#he had to work hard for it meanwhile his white colleagues could just exist and get a job for it

[walrus150915]

My whole experience with Nimona as a movie was like:

[calaofnoldor]

What’s Mine

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 7,595

Summary: The secret you and Sam are hiding from Dean is threatened by your inability to keep your hands off each other.

Warnings: 18+ no actual smut but plenty of implied smut, pre-smut, and smut adjacency lol, secret dating, enemies to lovers, jealousy and possessiveness (exhibited by both sam and reader), slight obsession with sam’s big ass hands (i blame this largely on @walkerboy290​‘s glorious hand porn gif sets), and language

A/N: inspired by and written for @thinkinghardhardlythinking​ bc she’s been bugging me to write smut and using her birthday as a bargaining chip, so i hope you’re happy sai. happy (belated) birthday babe! i suppose in my subconscious need to truly honor you, this became the longest one shot i’ve ever written... that and this is now also a little birthday gesture for the brilliant and beautiful @sams-sass​​ (damn your close birthdays!) even though she never asked for smut (if you hate it, i’ll write you something else!) happy birthday to you too, darling!

also written for @superbadassnatural​‘s 333 badass followers celebration with the prompt “___ and I are together.” “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa.” and @writethelifeyouwant​‘s 300 follower fic challenge with the prompt “All the pretty girls like Samuel” (both prompts are bolded in the fic) i’m sorry i’m so late! congratulations to both of you and thanks for letting me enter your challenges!

[basically i have a lot of people to blame for this disaster 😂]

Square Filled: Secret Dating for @spnfluffbingo​ and Enemies to Lovers for @girl-next-door-writes​ Make Me Feel Bingo

MASTERLIST

The waffles on your plate are surprisingly good for a sketchy, 50’s-themed diner, but unfortunately your attention is elsewhere. In fact, the two distinctly masculine voices behind you have been obnoxiously impairing your ability to savor the buttery, syrup-doused carbs since their owners sat down in the adjoining booth. It’s the topic of their discussion that disturbs you, and nips at your conscience until you realize you can no longer take off without imparting a few words to your oblivious colleagues.

Turning your head subtly to the side, you try to catch a glimpse of the men you’re about to confront in your peripheral vision. From what you can see, they’re both rather burly, a little rough around the edges, and from what you’ve heard, recklessly cocksure. You know the type all too well. Being a lone hunter of the fairer sex for most of your life means you’ve long since learned that the best way to combat their kind is with a steadfast façade of thick skin and unwavering confidence.

So you sigh and put on your best smile before turning around, crossing your forearms along the top of the booth seat, “Listen fellas, I hate to interrupt, but I really wouldn’t bother with the bamboo dagger and Shinto priest if I were you.”

“And who the hell are you?” the one with shorter hair demands. He’s a bit stockier than his companion and has a face that looks like it was designed by Abercrombie and Fitch - well that explains the arrogance.

“I’m the person who’s about to save your asses evidently,” you respond with a smug grin, trying not to let their absurdly good looks deter your act.

Abercrombie’s partner, the Fabio wannabe, releases a quiet scoff, “And how are you gonna do that?” he questions dubiously.

“By letting you in on a little secret…” Throwing him a tight smile, you lean forward and lower your voice, “That ōkami you’re after? It’s not an ōkami, it’s a ghoul.” Sitting back, you await the outrage.

“What?! But that’s not possible, I checked the lore. And it’s obviously got a type.” Fabio’s glossy chestnut locks fall across his delicate features as he shakes his head in disbelief, and you almost snort out loud. How did this amateur expect to hunt with hair like that?

You look him over, taking in the broad shoulders and muscled arms, as well as the obvious height advantage he’s got over Abercrombie even whilst they’re both seated. To be honest, you’re surprised he’s referencing lore at all. Guys his size always assume they can either outman or outgun whatever obstacles cross their path, and they almost never take women like you seriously, despite your ample years of acquired knowledge and invaluable experience. It’s this experience that surmises a bit of antagonism here is inevitable, so you might as well get a head start.

“Yeah well maybe you should check again, big guy,” you glance down at his hands, your first mistake as their sheer size render you speechless and subsequently agitated at yourself for the momentary lapse of visceral lust, but the show must go on, “Make sure those giant, lumbering hands of yours don’t fumble over anything important or you might miss the connection to Isabelle Harding. You see it’s not ‘a type’; it’s revenge.”

“Wh- Bu- I looked through the files. I wouldn’t have missed that,” Fabio insists.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you type ‘Isabelle Harding’ and ‘1987 school bombing’ into your search bar and see what comes up?” you gesture towards the laptop on their table with a raised brow. Minutes later, both men are dumbfounded by the revelation on the screen, staring between it and you with their mouths agape.  

You chuckle silently at their faces, “Don’t worry, there’s no need to thank me. Although you rookies might wanna go home and let the more experienced hunter finish up here.” As you’re about to bid them farewell, you dip back in to add, “Oh and a word of free advice, maybe don’t discuss supernatural monsters quite so loudly in public spaces next time. It might invite unwanted attention.”

With that, you turn around and slap some cash down next to your unfinished waffles, before grabbing your jacket and strutting out the door.

Sam is left in utter confusion. The sudden animosity you had spouted his way seems completely baseless and unwarranted. Had he somehow offended you? Sam generally considers himself a highly respectful and fairly easy-going guy, not quite as hot-blooded as his brother, and thus not as likely to provoke such antipathy from a complete stranger. To make matters worse, he certainly can’t deny that something about you had registered within his subconscious as inexplicably attractive, despite the way you’d embarrassed him. In his flustered and slightly aroused state, it had been all he could do to remain awestruck in his seat and stare blatantly at your ass as you walked away.

The next time Sam sees you is only twelve hours later and no less humiliating. You’re mid-swing in the killing blow against what you had accurately predicted to be a ghoul as he and Dean tumble in. Despite the low lighting, Sam is once again stupefied by your raging beauty, augmented by the incredible skill you’re displaying in a much more physical sense this time around. Before he can drag his eyes away, there’s a collective shout of “watch out!” and suddenly you’re right in front of him. In a blur of events, you somehow manage to push Sam out of the way and successfully decapitate the unexpected second ghoul that had been sneaking up behind him, with only a slice across the arm to show for it.

“Didn’t I tell you two to go home?” You’re panting from the exertion and Sam’s gaze lands on the neckline of your shirt, skewed from the fight and revealing a good amount of cleavage. He quickly averts his eyes. What is happening? Sam can’t remember the last time anyone had evoked such a staggering reaction from him. He feels as if he’s a mere spectator in his own body.

Across from him, you press your hand against the wound and curse when it comes back covered in blood. At your groan of pain, Sam finally finds his voice again, “Shit. I’m so sorry! I don’t know how I missed that other one. I- that normally doesn’t happen.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s what you say to all the girls, huh?” you reply offhand, still a bit out of breath.

It’s easy for Sam to dismiss your mocking given that he feels terribly guilty for being the cause of your injury. From where he’s standing, the cut looks deep. “Here, at least let me stitch it up for you. It’s too awkward a position for you to do it yourself,” he offers, holding out his ginormous hands to you like he’s waving a white flag.

“I think you’ve done enough damage for one day, haven’t you, big guy? At this point, I’d rather Abercrombie over there be the one behind the needle.”

“Who- what?” are the first words Dean speaks since the action has died down.

You turn to face the shorter guy, “Oh don’t look so surprised. You might as well be the model for a slightly older Ken doll. Are you up for it or not?”

Dean’s mouth hangs open as he tries to determine whether he should feel flattered or insulted.

“Uh- actually, I’m better at stitches than my brother,” Sam butts in.

“With those jumbo, fumbling hands? Yeah, sure you are, big guy,” you decline skeptically.

“It’s Sam,” he states through a clenched jaw.

“OK, Sam. Since I just saved your life, you mind making yourself useful and burning those bodies while your bro puts my arm back together? You know, as a ‘thank you’ perhaps?”

Sam is stunned for the third time that day. No one has ever belittled him (whilst gratuitously attacking his size) insofar without any apparent reason. It seems as though his very existence upsets you and the arbitrariness of your contempt has caused an anger to stir beneath him, but beyond that lies bewilderment and irritation. How had he managed to accomplish two such massive mistakes in front of you in the span of so short a time? Perturbed and bitter, Sam silently sets to work on the bodies.

Meanwhile, you’ve come to a surprising realization as Dean begins to cut the fabric of your flannel away from your damaged arm, the name ‘Sam’ and the words ‘my brother’ resounding in your head, “Wait a second- there’s no way… you’re not… the Winchesters, are you? Sam and… Dean?”

“The one and only, sweetheart.” He sends you a dazzling smile that is as perfect as you’d expect, but within his eyes is an underlying poignancy that you recognize as clear as day: an indication of a traumatic past and a lifetime spent plastering on tough veneers. You notice as well how gentle his touch is and how his stitches are practiced and prudent. Perhaps you had judged him too hastily.

Through an incredulous chuckle, you retort, “Well I can’t say I didn’t expect more from you, but at least this’ll get me a free round of drinks at the hunters’ pub tonight.”

Dean laughs with you before sobering at the thought of how his baby brother must be feeling, “Hey listen, take it easy on Sammy, alright? I don’t know what’s gotten into him today but he’s not usually like this. He’s actually the smart one, believe it or not.”

Scoffing, you can’t help but smile back at Dean and soon find an easy rhythm with the older Winchester, despite your awkward introduction.

From several yards away, however, Sam looks wistfully back to see you smiling lightheartedly at something Dean’s said, the two of you huddled in close proximity as his brother’s hands drift across your bare skin. Something akin to envy bubbles within his chest although he’s aware it makes no sense, so with a frown, Sam does his best to shake it off and get back to work.

But it’s not easy to forget you. And just as Sam is beginning to think he’s rid that awful day from his memory, you pop back into his life three months down the line.

“Well, if it isn’t the overgrown hunter extraordinaire Sammy Winchester.” The sarcasm that oozes from your otherwise beguiling voice has him gritting his teeth in no time.

“It’s Sam.”

“So you here to mess up my hunt again, Sam?”

Although he wishes he could have been the bigger man instead of surrendering to the resentment you roused within him, after a couple repeated hatchet burying attempts fall through, Sam just can’t resist the little game you’ve started.

Over the next few months, you and Dean form a fortuitously close bond and the older Winchester develops a habit of calling you up when faced with a troublesome hunt, and vice versa. Despite Sam’s fabricated displeasure, a show he puts on mostly for Dean (since any other emotion would seem illogical given the way you treat him), Sam is peculiarly and begrudgingly excited to see you every time. But the match never ends. In fact, Sam lets it intensify each time you work together, always astounded by how you manage to get him so worked up.

“I’m telling you, it’s a rugaru!”

“Right, because the last time we listened to you, things worked out so well,” you remark sardonically.

“The lore says-“

“Ooh, quoting the lore again now are we, Mr. Know It All?”

At this point, Sam is about as huffy and puffy as the big bad wolf and if he were a cartoon character, there’d surely be steam erupting from his ears. “Look, Y/N, this isn’t about who knows more or who’s right; this is about saving those people’s lives!”

“You think I don’t know that? Was I not the one who saved your life the first time we met?”

“OK, alright, just shut up you two!” Dean finally shouts above you, “Would it kill you to just get along for two seconds?”

“No,” Sam admits.

“Probably,” you say at the same time, causing Sam to shoot you his overly perfected bitch face.

SIX MONTHS LATER

“What the fuck?!” Dean’s booming voice echoes throughout the bunker and moments later you and Sam come flying into the kitchen to answer his call, guns at the ready.

“What? What is it?” you ask while Sam scans the room.

A whimper is the only the way to describe the sound of Dean’s reply, as he points toward an unseen object on the floor. Edging toward him, you lower your gun in the direction of his finger until you discover the source of Dean’s distress.

With a sigh, you look toward Sam who is also exhaling in relief at the sight of the entity in question. The two of you share a moment of wordless conversation before simultaneously dropping your guns with a conclusive nod.

“Why does this feel like déjà vu?” Dean’s tone is still timid and appalled, and you nearly laugh at the idea of a grown-ass man looking so aghast because of a used condom.

“Because it kinda is…” you supply unhelpfully, earning yourself a small glare from the man beside you.

“Dean,” Sam begins with a deep breath, “There’s something we have to tell you… Y/N and I are together.”

The snort that escapes Dean is full-bodied and borderline psychotic, “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa!”

You wait till his snickering subsides, “No, it- it’s true.” Your voice is hesitant yet hopeful, “We’re not joking. We’ve kinda become… a thing.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah, well you know, I don’t wanna have to put a label on it or-“

“Y/N’s my girlfriend,” Sam declares with conviction as he reaches out to curl his long fingers around your waist and lasso you towards him.

“-Buuuut, that is the one I’d use if anyone asks,” you quickly affirm with a stiff pat to your boyfriend’s abdomen, wincing at the unversed attempt of PDA and missing the dimpled grin that crosses Sam’s amused features.

“Well, I don’t buy it. I don’t believe either of you.” Dean’s sturgeon face comes on strong as he shakes his head and points a challenging finger at you, “Kiss him, right now,” he dares with perked brows.

The eye roll you respond with is so dramatic your entire head moves with it. But then, without a moment of pause, you turn your body into Sam’s, reach up to grab the back of his neck and pull him down for a searing kiss. Now this is something you’re well-versed in. The reunion of your lips starts off relatively slow, but it doesn’t take long to escalate into something more fiery that involves tongue, the eager push and pull movements of your bodies, and Sam’s enormous hands cradling your head.

After a moment of shock, Dean objects, “Alright, alright, I get it! That’s enough of that!”

Unwilling to recede just yet, you linger in the kiss for a little longer, delaying your separation by nibbling down on Sam’s lower lip and tugging gently, only releasing it as you pull away torturously slow. When the two of you finally open your languid eyes, it’s to stare into each other’s dilated pupils and ponder the moment for an indiscernible minute.

“What th- I said, I get it! Now could please stop ogling each other before my lunch comes back out the wrong way?!”

But the way Sam’s smiling at you is addictive and you can’t bring yourself to look away until he forces a break by leaning in to plant a tender kiss upon your forehead before tucking you into his side as he faces his brother again.

Dean’s face is covered by his hand, “I’m gonna need a minute. I just-“ His features leap through a range of expressions as he tries to find the right words, “When the hell did this start anyway? I thought you two couldn’t stand each other?”

“Yeahhh, that was mostly an act. Although we bought it at first too,” you explain with a shrug.

“We weren’t pretending the whole time. It just kind of happened and we didn’t really know how else to act around each other by then,” Sam adds.

“Right, basically it turns out there’s a fine line between love and hate... and that line is hardcore yearning.” Your words bring a chuckle to Sam’s lips but his brother still looks out of sorts.

Shaking his head with closed eyes, Dean sighs, “Alright, can someone just explain to me exactly how this happened, because I’m still not computing here. But spare me the details and try to keep it PG-13,” he emphasizes with adamant hand gestures.

“How do you know it’s not PG-13?” you inquire with a held-back laugh.

“Ha. With the way you two were playing tonsil hockey just now, I can tell you’ve been around the bend way more than I wanna know. My little brother doesn’t kiss like that on the first date.”

It’s impossible to hold back a giggle at the memory of your ‘first date’ and the way Sam had kissed you, “OK well, that would be hard, considering the story involves a lot of sex... You wanna give it a go, big guy?” you pass the ball over to Sam with a quirked brow and lowered voice, to which he responds with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, a little warning glance that you’re well aware means ‘save it for the bedroom’ but you simply smirk up at him.  

‘Big guy’ used to be a term you called Sam in contempt, but when the feelings between you evolved and a sexual relationship developed, it became an innuendo, such that calling him ‘big guy’ in front of Dean or in public almost always results in glorious sex. In fact, sometimes you believe the nickname has held a slightly obscene connotation for you since the beginning.

Afterall, your carnal longing for him has been present from day one, although at the time you had believed it to be purely physical. Sure, you had dreams about having him in various positions in your bed, but you figured those were merely betrayals of your subconscious mind. That was until one day, a heated argument in a rare moment alone had ended up in a violent make out session, after which the two of you had just barely gotten the last of your clothes back on before Dean walked in. One look at your worked up and frenetic states alongside the disordered condition of your surroundings, and he immediately assumed you’d been fighting again (which wasn’t terribly far from the truth), chortling as he asked if you would have killed each other had he returned a bit later.

With a clearing of his throat, Sam begins to recount the tale, “Uh, well it started in that motel in South Carolina, while you were out getting food…”

“Look, all I’m saying is there is no way he’s using the hospital as a dump site! It’s just not feasible!”

With complete disregard for the peace and quiet of the other residents within this thin-walled motel, you and Sam once again find yourselves in a shouting match.

“Oh right, I forgot! You’re Sam Winchester! How could you POSSIBLY be wrong?! Mister ‘look at me, my IQ and LSAT score match my fucking height! Oh and I also happen to have the physique of an Adonis without even owning a gym membership!’” you roar bitterly, gesticulating with your hands to help better communicate your pent-up indignation.

“Right and you’re Y/N Y/L/N, so how could YOU possibly be wrong? Miss ‘look at me, I never went to college but I’m a genius AND I can kick ass! Oh and I also happen to look effortlessly stunning through it all!’” Sam suddenly seems bigger than ever as he towers over you, that panty-soaking deep voice emanating from his diaphragm and infusing itself throughout the entire room until all you can see, hear, and breathe is Sam.

The fury takes over and you don’t notice your feet taking you closer to him, “Oh yeah because you don’t make EVERYTHING you do look so unnecessarily hot and make me wanna rip your clothes off all the damn time!”

“Fuck! And you don’t always drive me crazy when we have these stupid arguments and your chest starts heaving and you look so insanely delectable I just wanna pick you up and fuck you against the closest surface!” By now, the distance between you is essentially nonexistent and your brain is no longer run by reason.

“So why don’t you then?” are your famous last words, prompting Sam to grab you wildly by the back of a thigh, lifting slightly and driving you to climb up him like a spider monkey fleeing from a grounded predator, while his other hand pushes your hair aside to gain better access to your face. Your mouths clash in a fierce battle and before you know it, Sam’s huge hands are cupping your ass as your legs wrap around his waist and you rut into him, hands flying from his shoulders to his hair. Those divine chestnut locks that you’ve always dreamed of running your fingers through. They’re somehow even softer than you imagined and the revelation, in conjunction with the way Sam’s tongue is becoming increasingly aggressive causes a fresh surge of libidinous energy to rocket through you. As a result, you give his silky strands an irresistible tug and drink in the moan he makes, the sinful sound reverberating straight down to your core as you clench around nothing.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sam groans as he grudgingly forces himself to pull back as much as he can, “Are you sure? Is this what you want? Cause I can’t- Y/N I won’t be able to stop myself if we keep going.” His eyes squeeze shut as if the notion of stopping or the act of keeping his lips away from yours is causing him genuine pain, and the entire gesture moves you.

“Fuck, you really are the opposite of everything I thought you would be,” you make a quick mental note to apologize later for your initially presumptuous behavior although you can’t find it within yourself to feel any remorse right now, “Yes, please Sam, fuck me. I want you so bad… I think I have since we met and I saw those gorgeous hands of yours,” you confess, biting your lip lightly.

Sam breathes out a low incredulous laugh, “What, these?” he asks, removing one of the aforementioned hands away from your butt to bring it into your line of vision.

“Yes, fuck they’re so big and beautiful and strong and-“

“Alright, I don’t need to know about your weird hand fetish!” Dean hollers abruptly, rubbing his fingers across his eyes as if he could somehow erase the image of you and his brother together out of his retinas. “OK, but that was like… four months ago. You mean you’ve been sneaking around behind my back this whole time?”

“Well at first we didn’t want to tell you because we weren’t even sure what it was ourselves,” you divulge.

“Yeah, we didn’t want to try to explain something that we didn’t understand yet,” Sam supplements, hoping his brother will understand the motive behind your secrecy.

You nod along, “But then… it got a little harder to hide.”

The apprehension behind Dean’s emerald eyes is unmistakable as he reluctantly inquires, “That’s why this felt like déjà vu?”

It’s with a grimace that you reply, hesitantly, “Remember the time you found those panties in the backseat of the Impala?”

Dean’s eyes grow comically wide and Sam ducks his head in preparation of what’s to come.

“Yeah, there’s a story behind that…”

The click of her heels against the porcelain-tiled foyer irritates you as the three of you stride through her front door. You’re posing as detectives sent to question this overdressed young woman about her late husband, but the moment she lays her eyes on Sam, you reckon she’s forgotten her beloved’s damn name.

“Oh my… lord and savior. Well aren’t you a tall drink of water?” she beholds breathlessly with a seductive bite of her painted ruby lips.

You cough loudly and Dean sniggers, thinking you’re annoyed about Sam getting such commendation and attention during a serious case.

“I know this might be the grief talking, but I would climb you like a tree,” she purrs, sauntering up to Sam with an exaggerated sway of her hips. With her half-lidded doe eyes adorned with dark, fluttery lashes and low, sultry voice, you have to admit she’s quite attractive.

Grinding your teeth as your nails dig into your palms, you glower at the woman unreservedly. She, however, takes no notice, running her hands along Sam’s forearms before gripping at his bicep to lead him toward her living room. “Please, come have a seat, detective. You can ask me whatever you want.” The wink she appends is somehow the final nail in the coffin.

It’s with zero hesitation that you feign the reception of a notification on your phone before declaring, “Oh would you look at that, the uh… Sheriff needs us back at the station, Sam. He says it’s urgent.” You try to keep your tone even, thankful that you all maintained your real first names for these aliases, “Dean, you’re good to conduct this interview on your own, right?” Without waiting for an answer, you trample over to snatch Sam’s other arm and ignoring the horny widow’s gaping mouth, proceed to haul him away.

Dean sends you a strange look but relents, “Uh, yeah I guess, OK.”

As soon as the door closes behind you, your hand shifts down to lace your fingers with Sam’s, marching him towards the Impala with a staunch and mighty purpose. Even Sam’s elongated legs stumble to keep up.

“So uh… when did you give the Sheriff your number?” There’s an edge in his voice that normally disappears when it’s just the two of you.

“Wha- I didn’t. Sam, I just made all that up,” you tell him as you reach the car and open its back door. Pushing Sam inside, you climb in swiftly after him, wasting no time as you straddle his thighs and begin to undress him, only pausing when he looks up at you in adorable, puppy-like confusion.

“Wait, what? Then what are we doing?”

That’s when it finally dawns on you, “Hold on a sec, were you… jealous?” You can’t help but smile, finding it amusing that he’s stewing in his own envy after what you just witnessed.

“No, I just- He was kinda all over you this morning.”

“You mean like the way Mrs. My-Husband-Just-Died-But-I-Wanna-Climb-You-Like-a-Tree was in there?”

“Oh, that’s what this is about?” Sam perks up, the hint of a smug grin ghosting across his lips.

“She was practically holding your hand!”

“That’s what bothered you the most?” He dips his head to catch your eyes and those variegated irises burn into you with an intense, questioning gaze, alight with mischievous curiosity.

“They’re my hands to hold,” you contend with a pout, subconsciously clenching your thighs around his as you seize one of his large hands with two of your much smaller ones, “Just like you’re my tree to climb.”

Sam��s head falls back in bright laughter, “I thought you said they were ‘oversized’ and ‘ungainly’?” he teases, quoting your previous slights.

“You know I only said that cause Dean was there.”

“I’m pretty sure you called them ‘fumbly’ and ‘lumbering’ the first time we met.”

Staring at his fingers as you play with them, you shiver at the memory of how they feel all over you. “That was cause I used to think all hunters with a Y chromosome were cocky, misogynistic assholes who needed to be knocked down a peg or two.”

“But I proved you wrong, right?”

“Fuck yes you did. So, so wrong. And now you’re mine, and I don’t like seeing other people touch what’s mine,” you growl before returning to your earlier task of removing his clothes, pouncing on him when your fingers finally land on bare skin. You kiss him fiercely, swallowing his surprised grunts with glee, and as his hands start travelling from your hips up to your back, holding you tight against him, your lips move down to his pulse point, sucking, licking, and nibbling, “Mine.”

“Fucking Jesus Christ on a cracker! You goddamn rabbits!” Dean squawks in protest as he begins to pace the floor, “Have you no decency?! And in my poor Baby! While I was busy doing all the work, saving lives!”

You roll your eyes at his melodramatics and can feel the tension in Sam’s abdominal muscles as he attempts to restrain his laughter. As if Dean had never taken a break during a case for a stress-relieving quickie before, or hadn’t been at least somewhat grateful to be left alone with a beautiful woman.

His next comment confirms your point, “Although, if I remember correctly that lady was a fox.” After a brief pondering pause and an introspectively appreciative smirk, Dean’s whining resumes, “But seriously! I can’t believe you two! Here I was feeling bad for forcing you to work and live together, hoping you’d eventually learn to get along when this whole time you were shacking up like animals and casually defiling my Baby just because what? Some girl touched Sam’s hand?!”

Feeling emboldened by the catharsis of this long-overdue airing of your dirty laundry, you decide to add to Dean’s exasperation, “Yeah and in the spirit of honesty, that might’ve happened more than once.” Sam tries to hold back his snort as he gives your hip a playful cautionary squeeze while Dean’s feet come to a full stop as he turns to give you a death glare. “Hey, it’s not my fault all the pretty girls like Samuel! And I’m pretty sure we wiped her down after.”

“I don’t even-“ Dean purses his lips and quirks his head with a dynamic expression of unbearable vexation, “You better be getting me pie every day of the week for what you did.“ He takes a deep breath before circling back, “Wait, OK so you’re telling me that a used condom ended up in our kitchen because- what? You two couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to find a bed? You know what, forget I asked. I don’t wanna know. Did you at least sanitize the place after?? No, of course you didn’t, you left a fucking condom on the floor… I think I’m gonna throw up.”

But you hardly hear Dean’s rambling because you and Sam are far too wrapped up in each other, smiling as you recall the events of that morning.

Your eyes slowly drift open to find the most exalting sight in all the world: Sam Winchester’s sleeping face, blissful and serene. Lifting a hand to gingerly cup his cheek, the corners of your mouth curl up when he leans into your touch. It’s moments like this that make you wish you could wake up next to him every morning.

Only after you’ve traced his every feature and planted a soft kiss where his dimple would be if he were awake and smiling, do you carefully peel yourself from his side, slipping out of his hold as you quietly climb out of bed. Sam rolls over a bit and you freeze with bated breath, watching as his big arm extends out in your direction as if trying to reach for you in his sleep, before stilling again.

Mornings like this are rare and you want him to soak up all the restful sleep he can. Once you’re sure you haven’t woken him, you scan the room for something to cover your naked figure, until your eyes land on the flannel he’d worn the night before. Picking it up, you bring it to your nose and inhale deeply to revel in the residual scent of Sam. Another glimpse at his peaceful, sleeping form has you smiling fondly. God, you are such a goner for that man. It’s becoming hard to reserve your soft looks toward him for private moments alone.

You can barely remember how it happened, but over time, you’d come to learn that Sam is nothing like you originally imagined him to be. He’s kind-hearted and open-minded, the type of soul that can find hope and beauty in even the darkest of places, a far cry from the shallow macho man silhouette you’d expected him to fill. In fact, Sam routinely defies the expectations others have enforced upon him, proving his worth time and time again as he’s persisted through some of what must be the toughest challenges to ever face a single human. Yet through it all, his spirit remains intact, never once yielding to cynicism or resentment or apathy or even the building of walls as you and Dean have resorted to. He is truly the bravest man you know and infinitely more competent than your first fluke of a hunt with him had mistakenly suggested, both in the field and in bed.

