came to see you”.

“Miss me that much?” he teased.

And it was too good of a bait to just let go without reply.

“Terribly, I’ve been swooning and mopping because I didn’t have someone blasting Paramore around me!” Roman answered draping a hand over his forehead.

“Truly tragic”.

“I know. Anyhow, I was wondering…”

Virgil raised one of his hands to stop him right there.

“If you want me to do something stupid and dangerous in the imagination with you, I’ll pass”.

“Afraid you won’t be able to keep up?”

“No, it’s more like I don’t want to have to drag your ass back here when you get hurt”.

“Hey, I’ll have you know I’m the best swordsman in there”.

“So is it like, empty then?”

Roman gasped.

“Tss. It seems like it is”.

“No it’s not!”

“Well, if you keep inviting me, I guess it isn’t, even if we are the only people in there”.

“Virgil, you have seen my servants”.

“Hmm… yeah” he looked to the ceiling playfully, then back at Roman,

“I don’t seem to remember about it”.

“Okay, well, I guess I won’t ask the royal artisans to frame your painting, since they don’t exist”.

“What painting? Are you also hallucinating art?”

“No. I was about to ask you if I could paint you!”

“Wha-- really? You want to paint ME?” Virgil pointed at himself as if to make it somehow clearer.

“If you’re willing”.

----

The whole painting idea had gone well. Still, Roman wasn’t able to get the right atmosphere to confess with Virgil constantly teasing them. To be honest, he ended up forgetting about it once they began to get caught up in the conversation.

He had tried other things, of course.

None had gone as planned.

Writing poems would just make Virgil uncomfortable or even correct him, because, apparently, listening to all of those lyrics from obscure indie bands had made him a better poet than him.

Then there was the whole incident with the ukelele.

Roman had been trying to play something to catch his attention, set the tone and just tell him, but the string snapped and hit him in the face. Now he had an ugly cut and some bruising on his cheek.

He felt stuck.

Worse than all of that, Janus kept lurking around Virgil. Pretending to be nice and reformed.

But never mind about everything else. He needed to keep trying.

Eventually, Roman would manage to get it right.

-----

Finally, he had a plan!

The last time Roman had gone to Virgil’s room to confess, he had panicked and let the effect of the room get to him. But, none of that could happen if he didn’t speak.

This would be perfect because Virgil would love it. Roman had recorded a playlist of their favourite songs into a vinyl record, just to make it a bit fancier. He’ll gift it to him and Virgil would understand.

Maybe he’d even ask him to dance to it!

Roman crossed the darkness of the entrance almost running.

This could work!

His mood deflated instantly when he emerged into the room.

Virgil was sitting on his bed, knees to his chest, hiding all of his upper body inside his hoodie. He left the vinyl on Virgil’s desk and walked up to the bed, making sure to be a bit noisy so Virgil wouldn’t be caught by surprise.

The other let a long breath out in some kind of acknowledgement.

Eventually, Roman sat next to him.

“What’s wrong?”

Virgil sighed and let his face come out of the cocoon of his hood.

“It’s not that something’s wrong per se. I…”

Without thinking, Roman placed his hand on top of Virgil’s. The contact made him feel like nothing bad could happen to Virgil as long as he held onto him.

Roman got the sudden realisation that he would be willing to protect him from anything. Which wasn’t too groundbreaking of a concept. He’d try to save pretty much everyone if given the chance, but that was his need to be the hero, to be “good”, whatever that eventually entailed. With Virgil, though… he just didn’t know what he’d do without him.

“Whatever it is, I’m here and I’ll make sure you’re okay” Roman promised.

Virgil chuckled. It stung a little.

“You can’t just say those things so seriously when I’m feeling bad, Princey, I never know how to react when you’re being so…”

“Annoying?” Roman tried to complete the sentence.

His head turned to the other side. He still didn’t let go of Virgil’s hand, but he could afford to, at least, not let him see how self-conscious he felt right now.

“Princey, look at me”.

“I’m not sure I want to, Virge”.

“Hey, I’m the one who’s feeling low. Don’t try to steal the spotlight, it’s kind of an asshole move…”

Hearing that only made him feel worse, now adding guilt to the mix.

“Especially since”, Virgil continued, “I was about to say you’re nice”.

“I’m sorry I reacted poorly” Roman finally managed to stare at him, “here you are, feeling like crap and I’m only thinking about myself. I can be very selfish sometimes. I apologise”.

Virgil frowned.

“Okay. Fuck off”.

“Did I--”

“No. Listen to me. Whatever you’re thinking I’m thinking right now is wrong. I know what you’re doing because I do it all the time. I’m not mad. And you’re not selfish. Not one bit. You’re self-centred, very much so, but not selfish”.

“Virge, I’m pretty sure those are the same thing”.

Virgil shook his head.

“You can be annoying when you make everything about yourself and try to be the centre of attention. But you never ignore people when they need you, even if that doesn’t benefit you. You’re willing to give up things you want just to do what you think is right. Hell, Princey, you let go of your pride just to be friends with me. How could anyone think you’re selfish when you’re so stupidly wonderful?”

“I--”

“Don’t get too smug about it” Virgil cut him.

It got quiet for a second. Roman savoured the moment and squeezed Virgil’s hand. His smile began to return to him a little bit.

“Thank you. It means a lot, you have no idea” Roman muttered.

Virgil visibly relaxed. He slumped a bit more, letting himself fall against Roman’s side. The dark hair tickled his collarbone, but Roman wouldn’t ever dream of complaining about it.

“Yeah I do” Virgil whispered, so quietly Roman could have imagined it.

Having Virgil’s head on his shoulder made sense. Like it was meant to be there all along.

“What were you sulking about?” Roman asked.

“Not sulking”.

“Sure thing, All the time low”.

He felt Virgil muffle a laugh against the shoulder pads of his suit.

The laugher died down soon after a long sigh.

“I’ve been thinking about doing something”.

Roman stayed quiet for once, leaving him room to breathe and let things out at his own pace.

“I… I am considering forgiving Janus”, Virgil paused, twisting his neck to see Roman’s expression. “Maybe be friends again if it comes to it”.

A sigh.

His thumb started to move in circles, caressing the back of Virgil’s hand. Roman swallowed.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” he asked tentatively.

“You’re not mad?”

“I don’t know. Should I be? It’s not like I’ve exactly forgotten about all of the bad blood between us. But… he makes Patton very happy and it seems like he’s trying to help, so I don’t know what to feel about it”.

“Roman, I know he hurt you”.

“Is that what you’re worried about?”

“In part. There’s more to it. But I can’t just go and bury the hatchet with him if that would hurt you again”.

A small part of Roman felt good knowing Virgil would keep on being angry with Janus if he wanted him to. In a way, it showed his willingness to stay by his side.

That’s why Roman couldn’t ask him that.

Besides, Janus had been helping him too. It wouldn’t be right for him either, as much as it stung to admit it.

“If that makes you happy, I will be happy too”.

“Yeah, but that’s not what I’m asking. I don’t want to know if you would ignore your issues with Janus for my sake”.

“I really don’t mind--”

“And I know that. But… fuck, Roman, you shouldn’t be constantly forced to put everyone first just to make things better for everybody else except you”.

That was… a lot to take in. Roman didn’t know very well what to respond. Eventually, Virgil must have interpreted his silence as him doing something wrong.

“You’re my friend. I… I care about you. I won’t do something you’re not okay with. You’re more important”.

“No need. It’s okay. Getting over my stuff with Janus is my own

problem. I also care about you, a lot. If you want to be friends with him I’ll support you, it has nothing to do with my problems. You won’t hurt me. I promise”.

“That’s good to hear. I mean, I’m still struggling with the decision and I don’t think I’ll be making up my mind anytime soon. But knowing that helps a lot”.

“Do you want to talk about it more?”

“Hmm. It’s… it’s so confusing. I thought nothing he did could rub off how angry I’ve been at him, make me want to trust him again. Before… well, no need to get into the specifics, but it made me feel very betrayed” his voice trembled a little. “The problem is, he didn’t exactly betray me, so I guess the doubts about whether or not things could go back to what they were, remained”.

Virgil swallowed, trying to compose himself.

“And it sucks because there’s a part of me that can’t tell if this is all part of a big scheme and he’s just trying so hard to be nice to me because he wants something, or because he actually cares. I’m scared of letting my guard down and have him ruin everything I’ve tried to achieve. What if I go back to how I used to be?”

“I won’t let that happen”.

“How can you be sure? How can we be sure of anything when it comes to him?”

“We can’t. But I have no doubts that, no matter what happens, we’ll figure it out. Even if it gets to the worst, you know me and I know you. Most importantly, I believe in you, Virge. I’m not going to tell you, of all people, that there’s nothing to be afraid of. But if you’re scared, know that you can trust me and you can trust who you’ve become. We’ll be fine”.

“Roman…”

For a second, it seemed like Virgil was going to cry, or worse, do something like hug him AND cry.

“To be fair, though”, Roman went back to his usual self. Both would welcome the respite after… well, big conversation to unpack. “I honestly don’t think Janus is planning anything. He’s even trying to get on my good side just to make you happy. I’m not the best side for him to manipulate anymore, not after everything, and he isn’t that stupid. So I’d say the bitch is being sincere. That being clear, it would still be a pleasure to punch him if you asked”.

Virgil shifted a bit.

“Ouch!” Roman shouted after Virgil elbowed him. “What did I do now?”

“You’re dumb”.

“So are you, emo, what’s your excuse?”

“I’m friends with you and I think it might be starting to affect me”.

“Well, it’s about time. I knew even you weren’t impervious to my dashing good looks”.

Oh. Perhaps he had let on too much. Roman tensed up the slightest bit.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever lets you sleep at night, Princey”.

<<Previous | Next>>

Taglist: @itsjust-la-me , @bard-in-blue , @simplestoryteller , @winterwynd , @extraintrovertedalien , @some-fander , @the-sad-strawberry

If anyone else wishes to be tagged, just let me know!

[ninjago-bingo]

final month recap

wow, everyone.  we’re here.  we’ve made it.  we’re reached the end of our bingo time, and i’m absolutely floored by the sheer creative output that i’ve seen over these last four months.  everyone, take a moment to give yourself a pat on the back!!!  no matter if you made 1 piece or 10, there’s now a work of art out there in the world that wasn’t there before.  and truly, that’s super heccing rad no matter how you look at it.

so let’s celebrate!  for this recap, we have a total of 20 new pieces, bringing the total amount of ninbingo pieces up to 50.  in the span of four months, this little event has created 50 individual works (five of them in the last day!)  holy cow ya’ll.

i’m putting out this recap now, but don’t worry, it’s not the end yet!  any submissions made to the end of the 30th still count and this post will be updated accordingly :D

fic:

all the things i’ve never done by @sa-you-na-ra. tumblr || prompts: competition and teasing

It’s always a funny thing when the ninja realize new things about each other. Even though living with each other meant they had to see each other all day, there were still small habits or actions that amused the others.

(mod comments: all these little interactions made me smile so much :D looking forward to the rest!)

error 404: answer not found by @m-aster-of-spinjitzu. tumblr || prompt: memories

Akita and Zane talk after the battle in ‘Awakenings’. The conversation… doesn’t go as either of them expect.

(mod comments: the nuances in this fic are fantastic!  also Akita is always a win :D)

Five times kai was a good brother by @/master-of-fluff. tumblr || ao3 || prompts: nightmare and brother

I'm writing kai centric stuff again.

(mod comments: kai IS the big bro of the team!!! i support him all the way!!)

How Garmadon became a chauffeur by @master-of-fluff. tumblr || ao3 || prompt: driving

"um...Kai? Don't you think we should go Slower?" Garmadon asked nervously trying not to panick as they raced down the road at what had to be over the speed limit.

(mod comments: who let Kai drive?  no but honestly this is canon alskdfj)

little things by @/rosiehunterwolf. tumblr || ao3 || ffn.net || prompts: hugs and crying.

"Enjoy the little things in life, for one day you'll look back and realize they were the big things." -Kurt Vonnegut

Lloyd’s tired of being left behind. How is he meant to be the green ninja when he always has to work harder, train better, and wait longer to go on missions with his team? He wants nothing more than to be their equal.

At least, that’s what he thought he wanted.

(mod comments: a post-ep-18 resolution scene?  SIGN ME UP!)

Neither Snow Nor Rain by @fangirltakesall. tumblr || ffn.net || prompt: post-fight

After their return from the Never Realm and all its troubles, Zane is quiet and Nya is incredibly worried. A call to action to a peculiar sort of battle might be enough to change both of those things.

(mod comments: the concept of these two on their own mission together is just so good! excited to see how their dynamic plays out!!)

Never Put Off Until Tomorrow by @/rosiehunterwolf. tumblr || ao3 || ffn.net || prompts: video games and chores

…what can be done today, yada, yada, yada, we all know the saying. So do the ninja- when Master Wu is drilling it into their heads every minute of every day, it’s kind of hard to forget.

Naturally, it only takes them a week (and the biggest new video game in Ninjago) to do so.

(mod comments: this is so in character that it’s frustrating lol.  also Pixal ftw!!)

oh take me back to the start by @/rosiehunterwolf. tumblr || ao3 || ffn.net || prompts: comfort and 3 am

The past should be left in the past. Or, at least, that’s what Jay keeps telling himself. Nadakhan is gone. It’s not logical to still be afraid. But he is, and now everything that he left behind suddenly feels like it’s never going to be the same again.

Cole isn’t so convinced.

(mod comments: Cole is truly the man we all deserve in our lives.)

On Our Own by @redefine-your-identity. tumblr || prompt: home

It’s been a few weeks since Kai and Nya’s parents disappeared without a trace. Needless to say, they’re struggling.

(mod comments: OU C H no poor babies 😭 the relationship dynamic here is great!)

orange and gold by @/m-aster-of-spinjitzu. tumblr || prompt: cooking

...I just need more Cole and Vania content, they seem like they'd be great friends.

Basically it's just 'Cole goes to visit her there, they almost burn down the kitchen, and make way too many puns', lol.

(mod comments: I also always need more Vania content!! the puns in this were breadful!)

permafrost by @/rosiehunterwolf. tumblr || ao3 || ffn.net || prompts: loss of control and promise

It’s not like this is the first time this has happened. It’s not like none of his teammates have ever suffered this kind of guilt and pain. It’s not like Zane himself hasn’t walked through hell before and come out the other side (mostly) in once piece.

Except, this time, it is. It shouldn’t be different, but it is.

(mod comments: super sweet moment between two ninja who deserve more interaction like seriously!!)

Precautionary Tale by @/fangirltakesall. tumblr || ffn.net || prompt: protective

Fighting is different now, and Zane doesn't know why. Yes, he is titanium now, but why should that change anything? It seems to be changing everything, although is all really as it seems?

(mod comments: a great start to a zane-centric fic!  interested to see where it goes next :D)

Star-Ninja! by @rosiehunterwolf. tumblr || ao3 || ffn.net || prompts: siblings and competition 

What happens when the loveable gremlin the ninja adopted off of the streets introduces them to Starfarer comics?

