#hope nobody needs to come to the chemist before work!!!

[chiefofboatwatsonstittymug]

Boss: you need to get here earlier so you can help Colleague set up before the shop opens

Boss: *is consistently late*

[thefearfulheart]

Small little bit of lore on my au in the works right now

I call it Colour Factory because I can’t name things for the life of me

Walton Darling (or CF as I will call him for the time being) inherited The Factory from his adopted ‘Father’ that mass produced a hallucinogenic called Colours that made users feel extreme happiness in short, controlled burst and is a extremely addicting substance, causing shifts in moods and personality the longer the user takes it. It’s a common chemist brand in stores and is highly recommended as a cure for depression or to eliminate anxiety for many user, allowing them to access a short lived experience that leaves them coming back for more of Colours in the end. Its a short lived experience that capitalises on users need and desperation to have a cure for their negative emotions, making them crave the techno coloured vivid emotions that overtake them every time they have Colours. It’s a liquid substance that comes in a variety of colours that have a iridescent appearance to them and is a flavourless substance that can be added to any any food or drinks in the end.

Colours is extracted from a extremely rare fungus that is nursed in…living, breathing bodies of people that are kept in a comatose state, allowing for it to be continuously harvested in bulk degree. Colours also needs to go through a vigorous and thorough fermentation and treatment process before it can be allowed for commercial use. They also…need to test it through a wide variety of test subjects of ages and conditions through either willing means…or unwilling means.

Money can buy a lot of things…and nobody will think twice about a missing homeless man or two in the end.

The end justifies the means in the Boards eyes.

The Board are a panel of directors that are involved in overseeing the The Factory and that’s it operation is running smoothly in the end. There are several other Factory’s but, the main one that Walton runs, is their largest factory to date and has the biggest production lines that the others can’t hope to compare to in the end. It’s one of the oldest as well and has been standing before the new Board took over in the end as well. It’s a large, behemoth of a building with a thick colourful smog coming from the smokestacks every single hour of the day and it almost seems to be watching the employees…as if it is alive.

There were, speculations of course, of the Factory actually being a sentient being but those rumours were dismissed by the Board in the end.

There is still that feeling of a oppressive gaze constantly on the employees back in the end…watching, waiting and hungering.

CF is the new director of the The Factory now and has replaced his father on the Board, as well as being the main leading scientist for Colours. CF, while moving out stuff from his late fathers office, eventually found a experimental Colours formula and test vial that was left behind from him. The formula was found half burned into the fire place while the experimental liquid was completely destroyed except for one that CF decided to test on himself as the control variable in the experiment to see if it would do anything, being completely immune to Colours himself. It had a…extreme effect on him that he’s been attempting to recreate the formula through the half-burned notes that was left behind ever since. Pouring his time, when not making the Board happy, and efforts in trying to recreate it while going through test subject after test subject to make sure that it would be fine for him to consume.

CF is…or was emotionless until he had that unique taste of Shimmer (as he calls it) that it made him feel so many terrible things, as if his own being was enflamed and his mind burned when he used it. He was a quiet being with a serious, no nonsense nature that strives for perfectionism over everything…until he had Shimmer. Shimmer changed his quiet mannerisms into a whirlwind of volatile, vivid emotions that left him so hunger for more of that feeling. He still a very cold individual but now he has a wicked temperament that almost anything can set him off if he’s pushed to the point, along with being more aggressive and manipulative to get what he wants when talking with people. People are tools that he can use to get to his own goal in the end in the literal sense…Shimmer needs to ferment somewhere and he doesn’t want to use his own body as the incubator for it.

He was 25 years old when he first had a taste of Shimmer and is now, roughly, is 32 years old. A lot of things have changed in The Factory during the seven years that passed every since CF consumed Shimmer and many…modifications have been made to improve production and performance in the factory.

The most cosmetically change to him would be that his once dull amber eyes now shine with a iridescent light in them and he always seems to have a half-smirk forming constantly on his face now…it worries the staff and, to a point, concerns few members of the Board.

People are now more disposable to him if he can perfect his sought after Shimmer and he will use any means necessary to make sure that he

Expect, of course, the head of the Board Ronald Doraline.

He actively encourages and funds CF research into Shimmer so they can make it into a commercialised product like they did with Colours and make bank on it, while CF is trying to perfect Shimmer so he can experience that one-of-a-kind feeling again when he first had Shimmer. CF is constantly wanting to feel that wild whirlwind of emotions that he felt and he chases after it in a desperate flurry in order to feel anything in the end.

He’s never felt something like that ever since then.

[mypoisonedvine]

Side Effects | Bruce Banner x reader

summary: you never know what might be in the beakers at another chemist's station. you never know which of your colleagues might come along just in the knick of time to become the only antidote to your affliction.

word count: 3.6k

warnings: smut! (dub con due to sex pollen), semi-public sex (because technically someone could have walked by but unlikely), guilt/hesitance, kinda pining??, fingering, creampie,

a/n: yes, this is an accurate depiction of emergency shower protocol in a chemical lab and yes it is every lab technician's worst nightmare. thankfully the other stuff is not an accurate depiction of any known chemical, lol.

You wiped your forehead with a tired sigh, staring down at the calculations in front of you before using your pen to scribble over them before tearing out the page and throwing it away.

“You still do that by hand?” Bruce interjected, making you look up at where he was leaning in the doorway to the lab, watching you work.

“Oh, Dr. Banner!” you greeted with a smile, wondering if it was too ecstatic. You weren’t so good at the ‘playing it cool’ thing like he seemed to be.

“We have all those fancy screens and digital whiteboards, you know,” he explained as he stepped in and looked around at your work. “Not to mention the computer can do that stuff for you.”

“I know,” you scoffed, “but I always feel better doing it myself, on real paper. Not that I’m having any luck at the moment…”

"Here, I'll give them a quick look while you take a break," he offered, glancing at the numbers from over your shoulder. "You just get up and stretch your legs for a minute, doc."

You always thought it was sort of silly for him to call you that when he was a doctor as well, but you didn't complain.