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you wrap yourself in plaid and head out the door. Dean never questions your use of Sam’s shirts because ever since Sam firmly insisted on giving you his flannel after your second encounter with them resulted in Dean cutting your own top apart, you’ve grown into a habit of borrowing Sam’s clothes. You always claim they’re more comfortable than your own and Sam’s feigned annoyance over you ‘stealing’ his belongings tides Dean right over.

Half an hour passes before Sam approaches the bunker kitchen to find you with your back towards the entrance, busy prepping breakfast in nothing but his plaid. He pauses in the doorway to stare at you for a minute, licking his lips with an irrepressible smile. For some, this may seem like a stereotypical morning after, but for a couple of hunters, it feels like a dream come true.

After finally returning to the bunker last night following the completion of a series of successful hunts, you’ve got no solid obligations and very little on your to-do lists today, although Sam’s got more than a few ideas about how to pass the time, and a couple more come to mind when you stretch up on your toes to reach for something, causing the hem of his shirt to glide up until its corner reveals just slightest hint of your incredible ass. Sam can’t suppress his little grunt of approval, which catches your attention and makes you turn your head, peering back at him over your shoulder.

You smirk at the blessed view of him standing there in nothing but the pair of thin grey sweatpants you’d bought him a month ago when you discovered the viral online phenomenon, “Hey, big guy. You just gonna stand there and gawk or do you wanna make yourself useful and grab another plate from the top shelf?”

Chuckling at your false animosity, Sam stalks toward you, “Good morning to you too.” One of his vast hands falls upon your hip as he presses the maximum possible length of his body into your back side, while his other hand reaches up over your head to snatch the plate you’d asked for.

“Good morning indeed,” you concur with a silent gasp when you feel the generous bulge in his pants.

“Oh that’s not morning, baby girl,” Sam husks into your ear, “That’s all you.” His powerful arms slink around you and his lips find their way down the side of your neck, lingering in that tender spot just behind your ear whilst you tilt your head and close your eyes, contentedly surrendering yourself to the moment. “I ever tell you how good you look in my shirts?”

Wiggling your butt back to tease him a bit, you’re pleased with the hiss it elicits. “No, but you made it very clear how bad I look in Dean’s,” you counter playfully.

The man behind you scoffs, “I didn’t say you looked bad; you could never look bad. I just… don’t like seeing you wear his clothes.”

“Oh, I know,” you turn around in his arms, “I just don’t understand how Dean doesn’t know yet. I mean, I think you’ve been very obvious.”

“And you haven’t?”

“I’m not the one who leaves hickeys in very visible places all over your body!”

Sam’s eyes glaze over in lust, an idea clearly forming in his head as he glances down at you. “Dean’s a hot-blooded guy; he needs to know you’re off-limits,” he alleges before attacking your throat with his mouth.

“So why don’t we just tell him?”

Without pausing his efforts, Sam reminds you, “Because you said you thought it was kinda hot, all the sneaking around. Mmpf, and because you said you wanted to see how long it would take him to figure it out.”

You nod while running your fingers through his silken strands and leaning back to give him more purchase, “That’s true. But in my defence, we always have this conversation when we’re doing stuff like this and I can’t think straight when your hands and mouth are on me.”

“Kinda like how I can’t think straight when you’re wearing nothing but my shirt?” His kisses travel down from your neck to your collarbone and shoulder as he slides his loosely buttoned flannel off to one side, “Fuck, you’ve got me so hard.”

Without warning, Sam seizes your waist and hoists you into the air as if gravity were an absolute joke, before plopping you down on the edge of the steel counter, his thumbs digging lightly into your ribcage.

“Sam! This is where we eat!” you protest with a laugh.

“Exactly. Which is why I’m gonna devour you here.” He dives back into your neck, continuing his work on a little pink mark that’s already beginning to form.

“Oh fuck… Wait, what if Dean walks in?” It’s through a great struggle that you manage to push him back an inch.

“He’s got a date with the Impala. He’ll be in the garage all day, trust me.” Sam’s gaze sweeps over your body suggestively, “Now are you gonna let me taste what’s mine?”

With an equally lewd survey of his extensive frame, you reply, “As long as you let me impale myself on what’s mine later.”

His eyes darken and the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only person he’s ever wanted ignites a confidence within you, so in a rather swift motion, you grasp him by the shaft through his sweatpants – the delicious groan he emits at your touch is enough to turn your pussy into a slip and slide – and pull him back towards you until the clothed length of him is resting against your folds and your noses brush, while his hands settle naturally on your thighs.

Shivering, your breath stutters and for an instant you can do nothing but bask in the closeness of him. Sam seems to enjoy it too because he closes his eyes as he rests his forehead against yours with an elated sigh. For the second time today, you marvel at his beauty, whispering a string of gasping kisses along his lower eye socket and exquisite cheekbone, simply dying to breathe him in. All of him is so immaculate and sublime. Each time the two of you reconvene, you want to savor every fucking inch of him, but there are a lot of inches, so the task often overwhelms you. Still, you must try. Locking your ankles behind him, you use your legs to pull him even further into you and the friction makes you lose your mind.

“Fuck, baby girl, you keep that up I’ll be making a mess in my pants,” Sam grunts with his lips upon your cheek.

Your breathless laughter fills the air, thinking of the stain you've undoubtedly already left on his charming grey sweatpants. Nimble as he is, Sam takes advantage of your open mouth and plunges his tongue inside. After so much preamble, the kiss is heavy and full of need. When the pressure of his lips pushes your head back, your hands fly to his wrists for the sake of your balance.

From there, they journey upward across his vascular forearms to his bulging triceps, fondling his massive shoulders before sliding along his traps and up the gorgeous length of his perfect neck, until you finally reach the treasure trove of his impeccable locks. You tangle your fingers into the lush mane and yank, gently but zealously, making Sam growl into your mouth. His voice is the hottest thing you’ve ever heard and the sounds he makes always drive you insane.

Never breaking the kiss, Sam’s colossal moose paws roam up to your back as he slowly lays you down on the counter, his member somehow still notched at your entrance and the new angle rousing a quiet moan from you. When he ultimately pulls away, you pitch forward to chase after his lips, but Sam only grants you a devilish grin and a quick peck to the corner of your mouth before moving down to your jaw and neck. While one palm kneads at your breast through his shirt, the other begins pushing and pulling at fabric to uncover more of your skin for his wandering lips.

“Sam! Augh!” you cry out as your head falls back.

“I got you, baby. I’m all yours. Gonna make you feel so good.” As if to attest his words, he rolls his hips into yours and a needy whimper escapes you. With your fingers still twisted in his hair, Sam leaves no part of you untouched as his mouth travels down your body. But upon reaching your navel, he pauses, those vivid, color-changing eyes peeping up at you to check for any signs of discomfort or objection. Finding none, his thick tongue pokes out to lick a deliriously winding path from your belly button to your exposed clit. Then, pushing down tenderly on the insides of your knees to open you up to him, Sam directs you one last look that is both hungry and reverent, “I still can’t believe this is mine.”

Dean had stopped you halfway through your recollection, but it appears that was still too much for him, “What did I do to deserve this?! I feel like I need to go bathe in holy water for a week.”

You and Sam both open your mouths to respond but Dean cuts you off vehemently, “Ba-da-da-da!” His vocalized outcry is complete with animated gestures featuring an accusing index finger. “OK, before you two tell me another traumatizing story, that’s enough of the who, what, when, where, and how… I just need to know why. I mean, is this- are you- …?”

Sensing the protective wheels turning in his head, you decide to put Dean out his misery, “I’m not just with Sam because he’s an incredible lay if that’s what you’re wondering. We can skip the fatherly ‘what are your intentions’ talk. Yes, Dean, I am in love with your little brother… although ‘little’ is not exactly the word I’d use to describe him.”

“Sammy, could you please control your woman?”

“My woman?” Sam sounds mostly amused but you’re almost certain you can hear a hint of pride in his voice.

“Yeah, I admit I’m surprised I didn’t see it until now. You two are kinda oddly perfect for each other, you know, in a weird, kinky way.”

“To be honest, we’re pretty surprised too. I mean, he doesn’t look it but this guy is kind of territorial,” you quip whilst cocking a thumb in Sam’s direction.

“I don’t need to- Wait a minute, so all those bruises you told me were from hunts?” Dean’s eyebrows soar towards his hairline.

Chewing on your lip, you confirm his hypothesis with a miniscule nod.

“Yeah well that time you saw my back,” Sam chimes in vengefully, casting you a handsome grin full of mischief as he reveals, “that wasn’t a werewolf, that was Y/N.”

With eyes as round as dinner plates, Dean frantically shuts you both down, “OK, that’s it. Torture Dean time is over. I don’t wanna hear any more about your depraved sex lives! Look, I guess I’m happy for you guys, although mostly cause I don’t have to play referee anymore, but I’m gonna need you to follow some ground rules around here. Like rule number one! No sex in public places!” he starts counting with his fingers, “Always put a sock on it when you’re busy! And most importantly, no sex in Baby!”

Your laughter follows Dean as he wearily saunters out of the kitchen, an exhausted expression on his face. Turning to your newly outed boyfriend, you petition excitedly, “Does this mean we can have shower sex now?”

“Not while I’m around!” comes Dean’s snappy answer.

In contrast, Sam gives you the same look he did on that dreamy morning, “Oh trust me baby girl, I’m gonna get you wet somehow.”

“Still within hearing distance! I think I liked it better when you guys were at each other’s throats.”

As you’re giggling, Sam leans down to whisper in your ear, “For the record, I’m in love with you too.” And just like that, you’re tempted to re-enact your previous kitchen escapades.

TEAM IDJITS: @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @carryonmywaywardbucky​ @swiftlymoniquesblog​ @moosewinchester​ @sams-sass​ @thinkinghardhardlythinking​ @jotink78​ @winifrede​ @writingforthelonelysoul​ @turtletaylor98​ @lyarr24​ @deanwanddamons​ @peridottea91​ @tvdspngirl314​

TEAM MOOSE: @paulaern​

if you’d like to be added (or removed) please let me know!

[oscar-lettjohanssonloveme]

Mr. Sandman pt. 2 (Miss Venable x reader)

After one month I finally finished the second pt, whooho :) Well i guess its a bit different, than the first chapter, but i hope yall like it- I can imagine making a third pt of this, but it would be much more fucked up and weird, than this chapter..lol I wanted to say thank you for your nice comments under the first chapter, they made me really happy :3

summary: three weeks have passed and you are trying to understand everything

warnings: depression (idk if a robot can have depression-), uhm bruises,..

And if ur name is Laura, don't hate me! yikes hahah

here is the first pt. :

https://littlejeaniehugsbumblebees.tumblr.com/post/639876084639334400/mr-sandman-ms-venable-x-reader

hello google translate:3

Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream Make her the cutest that I've ever seen Give her two lips like roses and clover And tell her that her lonely nights are over

It had been 3 weeks since the thing with the letter. 3 fucking weeks since you found out you were nothing more than a programmed machine.

And everything had gotten weird.

Ordinarily, you might call your behavior depression, but you were a goddamn robot and couldn't actually feel anything.

Sometimes you would spend hours in front of the mirror looking at your strange body. No.. to look at her body. You were just an image of her and your body was just a thing made of metal, tied through with cables and covered with a skin-colored rubber.

It all made no sense, all your memories of your family, your friends and your meeting with Mina (your first meeting in your bookstore, your first date, the first kiss, ..) all of this had to be real. But as Mutt had explained to you, your brain was just a hard drive with a stored script in which Mina had invested a lot of time to make your "memories" as detailed as possible. After all, she wanted you to be perfect.

To be honest, you had no idea how to act towards Mina. She was right somewhere, without her, you wouldn't exist. Maybe you should be grateful or happy that she created you. And on top of that, you really thought you loved her, needed her, or wanted her. But inside you knew that you only did all of these things because she programmed you to do so. Nothing you ever did was really your own excuse. You were just what she wanted you to be and in addition to that, you weren't even unique anymore. Mina had just copied you and used you for her own purposes.

Inwardly, you tried to fight the urge to kiss her, sit on her lap, or even smile at her, simply because you knew it wasn't what you wanted, but what she wanted. She wanted you to kiss her, wanted you to sit on her lap and wanted you to smile at her.

And all these feelings that cooked in you at the same time, the forced love for Mina and at the same time the hate because she was so selfish, let you get tired and pulled you down into a deep hole.

But you were a robot, you couldn't feel anything.

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

"You should fucking stop coking while you're working on her", hissed Mina, staring into the stupid faces of Jeff and Mutt.

"She should be perfect, do you understand that?"

"Calm down", Mutt mutturd, raising both hands as Jeff swept the rest of the cocaine off the table. The fine powder fell like snow on the floor and the fact that these drugs were now on the white floor made Mina even more angry.

"We're the best at this and we know that if she doesn't turn out perfect, you'll probably kill us," Jeff explained with a smug grin on his ugly face.

"It's better for you if you know," Mina growled, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"How far are you?"

"So," Jeff got up bored to go to his project.

"All we have to do is insert her face and load your script from her hard drive and then we're done."

Mina's gaze wandered to the 3D printer Jeff was pointing to. Inside was the mask of a face ... your face. It was her eyes staring at some point, the same blush of her cheeks on yours, as was the gentle curve of your lips as hers.

"May I ..?" Mina asked and held out her hand for the mask. Jeff shrugged.

"Do what you want, but then bring the mask with you to her body, then we can finish it off."

The man turned to go to the computer next to the body on the table.

"Meanwhile I'll be loading your script on her hard drive", he called afterwards, but Miss Venable no longer listened to him. Her attention was fully focused on the mask, which she had carefully removed from the printer.

The face looked almost dead in her hands as not a single facial muscle was tense and yet Miss Venable could already tell that you were exactly as she had imagined. Just like she remembered Y / N.

Miss Venable stepped away from the 3D printer to walk past Jeff to your body.

She took off her leather gloves before running her fingers over the exposed skin of your arm. It was fascinating how much the rubber felt like real skin. It wasn't the first time, that she saw the result of your body, but it always fascinated her.

Her gaze wandered to your head and she was startled, when she saw directly in your head on the hard drive, that was connected to Jeff's computer by a black cable.

"And she won't ask any questions?" She asked, turning to Jeff.

"Nope," said Mutt, who stood with his arms folded next to his colleague to stare at the computer.

"I took the liberty of reading your script and apart from all the crazy sex you wrote down there, it seems to be very verbose."

Mina's eyes narrowed at Mutt's words and she bit the inside of her cheek to swallow all the insults that came into her mind. This script had been private.

On the other hand, she was tired of waiting for you and just wanted it to be over as soon as possible and that she could finally have you after waiting so many years.

"Okay, this is what we got," Jeff began as he got up from the computer and walked over to your body to pull the cable out of your head.

"Y / N will think, she was here to pick you up from work and then she would have passed out for whatever reason. So she won't wonder why she is here. Well, you know, she thinks that you've been together for a few years, so you have to play along right away. "

"I've spent so many years preparing for this moment," Mina hissed as she watched Jeff insert the face into your body.

And she was right, for years she had lived in her house like a second person was living with her. She had bought Y / N's size clothes, her make-up, her perfume, the books she liked ... Someone would have called it madness, but to her it was confidence. Just because she knew she'd have you one day. And today she could finally take you home with her.

"We're ready," Jeff said, turning to Mutt.

"You can power her up."

"Wait," Mina interrupted while she stared down into your blank face. Your eyes were closed and now it almost looked like you were sleeping.

"I want to be alone with her, when she wakes up."

"B-but what if something doesn't work?"

"It will work."

"Your decision", Jeff mumbled and went to Mutt to leave the room with him.

"Oh and Miss Venable, you know, that telling her about your her identity wouldn't be the best idea."

"She will never know, I'll make sure", Mina replied and went to the computer to switch you on. As quickly as she could, she came back to the table you were lying on, staring expectantly into your face.

And then you came to life.

First your eyes opened and Mina saw you blink a few times confused at the bright ceiling lamp.

"What's up, honey?" You asked her with a frown, but Mina couldn't answer. You looked so damn real, just like her.

"Are you okay?", You grinned crookedly while you sat up.

Your smile, the slightly curved eyebrows and your lively eyes, it was perfect.

"I- I am just happy that you're awake again," Mina finally managed to stutter.

"Naww you were worried about me? You're cute," you muttered, reaching for her hands.

"Can we go home now?"

Mina nodded slowly while she stared into the loving glitter eyes.

You were perfect

Wilhemina opened her eyes. The image of your sparkling eyes was still buzzing around in her head while she stared at the ceiling of your bedroom. Damn it, how many weeks had you not looked at her like that?

Miss Venable was usually not one to wake up at night, but since you knew what you really were, she slept badly and at night dreamed of the time when you didn't know and you were both happy. In addition, the weight of your head was missing on her chest..Your arm wrapped around her waist and the locks of hair that usually tickled her face.

It was almost impossible to sleep like this. She just needed to feel like you belonged to her. How many times had Miss Venable dreamed of Y/N in Jonathan's arms one night and then woke up only to see, that you were as close to her as you could possibly be?

And since you knew it, you just lay next to her in bed, curled up in yourself and felt worlds away from Mina. She was sure you were toying with the idea of ​​sleeping in the guest room. But you could never do that, because that's how she programmed you. You wanted to be with her.

Mina turned her head to the side to see you. You lay on your back next to her and stared out the window with glassy eyes. Lost, thought Miss Venable.

"Why are you awake?" She asked softly and grabbed your hand, which was on your chest.

"I can't sleep"you replied dryly without looking at her.

I don't need to sleep, I'm a fucking robot Wilhemina.

"Do you want to read? Uhm- We haven't read together in ages," she asked and began to run her thumb over the back of your hand.

You just shook your head before turning to her and looking at her with such a pain in your eyes, that she wanted to cry.

"I'm not real, Mina," you said in a thick voice as tears came out of your eyes. You reached your other hand to your face to wipe away the tears.

"These tears are not real."

"That is not true." Mina whispered and took your other hand as well.

"You are here and you are real."

"I'm not even alive. I'm just a dead thing made of cables, I live as much as your computer does."

"Don't say something like that.", Mina mumbled reaching behind her to turn on the bedside lamp. She actually wanted to say something, but when she turned back to you, her eyes fell on the small bruises on your arm.

"What the hell, Y / N", she scolded in horror and ran her fingers over the dark spots.

"Oh, it's not that bad," you said quickly as you pulled your arm away.

"It's actually quite interesting, you know, when we were in the office to fix my hand, Mutt explained to me that I have certain sensors under this rubber layer, that make me think I'm feeling pain. And how my skin changes color when I injure myself..you know, its really cool"

Mina looked at you disturbed, while you explained to her factually how interesting you found that.

"Mutt sent me the plans for my body too," you continued, staring thoughtfully at your forearm.

"It's so fascinating to see how my body digests food or how my emotions work."

"Why are you in contact with this idiot?", Mina frowned.

"Because I wanted to know how I work..I also noticed that I can't get any older and it's kind of funny."

"Funny", Mina repeated, planning a thousand ways in her head, how she would kill Mutt.

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

"You fucking idiot," she hissed the next day as she hobbled into Jeff and Mutt's office.

"How dare you even think you have the right to clear Y / N?"

"I thought, it would be good, after she found out everything," Mutt muttered without looking up from his computer.

"Oh yeah?", Mina's eyes sparkled with anger.

"And I thought, we said,  it would be best if she didn't know."

"I understand why he gave her the plans," Jeff interjected.

"Who the hell asked you ??", Mina spat and Jeff shrugged.

"I'm just saying, that I think it's better for her. You want her to be happy and I think that's only possible, if she knows who she is."

"Oh no," Mina shook her head. "I want her to be like Y / N again and unfortunately that won't work if you explain how her robot body works. You could have sent her the script right away."

"Who knows, maybe I'll do that too," Mutt mumbled and looked enviously at Jeff, who was already coking again. "She deserves to know everything."

"You won't do anything like that," Mina growled dangerously.

"You both still work for me and what I do with my girlfriend is my decision".

With that she turned to walk out of the office and eventually out of the building. She just wanted to go home, but at the same time she knew that you and not Y / N would be waiting for her there.

"I'm home princess", she called out loud as she always did when she came home and like the weeks before she got no answer from you. Mina sighed as she hung her jacket on the stand. She hobbled into the bedroom and saw you the night before, just lying there and staring out the window. You hadn't gone to work in the past few weeks, it felt kind of pointless.

"How was your day, princess?" Asked your girlfriend, who was lost in the doorway and tried to get you to talk somehow.

"Good," you said curtly. "You didn't want to tell me how long I've been around, but I think I figured it out today."

Mina's breath caught.

"Did Mutt tell you that too?"

"Nope," you mumbled. "It was me alone. Well, I noticed that based on what I thought I knew, we've been living together for 4 years, but there are only pictures of the last two years, so I think, I'm 2 years old. Somehow that sounds funny, doesn't it? You're dating a two year old. "

For a few seconds, Mina just stared at you. You were right, you were two years old.

"When will you finally get back to normal," she finally mumbled and stepped outthe door frame to sit on the bed. You snorted in annoyance and shook your head as you sat up.

"Define normal, Mina."

"When will you talk to me again? When will you kiss me again? Will you sit on my lap or at least smile at me?" She screamed, making you wince at her volume.

"You treat me like I did something wrong."

"Sorry, but do you find it normal to live with someone, who is actually dead and looks like your 'big love'?" You yelled back.

"It was normal until you knew it and now you pretend there was something wrong with it," Mina stared at you in disbelief, as if she didn't understand how fucked up these facts actually were.

"You could at least have made me unique with a will of my own .. I could have loved you anyway and if I had decided it myself, that's actually how it works," you spat as you leaned against the headboard.

"Then you wouldn't have been like her," Mina replied dryly and you just rolled your eyes.

"So what?".

"So what ?!", Mina repeated angrily.

"Maybe because the only person I love is her and not you?"

Your eyes widened at her words.

"You- you are insane, Mina," you stuttered and got up to walk out of the room. And you would have loved to leave, but you were a human boomerang, no matter how far away you went, you would keep coming back to her. Because that's how she programmed you.

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

A few days went by and you thought a lot about the fact, that she had told you in the face, that she didn't love you but this woman. And you started to hate it all. You hated Mina for her incredible selfishness. You hated yourself for being completely at the mercy of her because she programmed you that way and you hated Y / N (although you were actually Y / N, only in lesbian and metal) because Mina loved her and not you.

You knew, that Mina regretted telling you that, at least she tried to apologize to you later, but you ignored her.

In your eyes, what Mina felt was no longer love, but madness. And if you hadn't hated Y / N, you would probably have prayed for her, that Mina wouldn't have the idea of ​​kidnapping her. Probably the next step on the insane scale. First Y / N had decided on Jonathan and then the stupid robot broke, so Mina was only left with kidnapping as a way out.

You really did your best to understand her behavior, but you just couldn't. Okay, well ... you were just a stupid robot and you only knew empathy from Mina's script.

"Well," you began when you came into her working space on Wednesday afternoon and sat across from her at the desk.

"I've thought of something."

That was the first time in days that you spoke to her without being asked.

You had actually decided to ignore her, until it was enough for her and she decided to leave you. However, the human part of you (Mina's ugly script) thought it would be fair to at least give her the opportunity to explain to you why she was the way she was.

Mina looked up from her laptop and smiled gently at you.

"Anything you want, princess".

You could hear the relief in her voice and you knew she was probably glad you spoke to her again.

And to be honest, you liked that situation. The fact, that she was so eager to talk to you again gave you an incredible feeling of power.

Usually you played by her rules and now you had the reins in hand.

You crossed your arms over your chest and looked at her for a few seconds with narrowed eyes. Despair literally glittered in her eyes and you couldn't help but enjoy this moment.

"I want to get to know Y / N", you finally said and watched as her brown eyes widened.

"You can't be serious," she whispered in disbelief.

"I am absolutely serious."

You shrugged your shoulders.

"You want me to get 'normal' again, but for that to happen, I have to understand you first, and here we are."

"But- ..", Mina started and then broke off herself. This stunned look sparked another war in you.

One side wanted to love her and tell her the idea was stupid, while the other side of you hated her profoundly.

"I hope you are aware, that this is not possible," she said quietly.

"And why not? Because then she finds out that you are a psychopath? This is your problem and not mine."

"Y / N, I can't do this," she mumbled, always seeing youstill horrified.

"I can dress up or something," you replied and immediately hated yourself for your willingness to compromise.

Mina shook her head.

"That's impossible Y / N ... your voice even sounds like hers."

"Nobody pays attention to the voice."

"Jonathan would notice," Mina said, pressing her lips together.

"Jonathan?" You repeated, confused, and raised an eyebrow.

"Her Husband," she mumbled softly.

"And why should your husband come with her, when I just want to see her?"

"He does not like me."

"And why should you come with me, when I want to see her?"

"Oh Y / N, come on", Mina rolled her eyes. "Do you really think, I'm so stupid and leave you alone with her? No way."

You snorted in annoyance and shook your head as you stood up.

"It was clear that you wanted to be in control of that too," you muttered, turning to walk out of the room.

"I'll leave the decision to you, Mina, but don't expect me to come back to you if you don't even give me the opportunity to understand you."

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

And Mina actually didn't seem to have given up hope, when she told you on the same day, ,that she would agree to your request.

It was maybe a bit ridiculous to dress up because of the whole thing, but otherwise Mina would not have agreed and you also wanted to spare Y / N, what had happened to you the last few weeks. By being basically Y / N, you knew exactly what it would feel like for her to find out the truth about you.

"So .. what do you think?" You asked when you walked into the hallway to Mina, who was already waiting.

Mina looked you up and down critically.

You had to do your best not to look like yourself, or rather not to look like her.

Dyed hair, different make-up, more conspicuous clothing and jewelry.

"I don't like it," Mina muttered and you rolled your eyes.

"It's not about whether you like it, it's about whether I look like her."

Mina shook her head.

"You definitely don't do that and I still think it's ugly."

"Well, maybe I should always dress like this now," you muttered as you stepped forward to leave the house.

During the drive to the café, Mina explained her rules to you and that she would interrupt the whole thing immediately if you didn't follow them.

But you didn't listen to her at all. In your mind you were with Y / N and the life that was actually intended for you and it annoyed you, that Mina was so addicted to control.

"So, behave, understand?" She finished her sermon as she parked the car.

"Do I have any other choice? Otherwise you would probably take me to the junkyard," you joked and climbed out of the car, only for Mina to come to you and take her hand in yours. You wanted to push her away, her behavior was disgusting, but instead you gave her a warm smile and pressed a quick kiss on her cheek.

You knew exactly how much that would hurt her.

Mina pulled you into the overcrowded café and despite the many people you immediately discovered the young couple, who were sitting at one of the back tables.

Y / N, who had a child on her lap and her husband Jonathan.

Shit, shot through your head. They look so happy ..

You felt Mina's grip on your hand tighten a little, and if your bones weren't made of steel, you would have been afraid, Mina would break your hand. As you both approached the table, your eyes were glued to Y / N. In fact, she looked exactly like you, the only difference being that her hair was a little longer than yours. She moved like you, had the same posture as you and wore the same innocent smile on her face as you always did.

And as much as you loathe Mina, you had to give her one thing: she had done an excellent job designing you and you finally understood, what she always meant when she told you, that you were perfect.

She could have shown you a photo of Y / N and you would have been 100% sure that it was you.