Chaos ensues, of course.

stuck with you (through bright and blue) by @/rosiehunterwolf. tumblr || ao3 || ffn.net || prompt: protective

Kai only wants two things: to protect Lloyd, and to give him the best birthday ever. Unfortunately, Lloyd seems hell-bent on making that as difficult as possible. Kai’s always prided himself on achieving the impossible, but dealing with human emotions is much more complicated than beating up Garmadon’s generals or shooting enemies with fire, as he quickly learns. Movie!verse

(mod comments: happy birthday lloyd!! look at him getting the love he deserves uwu)

Take a walk in the rain. by @/master-of-fluff. tumblr || ao3 || prompt: rain

Cole had always loved the rain, the way it smelled, the way it felt on his skin, and especially the mud! Whenever it rained his Mother would put on his rain coat and boots And they'd both go out and splash around in the puddles and make mud cakes and do all sorts of things.

(mod comments: this fic made me smile a lot :D loved the way it was arranged!) 

the hues of an empty sky by @/m-aster-of-spinjitzu. tumblr || prompt: crying

Missing memories, or having two of them for one moment - not quite the same, but if there’s one thing Jay’s leant over the last few weeks, it’s that literally nothing makes sense anymore.

Or, some Skybound aftermath, Zane actually expressing emotions about his memory switch being turned off for all those years, and what was supposed to be a ‘they tell everyone about the erased timeline’ fic, but it turned into a 'two characters who barely interact on screen talk at like one am in the morning, and don’t actually tell the other what exactly they’re alluding to the whole time’ fic that I wrote at like one am-

(mod comments: Skybound resolution? SIGN ME THE HECK UP YES)

The Make-Cole-Realize-How-Much-We-Love-Him Competition by @21st-century-ninja. tumblr || ao3 || prompts: bets and competition

Jay and Kai share a horrified look.  “He really doesn’t get it,” Jay says.

Kai shakes his head.  “We need to show him somehow.”

“Show me what?” Cole asks, exasperated again.  

“How much we love you!” Kai exclaims.  “Somehow, it’s not getting through your thick skull that we want to sit next to you because you’re you, so I’m gonna have to just prove it to you.”

(mod comments: a silly little movie fic!)

twitter was a mistake by @/21st-century-ninja. tumblr || ao3 || prompts: teasing and birthday

Kai 🔥 @flaminhotninja ☑

so who was gonna tell me that Jay used to be a game show host huh

🌺✨ the Gift of Jay ✨🌺 @zaptrap ☑

Replying to @flaminhotninja

NO WHO SHOWED YOU

(mod comments: twitter was a mistake)

two halves of a broken whole by @/rosiehunterwolf. tumblr || ao3 || ffn.net || prompts: scars and post-fight

The Sons of Garmadon have been defeated. Garmadon is in prison. The city has been saved.

In the aftermath of the battle, Nya is more than ready to take a much-needed break. But the life of a ninja is messy. Recovery is never that simple. Although the wounds may have healed, the scars still remain.

Zane’s scars seem to match up, though. And maybe together, they can begin to heal.

(mod comments: aggressive care is my jam, and this is it!)

wait by @rosiehunterwolf. tumblr || ao3 || ffn.net || prompts: home and memories

Lloyd’s not so great at being patient. It’s not his fault though- maybe he would be better at it if waiting didn’t always end up being so disappointing- if people actually kept their promises. But this time’s going to be different, he knows it. His father will come back for him. And Lloyd’s going to wait.

As long as it takes.

(mod comments: baby.  baby boy.  baby.  protecc him plz.)

[taylorswifthongkong]

Taylor Swift broke all her rules with Folklore — and gave herself a much-needed escape The pop star, one of EW's 2020 Entertainers of the Year, delves deep into her surprise eighth album, Rebekah Harkness, and a Joe Biden presidency. By Alex Suskind

“He is my co-writer on ‛Betty’ and ‛Exile,’” replies Taylor Swift with deadpan precision. The question Who is William Bowery? was, at the time we spoke, one of 2020’s great mysteries, right up there with the existence of Joe Exotic and the sudden arrival of murder hornets. An unknown writer credited on the year’s biggest album? It must be an alias.

Is he your brother?

“He’s William Bowery,” says Swift with a smile.

It's early November, after Election Day but before Swift eventually revealed Bowery's true identity to the world (the leading theory, that he was boyfriend Joe Alwyn, proved prescient). But, like all Swiftian riddles, it was fun to puzzle over for months, particularly in this hot mess of a year, when brief distractions are as comforting as a well-worn cardigan. Thankfully, the Bowery... erhm, Alwyn-assisted Folklore — a Swift project filled with muted pianos and whisper-quiet snares, recorded in secret with Jack Antonoff and the National’s Aaron Dessner — delivered.

“The only people who knew were the people I was making it with, my boyfriend, my family, and a small management team,” Swift, 30, tells EW of the album's hush-hush recording sessions. That gave the intimate Folklore a mystique all its own: the first surprise Taylor Swift album, one that prioritized fantastical tales over personal confessions.

“Early in quarantine, I started watching lots of films,” she explains. “Consuming other people’s storytelling opened this portal in my imagination and made me feel like, Why have I never created characters and intersecting storylines?” That’s how she ended up with three songs about an imagined love triangle (“Cardigan,” “Betty,” “August”), one about a clandestine romance (“Illicit Affairs”), and another chronicling a doomed relationship (“Exile”). Others tell of sumptuous real-life figures like Rebekah Harkness, a divorcee who married the heir to Standard Oil — and whose home Swift purchased 31 years after her death. The result, “The Last Great American Dynasty,” hones in on Harkness’ story, until Swift cleverly injects herself.

And yet, it wouldn’t be a Swift album without a few barbed postmortems over her own history. Notably, “My Tears Ricochet” and “Mad Woman," which touch on her former label head Scott Borchetta selling the masters to Swift’s catalog to her known nemesis Scooter Braun. Mere hours after our interview, the lyrics’ real-life origins took a surprising twist, when news broke that Swift’s music had once again been sold, to another private equity firm, for a reported $300 million. Though Swift ignored repeated requests for comment on the transaction, she did tweet a statement, hitting back at Braun while noting that she had begun re-recording her old albums — something she first promised in 2019 as a way of retaining agency over her creative legacy. (Later, she would tease a snippet of that reimagined work, with a new version of her hit 2008 single "Love Story.")

Like surprise-dropping Folklore, like pissing off the president by endorsing his opponents, like shooing away haters, Swift does what suits her. “I don’t think we often hear about women who did whatever the hell they wanted,” she says of Harkness — something Swift is clearly intent on changing. For her, that means basking in the world of, and favorable response to, Folklore. As she says in our interview, “I have this weird thing where, in order to create the next thing, I attack the previous thing. I don’t love that I do that, but it is the thing that has kept me pivoting to another world every time I make an album. But with this one, I still love it.”

ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY: We’ve spent the year quarantined in our houses, trying to stay healthy and avoiding friends and family. Were you surprised by your ability to create and release a full album in the middle of a pandemic?

TAYLOR SWIFT: I was. I wasn't expecting to make an album. Early on in quarantine, I started watching lots of films. We would watch a different movie every night. I'm ashamed to say I hadn't seen Pan's Labyrinth before. One night I'd watch that, then I'd watch L.A. Confidential, then we'd watch Rear Window, then we'd watch Jane Eyre. I feel like consuming other people's art and storytelling sort of opened this portal in my imagination and made me feel like, "Well, why have I never done this before? Why have I never created characters and intersecting storylines? And why haven't I ever sort of freed myself up to do that from a narrative standpoint?" There is something a little heavy about knowing when you put out an album, people are going to take it so literally that everything you say could be clickbait. It was really, really freeing to be able to just be inspired by worlds created by the films you watch or books you've read or places you've dreamed of or people that you've wondered about, not just being inspired by your own experience.

In that vain, what's it like to sit down and write something like “Betty,” which is told from the perspective of a 17-year-old boy?

That was huge for me. And I think it came from the fact that my co-writer, William Bowery [Joe Alwyn], is male — and he was the one who originally thought of the chorus melody. And hearing him sing it, I thought, "That sounds really cool." Obviously, I don't have a male voice, but I thought, "I could have a male perspective." Patty Griffin wrote this song, “Top of the World.” It's one of my favorite songs of all time, and it's from the perspective of this older man who has lived a life full of regret, and he's kind of taking stock of that regret. So, I thought, "This is something that people I am a huge fan of have done. This would be fun to kind of take this for a spin."

What are your favorite William Bowery conspiracies?

I love them all individually and equally. I love all the conspiracy theories around this album. [With] "Betty," Jack Antonoff would text me these articles and think pieces and in-depth Tumblr posts on what this love triangle meant to the person who had listened to it. And that's exactly what I was hoping would happen with this album. I wrote these stories for a specific reason and from a specific place about specific people that I imagined, but I wanted that to all change given who was listening to it. And I wanted it to start out as mine and become other people's. It's been really fun to watch.

One of the other unique things about Folklore — the parameters around it were completely different from anything you'd done. There was no long roll out, no stadium-sized pop anthems, no aiming for the radio-friendly single. How fearful were you in avoiding what had worked in the past?

I didn't think about any of that for the very first time. And a lot of this album was kind of distilled down to the purest version of what the story is. Songwriting on this album is exactly the way that I would write if I considered nothing else other than, "What words do I want to write? What stories do I want to tell? What melodies do I want to sing? What production is essential to tell those stories?" It was a very do-it-yourself experience. My management team, we created absolutely everything in advance — every lyric video, every individual album package. And then we called our label a week in advance and said, "Here's what we have.” The photo shoot was me and the photographer walking out into a field. I'd done my hair and makeup and brought some nightgowns. These experiences I was used to having with 100 people on set, commanding alongside other people in a very committee fashion — all of a sudden it was me and a photographer, or me and my DP. It was a new challenge, because I love collaboration. But there's something really fun about knowing what you can do if it's just you doing it.

Did you find it freeing?

I did. Every project involves different levels of collaboration, because on other albums there are things that my stylist will think of that I never would've thought of. But if I had all those people on the photo shoot, I would've had to have them quarantine away from their families for weeks on end, and I would've had to ask things of them that I didn't think were fair if I could figure out a way to do it [myself]. I had this idea for the [Folklore album cover] that it would be this girl sleepwalking through the forest in a nightgown in 1830 [laughs]. Very specific. A pioneer woman sleepwalking at night. I made a moodboard and sent it to Beth [Garrabrant], who I had never worked with before, who shoots only on film. We were just carrying bags across a field and putting the bags of film down, and then taking pictures. It was a blast.

Folklore includes plenty of intimate acoustic echoes to what you've done in the past. But there are also a lot of new sonics here, too — these quiet, powerful, intricately layered harmonics. What was it like to receive the music from Aaron and try to write lyrics on top of it? 

Well, Aaron is one of the most effortlessly prolific creators I've ever worked with. It's really mind-blowing. And every time I've spoken to an artist since this whole process [began], I said, "You need to work with him. It'll change the way you create." He would send me these — he calls them sketches, but it's basically an instrumental track. the second day — the day after I texted him and said, "Hey, would you ever want to work together?" — he sent me this file of probably 30 of these instrumentals and every single one of them was one of the most interesting, exciting things I had ever heard. Music can be beautiful, but it can be lacking that evocative nature. There was something about everything he created that is an immediate image in my head or melody that I came up with. So much so that I'd start writing as soon as I heard a new one. And oftentimes what I would send back would inspire him to make more instrumentals and then send me that one. And then I wrote the song and it started to shape the project, form-fitted and customized to what we wanted to do.

It was weird because I had never made an album and not played it for my girlfriends or told my friends. The only people who knew were the people that I was making it with, my boyfriend, my family, and then my management team. So that's the smallest number of people I've ever had know about something. I'm usually playing it for everyone that I'm friends with. So I had a lot of friends texting me things like, "Why didn't you say on our everyday FaceTimes you were making a record?"

Was it nice to be able to keep it a secret?

Well, it felt like it was only my thing. It felt like such an inner world I was escaping to every day that it almost didn't feel like an album. Because I wasn't making a song and finishing it and going, "Oh my God, that is catchy.” I wasn't making these things with any purpose in mind. And so it was almost like having it just be mine was this really sweet, nice, pure part of the world as everything else in the world was burning and crashing and feeling this sickness and sadness. I almost didn't process it as an album. This was just my daydream space.

Does it still feel like that?

Yeah, because I love it so much. I have this weird thing that I do when I create something where in order to create the next thing I kind of, in my head, attack the previous thing. I don't love that I do that but it is the thing that has kept me pivoting to another world every time I make an album. But with this one, I just still love it. I'm so proud of it. And so that feels very foreign to me. That doesn't feel like a normal experience that I've had with releasing albums.

When did you first learn about Rebekah Harkness?

Oh, I learned about her as soon as I was being walked through [her former Rhode Island] home. I got the house when I was in my early twenties as a place for my family to congregate and be together. I was told about her, I think, by the real estate agent who was walking us through the property. And as soon as I found out about her, I wanted to know everything I could. So I started reading. I found her so interesting. And then as more parallels began to develop between our two lives — being the lady that lives in that house on the hill that everybody gets to gossip about — I was always looking for an opportunity to write about her. And I finally found it.

I love that you break the fourth wall in the song. Did you go in thinking you’d include yourself in the story?

I think that in my head, I always wanted to do a country music, standard narrative device, which is: the first verse you sing about someone else, the second verse you sing about someone else who's even closer to you, and then in the third verse, you go, "Surprise! It was me.” You bring it personal for the last verse. And I'd always thought that if I were to tell that story, I would want to include the similarities — our lives or our reputations or our scandals.

How often did you regale friends about the history of Rebekah and Holiday House while hanging out at Holiday House? 

Anyone who's been there before knows that I do “The Tour,” in quotes, where I show everyone through the house. And I tell them different anecdotes about each room, because I've done that much research on this house and this woman. So in every single room, there's a different anecdote about Rebekah Harkness. If you have a mixed group of people who've been there before and people who haven't, [the people who’ve been there] are like, "Oh, she's going to do the tour. She's got to tell you the story about how the ballerinas used to practice on the lawn.” And they'll go get a drink and skip it because it's the same every time. But for me, I'm telling the story with the same electric enthusiasm, because it's just endlessly entertaining to me that this fabulous woman lived there. She just did whatever she wanted.

There are a handful of songs on Folklore that feel like pretty clear nods to your personal life over the last year, including your relationships with Scott Borchetta and Scooter Braun. How long did it take to crystallize the feelings you had around both of them into “My Tears Ricochet” or “Mad Woman”?

I found myself being very triggered by any stories, movies, or narratives revolving around divorce, which felt weird because I haven't experienced it directly. There’s no reason it should cause me so much pain, but all of a sudden it felt like something I had been through. I think that happens any time you've been in a 15-year relationship and it ends in a messy, upsetting way. So I wrote “My Tears Ricochet” and I was using a lot of imagery that I had conjured up while comparing a relationship ending to when people end an actual marriage. All of a sudden this person that you trusted more than anyone in the world is the person that can hurt you the worst. Then all of a sudden the things that you have been through together, hurt. All of a sudden, the person who was your best friend is now your biggest nemesis, etc. etc. etc. I think I wrote some of the first lyrics to that song after watching Marriage Story and hearing about when marriages go wrong and end in such a catastrophic way. So these songs are in some ways imaginary, in some ways not, and in some ways both.

How did it feel to drop an F-bomb on "Mad Woman"?

F---ing fantastic.

And that’s the first time you ever recorded one on a record, right?