Regardless, you were about to tell him that it was fine and you didn't need a break, but he was leaning in closer to take your seat and the proximity was so intimidating that you hopped up and went along with it anyways. He sat down and pondered your calculations while you circled the lab, taking a moment to appreciate how nice it felt to stand up and move around after sitting for so long.

"Your handwriting is…" Bruce trailed off, adjusting his glasses.

"Feminine and graceful?" you finished sarcastically.

"Sure," he chuckled.

"Yeah, just like me—" you started to quip, but mid-sentence you (ironically) stumbled and tripped, using a nearby table to catch yourself— but you accidentally grabbed onto a beaker, which tipped over and smashed onto the ground. The liquid inside spilled onto the floor just before you did, and you winced as you fell into the puddle of the unknown substance.

“Shit!” you hissed as you scrambled to get up, looking down at your clothes and seeing they were covered in the fluid, which was beginning to evaporate, or steam, or something. Remembering lab safety protocols, you instantly began to strip, closing your eyes and wishing Bruce hadn’t come in just before this. As you shirked your lab coat, shirt, and skirt, you walked to the emergency shower, pulling the lever and gasping when the chilly stream of water poured down on you. Bruce looked at you with wide eyes before being kind enough to turn around as you shivered and removed your bra and underwear, now completely naked and weakly scrubbing yourself with your hands in hopes that none of the chemical had gotten onto your skin.

“What is it?” he asked nervously, turning his head back enough that you could hear him over the flow of water, but hopefully not so much that he could see anything important.

“I don’t know,” you answered, “it’s not mine. It’s something Dr. Sutherland was working on…”

“Is it… are you in pain at all?” he asked, even more concerned, and you tried to decide if you could feel any effects.

“N-no…” you answered hesitantly. You felt hot, and strange, and you were covered in rolling chills, but you figured that was just the situation you were in— naked in a tepid shower in front of your coworker who just so happened to be incredibly sexy.

“I should call poison control,” Bruce offered as he reached for his cell phone.

“No, I’m fine,” you denied as the water flow slowed down and you wiped your face, confident that you looked like a complete mess— but at least you saved yourself from whatever was in that beaker, right?

“Here,” Bruce offered an emergency blanket to you after pulling it off a nearby shelf, and it was not at all absorbent but it helped with the draft as you stepped away from the shower which was still leaking the last few drops of water onto the drain on the floor.

“Thank you,” you nodded nervously, shivering and dripping and looking back at him with no idea what to say at all.

“Do you feel alright? I should check you for burns,” he suggested. “I— I won’t look…”

“Please,” you sighed, pulling the blanket a bit to expose your chest and stomach. He brushed his hand over the skin there, making you instantly whine as heat burned just under your skin, clouding your mind and making you crave even more.

"Did that hurt?" he asked anxiously, pulling away, but you stepped closer.

"No it's… it's good, it's so good."

He furrowed his brow as he looked down at you, putting the back of his hand to your forehead. "You're burning up, doc, you must be running a fever of 105."

"Touch me more, please," you whimpered. It was like you were in a dream, everything foggy and distant, and the only time that anything made sense was when he touched you. Or maybe it was that his touch sent you further into delirium; you couldn't be sure.

He gasped when he looked at your quivering legs only to find slick arousal running down the inside of them, threatening to drip onto the floor.

"Oh," he sighed.

"Please," you begged mindlessly, "Dr. Banner, I n-need you…"

"No, you need medical attention."

You whined and grabbed as his shirt, humming at the feeling of his warm skin just beneath. If the forearms that he often left exposed in rolled-up sleeves were anything to go buy, his chest was probably toned and tanned, lightly dusted with dark hair… you were all but drooling at the thought. "Please, Bruce… just help me," you pleaded, looking up into his eyes which were swirling with conflict.

"I can't," he shook his head. "I'd be taking advantage."

He must have seen the heartbreak of rejection make you wince, because he tried to soothe you with his hands resting on your arms— even just that contact making you suppress a moan.

"I've wanted this for so long," he explained, "and you— you haven't. You're unwell, you need to go to a hospital."

You sobbed a little at the idea of being taken away from him and examined by strangers, when you knew the solution was right in front of you. "No, no Bruce they'll touch me! Nobody can touch me but you, I only want you."

He scoffed, but you heard the weakness in it and you needed him to give in soon before you melted from your own hear. "You're deranged— delirious," he reiterated.

"It'll feel so good, please Bruce, I'll be so good for you— anything you want, I'll do it, I'm yours."

"Stop talking like that," he winced. "I can't… I can't."

"I need to feel you inside me, Dr. Banner, I need it more than anything. It's just gonna get worse… please, help me. I want you. I trust you."

"You'll hate me in the morning," he asserted. "God, this is so wrong…"

But much to your relief, he reached down and hesitantly slid his thick middle finger through your folds, gasping gently as he felt how wet you were. "I should t-take you somewhere private."

"No, need you now— right here," you pleaded, trying to chase his touch with your hips.

"But if someone came by—" he began to fret, glancing at the door; but his attention was turned back to you by your hands weaving into his hair.

"Nobody else stays this late, god, Bruce please I just need you so bad—"

He cut you off with a sudden kiss, which was enough on its own to make warmth bloom in your gut, but then he started to move his finger again and you shuddered with a moan that was muffled by his lips.

"Maybe I can make you come like this," he offered as he pulled back just enough to whisper to you, "would that help you? It'll take the edge off."

You bucked and moaned against his fingers, just those subtle touches driving you wild. "N-no, it has to be inside! You have to fuck me, I need your cock."

He breathed through his teeth, like he was almost considering it, but then looked away. "I can't," he shook his head.

"Can't or won't?"

He frowned. "Won't. I'll get you off with my fingers, otherwise it would be… too selfish."

"Bruce, I'm literally begging you for it," you sighed, the irritated tone that you'd intended lost in the moans he elicited by rubbing your swollen clit.

"I know," he winced, "I know and it's killing me that I can't give you what you're asking for… I swear if it wasn't like this…" he trailed off as you looked up at him with your bottom lip between your teeth.

"What would it be like?" you asked lowly. "Tell me how you would fuck me."