"Oh Mina, hi", Y / N squeaked excitedly and got up from her seat when she saw Mina and you and you couldn't help but grin. Stupid thing.

"Hello Y / N," Mina mumbled when Y / N came and hugged her.

"I'm Y / N," Y / N said to you with a polite smile after letting go of Mina.

"And this is my husband Jonathan and our daughter Emily."

Your gaze wandered to the child who paid you no attention and to Jonathan who smiled crookedly.

"Uhm Y / N, that's my girlfriend Laura", Mina stammered and you looked at her confused. Laura?

"Hi," you mumbled tersely, trying to bring a smile to your face.

You watched Y / N turn away from you againe to sit next to your husband and put the child back on your lap.

"God, I'm so glad, that we can meet," Y / N said excitedly as Mina and you sat down (Mina across from Y / N while you sat down across from her annoyed husband).

"You know, I was really sad when you said a few weeks ago you weren't going to our college meeting .. I missed you, Mina."

You knew how much Y / N's words would hurt Mina and suddenly you found the fact, that you were sitting with her in this cafe with the real Y / N and her great life more than just amazing. And you knew that Mina made herself very vulnerable at that moment, which was actually a rarity.

"You know, Mina, I was really happy for you when you told me that you had a girlfriend," Y / N said while she stared at you curiously. Holy shit.

"How did you meet?"

"Uhm she-" Mina began, but you interrupted her.

"Let me tell her, honey."

You grabbed Mina's hand, that was on the table and crossed her fingers with yours.

"Well, as you know, Mina works in this robot company. And because Mina is not stupid, she had the great idea to create a human robot that exactly meets her ideas, who wouldn't do that if you were CEO of this company? And unfortunately her ideas looked exactly like me and in front of you sits the end result of her experiment and thats our lovestory. "

Y / N and Jonathan stared at you in confusion and you could hear Mina holding her breath. You held this tension for a few seconds before you laughed out loud.

"Oh my god, guys..that was a joke", you laughed and immediately the looks of the others relaxed again. Mina cleared her throat only to growl a quiet "not funny".

"So you know, I work in a bookstore and she was my customer back then. Love at first sight and that shit. And then we started dating," you explained and looked at Mina lovingly from the side. Disgusting.

You heard Y / N squeak softly next to Jonathan and you wondered if you were as annoying as she was.

"Thats so cute," she said. "And how long have you been together?"

"4 years", Mina muttered and you hummed in agreement.

"I'm happy for you," said Y / N and looked back and forth between you and Mina, smiling.

"Jonathan and I have known each other since college, as Mina must have told you."

"Oh yeah," you said, staring at the child playing in Y / N's lap. It looked just like her, and who knows, maybe it was just a robot?

"Mina told me a lot about you, unfortunately a little late. Well, whatever, what are you two doing?"

"We're both mechanics and work in rocket construction," Y / N explained and Jonathan just nodded.

"You know, Jonathan is currently working with other mechanics on a rocket that will go to Mars."

Y / N gave Jonathan a proud look.

"Oh wow, that's so cool," you said with mock admiration as you stared at Jonathan with bright eyes.

"You know, Mina's work is really boring, but rocket building? That is so interesting, tell me more about your work, jonathan."

The man in front of you looked at you confused as you cocked your head and smiled sweetly at him.

"Uhm, so I work in a team with 14 other mechanics," he explained bored and crossed his arms over his chest. "And we plan to finish the whole project within the next two years."

"And should the rocket be for humans?" You asked as you put your hand on his arm to remove a lint that didn't exist. Beside you, you could feel Mina squeeze your hand tight and you knew, that she hated to see you obviously flirting with the man.

Jonathan cleared his throat and pulled his arms apart again so that you had to remove your hand again.

"This rocket is supposed to be for robots," he muttered, looking at his wife, who was sitting next to him, smiling gently.

"Oh, did you hear Mina? Robots?" You said as you turned to Mina to look at her with shining eyes.

"Maybe I should report to NASA, I would be the perfect astronaut for this mission".

You looked back at Y / N and Jonathan, who obviously didn't know what to make of your statement again. You grinned cheekily when you put your hand on Jonathans again.

"I understand, that all of the robot comments might sound a bit confusing, but you have to know, that Mina has some really weird fetishes."

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

"What the hell was that supposed to be?" Scolded Mina after the two of you had reentered your house. You turned to her and shrugged your shoulders.

"I don't know what you mean, honey," you said with an innocent smile on your face as you approached her passed to enter the living room. Mina watched you angrily as you let yourself fall on the sofa to stare indifferently out of the window.

"Those stupid robot comments?" She hissed angrily.

"And then the disgusting way you stared at Jonathan with .."

You snorted in annoyance.

"Of course it is that thing that bothers you".

"Yes, it bothers me because you know that I hate him", Mina hissed and hobbled into the room to stand in front of you.

"You fucking belong to me Y / N .."

"Of course I'm yours," you mumbled sadly and while you were still looking out the window, you could feel her angry eyes digging into your skin. You thought back to the previous afternoon. Y / N had started talking about their perfect life in response to your questions. Her and Jonathan's career, and then cute Emily, who had been sitting at the table the whole time playing with a teddy bear. You noticed, that as a stupid robot you could probably never have children and you couldn't help but feel envy for this woman and again there was this hate for Mina.

"Okay, take that off," Mina suddenly said in a sharp voice. You looked at her confused and blinked a few times.

"Please what-?"

"Take. That. Off.", She repeated, growling, while her eyes wandered over your body. "This makeup, the jewelry and these clothes, that's not you. And I want you .. now"

"Oh no ... I definitely won't do that," you breathed as you stood up.

"I told you, I didn't want anything physical from you until things were cleared up."

"I waited a long time Y / N and nothing happened, so take this shit off," Mina spat, staring at you impatiently.

"Leave me alone, Wilhemina," you muttered as you stepped past her to leave the room.

"You will come back immediately, Y / N", Mina suddenly shouted in a tone that was strange to you and immediately made you jump. Her voice suddenly sounded so shrill that it gave goose bumps over your body.

You turned around automatically to go back to the living room, where Mina was still angry and looking at you expectantly.

"I want you to take your clothes off," she said sharply, and you just couldn't argue. There was that sound in her voice that she had never yelled at you with, even though you had argued a lot in the past few weeks.

"Now, Y / N," she hissed loudly before she hit the floor with her stick and you immediately began to take off all the jewelry, that you had only been wearing to not look like Y / N. You grabbed an unused kleenex, that was lying on the living room table to wipe the lipstick off your lips. Your fingers carefully removed the lashes, that you had placed on your eyelashes. Your eyes were still on Mina, who had meanwhile sat down on the sofa and watched your every move. You stood in front of her, undecided after throwing the handkerchief with your lipstick and lashes on the table.

"I want you to sit on my lap," said Mina and suddenly you understood why you were actually doing what she wanted. 

“I want.”

Damn robot.

You carefully climbed onto her lap and stared sadly into her brown eyes, which were dark with lust.

"Good girl," she hummed, sending warmth through your whole body.

"Its that what you want, isn't it? Be my good girl?"

You looked down at her with glassy eyes before you nodded.

Immediately her hands began to wander over your body and you knew that you had failed.

You had never hated yourself and your stupid body as much as you had for the next few hours. As warm tears of frustration ran down your face, you moaned her name like a whore. It was fascinating how your body reacted to her touch, you wanted her so bad, simply because she programmed you that way.

With that she had won.

You had fought her for 3 weeks, only to end up in bed with her again. You hated her for it and you hated yourself and still you let her fuck you so senselessly.

When you found yourself in your bed a few hours later and felt her naked body pressed against yours, you felt more terrible than ever. Mina had her arms wrapped tightly around you and you could feel her breath on your neck. It was all disgusting and you noticed how it got too much.

You carefully freed yourself from her iron grip to go quietly from your bedroom into the bathroom. You turn on the light and stand in front of the mirror to examine your naked body. Disgusting.

Your face looked completely tearful, with a swollen lower lip that she had a few hours agohad eyes.

Your body was covered with small bruises and the prints of her fingernails and suddenly you could feel her hands running over your body again. It was electrifying.

You hated this picture in front of you. You were only there to be hers. To do what she wanted. And there was nothing you could do about it.

Your fingers carefully traced her markings. None of this was real. Your skin was some kind of rubber that only discolored. An illusion to hide your cables. And you've had enough of this human shell, this illusion. You were a robot and you looked like a human, you acted like a human and that didn't make any sense. You finally wanted to know who or rather what you were. Your eyes wandered from your reflection in the mirror to the sink and the small nail scissors stabbed your eyes.

The whole thing was idiotic, but you couldn't help but hold out your trembling hand for it.

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

A few minutes after you got out of bed, Mina woke up too. The lack of warmth in your body was missing, as was your weight in her arms. For a brief moment she was afraid, that you would finally have run away, but then it occurred to her, that you couldn't run away, that's how she had programmed you. Still, she had the feeling that something was wrong.

Mina sat up to grab her dressing gown, which she pulled over her naked body, and then hobbled out of the bedroom into the hallway to look for you. She didn't have to look far as the light shone from the open bathroom and she saw you leaning over the sink.

"Princess?" She asked softly and put a hand on your bare shoulder. You winced at her touch as you turned and revealed to Mina what you had done. Mina let out a shocked scream and stared in horror at your slashed arm, which revealed all the cables and your metal bones.

"What the fuck are you doing ?!", She screamed angrily as she grabbed your arm.

"I- I just wanted to see my real body," you stuttered and hid the nail scissors behind your back.

"Don't you see that you are destroying everything?", Mina spat and looked at you hurt.

"You're the one who breaks everything."

"Mina, please," you mumbled and pulled your open arm back again.

"I just want you to be normal again," she breathed and felt tears come out of her eyes. You shook your head slowly.

"We already had this conversation, I'm not going back to normal, you have to understand."

"Oh I understand it now".

Mina looked at you thoughtfully for a moment before continuing.

"Get dressed."

"It's 5 am," you said and watched in confusion as Mina turned around to go back to your bedroom from the bathroom.

"You understood me, Y / N", Mina mumbled and heard how you ran after her angrily.

"Make up your mind Mina," you hissed as you walked past her to your closet. "Before you wanted me to take my clothes off, just so you would tell me now to get dressed again."

"You can also accompany me to my office naked," Mina hummed, who started to get dressed. You spun around and stared at her in confusion.

"You want us to go to your office?"

"Exactly".

"Forget it," you snorted and shook your head.

"I won't do that shit. You can't-"

"Shut the fuck up!" Shouted Mina.

"I want us to go to my office and you will come with me, do you understand me?"

She glared at you and you nodded quickly.

"Good," she hissed. "Now damn it, get dressed and shut up."

----------

Mina was incredibly nervous when she drove to her office. She didn't really know what she wanted there herself.

She wanted you to go back to normal, but you didn't go back to normal. She wanted you to be Y / N again, but you weren't. Mina could feel that you were scared when you sat silently next to her in the car without moving. But she didn't care, earlier she might have calmed you down, but earlier you were still like Y / N.

Mina parked the car in the company's parking lot before opening the door for you to get out. Without a word, she ran through the building, clutching your wrist with her free hand. What hadn't been cut open. She stomped angrily into the office of Jeff and Mutt, who were bent over the table again to coke.

"Look Mutt, Venny joins the chatroom," grinned Mutt as he lifted his head from the table and recognized Miss Venable.

"What gives us the honor?"

Mina put her hand on your back and pushed you forward.

"She is broken," she croaked. "She doesn't work anymore .."

"So what should we do now?" Asked Jeff, as he got up and walked over to you to look at your cut arm.

"I want you to fix her, she should be normal," Mina hissed and felt tears sting in her eyes again.

"Otherwise replace her if you have to, I don't want her if she is like that."

Mina looked sadly into your fearful eyes. There was nothing left of the loving glint she'd seen when you smiled at her the first time. You weren't like Y / N and as long as you weren't like her, she didn't want you. Damn robot.

Sandman, I'm so alone Don't have nobody to call my own Please turn on your magic beam Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream

[demonprosecutor]

TURNABOUT HEROES AU! A COMPREHENSIVE POST

BASIC PREMISE:

Miles Edgeworth is a big-shot prosecutor who, much like his mentor, specialized in the prosecution of super-powered individuals, more specifically, heroes and villains. He doesn’t have any powers; however, it does not dissuade from the fact that he has considerable influence to ensure that retribution is often a rarity in his line of work 

(far too often he’s heard stories about his colleagues being offed by a vengeful loved one or a villain who managed to smuggle in a weapon)

However, his luck was bound to run out anyways. After sending too many of their colleagues’ into high-security prison, Miles finds himself the unfortunate target to many villains and unfortunately takes up a new role of ‘Damsel-in-Distress’ if he wanted to play with cliches.

But even with his string of bad luck, the mysterious Firebird is someone who always seems to know when and if he’s in trouble. At the same time, Phoenix Wright had somehow reappeared in his life and now? He’s being SAVED on both ends, what does a man have to do in order to get a semblance of peace around these parts.

Or, as I like to call it, the “oh no, i fell in love with a superhero AND their secret identity unknowingly and i am in a crisis 24/7 about it” au

WORLDBUILDING:

The world is composed of individuals who have powers and who don’t. Generally, there is peaceful co-existence between these two groups - however, there are spots of tension between the two that culminates in trouble. Sometimes, powered individuals use their abilities for evil and others use their powers for good. Non-powered individuals are usually stuck in the middle LMAO

ROUGH TIMELINE:

Gregory Edgeworth is a non-powered defense attorney that specializes in crimes that are committed by powered individuals because they have the tendency to be indicted more harshly than non-powered individuals. He, while not too famous like his enemy, has steadily been growing in fame in terms of his willingness to help anyone no matter what, something that Miles, as a child, cherished.

As a kid, Miles, who is non-powered as well, is someone who grew up in a very loving environment. In spite of the fact that his father was a single father and sometimes came home late, he was always surrounded with a wealth of love and care from his father and his uncle. During this time, Phoenix and Larry, both powered individuals (and whose powers I will explain further downwards), were his tentative friends at the beginning - that is until the dreaded class trial. Phoenix was accused of stealing Miles’ money and the teacher + class was unfairly going against him, citing his powers as being evidence towards motivation for crime. But Miles stood up for him, his dad as inspiration, and told everyone off because you can’t accuse people without proof. From that moment on, these three were inseparable. 

They would always go to each other’s houses, always pair together for group projects, and always hang out - they were thick as thieves.

But tragedy struck around Christmas. Miles does not know exactly what happens, but all he knows is that when he woke up from fading consciousness, a moment of time seared in his mind for eternity is throwing the gun, the ear-splitting gunshot and a blink later, his father slumped dead on against the elevator wall.

From that moment on, it just goes downhill for Miles. He gets taken under Manfred’s wing and has the ideals of always getting a guilty verdict and people with powers are bad. For years and years, he grew up with this poisonous mindset with his adopted sister, Franziska, and together, they grew up to be the second-most feared prosecutors (the first being Manfred).

Meanwhile, Phoenix is desperately trying to find miles, trying to see if he could reconnect with him, but he never does. So in college, he ends up with Dahlia and gets subsequently accused of murder of Doug Swallow. He gets poisoned in the trial, a gift from Dahlia’s powers, but miraculously heals - figuring out another facet of his powers.

It is then when Phoenix meets up with Mia, determined after seeing that newspaper with Miles in it, she takes him under her wing and teaches him everything she knows about being both a defense attorney and a hero. Together, they make the dynamic duo of Firebird and Spirit! They fight crime on both sides of the law for years, while Phoenix thinks about his goal of reaching Miles.

Years later, Mia gets murdered by Redd White after obtaining information that could stop him and his company.

The trail for Mia’s murder is the first time Phoenix and Miles meet again. Instead of Winston taking the role of prosecution, it’s Miles!

Miles completely ignores Phoenix initially and focuses on the investigation and having the perfect trial. He does a lot more hands on investigations because sometimes, the police have a tendency to misplace evidence or not find things that he needs, so he’s at the crime scenes frequently. The night before the first trial, Miles goes to the crime scene where he first meets the hero Firebird. He is a bit of a jerk to Firebird before Miles writes him down as a potential suspect.

After his first loss, Miles is completely stunned. Before chalking it up to beginner’s luck. It doesn’t help that Manfred reprimands him very harshly for losing to a green attorney.

But for some reason, after that first trial, Miles ends up seeing more of Phoenix and Firebird around. Phoenix has the tendency to take cases that Miles is prosecuting for chances to talk to him and Firebird is always around the crime scene - he’s sure that they’re in cahoots with each other.

It’s difficult for Miles to talk to Phoenix because it brings up too many memories that he had repressed for his own mental health. But for some reason, Firebird is much easier to talk to.

It’s like Miles has a target at his back because he cannot go a few days without being kidnapped, being held at gunpoint, being used as hostage, and being rescued by Firebird, that insufferable flirt. However, Miles is reassured that he has someone out there who is willing to save him because not many would, especially since he would judiciously prosecute them without much guilt.

Firebird; however, is another story. 

He talks to Firebird and Phoenix about each other and it’s clear over the years that he’s slowly being less cold and more warm -- and it’s hard to not fall in love! Firebird is the one who falls in love first because if Phoenix is being honest, he’s been in love with Miles since forever, but it’s easier to confess behind a mask. And this was during a time where Miles hated powered people, so it was always left with taunts. But Phoenix never let that deter him, he had always cared for Miles, no matter what.

Eventually, Miles ends up falling for both Firebird and Phoenix and he spends many sleepless nights thinking about the hero who saves his life literally and his rival/best friend who saves his life emotionally.

NOTABLE CHARACTERS:

Phoenix Wright AKA Firebird:

His powers are pyrokinesis, healing, flight, and regeneration

Body is the same fragility of humans, but if he dies, he crumples to ashes and comes back to life brand new and without injuries!

Miles Edgeworth, non-powered:

A prosecutor trained under Manfred von Karma, specializing in powered crime

Terribly unlucky to the point where people wondered if bad luck was his superpower

Franziska von Karma, powered, but repressing her abilities:

A prosecutor trained under Manfred von Karma, specializing in powered crime - eventually upgrades to international prosecutor

Her abilities, once found out, are ice powers!

Dating Maya

Maya Fey, non-powered:

A journalist charged with protecting the secret of the Kurain Village - which is a place for resting heroes or villains who wish to reform!

Dating Franziska

Pearl Fey, powered:

Her powers are super-strength, extreme durability, and extreme endurance

Literally the strongest AA character

Iris Fey, non-powered:

The twin of Dahlia and aided her charade with Phoenix back at college

Now she works at Kurain Village with Dahlia in the reformation of villains.

Dahlia Hawthorne AKA Sweet Tooth, powered:

Her powers are poison control!

She used to be a villain, but reformed

Works at Kurain Village with Iris in helping villains reform

Morgan Fey, powered:

Her powers are the same as Pearl’s; however, they are a LOT weaker than her daughter’s

Very scary

Larry Butz AKA Toy Soldier, powered:

Powers: brings inanimate objects to life

But he prefers to bring toys to life as puppets, not really an effective fighter, but he’s trying and that’s what counts!

The Phantom, powered:

Powers: can shapeshift perfectly down to their voices. They can also steal memories

They are the perfect assassin

Gumshoe, non-powered or is he? huehuehue

The detective partner of Edgeworth’s 

Very loyal and energetic! He is such a sweetheart

Manfred von Karma, non-powered

One of the best prosecutors for powered crime

An asshole jerk

Trucy Wright, powered:

Powers: teleportation

She uses her teleportation for her magic tricks, but shhh, don’t tell anyone, it’s a secret!

Apollo Justice AKA Chords of Steel, powered:

Powers: sound manipulation

His chords of steel are sometimes A BIT MUCH!

But he could manipulate sound to make his footsteps quieter, his ability is really versatile

He can only SCREAM

Klavier Gavin AKA Piano Man, powered:

Powers: sound manipulation

BUT HE CAN ONLY SING IT!!!

Can charm/mind control people, but NEVER EVER does it because he knows how bad it can get!

Kristoph Gavin, powered:

Powers: charm

Can charm/mind control people hehehe

Ema Skye, powered:

Powers: perception

She can see the gross nasty fluids from a crime that can be seen with the human eye, she loves it

Lana Skye, non-powered:

Once the Chief Prosecutor, but now jailed

Currently, she is on parole and is going to be soon let out for good behaviour

Athena, powered:

Powers: She has the capability of knowing someone’s TRUE emotions and their deepest desires

It’s honestly a curse because she frequently gets overstimulated by crowds

Blackquill, non-powered:

A fearsome prosecutor that was jailed for crimes not of his own making

He seeks the phantom and wishes to either put them in jail or kill them, whichever comes first.

Mia Fey AKA Spirit, powered:

Powers: psychokinesis + phasing

LIKE A GHOST

Phoenix’s mentor as both a defense attorney and as a hero

[lu-undy]

Chapter 2, Un-alone

Here it is!

"Lulu?" 

"Oui, Marie?" 

"Take your coat."

"Non, jolie fleur, you are cold, keep it." He grinned sweetly.

[Pretty flower]

"I'm cold but you're freezin'!" 

He chuckled at the jump of octaves in her voice.

"I am perfectly fine, please." He insisted, his hands shifted awkwardly to his face, he brushed an eyebrow nervously. 

"Look at this…!" She suddenly took his hands in hers and it took him aback. He blushed. "Your hands are frozen!"

"It matters very little, I assure you. Now please, follow me." He gently laced a hand around her and she followed him. He took her around the restaurant, to the back door. 

"Where are you takin’ me? Oh… Lulu… What are you doing?”

He opened his cigarette case, the same he still used to this day, and retrieved the pins that were concealed there before picking the lock. It yielded and he opened the door. 

“Are we… Can we...?”

He offered a gallant hand to her and she put her slim fingers on his before he pushed her inside and shut the door. He took her to the stage and switched a spotlight on, just that single one, on the piano. 

“Lulu, did you just pick that lock?”

“I might have.” He answered and sat at the piano.

“Hold on, that means we’re breaking in! Oh my God!” She burst out laughing and hugged him from behind, as his fingers started playing with the ivory keys. 

Lucien closed his eyes just as he did that day. He remembered her perfume. Rose water and a hint of jasmine. Perfect for the beautiful flower that she was. He remembered the feeling of her hair brushing against his much younger skin. 

“Is there anything you want me to sing?”

“A private concert, huh?” She said and he raised lovestruck eyes to her.

“Oui, if you want." 

“Play whatever you want, but please sing. I really like your voice.” 

It started like a warm ballad, a style that Marie would come to know is called Bossa Nova. It comes from Brazil, Lucien had explained. It is similar to a samba but slowed down. It is much more mellow but still carries the sunlight from where it comes from.

She listened to him sing in languages she barely knew existed. He played and his entire body gently rocked back and forth as he sang in rhythm. She sat next to him and his eyes went to hers, her smile. That night was the first of countless ones where they would exit the restaurant, walk around the block and Lucien would make them slip inside again. She never questioned his ability to pick locks, she followed him and trusted him blindly. Meanwhile, Lucien melted and sank, falling deeper and deeper for her charms but also her character. The extended private concerts were great opportunities to talk more.

He came to learn that she was working as a waitress, in a diner. From that, he knew that she was spending up to her last dime to go and see him in that restaurant, the best in town. She didn’t have many different dresses and would alternate between two or three. The first time she came to one of their rendez-vous with a dress that Lucien had already seen, she had apologised and explained that she would have loved to afford better outfits for him. 

Pff, Lucien assured her that it was ridiculous, that he didn’t see the dress. 

“Comment pourrais-je remarquer autre chose que tes yeux?”

“You’re doing it again, Lulu…”

“What am I doing again?” He asked with a chuckle from the piano seat, playing lazy arpeggios. 

“You know very well what!” She answered.

“Pray tell, I do not know what you are talking about, petite fleur.”

[little flower]

She chuckled. 

“You’re speaking in French again and I can’t understand you! C’mon, honey, tell me in English!”

His heart stopped at the word “honey”.  He raised lovestruck eyes to her. First, she had called him Lulu, and now, it was “honey”...

“I said… Uhm…”

“Come on, please…?”

He looked away and translated himself.

“How could I see anything else but your eyes?”

He blushed again and each time he did, the heat in his cheeks was exquisite agony. For the first time, Lucien was the one to fall. With his impeccable looks and manners, he was used to being the centre of desires and attention but this time, it was all upside down! He felt a soft and warm pain that only grew when she came close to him, or when she was far. 

When he wasn’t at the restaurant, his thoughts were on her. Was she well? What was she doing? Did she need anything? Oh he hoped she was smiling and laughing, he hoped that she graced the world with a flash of her pearly white teeth.

Marie started to receive these packages at work. She had slipped in the bathroom to open the first one. A dress! Gosh, and what a dress it was! It was gorgeous. Blue, a bit lighter than her eyes. Oh, what was that? Gloves? They matched the dress and… oh, a headband! 

“Who left this for me?” She asked one of her colleagues at the diner. 

“I don’t know, I just found the package on the counter, I thought you’d forgotten it there.”

She frowned. 

Gifts like these started appearing in her life. At work, on her doorstep… Once, she even found a red rose in her skirt pocket!

That’s when she understood. There was only one man who was agile and subtle enough to manage a sleight of hand like that. 

“Hey, honey.”

That night, she had joined him at the cinema. She found him waiting patiently in front of the wall of large and wide posters. He turned to the voice who had addressed him and his face beamed up with a smile.

“You forgot this in my pocket, Lulu.” She had brought the flower with her. 

“Non. I do not think so.” He smiled and took it from her hand to slide it on her hair, snugly pinned by the headband, over her ear. “Besides, why would I need a rose? C’est toi ma petite fleur.”

She didn’t have to do more than raise an eyebrow for him to translate himself. 

“It’s you who is my little flower.”

She chuckled and took his arm. 

“Thanks, hon’.”

“Are you ready?”

“Before we go, what do you think of this?” She opened the panes of her coat and Lucien saw one of the dresses he had offered her. His smile widened and the words failed him. 

“I… Woah… You look… You look… ravishing. Pardon my stuttering.” He cleared his throat and she chuckled. 

“Y’like it?”

“Only a blind fool wouldn’t. You are resplendent, Marie, truly.”

“Someone offered it to me.”

“Ah, surely they are a person of good taste, hm?” He joked.

“Oh, yeah, with keen eyes too. They knew my size without asking!” She added and he had to look away. There was no way he could look in her eyes. 

Oui, he knew the measures of her body. He had dreamt them countless times, with his eyes both closed and open. A simple glance at her had sufficed. He had seen it all. The curves that beckoned him and before sleeping every night, he dreamt of his fingers exploring them all, just grazing the warm and soft skin. 

“Thank you, Lulu.”

Her voice made him look back at her. 

“Y-you are most welcome, petite fleur.” She grabbed his arm and they went to the counter. He paid for the tickets and he had noticed how she had eyed the popcorn. He treated her to some. She turned to him, looked around them and seeing that no one was paying attention, she squeezed him in a tight hug before holding his arm again, leaving him breathless. 

They entered the room and sat at the back, in the middle, under the projector.

Soon, the light went out and the movie started. 

Lucien couldn’t remember it now, but to him, it seemed that the room was empty. There was only Marie and him. And for the movie, it was one of those romantic comedies that he only liked when he watched them with her; because then, he could safely admit it, he liked those movies. 

Oh.

She had leaned her head on his shoulder. His heart beat so hard all of a sudden that he shifted a bit on his seat, hoping she wouldn’t feel the collar of his jacket and shirt tremble under his pounding heartbeat. He got hot all of a sudden. But her spontaneity and boldness surprised him again when he felt something against his lips. It was some popcorn. He parted his lips and took it in his mouth before he felt a thumb brush his cheek. The sensation was so strong that he had to close his eyes for an instant.