Yeah. Every rule book was thrown out. I always had these rules in my head and one of them was, You haven't done this before, so you can't ever do this. “Well, you've never had an explicit sticker, so you can't ever have an explicit sticker.” But that was one of the times where I felt like you need to follow the language and you need to follow the storyline. And if the storyline and the language match up and you end up saying the F-word, just go for it. I wasn't adhering to any of the guidelines that I had placed on myself. I decided to just make what I wanted to make. And I'm really happy that the fans were stoked about that because I think they could feel that. I'm not blaming anyone else for me restricting myself in the past. That was all, I guess, making what I want to make. I think my fans could feel that I opened the gate and ran out of the pasture for the first time, which I'm glad they picked up on because they're very intuitive.

Let’s talk about “Epiphany.” The first verse is a nod to your grandfather, Dean, who fought in World War II. What does his story mean to you personally? 

I wanted to write about him for awhile. He died when I was very young, but my dad would always tell this story that the only thing that his dad would ever say about the war was when somebody would ask him, "Why do you have such a positive outlook on life?" My grandfather would reply, "Well, I'm not supposed to be here. I shouldn't be here." My dad and his brothers always kind of imagined that what he had experienced was really awful and traumatic and that he'd seen a lot of terrible things. So when they did research, they learned that he had fought at the Battles of Guadalcanal, at Cape Gloucester, at Talasea, at Okinawa. He had seen a lot of heavy fire and casualties — all of the things that nightmares are made of. He was one of the first people to sign up for the war. But you know, these are things that you can only imagine that a lot of people in that generation didn't speak about because, a) they didn't want people that they came home to to worry about them, and b) it just was so bad that it was the actual definition of unspeakable.

That theme continues in the next verse, which is a pretty overt nod to what’s been happening during COVID. As someone who lives in Nashville, how difficult has it been to see folks on Lower Broadway crowding the bars without masks?

I mean, you just immediately think of the health workers who are putting their lives on the line — and oftentimes losing their lives. If they make it out of this, if they see the other side of it, there's going to be a lot of trauma that comes with that; there's going to be things that they witnessed that they will never be able to un-see. And that was the connection that I drew. I did a lot of research on my grandfather in the beginning of quarantine, and it hit me very quickly that we've got a version of that trauma happening right now in our hospitals. God, you hope people would respect it and would understand that going out for a night isn't worth the ripple effect that it causes. But obviously we're seeing that a lot of people don't seem to have their eyes open to that — or if they do, a lot of people don't care, which is upsetting.

You had the Lover Fest East and West scheduled this year. How hard has it been to both not perform for your fans this year, and see the music industry at large go through such a brutal change?

It's confusing. It's hard to watch. I think that maybe me wanting to make as much music as possible during this time was a way for me to feel like I could reach out my hand and touch my fans, even if I couldn't physically reach out or take a picture with them. We've had a lot of different, amazing, fun, sort of underground traditions we've built over the years that involve a lot of human interaction, and so I have no idea what's going to happen with touring; none of us do. And that's a scary thing. You can't look to somebody in the music industry who's been around a long time, or an expert touring manager or promoter and [ask] what's going to happen and have them give you an answer. I think we're all just trying to keep our eyes on the horizon and see what it looks like. So we're just kind of sitting tight and trying to take care of whatever creative spark might exist and trying to figure out how to reach our fans in other ways, because we just can't do that right now.

When you are able to perform again, do you have plans on resurfacing a Lover Fest-type event?

I don't know what incarnation it'll take and I really would need to sit down and think about it for a good solid couple of months before I figured out the answer. Because whatever we do, I want it to be something that is thoughtful and will make the fans happy and I hope I can achieve that. I'm going to try really hard to.

In addition to recording an album, you spent this year supporting Joe Biden and Kamala Harris in the election. Where were you when it was called in their favor? 

Well, when the results were coming in, I was actually at the property where we shot the Entertainment Weekly cover. I was hanging out with my photographer friend, Beth, and the wonderful couple that owned the farm where we [were]. And we realized really early into the night that we weren't going to get an accurate picture of the results. Then, a couple of days later, I was on a video shoot, but I was directing, and I was standing there with my face shield and mask on next to my director of photography, Rodrigo Prieto. And I just remember a news alert coming up on my phone that said, "Biden is our next president. He's won the election." And I showed it to Rodrigo and he said, "I'm always going to remember the moment that we learned this." And I looked around, and people's face shields were starting to fog up because a lot of people were really misty-eyed and emotional, and it was not loud. It wasn't popping bottles of champagne. It was this moment of quiet, cautious elation and relief.

Do you ever think about what Folklore would have sounded like if you, Aaron, and Jack had been in the same room?

I think about it all the time. I think that a lot of what has happened with the album has to do with us all being in a collective emotional place. Obviously everybody's lives have different complexities and whatnot, but I think most of us were feeling really shaken up and really out of place and confused and in need of something comforting all at the same time. And for me, that thing that was comforting was making music that felt sort of like I was trying to hug my fans through the speakers. That was truly my intent. Just trying to hug them when I can't hug them.

I wanted to talk about some of the lyrics on Folklore. One of my favorite pieces of wordplay is in “August”: that flip of "sipped away like a bottle of wine/slipped away like a moment in time.” Was there an "aha moment" for you while writing that?

I was really excited about "August slipped away into a moment of time/August sipped away like a bottle of wine." That was a song where Jack sent me the instrumental and I wrote the song pretty much on the spot; it just was an intuitive thing. And that was actually the first song that I wrote of the "Betty" triangle. So the Betty songs are "August," "Cardigan," and "Betty." "August" was actually the first one, which is strange because it's the song from the other girl's perspective.

Yeah, I assumed you wrote "Cardigan" first.

It would be safe to assume that "Cardigan" would be first, but it wasn't. It was very strange how it happened, but it kind of pieced together one song at a time, starting with "August," where I kind of wanted to explore the element of This is from the perspective of a girl who was having her first brush with love. And then all of a sudden she's treated like she's the other girl, because there was another situation that had already been in place, but "August" girl thought she was really falling in love. It kind of explores the idea of the undefined relationship. As humans, we're all encouraged to just be cool and just let it happen, and don't ask what the relationship is — Are we exclusive? But if you are chill about it, especially when you're young, you learn the very hard lesson that if you don't define something, oftentimes they can gaslight you into thinking it was nothing at all, and that it never happened. And how do you mourn the loss of something once it ends, if you're being made to believe that it never happened at all?

"I almost didn't process it as an album," says Taylor Swift of making Folklore. "And it's still hard for me to process as an entity or a commodity, because [it] was just my daydream space."

On the flip side, "Peace" is bit more defined in terms of how one approaches a relationship. There's this really striking line, "The devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me/Would it be enough if I can never give you peace?" How did that line come to you?

I'm really proud of that one too. I heard the track immediately. Aaron sent it to me, and it had this immediate sense of serenity running through it. The first word that popped into my head was peace, but I thought that it would be too on-the-nose to sing about being calm, or to sing about serenity, or to sing about finding peace with someone. Because you have this very conflicted, very dramatic conflict-written lyric paired with this very, very calming sound of the instrumental. But, "The devil's in the details," is one of those phrases that I've written down over the years. That's a common phrase that is used in the English language every day. And I just thought it sounded really cool because of the D, D sound. And I thought, "I'll hang onto those in a list, and then, I'll finally find the right place for them in a story." I think that's how a lot of people feel where it's like, "Yeah, the devil's in the details. Everybody's complex when you look under the hood of the car." But basically saying, "I'm there for you if you want that, if this complexity is what you want."

There's another clever turn-of-phrase on "This is Me Trying." "I didn't know if you'd care if I came back/I have a lot of regrets about that." That feels like a nod toward your fans, and some of the feelings you had about retreating from the public sphere.

Absolutely. I think I was writing from three different characters' perspectives, one who's going through that; I was channeling the emotions I was feeling in 2016, 2017, where I just felt like I was worth absolutely nothing. And then, the second verse is about dealing with addiction and issues with struggling every day. And every second of the day, you're trying not to fall into old patterns, and nobody around you can see that, and no one gives you credit for it. And then, the third verse, I was thinking, what would the National do? What lyric would Matt Berninger write? What chords would the National play? And it's funny because I've since played this song for Aaron, and he's like, "That's not what we would've done at all." He's like, "I love that song, but that's totally different than what we would've done with it."

When we last spoke, in April 2019, we were talking about albums we were listening to at the time and you professed your love for the National and I Am Easy to Find. Two months later, you met up with Aaron at their concert, and now, we're here talking about the National again.

Yeah, I was at the show where they were playing through I Am Easy to Find. What I loved about [that album] was they had female vocalists singing from female perspectives, and that triggered and fired something in me where I thought, "I've got to play with different perspectives because that is so intriguing when you hear a female perspective come in from a band where you're used to only hearing a male perspective." It just sparked something in me. And obviously, you mentioning the National is the reason why Folklore came to be. So, thank you for that, Alex.

I'm here for all of your songwriting muse needs in the future.

I can't wait to see what comes out of this interview.

This interview has been edited and condensed.

For more on our Entertainers of the Year and Best & Worst of 2020, order the January issue of Entertainment Weekly or find it on newsstands beginning Dec. 18. (You can also pick up the full set of six covers here.) Don’t forget to subscribe for more exclusive interviews and photos, only in EW.

[thewritewolf]

Cat Crossing

When Marinette gave out her code to let people onto her Animal Crossing Island, Chat Noir was the last person she expected to pay her a visit.

Hello and welcome to this surprise one shot! I wrote this as a slightly late present for my good friend @sweetsweetsweetie! She is a phenomenal artist and you can find her work on tumblr and instagram.

This was also written as a collab between me and another friend of mine, @lesslinette! They made a great piece of art for this fic, which I'll add here as soon as it is posted.

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

It was late.

Marinette really should be sleeping right now, but…

Just a few more tweaks and her village would be perfect. Her favorite villagers. Many of them wearing clothes she’d personally made - she was as much a designer in Animal Crossing as she was in the real world. It’d taken a while to get the lamp posts she wanted too, but now that they were here…

She was ready. After opening up the airport on her island and getting her dodo code, she put her switch to the side and typed the code into the group chat. It didn’t get used much - mostly just Nino sharing memes with the rest of them, or attempts to get everyone together to hang out. Attempts which almost always ended in failure, thanks to Adrien’s strict schedule and even stricter father.

Adrien…

He was the only other person in the gang that even had a switch, which is what gave her the idea for this in the first place. While it was hard for them to hang out in the real world, she was sure they could squeeze in some time together online.

Marinette could picture it now. He arrives, amazed at her village. They hang out together, growing closer every day. Friendship turns to dating and dating turns to marriage. Twenty years down the line they can tell the story about how they got together because of a video game and Marinette’s excellent village-building skills.

But in the present day, it was three in the morning. With the switch turned off, the long delayed exhaustion hit all at once. Dreams of the married life with the boy of her dreams danced in her head as she fell asleep.

------------

A few days passed. Everyone had seen the message she’d sent on the chat, but it was quickly buried under a torrent of memes, pushing it out of sight and out of mind. She opened the airport and sent out the code one more time, but it was a faint hope.

Her dreams - the friendship, the dating, the marriage - turned to ashes, but at least she still had her village to keep her busy. So busy, in fact, that without even realizing it, she had ended up playing until into the late hours of the night once again.

The groove she’d worked herself into was rudely thrown off when a cutscene began playing, interrupting her fishing. A plane was gently cruising into her airport.

Marinette read the text that showed up and spoke out loud, “Chat Noir, Carefree Animal from Purr-adise has arrived on your island?”

That couldn’t be right. She sat up, suddenly alert. True, she and Chat Noir weren’t exactly strangers - he shows up on her balcony sometimes during his patrol. He at least knew her name. But what was he doing on her island? Assuming it was even actually Chat Noir.

Her curiosity sparked, she made her way to the airport.

Sure enough, whoever they were had gone the full distance. They’d made their own outfit modeled after the feline hero of Paris - black with the accents all in the right places. No cat ears or tail, but they did manage to get a black hero mask. Between that and the messy hair and green eyes, it was about as close as someone could get to his iconic outfit.

The rose in the mouth, though - that was what really convinced her that this was none other than Chat Noir. If she had any doubts after that, the moment the speech bubble appeared over his head quieted them.

“Aw, princess! Came to see me off the airplane? ;3”

Huffing, Marinette quickly typed out a response. “How did you get here Chat.”

“Plane.”

“I mean it!”

“Oooh, pretty island!”

And just like that, Chat Noir had bolted away, an entirely new type of cat boy loose in her village. Although one thing she learned after a few minutes of running after him - there wasn’t a lot of mischief he could actually get into.

After standing still for a few moments, Chat Noir said, “...want to be best friends?”

“So you can tear up my island? Hard pass.”

“Nooo come on, plz? I’ll be a good kitty I purromise.”

“No. But because of that pun? Definitely no.”

“Then I will become a Menace. >:3”

“You do you Chat. I’m going back to fishing.”

Fishing in games was always relaxing for Marinette. Her mind could wander while she listened to the gentle music of the game, all the while slowly building up a pile of fish she could sell off. It was a nice way to unwind after the stress of tests or akuma battles.

Usually.

Those times, she didn’t have an annoying cat boy visitor running into the water, screaming “RUN AWAY FISHY FRIENDS!”

“CHAT.”

His only response was to slowly run into her, gently pushing her away from the water.

“I am FISHING. Go hang out somewhere else.”

“Where the princess goes I must follow.”

“Ugh fine.”

Figuring that fishing was out now, she wandered away to find something else to do. Although it was a little annoying, she had to admit it was nice having him on the island. It was a nice little ego boost to see him ooh and ahh at her village as he followed behind her. And the presence of another person made things feel a little less repetitive.

Of course, that goodwill quickly flew out the window once she tried to pick something up, only for Chat’s net to bonk her on the head.

She silently turned her character towards him, pretending that she was glaring at him despite the unchanging smile on her character’s face saying otherwise. After a few good long seconds she tried again.

BONK.

“aksfvjJKHDFBVJHGB,” she keyboard smashed.

“:3”

He kept following her as she went to a little picnic area. After all, if she wasn’t going to be able to get anything done, she may as well lounge in style.

“How did you even get here?! Seriously! I only gave my code away to”

Her eyes widened and she hit send accidentally. Their characters stood looking at each other for long minutes.

Only three people. Chat wasn’t Nino and he definitely wasn’t Alya. Which just left…

“...Adrien?”

Another moment passed in silence.

Chat Noir has disconnected.

Marinette stared blankly at the spot that Chat’s- Adrien’s character had just been standing.

After all the close calls and the near misses and all that they’d done to keep their identities a secret… Chat Noir blows it in under an hour because he wanted to tease her in the virtual world. Marinette wanted to be mad at him, but all she could do was laugh. It was just such a perfectly Chat Noir way to mess it up. What else could she do?

Her eyes gleamed with mischief. School tomorrow was going to be fun.

[victoria-daydreams]

Of Vices and Virtues

Chapter Six: Training Day

AN: Happy Black History Month! What better way to start this month than updating a black fanfic, which reminds me to say go support other black fanfic writers on Tumblr. And do yourself a favor and read up on figures other than MLK Jr. and Rosa Parks.