For all his shyness before, there was a brief switch in his demeanor as he leaned in, breath hot against your neck as he whispered, two fingers sliding into your channel at the exact moment that he spoke.

"So fucking hard."

You whimpered, knees wobbling a bit as you tried to ride his fingers— but he wasn't pushing back, wasn't giving you enough force to balance against when you sought more friction. "P-please, Bruce— I know you want to, please, please baby I need it so bad…"

"I know," he breathed, free hand cradling your face as his thumb stroked your cheek, and it was so needlessly compassionate, so effortlessly soothing that your heart had no choice but to clench at his tenderness. Other parts of you clenched as well, in much more literal ways, but the heart thing was more important.

You gingerly reached forward and palmed his cock through his pants, moaning when you felt how hard it was. "You're desperate, too," you informed him with a little smile. "It hurts, doesn't it? It aches."

"Yes," he answered tensely.

"I'm hurting too. I'm aching, for you. Please, Bruce, help me."

As he pulled back and examined your face, he chewed his lip and contemplated. He couldn't stand to see you in pain, but he couldn't comprehend what he had to do to help you. Well, okay, that's not totally accurate because he had actually "comprehended" the idea of making love to you plenty of times. But that was just a fantasy, a very misguided one that he only indulged in in his weakest moments. And in those fantasies, shockingly enough, you were always completed lucid and of sound mind and body. He sadly could not say that for you at the moment, and of course he couldn't because of course when you were sober and healthy, you didn't see him that way.

Bruce prided himself on his logic, his integrity, his patience. Suddenly, those qualities were falling prey to a much deeper, carnal instinct that saw this not as a predicament but as an opportunity. Logic states, after all, that it would be wasteful to have everything he wanted thrown into his lap and to let it go to waste.

"Fuck," he groaned as he kissed you again, fucking you faster with his fingers. You moaned and went for his belt, barely managing to open it with your hands shaking so much; part of you had considered just trying to rip the leather off of him, and with the force of your need it seemed almost plausible.

Finally getting his trousers opened just enough to reach inside, you purred as you reached in and navigated past his boxers to wrap your fingers around his hard cock. It was so thick and smooth and hot and you almost wanted to drop to your knees and take it in your throat right then, but you had better plans.

He pulled his fingers out of you slowly, grinning against you at the way you whined, before wrapping his arms around you and quickly instructing you to jump.

It was infuriating, how easily he caught you when you wrapped your body around him. Infuriating and so painfully sexy.

He never broke the kiss as he walked the two of you to your lab table, sliding the papers aside and onto the floor to set you on it. You started on his aggravatingly-small shirt buttons while he pushed his trousers and boxers down the rest of the way, and god his cock was right there between your legs, so close but very much too far away for your liking.

You didn't have the time or energy to get his shirt off, settling for just running your hands over the exposed skin instead. He grinned and watched the path your hands made, hissing slightly when they wrapped around his shaft— for a second you swore you could feel it throb.

"Don't make me wait anymore," you whispered your plea, sighing a little when he nodded.

"Okay baby," he agreed.

"Been waiting so long," you whined.

"Me too," he nodded, and with a little push, his cock slid all the way into you and filles you to the brim. Even when you were completely drenched, the girth of him was so wide that it stung, that it tore you open, but you loved it. Your head fell back and just from him being inside you, you came. The substance had you so needy and sensitive that that was all it took. It wasn't enough yet, of course. You knew you needed more. But God, he felt so good you could hardly breathe.

"Baby," you heard Bruce gasp, his fingers digging into your hips. Your chest twisted when he laughed a little, breathless and just teetering on the line between complimentary and mocking. "Did you just come?"

You considered playing dumb, but nodded instead.

His smile was apparent when he pressed his lips just below your ear to suck on the delicate skin there, his teeth trailing up to nibble your earlobe lightly. You hoped he would leave a mark, you hoped he would leave lots of marks that you could remember this by for weeks to come.

"Couldn't help yourself, huh?" he asked breathlessly, whispering so quietly you could barely hear it over the beating of your own pulse which echoed in your ears.

"You feel so good," you justified, "so fucking good, Bruce."

"You too," he sighed as he finally pulled back and slid into you again, the friction making your back arch instantly. "Even better than I imagined."

You smiled and wrapped your legs around his hips, forcing him to push deeper with each thrust. When he pushed you to your limits it felt like you might just fall apart right there, but it was so worth it.

As if that wasn't enough, he reached down and circled a thumb over your overstimulated clit, grinning down at you at the sight of you writhing and bucking wildly in his arms.

"Fuck!" you cried as you tightened your hands on his shoulders into fists hard enough to risk tearing through his shirt.

"Too much?"

"More," you pleaded instead, crying out when he gave you exactly what you wanted with fast, rough thrusts into your drenched walls. "Yes," you sobbed, "yes, fuck— m'gonna come, Bruce, gonna come again."

"Go ahead," he encouraged, voice so much rougher than normal, "show me how good it feels, baby."

It felt like his words were the thin that pushed you over the edge, as if your body somehow both understood and obeyed his command. You could feel a renewed wave of slick leak out from you, enough that you could hear the wetness in each slap of his hips against yours. His name was somewhere in the litany of curses and praises that spilled from your lips, your mind too clouded with hazy pleasure to keep track of what you were actually saying.

"Just like that," he groaned, "doing so good, fuck, say my name just like that every time I make you come."

An easy enough stricture to follow, especially when it seemed like he was all you could think about. He looked so different with his clothes half-shorn and his eyes dark with lust. He hadn't taken his glasses or labcoat off and you weren't sure which of those you were happier about.

His lips and hands were all over you; you couldn't even keep track of everywhere he was touching you, that's how overwhelming it was. "God, you're so fucking perfect," he groaned against your skin, finding a hardened nipple as his tongue explored you and wrapping his lips around it. "You are so goddamn sexy, you know that? I love seeing you with your legs spread for me like a needy little whore. I love hearing you moan and knowing I'm the one making you feel this good."

He took a moment to look at you and soak in your shocked reaction to his words before leaning in to continue.

"I love feeling you come for me," he purred in your ear.