He remembered how ridiculous he felt. Him, the womaniser, the man used to woo any female he wanted with baffling ease. He had been humbled and put back in his place by the flutter of Marie’s eyelashes...

She fed him popcorn from time to time and soon, he found himself leaning his head on hers. He didn’t know it but he was smiling too, until delicate fingers slid between his. His heart jumped again and he felt her shift away from his shoulder. He looked down and could only see her when the movie was bright enough. He saw two stars twinkle, her eyes. Her eyelashes slowly bent down and finally, a hand on his cheek. They stared at each other for what seemed like eternity.

Marie craned her neck gently and pushed her lips on his.

Lucien closed his eyes. 

It was nothing but a prude kiss on the lips but it had pushed tears to his eyes. He frowned and his fingers trembled, spasming in the air before he planted his nails on the armrests and dug violently, to control himself, hold himself back.

She soon withdrew and he took an extra second to open his eyes.

“Marie…”

She chuckled.

“Yeah?”

“I… Je t’aime.” He admitted in a breathless whisper.

“I love you too.”

Lucien remembered it all from his lifeless hotel room.

“Merde… Merde… MERDE!”

[Shit… Shit… SHIT!]

The bottle of whiskey was sent flying at full speed against the wall and smashed loudly. After that, silence fell that was only interspersed by the noise of Lucien’s loud breath.

He went to the telephone and dialed the number that the hotel boy had given him.

“Hello?”

“Oui, it is me.” Lucien said.

“Lucien? Ah, it’s Fred.”

“I know.” The Frenchman’s voice was cold, but unlike his usual well-measured way. No, his old American colleague could tell that it was different.

“Look, I’ve just learnt and uh… I’m sorry for your loss.”

Lucien sighed but didn’t answer anything. He was too hurt.

“If you need to talk or… I don’t know, if you need someone, I’m here.”

“Fred.” Lucien answered. 

“I know, you’re not that type of guy but, I don’t know. I just need to tell you that I’m here.”

Lucien frowned and put a hand on the bridge of his nose.

“Are the headquarters the same?” He finally asked.

“Yeah. I mean, yeah, it’s still the same, why?”

“Is there anyone in now?”

“No, it’s the middle of the goddamn night, of course not!”

“Fine.” Lucien hung up and left his hotel room. He couldn’t bear the smell of the whiskey spilled on the floor and splashed on the wall. He exited the hotel to slip in a taxi and gave an address he knew too well.

Fred was also working for the secret services, but the American ones, of course. He had always been a friend of Lucien’s, a reliable colleague. But if Fred had learnt, then when morning struck, the entire world would know. Lucien clenched his jaw harder and soon the taxi stopped. 

He exited it and headed for the building in front of him. He didn’t have any trouble entering. He went from a service door behind and picked the lock. He didn’t even hide his face from the cameras. But he knew he wouldn’t face any consequences. Fred knew he was there and in any case, if the Americans came to tell him off, they could go to hell.

Lucien entered and after a second of surprise at the new paint on the walls, the new tiled floor and the new overall interior of the building, he found some stairs and went down to the lowest level. 

Ah, finally, the gymnasium. Lucien pushed a switch and the wide room lit up.

He pushed the door, kicked his shoes away and threw his jacket down on the floor. He took his blade out however and headed straight for the dummies used to train punching and kicking.  

And there he went. He released it. 

It started with rage first. He punched and kicked until he could barely feel his knuckles, which dissatisfied him greatly. He wanted it to hurt. He craved to feel the pain on his hands, on his useless hands, on the hands that couldn’t hold hers anymore, that couldn’t have saved her, that weren’t there for her in her last moments.

A pneumonia is what had taken her. 

A simple, goddamn pneumonia. 

Her lungs were fragile, he knew that and never smoked around her. He had… He had given up smoking for her. He would have given her his own lungs and got the rotten ones. He didn’t care. He didn’t deserve to live more than her. She was an outstanding woman, a woman like they didn’t exist anymore. A woman, not a princess or a toy, a proper, proud and solid woman. A queen walking amongst simpletons.

Only she could understand and bear him. Only she had the shoulders and the heart for it. He never met anyone with whom the connection had been that deep. No, of course not. 

“POURQUOI ELLE?!”

[WHY HER?!]

The dummies were assaulted like they never had before. The precise hits and blows made them crack sometimes, but Lucien did not hear any of it. Only his loud shouting and later on, his sobs, as he slashed and stabbed. He had ripped his tie off of his neck and a few buttons of his shirt had popped away. 

“NON! NON! NON!”

More stabbing and slashing through his sobbing roars, punches and kicks as the first rays of sunlight peeked through the thin windows at the top of the room. They did not stop the brokenhearted mess of a man to rip his shirt away from his chest and stay in his sweat drenched white tank top, yelling, sobbing, pulling his hair off his own head. A man descending to madness is what the first users of the gym found that morning. 

“Oh my God! Are you alright?! What happened here?!”

They ran to him, seeing his bleeding knuckles, dried blood on the broken dummies and on his clothes and face. 

“Stay away from me!” He ordered and the American spies stopped when they recognised him. The French accent, the piercing blue eyes and the short blade. Yeah, it was him. 

“Agent L of the DGSE? What are you doing here?”

Lucien picked his shirt and put on his shoes before exiting the gymnasium and the entire centre. A taxi took his depraved self back to his hotel where the whiskey had been cleaned.

He flopped down on the sofa and laid there, still covered in blood, his own, dried and drying, and still sweating with silent tears rolling down his face. His hair stuck to his face and everyone he happened to cross paths with in the hotel gave him the weirdest looks. Who was that wretch of a man they were letting into the five-star establishment?

Lucien sighed and turned his eyes to the coffee table.

The letter was there, open towards him. He sat up and went to his knees on the floor. He didn’t want to touch it in the filthy state he was. He simply read it with his hands in his hair, pulling and crying after each word.

That was it. It felt different now. 

The first time he had read it, it felt that she had just written it for him a few seconds ago. But now, it was a relic of the past, something that did not take him closer to her, but somehow, it became the measure for how far he had been from her. 

Lucien had always been a letter away from Marie. 

Although now, he couldn’t even be a letter away from her anymore.

[thatesqcrush]

Game Night, Pt. 2

Rafael Barba x Reader. Sequel to Game Night. People were curious as to what other toys Rafael bought. Well, here you go. CW: edging, orgasm denial, various sex toys, degradation talk, dirty talk, vaginal fingering, p in v sex. Super NSFW. AN: forgive me pls for any typos. AN2: This covers the edging square in kink bingo.

WC: 1675

--

You laid on the bed, your heart racing as you anticipated Rafael’s next move. Your wrists and your ankles were bound together with golden yellow silk rope. You had gone over the situation in your mind over and over. Earlier in the evening you had accompanied Rafael at the victory party for a colleague who had become the newest District Attorney for Manhattan county. During the festivities, your inner brat had come out. For Rafael, he loved being your dominant. He truly enjoyed this new dynamic of your and his relationship. With his line of work, he saw the truly ugly side of sex, like Adam Cain choking with a belt and raping and sodomizing Jocelyn Paley. But with you, it wasn’t that at all. As a dominant, it was be thrilling and empowering to hold the power to make someone feel utterly and completely alive as you give them what they craved most. There was a kind of energy that sparked between you and him that was indescribable. There existed the yin and yang harmony that occurred between opposite yet complementary desires. And of course, the consent. Nothing was ever done against your will and you were free to use the safe word.

In fact, after the game night, you and him had explored more of the toys he had purchased and eventually, you had both taken a trip to the sex shop he had stumbled upon. And from there you had learned in sub dynamics, you were in fact, a brat.

You were intentionally naughty and defiant – in public, no less, which irritated Rafael to no end. He asked you to accompany him to speak with the Mayor – the Mayor New York City – and you said no – twice. And you loved to test his ability to stay calm.

“Carino, please. Not ahora.” Rafael warned as he tried to pull your arm up. You rolled your eyes at him and sighed exasperated – something you knew would grind his gears. Rafael pulled you up and he had to basically pull you along – as if you had become limp as a ragdoll.

And then, when the evening was over, while you both waited for the towncar to pull around, Rafael had gripped the back of your neck and whispered lasciviously in your ear: “You’re going to get what’s coming for you.”

You shrugged out of his grasp easily, as you let out a fake yawn. “I’d like to see you try.”

You turned to face Rafael, his bright eyes dark as they searched yours. A perfectly groomed eyebrow arched. He took a step closer and pulled you close to him. He gently pushed back a fallen tendril of hair and he lowered his head to your ear. To anyone else, it was a moment of romantic domesticity.

“Remember who you are talking to, you dirty fucking slut.”

--

And that is how you found yourself, laying in bed, completely naked. The red Badgley Mischka ball gown you had donned earlier lay in a heap in the corner of the bedroom. Rafael was still partly dressed – his bow tie was undone and had accompanied your dress. His sleeves were rolled up and a few buttons of his tuxedo shirt were undone. Rafael paced the room. A rolling iron bar cart had been re-purposed for sex toy storage. All toys laid out as if instruments on a surgical tray, waiting in anticipation to be called upon.

The shine of one particular toy caught Rafael’s eye. Next to it was another that could be used in tandem. Rafael chuckled darkly.

“Oh get on with it.” You called out as you struggled against the ropes. “Show me what you got.”

“Tsk, tsk, kitten. You’ve been a very naughty brat.”

“Me? A brat? Never!” You replied. Rafael stared at you intensely. You could almost see the wheels turning in his head and you shivered in anticipation.

“You knew what you were doing, Y/N. You’re a smart woman.” Rafael replied as his hand ghosted over your neck and trailed down to your legs. Rafael cupped your cunt, feeling hot and wet it already was. He squeezed it gently but firmly and you let out a small whimper. Rafael grinned.

“We’re going to have a lot of fun.” You peered over and watched as Rafael donned a single black latex glove.

“What’s that?” You asked.

Rafael approached and sat next to you. He waved his hand and you realized that there were different textures on each finger: ribbed, ridged, knobbed and swirled. Rafael pressed a kiss to your forehead before taking place between your legs. He drizzled some lube on his hand and pressed his fingers together, spreading it.

His fingers stroked your folds, teasing. You were already so wet with the anticipation of everything and one finger slid in easily, finding your sweet spot easily. The combination of the ridged texture of the glove and his ministrations, had your orgasm build quickly.

“Don’t come. Not yet.” Rafael replied, feeling your walls clench. You whimpered as Rafael slipped another finger in. He massaged you from the inside out, working you harder with his fingers. You moaned, letting the feelings of pleasure wash over you.

“I’m going to come!” You replied.

“Hold it, not yet.” Rafael told you. You swallowed hard, squeezing your eyes closed as you tried to keep it at bay. Again, the crescendo built and at the brink, Rafael stilled his fingers.

You let out a frustrated whine. “Oh fuck, papi, I want to cum, fuck…” you gasped.

“Want you to hold it.” Rafael told you, reaching up to roughly circle your clit with his fingers.

“Oh fuck, I don’t think I can.”

“You can and you will,” he told you sternly. “You only get to cum when papi says you can,” he instructed. You groaned in frustration.

“Por favor papi.” You pleaded. Rafael responded by delivering a sharp smack on your cunt, causing you to gasp and twitch on the bed.

Rafael stood and looked at you. You were completely helpless and completely vulnerable to him. He could see how wet you were and how your clit was already so swollen. He walked over to the bar cart and grabbed a few more toys. One toy was a clitoris pump. He added some lubricant to the soft silicone cup and pressed it over your clit. The pump’s suction pulsation drew blood flow into your intimate areas, stimulating them and making them puffier and more sensitive. Because it was suctioned in place, Rafael was able to get more another toy off the bar cart.

“I’m going to… oh fuck!” You cried out feeling your orgasm about to crest. “Oh no you don’t. You hold that.” Rafael replied as he removed the pump.

“No! I can’t. I need to come!” You sobbed.

Another sharp spank landed on your hot, swollen and slick cunt. You gasped as your body jerked in response. You felt tears prick behind your eyes.

“Good girls get to come. Not bratty sluts.” Rafael growled.

“Please, please. I can be good. I can be so good! I promise!” You begged shamelessly.

Rafael sunk two gloved fingers back into you, fucking you hard with his fingers.  Your breathing was shallow and quick, your head was fuzzy, mouth dry as you cried out. You were positively soaked, making a mess of the sheets beneath you.

“Look at all that delicious cream.” Rafael praised as he continued to fuck you with his fingers. “Look at all that mess you’re making.” Your thighs were trembling. A sheen of sweat coated your body. And just when you didn’t think your tortured pussy could take anymore, Rafael showed off his pièce de résistance to you: a rose gold clitoral clamp.

“I don’t think… I can…” you gasped as the clamp was attached to your swollen clit.”

“You can and you will.” Rafael growled.

Meanwhile, Rafael was incredibly hard and ready to come himself. He made quick removal of his clothes, tossing them to the side with the rest of the clothes. His cock was angry, red and weeping.

Unable to hold back any longer, Rafael brushed his cock along the seam of your pussy, nudging the clit clamp ever so slightly, causing your to chant obscene words. He thrusted his hips forward until he was fully seated. You groaned and bit your bottom lip, his seafoam green eyes not leaving you once.

He set a hard and fast pace as he worked your overstimulated pussy to the edge of another orgasm.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!” You babbled incoherently. The room was spinning, all sounds faded into white noise as your orgasm quickly peaked. Rafael slowed his pace before he reached over to remove the clit clamp.

“Cum for papi.” Rafael commanded; his breath was staggered. You howled his name as blood flow rushed your clit and your orgasm crashed over you like a thousand fireworks being set off at once. Your whole body shook as Rafael’s name left your lips as if in prayer.

Seeing you and feeling you come completely undone was Rafael’s own undoing and he came hard, spilling his seed inside of you as he choked out your name. Finally Rafael removed himself and he ran a hand through his own sweat soaked hair, watching as some of his release spilled out of you.

“Fuck, now that’s a sight to see.” He purred. You hummed in content, which jolted him back to reality. Rafael made quick move to remove his glove and then undo your restraints before pulling back the bedsheets. You crawled under the covers with Rafael and he hugged and caressed you, softly and gently praising you for how much of a good girl you really were.

“That was amazing.” You sighed.

“You’re amazing.” Rafael murmured as he pulled you into his strong arms, peppering forehead kisses.

Soon enough, you were both asleep, content in each other’s arms. As you drifted off to sleep, a smirk graced your face – you couldn’t wait to be a brat again.

--

Tags: @madpanda75 @tropes-and-tales @delia26 @mgarner1227 @beardedmccoy @youreverycolor @neely1177 @the-baby-bookworm @mrsrafaelbarba @skittle479 @ottosuricato @delia26 @sass-and-suspenders @mommakat32 @dreila03 @beccabarba @garturbo @lovebennycolon @imjustreallynosy @sweetsummertime99 @whyissvuruiningmylovelife @annabelleb49 @scarletsoldierrr @cesarofangirl78 @redlipstickandplaid @redlipstickandblacktea @zoeykaytesmom @differentshadesofgray @misssirenlove @esparza-army @bananas-pajamas @mishaissocoolike @thefanficfaerie @theenchantedgalleryofstories @catnip987 @choppedgalaxynerd @pieceofshittytitty @ktiz90 @evee87 @itsjustmyfantasyroom @blk0912 @detective-giggles @rampantmuses @jazzyjoi @caked-crusader @rachelxwayne @prurientpuddlejumper

[thethousandyearwitch]

The Show Must Go On! Chap. 5

- A Youtuber AU you didn’t want and didn’t need -

Hisoka Morrow, italian Makeup Youtuber, enjoys his life in the comfort and occasional drama of his profession. But nothing brings more drama into his life than the eldest son of the Zoldyck fashion magazine empire.

Meanwhile, aspiring australian Twitch Streamer Gon Freecs forms a special bond to a Speedrunner commonly going by "Kil".

Chapter 5 “Grief of Want” out now!

AO3 Link. 

Killua held his phone close to his chest, face flushed almost painfully.

GON: I appreciate you too.

That message had knocked the wind out of the young boy, his heart was racing. It had taken him so much energy to text Gon that he appreciated him, had multiple texts written and deleted that ended in ‘I’m glad you’re my friend’ because in the end he still couldn’t bring himself to say that word, but this had been close enough.

The grip around his phone tightened. The feeling was mutual, mutual appreciation, mutual support, and now Killua got to keep its existence close to his heart and locked away there.

Somewhere in the mansion, his mother harshly ordered some butlers to prepare tea and snacks. He locked his door again, not willing to be bribed outside of his room with bland biscuits and bitter tea.

It wouldn’t hurt to look up prices for flights, he thought to himself.

Did Milluki ever change his credit card code?

.

.

.

Illumi shifted in his chair as recording for Hisoka’s new video started. Unlike his colleague next to him, who blossomed under the attention of a camera lens, Illumi never knew how to move his body, what to do with his face. After appearing for the first time in a collab with the other, he had been told through the comments that he looks like a mannequin if he didn’t move, and then had been told that that was most likely an insult.

Hisoka went over his regular introductions, explaining the fashion week, how he was going to fashion his make up to match the suit he was wearing-

“…designed by my good colleague, Illumi Zoldyck!” the artist made some flowery hand gestures towards Illumis person.

“Ah, thank you for having me.” The Zoldyck bowed his head a little, before returning to his straight posture.

Hisoka wore a professional smile on his lips, that seemed so inherently different from the masks that Illumi was usually surrounded by. He didn’t hide that glint in his golden eyes, that gave away how easily he’d launch at the throats of his competition at the first show of weakness. Illumi wondered if that glint was directed at him when he wasn’t looking, if the company he’s started to warm up to was secretly waiting for him to do just that, only to immediately slaughter him.

“Now I understand you’re going to upload a process video of this beautiful piece on your channel, but why not give my viewers a little insight into your inspiration for it?”

Oh.

The slaughter had come quicker than expected. He decided he did not like the rushing fear and anxiety. He didn’t like the prying, golden eyes fixated on only him, as if he knew.

As if Hisoka knew that Illumi designed the suit that last new years eve, huddled away in his room because everyone was too loud and too much, and it didn’t really matter if he was there or not. It was cold, and he felt indifferent to a new year starting, convinced it was going to be the same as the last; Run errands for the company, watch Killua turn into the neatly moulded heir to the fortune that he had been chosen to be, get all his designs rejected because he should just finally drop that hobby of his. And it would have been a miserable and yet indifferent night like any other, if at exactly 12 a.m. he wouldn’t have gotten the single text:

“Hisoka M.: Happy New Year, darling Illumi ❤ Lets work hard together this year as well, as if you’d ever get rid of me~ “

Illumi wanted to blame it on being cold, or that his senses were confused by all the lights and sounds. But it felt nice to be thought of, and it felt nice to be encouraged. He wanted to return this unfamiliar kindness; in the only way he knew how, not with words but with the only thing he deemed himself good at.

He designed a suit for Hisoka, and for Hisoka only. Moulded to his features, personality, and likes. Obviously, he had succeeded, seeing his work on his muse.

But he could never tell Hisoka all of that, and he could never tell it to his millions of followers.

So, instead he simply said "I had the idea for a denim suit in this sort of cut after being inspired by western movies. I wanted to bring the concept closer to our modern age with the fine white, and the colourful card-suits as an accent to poker games as a typical western movie activity."

He looked to Hisoka for approval, who simply smiled and clapped his hands together.

"Right, how fun! Maybe we should go horseback riding together after this, I know a couple of cowboy movies to re-enact~."

Before the Zoldyck could reply with an appropriate reaction -disgust, he thought - Hisoka smoothly transitioned to the next part of the video, explaining what make up look he had in mind, what brands he was going to use, and hissing to his future editing-self to cut out the part where he called his sponsor a "fucking cheapskate".

The artist knew what he was doing, how to best keep his viewers engaged, and how to host a blank-slate guest such as Illumi. On their first collaboration, conversation had been kept to a minimum, but slowly they had found a rhythm to work in, a question and answer to keep air in motion.

"You don't use a lot of makeup, right, Illumi?" Hisoka was almost done applying a powdered foundation, that seemed mixed just to fit his skin.

"Most days I just apply a light moisturizer before I go to bed."

“I don’t doubt that, you’ve got impeccable skin.”

Illumi hesitated at Hisokas purr, “…Thank you.”

The other giggled devilishly, in the way that the designer knew never meant any good. “So, since you don’t use make up, you’re probably helpless when it comes to applying it.”

“I may not have years of experience, but I believe I’d be able to apply it adequately and-“ Before he could finish his sentence, the other man presented him with a lipstick. “Then would you do the honours of applying my lipstick for me? Unless you’re doubting your abilities suddenly.”

Of course, he’d go for a childish challenge like this, Illumi thought while he mustered the rich red colour of the lipstick, perfectly matched to the red values of the suit. He still had the option to refuse, to cut this out in final editing, to continue being a still doll that would occasionally speak. But instead, he grabbed Hisoka’s chin with a slight uptilt. “Open your mouth a little.” “Oh, Illumi, on the first date alrea-“Illumi pressed the tips of his nails into the others cheeks, which resulted in an excited, yet obedient Hisoka.

The colour came easily and evenly onto his lips as Illumi carefully drew across the curvature, the heat of the artists’ skin seeping into his own. Up close as he was, he could notice all the details in the others face. No scars, evenly tanned, a hint of smile lines around his golden eyes. Illumi thought that he was objectively attractive, and there was nothing wrong with being able to admit that another man had symmetric facial features that were appealing to the eyes. “Handsome face, rotten personality, someday he will make a lovely girl absolutely miserable.” is what Kikyo Zoldyck had initially said after she had watched their first collaboration together. “Illumi? Are you painting the mona lisa on me?” Hisoka had slightly retracted out of the others grip, and he smiled as if he knew what he was thinking. Illumi withdrew his hand, straightened his back, and averted his eyes. “I was merely admiring the quality of this lipstick. What was it?”  

Distraction via brand pushing, very effective against Hisoka, who immediately snapped back towards the camera, presenting the makeup closer. “Of course! It’s the new Gucci line of matte lipsticks, this is number 500, Odalie Red, I am head over heels for this beauty!”

.

.

.

.

The rest of the filming process went over relatively smoothly, safe for when Hisoka sneezed so loud that Illumi visibly startled, and when Illumi had to scold Hisoka about wrinkling the suit.

Click. Hisoka turned the camera off, and Illumi laid his head on the table. Filming exhausted him, he didn’t like to maintain his public persona for that long, even though he had been bred to be able to do so. Even though he was no longer the heir. Even though he was the oldest and most capable.

A pleasant coolness took him out of whatever dangerous train of thought he was about to board, and he looked up to see Hisoka offering a bottle of sparkling water. “Good work today~”

His fingers wrapped around the cool glass bottle. “Thank you, you too. I’m pleasantly surprised, you planned out an actual look for today.”

The makeup artist settled back in his chair with a light laugh. “I didn’t want to disappoint you, after you spoil me so well~. I look like I could walk the fashion show myself.”

“You do look very handsome.” Illumi took a sip of his water before he realized what he had said.

Hisoka stared at him, mouth agape.

“It’s probably just the suit complimenting your features-”

Silence.

“I mean, anyone looks handsome if you plaster them with tons of makeup like that-”

Blink, blink.

“And even if you were to look handsome, that doesn’t fix your horrid core-”

Before he could think of any more explanations and excuses for what he said, Illumi was pulled into a hug, his head tucked firmly under Hisoka’s chin, arms wrapped around him. “You’re being an absolute dear today, my dear Illumi~ You may look at me like you want to rip off my head, but I can tell you still are happy to visit!”

And naturally he wanted to protest, wanted to hurl insults at him, and regain his personal space. But just for a second, he didn’t want to struggle. He just wanted to take in the warmth that was enveloping him, smell the natural sweetness lingering in the air, and embrace human contact as anyone with a normal upbringing would.

One.

His hand shot up to grip around Hisoka’s throat. “Do you want to live to see tonight’s show, or are you going to keep suffocating me?”

Immediately Hisoka held his arms up, and the warmth was gone. Illumi patted down his shirt, straightened his collar, and checked his hair in the mirror. It was almost time to leave, if he wanted to be in time to prepare the models and do last minute adjustments.

“Unfortunately, I’ll only live to see the livestream from the comfort of my home.”

“Oh?”

Hisoka started wiping the makeup off his face, a new box of makeup remover being ripped open. “The model I was assigned to for tonight ended up dropping the contract last minute, meaning that my ticket is only effective starting night two.”

“Oh, I see.” Illumi stood up and mustered himself again, checking for any flaws. Somehow, he felt disappointed. “Well, I have to leave anyways, I still need to check the fit of everything.” He had to go and check the fit of the collection he was premiering and Hisoka will not be able to see it, and he was disappointed.

“I will pick you up before the second night then, so you don’t have to show up in a cheap taxi again-“He reached out for his bag to swiftly leave through the door, but Hisoka grabbed his wrist, and pulled him into another tight hug.

“I thought you wanted to live to see the show.”

“And I will, and I’ll be there on time to see your premiere, that’s a promise~” The taller man pressed a quick kiss on top of his head, still bearing a sly grin as Illumi ripped himself free once again.

“Don’t do anything stupid, especially not while you’re associating with me.” A pointed finger, and a death stare were the last things Illumi presented to Hisoka as he rushed through the door. He only heard a muffled “But you know me~!” while he descended the stairs.

Subconsciously he ran his fingers over where Hisoka’s lips touched his head.

.

.

.

.

Preparations were quickly dealt with. Illumis overly neat and controlled way of working had paid off. No further adjustments to clothes had to be made, all models were prepared and let themselves be pushed and pulled as needed. He scanned the crowd behind the curtains, as his models started to line up. In the front row, he spotted one of his mothers’ commissioned writers, a young plain girl, short black hair, and framed glasses, reading over her notes.

He knew she wasn’t going to take notes during his premiere, because she didn’t get paid for that. Because his parents have already told him that his designs will not make it into the magazine. It was only a hobby after all. The single distraction he was allowed to have from his duties for the company. They didn’t have the need to show off his little hobby in the magazine, like a crayon drawing on the fridge.

The music started, the curtains opened, and Illumi stepped to the side of the stage. The beat of the music mixed with the hard beating of his heart in his chest. Anxiously he scanned the crowd for reactions, though camera flashes blinded him quicker than he could look. It was a short premiere, sandwiched between two bigger brands showcasing new seasons. The last 3 models walked down the catwalk, Illumis eyes following them closely.

But at the end of the stage, his eyes wandered deep into the crowd. And a pink flash at the very end drew his attention.

It unmistakably was Hisoka, hair let down, wearing thick sunglasses and a plain black suit, lips curled into a smile, leaned lazily against the wall.

He came.

How the hell did he come in here without a ticket.

He had no ticket, but he came, and he saw.

And as fast as he appeared, he was gone, disappearing behind someone else’s figure as the last model left the stage.

He forced himself to look away, thanked the models for their work, and left the backstage area in favour for the VIP lounge, finally taking out his phone.

One new message.

“Hisoka M.: It was breath-taking, caro mio ♥”

“Illumi: Don’t get caught, Idiot.”

Someone handed him a glass of champagne and asked questions about the family magazine.

“Illumi: Let me pick you up tomorrow for the event. You’re the least despicable person here.”

[dreamlikeafangirl]

Perfect [Chapter 1]

Summary: Nico has been looking forward to this skiing trip. Spending a long weekend in the snow with his friends, and, most importantly, Levi - what could go wrong? (A lot, apparently.)