Trigger Warnings: none

Word Count: 3.0k

Taglist: @azayamari​

Chapter Seven: Specialty

We were in the library, it was a huge room with an open interior, lined with walls of books and several nooks to sit and read in. Charles and Erik wanted to explore my empathic abilities further. I picked at the loose strand of my shirt remembering the disgust on my face about the plain attire I'm wearing. I lifted my head, my eyes meeting Erik's and we began to play a game, pointing out the ostentatious items in the room with our eyes. A bronze lion head. Awards from Charles' ancestors. Ridiculous looking portraits. An antique cigar box.

"Do you know the extent of your empathic abilities Claudia?" Charles asked curiously, sitting across from me in a sofa chair, ending our game.

I turned my attention to him, "No Charles, people do not volunteer to see the extent of my powers. Being able to manipulate emotions tends to unnerves people," I quipped, smiling.

"I'm surprised, I thought that's what you do regardless of how people feel," Erik stated, peering out the library window.

"Erik," I gasped mockingly, and put my hand on my chest as if I was offended. "Your lack of faith in me, wounds me," I finished jokingly.

Erik snickered before turning around and walking to where Charles and I were sitting, "What do you know that you can do?" he questioned, as he lowered himself into the chair next to Charles'.

"Sense, feel and understand emotions, feelings, hopes, dreams, desires, and fears of others," I listed simply, shrugging my shoulders. "I can create illusions also. So, as you can tell manipulation is my specialty," I answered, spreading my hands out in front of me.

"Do you mind if you show me?" Charles asked curiously.

"You're joking right?" I chuckled in disbelief, arching my brow at him. "When I get inside people's head like that, the illusion can seem so...vivid," I warned, sitting comfortably in my seat.

"I can take it," Charles assured, adjusting himself in his seat.

"Well, it's your funeral, Charles," I joked, as I closed my eyes and allowed myself to relax and shortly after he does the same.

I reopened my eyes and looked at Charles, as soon as his grip tightens on the armrest I knew the illusion was in full effect. I watched my illusion through Charles' mind. He had to blink a couple of times before realizing that his sister, Raven, was lying deadly still on the floor. A puddle of wine red blood was forming around her and all he could do was stare. He could even smell the metallic stench of her blood as the life left her body. He tried yelling, moving, even using his mind to call out to her, but it didn't work.

"Charles," I called, trying to rouse him from my illusion. "Are you alright?"

"Charles," Erik called, and firmly put his hand on Charles' shoulder which seemed to break him of the trance.

"Pardon me?" he asked confused as he shook off his daze, realizing he was back in his seat.

"Claudia was asking how do you feel?" Erik repeated what I had just asked.

I was intently staring at Charles to see if he was paralyzed in shock or fear. Or maybe both.

"Oh...well that was quite the...skill. It's both incredible and terrifying that the images were so-" Charles began.

"Real? Vivid? Seems impossible to have been fake," I offered softly.

Charles met my eyes and nodded softly as I began to pick apart his emotions. He had never felt so vulnerable and useless until my illusion and he hoped he never had to feel that again.

"Well now my curiosity piqued," Erik stated, smirking a little. "Your illusions, they're that powerful?" he  questioned, looking at me intently.

A proud smirk appeared on my face and I leaned forward, "I could have the strongest man on Earth cowering in terror in a matter of seconds once I discover his greatest fear," I confessed, grinning widely. My eyes moved over to Charles, and found that he was already staring at me and looked to be in deep thought. He had a slight frown on his face and had been strangely quiet. "Charles, are you sure your alright?" I asked, concern lining my face.

"I'm fine really, I was just thinking, that's all," Charles explained, flashing a quick smile. "We've seen your capabilities with your empathic powers, how about your telekinesis?" Charles asked, placing his hands on his knees and pushing himself up from the chair.

A smiled beamed from my face once again, "Well, I'm glad you asked," I began, standing up from my own seat and clapping my hands together. "I'm going to need two mannequins for this demonstration," I instructed, before walking out of the library. "And come outside, it's too beautiful of a day to be stuffed up in the mansion," I called over my shoulder, as I left.

I opened the front door to the mansion and it was a lot warmer than it was this morning and I relished in the feeling of sunlight on my skin, small joys and all of that. The land around Charles's family home was even bigger than I thought. No matter which way I looked it seemed endless. I spotted a stone bench and I made my towards it, hearing the gravel crunch under my feet.

I sat down on the warm bench and closed my eyes basking in the warmth of the sun. The sound of footsteps behind me cause me to look over my shoulder to see Erik and Charles both carrying a mannequin. They both set them down from about twenty feet away from me and I stood up from the bench, shaking my arms out as I did to prepare them for what I was going to do.

Erik and Charles took their places beside me, I closed my eyes and concentrated until I felt a familiar sensation in my hands. I opened my eyes, my hands were surrounded by purple energy.

"And now boys," I began, lifting my hand up and one of the mannequin's floated off the ground, enveloped in a purple energy. "For my next trick," I continued, my eyes never leaving my target, with a pulse of telekinetic energy I crushed it my grip and it fell to the ground in a heap. I turned my sights on the second mannequin, this time lifting both my hands as the same purple energy encasing the limbs. I push my hands away from each other, ripping the mannequin apart and the limbs dropping to lawn. "Ta da," I sang, dropping my hands and glancing between Erik and Charles.

"That's incredible! Claudia, your control is amazing!" Charles commented happily.

"That all I can do for now, I'm a bit tired. But as you can see, I'm pretty adept with my telekinesis, and with your help..." I trailed off, looking between Charles and Erik.

"There's no telling how powerful you will become," Erik finishing my statement, with an excited grin.

"Why do you sound more excited than I am, Erik?" I questioned, with a smile.

Erik let out a short laugh before turning to face me, "Because with your abilities the possibilities are endless," he answered, a smirk on his lips.

~~~x~~~

"What are we doing in here?" I asked surveying my surroundings. The small, personal gym had the typical equipment you expected to find. At the front, were some weight benches with the bar resting above it. Behind the benches at the far end of the room held two punching bags, some sparring gear, and some free weights. "I've already did my fair share of lifting weights today," I complained, looking back at Erik.

After my awkward encounter with Raven and Hank I finally forced myself to work out. It hurt. A lot. To say my upper body strength needed improvement was an understatement.

Erik smirked, "We may have powers, but it's still very useful to know the art of hand to hand combat," he explained, as he placed a safety mat on the floor beckoning me over.

I nodded understanding why this was needed, attempting to improve my general hand to hand combat without the use of my powers would always be useful. There would be times when I possibly wouldn't be able rely on my abilities immediately and I would need to stall before being able to use my powers against an enemy.

"First thing you're going to learn is a basic punch," Erik began, grabbing my hand and balling it into a fist. "You not only need to know how to punch, but where to punch," he continued, lifting my fist to his forehead. "You aim too high, you'll hit their forehead which is the equivalent of hitting a brick wall," Erik explained, lowering my fist too his jaw. "Hit too low, you'll get their chin, also not recommended," he said, moving my fist to a higher place on his face. "The best place to punch is there nose or eyes that's where they'll be most vulnerable," Erik finished, releasing my fist.

"Where did you learn all this?" I asked curiously, letting my hand fall to my side.

"I was forced to teach myself how to fight, it was the only way I could survive..." he trailed off, with a faraway look before he suddenly lunged for me, tackling me to the ground being careful enough not to actually injure me.

"Hey! What the hell Erik!" I exclaimed, sitting up on my arms. "I wasn't ready!" I complained, before blowing a piece of hair out of my face.

"Rule number one, always be ready," Erik responded neutrally, but I could have sworn that the corner of his lips tugged upwards slightly into the hint of a smirk. "Did I mention places like the neck or the shin are also sensitive to impact. You should try it," he added cockily.

I glared at him, "You're such an asshole," I commented, as I got up and took a boxers stance.

Erik put his forearms up in front of his face and got into a defensive stance. I threw my first punch and I thought it was solid. I had a good arm on myself, apparently Erik felt otherwise.

"Come on Claudia, I've seen a sack of potato's hit harder!" he taunted obnoxiously. "Aren't you the same woman, who threatened to break a man's hand in seven different places," Erik reminded with mischievous eyes.

I quickly struck out at his neck hitting his jugular causing him to choke on his saliva, he lifted his hand to his throat, coughing hard as he rubbed it soothingly. I felt satisfied when he looked momentarily surprised at the force I'd used.

"Is that better?" I questioned mockingly, my lips curling upwards.

"That'll teach him for insulting and underestimating me," I thought.

Erik rubbed his throat one last time, "Claudia, that was not very ladylike," he finally commented, taking a while longer to reply.

"Lucky I'm a mutant then," I retorted, a smirk still on my face.

Immediately, I swung out my left hand attempting strike harder. I went to punch his abdomen, but he caught my hand and I drew back my foot kicking him in the shin. Erik caught a hold of both of my upper arms. My leg flew out to deliver another kick but he released my right arm just in time to catch my foot.

He tugged at my foot causing me to topple over onto the mat, he followed, dropping onto the mat into a position where he trapped my body with his own. I laid flat on my back on the mat staring up at Erik who had me pinned down with his legs that were on both sides of my thighs and his arms planted on the mat, level with my head. Staring up at him, I felt heat crawling up my neck and spreading to my cheeks as I became extremely self-aware of the position we were in.

And now being this close to Erik it made me realize that his mesmerizing irises actually had a bit of gray in them. Those stormy blue gray eyes stared down at me with such an intensity that a shiver ran up my spine. But yet I couldn't look away; his captivating gaze was somewhat beautiful, in a terrifying way. His eyes held mine much like the eyes of cat held those of a mouse. And like a mouse, I didn't move.

I felt the most peculiar sensation run through me, it felt as if my whole body was aflame. We stayed like that for half a second longer than necessary, stuck in our own world until the sound of Moira and Charles talking from afar brought us back into reality causing Erik to jump up and away from me before quickly pulling himself to his feet.

"Not bad for your first day," Erik began, clearing his throat as a way to clear the awkward tension that fell between us. Erik offered me his hand, I accepted his hand allowing him to help me upright. "But there's definitely numerous areas to improve on," Erik continued, shoving his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, and momentarily avoided my eye contact. "You are nowhere near intimidating or threatening as you think you are," Erik jested, facing me again with a shit eating grin on his face.

"You're insufferable, Lehnsherr,"

~~~x~~~

I stood in the doorway, half in the library and half in the hall outside watching him. Charles was sitting before the fireplace, an old novel resting in his lap as he read. The sunset sunlight brightened the room from the window behind his chair, and the sound of the other mutants' conversation from the dining room could be heard from somewhere down the hall. It didn't look like he wasn't really paying attention to the words on the page in front of him, but rather skimmed the familiar text absentmindedly while his thoughts wandered elsewhere.

I rapped quietly on the door frame and Charles glanced up, closing the book at the same time. He gave me a small smile and I made my way into the room and sat next to him on the sofa, offering a smile in return.

"I must thank you for your help today Claudia," Charles stated, placing his book down next to him. "Not a good first day, the results we had got today have been less than spectacular, but your help was greatly appreciated,"

"Is that so?" I questioned, lifting my feet from the floor and onto Charles' lap. "I really didn't do much," I reminded, with my arm resting on the back of the sofa.

Charles looked down at my feet and then back up to look at me, a smile on his face from my action and I merely shrugged returning his grin. What can I say, those shoes made my feet hurt. Charles slowly removed my flats one at a time and placed them on the wooden floor with a light thud, his hands slowly massaging my feet and I flexed my toes out.

"Nonsense. You being there for moral support was a big help today. Especially with Alex," Charles explained, moving his thumbs up and the soles of my foot, which felt heavenly and I let my eyes flutter close. "And me," Charles added quietly.

My eyes widened slightly, "Really?" I began, tilting my head. "I would've never guess that from you Charles. You always seem so cool, calm, collected. Not to mention perfect," I stated smiling, just as Charles pressed circles above my heel and I tried not to let out the moan that was threatening to come out.

"Well, no one's perfect Claudia," Charles commented, massaging my left foot now. "My confidence was a bit shaken after Alex's training, but after hearing and listening to your reassuring words...you took away the fear that I have about failing these kids," Charles explained looking up at me, his face illuminated by his million dollar smile.

His hands moved upwards slowly running both thumbs over the center of the sole of my foot.

"Speaking of fear..." I trailed off and Charles brought his eyes back to mine. "I make you uncomfortable," It is not a question, it is a statement. It's ironic that I should make a telepath uncomfortable, since our powers are uncannily similar.

Charles' hands faltered over my foot, "That's absurd, Claudia," he lied, but I can feel it in him, the roiling discomfort, the wish to get away from someone who can take and see and judge his worst memories with just a glance in his eyes. "I merely wish to help you hone your empathy," he reasoned.

"Did I forget to mention I can tell when a person is lying," I mused, causing Charles' hands to falter again. "It wasn't my place, but I wanted to know how you were doing after my illusion," I disclosed, and his hands stopped moving. "I left you feeling vulnerable, and I feel awful about it. I feel awful that I make you uncomfortable and I'm sorry," I apologized, gazing at Charles momentarily before looking away and pushing a strand of hair behind my ear.

Charles pulled my legs, dragging me closer to him and I let out a yelp at the sudden movement. Turning my head to him I noticed our proximity to each other, we were intimately close.

"I will admit that your illusion earlier today unnerved me, but I'm not uncomfortable around you, just the opposite actually," Charles clarified, as he cupped my face. "I am the most comfortable when I am in your presence, Claudia," he confessed, before leaning down and pressing his warm lips to my forehead.

Chapter Eight: Fun & Games

[path-of-my-childhood]

Taylor Swift Broke All Her Rules With Folklore - And Gave Herself A Much-Needed Escape

By: Alex Suskind for Entertainment Weekly Date: December 8th 2020 (EW's 2020 Entertainers of the Year cover)

The pop star, one of EW's 2020 Entertainers of the Year, delves deep into her surprise eighth album, Rebekah Harkness, and a Joe Biden presidency.

“He is my co-writer on ‛Betty’ and ‛Exile,’” replies Taylor Swift with deadpan precision. The question Who is William Bowery? was, at the time we spoke, one of 2020’s great mysteries, right up there with the existence of Joe Exotic and the sudden arrival of murder hornets. An unknown writer credited on the year’s biggest album? It must be an alias.

Is he your brother?

“He’s William Bowery,” says Swift with a smile.

It's early November, after Election Day but before Swift eventually revealed Bowery's true identity to the world (the leading theory, that he was boyfriend Joe Alwyn, proved prescient). But, like all Swiftian riddles, it was fun to puzzle over for months, particularly in this hot mess of a year, when brief distractions are as comforting as a well-worn cardigan. Thankfully, the Bowery... erhm, Alwyn-assisted Folklore - a Swift project filled with muted pianos and whisper-quiet snares, recorded in secret with Jack Antonoff and the National’s Aaron Dessner - delivered.

“The only people who knew were the people I was making it with, my boyfriend, my family, and a small management team,” Swift, 30, tells EW of the album's hush-hush recording sessions. That gave the intimate Folklore a mystique all its own: the first surprise Taylor Swift album, one that prioritized fantastical tales over personal confessions.

“Early in quarantine, I started watching lots of films,” she explains. “Consuming other people’s storytelling opened this portal in my imagination and made me feel like, Why have I never created characters and intersecting storylines?” That’s how she ended up with three songs about an imagined love triangle (“Cardigan,” “Betty,” “August”), one about a clandestine romance (“Illicit Affairs”), and another chronicling a doomed relationship (“Exile”). Others tell of sumptuous real-life figures like Rebekah Harkness, a divorcee who married the heir to Standard Oil - and whose home Swift purchased 31 years after her death. The result, “The Last Great American Dynasty,” hones in on Harkness’ story, until Swift cleverly injects herself.