"Then you're gonna really like what I'm about to do," you shivered.

"Yeah? You can gimme another one already?" he smiled. "Such a good girl…"

You really couldn't help it, it felt like everything he did only enhanced your pleasure— his words, his hands all over you, not to even mention his cock inside you. As much as the hedonistic corner of your brain was happy to let this go on forever, the ramifications of constant orgasms were finally catching up with you as you wondered how much more of this you could take.

"F-fuck, are you close?" you asked weakly. "Want you to come for me, Bruce, please."

"I-I'll pull out," he suggested, although the way he looked down at his length sinking into you and pulling back out, covered in your abundant arousal, didn't exactly indicate that he was willing and able to actually make good on his offer.

"No!" you yelped, pulling him closer by his unbuttoned shirt. "It needs to be inside, Bruce, please come inside me."

"Fuck," he hissed through his teeth.

"Please, Bruce, please, promise you'll come inside."

"I will," he sighed, "fuck, I will baby, I promise I'm gonna fill you up so good, you're gonna have my come so fucking deep inside you…"

"Yes!" you moaned, completely unabashed as the unknown substance had apparently absolved you of any shame whatsoever. "Yes, I want it, Bruce, I want your come."

The moment you felt his seed start to paint your walls, you felt relief begin to wash over you. Your mind and body relaxed, the overwhelming heat under your skin subsiding into a comforting warmth, the desperation that had burned in your gut satiated at last.

And that left you staring up at him in realization of what you had done, just as he looked back at you with the same.

"God, I'm so sorry—" he shuddered, moving to pull away. Instinctively your legs wrapped around his hips again, holding him close.

"N-no, wait," you groaned, "it's okay. Don't go."

"You don't hate me," he said, the exhaustion in his tone making it hard to tell if it was a question or a statement.

"Never," you sighed with a weak smile, sitting up to clutch his face and kiss him again. "God, Bruce, now I'm just wondering what took us so long."

"Our lab safety is just too good, clearly," he smiled as he kissed you again, pulling back a little too soon to examine your face where he held it in his hands. "Are you okay? You should still probably go to a doctor…"

"I'm already with a doctor," you smirked, "and his treatment was very effective."

"Yeah, that was…" he trailed off, wide eyes as if he were reminiscing about what had only just transpired.

"Sorry for being so… desperate," you cringed. "I didn't mean to… um… impose…"

He just laughed and kissed your forehead, making you feel your cheeks warm a bit; ironic that with everything that had just happened, this was what made you blush. "A beautiful, amazing woman that I've been dreaming about for months begs me to take her in the laboratory… really inconvenient."

"I mean, cleaning up these papers and the broken glass is gonna be pretty tedious, along with the incident report," you frowned.

"I'll help you with it," he offered.

"Tomorrow," you decided. "Right now, I'm taking you to my place."

"Is that so?" he asked with a bemused smirk.

"Yep. We both are in serious need of a shower, and then I wanna go again," you grinned wickedly.

"I thought you said you weren't feeling the effects of the chemical anymore," he recalled, voice tinted with concern.

"I'm not," you reassured, "I'm just feeling the effects of you."

[wheredafandomat]

Fear & Desire❤️‍🔥P31❤️‍🔥 Goodbye

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It was nighttime when Thor collected Loki to head off to Asgard. Most of the team were out and no one had heard from Bucky, clearly your threat had worked. You were planning on leaving earlier on but after your little rendezvous with Loki, you showered again and then helped him to pack a few things. Loki returned to his own room before Thor arrived and knocked your door to say goodbye as if you hadn’t spent the day together but you both thought it best if you kept your little arrangement a secret despite Bucky practically seeing you kissing earlier and Thor seeing your bra on the floor as Loki informed you. You assured there was no way Thor could have known it was yours but then Loki mentioned that Thor had seen the painting and you hoped Thor wasn’t smart enough to put two and two together, something Loki thought you were silly for thinking.

“So, this is bye” you said standing at your door as Loki stood outside with Thor.

“For now” he smiled.

“Goodbye Thor” you smiled looking at Thor who gave you a wink.

“Farewell lady y/n, I’ll be sure to bring my brother back in one piece for you” he said wriggling his eyebrows making you furrow your brows in fake confusion. Loki was right, you were silly for thinking Thor wouldn’t realise.

You watched the brothers both walk down the corridor, Loki on the left and Thor to his right. Your breath hitched when Loki reached into his left pocket revealing a bit of your underwear before stuffing it back in and patting his pocket. He knew you were watching him, meanwhile, Thor was none the wiser of the little exchange.

Walking back into your room, you picked up your phone seeing the reminder to go to the chemist. Images of you and Loki’s amorous adventure flashed in your mind causing you to break out into a wide grin. You wasn’t going to let what happened between you and Bucky get you down, not this time. Good riddance. Loki said you were perfect and he’s a god so it really does mean a lot coming from him you laughed to yourself.

You put a coat on along with some trainers to head down to the chemist. You were happy that you weren’t Tony Stark level famous so a simple hood in the night was enough to prevent you getting harassed and bombarded on the streets by people demanding photographs with you.

You decided on driving yourself as opposed to getting someone else to drive you or finding out where Tony was so he’d simply carry you to the chemist in his Iron Man suit. Flicking through your playlist, you grimaced hearing Mitskis nobody playing.

“Too sad. Next!”

Hearing Adele’s someone like you playing next, you huffed out an annoyed “NO” before playing the next track.

“Perfect” you cheered hearing I’m yer dad by GRLwood playing.

Shouting the lyrics, you drove to the chemist drumming your fingers on the steering wheel.

“SUCK MY DICK IN MY FAST CAR FUCK ME FAST IN MY FAST CAR”

Pulling up, you got out and took a deep breath before entering. You hated going to the chemist, especially for things like this. The lady would always give you a funny look or even worse, she’d not hear you so you’d have to basically shout at her alerting everyone in the shop what it was you were after. Last time, you needed cranberry tablets to clear up a UTI and she practically yelled that you were too sexually active even though it was simply caused by a kidney stone and lack of water during a busy week of missions. Psyching yourself up, you walked to the counter.