Pairing: Levi Schmitt x Nico Kim (Grey’s Anatomy), side Jolex

Warnings: fluff, angst, skiing, minor injuries

Words: 4k

credit for the screencap of Levi and Nico cuddling: mygreyscaps on tumblr

Read on AO3

———

It would be a perfect day, Nico could feel it in his fingertips.

As a surgeon, the body part he trusted most were his fingertips. Not his stomach, sometimes not even his brain. And his heart? At the moment, it was pounding so much, Nico could feel it, well, right down to his fingertips.

He was looking forward to skiing, the feeling of loose snow beneath his skis, the fresh cold air in his lungs, the adrenaline and of course, intimate togetherness with Levi in the evening. Simply put: A perfect day.

They had decided to visit a Ski field over a long weekend; Nico, his mentor and friend Link, Link’s childhood friend Jo and her husband, Alex. And, how could he forget, Levi. Glasses. Or Schmitt. But in reality just Levi. Levi, his boyfriend. Levi, who seemed to constantly smile, but even more often looked as if a warm gust of wind just hit him directly in the face – adorably bewildered. Levi, who would tell endless stories about himself that were so absurdly honest and funny, Nico would have silently accused anyone else of making them up. Levi, who could make Nico laugh just as fast as he started to bug him – but in a good way, of course. In a let-me-interrupt-you-with-a-kiss way.

When the group of five doctors left the cable car that morning, the sun was shining down on them like a white spotlight. The freshly fallen snow looked like cotton and cream. And the wind blew with the (non-existent) force of a light breeze.

“The weather is great today!” Alex exclaimed. He was carrying his skis over one shoulder, and because he was a gentleman, he was also carrying Jo’s snowboard. She stuck her face out towards the sun and smiled consentingly.

“Right?” Link caught up with them, his snowboard under his arm. “I can’t wait to hit the slopes.”

“Same here!” Nico said. “I bet the pistes are fantastic, now that everything is still smooth.”

“Spoken like a true winter sportsperson” Levi mumbled while leaning on his skis for support. He was looking incredibly cute today, with his hair peeping out from under his helmet and his skis that were so much shorter than Nico’s.

Nico patted him on the back, almost throwing him off-balance in his ski boots. “Just wait, you’ll get there.” He grinned. “Two days, and you’ll talk like that, too.”

Levi shook his head. “I doubt it.”

The five came to a stop at the edge of a small hill that led from the cable car station to the first slopes. There, they began to clip on their skis. Jo was the first to finish and, while waiting, surveyed the others with narrowed eyes.

“Is something wrong?” Link laughed and put on his snowboard goggles.

Jo eyed Levi thoroughly, before answering: “I’m just not at all used to seeing you in anything else than blue scrubs.”

Nico followed her eyes with his. Levi wore a ski suit that was black, grey, white, and yellow, grey boots, and a black helmet, all of which suited him perfectly. Having heard Jo, however, he looked a little uncertain.

“Oh, don’t listen to her” Nico whispered, leaning over to Levi. “You look amazing.”

Levi laughed unhappily. Nico just now noticed how pale he’d become. He seemed shaky and nervous.

“Are you alright?” Nico asked.

Levi nodded his head unconvincingly.

Meanwhile, Alex shouted: “Guys, let’s go!” He let out a loud cheer and then pushed himself off the edge of the hill. Jo followed right in his tracks, laughing out loud as the wind caught her loose hair.

Nico couldn’t wait to go after Alex, too. The bright snow, the clear sky, it enticed him. Link, grinning widely, exchanged looks with him one last time, before boarding off. He went down the hill in wide, confident turns, and Nico pursed his lips, almost in awe. Link was not only the best surgeon he knew, he was also the best snowboarder.

“You ready?” He asked Levi, only then noticing that his boyfriend was still fiddling with his bindings.

“Obviously not!” Levi replied sharply.

Nico bent down as much as his skis would let him helped Levi secure his boots to his skis. “Don’t want you getting hurt.” He said with a playful tone when they were finished.

Levi just shook his head in silence and used his ski poles to push himself towards the edge. When he reached it, he started to slide down. Nico looked after him, stunned for a second. Briefly, he asked himself if it was something he did wrong. Then he dropped the thought. Levi was probably just a little angry at himself for appearing slow in front of his colleagues.

Finally, Nico slipped over the edge of the hill. He spotted Jo, Alex, and Link at the start of one of the slopes, waiting. Levi was about halfway down. Nico copied his turns, but after two curves decided he was going to slow. So instead, he just went straight downhill. This caused him to quickly gain speed and the pressure of the wind against his face to increase. His surroundings began to blur slightly and then suddenly it was only him and his skies. It was almost like Nico had fallen into a trance, one that caused him to block out everything but the cold air all around his body and the swooshing sounds in his ear and the speed and the adrenaline that made his every nerve tingle with excitement and joy.

Oh, how he had missed this feeling. “Whoo-hoo!” Nico exclaimed and pushed one of his fists into the air. His friends came closer way too quickly for his taste. Why wasn’t this hill longer? Sighing internally, he forced himself to slow down.

“That. Was. Amazing!” He shouted towards Link.

His mentor nodded, an excited look in his eyes. “You were right, the snow is perfect. This is going to be a great day!”

Nico noticed Jo doing impatient little feet-tied-to-the-snowboard jumps towards the edge of the next slope, and Alex staring in the opposite direction, the one they all had just come from. His gaze was fixed on Levi, who was still making his way down the hill, taking noticeably more time than the rest of the group had.

“You think Schmitt is gonna be able to keep up?” Alex asked Nico.

He furrowed his brow and just let the question sit between them for a second. Then he said: “Of course he will. We’re all equals here, right Karev?”

Alex just nodded. “You can count on it.”

By now, Levi was catching up to them. When coming to a halt, he accidentally caught an edge and lost his balance.

“Whoa!” Nico quickly wrapped his arm around his boyfriend’s waist, holding him up. “Easy.”

“You alright, Schmitt?” Link asked with a grin that was half-concerned and half-amused.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Levi hissed.

Nico bit his lip. If his boyfriend wasn’t going to have a good day, he wouldn’t have one either. And he wanted to. For himself, and for Levi.

———

The group advanced to the next edge. The first piste they had picked was marked red, which meant it wasn’t easy, but not very hard either. Link had opted to start with a blue one (blue meant easy), Jo, Alex and Nico wanted to do red and Levi had stayed out of the decision.

So, red slope it was. Nico risked a glance over the edge, realizing it started off with a pretty steep section, after which it became gradually flatter.

“Well, that first bit could’ve very well been marked black.” Link said. Black was the highest difficulty.

Nico clutched his ski poles. It didn’t matter, he was ready.

“Are you still up for it?” Jo asked.

Link shrugged. “It’s our first run for today, and we all haven’t skied in a while. I still think we should do another one first, but I’ll do what you guys are doing.”

“And here I thought you were afraid.” Jo grinned.

Link laughed. “Oh, you wish. Race you down?”

“What’s the winner get?”

“Let’s say, uh, bragging rights for the whole trip?”

“You’re up!”

They both jumped to the edge awkwardly with their snowboards, and then got into their starting positions. Alex counted: “Ready … set … GO!” And then the two plunged themselves down the hill.

Nico and Levi looked after them, Nico chuckling, Levi wide-eyed.

“I’m betting on Jo” Alex suddenly said in a challenging tone.

“Alright, my money’s on Link then” Nico replied, still chuckling, and held a hand out towards his colleague. They high-fived in their thick skiing gloves and grinned at each other.

“What are we betting on?”

“Whoever loses has to buy the drinks for tonight.”

“Deal.”

Levi was already standing at the edge, ready to start. “You guys coming?”

“Right behind you, babe.” Nico smiled and pushed himself towards him.

As anticipated, the piste started off pretty steep. Nico struggled to maintain balance from time to time, even with the still flawless snow beneath him. Link had been right; this was not the ideal slope to begin the day with. But before he could think too hard about it, the difficult part was already over.

He stopped by the side of the piste and looked back for the first time, noticing that Levi was not far behind him. In fact, he caught up with him only a few seconds later.

“Wow, now that was a wake-up call” Levi said, a little out of breath.

“Yeah” Nico replied. “I don’t think it can get much harder.”

“I can already feel my muscle aches forming!” Levi laughed.

Nico joined in, and so did Alex, who had arrived last of the three. “Let’s just hope it stops at muscle aches.” He grinned. “Because one of us, lying on top of an operating table by Monday, instead of standing beside it? I can already see it in front of my eyes.”

“Bailey would kill us” Nico smirked. “Remember how she wouldn’t even let us go on this trip at first? Because ‘risk of injury’? Besides, I have surgery scheduled for Monday.” Monday was the day they would all be going back to work.

Levi gave Nico a long precarious look with, before sliding off.

Nico, a little confused, looked after him for a second before turning to Alex. “Let’s see who’s gonna get those drinks, huh?”

“Absolutely!”

The rest of the slope was no problem for Nico. It was exactly the right width, his skies were going smoothly, and not many other people were there. Perfect conditions. Once again, the piste was over way too soon, ending at the entrance point of a chairlift.

Link and Jo were waiting there with snow sticking to their ski suits. Both had red cheeks and big smiles on their faces.

“So, who won?” Alex asked after stopping next to Jo.

Jo and Link exchanged a look before bursting out into laughter. “We may have crashed into each other at the last second.” Link finally said, brushing a bit of snow off his jacket. “No one got hurt though, no worries.”

“So it was close, obviously, but there is no winner” Jo added.

Nico, who stood beside them with Levi, shrugged at Alex. “Well, I guess we’ll have to go to bed thirsty.”

“We made a bet” Alex explained to the two racers, wrapping his arm around Jo. “Looser would’ve bought tonight’s drinks.”

“Had I known that I would have put more effort into it.” She said.

Link laughed. “I thought this was all you got.”

“Oh, not by a long shot.”

“This again?” Levi mumbled to himself.

“Levi’s right” Nico said. The others turned their heads towards the two. “Let’s not waste our time standing around. You two can continue your bragging match on the lift.”

Link laughed, playfully shoving Jo. “‘Match’ would imply that we are on one level, and I don’t think so.”

“Ooh, you are moving on thin ice, Atticus Lincoln!”

One chair of the lift could transport four persons, so Alex, Link, and Jo (who were still bickering) got on one, and Nico and Levi took the next.

When they were sitting comfortably, Nico took off his ski goggles. “Levi, are you having fun? Because I don’t feel like you do.”

“Why would you think that?” He asked defensively.

“Well, you’re reserved towards the others. And me. And you’re a lot quieter than usual.”

“It’s not easy drowning out all this talk about drinks and who’s faster and whatnot.”

“I … do you want me to apologize? What do you want to talk about?”

“Ugh!” Levi threw up his hands. “You’re not getting it!”

“What am I not getting?!” Nico asked, voice stern. Then, he took a deep breath, calming himself down. “You’re right.” He said then, slowly. “I’m sorry. I don’t get it. I’m not you, I don’t know how you feel.”

The hint of a smile appeared on Levi’s lips. “I forgot. I always have to spell everything out for you.”

“Come on, that is not fair” A smile started to form on Nico’s lips, too, and he leaned his helmet against Levi’s. “But for real. What’s going on?”

“The others … I feel like they are treating me like a child. Like I’m an intern, here, too. Judging my look. Asking me if I’m alright, just because I took it a little slower on the first hill. And did you notice how Doctor Karev started talking about how one of us might end up on an operating table? It was right after I mentioned muscle aches.”

Nico frowned. “He did ask me if I thought you could keep up with the rest of us.”

Levi straightened himself in his seat. “Who did? Karev?”

“Uh-huh.”

He huffed. “I may have not skied in a while, but I am at least as good as he is!”

Nico gave him a little kiss on the cheek (which turned out a bit difficult with the helmets, but still). “I know you are.”

Their chair was slowly reaching the top station. “We can separate the group if you want to” Nico said. “Let Jo and Link have their races, while you and I get some peace and quiet on another slope.”

“Link’s your buddy. And I know you like spending time with the others, too.” Levi gave him a smile. “This is your trip as well.”

“But I’m not happy if you’re not happy” Nico replied, just as the chairlift was approaching its end.

“You’re so corny!” Levi shook his head, trying to keep himself from giggling.

Then, they got off the chairlift and joined the other three, who were standing beside a giant map of the ski field.

“Alright, guys. We are here.” Alex said, pointing towards a spot on the map with one of his ski poles. “Which means we can either take this next blue slope or go for another red one.”

“Let’s do blue.” Link suggested.

Levi agreed with him, earning them both an amused look from Alex and Jo. “Are you guys tired?”

“Come on, let’s not exhaust ourselves already. We have been here for less than an hour.” Link argued.

“Besides, if we take the red piste now, we’ll have to take another black one afterwards if we want to reach a lift of some sort” Levi said, gesturing to the map. “By taking blue, we are gaining access to a whole bunch of other slopes without having to take another lift.”

Nico nodded, smirking. “Good point.”

“So blue it is.” Link clapped his hands.

Before sliding off, Nico approached Alex. “Can you lay off Schmitt? This is supposed to be fun, not a competition. Except maybe for Jo and Link.”

———

Even though Levi did not ask for it, they ended up agreeing to split up after lunch. At noon, they stopped at a small restaurant by the side of one of the main slopes. It was furnished to look like a typically alpine chalet, and served traditionally Austrian and South Tyrolean food as well.  

Nico and Levi ended up sharing a huge plate of Kaiserschmarrn, which was basically a big pile of fluffy sugary pancake pieces served with lingonberries and applesauce. It tasted amazing and had Nico wondering if he knew any restaurants back in Seattle that made alpine food. He decided to google it later and if yes, to definitely go there one day. Take Levi. Have a nice date night, and look back on lots of hopefully amazing memories.

“Did you know this dish was named after one of Austria’s emperors?” Levi asked, still munching on his last bite. “He loved it so much that they apparently just decided to rename it to honor this guy.”

Nico smiled quietly, and gently wiped a little bit of powdered sugar off his boyfriends chin.

Alex, Jo and Link were sitting across the table from them, also still digging in on their meals. “Would you guys mind if we both went off alone for a little after lunch?” Alex suddenly asked.

“Not at all.” Link said. “What about you guys?” He looked at Nico and Levi. “Do you want to go on your own, too?”  

Levi shrugged. “Let’s decide along the way.”

“Alright.”

Back on the road – or better, on the slopes – Jo and Alex went on their ways. Meanwhile, Nico, Link and Levi decided to make a little round tour of the ski field to skim the area.

When they got on the first chairlift, the sun was still shining from the clear sky, with almost no wind and almost no people on the slopes as well. Nico could hardly believe their luck. Hopefully the whole weekend was going to be like this.

Unsurprisingly, the tour turned out to be lots of fun for him. He was with the man he loved; Levi, and his best friend; Link. Nico and Link both skied (or in Link’s case: boarded) in similar ways: better fast and a little loose than too slow. Levi on the other hand had a cautious style of skiing, which didn’t mean he was slow, just that he was taking it a little safer. Nico didn’t mind. He didn’t think the few instances he and Link actually had to wait for him were a waste of time. The others might have felt that way, but for him it was a welcome break to just catch his breath, appreciate the overwhelming view of the snowy mountains or have a quick chat with Link about the slope they just conquered.

Levi was also visibly happier than before. He got along really well with Link, the final ice breaker having been the discovery that Link was a fan of the X-Men comics, just like Levi. The next few chairlift rides they had then spend arguing whether a guy named Cyclops or a guy named Wolverine was cooler.

When the day slowly came to an end, Nico was still high on Endorphin and probably a whole bunch of other happiness hormones, too. His cheeks literally hurt from smiling all the damn time, but he couldn’t help it. He was sweaty and his limps were starting to get heavy, but still he felt like he hadn’t been this happy in a long time. But, he thought to himself, why wouldn’t he be? He’d spent the last hours with two people whose company he genuinely enjoyed, and had had probably the best skiing experience of his life. Why overthink this perfect afternoon?

Well, it was about to become the opposite of that.

They had agreed to meet up with Jo and Alex at the entrance of the cable car, which would bring them back down into the valley, where they had rented a cabin. The last piste Link, Nico and Levi needed to take was one marked black. It was short, narrow and pretty steep, and judging by the piles of loose snow all over it, it had already seen quite a lot of people today.

The three of them stared down the hill, nobody wanting to be the first to say ‘Let’s do it’ or ‘Let’s not do it’. Jo and Alex were waiting at the end of the slope, waving and calling their names.

Nico was pretty confident he could make it. A few short-radius turns, and it would be over. He just had to be careful not to hit one of the snow piles, because they had the nasty habit of slowing the skis down abruptly, causing the person attached to them to loose balance and fall – which was not a pleasant experience on a hill that steep.

He looked at Link first, who nodded, and then at Levi, who pressed his lips together, and after a short while nodded, too. After spending the day with them, Nico had no doubt either of them would make it down the hill.

“Well then.” Link said, adjusting his goggles. “Let’s do this, the others are waiting.” Then he pushed himself off the edge with a little jump and started to curve down. He was controlled, but not slow, and after barely a minute, arrived next to Jo and Alex at the end of the slope.

“Let’s not go at the same time” Levi said, still staring down.

Nico agreed. Better safe than sorry. “After you.” He smiled. “Again – I’m right behind you.”

Levi laughed, pointing a finger. “Hah, you better not be.”

He took his first turn, slow and steady. The second as well. Then, he got a little more confident and allowed himself to gain speed. Nico blinked, and the hill suddenly looked like a vertical wall. Levi seemed so tiny, his skis so short. Dusty ice was splattering out from under them when he took his next turn. The edges made a scratching sound, and Nico flinched. Oh no. Hidden under a layer of snow, he could suddenly make out floes of ice, and there were probably more all over the piste.

Levi just drove over one at a fast speed. Skis were made to slide over a surface of snow, not ice. On ice, skiers often had difficulties to maintain control. And Levi hadn’t seen it coming. He tried to slow down, but couldn’t do so without risking to loose balance. So instead he tried another turn, and barely made it.

Nico held his breath hoping for the icy part to be over. Then, he gasped when one of Levi’s skies suddenly lost its grip and slipped downwards. It pulled his foot and leg down as well, and now his balance was completely lost.

“Levi!” Nico called out. At the bottom of the hill, Link, Jo and Alex were shouting as well.

Luckily, it was just a scare. With a grunt, Levi managed to get back on his feet. Supporting himself with his poles, he was now standing still about halfway down the piste, breathing heavily from shock.

“It’s okay! You can do it!” Nico yelled, hoping his boyfriend could hear him.

Levi looked up to him, and then down to the others, who were still shouting inaudibly. With a determined look in his eye, he prepared for his next turn, gaining speed again. And while doing that, he completely missed the big pile of snow in his way. Levi’s skis got caught in the loose white powder, sending his body flying forward from the sudden loss of velocity. His helmet hit the ground with a loud cracking sound and then he started sliding downwards head-first, leaving behind a small trail of red in the snow.

“Levi!” Nico shouted again, this time from the top of his lungs. He was suddenly freezing cold. Levi was bleeding and not moving. Was he conscious? What had happened to him? A concussion? Or maybe something worse? A thousand thoughts were flying around in Nico’s head.

He saw Jo and Link running up the slope in their snowboard boots to catch Levi and only then realized that he was still standing at the top of the hill himself. But suddenly, knowing that he had to get to Levi as fast as possible, that stupid little hill didn’t feel like a challenge at all.

———

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this first chapter!

I have outlined the whole story, as of right now three or four chapters, but written only this one and parts of the second chapter. Hoping for a bit of feedback to motivate me :) But the story will definitely be continued.

Please feel free to point out any spelling/grammar mistakes I made, especially with the skiing vocabulary :) I'm always looking to improve my English :)

[soyforramen]

My Pet Platypus

Jughead stared at the strange creature in the tank.  It stared back at him through beady black eyes as it floated on the surface of the water.  He couldn’t be sure, but Jughead had a strange feeling that this hybrid creature knew more than it was letting on.  In the dark room it was lit up by heat lamps that threw off an eerie orange glow that made the water around it look like fire.  Any creature that survived looking like the bastard child of a duck and a beaver could not be trusted.

Behind him, Betty and Dr. Curdle wrapped up their strange sort of pleasantries - she offering insight on new theories and experiments in magic, he calmly explaining his own newly learned techniques when it came to interring the undead.  It seemed a strange sort of relationship, on that Jughead was inherently suspicious of despite Betty’s assurances that Dr. Curdle was indeed a friend of the family.  Her assurances, as pleasant sounding as they may be, did nothing to allay his suspicions though.  

After all, it was hard not to be suspicious of a man whose being gave off none of the usual markers of humanity or the undead.  No scent.  No heartbeat.  No breath.  If the doctor hadn’t been standing in front of him, Jughead would have believed he didn’t exist.  

It wasn’t as if he were dangerous so much as something different.  Not of this world, perhaps.  The word eldritch scratched around the corners of Jughead’s mind, but he dismissed those as he stared at the creature in the tank.  A rare creature evolved to thrive in one of the harshest lands on earth, perhaps Dr. Curdle was just the same.  Something whose existence would be dismissed out of hand, too fantastical to be real.

Much like vampires and witches and werewolves, he supposed.

“Ah, I see you’ve met my colleague Gary,” Dr. Curdle said in his strangely accented voice.

Jughead straightened.  “Gary?”

“Yes.”

Dr. Curdle smiled pleasantly enough, and Jughead wondered whether it would be prudent to ask for clarification.  Was the platypus named after a former colleague or was the platypus his former colleague.  The doctor blinked with two distinct sets of eyelids and the shock of it banished all questions from his mind.

Betty stepped in quickly to direct the conversation back to the matter at hand.

“Dr. Curdle, would you mind repeating what you told me on the phone?  I just want to make sure our notes are correct.”

He turned to Betty and smiled, his cheeks stretched just enough past normal to make Jughead’s skin crawl.

“Of course.  Several of our peers have been brought in with missing pieces.”

As they waited for him to continue, the water filter burbled behind them.  Jughead couldn’t help but wonder if they’d stepped into a black hole that stretched time into infinite.

“Such as …” Betty trailed off, the smile on her face encouraging.

“One of our werewolf friends -“

The words gave Jughead a mild panic attack, and Betty laid a hand on his arm.  She shook her head and muttered a name he’d never heard of.

“-was brought to me a few days ago, curiously without his right lung, liver, and pancreas.  Would you like to see?”

In a strange sort of eagerness, Betty nodded.   Dr. Curdle nodded, his every movement clinical and detached and stilted, and lead them through a door to a mortuary room.  

“Please forgive the mess, I’ve had quite a few visitors in the last few days.”

Try as he might, Jughead couldn’t see more than a set of tweezers slightly out of place.  True, he’d never been in a morgue before, but everything was kept in clinical precision.  He glanced at Betty only to find her fully focused on the wall of morgue lockers in front of them.  With a sharp, practiced pull, Dr. Curdle pulled open the shelf and slid the body out.  

It was covered modestly with a plain white sheet, only the grey shoulders and pallid head above it visible.  The blood had been drained from its body leaving behind an ashen shell.  There was something to the unnatural, antiseptic environment that made Jughead uneasy.  He’d had seen plenty of dead bodies before, dead by his own hands and by others’, but seeing one under the harsh, florescent lights, the smell of formaldehyde around them, felt invasive and impolite.  

“This is a most interesting one, of the faery folk I’m told,” Dr. Curdle said as he walked around the body.  

In death the fae’s vanity charms had evaporated, leaving behind the natural split wood skin that stretched too tight around its skull.  Charming in life, it was terrifying in death.  It was no wonder people spoke of demons and goblins.

Undisturbed by the sight, Dr. Curdle lifted the sheet to reveal the rest of the body.  It’s torso had been split into three sections, each neatly held open by a pair of metal clamps.  From where he stood, Jughead could make out the ribs, a strange yellow blob, and just at the edge the still slowly pulsing heart.  He spun away from the sight, the little blood still in him from last night threatening to come back up.  Betty, though, held no such qualms and stood next to the good doctor to peer closer into the cavity.

“Despite the still beating heart, I can assure you she is most certainly dead.  Quite fascinating how the heart persists even after. While they aren’t human, per se - who in this room is,” Dr Curdle paused to chuckle at his own joke, “they do share much of the same anatomy as humans.  At least where the internal organs are concerned.  Quite expected when one takes into account the medieval ages and the dalliances of -”

Jughead slouched towards the wall and fought to keep upright as Dr. Curdle prattled on about the fae’s predilection for human company.  With more than a hint of black humor, Jughead couldn’t help but chuckle.  The witch who made healing potions and light spells had no trouble taking detailed notes while staring into the body of a corpse.  Meanwhile the vampire, a creature who lives off the life of others, is unable to stand the sight of a still beating heart.

“Do you see it?” Dr. Curdle asked excitedly.

His tone caught Jughead’s attention and he knew better than to look.  

“I’m afraid that might have been a trick question,” he said.  With a snap of latex he slipped on a pair of gloves and reached into the cavity.  Something squelched and Jughead squeezed his eyes shut.  

“Under here is normally where they keep the appendix -“

“The source of their magic?” Betty asked.

Dr. Curdle nodded and let out a small grunt.  Another wet sound came and Jughead slouched further down the wall.  

“Precisely, but as you can see -“

Betty gasped and Jughead cracked his eyes open to look at her.  Shock was written across her slightly open mouth and wide eyes, and he was tempted to look for himself until his stomach gave another gurgle.  

“Nothing.”

“Even stranger is that the liver, normally here, is also missing.  The tissue around both show signs of natural healing-”

“Indicating that it was done long before their death,” Betty said.

She hummed and continued her inspection of the cadaver, intent on getting as much information as possible.  Jughead knew he should be doing the same - often their notes improved when they went back through the day - but on this he trusted Betty’s instinct more than his own gag reflex.  

“Can you think of any reason why they might be missing?”

Dr. Curdle stared at the fluorescent lights overhead a moment.  “Liver, kidneys, lungs, and other various organs have been known to be missing from certain… suspect corpses that have come through here.  Common among those humans less fortunate who decide to ‘donate’ body organs when bills come due.”

“But have you seen this in the underground?” Jughead asked.  

It was one thing for humans to resort to carving themselves up and another altogether for the others to do so.  Though they might have their many problems, there was always good paying work of some sort in the underground, plenty enough to retire on.  You just had to have the stomach for it.

“Not until very recently.”

“When was the first?” Betty asked, her pencil raised and ready.

“Last month, as a matter of fact.”  

Now finished with his macabre show and tell, Dr. Curdle replaced the white sheet as carefully as if he were tucking in a small child.  With a low rattle the metal tray slid neatly back into the wall.

“Are you the only mortician who works on… us?”  

Jughead suspected that her hesitation was less from a witch’s natural self-importance than it was from the strange creature that stood before them.  He’d been in Dr. Crudle’s presence for over an hour and Jughead had yet to discern what exactly he was.   It was clear what he wasn’t though, and that alone was enough to make him afraid.

“As far as I know, yes.”

Now with the body gone, and along with it the overwhelming smell of formaldehyde, Jughead was able to stand.  He opened up his own notebook and flipped through the pages.

“Do you have any idea why those organs might be missing?” Betty asked, beating him to it.

“For the same reason as the humans,” Dr. Curdle said with a shrug.  His shoulders extended a hair too far to be normal.  

“Money?”

“Yes.”

Betty chewed her lip.  

“What about the appendix?  It’s useless in humans, can the fae transfer -“

“Transplant,” Dr. Curdle corrected.