And yet, it wouldn’t be a Swift album without a few barbed postmortems over her own history. Notably, “My Tears Ricochet” and “Mad Woman," which touch on her former label head Scott Borchetta selling the masters to Swift’s catalog to her known nemesis Scooter Braun. Mere hours after our interview, the lyrics’ real-life origins took a surprising twist, when news broke that Swift’s music had once again been sold, to another private equity firm, for a reported $300 million. Though Swift ignored repeated requests for comment on the transaction, she did tweet a statement, hitting back at Braun while noting that she had begun re-recording her old albums - something she first promised in 2019 as a way of retaining agency over her creative legacy. (Later, she would tease a snippet of that reimagined work, with a new version of her hit 2008 single "Love Story.")

Like surprise-dropping Folklore, like pissing off the president by endorsing his opponents, like shooing away haters, Swift does what suits her. “I don’t think we often hear about women who did whatever the hell they wanted,” she says of Harkness - something Swift is clearly intent on changing. For her, that means basking in the world of, and favorable response to, Folklore. As she says in our interview, “I have this weird thing where, in order to create the next thing, I attack the previous thing. I don’t love that I do that, but it is the thing that has kept me pivoting to another world every time I make an album. But with this one, I still love it.”

ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY: We’ve spent the year quarantined in our houses, trying to stay healthy and avoiding friends and family. Were you surprised by your ability to create and release a full album in the middle of a pandemic? TAYLOR SWIFT: I was. I wasn't expecting to make an album. Early on in quarantine, I started watching lots of films. We would watch a different movie every night. I'm ashamed to say I hadn't seen Pan's Labyrinth before. One night I'd watch that, then I'd watch L.A. Confidential, then we'd watch Rear Window, then we'd watch Jane Eyre. I feel like consuming other people's art and storytelling sort of opened this portal in my imagination and made me feel like, "Well, why have I never done this before? Why have I never created characters and intersecting storylines? And why haven't I ever sort of freed myself up to do that from a narrative standpoint?" There is something a little heavy about knowing when you put out an album, people are going to take it so literally that everything you say could be clickbait. It was really, really freeing to be able to just be inspired by worlds created by the films you watch or books you've read or places you've dreamed of or people that you've wondered about, not just being inspired by your own experience.

In that vein, what's it like to sit down and write something like “Betty,” which is told from the perspective of a 17-year-old boy? That was huge for me. And I think it came from the fact that my co-writer, William Bowery [Joe Alwyn], is male — and he was the one who originally thought of the chorus melody. And hearing him sing it, I thought, "That sounds really cool." Obviously, I don't have a male voice, but I thought, "I could have a male perspective." Patty Griffin wrote this song, “Top of the World.” It's one of my favorite songs of all time, and it's from the perspective of this older man who has lived a life full of regret, and he's kind of taking stock of that regret. So, I thought, "This is something that people I am a huge fan of have done. This would be fun to kind of take this for a spin."

What are your favorite William Bowery conspiracies? I love them all individually and equally. I love all the conspiracy theories around this album. [With] "Betty," Jack Antonoff would text me these articles and think pieces and in-depth Tumblr posts on what this love triangle meant to the person who had listened to it. And that's exactly what I was hoping would happen with this album. I wrote these stories for a specific reason and from a specific place about specific people that I imagined, but I wanted that to all change given who was listening to it. And I wanted it to start out as mine and become other people's. It's been really fun to watch.

One of the other unique things about Folklore — the parameters around it were completely different from anything you'd done. There was no long roll out, no stadium-sized pop anthems, no aiming for the radio-friendly single. How fearful were you in avoiding what had worked in the past? I didn't think about any of that for the very first time. And a lot of this album was kind of distilled down to the purest version of what the story is. Songwriting on this album is exactly the way that I would write if I considered nothing else other than, "What words do I want to write? What stories do I want to tell? What melodies do I want to sing? What production is essential to tell those stories?" It was a very do-it-yourself experience. My management team, we created absolutely everything in advance — every lyric video, every individual album package. And then we called our label a week in advance and said, "Here's what we have.” The photo shoot was me and the photographer walking out into a field. I'd done my hair and makeup and brought some nightgowns. These experiences I was used to having with 100 people on set, commanding alongside other people in a very committee fashion — all of a sudden it was me and a photographer, or me and my DP. It was a new challenge, because I love collaboration. But there's something really fun about knowing what you can do if it's just you doing it.

Did you find it freeing? I did. Every project involves different levels of collaboration, because on other albums there are things that my stylist will think of that I never would've thought of. But if I had all those people on the photo shoot, I would've had to have them quarantine away from their families for weeks on end, and I would've had to ask things of them that I didn't think were fair if I could figure out a way to do it [myself]. I had this idea for the [Folklore album cover] that it would be this girl sleepwalking through the forest in a nightgown in 1830 [laughs]. Very specific. A pioneer woman sleepwalking at night. I made a moodboard and sent it to Beth [Garrabrant], who I had never worked with before, who shoots only on film. We were just carrying bags across a field and putting the bags of film down, and then taking pictures. It was a blast.

Folklore includes plenty of intimate acoustic echoes to what you've done in the past. But there are also a lot of new sonics here, too — these quiet, powerful, intricately layered harmonics. What was it like to receive the music from Aaron and try to write lyrics on top of it? Well, Aaron is one of the most effortlessly prolific creators I've ever worked with. It's really mind-blowing. And every time I've spoken to an artist since this whole process [began], I said, "You need to work with him. It'll change the way you create." He would send me these — he calls them sketches, but it's basically an instrumental track. the second day — the day after I texted him and said, "Hey, would you ever want to work together?" — he sent me this file of probably 30 of these instrumentals and every single one of them was one of the most interesting, exciting things I had ever heard. Music can be beautiful, but it can be lacking that evocative nature. There was something about everything he created that is an immediate image in my head or melody that I came up with. So much so that I'd start writing as soon as I heard a new one. And oftentimes what I would send back would inspire him to make more instrumentals and then send me that one. And then I wrote the song and it started to shape the project, form-fitted and customized to what we wanted to do.

It was weird because I had never made an album and not played it for my girlfriends or told my friends. The only people who knew were the people that I was making it with, my boyfriend, my family, and then my management team. So that's the smallest number of people I've ever had know about something. I'm usually playing it for everyone that I'm friends with. So I had a lot of friends texting me things like, "Why didn't you say on our everyday FaceTimes you were making a record?"

Was it nice to be able to keep it a secret? Well, it felt like it was only my thing. It felt like such an inner world I was escaping to every day that it almost didn't feel like an album. Because I wasn't making a song and finishing it and going, "Oh my God, that is catchy.” I wasn't making these things with any purpose in mind. And so it was almost like having it just be mine was this really sweet, nice, pure part of the world as everything else in the world was burning and crashing and feeling this sickness and sadness. I almost didn't process it as an album. This was just my daydream space.

Does it still feel like that? Yeah, because I love it so much. I have this weird thing that I do when I create something where in order to create the next thing I kind of, in my head, attack the previous thing. I don't love that I do that but it is the thing that has kept me pivoting to another world every time I make an album. But with this one, I just still love it. I'm so proud of it. And so that feels very foreign to me. That doesn't feel like a normal experience that I've had with releasing albums.

When did you first learn about Rebekah Harkness? Oh, I learned about her as soon as I was being walked through [her former Rhode Island] home. I got the house when I was in my early twenties as a place for my family to congregate and be together. I was told about her, I think, by the real estate agent who was walking us through the property. And as soon as I found out about her, I wanted to know everything I could. So I started reading. I found her so interesting. And then as more parallels began to develop between our two lives — being the lady that lives in that house on the hill that everybody gets to gossip about — I was always looking for an opportunity to write about her. And I finally found it.

I love that you break the fourth wall in the song. Did you go in thinking you’d include yourself in the story? I think that in my head, I always wanted to do a country music, standard narrative device, which is: the first verse you sing about someone else, the second verse you sing about someone else who's even closer to you, and then in the third verse, you go, "Surprise! It was me.” You bring it personal for the last verse. And I'd always thought that if I were to tell that story, I would want to include the similarities — our lives or our reputations or our scandals.

How often did you regale friends about the history of Rebekah and Holiday House while hanging out at Holiday House? Anyone who's been there before knows that I do “The Tour,” in quotes, where I show everyone through the house. And I tell them different anecdotes about each room, because I've done that much research on this house and this woman. So in every single room, there's a different anecdote about Rebekah Harkness. If you have a mixed group of people who've been there before and people who haven't, [the people who’ve been there] are like, "Oh, she's going to do the tour. She's got to tell you the story about how the ballerinas used to practice on the lawn.” And they'll go get a drink and skip it because it's the same every time. But for me, I'm telling the story with the same electric enthusiasm, because it's just endlessly entertaining to me that this fabulous woman lived there. She just did whatever she wanted.

There are a handful of songs on Folklore that feel like pretty clear nods to your personal life over the last year, including your relationships with Scott Borchetta and Scooter Braun. How long did it take to crystallize the feelings you had around both of them into “My Tears Ricochet” or “Mad Woman”? I found myself being very triggered by any stories, movies, or narratives revolving around divorce, which felt weird because I haven't experienced it directly. There’s no reason it should cause me so much pain, but all of a sudden it felt like something I had been through. I think that happens any time you've been in a 15-year relationship and it ends in a messy, upsetting way. So I wrote “My Tears Ricochet” and I was using a lot of imagery that I had conjured up while comparing a relationship ending to when people end an actual marriage. All of a sudden this person that you trusted more than anyone in the world is the person that can hurt you the worst. Then all of a sudden the things that you have been through together, hurt. All of a sudden, the person who was your best friend is now your biggest nemesis, etc. etc. etc. I think I wrote some of the first lyrics to that song after watching Marriage Story and hearing about when marriages go wrong and end in such a catastrophic way. So these songs are in some ways imaginary, in some ways not, and in some ways both.

How did it feel to drop an F-bomb on "Mad Woman"? F---ing fantastic.

And that’s the first time you ever recorded one on a record, right? Yeah. Every rule book was thrown out. I always had these rules in my head and one of them was, You haven't done this before, so you can't ever do this. “Well, you've never had an explicit sticker, so you can't ever have an explicit sticker.” But that was one of the times where I felt like you need to follow the language and you need to follow the storyline. And if the storyline and the language match up and you end up saying the F-word, just go for it. I wasn't adhering to any of the guidelines that I had placed on myself. I decided to just make what I wanted to make. And I'm really happy that the fans were stoked about that because I think they could feel that. I'm not blaming anyone else for me restricting myself in the past. That was all, I guess, making what I want to make. I think my fans could feel that I opened the gate and ran out of the pasture for the first time, which I'm glad they picked up on because they're very intuitive.

Let’s talk about “Epiphany.” The first verse is a nod to your grandfather, Dean, who fought in World War II. What does his story mean to you personally? I wanted to write about him for awhile. He died when I was very young, but my dad would always tell this story that the only thing that his dad would ever say about the war was when somebody would ask him, "Why do you have such a positive outlook on life?" My grandfather would reply, "Well, I'm not supposed to be here. I shouldn't be here." My dad and his brothers always kind of imagined that what he had experienced was really awful and traumatic and that he'd seen a lot of terrible things. So when they did research, they learned that he had fought at the Battles of Guadalcanal, at Cape Gloucester, at Talasea, at Okinawa. He had seen a lot of heavy fire and casualties — all of the things that nightmares are made of. He was one of the first people to sign up for the war. But you know, these are things that you can only imagine that a lot of people in that generation didn't speak about because, a) they didn't want people that they came home to to worry about them, and b) it just was so bad that it was the actual definition of unspeakable.

That theme continues in the next verse, which is a pretty overt nod to what’s been happening during COVID. As someone who lives in Nashville, how difficult has it been to see folks on Lower Broadway crowding the bars without masks? I mean, you just immediately think of the health workers who are putting their lives on the line — and oftentimes losing their lives. If they make it out of this, if they see the other side of it, there's going to be a lot of trauma that comes with that; there's going to be things that they witnessed that they will never be able to un-see. And that was the connection that I drew. I did a lot of research on my grandfather in the beginning of quarantine, and it hit me very quickly that we've got a version of that trauma happening right now in our hospitals. God, you hope people would respect it and would understand that going out for a night isn't worth the ripple effect that it causes. But obviously we're seeing that a lot of people don't seem to have their eyes open to that — or if they do, a lot of people don't care, which is upsetting.

You had the Lover Fest East and West scheduled this year. How hard has it been to both not perform for your fans this year, and see the music industry at large go through such a brutal change? It's confusing. It's hard to watch. I think that maybe me wanting to make as much music as possible during this time was a way for me to feel like I could reach out my hand and touch my fans, even if I couldn't physically reach out or take a picture with them. We've had a lot of different, amazing, fun, sort of underground traditions we've built over the years that involve a lot of human interaction, and so I have no idea what's going to happen with touring; none of us do. And that's a scary thing. You can't look to somebody in the music industry who's been around a long time, or an expert touring manager or promoter and [ask] what's going to happen and have them give you an answer. I think we're all just trying to keep our eyes on the horizon and see what it looks like. So we're just kind of sitting tight and trying to take care of whatever creative spark might exist and trying to figure out how to reach our fans in other ways, because we just can't do that right now.

When you are able to perform again, do you have plans on resurfacing a Lover Fest-type event? I don't know what incarnation it'll take and I really would need to sit down and think about it for a good solid couple of months before I figured out the answer. Because whatever we do, I want it to be something that is thoughtful and will make the fans happy and I hope I can achieve that. I'm going to try really hard to.

In addition to recording an album, you spent this year supporting Joe Biden and Kamala Harris in the election. Where were you when it was called in their favor? Well, when the results were coming in, I was actually at the property where we shot the Entertainment Weekly cover. I was hanging out with my photographer friend, Beth, and the wonderful couple that owned the farm where we [were]. And we realized really early into the night that we weren't going to get an accurate picture of the results. Then, a couple of days later, I was on a video shoot, but I was directing, and I was standing there with my face shield and mask on next to my director of photography, Rodrigo Prieto. And I just remember a news alert coming up on my phone that said, "Biden is our next president. He's won the election." And I showed it to Rodrigo and he said, "I'm always going to remember the moment that we learned this." And I looked around, and people's face shields were starting to fog up because a lot of people were really misty-eyed and emotional, and it was not loud. It wasn't popping bottles of champagne. It was this moment of quiet, cautious elation and relief.

Do you ever think about what Folklore would have sounded like if you, Aaron, and Jack had been in the same room? I think about it all the time. I think that a lot of what has happened with the album has to do with us all being in a collective emotional place. Obviously everybody's lives have different complexities and whatnot, but I think most of us were feeling really shaken up and really out of place and confused and in need of something comforting all at the same time. And for me, that thing that was comforting was making music that felt sort of like I was trying to hug my fans through the speakers. That was truly my intent. Just trying to hug them when I can't hug them.