“Hi, can I get the morning after pill please” you uttered earning a confused look from the lady as she leant forwards.

“Sorry, didn’t catch that.”

ARGH this deaf bitch always this same woman.

“Morning after pill” you whisper shouted through a false smile.

“But it’s the night” she joked before going to get it.

Once she was back, she took some details and you paid the total. As you turned to leave, she called you back.

“Y/N Y/L/N”

“Yesss” you said said reluctantly turning around.

“Your prescription says that you ran out of birth control pills just over a week ago, would you like a repeat prescription.”

Kill me now you thought walking back towards her and nodding trying to not lock eyes with any of the other people in the queue.

Finally finishing in the chemist, you left and headed back to your car. As you got to the car park, you heard shouting and saw someone being pushed around, perhaps this was a robbery. Instantly, you got into Avenger mode thanking the gods you were in trainers.

Running up to the group of men, you managed to twist one of the men’s arms whilst kicking him behind the knee causing him to fall to the ground. You elbowed one of them as he tried to run up to you. Looking at the man you held on the floor, you quickly found his fear and replayed it to him causing him to drag himself out of your grip and crawl away. The man you had elbowed was now coming at you with a knife. Dodging one of his attacks, you punched him in the jaw and then the abdomen making him yelp and fall to the ground. Smiling when you found it, you made the man think ducks were chasing him. Anatidaephobia was always the fear you found the most hilarious. The last man was confused by the strange actions of his counterparts but tried to intimidate you nonetheless, circling you as you simply smiled.

“Bring it on” you urged causing him to pounce. As he leant to hit you, you lifted your hand using your fingers to hit that perfect spot on his neck and just like that, he was unconscious.

Looking at the person who was originally being attacked, you sensed the familiar emptiness. Gasping, your eyes widened in alarm.

“Hello y/n” he waved slowly “these men were good men, doing a job but now” he said lifting the man on the floors arm up before letting it fall again “now I’m going to have to find new ones when I’m feeling to do a bit of drama.”

“Take her” he ordered.

Spinning on your heels, you came face to face with someone who was holding a syringe and approaching you. You had no time to act before you started feeling faint after the contents of the syringe were injected into your bloodstream. The last thing you heard was a snippet of the conversation between the two men.

“He’ll come”

A/N: Thor knows bro 😂

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[bvccy]

Friend, if you are still open for request, can you please do Heliotrope with the Winter Soldier? 🥺 please thank you 💛💛💛

My dear 😭 I am so so sorry for how long this took! I just hope you can enjoy the fic. It’s a little bit spooky at the beginning, but WS is soft and so is our reader. And they get their happy-ever-after 💗

Thank you very much for this prompt also! 🌺🌺🌺

— PAIRING: soft!Winter Soldier x female!Reader — PROMPT: Heliotrope - walking in the sun, and losing each other — LINKS: Masterlist • love stones prompt list — WORDCOUNT: 2.1k

They had been living in darkness for months, and the oppressive cold that battered against the walls with fierce winds all day, and hungry howls at night — not that one could tell night from day in the sunless vastness, except by the ticking of the clock.

Hydra had installed that arctic facility at the mouth of a crater, covered by ice over the ages to conceal its dubious treasure. It was clear to the Soldier that the treasure was not made up of precious things, but it was only when the crew finished digging all the way down that he understood why all the scientists were there...

It was difficult for him to tell who the shuttle belonged to. It might have been some advanced technology from America, but then how did it get so deep down, so quickly? Maybe it was an old German prototype from the war, but it didn't look like any he'd seen before. Or maybe Hydra was just recovering their old property from past attempts... It didn't matter, he was just there to guard the scientists while they did the work.

The other soldiers stationed with him stopped taking the job seriously after the first three months, but he kept watch, and paid attention, and didn't miss the odd slimes that seeped across the floor out of those metal shells, nor the odd crunch as the scientists cut into something that looked soft and milky, but held like bone. And the smells, the cold metallic smells like iron dipped in silver... It sometimes felt like home, but he knew better than to let that grip him. And he kept watch.

The one chemist that doubled as the chef didn't make particularly good meals, but they were hearty, and if he was being honest, he was eating better at this isolated station than he did at the Base — felt freer too, almost in charge of his destiny, if one didn't count the frozen wastes he'd have to survive if he ever wanted to run. But the Soldier couldn't imagine why he'd ever wish to run.

Especially when she was here.

Studying the files of all the scientists on the mission, her portrait stood out as particularly sad, morose, with a bit of a death glare toward the cameraman. But when he actually saw her, she seemed sweet like a spring day and even happy to be there. She looked up into his eyes as she walked into the protected area to study their find, blinking up from beneath a mess of furs and protective equipment, but there was a smile crinkling around her gaze. As the months drew on and everyone got more bored with staying there, and loose with themselves, they'd sometimes play some music in the lab, and the Soldier didn't know why he liked it so much or felt the need to dance with someone.

The military staff initially had their own mess hall, a small room with a kitchenette where they could eat together, but then one of the doctors needed it to test the effects of temperature changes on some of the samples, and the place was... contaminated every since. Now, they all ate together. The girl who'd caught his eye tended to eat with her own team, the Geologists, but he could feel her looking at him sometimes, he noticed her lingering when he was around even if she was about to leave, and a few times she even dared approach him — under the excuse of getting the jar of sugar that was on his other side rather than reaching for the one next to her, or leaning down to get some plate she didn't need from right by his knees. It wasn't until she tried to reach a glass above his head, beyond her grasp, that he gave in and acknowledged her.

"Thank you," she said as he handed her the cup — the first time she'd ever said anything to him. Her voice suited her, but beyond its soft tones the Soldier was struck by being thanked at all. When was the last time that happened? What did one say in response?

"You're welcome?"

And he seemed so unsure saying it that he made her giggle.

She was inevitable after that, not because she was trying to be found but because he allowed himself to be around her, to guard her door while she chipped at stones and studied them, to sit near her during lunch — not right beside her, the Soldier still had a lingering shyness about that, but at least on the table opposite, from which they could look at each other if they wanted.