“-transplant those?”

“Not as far as I’m aware.”

“What about using it in spells?” Jughead asked.

Betty stared at him, her lips thin.  She’d already shown how sore the subject of false rumors were about witches, but thankfully she held her tongue.

“It’s possible.  The appendix produces quite a bit of magic while the faery is alive; however I’m unsure of its efficacy after removed from the body.  From my understanding, magic is more personal then general.  A welder using such a magic, especially one stolen from a body, might themselves be on the receiving end of a very nasty defensive mechanism.”

“Like the barbs of a platypus,” Jughead said.  

“Exactly.”

“What about if its given freely?” Betty asked.  The line of her jaw was still tense, but thankfully she was no longer shooting daggers at Jughead.

“I suppose,” Dr. Curdle trailed off.  

The clock on the wall ticked by and Jughead found himself once more in the syrupy molasses of a black hole.  Dr. Curdle, meanwhile, stood completely still.  Even with his sharp eyes, Jughead could find no difference between that of Dr. Curdle and the body he’d since put away.  Ghouls were uncommon, and even so Dr. Curdle’s movements were far smoother and more coordinated than those unwilling victims who roamed the streets in the name of their masters.  

“Magic given freely, perhaps even magic sold, would, I suspect, respond just the same as the magic you sell.”

Betty’s nose crinkled and she shook her head. “I don’t sell magic.”

“You sell those marbles,” Jughead reminded her.  

She pursed her lips but said nothing more.  He wondered if he’d struck a nerve, and if he had had he done so purposefully?  To push her away before he was pulled in?  

“Is there anything else you can tell us?” Jughead asked, more to get his mind off his own introspection and what it might mean.

“Not that I can think of,” Dr. Curdle said.  

Betty pulled a card out and scribbled a number on it.  She handed it to Dr. Curdle who slipped it into his apron.

“If something else comes up, please -“

“You’ll be the first one I call.  Now, if you’ll excuse me I have another appointment.”  

Jughead and Betty made their way back onto the street, the light dim compared to the surgical lights of the mortuary.  Around them the streets were filled with people, underground and human, who had no idea the disturbing implications of what they’d just seen.  It was the first Jughead had ever thought of what happened to a fae body after death.  But the more troubling aspect of it was more of what had been done to the body before death.

A fae willingly giving up their magic was just as improbably as a fish learning to fly.  And yet -

Betty’s stomach growled and she blushed.  

“I guess breakfast didn’t last as long as I thought.”

Jughead’s own stomach, still sore from the morgue, twisted in on itself to hide away from even the thought of food.  A rare occurrence considering his normally voracious appetite.  But when Betty mentioned a cafe down the street, he agreed readily.  And if the omelette and French toast she’d ordered made even a vampire green, Jughead didn’t mention it.

[trashpandaorigins]

The Body Keeps the Score Ch. 21

"You said it yourself bitch, we're the Guardians of the Galaxy." Gamora is finally a part of something. But the past always follows you, eats at you and she must come to grips with her deeds as she tries to build a future. Meanwhile Rocket has never cared much for anyone or anything. Together the two of them discover they are more alike than different and try to heal themselves by befriending the other.

*Content Warnings: Mentions of child/animal abuse, trauma, character death, physical torture/pain. This chapter contains torture, medical/surgical torture/shooting/guns being shot. I want to be super sensitive to folks who might be triggered by these subjects. Please take care while reading*

Title of this fic is taken from the book of the same title "The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma," by Bessel van der Kolk

There's a joke here somewhere and it's on me

I'll shake this world off my shoulders

Come on..., this laugh's on me

You can't start a fire

You can't start a fire without a spark

This gun's for hire

Even if we're just dancin' in the dark

Dancing in the Dark - Bruce Springsteen

“Peter. Get Drax and Groot...get them back to the ship. Now.” Gamora breathed through clenched teeth. Rocket barely heard her, eyes fixed on Groot who whined and scurried back to Quill. The mechanical thing in his heart hammered away, making his chest cinch with pain. His muscles tensed, claws tight against the trigger of Quill’s blaster.

“Gamora,” Quill pleaded, “I’m not leaving you here with these….these,” he turned to the Halfworlder’s, “what exactly are you? Because I picture you like mad scientists but you’re also clearly aliens so….mad scientist aliens?”

“Peter!” Gamora’s eyes stared unbroken at the two figures in the doorway. “Get them back to the ship, NOW!”

Rocket glanced down at Drax, still clutching his side and moaning on the floor.

“Do you trust me?” She hissed, the human man swallowed.

“I could kiss you right now.”

“Not now Peter! GO!”

The man nodded, moving over to Drax and helping the man off his feet. Groot hauled himself up on Quill’s jacket, looking over his shoulder at Rocket. The raccoonoid held his breath, watching the little flora’s eyes wide with confusion.

“Rocket…” Quill turned to him, mouth open trying to find the right words.

“Get out of here!” The raccoonoid sighed, reaching for the gun, and tossed  it to him with a heavy hand.

The man caught it. “Go!”

“What about you?!”

“Yah heard Gams, get outta here! Take Groot and go!”

For once in his life, StarDork listened to him.

“I’ll see you later.”

He watched Quill take one last look at Gamora and moved quickly past the Halfworlder’s, daring them to make any move in protest.

“We aren’t here for them,” the female reprimanded her colleague, the male, who leered towards Quill as he snuck past. “You heard her orders. We are to get Subject 89P13 only.”

Something wet and warm trickled down the raccoonoid’s leg. If he’d been anywhere else, he’d be ashamed. But this place….it stripped all shame all confidence of you. Revealing only your deepest fears and insecurities to the point where you no longer cared about your dignity. Only your survival. The two, Rocket had learned long ago...were easily severed.

The female alien grinned, turning back to him, Gamora and Nebula.

“You really thought you escaped, didn’t you?” They rushed forward, revealing those all too familiar electric prongs.

Rocket panicked, scrambling for anything in sight.

“Quick try this!”

The ringtail swiped the device that the Halfworlder’s gave Gamora from her belt.

“Rocket no! Don’t!”

He charged ahead, pressing the center button on the device, aiming at their chests.

He dropped the device instantly. His back arching, scalding pain alit his small nervous system, sending off pain receptors everywhere, snapping and popping. He swallowed the animalistic whimper building in his throat, curling himself in a ball. His hair stood on end, white electricity snapping and crackling. Every hard stood on end even as he fell to the ground, body twitching.

Gamora ran forward, sword out, beating them back as best she could.

“Nebula get him….aaarrrghhhh!!!!”

The raccoonoid blinked slowly. Through his blurry vision he could barely make out  the male alien, sticking one of the pokers in Gamora’s side, taking advantage of her momentary distraction. She crumpled beside him, her own cybernetics in her face glowing and sparking. If he hadn’t been in so much pain...and so furious...he may have felt a twinge of sympathy. Maybe.

“H...how...l..long have y...you b...ben holding on to ...t..th...that?” He panted through the burning in his belly.

Gamora twisted her neck around, glaring daggers at him from under a messy tangle of her hair.

“About as long as you were spying on me.”

Rocket snarled, teeth bared a nasty reply formed but never delivered. Rough hands grabbed him by the scruff, jerking him up with an agonizing pinch in the back of his neck.

“What are you going to do with them?” Nebula’s rough voice cut through the sound static sparking through the bolts in his back.

Rocket tried to swipe back at them, legs and tail thrashing madly, every move met with flaring stinging agony.

“That is no concern of yours.”

Nebula’s gaze found him, Rocket struggled to keep his eyes open.

“It’s a pity,” the alien woman holding him continued. “Thanos never sold us any of his projects. Even a defective one.” She ran her oily eyes over Nebula with a dehumanizing appraisal Rocket knew all too well. Nebula winced. The alien woman turned back to him, tightening her grip on his fur. “But alas, vermin were free and expendable, so vermin is what we worked with. Luckily Terra had vermin to spare.”

Someone grunted, Rocket clenched his teeth, twisting to see Gamora drag herself up once more, clutching her side. The cybernetics in her face glowing with electricity. She tensed, adjusting her grip on her sword and moving forward. Nebula grabbed her shoulders, steadying her, whispering something he could not hear.

“Come, she will be waiting for him.”

This time, he could not stifle the whimper coming from his throat.

---

“P….please,” he tried, vision swimming.

Where the flark are we?

His mind was sluggish, limbs and tail heavy. He’d been stripped down. Someone was inserting tubes into his back, his ears twitched at the click as it locked into place. Arms hung suspended, head low.

This isn’t a lab...a ship? No. We’re not on a ship. Where’s my fucking gun? Where’s...Gamora? Groot? GROOT?

Rocket tried to struggle, only to stumble and sag with the weight of the tubes fixated to his back and into the front of the bolts of the cybernetics in his clavicle. Thick fluid syrupy and cold made its way from the machine and into his body. He could feel it moving through him, doing who knew what. For all his genius and awareness, for all his sentience, they’d made sure he knew very little about his own making. Rocket, who knew every type of gun on every planet, who could replicate a resecian bomb and could pilot even the most ancient of Esselian crafts….knew nothing of his own biology.

“Please,” he whispered the shadow of the alien Halfworld woman falling over him. She crouched down to him, slit pupiled eyes staring into him. 

“Please...d...don’t take me apart again. I...d..don’t want to be put back together.” The very thought of enduring that again made his body tremble, tubes and wires rattling with his movement. They pulled on him, tearing his skin.

“Oh you won’t be,” she smirked, revealing yellow fangs. “Not this time.”  The raccoonoid’s belly sunk with icy dread.

No….stop it… claw her eyes out! Too tired….can’t move freely...what are they putting inside me? Whymy….dizzy?

“Your creator has no interest in her failed experiment.”

Failed.  

Failed Gamora

Failed Groot

Failed the new version of Groot

Hurt Gamora

Betrayed Gamora

Hurt Groot

Failed

He couldn’t make the words right, thoughts came slow and jumbled and when they did come to him...he couldn’t...couldn’t make his mouth move to form the words.

“F...faile...faild?”

Through blurry vision, he could see the Halfworlder nod.

“You are a cruel and tempestuous wretch. Your existence to an affront to all who breathe. You were given life by the hands of your creator because she wanted to make something beautiful.” The alien continued, words reaching his ears in slow motion. Rocket swayed, closing his eyes. The chemicals coming through those tubes...they were putting things into his blood, but somehow….sucking him dry of any awareness. His mind tried to go through the rolodex of toxins, poisons but couldn’t name any.

A monster….

A monster who betrays their friends

A monster who hit Groot

He tried to flex his paws but the movement was clumsy.

“We will be getting on our way soon enough. By the time we get back your cerebral deprograming will be complete and hopefully she will be able to harvest what’s left.”

What’s left?

GET A GUN YOU IDIOT! FIGHT, CLAW THIS BITCH TO PIECES! TEAR THESE FUCKING TUBES! RUN! RUN! RUN!

Rocket tried to move, to swipe weakly at the woman before him. She only smirked, standing. Eyes looking over his vulnerable twitching form for a moment, making him want to claw her insides out. But his chest only sunk with an invisible weight. She sniffed, and departed. His eyes closed to black before she left the room.

Gamora...she was  asleep during her enhancements...no. Not asleep. Gone. Gone during her enhancements and brought back after. Where did she go? Where was he going? His brain liquidating in his skull, his body pumped with unknown substances. 

How did Gamora do it? 

How did she stand it? What did she cling to when she was falling away?

Failed.

A failed subject. A failed friend.

Rocket hung suspended from the wires and tubes that created and would now destroy him. The worst thing was….he didn’t mind. The ringtail smiled to himself, letting his eyes close again. Chemicals rushing through him in a tumult of nausea and spinning. The dark behind his eyes was different from that of sleep...somehow even that blackness was unnatural.

It’s better...like this. ...G...Gamora will...what are they doing to me? Gamora will...get the others back to the….to the...the thing that will let them get away. RUN! CLAW! TEAR! TEAR OUT THESE THINGS AND GO! She’ll get em to safety...Why’d you come here? Didn’t I escape Halfworld? No. Never left. Groot...Groot where’s Groot? Did I….GET OUT!

Rocket’s mind drifted from one fractured thought to another

Earthen smells…other smells. Gamora….repairing her arm.

Her words.

What did she say?

GET OUT OF HERE! KICK, CLAW, SCREAM! SHOOT! SHOOT THE GUN!

He was drowning….drowning from the inside out. The buzzing and clicking around the room now sounded funny. His tongue tasted salty in his mouth,

Flecks of wood chips from the blast on Xandar.

Groot. Dead.

His own claws tearing through wood...scratching the new Baby Groot.

“Cerebral deprogramming 55% complete.” Voices...far away...like they were muffled underwater.

Rocket clenched his fists, trying to concentrate on the reality of his surroundings. Claws digging into the sensitive pads of his paws. He sniffed, trying to recall what was around him. Chemicals, metal, blood.

GET A G….

What was that word?

The thing that fired bullets that stopped people in their tracks.

The woman with the green skin. The woman he hurt. The tree creature, small and crying for him. Him. What was him? A cruel tempestuous creature.

He tried to move, but only flung his head backward in a coordinated effort. Sending more shocks of anguish through his own skeleton.

I’m sorry…..

I’m sorry….

I never shoulda….

IThing went too far…

I’m sorry…

I’m….

I’m…

I…..I...I...

You, you, you…

You ...the tree thing….you, the green woman

The green woman who hurt as much as he did.

G...m...Gmora

S...ry...Gaamo..r...a

Friend.

Rocket’s mind lost words….vision long since having gone black. He was slipping. Falling… dimly aware of the throbbing in his neck and throughout his cybernetics. He went stiff, straining against whatever the aliens had injected into him. But that battle was lost the moment they’d hooked him to the tubes. Still the raccoonoid went rigid against it. Until he couldn’t. All that bravado and zeal for nothing.

“Deprograming is at 63%.”

“Good. Come, we’ll prepare the ship to leave. By the time we get back it’ll be done.”

“Hang on, these outputs are outrageous! It actually bonded with Subject FC616! Oh look it’s crying! You gotta see these images! 89P13 certainly tried to make a life for itself.”

“Good. She’ll want to see it all upon our return.”

“Regret...sorrow...grief...joy...music…? It makes no sense.”

“It was responding to stimulus from the outside environment. It’s programming filled in the gaps for what it believed it should “feel.” It was designed to do that.”

“Huh. Alright, let’s go.”

The doors slid closed, Rocket’s consciousness ebbed. Sinking away. So heavy.

Gmra...Grot…

---

“Rocket!”

“Rocket!”

Something warm and rough cupped around him...around his...shoulders?

The ringtail fought back the darkness as soon as he became aware of it. Being dragged up from wherever he’d been. An endless void of  black nothing.

A voice.

He blinked, slowly, colors of green and pink?

“Rocket look at me,” the thing before him spoke fast. “I know you're scared, I know you’re in pain. I know how that feels. You know I do.”

Focus….

Can’t….tired...

FOCUS!

“I know this is the most horrifying place in the galaxy for you.” Rocket swayed from side to side, trying to rock himself awake. But the dark void place he’d been beckoned. Pulled at him. So nice, so blank...so devoid of everything.

“I know you’re scared. I’m scared too. That’s why we need to get out of here but I need your gun. Where is it? Can you point?”

Rocket gestured vaguely. The woman...he could tell it was a woman now. But who? She looked in the direction he indicated. Only to return her gaze to him, her eyes. Her eyes were somehow soft and hard at the same time.

….Gmmmm….m...or...ra?

Ga..mora?

Gamora?!

“Rocket….I need you to tell me where they put your gun.”

“...G...mora?”

His chest tingled, his limbs and tail still lead weight. He could barely move. Trying to clear his head of the dense fog inside his skull.

She shook him, his cybernetics fizzing painfully. The fire in his nerves jolted at him.

“Ga...Gamora?!”

“Yes! Good! Now, where is your gun?!”

Something behind her crashed. Screamed.

The ringtail roved his eyes over the room, to the right, then the left. Counters, buttons, monitors.

“Rocket!” She hissed urgently. “Look at me! Do you trust me?”

Rocket blinked in momentary recognition, then nodded.

Gamora leapt upward, grunting as she collided with the figure who’d barged into the room. He watched them wrestle, each grappling for the other. The green woman’s sword came down, again and again, trying to strike, stumbling back, striking again. She twisted, running the butt of her sword into the other woman’s head. The Halfworlder grunted, curling into a ball. Gamora ran forward, yanking the wires and tubes from him. They released with an agonizing twist, the liquid chemicals leaking out clear and congealing. Rocket’s legs flooded, tail trying to find balance but failed.

“Where’s your gun?!”

“G...gun?”

A second figure tore into the room, this one larger. The rushed for Gamora who lifted her sword just in time to fend him off. They sprung apart and she grabbed a handful of tubing in her fists, swinging it towards him. He cursed, stumbling back,wiping the liquid from his face.

Rocket let out an involuntary squeak, the alien woman regained her footing now aimed at him, clawed hands ready to seize him. He tried to spring out of the way, but his body wouldn’t follow direction and he flopped to the ground, only to be caught up in her iron grip. He kicked, clawing.

“Rocket!”

He turned, Gamora backed away from the alien man, eyes searching for anything she could use as a weapon.

“Th...there!” Rocket managed to nod towards where he spotted his jumpsuit any other items, tucked away by one of the monitors. Gamora crouched just before the Halfoworlder punched. She slid on the ground running to the counter, madly rifling through his belongings.

“How does this work?” She screamed, letting out a cry of anger and lifting her blade over her head with her spare arm, she brought it down on the male Halfworlder. He screeched, stumbling back clutching his arm.

“Sh...shoot...e..em w...with the...not handle part!”

“I know that much!”

The alien who held him tightened her grip, Rocket’s vision spun. His mind and body had not fully returned to him.

“You insufferable animal!”

Claws dug into his back, around the tender skin grafted around his cybernetic paneling. Digging into his flesh and yanking at him. The wiring beneath the skin pulled at the veins and tissue

“Rocket hold still!”

Gamora shouted, holding the gun with ready arms, she peered through the scope, trying to get the accurate aim.

“Gamora!”

The male alien lunged for her, knife out and ready to tear the gun from her hands. She turned, instantly and shot.

Rocket watched with wide eyed shock as the alien’s head jerked back and his body collapsed, twitching and went still.

The sharp tear in his skin, raw and stinging brought him back to the face of the Halfworld alien. She sneered, tugging at the panel in his back. The ringtail panicked, this time his body obeyed, more or less. He lashed out with his claws, ears pinned to his skull, mouth foamed with blood and saliva. He buckled and wriggled, ignoring the fiery shock ravaging through his body.

“Hold still!”

“C...can’t!”

Rocket strained to shout, throat rasping.

The alien pulled again, this time eliciting the ringtail to vomit in pain. He pinched his eyes shut against the wrenching in his spine as she tugged at the panel again.

No...no...no...no!

BAM!

Rocket dropped to the floor with a hard thunk, his insides quivering with the impact. His tail twitched, electricity around the panel in his back fritzed out. He reached one arm up slowly, trying to message the area around the damaged panel.

Gamora stormed ahead, past him, to where the alien woman crouched, one hand to her shoulder. Black blood bubbled up from the surface of her wound.

“L….Lady...G...Gamora, pl..please. W...we can compensate you for it. How much...d..do you want? Units? Esken gold?”

Rocket tried to heave himself up, swallowing the blood  in his mouth. His whole body ached. Vision still blurred around the edges. He faded in and out of awareness, recurring shocks of stinging pain waved over him every few seconds, bringing him back to consciousness.

Gamora bared her teeth, looming over the Halfworlder, gun at her head.

“Ga….Gams,” he tried.

“N…..n….name your price….D...daughter of T...Thanos.”

“Shut up!” She hefted the gun, squeezing the trigger.

“Go on…” the Halfworlder grinned. “I’m hardly the first person you’ve killed….y...you enj...enjoy it...don’t y...you? He...he raised you well.”

Rocket stood on shaking legs,

“G...Gamora!”

The woman ignored him, leering at the injured alien woman. Her whole body shaking.

“W...what's it worth to you? We’ll double it. N...name your price.”

She turned over her shoulder, looking at him. Rocket froze, staring at her. Gamora adjusted her grip on the gun but did not look away, her eyes boring into him. The ringtail steadied himself under the crushing weight of her gaze.

She wouldn’t….she said she wouldn’t before...even when she was angry…

“I’m not like you.”

“Go on...d..daughter of Thanos...what will you trade for it? We’ll give you anything you want.”

Gamora looked at him, eyes narrow with contempt. He watched her bite the inside of her cheek. His own stomach turning.

“....well?”

She took a breath, held it. Still staring at him unblinking. He watched her turn her stance, pointing the barrel of the gun squarely between his eyes.

Rocket’s guts squirmed, tail sticking up, hairs prickling.

...Gamora….

She glared at him from above the gun, barely breathing.

“G...gams...I…”

Her brows narrowed,

Do. You. Trust. Me?

Yes.

Her wrist flicked, he flinched, going on all fours instantly. Then blinked, her fingers no longer held the trigger, but rotated the weapon around handing it to him.

It dawned on him too late.

The Halfoworld alien screeched in rage, making her move, leaping upward. Gamora spun, gun still in hand,

BAM! BAM! BAM!

The alien dropped instantly going still, blood pooling under her.

“We have to go,” Gamora ordered, monotone.

The ringtail opened his mouth but the words were still slow.

“Put this on,” she ordered, throwing his jumpsuit at him. “Can you walk?”

“Tsch...of course I …”

She didn’t wait for him. Dropping the gun, turning on her heel, and out of the lab room a limp in her step.

“Gams! W...wait!”

He tripped up, not expecting her to stop. She looked down at him, skeptical.

Flark me,

Rocket reached out, shaking paws grabbing at her boot. He hoisted himself up, crawling his way up her back and purchasing on her shoulder. She shifted her shoulders, glancing at him, waiting for him to secure himself.

He only nodded and held on as she took off, down the dark halls, up the stairs, through the halls. Surprisingly light on her feet, sword in hand, body tense and ready to fight at anything that might leap from the shadows. From his hand on her head, Rocket could feel the nerve tremors beneath her skin, hot to the touch. Her own cybernetics were damaged, the lines of facial enhancements in her cheek no longer seamless but broken and cut between flesh and metal.

Gamora rounded the corner, through another set of doors and out into the open.

Wh...where’s the...Benatar?

“HALT! By order of the Nova Corps, Subject 89P13, Gamora Daughter of Thanos you are under arrest for murdering an officer, lying under oath, and gross endangerment of your crew.”

Gamora let out a cough, chest heaving. She sheathed her sword. She reached up to him, Rocket expected her to throw him off, but she only pulled her hair back from her face.

“Gamora!”

Quill ran down the ramp of the Benatar,

“You got him! C’mon we gotta…..Nova’s here we have to…!”

Rocket couldn’t help but smirk, a pain twinging in his side as he laughed.

“Th...thank you..c...captain obvious.”

“Wow really?! The ONE time you acknowledge I’M  the captain you…”

“B...bigger problems here Quill!”

From his place on Gamora’s shoulder, he thought he heard her huff in satisfied agreement.

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

[hecohansen31]

Just Ride (Chapter 1)

A/N: Hello there, friends!

I have started too many series for my own good (and right when I am having finals, so bear with me my lack of presence her; also again not in the best mood, but I honestly wanted to write this so so much so here I come!

I want to start with thanking @sojournmichael with whom I have been talking about this concept and she is absolutely the sweetest person ever (and most caring and she is a truly angel and I can’t believe that people like her exist because she is everything you need during a bad day, completed with wonderful wrting skills!). So if you liked this, please give her account a check out, since there are a few more headcanons about this concept here (and they are better written than the ones here!).

This concept starts from the fact that my family is very into  MOTO GP (not me), but I was forced to watch a race once and I immediately saw all this very young bikers and my heart immediately went to Jim and I had to write something about him!

Also I am not a professional about this so ignore all the technical mistakes (I will try for the next chapter to do better, thanks to my sister knowledge, the true MOTO GP stan, so if you find something that doesn’t match, let me know and I will do better) (Also Eva: sister said that they have teams, but as in the bikers have like maximum two other bikers in their stable).

Also (P/N) stands professor name!

SUMMARY: Your life as a mechanic of an excellent MOTO GP stable is hard enough, but what you didn’t know is that having Jim Mason as your professional biker makes it all much more difficult... but isn’t the challenge what makes everything better?

WORDS: 3,1 K.

WARNING: None (except Jim being a little asshole, but I love you all the same, babe) (also bad MOTO GP knowledge should be counted as a warning?).

She had stumbled into professional biking thank to what looked like a quick way to make money right after she had finished her engineering degree, with the highest of grades and the congratulations of all her professors.

Which made her believe that would be out and aloud in some secret astronautic project, somehow, thinking about how that was the only name to make her name known.

Instead she found herself in a male only setting, not only extremely competitive, but also eternally looking down at her.

She had had somehow made a name for herself at her university, with her high grades and her tough exterior, avoiding any kind of exterior expression of her own inner state.

She had been the bitchy girl who knew every answer, and she had upheld to that reputation, but when she walked in the first stable, she had ever been in, she felt a strange feeling of uneasiness, probably from being out of the academic habitat.

She had tried her best to avoid being tripped over in the sudden rush of people running around with piece of engine or of tires.

She was thankful that the previous leader engineer had caught her, looking like a fish out of water and smiling as a loving grandpa.

He had taught her anything he knew about professional bikes and the home and family of the stables, and slowly she had warmed over the possibility of staying there and take over the role od lead engineer in the future, which had happened that year actually.

There had been so many parties because both the lead engineer and the professional biker of MOTO GP of her stables were moving out, the first one retiring and the second moving to superbike, which was just a tiny step before retirement in the professional biker career.

She honestly would miss the biker, a nice kind of the old ones, who knew that his mechanics were right, no matter what happened on the road and didn’t get mad at them, except when they teased him and it was a nice workplace for her to work with.

But she would miss even more dearly the previous lead engineer, her old teacher and to say she was full of tears at the party in his honor was an understatement, since she spent half of the time in his chest, hugging him tightly and asking him to stay, just for another season, for her to get used to missing him, and the fact that he was leaving.

“… oh little girl, I am going to miss you too, but I am old and terribly behind with times, this team need a young man, a strong one, someone who isn’t afraid to try something provocative, and I am sure you are that person” he had kissed her forehead before moving away “… also I believe you can’t be growing with me always over your shoulder, like a damned raven!”.

And he had made her giggle, but now she was back to her old self, the self-conscious engineer in a room full of people, outside the stables, in the yearly reunion, where they talked about how the year would go, and would give them some news, alongside the name (finally!) of the new biker for their time.

They already knew that her professor had actually asked her to stay as the leader engineer for the following year, and although she had expected some protests there had been none; everybody knew she deserved the job, having made a name for herself and not just simply the professor’s legacy.

She was also a very headstrong woman, who had gotten in a few fights with the other mechanics (mostly because apparently they had an hard time accepting a woman as a colleague, which they had quickly got over with her glaring and besting them at getting a bike engine), quickly having developed the nickname of “general (L/N).

She was sitting on the left of the CEO of their biggest brand (so he was the one who made most of the decisions), meanwhile on her left there was her new assistant, an old friend and a trusted mechanic, although she wore normal clothes (a pair of black pants and a white blouse with a simple leather jacket, formal enough for the important meeting) so nobody could truly understand her role and this made her nervous.

She was used to appear almost invisible with greasy hands and a tight polyester tracksuit, also covered in dirt and grease, so to be that “feminine” it made her feel vulnerable and exposed.