I wanted to talk about some of the lyrics on Folklore. One of my favorite pieces of wordplay is in “August”: that flip of "sipped away like a bottle of wine/slipped away like a moment in time.” Was there an "aha moment" for you while writing that? I was really excited about "August slipped away into a moment of time/August sipped away like a bottle of wine." That was a song where Jack sent me the instrumental and I wrote the song pretty much on the spot; it just was an intuitive thing. And that was actually the first song that I wrote of the "Betty" triangle. So the Betty songs are "August," "Cardigan," and "Betty." "August" was actually the first one, which is strange because it's the song from the other girl's perspective.

Yeah, I assumed you wrote "Cardigan" first. It would be safe to assume that "Cardigan" would be first, but it wasn't. It was very strange how it happened, but it kind of pieced together one song at a time, starting with "August," where I kind of wanted to explore the element of This is from the perspective of a girl who was having her first brush with love. And then all of a sudden she's treated like she's the other girl, because there was another situation that had already been in place, but "August" girl thought she was really falling in love. It kind of explores the idea of the undefined relationship. As humans, we're all encouraged to just be cool and just let it happen, and don't ask what the relationship is — Are we exclusive? But if you are chill about it, especially when you're young, you learn the very hard lesson that if you don't define something, oftentimes they can gaslight you into thinking it was nothing at all, and that it never happened. And how do you mourn the loss of something once it ends, if you're being made to believe that it never happened at all?

On the flip side, "Peace" is bit more defined in terms of how one approaches a relationship. There's this really striking line, "The devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me/Would it be enough if I can never give you peace?" How did that line come to you? I'm really proud of that one too. I heard the track immediately. Aaron sent it to me, and it had this immediate sense of serenity running through it. The first word that popped into my head was peace, but I thought that it would be too on-the-nose to sing about being calm, or to sing about serenity, or to sing about finding peace with someone. Because you have this very conflicted, very dramatic conflict-written lyric paired with this very, very calming sound of the instrumental. But, "The devil's in the details," is one of those phrases that I've written down over the years. That's a common phrase that is used in the English language every day. And I just thought it sounded really cool because of the D, D sound. And I thought, "I'll hang onto those in a list, and then, I'll finally find the right place for them in a story." I think that's how a lot of people feel where it's like, "Yeah, the devil's in the details. Everybody's complex when you look under the hood of the car." But basically saying, "I'm there for you if you want that, if this complexity is what you want."

There's another clever turn of phrase on "This is Me Trying." "I didn't know if you'd care if I came back/I have a lot of regrets about that." That feels like a nod toward your fans, and some of the feelings you had about retreating from the public sphere. Absolutely. I think I was writing from three different characters' perspectives, one who's going through that; I was channeling the emotions I was feeling in 2016, 2017, where I just felt like I was worth absolutely nothing. And then, the second verse is about dealing with addiction and issues with struggling every day. And every second of the day, you're trying not to fall into old patterns, and nobody around you can see that, and no one gives you credit for it. And then, the third verse, I was thinking, what would the National do? What lyric would Matt Berninger write? What chords would the National play? And it's funny because I've since played this song for Aaron, and he's like, "That's not what we would've done at all." He's like, "I love that song, but that's totally different than what we would've done with it."

When we last spoke, in April 2019, we were talking about albums we were listening to at the time and you professed your love for the National and I Am Easy to Find. Two months later, you met up with Aaron at their concert, and now, we're here talking about the National again. Yeah, I was at the show where they were playing through I Am Easy to Find. What I loved about [that album] was they had female vocalists singing from female perspectives, and that triggered and fired something in me where I thought, "I've got to play with different perspectives because that is so intriguing when you hear a female perspective come in from a band where you're used to only hearing a male perspective." It just sparked something in me. And obviously, you mentioning the National is the reason why Folklore came to be. So, thank you for that, Alex.

I'm here for all of your songwriting muse needs in the future. I can't wait to see what comes out of this interview.

*** For more on our Entertainers of the Year and Best & Worst of 2020, order the January issue of Entertainment Weekly or find it on newsstands beginning Dec. 18. (You can also pick up the full set of six covers here.) Don’t forget to subscribe for more exclusive interviews and photos, only in EW.

[songsformonkeys]

A Tiny Piece of the World Called Home - (Ezra x reader) chapter 2

pairing: Ezra x reader

summary: "Just like the first of the Terras, Icarus had precisely one moon. It was a desolate and barren place, gray rocks and dust as far as the eye could see. It was cold and unwelcoming and you felt a certain kinship to it. It wasn't a hostile place but it gave you nothing for free. For as long as you could remember, you had wanted to go there."

Reader and Ezra end up as partners on a mining job and are forced to live together in close proximity on a small moon base.

rating: explicit

warnings: smut

notes: trying to post all my ao3 stories to tumblr as well so this isn’t a new story and some of you might have already read it. Chapter 1 is here

Chapter 2

While Ezra had been watching you from the very start, it was only now that you had started to actually watch him back. And the more you watched, the more details you discovered about your roommate and work partner. For example, he walked around barefoot in the base a disconcerting amount of time, he was ambidextrous, liked to take long showers, that sometimes left you without any hot water but with a strong urge to strangle him, and he snored when he slept on his stomach. That last bit you knew partly because Ezra liked to take a nap after lunch and partly because the small base offered very little in the way of privacy. You shared every living space and the only way to get away from each other was to hide in the bathroom. In the beginning, Ezra must have thought you suffered from terrible gastrointestinal problems considering how much time you'd spent in there.

Ezra had definitely noticed you watching, you had been able to tell by the way his mouth always curved into a smug smile when he caught your eyes lingering, but he hadn't said anything about it and so neither had you. Instead, the two of you danced around each other while Ezra kept up his usual out loud stream of consciousness.

“Do you enjoy art? I went to a museum once. Sculptures, paintings, VRs, soundscapes, and what have you. They had everything! Of course, I'd never been before so I had no idea. Anyway, I had just landed after a job and was looking for a way to spend my well-earned freedom. So I went. And let me tell you, Birdie, I came out of that establishment a changed man. Now, you know I'm a man of emotion, I ain't ashamed to admit that, but I wept like a small child in there. Did you ever get so moved by something that it consumes your whole being? It's part of the reason why I travel. I have the privilege of seeing the most wondrous of places. The majority of them try their very damned hardest to kill me but you have got to admit that there's a certain poetic beauty in that too. Something so beautiful doing their very best to keep people from seeing it...”

You had been tinkering with the temperature-settings on the water-boiler and had only half paid attention to what Ezra was saying. Something about arts and planets and wanting to kill him. You looked up when he went quiet. That was usually your cue to say something or hum or nod before he would continue but this time Ezra was watching you intently with the faintest of smiles on his lips. The scrutiny made you a little nervous and you wished you had listened more closely.

“...yes?” you guessed, hoping that it would be an appropriate response to what he'd just said. Ezra's smile widened and clearly seizing the opportunity of having your attention, he went on.

“Where's your favorite place in the world, Birdie?”

“Here,” you stated simply and returned your focus to the water boiler. Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw Ezra turn and look out through the window of your small base. He wouldn't get it. No one else had.

“It is quite a marvelous place to behold, isn't it? The planes and the ridges over on that horizon. Never the same, no matter where you turn your eye to. And I know you prefer the sunsets and they are grand indeed but for me, it's the sunrises that does it. Those first rays of sunlight make the whole planet look like it's covered in silver. Takes my breath away every morning.”

You had stopped again to just look at Ezra as he described the planet he was watching outside the window. There was a fondness to his face when he spoke and it tugged on your heartstrings like it was part of you that he was complimenting. As the light from outside hit his face you found yourself thinking that Ezra was quite a wondrous sight to behold too. Rough and rugged, sure, but there was a certain beauty to him. In profile, the curve of his nose and the uneven spikes of his hair reminded you of those very same ridges he'd mentioned just a moment ago. Sharp and jagged. And yet other parts of him seemed way too soft, in comparison. His eyes which, once he'd gotten over the initial apprehension of you, held a sort of kindness that you had not often seen. The scars on his back and torso, that almost glowed like white lines when he undressed in the evening, and told a story of a vulnerability that his usual larger-than-life persona did its best to cover up.

Ezra caught you looking at him and you quickly looked away.

If you happened to wake up an hour earlier the next morning, it was pure coincidence. And when Ezra handed you a cup of coffee and opened his mouth to, no doubt, claim otherwise you glared at him so hard that he raised his hands in surrender before closing his mouth again and pouring himself some coffee.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Mining Ander was hard work. Much harder than what most people assumed. They only saw the finished product and figured that the delicate ore must be mined in an equally delicate manner. What they always failed to take into consideration was the several feet of stone and rock that you had to drill through to even get close to the Ander.

The big mechanic drill helped but it was still a grueling work, and you loved it. You loved feeling the strain in your muscles and the way they ached after a long day of work. The smell of sweat in an air-tight suit was something you definitely could have done without, although it did make the fresh air back at the base seem all the sweeter.

Ezra was a hard worker too, which was something you appreciated about him. He never shied away from the strenuous work, despite his occasional verbal complaints about the working conditions, and a couple of hours into the workday his grunts over the comms became a familiar background noise.

You took turns manning the drill while the other person carried the discarded bits of rock away from the hole in the ground and over to the pile which had been growing steadily larger over the duration of your shift.

Most days you paused for lunch but there were days when neither of you wanted to pause what you were doing and you ended up working way too late. Those were the very few days when Ezra stayed mostly silent before it was time for bed. In the beginning, you had cherished those moments like nobody's business but as time went on you found yourself almost missing his steady stream of words and comments.

This particular day was shaping up to be one of those days. Lunch was supposed to have happened some time ago but just as you had been about to call for a break, Ezra had cheered and declared that he'd discovered something purple and gleaming. So instead of stopping, you doubled your efforts the get the ore out.

The eagerness to get to the Ander as quickly as possible might have been what did it. Ezra pushed the drill a little too hard into the ground and suddenly there was a loud snap and you started.

It felt like someone had cracked a whip against your lower leg and you yelped. The pain was followed almost immediately by a whooshing sound and you met Ezra's widening eyes before both of you looked down at the tear in your suit, where oxygen was rapidly leaking out.

“Fuck!” you cursed loudly and quickly crouched to press your hands against the hole on the fabric. Ezra hurriedly jumped down from the driver's seat of the drill and ran over to you.

“We need to get you inside,” he stated, unnecessarily, and you had half a mind to make a rude remark about him stating the obvious. But you held your tongue. Maybe the quick decrease in oxygen was making you soft.

Keeping both of your hands wrapped around your calf, to keep the pressure on the wound and the integrity of your suit, made it impossible to walk. Ezra realized this too and wasted no time picking you up and carrying you. You felt grateful for the decreased gravity since it allowed him to sprint back to the airlock in no time, despite carrying a fully grown person in his arms. Your helmets bumped together in an uneven rhythm as he ran. You listened to his sharp breaths as he ran. They were faster than usual and you didn't think it was from the effort of carrying you. He was worried, you realized and you felt a bit touched that he cared this much. It was a bit excessive, of course. This wasn't the first injury you'd suffered during your shifts on the moon. There was plenty enough oxygen in the suit to get you back to the base and plenty enough blood in your body so that even if he'd sliced your whole leg of you were pretty sure you would have been fine. And since you very much felt your leg still being attached, there wasn't really any cause for alarm. You told Ezra as much but he didn't slow down and you could tell that he didn't quite trust your abilities to medically assess yourself.

“Let me remind you that it took you almost a full day to confess that you'd cut yourself on the kitchen knife when we first got here,” Ezra reminded you, and fine, that was a somewhat fair point but you hadn't known him back then and in your defense, you probably would have been fine even if he hadn't discovered the cut and forced you to let him redress it. You said nothing more. If he wanted to run himself tired for no reason then he was, by all means, welcome to do so.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Once inside, he set you down and instructed you to strip. For once in your life, you did what you were told without arguing and as Ezra rummaged around in one of the cupboards for a medkit, you shrugged out of your spacesuit. Your lower leg and foot felt wet and as you pulled it out of the leg of the suit you winced with pain. There was more blood than you had anticipated and you suddenly felt a little light-headed. You weren't afraid of blood but you weren't exposed to bloody injuries all that often either and you preferred your own body parts without them.

You wiggled out of your pants as well and flopped down on a chair. Ezra had struck gold with his search and returned to your side a second later. You gripped his shoulder as he knelt in front of you. A warning for him not to set his knee down in the small puddle of blood that had formed on the floor in front of you. Ezra not only missed the warning but also interpreted your gesture in a completely different manner.

“Don't you worry, Little Bird,” he assured you, as if you were the one who needed comforting, “We'll have you patched up and in tip-top condition again in no time.” He began wiping the skin around the wound clean. You winced a little in anticipation of the pain that never really came. Ezra's hands were surprisingly gentle as he cleaned away the blood. Ezra always surprised you with that. For some reason you always expected him to be rough, but he never was. Whether he was preparing food, reading one your books that he'd stolen or helping you into your suit every morning, he always did everything with a gentleness like he was handling something precious.

His brow was furrowed as he worked, though more from concentration than from worry, you noted and was pleased that he seemed to have reached the same conclusion that you had on the way to the base; that there was no immediate danger to your life. Once he'd cleaned the blood away it turned out that the cut wasn't very deep at all. It was about three inches long but shallow enough that Ezra could simply tape it shut before sealing it with a big anti-bacterial bandaid. He wiped your blood from his hands as best he could and let out a slow breath.

“You gave me quite a fright there, Little Bird,” he confessed and looked up from where he was still sitting at your feet. One of his arms was resting against your bare leg.

“I told you I would be fine,” you reminded him.

“Well, you down-play things and therefore are not to be trusted on matters like this.”

“I do not!” you protested. Ezra cleared his throat and held up his index finger to begin counting.

“It's just a short walk from here, Ezra. Took us three hours. I just nicked my finger. I cleaned that wound too and I'm fairly certain I saw bone. The coffee is a little bit hot. I couldn't taste anything for two days afterwards. I'm not that cold. Your lips matched the Ander... do you wish for me to continue? Because I've got more examples if you need 'em, Birdie”

You were watching Ezra with indignation and coughed out a laugh. You could hardly be held responsible for him taking every comment you made quite so literally.

“Says the man who exaggerates just about everything,” you countered

Ezra raised his eyebrows in confusion, as if this was the most preposterous accusation he'd ever heard. You were pretty sure he was faking it but you still took the bite.

“You beg me to shoot you every afternoon when I wake you up from your nap. You almost cry every time we strike Ander and how many times have you had the finest meal of your life since you got here?”

Ezra shook his head but you could see the small smile he was trying to hide.

“I am an appreciative man, Birdie. What can I say...” he said with a shrug and yes, he was definitely trying to rile you up.

“Well, appreciate this,” you said and jokingly flipped him off.

“I would appreciate every last part of you if you weren't so damn stubborn.”

You opened your mouth to toss another semi-insult back at him before the words fully registered, making you blink and stutter out a “W-what?” instead.

“I believe you heard me perfectly well,” Ezra answered, holding his ground. You felt your cheeks flush from the boldness of his comment. Even if he didn't realize how unprofessional that joke was, you certainly did and you were at a loss for words. Your usually so sharp tongue had, for once and with the worst timing, failed you. Every witty retort you began to come up with were instantly interrupted by mental images of Ezra making good on the comment he'd made. So what if you had entertained the thought previously? You and he were two people stuck in a small space which allowed little or no room for any sort of release in that department. The mind was bound to go a little crazy after a while. It had happened with previous work partners too. And it was understood by everyone that it wasn't anything to act or even comment upon. Understood by everyone except Ezra that was.