The long night was almost over, four months into their stay at this forsaken place, and the pair had taken to something really dangerous: in the small barn attached to the base, where some dry supplies were kept along with canisters of fuel, they escaped together while everyone else slept. He had led her there first, asking timidly whether she'd...

"Want to see something new?"

"Always," the girl grinned.

And so they found themselves piled on top of one another like firewood, almost not feeling each other beneath the layers of fur that kept them warm, but just being in each other's presence was... something. It was quiet without being quiet, with another real soul there, thinking its own thoughts in harmony with you.

The Asset wouldn't allow himself to fall asleep, though he did close his eyes sometimes and let the girl relax against him, and doze off, and during those times he allowed his arm to come down from where it propped his head up and wrap itself around her, holding her still — as if she were in danger of falling off some imaginary bed.

Nobody ever seemed to wonder where they both disappeared to, nobody noticed, which was why he was all the more surprised to hear shouting on that day. The Soldier didn't move, just tightened his arm around his little partner more. But when a bloodcurdling cry echoed through the vastness, he shook her awake.

"Wha—"

"Get up. The base is under attack," he muttered, reaching for the rifle laid beside him.

"That's crazy, who would attack us all the way out here?"

He didn't want to tell her what he thought, but only made her hide out in the shed while he went out to scout the area. Turning his radio on, nothing came through. There were no helicopters around, no trucks, no marks in the snow that anyone had attacked — at least, not from the outside. On the horizon, just the rays of a reluctant dawn were shining.

There was silence for a while, and then another symphony of screams rang out, muffled by the walls and the desperate shots of whoever was left inside, glass and metal knocked over, broken, and silence once again. Stepping away slowly, then more hurriedly, the Soldier returned to where he'd left the girl and picked her up by the elbow.

"Come on, we're leaving."

"Leaving where?" she cried out, confused and even slightly angry. "What's going on?"

"We're under attack."

"But our research..."

The Soldier dragged her to where the trucks were parked, and after the first flush of confusion she went along quietly. He gave her the rifle to hold while he looked in the back, making sure they had enough supplies for whatever drive awaited them — gas was there, some blankets too, and more ammunition. It would have to do. And without sparing another moment, he got in beside her and drove off. Against the rumbling of the engine as it drifted on the ice, a shrill scream cut through the frozen air and reached them, not sounding human nor animal nor like anything in the world, except perhaps a demon. The girl didn't look back, she wouldn't dare, she just looked quietly at the Soldier as she slowly understood. They drove into the sunrise as its rays burned away everything behind, and the snowdrifts buried it.

They didn't stop until the sky was bright as a midday, many hours later.

"Are we slowing down?" the girl mumbled sleepily.

"We're nearing a town," he said, eyes on the GPS. "Need to check that the road is clear. And that we are, too."

She stretched the shivers from her bones, but deep down she trusted the Soldier to keep them safe.

Getting out in what-felt-like days, frozen stiff, muscles aching from the shot of fear that penetrated down to her bones, the girl got out and reached for the sky with all she had. The air felt freer and fresher than ever before, even though it still hurt her lungs when it reached to their very bottom, but she loved such a pain — it felt like life.

The Asset walked slowly to her, just watching silently and smiling a half-smile at the sight of her all ruffled and soft, and safe.

"What do you think happened to the base?"

"Guess it's a mess by now," he hummed, bringing one gloved hand to feel around her head, her shoulders, down her arms, but always gently.

"We woke that thing up, didn't we?"

"You're the smart one, you tell me."

Her lips pursed — she never liked it when he teased her, but she tried never to reproach him for it, loving this sign of his personality shining through. "Are we far enough away now?"

"I don't know," he sighed, finally looking back into her eyes. "Are we?"

"The sun would kill it."

"How do you know that?"

She didn't answer but wouldn't look away either, and her determined gaze was enough for him. She did know more than he did, she'd spent months studying whatever that was, and that was fine by him. So long as none of it had managed to sneak on board.

"Stay close to me."

They walked around the car together and he checked the back, the wheels, then climbed on top and checked there too. Through the clearness of the day, he could even see the edges of a road that must've lead to that town. The car seemed clean, but they were close enough to a rescue that he'd rather not take any risks, and so picking up just a few useful things and one backpack, they started walking.

The snow got less deep and crunched beneath their boots, the wind was gentler downhill and even moved through the tendrils loosened from their hoods, shaking off the frost. In the distance, one tree stood tall, thin and dark and barren but alive, and over all of them the sun kept shining.

"We're almost at the road," said the Soldier, spotting a black snaking line a few meters ahead. He turned his head when he didn't hear anything back, but there was only the glint of sunlight on the snow.

Amorphous fog covered the horizons, and hills and dales of white, and suddenly the light felt very hot and burned his body as he turned frantically around and called for her. With mad fear, he traced back their steps up the snowy hill, nearly swimming through it as he called for her, terrified of the unthinkable.

Then, as if from the sea, a lone hand reached up and waved at him. Within one breath, he'd reached her, sitting in the snow just a few feet away.

"I'm so tired..." she huffed, burrowing like a rabbit. "Can't we rest a while?"

"You didn't rest enough in the car? Get up," he grumbled, pulling her up to her feet. He regretted snapping as soon as he saw her sad little face, and sighed. "I'm sorry. I was worried."

"I'm sorry too, for being so weak..."

Before thinking, he pulled her in and kissed the snow off her mouth. "None of that," he smiled as their lips parted. "Come on, we're so close. I'll carry you a bit if you want."

The girl shook her head mutely, face already flushed from frost but now truly heated. To be cared for, and worried about, and searched like that, and kissed... It put the life right back into her.

He kept his word and carried her in his arms at one point, but they both walked in the town together. Nobody knew who they were or where they came from and some had a few murmured questions, but by the time Hydra sent an extraction team for them, it didn't matter — they were gone, lost in the wind like two rays of sunshine.

[sfb123]

The Confrontation - A Final Goodbye One Shot

Book: The Royal Romance, Book 2

Pairing: Liam x Riley

All characters belong to Pixelberry.