She rubbed her arms and hid her hands inside the arm of the leather jacket, shrinking herself.

She had been perfecting her mimetic skills till the door, swung open and their new biker’s manager, walked in, almost waltzing, meanwhile a figure set down on the other end of the door, partially covered and hidden by it.

But she knew immediately who he was, something that happened when you worked as a mechanic for so much: you learned that details were what made everything perfect, and if you watched everything long enough to capture them you would immediately knew what was wrong.

And what was wrong with this one was that his name was Jim Mason and he had officially almost dropped out of the professional biking system because of drug abuse, after he had been caught high before a race, which had prompted the “light” suspension of one year, and the constant testing of his blood and urine in order to prove he wasn’t under the effect of drugs anymore.

He had been lucky because no other evidence had been found on him and no other similar events had happened, plus it was a light drug they had found with him, so the big guys of the MOTO GP circuit had agreed for his license not to be revoked if he proved to be sober and if the drugs were out of his system for at least six months.

But to make him move onto the MOTO GP stage was a crazy move.

Because, not only Jim Mason was an addict, he was also one of those bikers she liked to call “stuntmen”, those crazy assholes who thought it was fine to drag the poor soul of an engine to hell and back and leave the bike destroyed by the end of the race (and most of the time even before the end of the race…) and to get on each mechanics’ nerve.

She honestly thought it was such a bad idea that she immediately wanted to jump up and say how wrong of an idea it was, but then the manager introduced Jim in great fashion, who walked in as fiercely as a victorious conquistador, with a smirk on his face, not even a little surprised by the smile of shock everyone seemed to have for him.

He was a stuntman, but he was a damn well popular stuntman; he knew how to talk his way out of everything alongside generally being described as a “lovable dork” by many of his fellow riders and friends (she wanted to know what the hell his mechanics thought of him, but…) and the fact he was easy on the eyes, helped… a lot…

There was this half legend about how he had gotten out of the original punishment, thank to a smirk and a good word.

And now that she had him in front of her she got exactly why those rumors were being spread: he was gorgeous with what she liked calling ocean eyes, clearly blue, but so deep and tortured, hiding a lot of horrible creatures behind them, regrets and passions.

And she wanted to dive into those troubled waters.

She immediately pushed herself back, immediately turning to Russel, her assistant, who smirked at her giving his approval of the new biker.

But was she seriously the only one who thought he was trouble?

He didn’t approach her, probably her pissed off aura not being the ideal environment to actually start a conversation, but just as she thought of having managed to avoid him for the entire evening, Jack, the manager, approached her, getting Jim by an arm, meanwhile he was talking with the CEO, eyeing her swiftly as if to say “YOU TWO NEED TO MEET”.

-Jimmy, let me present you, our new leader engineer, (Y/N) (L/N), the best pupil of (P/N), I hope you will have your best time together- he clearly wanted them to have a nice memory of their first meeting, but (Y/N), as Elizabeth Bennet, already knew what she thought of “Jimmy”.

He was an arrogant cocky boy, a dangerous bet for their stable, but she had no actions on her part or other properties for her to have some decisional power; no matter the fact that she fixed their engines.

She still held out her hand, and Jim held it back, but he made the mistake to just move his eyes down her body, clearly examining her as if she was just a body and not a mind; the first strike to her humor.

-(P/N)? Are you sure he isn’t already in senile state? I didn’t think that he would choose somebody like her…- and not only had he thought she was inferior for reasons which were unknown to her (she thought it was better not to investigate) and he had spoken about her as if she wasn’t there.

-You do realize that after what you just said I could very easily unscrew a few nails of your bike on your first race, right? – she knew she was being straight up petty and lowering herself to his level, which was highly unprofessional, but…

She got his attention and now he looked at her shocked, as if to say: “she can’t do that, right?”.

Oh, she could, instead.

Jack, laughed it all off, as soon as he understood that the climate was a bit tougher than what he had expected, clearly wanting to dissipate the tension:

-…oh, (Y/N) is so funny! The funniest! – he even slapped his leg to accentuate the entire act, clearly trying too hard, which prompted her to just smirk harshly at Jim, one last time, before moving past him.

-See you on the circuit, Jimmy Boy-.

It was the first race of the year and it was an hour before the MOTO GP race started, which meant she was checking out the bike one last time before everything started, all alone, only with the bike in an holy ritual she found herself to have comfort and peace, no matter the anxiety and the high expectation which happened outside of that room.

She touched the bike, remembering the biggest and best suggestion she had gotten from her professor, feeling it reeve up under her hands, in a loving way, caressing each part of the engine, the nails, the gaskets and the brakes.

It was a wonderful feeling almost as much as having a human baby in her hand, but a bike didn’t break, it if you made it fall, which made her feel a lot better.

Something was knocked over and she almost lost the grip on the bike, before turning around to glare at whoever interrupted the ritual, knowing it couldn’t be no one from her team since everybody seemed to know about her ritual, and nobody dared to interrupt it.

But it was Jim, which explained so much and made her immediately turn around to the bike, not giving him an ounce of attention, the exact same behavior she had had for his entire staying, only listening to his opinions on the bike, and most of the time ignoring them just because it was what she considered “annoying adjusting whines of a primadonna biker”.

He seemed, instead, to look out for her, a lot, probably because he had understood how the entire situation worked, realizing he had chosen the wrong person to mess with.

But the more he searched for her, the more she avoided him.

-Is something troubling you? – she made the first move, without facing him, instead reaching for a tire iron, to set down some loose bolts.

-Just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t be making good faith to that old promise about loosening my bolts- he tried to make it seem like it didn’t bother him, clearly opting for a warm approach in order for them to bury the hatchet.

-I am a professional- “unlike you” she wanted to add, but if he was trying to make an attempt at doing this, she might as well as try to sound better for him -… and I wouldn’t kill anybody-.

-And here goes my plan to get my trusted mechanic to eliminate my enemies- he laughed, heartedly something she immediately found loving, alongside those ocean eyes and she dared turning around, although she didn’t meet his gaze.

-… I am sure you will kill them on the race- she replied -… I mean metaphorically, not literally, please don’t do anything reckless-.

She didn’t know where the last part of that discourse came from, knowing perfectly “reckless” was Jim’s second nature, but still… she might have slowly started caring a tiny bit for him, although he was still a pain in her ass.

-I will try my best- he promised, holding out a hand, clearly asking for her to trust him.

-… sorry I have my hands still dirty- she didn’t trust him still, at least not before his first race as a MOTO GP champion, but he didn’t seem disappointed by her shooting him down, which prompted just a shake of head.

-Don’t worry, you can hold it after I won this-.

-Which part of “don’t be reckless” didn’t you get? – but she was smiling although the harsh tone of her voice, and he just turned, holding up his hands as if to say “I am done here”.

And she went back to her bike.

He had won.

Not a clean won, but a spectacular one since he managed to rise from his sixth place, at the start, which prompted him to reach for the third place and when the riders in front of him, the favorite ones, ended up battling for the first place and crashing with a thrilling move, he had become the first one, keeping a swift pace till the end of the race.

But she had also seen the tense way he tried to keep hold of the bike, uneasy on it and terribly insecure, but thankfully he had been generously helped by the hands of the Fortune, so she waited till the end of the game, after he had been on the podium and the press conference, to talk with him, catching him just before moving to his trailer.

He immediately beamed at her, but she just shot him down with a harsh glare.

-I did…-

-You were lucky on the circuit- she replied instead, a harsh glare on her face: she would have to work on her bike for at least a day after what he had done to it, terribly ruined by his reckless behavior, pushing it to its limits, and moving over to them -…Rossi and Lorenzo let you pass because they underestimated you, but it won’t happen in any other days, meanwhile about Marquez and Dovizioso… you were very lucky; what happened was that nobody was expecting you, so they didn’t come prepared, but now they will count your presence and analyze you for every flaw, so from now on… no reckless behavior, you listen to me-.

-You are just a mechanic- he muttered, a bit taken aback from her discourse.

Clearly, he had become used to all those people smiling at him and telling him how great he did, that he didn’t understand a harsh critique of his style.

-Yeah, that means I work on your bike, and right now the suspensions are broken, I will have to work on the engine because it overheats too quickly and don’t let me talk about your tires…- she had never had any kind of things like this with her previous biker, not because he didn’t race like it mattered, but because he knew perfectly the difference between reckless driving and careful racing style -… and I know what this means: you need to develop a tactic and understand the bike…-

-Are you offering help with all those critiques or…? – he was clearly not on his best mood and annoyed by her thoughts but at the same time he was making an effort to understand her point of view, which was… nice.

It made her blush.

-I … - she wasn’t in the mental state to be anything else than critical -… meet me in the stable in five minutes-.

She was wearing a looser version of her tracksuit (a t-shirt, already full of grease and other things and a pair of loose pants), meanwhile Jimmy had changed into his usual appearance, a jeans jacket instead of the leather one.

He seemed surprised when he saw his bike, open in different pieces, only recognizable by the number on top of it, and the colors around it.

-What does this mean? – he asked, confused.

-Want to crash your bike? Well, then you are going to help me put it back together- she replied, smirking, before passing him an iron tire, prompting an even more confused face -… the more you know about these things, the more you will understand the telltale signs of overworking a bike-.

He immediately nodded, still a bit surprised by her approach and sitting down himself next to her and the “bike”.

-… is that a Miyagi way of teaching me not to mess with your precious bike? – he asked, although smiling, lightly meanwhile she instructed him on how to use the iron tire, he held so tightly in his hand.

-It’s a (L/N) way to teach you to be a better rider, Jimmy Boy, now move your ass, we need to be finished before dinner, you have a party to attend-.

He seemed even more shocked by this admission, but then moved to do what he was expected to be done, tightening bolts and nails.

-… are you coming to the party? – he asked, meanwhile keeping his eyes on the work, meanwhile she overviewed his work.

-Do I look like the kind of person who goes to parties? – she replied, meanwhile adjusting his grip on her hand, much larger than hers, but also clumsier than hers -… also after you are done here, I will keep on working here, you have another race in two weeks-.

-Two weeks, (Y/N)! - he uttered, calling her for her first name since they had met, making it sound so jovial, as if they were two best friends, just working on a bike, meanwhile his hands weren’t in hers.

-… and you have two weeks to learn how to drive, so this needs to be ready by tomorrow-.

---

And that is all for today!

Let mw know what you thought about it (I really hope you will like it, because I had tons of fun writing it and now I will go back to watch “Dumpling, write two reviews and then maybe start a new seris about Duncan (set before “A Relief For The Stress)!

Any feedback is welcome!

Love you, lovelies!

See you soon!

Heco Hansen

[fangirl-faye]

Time be damned

Characters: Steve Rogers/James “Bucky” Barnes, hinted Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Howard Stark, Natasha Romanoff, Tony Stark, Clint Barton

Summary: He comes from the future he says. He hands them a set of coordinates. Tells them to meet him there at the time on the bottom of the page. He makes them promise they won’t tell Captain Rogers a word.

Warnings: Mentions of Canon-Compliant Character Deaths

He comes from the future he says.

It’s the only thing he tells Howard and Peggy when he stands in front of them in Howard’s laboratory. He wants to talk to them about Steve and their future. When they don’t believe him, he tells them, that there are very many types of fondue in the future.

It would have made Peggy blush if she was like that but she composes herself and looks at the man.

He wears a weird beard and has dark hair. His clothes are strange and nothing any of them has ever seen before.

He floats when the long red cape behind him blows in a non-existent breeze.

He hands them a set of coordinates. Tells them to meet him there at the time on the bottom of the page.

He makes them promise they won’t tell Captain Rogers, Sargent Barnes or any other soul a word. This was a secret just for the two of them. Peggy is still not sure if she trusts him, but the comment about the fondue gives him the benefit of the doubt. Steve would have never revealed it, if he wouldn’t trust this man. And no one but her, Steve and Howard knew about that story anyways.

A few weeks later, the Howling Commandos come back from a mission, bringing in Doctor Armin Zola. Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes are absent. Falsworth tells the two of them what happened. A few hours later, Peggy finds Steve in a bombed out bar in the next town here in south France.

Two days before the meeting Steve dives his plane into the ice. Howard wants to keep looking for his friend, contemplates not going, but Peggy drags him along. The man was from the future after all. He would know what just happened. That’s her reasoning and Howard thinks she is right.

They make their way to the coordinates on the paper.

The man, and three other people wait for them, in the outskirts of London. They are waiting in front of a warehouse.

“These are my… colleagues.” He points at a robot in red and gold; a woman, almost naked, in skin-tight black leather with fiery red hair and a man, blonde in black and purple, bow and arrows on his back.

The man makes them follow. He is walking this time and makes a few complicated gestures, glowing symbols appearing in the air. Peggy pegs him for a wizard. She feels a headache coming on. The future seems to be full of strange people, if that really is where they are coming from.

“Where are we going?” Howard asks and the robot turns around. Its face opens to reveal a man. It’s a helmet; a suit. He looks a lot like Howard, Peggy thinks but keeps it to herself.

“We help you change history for the better.” He replies curtly and turns back.

“Then why did I have to come? Not the Commandos or someone?” Howard asks, slightly annoyed.

The glowing in the air opens a door in front of them and they enter a room. It is like standing in Stark Expo, surrounded by technology that no one could believe to be real before seeing it with their own eyes, and apparently everything worked.

“Because you are one of the few people who could appreciate my genius.” The armored man mutters smugly as he sees Howard looking around in awe. Peggy meanwhile is still skeptical towards them.

In the middle of the room is a big, white coffin-like box. When Peggy gets closer she gasps, turns around and glaring at the strange people from the future.

“What have you done to him?” she snaps. She knew about the place this man held in Steve’s big heart. She would gladly have shared Steve with Barnes, if it meant making Steve happy. After all they were the only two people to see the heart under the muscle.

“We have done nothing. He fell from the train as you know.” The wizard begins. “When he had been taken prisoner in Azzano, he had been experimented on, much like the Captain had been, only it hadn’t been his own choice.”

The woman takes over, motioning Peggy closer to the coffin.

“He survived the fall thanks to the faulty serum Armin Zola had given him.”

“In a future where we’re from, he becomes the greatest assassin of all times, controlled by the Russians and later a new generation of HYDRA.” The archer adds and Peggy stares at him.

“He killed you later. He didn’t know any better. He was brainwashed and tortured.” The armored man says, looking at Howard.

“We went to get him, after his fall but we can change history only so much. There are rules.” The magician continues calmly. “He lost his arm, we gave him a new one. You will not be able to get back into this room again when we leave. You cannot access this technology before it is time.”

“You do needed to know how grave the situation is. Keep a close eye on Zola, or HYDRA will grow a head again, where Steve just cut it off.” The woman says and Steve’s name rolls easy from her tongue as if it’s one of the most normal things in the world. Peggy doesn’t know what makes her trust these people now. But maybe it’s the way she hears the woman talk about Steve and sees the obvious affection and how the woman’s glance always lingers on Barnes’s coffin for a second, protective and caring.

“Is Steve alive as well?” Peggy asks, because she always had the suspicion that Steve wouldn’t die easy and if Barnes was alive after getting a faulty serum and falling off the train, Steve could be alive as well?

“You know he can’t refuse when the world is calling for help. But I advise you against waiting for him. Live a happy life like he will always want it for you and shape the world to make him proud. For now he is dead and will be for a long time.”

“Do not look for him. He will be found when the time is come.” The wizard says, when dust whirls up in the room and something resembling a portal appears.

Peggy turns to the woman, because she knows time will be up soon.

“Why did you tell and show us all that? Why not just change it and go back?”

“It was their wish. They wanted you both to know that the future will be alright.” She shrugs smiling. “And you asked me to make them happy. No matter the cost. It was your choice. Strange probably has his own reasons, but he rarely reveals them.”

Peggy nods. Changing the past sounds like something she could consider one day, if it meant, seeing Steve happy for once.

The portal begins to glow green. Peggy and Howard take a step back and Peggy realizes it is time for Howard and her to leave. The red-haired woman smiles and makes a dismissive gesture at them and Peggy drags Howard out of the room.

When the door falls closed behind them and they turn around to look at it, the door is gone.

(Inside, Clint looks at Tony.

“Who will kill him now?”

“A Black Widow. The red room starts earlier because they don’t have a subject for Project Winter Soldier.”  Tony looks through the files on his phones. “It says, Natasha killed her in Odessa.”

“I’ll probably remember that encounter when we’re back in our time. Come on, boys. We got a wedding to attend.”

“So all Winter Soldier kills were now made by Widows?” Clint clarifies when Natasha had left through the portal. Tony nods solemnly.

“History won’t change much. Most events will happen, no matter how much you try to stop them from happening. But you can tweak things a little, if you are careful.” Strange says, then motions Tony and Clint back towards their new, altered timeline. Natasha was right. They got to attend the Rogers-Barnes wedding. And even time-travelers could be late.)

When they round the warehouse later in the light of day, the room doesn’t exist.

And Peggy is fine with it…

… after a while. She pulls herself together and when she meets her future husband (not that she knows that at the time), she begins to fall in love again. After all, she sometimes needs to tell herself, time-travelers know what they are doing, right? And in her heart she knows that she’d see them together again, one day. James Barnes and Steve Rogers as the pair they are.

Some days were hard. Full of the thoughts of Steve somewhere frozen, asleep and not knowing that Bucky is alive, not being assured everything will be fine like she was after his death.

Yes, some days it hurts, but most days, she is fine. And some days, she even tells her daughter Stephanie Jamie stories about how brave her uncles were, sacrificing themselves, that they could live this happy live they have.

“You are named after two of the bravest men I knew.” She sometimes says to her and then louder, that her husband in the kitchen will hear, “except for your father, of course.” And he will chuckle but admit every time that he maybe never will be as brave as Captain America and his trusty Partner, Sargent Barnes. But that is fine because in the end it was Captain Rogers who pulled him out of Azzano and gave him the chance to meet Peggy Carter. No hard feelings about an ex in his book.

And even if Peggy stands there in 1944, frustrated, with no plan and only a shadow of knowledge of what the future will hold, wishing they would have brought Steve back to her, deep inside she knows, the future will be fine.

Captain America would come back when earth needs him most. And for now it is her place to make sure he will have allies when the time comes.

~ 68 years later ~

Steve wakes up, eyes focusing on the white ceiling over him. Next to him someone clears their throat.

“Awake at last?”

He sits up straight and looks to the side.

“Is this heaven?”

The clear laugh fills his chest with warmth.

“If this would be heaven, I wouldn’t be here, that’s for sure. But it’s not the forties either, pal. We’ve missed almost seventy years. At least that’s what Howard’s kid and Peggy’ve been tellin’ me when they woke me up.”

“Woke you up? Howard’s what?” Steve turns completely, legs dangling over the side of the bed and he looks straight into clear blue eyes. Bucky does not look a day older than when he fell, but Steve notices the arm that doesn’t add up with his memories.

“I remember falling. Then I woke up. There was this man, he says his name is Tony Stark and he is from the future. He’s telling me I lost my arm during the fall and he just makes sure I will have one when I wake up. I’ve asked about you and he shushed me and told me to sleep, they will wake me, when you’re back. And they did. They told me it took you almost seventy years to come back from your mission. So I’ve been asleep for a while as well.”

That wasn’t everything that they told him, but some of it he rather keeps to himself for now. After all Steve had just woken up and always been a bit slow on the uptake in the morning. Bucky shifts from the chair onto the bed, next to Steve. Pulls him into his side and gives him a smirk.

“I told you, we were going to the future. Just a bit further than we thought.” He says chuckling and Steve doesn’t care in that moment. He surges forward and presses his lips against Bucky’s because a week ago he saw Bucky fall from a train and just hours ago steered his plane into the freezing cold water of the Arctic, ready to die to save the world.

And maybe he had been ready to die to be reunited with Bucky. Because that was what his whole transformation into Captain America had always been about to Steve. If this was real, he was quite happy not to be dead. So the future can wait, he thinks, when Bucky’s lips move against his. What’s important is that they are here together now, time be damned.

[imgonnabeyourbubblegumwitch]

Caraval - A Review

Popsugar Reading Challenge 2019:  A book revolving around a puzzle or game

This book was recommended by a colleague at work. It could fill the "A book revolving around a puzzle or game" prompt for the Popsugar reading challenge (also mentioned by a colleague at work and I thought why not) and it was £0.99 on kindle. All round this seemed like a no-brainer.

Now I've finished this book I have absolutely no idea how I feel about it. I spent a really long time trying to figure out what rating I'd give it. In the end I've gone for a four and if you're wondering why I've gone for a four when beyond the spoiler break I'm going to offer a lot of negatives or at the very least neutrals, then yeah I'm wondering that too. I guess it's because I enjoyed reading it well enough and that it was just after I'd closed it that it deflated and fell flat like a bouncy castle at the end of a party.

Anyway spoilers ahead. Let's look at Caraval.

In looking at the reviews post-read a lot of people either a) had similar issues to me or b) compared it to the Night Circus (which I haven't read) and said this wasn't as good. I can see what this book was trying to go for, and from that can predict what the Night circus might be like. This book tried hard to be magical and whimsical and sometimes it succeeded but often it fell flat too. I think part of the reason it didn't always work were the descriptions which were often a little odd and sometimes odd enough to take me out of the story and wonder how on earth that was supposed to work.

An example from early on when Scarlett is describing her father's perfume: "It smelled like the colour of his gloves: anise and lavender and something akin to rotted plums." This description of his perfume comes up a lot later on. It's not the mix of scents I have a problem with: I can visualise (smell-ise?) that. But what colour are his gloves? They are originally described as "plum-coloured" which I can get behind. But anise I picture as those little brown stars and googling this I can confirm I was right on that (it's good to check) though the plant can have white or purple flowers. The purple is a mid-purple and I guess I'd describe it as a warm lavender. Meanwhile you have lavender (cool, blue toned) and plum (warm, reddish). Now I have googled all these colours I have seen some cooler toned plums (I don't know if this is a country difference thing but I'd literally entirely forgotten cool toned plums existed). This could more closely match the lavender colour, but this is irrelevant to the point I'm about to make. Bear with me.

Why am I making such a big deal about all of this? In the beginning it was only a tiny nit-pick to me, a moment of my brain trying to match up brown stars with cool, blue lavender and warm, reddish plum. But as I read on, I found this book makes a big deal out of colour. The main character, Scarlett,  attaches colours to emotions. For example "Scarlett had an emerald-green premonition" and (when she's feeling a lot of emotions) "Bold colours swirled inside her". Furthermore, she spends a large portion of the book in a magic dress that changes colour (and style) depending on her emotions. Later on she can see colours which match up to her love interest's emotions.

So when the gloves are described in a way that doesn't make sense to me until I got onto google, this did begin to bother me. Colour is so important to this world and I wasn't sure how I was supposed to be envisioning her father's gloves. Her father is a key character, abusive and controlling. Not only that but  the gloves seemed to have importance too: he takes off his gloves to hit her sister, and Scarlett even comments "But at least he still had the gloves on." when he first enters on the scene, further drawing attention to them. They cover his abusive side - others do seem to see him as a respectable citizen - and so really do serve as an important bit of symbolism. I took the description of rotting plums and, as I always envision plum as a rich, reddish purple, I latched onto this and thought of them in the end as an almost bloody purple, but a rusty blood (tying in those brown stars). I'm now thinking I was supposed to picture a cooler colour, possibly even lighter too.

(Though to make things more confusing we later get "Her cheek was now almost the colour of her father's wretched gloves." which would bring me back around to the reddish, blood like colour as she's blushing at this point so I don't know any more to be honest. I'll stop taking about these gloves and move on to the actual point now…)

I am someone who unconsciously attaches colour to many things: days, months, years, subjects at school, characters I read, characters I write. I also have very clear emotions attached to certain colours and vice versa. Scarlett's colour emotions didn't always match with mine and that was kind of distracting. I guess on the whole this incredibly long point is still a minor nit-pick because, if you don't attach colours to things in the same way, it presumably wouldn't bother you. But it bothered me and this is my review so I thought I'd put it out there.

Picking back up on the magical, colour changing, style shifting dress, clothing is my second nit-pick: the clothes. Seriously the clothes. They are described in such detail. It's mainly something that we get for Scarlett, and  maybe this is because the dress was mirroring her emotions. But even other dresses Scarlett wears are described in detail which I didn't much care about and forgot almost instantly.

At one point the dress description sets up something that never really comes completely into fruition and this only serves as a reminder that the plot could have been cleverer. A dress near the end is described as unexpectedly like a wedding dress. So the whole premise of this book is that Scarlett is playing the game and searching for the clues (something else I'm going to talk about because my goodness those clues). Anyway the fifth clue is "a leap of faith"(I think anyway because this book is not set up to be an eBook and so the letters the clues are in are tiny and almost impossible to read). Now for the entire book Scarlett has been thinking about and talking about her arranged marriage to someone she has never met. She was for this at the beginning as a way of escaping her abusive father, but as the book went on she began to fall for Love Interest Julian.

So I thought this leap of faith my involve stepping away from her future of an arranged marriage decided by her father and choosing what she wants. Maybe it wouldn't be an actual marriage to Julian but perhaps she'd pledge herself to him in some meaningful way, similar to the wedding ceremony. This thought was strengthened when they decided they needed to go to a hat shop (imagery of men getting married in top hats) and I thought we may get a payoff for the Julian is Scarlett's fiancé ruse that had been running since the two got to Caraval. Perhaps they'd need in some way to act out or dress for their "upcoming wedding" and this would illicit a confession from Scarlett as she took "a leap of faith" and allowed herself to choose her own destiny. This echoed a point made earlier in the book by a fortune teller who said the future was hard to change because people were predictable.

Then they get to the hat shop and her real fiancé was there. And I began to wonder if perhaps she would break off the engagement with him and so the wedding dress was ironic. And I guess it sort of happened that way? Sort of? Scarlett's father shows up and Scarlett and Julian briefly escape but this is completely pointless because Scarlett's father and fiancé show up anyway. Scarlett's father injuries Julian, and to save him Scarlett agrees to go with her fiancé to consummate their non-existent marriage. But then Scarlett breaks away from him using some plot device she got earlier which meant he couldn't hurt her for two hours. It felt a little flat compared to what I'd imagined with needless scenes of escaping when they are caught up to anyway and stakes I didn't believe or wasn't invested in. This is symbolic of the rest of the game and the rest of the book.

I'll admit part of the problem here might be that, searching amazon for books, I came across the sequel but not realising it was the sequel read the blurb thus learning Scarlett's sister, Donatella is found. Therefore Scarlett's entire motivation, to find her sister and save her, became an inevitability. Even so I think the stakes would have felt low. There's a part in the book where Julian and Scarlett are racing to get into their hotel room because they have to be in before dawn. We don't know why. There is reasonable tension build up with lights going out as they run. Scarlett makes in in because  Julian pushes her in, which prompts Scarlett to bargain with the proprietor to get Julian in as well. It's a moment of triumph for the rule-abiding Scarlett and they can now both play the game.

But I wasn't clear on why they couldn't be out during the day. (We later find out the magic isn't there or is weaker in the day and presumably that's why everyone has to be inside. But what about the people watching? Does the same go for them?) And okay there was the issue of maybe Julian not being able to play the game, but we don't know why he wants to play the game so even that didn't feel really dramatic. Julian has bent the rules and been charmingly persuasive to get what he wants, even Scarlett has just bent the rules to get Julian in. I'd have liked some more stakes, something outside in the day that makes it even more imperative they get inside. Maybe there is clean up during the day, but the clean-up is done by monstrous creatures or robots who don't know the difference between rubbish and human beings. Okay that was a semi-stupid example but you get the idea. Something.