“You have been watching me. There are many things about you which are subtle, but that has not been one of them,” he said. There was something curious in his eyes as he watched you. He was searching your face for any indication whether he was reading the situation right or not. You weren't sure at all what expression you face did show but you were quite certain it wasn't disgust or revulsion, partly because those weren't the emotions you were actually feeling right now but more importantly because you were 100% certain that Ezra would have backed off if he'd detected any aversion on your part. And Ezra remained firmly where he was, on his knees in front of you, looking up at your face with a look on his face that you vaguely recognized.

You had gotten quite good at reading Ezra during your time on the base. This look was something you'd only seen in fleeting glances when he thought you weren't looking and when you both undressed for bed in the evenings. It was a look you hadn't quite been able to read. But now he was looking you dead in the eye and it was clear as day; Ezra wanted you. The realization made heat pool low in your stomach and if truth were to be told, you wanted Ezra too. Had for a while, now that you allowed yourself to admit it.

“I have,” you admitted and Ezra let out a breath you hadn't noticed he was holding.

“And did all that watching reward you with any new insights, Little Bird?” he asked, sitting up a little straighter and placing his other hand on your thigh. Your skin felt like it was buzzing where his hand was resting. His thumb began rubbing small circles against the skin of the inside of your thigh, just above the knee. It felt wonderful but was nowhere near enough and if Ezra was gonna give another monologue right now, you were pretty sure you wouldn't be able to handle it.

“For Kevva's sake, Ezra, can we save this conversation for later and just... do something!” You weren't necessarily proud of the shrill note of desperation to your voice but a dangerous smile spread across Ezra's face and his grip on you tightened. In a torturously slow movement, he pushed your legs further apart and you had to grip the edge of your seat hard to keep yourself from yanking him forward. He moved closer, hands running up the outside of your thighs, and he leaned down to place a kiss halfway up your thigh. Then another one, slightly higher. Then, because he was Ezra and of course he just couldn't help himself, he stopped and looked up at you.

“I must confess that thoughts of this have crossed my mind more than once,” he said, voice rough like sandpaper and utterly delicious. But there were so many better things for that mouth to be doing right now, other than talking.

“Ezra, please,” you groaned, more out of frustration than arousal, but from the smile Ezra gave you he definitely interpreted it as the latter. You didn't care because it had the intended effect regardless and a moment later Ezra's mouth was back on your skin, kissing its way higher and higher up on your thigh.

When his lips finally brushed, feather-light, over the fabric of your underwear it almost had you shooting off your chair. Luckily Ezra had anticipated this and his hands were now firmly placed on your hips, holding you in place. Your first instinct had been to close your legs, the jolt of sensation almost being too much, but Ezra's broad shoulders made that impossible and as he pressed his lips against the fabric a second time at was all you could do to hold back the needy whimpers that threatened to spill out with every breath. Ezra glanced up at you and you could feel the bastard smiling against you.

He pulled back and you were ready to make loud complaints about this lousy decision before you realized that he'd only pulled back in order to get you out of your underwear. You let him slide the piece of clothing down your legs then yelped a little in surprise as he promptly lifted both your legs and hooked them over his shoulders. Any comments on the manhandling died in your throat a moment later when his mouth found its way back to the prize and he licked a broad stripe across your folds. It had been quite some time since anyone had touched you in this way. Maybe that was it, or maybe it was just that Ezra really knew what he was doing, but as his mouth continued to explore, alternating between licking and kissing and sucking, your entire body felt like it was shaking. Your knuckles were white from how hard you were gripping the chair and your breaths escaped you in ragged huffs of air, mingled with the occasional whimpers that you had given up on holding back. The vocal feedback only seemed to encourage Ezra and he doubled his efforts.

It was too much and not enough at the same time. You felt like you would slap him if he stopped but, at the same time, you weren't sure you could handle this much longer. All your higher brain functioning had gone out the window and flown off into space. Your whole world had narrowed down to the sensations of your body and, even more specifically, the place between your legs where Ezra's clever tongue had all your nerve-endings going off like fireworks. And Ezra showed no signs of stopping until he'd made you come apart completely. Something which was rapidly approaching.

You tried warning him, managed to grip his forearm and push a little while stuttering out his name, but he only held you tighter and flicked his tongue over your clit in a way that turned the last vowel of his name into a cry of pleasure as you came. Ezra continued his ministrations and his tongue carried you through the pulsating waves of your orgasm.

When he finally pulled back and met your gaze, you were speechless. Ezra, true to form, was the first to comment.

“You truly are a vision like this, Birdie,” he said with awe in his voice and you gave him a weak laugh. Vision, you suspected, was hardly the most fitting description for you right now. Mess, more likely. You could feel how flushed your cheeks were and your lips must be bitten raw by this point. But Ezra was watching you with a mix of lust and wonder and as his gaze wandered lower he looked like he was ready for another round. You suspected that you might actually die this time if he did.

So, on legs that felt like jelly, you slid off the chair and onto his lap. The taped wound on your calf smarted but Ezra caught you before your knees slammed against the floor. His breath hitched in his throat as your weight pressed against the hardness in his pants and his hips bucked slightly, seemingly out of their own accord.

You wrapped your arms around Ezra's neck and pulled him in for a kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue and lips and you greedily licked into his mouth, wanting to taste more, taste him. Rolling your hips against him earned you another stuttered breath and a moan from Ezra. He mumbled something against your lips and you had every intention of ignoring it in favor of continued kissing but Ezra pulled back and broke the kiss. You made a noise of complaint, which made him laugh.

“Sincerest apologies, Little Bird, but if I am to make good on my promise to appreciate every part of you we are going to have to pace ourselves, just a fraction...”

You were about to protest. To hell with pacing yourselves when you had Ezra's mouth only inches from yours! Perhaps sensing your usual stubbornness and unwillingness to cooperate returning, Ezra played dirty and reached down to press the tip of his finger gently against your opening.

“Fuck...” you shuddered, unsure if the next word was gonna be you, me or just fuck in general.

“That is what I am arguing for here, beautiful. But you and I are both still way too dressed for what I'm hoping comes next and, for the sake of your knees and my back, perhaps we could relocate ourselves to the relative comfort of my bed?”

As much as it pained you to admit, Ezra did have a point and, in a move that required more energy and coordination that it usually did, you climbed off him and stood up. Ezra got to his feet as well. He took your hand and kissed each of your fingers softly in a way that somehow felt more intimate than the place he'd been kissing a minute or two ago.

“Allow me to take you to bed?” he asked, even though you were under the impression that this had already been established as the next destination. You nodded impatiently and pushed him slowly backwards towards the bedroom.

“Take me to the bed or the kitchen table or back to the floor, Ezra. I don't care, I just... I just need you.”

Ezra's eyes darkened with lust and a moment later he was the one dragging you towards the beds. The two of you stopped just before you crashed onto Ezra's bunk, realizing that undressing might be a slightly easier endeavor before you were both tangled up on the small bed.

Ezra was quicker getting to your clothes than you were at getting to his and he pulled your shirt and then your sports bra over your head and tossed it to the side. You were fully naked now, while he was still fully dressed, if a little disheveled-looking. The contrast made you feel all the more undressed. Ezra watched you, with that same appreciation as before.

“I have imagined this. What you would look like... so gorgeous. Even in that spacesuit, you managed to drive me up the walls crazy. Can barely keep my hands off you,” he mumbled.

“So how about you don't,” you suggested. You were more than ready for this, it was just Ezra that needed to get with the program. He didn't need to compliment and woo you. He just needed to touch you.

You reached for his shirt, made quick work of getting rid of it before you made equally quick work of his pants and underwear. Now you were both naked and you took a moment to appreciate the newly revealed areas of skin. Ezra twitched as if it had been your hands and not your eyes which were caressing his body. You took a step closer.

“I want you to fuck me, Ezra,” you stated, perhaps a tad too matter-of-factly but Ezra made a noise that could only be described as a growl and crashed your mouths together again. Without the layers of clothes between you, your hands were free to roam and you tried touching every bit of skin that you could reach, slowly circling lower and lower, towards where you knew he wanted your touch the most. Ezra was giving as good as he was getting and when it was his impatience's turn to take hold, he grabbed your ass and pulled you fully against himself with a moan. You pushed him back and finally onto the bed. He laid down and watched, with almost pitch-black eyes, as you crawled on top of him and straddled his thighs.

He began talking again, nothing coherent this time, and you leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips, effectively silencing him. Ezra seized the opportunity to grab your hips and pull you a little higher. You both moaned into each other's mouths as your folds dragged along his length.

“In me,” you whispered and Ezra reached down to position himself against your opening. In the slowest pace you could bring yourself to, you began lowering yourself onto him. Ezra's eyes looked like they were about to roll back in their sockets and he said your name, followed by a whole string of curses, some of which you had never heard before.

You stilled for a moment once he was fully inside you, letting yourself adjust slightly to the sensation, then you rose up to let him slide almost all the way out before lowering yourself again. The pace was much slower than what either of you wanted but if he was feeling anywhere near as needy for more as you did, then it would be worth it.

It seemed that he was because the very next thing out of Ezra's mouth was a begging plea.

“Please, Birdie,” he said and he sounded wrecked. You took pity on him, both for his sake and for your own. You couldn't handle this slow pace for a second longer either. Speeding up, you heard the relief in Ezra's breathing and he placed his hands on your hips again to help guide you into a quicker pace.

The sensation wasn't quite as overwhelming when you were the one in control but you could still feel your pleasure building every time Ezra slid back into you. His moans were becoming more and more ragged and you weren't sure how much longer he was gonna last. Just as you were about to ask, he wrapped his arms around your torso and pulled you down for a kiss. The move gave him a little more leverage to move his hips and you gasped as he snapped his hips up, making him hit a whole new spot inside you. He did it again. And again. And you had to take back the thought you'd just had about the sensation not being overwhelming. You met his thrusts as best you could, your rhythm becoming more and more sloppy the closer the two of you got to climax.

In the end, you cracked first. Pushed over the edge by the surprise of Ezra latching onto the skin of your neck and sucking, hard enough to leave a mark. As your second orgasm rushed through you, you felt Ezra follow and he moaned loudly as he came, still inside you. He continued thrusting a few more times before he slowed down to a stop.

The stillness that followed, as you had untangled slightly before pulling each other close again, was interrupted only by your panting breaths...and of course...

“If I were to die now, I'd die a happy and content man,” Ezra mumbled, his hand drawing patterns against your back.

“Dying now would be a breach of contract,” you informed him, with a small smile, “We still have a fifth of our rotation left before we're heading back for Icarus.”

“Only a fifth?” Ezra asked and you watched his brow furrow as he did the math.

“'fraid so.”

Ezra turned and gave you a devilish grin

“Then I propose we attempt to make the very most of that fifth, or what do say, Birdie?”

As his hand trailed lower, you couldn't help but nod.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @yespolkadotkitty​ @agirllovespancakes​ @beccaplaying @pedropascalito​ @ohpedromypedro​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​ @knittingqueen13​ @pedropascallion​ @scarlettvonsass @heatherbel​ @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​ @larakasser​ @fromthedeskoftheraven​ @seawhisperer​ @mourningbirds1​ @alwaysbethewest​ @thegreenkid​ @pajamasecrets

[sweetiepie08]

Rebel Z (Chapter 10 Final)

nvader Zim fanfic

While analyzing Zim’s PAK for weaknesses, Tak discovers strange coding that sends her on a search for answers. The clues lead her to uncover a conspiracy that governs all of Irken society. When the truth sends her on the run, she has no choice but to return to the one place the Tallest would never willingly go: Urth.

Meanwhile, Dib has noticed odd changes in Zim’s behavior. Has the invader simply grown bored of his mission over the last few years, or is there something more interesting going on?

People who asked to be tagged: @incorrect-invader-zim , @messinwitheddie, @reblogstupids, @cate-r-gunn

If anyone else would like to be added to the tag list please let me know.

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9. Chapter 10. 

Thank you for reading! I do plan to continue the story in a sequel fic, but I may take a short hiatus first. I hope you enjoyed this!

Be on the lookout for the next book in the series, RevolutionZ! In which Zim and Tak attempt to join the Resisty and gain new companions! Dib fills his gap year by joining an alien rebellion! Gaz gets dragged in too! And what happened to Zim in Death Melee is explained! 

However, I will most likely only be posting links to Ao3 than full chapters to Tumblr. Again, Thank you everyone for reading!

[-]

“So, what exactly the fuck was all that stuff with the punch about?” Dib asked once they were a comfortable distance away form the Massive.

Zim glared straight ahead at the stars. “It’s nothing that concerns you, human.”

“Bullshit!” Dib slammed his hand down on the control panel. “Your little stunt could have gotten us killed. Out with it!”

Zim gritted his teeth and gripped the steering mechanism until his knuckles quaked. Dib braced himself for the inevitable screaming denial. Instead, Zim let out a pained sigh. “Fine, if you must know, I figured out three Urth years ago that my mission was a sham and my leaders were trying to have me killed, so I took revenge. Happy?”

“We know all that,” Tak snapped. “And anyway, I told you your mission was a lie a long time ago. What I want to know is how you managed to betray the Tallest without your treasonous thoughts setting of your life clock.”

“Yeah, and who’s Spek?” Dib added.

“You wish to hear Zim’s tale of woe?” He clenched his fist and heaved out another sigh. “Fine. Three Urth years ago, the Tallest contacted me, telling me they selected me to participate in Death Melee, an inter-galactic event that all would be watching.”

“The one where they throw criminals on a planet together to fight to the death?” Tak deadpanned. “That was your first clue?”

“They told me the rules had changed and it was now a contest of elite warriors. For my partner, they gave me a Spek, a smeet just shy of his cadet years. He hadn’t even seen his first cycle yet…” Zim’s fists shook as he cut himself off.

“Since you’re still alive, I’m assuming you won,” Dib said.

“Yes, but…” his gaze fell to the floor. “Yes. Anyway, throughout the Melee, it became clear to me that the Tallest lied. This was still a game for criminals, but Spek…” Zim narrowed his haunted eyes, “he was only there to lessen my chances.”

Dib watched, mesmerized. He thought he’d seen the many moods of Zim. He’d seen everything from proud boasting, to spiteful rage, to pathetic schmooping. But this, this was something else entirely, something he never expected to see from the alien. True remorse.  

“On my journey back to Urth,” he continued, “I had too much time to think and when made it back to m base, I was done with all of it.” Rage grew in his voice with every word. “I knew they lied. I knew they’d been lying. For a moment, I thought, if they didn’t want my genius, maybe someone else would. And that thought was enough to set off my life clock. Instead of simply ripping out my feedback chip, I infected it with a virus that sends the Control Brains a loop of my Urth memories, preventing it from receiving new thoughts and experiences.” A bitter, satisfied smile came to his face. “As far as I can tell, it hadn’t noticed anything was off until now.”

“And the machines I saw you building?” Dib pressed.

Zim drew himself up. “I have a contract with the Resisity. I build them machines, they appreciate my genius and send me monies.”

“And that’s what you’ve been doing for three years?” Dib asked, voice sripping with skepticism.

Zim nodded and said nothing more.

Dib stared at him, trying to get a read on this whole tale. He wasn’t sure what to believe. Zim’s reason for existence seamed to be pleasing his Tallest. The little green monster talked of nothing else since arriving on Urth. He couldn’t imagine Zim wanting anything else and he’d fallen for the schmoopy act before. But this was not schmoop. It was too subtle, too quiet. And that betrayal of his Tallest couldn’t be denied. Something had truly changed.