This was the same for the whole game. Scarlett follows the clues, but aside from when the other players take everything from Donatella's room at the very beginning of the game, we don't really get a sense of any competition. The clues seemed to be only for Scarlett (and maybe this was deliberate given the ending reveal Donatella was behind everything) but since she wasn't really going against any real competitors who could offer a real threat that Scarlett may not make it, this lessened the tension. Time was frequently mentioned to be different, quicker, slipping away, Scarlett often said they must hurry but I didn't feel any urgency. She had an arbitrary time limit in which to find her sister in but she was bumbling along nicely, we had no clue why she shouldn’t be out in the day and no one else was a threat so it didn't seem to matter that she was always in a hurry. It would have been nice to have other players trying to interfere a little more with what Scarlett was doing, have them getting to clues first or anything at all to make it feel more like a competition.

The clues themselves made little sense, even given that were probably designed so only Scarlett would get to Donatella. Scarlett would suddenly say she'd solved another clue, or found the next one and I was confused because how could that be the answer? Everything seemed to happen by happenstance: Scarlett (sometimes accompanied by Julian or other people she met) would wander around, bump into something or someone, occasionally run away from (or after) something or someone, and then somehow get a clue. Maybe this is just me being a mystery lover but I'd have liked it if the clues were a more logical progression and could be solved by the reader. Instead you have no chance because everything was a series of random curveballs being thrown at you.

Sometimes things went somewhere. Sometimes they didn't. I'm still not clear if the buttons were important or not for example. It was frequently said that people wouldn't be who they said they were, that you shouldn't get caught up in the game. I would have liked more to be made of this, perhaps people could change during the game, becoming distant and different and Scarlett could wonder if the game was changing them, or was it changing her? Were they even the same people or had they gone to be replaced by actors? What was real? What wasn't? I love the idea of someone questioning what is going on around them, who is a player, who is a pawn. The book didn’t make enough of this for me.

Related to above, I'd predicted Julian was Legend from his first appearance in the book and,  if the reveal he wasn't had come later on, I would have been thrilled to be tricked and have my expectations subverted. As it was I was just a bit like oh, and after Julian swore he wasn't Legend I just amended this to well he's probably a family member or something. He was. The book wanted to trick me into thinking he was Legend but was too heavy handed and didn't trust that I'd pick up on the subtleties that said he might be. Or maybe it didn't even mean to hint this and the reveal he was Legend was supposed to be a huge shock. Either way I feel like this heavy handedness, like the point above, detracted from what could have been a nice slow, creepy mystery and a series of hints that maybe Julian wasn't all he seemed. Was he Legend? Wasn't he Legend?

To sum up, this book reminded me of Steven Moffat's run of Doctor Who (or at least the parts of it I watched before I got totally fed up). There was lots of attempts at a certain style, lots of loud flashy things and an attempt at mystery but because you couldn't solve anything yourself since the mystery relied on random things or events you couldn't possibly predict and it started all just feel like nothing.  But, unlike Moffat's run of Doctor Who, for the most part the book pulled me through and I did enjoy the experience which is why, contrary to all my complaints and issues, I give this book such a lenient rating. I do think I'll read it again, purely because I liked that Donatella was behind everything, and I'm interested to see if this makes things make more sense. I feel like it will and it won't and the book won't be any more satisfying and after that I won't read it again. I'm certainly not tempted to pick up the sequel.

Nonetheless Caraval: 4/5

[abdallahalhakim]

Stop the money-shaming in medicine

There is a taboo in medicine. It is becoming less prominent, but it still exists. You’re not supposed to talk about money. Not how much something costs a patient, not how much you get paid, not how you invest, and certainly not about the freedom from medicine that financial independence can bring.

This first shows up as you are applying to medical school. You don’t want anyone writing a letter of recommendation or heaven forbid an admissions committee to get even a whiff of an idea that you might actually want to receive a paycheck for practicing medicine at some point down the road. It is reinforced throughout medical school and residency and persists throughout your career in interactions with your peers, your professional colleges, your board certification organization charging you thousands to take an online test, and your hospital.

Meanwhile, the business world and particularly the financial services world views you as a whale, ready to be harpooned. And all these little doctors in their own little silos who “love science and just want to help people” are taken advantage of one by one. It pisses me off.

But you want to know what makes me even madder? When I see doctors “money-shaming” each other. Reinforcing this taboo that you can’t talk about or even learn about business or finance because it’s “filthy, dirty money” and you’re a “bad doctor” to think about it. Let me give you an example.

PIMD Gets money-shamed

Passive Income MD wrote a blog post a while back about how he is financially free from medicine. I read the post and thought, “That’s great. Now he can practice medicine if and how he likes. He’ll be a better doctor and take better care of people. Or, if he wants, he can get out of medicine and do something else that he finds more fulfilling. If he practices less or stops altogether, it allows the services of other doctors to be more in demand, keeping salaries high for everyone. How wonderful!”

Well, his post gets picked up by Doximity and shared. That’s wonderful too. I love it when my stuff gets shared with a larger audience, and I’m sure PIMD does too. There really is (almost) no such thing as bad publicity in this business. So I saw it in the email that Doximity sends out every now and then and took a look at some of the comments below his post. Most were very supportive, until I ran into one written by a psychiatrist, published under his real name (which I’ll leave out as it really isn’t relevant to my point):

Why did you go into medicine in the first place? It sounds like to get rich. Congratulations. Patients were a lousy revenue stream, too much maintenance. So you are free from an opportunity to do work that actually relieves suffering, and if you are half-as clever financially as you claim to be, you could have made a good living at. You are free from having to do the hard work of medicine. After practicing for 40 years, I still value using my competence to lighten the burden of disease on my fellow human beings, more than the fact I make a good salary doing so. You could have made more money if you had started with an MBA and a Law degree, and skipped the fake wanting to practice medicine. You are free from medicine, from hard work, from dealing with truly heavy responsibilities. Your narcissism is normative in American society. You are free giving, and free to take all you want. Enjoy! You exploited the profession, and now you can live the hedonism that is the core of your value system.

Hey kids! Get off my lawn! Seriously though, other doctors read this comment and say to themselves, “Self, be sure you don’t talk about money or financial independence to any of your colleagues because some of them are going to react like this.”

To the psychiatrist’s credit, he returned later down in the comments section and left a bit of an apology and a more nuanced, less inflammatory explanation of his views on the subject.

Stop money-shaming!

I call this sort of thing “money-shaming,” and I want you to quit doing it. Some of us are more altruistic than others. That’s always been the case. And there is someone more altruistic than you are. You’re a family doc working for $180K? Great. There’s a classmate down the road who is a pediatrician making $150K. And one who went into the military and worked for $120K while being deployed all over the world taking care of those defending your freedom. And someone else who works 3 days a week in the homeless clinic for a pittance. And someone who spends their vacation time in Colombia drilling wells for mountainous villages.

But the truth of the matter is that very few of us are willing to practice medicine for free. Especially on a full-time basis. In fact, it turns out that most of us wouldn’t be practicing as much as we do now if it wasn’t for the money. I have surveyed many groups I have talked to. I ask them if they’d report to work tomorrow if I wrote them a check for $10 Million today. They almost all say yes. But when I ask them if they’d be working less in a year (fewer shifts, shorter days, fewer patients per day, less call etc), they almost all raise their hand. My conclusion? Most doctors are working, at least partially, for financial reasons.

Why should that be a surprise? And why would it be a bad thing? Adam Smith pointed out centuries ago that, in general, we benefit each other and society as a whole as we pursue our own self-interest.  That’s capitalism. And it has led to the greatest increase in freedom, wealth, and humanity that this planet has ever seen. Nurses get paid. Teachers get paid. Garbagemen get paid. Judges get paid. Politicians get paid. Uber drivers get paid. That doesn’t diminish the value of the work they do. There’s a reason it’s called “work”–because they have to pay you to do it.

In fact, I would argue that the MOST selfless and altruistic doctors among us are the ones who are financially independent and still practicing because they love it. I would love to shorten the average time period between when a doctor comes out of residency and when she can practice merely because she loves it. But even then, I don’t expect her to work for free.

Celebrate the financial success of your colleagues

So my challenge to you is that rather than money-shaming your colleagues, you celebrate their successes. What a difference between going to FinCon (a conference of financial bloggers where you are invited to give a talk and everyone celebrates your achievement because you doubled your income) and a medical conference (where financial or business topics are generally given short shrift)!

When we start talking about paying off our student loans and our mortgages and avoiding whole life insurance and becoming millionaires and becoming financially independent then we’ll all, doctors and patients alike, be better off. If nothing else, at least a lot of salesmen masquerading as financial advisors will be driven out of business.

James M. Dahle is the author of The White Coat Investor: A Doctor’s Guide To Personal Finance And Investing and blogs at the White Coat Investor. He is the creator of Fire Your Financial Advisor!, a high-quality 12 module course with a little over 7 hours of videos and screencasts, a pre-test, section quizzes with answer explanations, and a final exam. The goal is to take a high income professional from square one, teach them financial literacy and help them write their own financial plan.

Image credit: Shutterstock.com

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[Read More ...] https://www.kevinmd.com/blog/2018/09/stop-the-money-shaming-in-medicine.html

[jghouse-asia-pacific]

New Post has been published on https://www.jg-house.com/2020/11/11/eternal-goodbye-rome/

Eternal Goodbye: Rome

Esby looked away just for a moment from the streams of cars with the image of her face appearing before his eyes. The digital watch strapped to his left wrist showed 7:15, its round face illuminated by the last rays of the setting sun. He had 30 minutes. The road to Fiumicino, the international airport on the outskirts of Rome, would be jammed.

The garbage on the streets was piling up. He had heard about the chaos of Rome, in fact, before he had moved to the Italian capital three months earlier. His colleagues in other European capitals were fond of using a different nickname for the Eternal City: Cairo North. But now the disorder was overwhelming.

Esby fought the impulse to kneel on the sidewalk next to a clump of weeds and an empty bottle of San Pellegrino mineral water at the edge of Via Cristoforo Colombo. It was the busiest thoroughfare in Rome. He could feel the presence of the Roman drivers, only inches away from him, as they navigated their motorbikes or slightly larger cars along the streams of traffic flowing in both directions as far as the eye could see.

None of it made sense to Esby. He laughed, looking up at the sky. Life now with Julienne was different than it had been. He would see her again soon, although how soon depended on when he arrived at the airport. Only fifteen minutes before, Esby barely could remain calm in his chair as he sat at his desk at the back of the editorial team’s office holding the receiver of the telephone to his ear and listened to the dispatcher speaking in local dialect.

“A taxi,” she had said, “will arrive for you in twenty minutes.”

All week Esby had been waiting to hear those words. He was, without a doubt, excited to see Julienne. To his colleagues and also to himself, he freely admitted the fact. But at the same time, he was feeling, he realized, increasingly anxious. Rome, in many respects, was a beautiful city, despite the growing mounds of garbage. However, most of all, it was stressful. Romans, often aggressively and dramatically, seemed to pursue conflict and tension; he, in contrast, required a certain amount of peace and harmony. In Rome, he barely could get by on his own. How could he look after Julienne, prone to self-doubt and insecurity?

The sky above the highway still displayed its lighter shades of blue. To the east it revealed darker shades of purple and even streaks of black to signal the approaching night. As Esby’s eyes moved, shifting his view from the blue expanse above back down to the grey streets and buildings of the city below, his glance fell on a small green sports utility vehicle.

People on the Street

Esby watched as the vehicle detached itself from a stream of cars and pulled to the side of the wide boulevard. It came to a halt directly in front of him. Esby recognized the driver. Carlo Medrone, a production manager in Esby’s company, sat behind the steering wheel of the compact SUV. The middle-aged corpulent man rolled down the window on the passenger door.

“Ciao, bello!” Carlo shouted.

The words resonated in Esby’s head. Loud, aggressive, familiar. Esby bent his torso slightly from its upright position to make eye contact with the driver, but instead his gaze was captured and directed downward to the floor in front of the passenger seat. In the next moment, Esby’s glance shifted back upward again, detaching itself from the images of naked women in lewd poses on plain covers of various magazines on the floor and, then, fastening on Carlo’s face. As quickly as Esby had felt in the previous moment a wave of embarrassment, he now felt a sudden and genuine confusion.

The Roman’s face was impassive, almost innocent.

Then Esby recalled that Carlo’s long-time boss, a Frenchman named Daniel, had published a series of pornographic titles for many years, although he had attempted to hide their existence from Esby and his compatriots who now worked for Daniel’s newest magazines, including the latest one about buying and selling art, where Esby was managing editor.

When Esby had moved to Europe 15 months earlier to take on the role of editor, he had struggled to adapt to a new life, both inside and outside the office of the young magazine. Then, a year after he had arrived in Brussels, where he and the rest of the editorial staff initially were based, he was forced to pick up his possessions and move to Rome, where his bosses in New York and their close friend and Roman partner, Daniel, had decided to take advantage of lower labor costs and publish all magazines.

“Where are you going?” Carlo asked, speaking in his native Romanesco with its long, indecent drawl. “Do you want a ride?” Esby felt a different emotion then. Was it disdain?

“I’m going to the airport, capo,” Esby replied, pronouncing carefully the words in the Italian he had been learning to speak, although he had studied the language at the university in California for three years because of some vague, romantic notions he had long since buried along with other, painful memories. Esby doubted the older man would want to drive him such a long distance. Fiumicino occupied a grassy plot of land 25 kilometers west of Rome.

Young Woman

“Well, we’ll see each other tomorrow at the office. Ciao,” Carlo said.

Carlo shifted his corpulence in the seat, looked over his left shoulder, and waited a few moments. Then he shot his car forward. The car moved away from Esby, and he watched as it attached itself once again to the stream of cars flowing, he thought, with more urgency among the dim shadows of evening.

Esby knew, at that moment, his life would never be the same, no matter the direction of his relationship with Julienne or the success or failure of his magazine, which currently was headed toward bankruptcy. He knew he had to keep trying out new ideas and new projects. He couldn’t go back to where he started. In California, there was nothing for him, except demons he was trying to escape.

  ***

“Ha. Ha. Ha.”

Then came a shriek. It happened again.

Esby opened his eyes. Laughter, he realized, had come from the corridor just beyond the door to his hotel room. He was awake now. A third shriek of laughter reached his ears, this time accompanied by the sound of rapid, but not heavy, footsteps on a carpeted floor. It was a small girl, or perhaps boy, Esby decided, running down the corridor. Then he heard the sound of a door opening and closing.

“The child is inside a room now,” he said to himself. He pictured the doors, all painted a dark red, to at least ten rooms along the light brown-carpeted hallway on the 5th floor of Hotel La Rovere, just off Piazza della Rovere.

A silence ensued. Esby looked to his right at the blue numbers of the digital readout covering the face of the clock on the nightstand.

“It’s almost 10:15,” he whispered. But the morning, the first part of Saturday, the day before Easter, had passed by entirely.

“Was breakfast still being served in the restaurant on the ground floor of the hotel? If the dining room downstairs was closed, could he find a small market or café nearby where he could order a quick meal?”

“There isn’t much time,” he whispered again.

Diners

Esby raised his torso a foot off the bed, propping himself on his elbows, and looked to his left. He saw the body lying next to him, completely enclosed in a white sheet and black comforter with red stitching. Julienne, still asleep, lay on her side facing the window, the window now hidden behind a thick, green curtain overlooking the narrow, cobblestone street below. A narrow band of sunlight breaking through the point at which the two parts of the curtain came together lit up a corresponding patch of brown carpet lying between the window and Julienne’s side of the bed.

Esby stood up from his side of the bed and moved toward the bathroom next to the front door.

The moment Esby closed the door of the bathroom and turned on the light above the blue-tiled sink, scenes from the previous night came flooding back.

The airport, on a Friday night leading into Easter week-end, barely could contain the surging crowds, large numbers of travelers who either were departing for other cities or were arriving in Rome. Small units, meanwhile, of traditional, brightly costumed carabinieri or more solemn, black-uniformed military personnel roamed the congested spaces of the terminal, moving their eyes from side to side.

Esby recalled rushing through the terminal, thinking he was one hour late and expecting to find Julienne sitting on a hard, metal seat, fuming, ready to voice displeasure. But, then, he recalled, after carving a path through the crowds and reaching a designated waiting room, he had lingered for one-and-a-half hours, pacing back and forth on the hard linoleum floor until seeing at last on a monitor above his head an update indicating Julienne’s plane—Virgin Express flight 2717—had landed in Rome.

The plane had departed Brussels much later than planned. Why hadn’t Julienne called? Maybe the plane been trapped on the tarmac, unexpectedly, and Julienne couldn’t call because her cell phone didn’t have a signal inside the cabin? Maybe she had forgotten her phone?

It was almost midnight, Esby remembered, when Julienne appeared in the baggage-claim area, walking quickly and assuredly on five-inch heels pulling a small suitcase on wheels. He had wanted to take her back to the city center and check into the hotel room he had reserved. But, immediately, he realized he couldn’t.

“Let’s go find a restaurant and eat some pizza or pasta,” Julienne said upon approaching him, flashing her trademark smile and kissing him. Then she transferred the handle of her suitcase from her left hand to his right hand. “I’m hungry,” she added.

Julienne never explained either the reason the plane arrived in Rome late or why she had not called. Her phone, he noticed, was inside her purse. It was another mysterious misconnection. Something always seemed to go wrong, or she changed plans with no explanation.

***

#Europe, #Italy, #LifeCulture #Beauty, #Culture, #Love, #Rome

[yourghastlycloseness]

yeah the department meeting depressed the hell out of me and convinced me that i’m terribly unfulfilled at work, but also, that maybe all that comes from within and i will carry this sadness in me everywhere i go

because everyone else my age seems to be coping alright, even if they’re not doing excellently

they actually have dreams and strive for healthy human relationships

meanwhile, i can’t seem to reciprocate or reach out, nor do i really want to

maybe this just isn’t the job for me

my colleagues are sweet and competent people, though. honestly, bosses don’t get better than this

one of them gave me a book voucher today haha which i spent immediately on endo’s silence

‘of course it’s jap lit,’ said C

yes, of course lol. i’d actually like to research japanese literature more seriously

i’ve got women court writers from the heian period like sei shonagon and murasaki shikibu on my reading list

//

was watching a ballet dancer break down yuzuru hanyu’s chopin program at pyeongchang. what i didn’t notice before was how hanyu doesn’t quite breathe through his mouth at the end of a performance; he breathes through his nose instead, so he -- and other figure skaters, i assume -- ends every performance with composure and grace and not like the panting monsters most of us are

what makes hanyu so pleasing to watch? the ballet dancer explained that when you put two dancers of equal ability side-by-side, the one with the ‘better face’ will be chosen. ‘better’ could mean more physically attractive. an expressive face with more structure and definition -- something you should be able to see from afar

that reminded of the heavy make-up they used for the actors in drama club

i can’t deny that part of hanyu’s magnetic appeal is how he looks

i should admit, too, that a part of me is so envious that a person can move the way he does. why do i desire to possess everything that is beautiful? 

years ago, my therapist asked me a question that still sticks with me: ‘can you look at beautiful person and not think about wanting that beauty?’

simply put, my answer is no

i see a beautiful person and i want to be them

i don’t care if they’re dirt poor or if they have tragic family backgrounds or if they’re dumb as fuck or if they’ve raped and murdered 20 people

i want beauty and i want it all à la sharpay evans

//

later caught a podcast on suicide by a catholic pastor -- it wasn’t my intention to catch a christian podcast. i was thinking about killing myself again and wanted to hear people talk about suicide without skirting around the subject

i am only 17 minutes in but i am comforted by what the pastor said

he makes two interesting points

i) that we don’t know where a person who commits suicide ends up, but what we do know is that he goes to jesus, and god will make the judgement -- he does away with this idea of immediate and eternal condemnation for the act of suicide

ii) that doctors and clergymen have to work together to help people out of depression and to stop people from committing suicide

but there are points i disagree with

i) the pastor says that suicide can cut short this ‘plan’ that god has for you (it is believed that god has a plan for everyone) -- OK, but what if the plan was for me to precisely end my life at the age of 25, and to make others realize that this isn’t the right thing to do. alternatively, what if i were a homicidal pedophile in the making, where such tendencies would reach its peak in my thirties? coincidentally, i happen to be struggling with depression and ended up taking my own life before i could harm anyone else. what if suicide was the plan after all? it is a possibility to consider.

ii) the pastor argues very firmly that suicide is ‘sin’ for it brings pain to the people around you -- can you honestly say the same about elderly suicides? or about people who have lost all their family? we have to accept that there are people out there who aren’t loved, whose bodies are replaceable (think foxconn, sweatshops)

we don’t have enough information to make a blanket moral judgement that all suicide is sin

//

i won’t call myself a non-believer; i went through a phase of superficial pantheism haha where i saw god as the universe and the universe as god, but i no longer identify too closely with that, partly because i was working hard to fill a spiritual void back then and pantheism was the closest thing i could find to an antidote

christianity, or any institutionalized religion for that matter, has never made sense to me 

simply for this reason: we don’t know if god exists

when we don’t know, we can choose to: 

i) maintain that we don’t know (ie. god may or may not exist) 

ii) assume the positive (ie. god exists) 

iii) assume the negative (ie. god doesn’t exist)

ii) and iii) never made sense to me at all. this has been the main obstacle for me. i actually tried to get into religion between 2014-2015 lol

something else i don’t believe in: judgement before god

maybe i’m not understanding the bible correctly (frankly, i wanted to fall asleep after the first page of genesis), but how can you judge my lived experience when you have never had to live as a mere mortal with no extraordinary destiny or circumstances yourself?

i refuse to be judged by something like that

//

i cook like a sissy

i hold the spatula at an arm’s length away and i approach the pan from a 45 degree angle so that i don’t get hot oil splattering onto my forearm

//

suicide ideas

a few ways i’m thinking of committing suicide right now. i think i mentioned method #1 on my old blog, but not the others. i’m filing them all here for reference. these are what worked:

1. MBS - death of wilim/willim charles

https://www.straitstimes.com/singapore/man-who-fell-from-52nd-floor-of-mbs-probably-committed-suicide-coroner

https://www.asiaone.com/print/News/AsiaOne%2BNews/Crime/Story/A1Story20130516-423065.html

A tourist, whose body was badly severed in the fall from the 52nd floor of the Marina Bay Sands Hotel last June, was likely to have committed suicide, a coroner court heard on Tuesday.

The head and torso of Mr Wilim Charles were found on a 17th floor balcony while his legs were found in the fountain on the ground floor. Other parts of him were scattered about.

In his findings, State Coroner Imran Abdul Hamid noted that Mr Charles had used a deck chair to climb over the 1.1m-tall glass barricade of the balcony, stepped onto the planter's box and fallen to his death. 

He was last seen alive smoking a cigar seated at a desk in the suite by the butler who came to carry Ms Lee's bags down at about 4pm. Casino records showed that although he was a Diamond Reward member, he was not a frequent gambler, having last played on April 14 last year. There was also about $43,000 in cash in the suite.

i like how he died. pretty fancy to be described as being ‘last seen alive smoking a cigar seated at a desk’ and having ‘$43,000 in cash in the suite’. i’m getting noir vibes all around haha

i’m not a fan of body parts being scattered about though. so i might want to bring this down to maybe the 30th-40th floor if i decide to attempt it like he did

2. kushiro coast -- death of wei qiu jie

https://japantoday.com/category/national/Body-found-on-Kushiro-coast-may-be-that-of-missing-Chinese-woman

https://www.scmp.com/news/china/society/article/2108965/body-confirmed-be-chinese-tourist-missing-japan

The body of a young woman was discovered along the coastline of Kushiro City, Hokkaido, on Sunday. Police believe the body may be that of Wei Qiu Jie, 26, a Chinese woman who has been missing since July 23.

Around 6 a.m. on Sunday, a man who was kelp fishing along the beach at Katsurakoi, discovered the body that had washed ashore and immediately notified the police, Fuji TV reported. The woman had long hair and was wearing a beige skirt and white blouse, similar to the clothes Wei was wearing when she was last seen.

She had left her hotel in Sapporo on July 22 for the day, leaving some of her luggage behind, but never returned.

Police later discovered she checked into a hotel at Akan Lake, about 300km from Sapporo, the same night she left Sapporo.

Witnesses said she boarded a tour boat at the lake and was last seen on surveillance camera footage at a convenience store in the nearby coastal city of Kushiro on July 23.

i like this one because i’m seeing millais’ ophelia in the water. the painting has been my laptop lock screen wallpaper for years haha

unfortunately, i’m a pretty alright swimmer. i imagine that i’d fight really hard if i tried to drown myself. i’d probably need to weigh myself down with a lot of rocks in my pockets (like virigina woolf) and bind my arms and legs when i go into the water

3. burning coal briquettes in a hotel room -- death of kim jong-hyun

https://www.straitstimes.com/lifestyle/entertainment/jonghyun-lead-singer-for-south-korean-boyband-shinee-dies-reports

K-pop group SHINee member Kim Jong Hyun, 27, died on Monday (Dec 18) in an apparent suicide, according to local reports.

Police found him unconscious at 6.10pm Korea time in his own apartment located in Cheongdam-dong, in the upscale Gangnam district, after his sister made a report at 4.42pm saying that her brother seemed suicidal.

The YTN news channel, however, reported that Mr Kim had checked into a serviced residence for two nights.

Mr Kim was taken to a nearby hospital, but eventually died.

Reports suggested he died of cardiac arrest from suspected carbon monoxide poisoning.

He was found to have burned a coal briquette on a frying pan. Charcoal briquettes can cause carbon monoxide poisoning in closed rooms.

i would probably choose a hotel room that comes with a kitchenette in tokyo. i went to seoul alone to get a feel of the city as a resting place, but it didn’t vibe with me as much as tokyo did

4. yellowknife, ingraham trail - death of atsumi yoshikubo

https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/north/atsumi-yoshikubo-wrote-a-suicide-note-before-leaving-japan-1.2825863

Yoshikubo, 45, was a doctor who enjoyed travelling solo. She was reported missing Oct. 27, 2014 by staff at the Explorer Hotel.

Staff at the Explorer Hotel, where she was staying by herself, found all of her luggage in her room three days after she was supposed to have checked out. They called police, who found she'd missed her flight home to Japan on Oct. 26.

At the time, police said she had been last seen walking away from the city toward Highway 4, also called the Ingraham Trail.

Because investigators found only bone fragments, they couldn't determine exactly what caused Yoshikubo's death.

They did find two notes left by Yoshikubo: one, an apparent suicide note for friends and family in Japan; the other, found by searchers with her possessions in the bush in Yellowknife.

"It included... how much she loved the North, how much she loved Yellowknife, how much she loved the aurora," Menard said. "She expressed her wishes about wanting to be buried here."

unfortunately, we don’t know how exactly yoshikubo died. 

but i imagine there are many ways one could die in the woods. starvation, dehydration, hypothermia, bear attack (if i’m going to go down like leo in the revenant, i expect an afterlife oscar)

i imagine it would be nice to die in the north toohttps://www.straitstimes.com/lifestyle/entertainment/jonghyun-lead-singer-for-south-korean-boyband-shinee-dies-reports

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other suicides cases i’ve read about and will KIV when considering methods: 

kate spade

christine chubbuck

sulli

hara

sylvia plath

krystal aki mizoguchi

daul kim

iris chang

kevin carter

paula goodspeed

keiko fuji

yukiko okada

simone mareuil

hanging is ideal to me. but man, what if i don’t get the knot right lol