Dib looked to Tak to gauge her opinion, but her face revealed nothing except careful calculation.

“I’d heard the Resisty had been growing and gaining power,” she mused. “New technology granted them upsetting victories and made them more of a problem than they once were. They could be the key. We need to fight if we ever want a chance of defeating the Control Brains and freeing our people, and for that, we’ll need an army. With your connection and my information, we could pose a real threat to the Empire.”

Dib expected Zim to launch into another tirade about how he wasn’t in it for the politics. That this was all a personal mission and he had no interest in going rogue. That did not happen.

Instead, Zim said nothing for a long time. He simply stared through the windshield in tense silence. But then, a grin grew slowly on his face. “I’m in.”

[-]

When they made it back to Earth, they found that Gaz made use of MiMi and Mini Mouse as gaming companions, Dad bought her excuse that Dib was hanging out at Zim’s house, and that he hadn’t even stopped home long enough to notice the two additional robots in the living room.

Dib went straight to his room and laid out all of his recording devices. He had the notes he took the night Zim and Tak rambled drunkenly on the couch. He had the audio recording of the old man Irken that he couldn’t wait to translate. And he had the spy camera he’d been wearing to capture the whole experience. He never got so much undeniable proof on one mission before, and no one, to his knowledge, had this much evidence of this quality ever. He’d be king of the Swollen Eyeball network if he showed even a fraction of…

His eyes drifted to the Swollen Eyeball emblem pinned to his bulletin board and he let out a sigh. The Swollen Eyeball… what a joke. They’d been reduced to a bunch of anti-science conspiracy nuts. The organization became a competition to see who could shout their wildest theory the loudest. What were they compared to a real evil alien empire, a real soul-sucking, Lovecraftian horror, and a real space alien rebellion?

No. This was bigger than some crack-pot conspiracy group. This rebellion universe-shattering consequences. And he was going to be part of it.

[-]

Out in his ship, Zim stared at his PAK connector with warry eyes. He wasn’t sure what held him back now. His stunt on the Massive already solidified his traitor status, but this felt different, more official. It was one thing to enact vengeance on those who betrayed him. It was quite another to completely detach himself from society.

He’d been unwaveringly loyal to the Empire since his conception, but they didn’t want him. He’d seen that years ago. So what was he waiting for?

He disconnected the PAK from his back and ignored the lifeclock in the corner of his eye as he plugged it in. He opened the hatch, clicked a pair of tweezers in his fingers, then reached them toward his feedback chip.

At a light tug, his computer’s voice gave an automated warning.

You are attempting to remove the feedback chip. Doing so is an act of treason against the Irken Empire. Are you sure you want to proceed?

Zim closed his eyes and pulled the chip free.

[-]

Tak’s footsteps echoed as she walked across the concrete garage floor. MiMi’s metallic feet clacked beside her. Apart from that, the room was silent. She was used to silence. One grows accustomed to it when traveling alone through space. But these last few days had been anything but. And with Zim as her dubious ally, silent moments like this were certain to be few and far between.

And yet, this moment, she felt the need to fill it with something.

She popped open the windshield of her ship and hopped inside. “MiMi, my disc please.” Mimi reached into her head and took out the Urth data storage disc. Zim wasn’t the only one with a secret stash.

Tak took the disc from Mimi and placed it in a tray on the ship’s control panel. “Ship, track six please.” As she hopped out, music began to play. Smooth, jazzy horns filled the air and the singer began crooning.

Maybe this time, I’ll be lucky. Maybe this time he’ll stay…

The song was from an Urth performance art piece. The vocalist sang about some male mate. That part didn’t interest Tak in the slightest. Still, there was something about it...

Not a loser anymore, like the last time and the time before…

The song continued to play as Tak opened the engine access panel and began her work. While manipulating the many gears and wires, she found a few interesting repair methods that the human implemented over the years. Many employed the use of an Urth bonding strip called “duct tape”, which she had to admit came in handy. The human didn’t do a bad job, even if it was pretty slap-dash.

All the odds are in my favor, something’s bound to begin…

She finally untangled a mess of wires and reconnected them.

It’s gotta happen, happen sometime…

She fused together the final wire and the ship hummed to life. Fuel Regulation Systems online.

Tak smiled, “Okay Mimi, looks like we’re finally getting somewhere.” She ducked back into the access panel as the song his its crescendo.

Maybe this time I’ll win.

[noramelll]

The Fault (And the Favour)

This is a fan story for @chronicintrovert​  ‘s book called Solitaire! I’ve read it so many times and practically studied this book while writing this. Anyway I thought it would be really interesting if there was a nick and charlie POV for the last few chapters of solitaire because i always LOVED to entertain that thought but after talking it over with a couple other heartstopper fans i just had to put that shit on paper. anyway, this will have MAJOR spoilers for Solitaire, also a trigger warning here for Suicide and eating disorder mentions! Stay safe and i hope you enjoy :)))

NICK 

It’s quarter past six in the morning when I get a phone call. The ringtone is loud, piercing through the peaceful silence of my room, and I’m jolted awake by the sound. 

When I pick up my phone and realise it’s charlie calling me, I get a flush of relief and anxiety in my chest at once. For one, it isn’t Tori who’s calling me. The last time she called me was when Charlie was sent into the mental hospital. Something about Tori’s anxious tone always gave me an unpleasant shiver down my spine. So when it isn’t Tori who’s calling, my shoulders relax and I release a breath of air.

But then again, Charlie’s calling me at 6 am. That either means something’s on his mind and he hasn’t got any sleep, or he woke up ridiculously early for some bizarre reason.

I answer his call. “Charlie? It’s 6:15, what-”

“Nick.”

It’s Charlie. That’s his voice, that’s him. But it’s the ‘him’  I’m way too familiar with. Panicked, distressed, on the verge of tears. I’ve seen this side of him too much for my liking: while he recovered from his eating disorder, while we ate dinner together, while he told me about the things he thinks about.

 I’m here for him. I always will be.

But god does it scare the shit out of me whenever he speaks with a tremor in his voice like that. 

“Char? Char, what’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer. On the other end, I can already picture what he’s doing- putting a hand up to his face, rubbing his eyes aggressively, biting his fingernails anxiously, his eyebrows crinkled as he tries to figure out what to say.

But this time he knows. I can tell he knows what he wants to say. It’s on the tip of his tongue.

“Charlie, seriously, what’s going on?”

“It’s Tori.”

A chill goes down my spine. Not only do I notice the pure fear in his voice, but I pick up the sound of rustling in the background and doors opening and closing. “It’s Tori, Nick. She- She took off an hour ago, Becky just called me.”

“What?” I sit up in my bed, my feet are dangling over the edge and I’m prepared to pull on my shoes as soon as possible. “Where is she going?”

“To-To school.” His voice is shaking tremendously now. I can almost feel his hands trembling as his footsteps echo through my phone.

“To school… why is she going to school, the bloody sun hasn’t even come up yet-”

Charlie’s voice becomes more frantic, he’s panicking harder and the desperation in his voice makes it hard to listen to him. “Nick, she’s going to school because of Solitaire. Their- Their final operation is today. She’s going to try and stop it.”

It’s like something clicks in my head. Tori, Charlie’s sarcastic, monotone older sister, who once couldn’t care about anything other than her brother, Tumblr and watching movies, was slowly being driven mad by solitaire and their ‘operations’. The solitaire meetup party. The happenings at The Clay music festival that was hacked by solitaire. Then at Dinner on Monday, it was as if she had completely changed. Talking in sentences that made us extremely concerned. “Solitaire is going on, yet no one cares.” “It’s all fake. Everyone is faking. Why does no one care about anything?”

Holy shit. 

“Is she fucking insane? What the hell is she trying to do, get herself killed?”

“I don’t know, Nick, she’s alone and she’s going to do something bad and I can’t sit here and fucking wait until I’ve found out that my sister is dead, I-I have to do something, fuck-”

My shoes are already slipped onto my feet and I’ve grabbed my keys. “I’ll be there in 5 minutes.”

CHARLIE

I’m on the front porch before Nick lets me know that he’s coming soon. I didn’t change out of my Pj’s and it doesn’t matter. My sister ran off to try and stop this insanity of a ‘prank’- if it can even be called that-  and seeing how their last operation left, it’ll be lucky if she makes it out of there in one piece.

It’s my fucking fault. I’m sure of it this time. I do this a lot: pinpoint the blame on me, feel guilty, cry. It’s a routine that I try to get out of, but right now that doesn’t matter either because I’m completely sure that if I hadn't said something or listened to Tori she wouldn’t be off in the dark trying to stop a bunch of lunatics trying to accomplish god knows what.

I remember one night, when Tori was visiting me in hospital, she mentioned to me about how she noticed that I had gotten worse over time and that she didn’t say anything because she thought she was just imagining it. So she stayed out of my way. She admitted that she’ll always regret that.

That’s how I feel now, and it’s horrible and I feel fucking helpless and just as soon as I get that twisting feeling in my stomach I see Nick’s car pull up to the curb and before I realise it I’m already in his car, and my arms are around his shoulders and I’m trying to breathe but it’s so hard and I can’t do anything-

“Char, breathe. Deep breaths. Look at me.”

Nick’s hand is on my cheek but I don’t even feel it because I’m trying to remember why I’m so fucking anxious in the first place, I forget where I am and I forget who I am. I can’t feel my hands.

It’s my fault. It’s my fucking fault.

“Charlie, I’m right here, look at me.” He’s tilting my head up, and nick is looking at me. He’s filled with so much concern, but this calm tone helps me think again. I’m breathing. Nick’s hand is wet. I think I’ve been crying.

“Hey, you’re alright. It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay-”

“But Tori- fucking hell, she’s going after them, and it’s all my fault-”

“Hey, hey, don’t say that. None of this was your fault.” Nick has taken my other hand from his shoulders and into his, squeezing hard. The feeling in my hand returns. “Don’t blame yourself, okay?”

I try to believe him. I’m really trying, and for a while I do, and I buckle into my seat, his hand not leaving mine. He strokes my hand with his thumb while we whirl past the houses covered in the pitch black. It’s so quiet. I wonder what the world would be like if it was always like this

The silence is painful, it’s heavy and tense. I’m still bouncing my leg up and down, so I curl up into the car seat instead.

I can feel nick peering a glace at me every two seconds, without realising it’s making me slightly more anxious so I turn on my phone instead, to see if there are any updates on solitaire’s blog: any clue as to what the hell they’re planning.

And when we’re about a minute away from Higgs School, I see a Facebook post from Lucas Ryan.

‘Solitaire is burning down Higgs’

I’m staring at it. I’ve recoiled my hand away from Nick, touching the screen with shaky fingers. I’m rereading it. I’m trying to make sense of it. Holy shit. There can’t be any way.

“Oh my fucking god.”

My head snaps up to the school across the road from mine, burning down in a fiery blaze of glory, lighting up the whole neighbourhood with an orange glaze.

I’m already out of the car. Nick is out of the car. We’re both running onto the oval, snow crunching under our feet. I didn’t wear any shoes, but that isn’t important, because my sister could be in a fucking burning building. I don’t feel the cold as I’m running across the oval.

Nick isn’t too far behind me, at one point he’s taken my hand again as we rush towards two dark figures on the oval. 

When we get closer I realise it’s Lucas and Becky, and they spot me. they’re rushing over to me and rambling loudly about how they’re sorry and that Tori didn’t come out with them and that they got separated but I stop listening after that because my vision has become kind of hazy, and I’m trying to grapple the fact that Tori is still in there.

Victoria is still in there.

My feet are itching to move. Off of the freezing snow and into the flames. But Nick notices how my eyes keep darting over to the door because his grip on my hand has become intensely tight. 

“Don’t even think about it. We can’t do anything, Charlie.”

So I don’t do anything. I stand there as the flames engulf the burning building, I’m losing feeling in my hands and feet again. I have to move. I have to get in there, I have to save my sister. 

Then Nick gasps and Becky shrieks and I follow their gaze towards the concrete roof of the art conservatory.

Among the blazing orange and yellow fire, a small figure stands on the roof of the building. 

It’s Tori, and her hair is flowing through the cold wind and she’s looking down to the ground below her.

And she’s nearing the edge of the roof.

Without realising I’m dragging nick along with me as I run at full speed toward the roof. My heart starts racing even faster to the speed of fucking lighting when she moves her feet over the edge and by that point I’m already screaming out to her.

“DON’T!”

I’m waving my arms at her frantically. I’m running as fast as I can to the roof. She’s staring down at nick and I. I’m shouting and screaming up to her, to please, don't do it, and I'm so sorry for not listening to you. You felt the same way when I did the same as you and I’m sorry for not being there for you, you were always there for me and I owe so much back to you.

Then there’s another person who appears out of nowhere above her. Tori snaps from her gaze down below to look up, and I can’t make out who she’s talking to. The person is holding a hand down to Tori, and I’m praying to god that she just takes this person’s hand and step away from the ledge before my beating heart bursts out of my chest.

Suddenly Nick is standing in front of me and hoisting me onto his back. He’s clutching my legs as I try and scream louder, harder for Tori to hear me. She shines her torch up at the hand, and I catch a glimpse of Michael Holden. Any bad feelings I once had towards Michael melts away while I silently beg and beg that she just takes his hand anyway. 

Micheal jumps down onto the roof and stands next to her. They’re standing completely still. they must be lost in a desperate conversation, with the sound of crackling wood. People must have gathered around near us, because now there are many yells of joy and despair around me. But I can’t tear my eyes away because I’m watching intently, so closely, watching just to see if Tori’s feet move away from the edge. Please just step away.

And then Michael Holden and Victoria kiss. In the middle of a raging school fire at the brink of dawn. 

But I’m taking that as a win because her feet move away from the edge when Michael pulls her into a hug. 

“Thank fuck.” I hear nick from below me. The crowd around us bursts into a cheer. But I’m not joining them, and neither has Becky (who is now on Lucas’ shoulders) because we’re still waving up at Tori, yelling her name. My arms are so sore and I realise now that I’m not wearing a long-sleeved top but that also doesn’t matter right now, because my sister is up there and shes now looking down at me, and she’s safe, and I’m smiling so hard while sobbing, because she’s safe.

After the fire brigade arrives and rescues Tori and Michael off of the concrete roof, and as soon as she gets down to the oval I climb down off of Nick’s back and rush towards Tori. She’s looking at me in a way I’ve never seen before. I’ve never seen her like this before. But that’s okay, because she’s alive, and she’s here, and I’m now holding her so tight I’m worried that she’ll break.

“Fuck, Tori- never do that again, that was- holy shit-” I’m trying to string together a coherent sentence to tell her I was so scared, I’m so sorry, I can’t lose you, I’m sorry that I didn’t do anything. I’m sobbing extremely hard, to the point of embarrassment, but Tori’s crying too, and there’s this odd feeling of comfort I get while holding my sister who just nearly committed suicide on a burning building. 

She looks up at me, and my heart slowly starts to slow down as she smiles up at me. A genuine smile? I can’t tell. But I smile back anyway, a smile that I hope tells her everything that I can’t put into words, and I pull her into another hug and release a shaky breath.

Tori understands anyway. 

It’ll take a while for me to understand her, but she took that risk for me before.

I’ll return the favour.