Description: In a slight canon divergence from book 2, Riley reaches her breaking point with the engagement tour and decides to restart her life when the court gets to NYC. Can the rest of the group clear her name, and convince her to come back before it’s too late?

The Final Goodbye Masterlist

Rating: PG-13 (Discussion of adult situations and some adult language)

Word Count: 924

A/N: I know, a one shot of a mini-series, I’m a psycho. Sorry guys. After last week’s chapter, I had a lot of people saying they wanted to see Liam confront Madeleine about making Riley pick up the wedding ring, so I decided to write it. It’s a quick one, and it takes place during the events of chapter 2, after Madeleine and Liam get into the elevator.

All the love and thank yous to my fandom soulmate, @jessiembruno​​ for reading this and helping me get Liam just the right amount of angry.

Tags: Listed below. If you’d like to be added or removed, just let me know!

Liam and Madeleine walked down the hall arm in arm. As they reached the bay of elevators, one of the doors opened to reveal Maxwell. He paused when he exited, meeting Liam’s eyes as they exchanged sad looks. Maxwell continued on his way, and Liam and Madeleine entered the newly vacant elevator car. As soon as the doors closed, Liam distanced himself from Madeleine and selected the button to take them to the lobby. 

“You know Liam, if you plan to continue this arrangement after the wedding, we are really going to need to come up with some ground rules, possibly a schedule.” Madeleine snickered breaking the silence. Liam’s jaw immediately tensed. 

His body moved before his brain could process what was happening, his hand went back to the buttons on the wall, slamming his finger on the bright red button labeled ‘STOP’. His hand quickly formed into a fist and fell to his side as he turned to face Madeleine. “Enough.” 

The sound of his booming voice in the small space startled Madeleine, who had been keeping her focus forward. She tried to keep her composure, smoothing her hands over the front of her dress before turning to address the king. “Liam, we’re going to be la...”

“Did you send Riley to pick up your wedding band yesterday?” Liam cut her off. He knew the answer, he just needed to hear her admit it.

“Yes, if she is going to remain at court, she needs to earn her keep, people need to see her value. She can’t just be your on-call plaything.” 

“Her value is exponentially more than yours, and everyone in this damn court sees it.”

“If they see it, Liam, then why isn’t she the one on your arm, wearing your ring?” She paused, pretending to think of an answer she already had prepared. “Oh, that’s right, because her value plummeted the second those pictures were released.” She smirked at him, waiting for his response. 

“Her value?” He scoffed. “Have you forgotten that this is your second engagement? Your second attempt at being queen? You can’t honestly believe that nobody is talking about how you were jilted by one crown prince and moved on to the other.”

“I’ve been preparing my whole life to become the queen. I will be remembered for the work I do to serve my country, not how many times I was engaged. Riley will always be known as common trash that tried to sleep her way through court to make something of herself.”

He opened his mouth, about to respond, but he stopped himself. Yes, they were close to clearing her name, which would make Madeleine’s argument null and void. But he couldn���t use that as a defense. He had to continue to keep the investigation to himself, everyone had worked too hard to start showing his hand now. 

Madeleine continued to stare at him with an arched eyebrow, waiting for his response. He took a deep breath, calming himself before he said something he would regret. “Madeleine, a good ruler does not let personal feelings and vendettas get in the way of their decisions. They are unbiased and fair to everyone. As someone who openly brags about preparing their whole life to be queen, I would think you’d understand this concept.”

She flinched slightly at the passive aggressive dig, hoping he didn’t notice. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he got to her. “And a good member of the court does not let their personal feelings get in the way of the orders given to them by those above their station.” She folded her arms across her chest and stood a bit taller to show Liam he could not intimidate her. “Don’t forget, queen or not, I will always be above her. She will always have to yield to me.” Madeleine brushed past Liam, moving to the panel on the wall and restarting the carts decent to the lobby. She returned to her original spot and faced forward, Liam stood in silence, fuming at her words. 

When the doors opened, Madeleine stepped forward to exit, but Liam grabbed her arm, pulling her close. When she felt his hand on her, she looked back, shocked by the unmistakable look of rage on the king’s face. He leaned in close to her, speaking soft enough for only her to hear, anger clear in his tone. “And don’t you forget that I am the king by blood, so I will always be above you, and you will always have to yield to me. Make no mistake I could end this, end you at any time. Come for Riley again, and I will take it as a personal attack. A good ruler may not let personal feelings and vendettas get in the way of their decisions, but a man in love has no control over his actions when he is defending the woman that holds his heart. Understood?” Madeleine recoiled at the intensity of Liam’s stare, unable to maintain eye contact. Liam spoke his next words very slowly and deliberately, “Do I make myself clear, Countess?”

Madeleine nodded slowly, still not making eye contact with him. Liam was not satisfied with her response. “Is that how a subject addresses their king?”

“Yes, your majesty.”

Liam nodded, accepting his response. He took a deep breath and scrubbed his hand across his face. As his arm lowered to his side, his stoic expression returned as if nothing had happened. He offered Madeleine his arm. “Shall we, darling.”

Permatag:

@anjanettexcordonia​ @athena-penrose​ @chemist-ana​ @choicesficwriterscreations​ @choiceskatie​ @cordonia-gothqueen​ @cordoniaqueensworld​ @emkay512​ @gabesmommie1130​ @gkittylove99​ @hopelessromanticmonie​ @iaminlovewithtrr​ @jessiembruno​ @kat-tia801​ @khoicesbyk​ @kingliam2019​ @lucy-268​ @marshmallowsaremyfavorite​ @mile9213​ @mom2000aggie​ @pixie88​ @queenrileyrose​ @secretaryunpaid​ @sweatyrysconnoisseur​ @tessa-liam​ @theroyalheirshadowhunter​ @twinkleallnight​ @txemrn​

One Shots:

@bebepac​ @darley1101​

The Final Goodbye:

@ao719​ @burnsoslow​ @busywoman​ @itsjustwinter​ @ladyangel70​ @mainstreetreader​ @shanzay44​

Liam x Riley:

@jared2612​

Liam:

@amandablink​

[alittlebitofinsanitea]

Head-Cannons for Jealous Kageyama, Suga, Iwaizumi, & Bokuto

request: hi! May I request hc's of iwazumi, bokuto, mattsun, suga, and kageyama on how they act when they're jealous? I couldn't find a character limit in your rules so feel free to do however many you like :) Have a good one lovely human <3

✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰

Hi honey! So I didn’t write it but I'm going to be doing four per head-cannon! thank you for requesting! <3 These are gender neutral/no pronouns so I hope that’s ok, hope you enjoy! Also to everyone, requests are open!

✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰

~Kageyama~

✰ you’ve been in class all day and finally the bell rings and its lunch

✰ you and a friend are sitting, talking about homework, eating, as one does during lunch. You normally sit with him because kags always plays volleyball during break, surprised? no.

✰ all sweet Kags wanted to do this lunch was to sit with his baby!!!

✰ he sees you sitting real close to this other guy, and what does his awkward ass do? FUCKING STARES AT YOU, clown to clown communication going on right here

✰ anyone coming into the cafeteria just sees him blocking the path with the smoke whirling around his head

✰ you finally turn around after feeling two burning holes in the back of your head and see him glancing between you and your friend

✰ dummy realizes you noticed him and turns bright red in embarrassment after noticing he has been staring at you for at least half the lunch period and he sprints

✰ this man ZOOOOOMS out of that room

✰ you, being the caring s/o you are, run after him to the best of your abilities, all the way to the vending machine

✰ by the time you get there, he’s already sipping on two milks, pouting, and bright red, poor thing

✰ you make eye contact with him as you sit down, him turning away to face a wall instead

✰ you poke his stomach and sides to get his attention, fully aware of how ticklish he is there

✰ “Y/N PLEASE!” he grits out in between fits of laughter

✰  “Why did you run out then?” you say as you cease your attack, snaking your arms around his waist

✰ his body relaxes into yours and returns the hug, he buries his face into the top of your head as he mumbles

✰ “I know you know I can't hear you,” 

✰ he grunts back in response and mumbles again, just loud enough that you can hear that one, specific, word

✰ “YOU WERE JEALOUS!!!!!!” you scream so loud he jumps back a little

✰ he burrows his head into your neck in an attempt to hide from you, not the best play he could have made, but there was an attempt, he tried

✰ you move one hand to pat his head and the other stays on his back, “Kags, I don’t know why you would be jealous, I’m just friends with (Friends/N), I don’t like him like that, ok?”

✰ he straightens up and looks at you dead in the eyes, to anyone else he looks normal, but there's a little smile on his face that looks a little less creepier than usual

✰ he grabs you tight and you can hear the bell in the background, but you both ignore it and stay like that for a little longer

~Suga~

✰ everyone pretends that this man is the chillest, sweetest, calmest character in this show

✰ hell no

✰ he has as much crackhead energy radiating through his body as is possible without being a crackhead

✰ the two of you are at one of karasuno's practice matches against nekoma, and they have been trying that play with nishinoya as setter, and a few other ideas the coach came up with

✰ during a break between on of the games (which to your displeasure, have gone on forever, but you love seeing Suga play so you don't really mind) you decide to pull out your chemistry homework

✰ “why, and who made chemistry,” you say to yourself “I just want to have a little talk.”

✰ “Well I wouldn’t say a specific person invented it, but Robert Boyle is considered the first modern chemist,” you look to your left and see a tall nekoma player with bed hair

✰ you arch a brow, and get back to ‘working’, if you could call it that

✰ he sits next to you and offers a smirk and says, “Im Kuroo Tetsuro, if you want I can help with your homework if you want,”

✰ your nose scrunches up and you turn away from him

✰ “Don’t be sodium chloride,” he says as he scoots a little closer, but as he does that, you can feel the other side of you warm a little

✰ in the corner of your eye before you look to see what sat next to you, you see Suga, his eyes glaring straight at the rooster boy

✰ he drapes his arms on your shoulders and sets his head on yours and looks directly as kuroo, cold as ice, he tells him “She is fine, I can help her,” 

✰ the smile on his face does nothing to hide the fact that he’s not messing around 

✰ you pull him off of you to face him, giving him a little shove before telling him off,

✰ “I had it covered, it’s not like I was going to say yes, even though I probably need the help…”

✰ he raises his eyebrows at you, “I can help you, no problem!” he says sweetly, as if you both aren’t getting the same grades

✰ the next game is starting, signaled by the freak already on the court in their positions and the whistle blowing you give Suga a kiss on the cheek and tell him to go

✰ he smirks at you, and from then on in the match, whenever he spiked a ball, set a good toss, or dug anything, he looked to kuroo and directly pointed to where you sat

~Hajime Iwaizumi, (27), Athletic trainer~

✰ I don't even know what to do for this dude, no wait haha jk

✰ Iwaizumi, Oikawa, and you have been best friends for forever

✰ you guys are so close, sleepovers since you were little, you even made them an entire meal and movie night on the day they lost, lots of wet tissues and tear soaked blankets

✰ when you and Iwaizumi finally got together after year of pining after each other, nobody was more excited than Oikawa, nobody 

✰ now, you three are having a sleepover to celebrate being done with midterms and you made a big pillow fort to watch your favorite movie in, with popcorn and chocolate and all of that

 ✰ it's dark except for the light from computer screen, you can barely make out the faces to your right and left, and it's so late, you forgot who was on which side

✰ it's hard for you to fall asleep without Iwa anymore, so you grab the arm to your left and lift it up and snuggle into the warmth of who you thought was your boyfriend

✰ because you all are so close, Oikawa didn’t think twice about wrapping his arms around you, forgetting that Iwa was even there

✰ your boyfriend started to get red in the face, “Oikawa,” he warned, trying to make his best friend back off without making a scene

✰ Oikawa looks to him confused, “Chill out Iwa-chan! I know it's not godzilla but it's not that bad”

✰ Iwaizumi would have left it at that, but when you turned around and hooked your leg onto your current human pillow? Ohohoho, its over

✰ he grabs your waist and throws you over his shoulder, wrecking the little tent you made and leaving the third wheel of the trio in the rubble

✰ you cry out in protest, upset that your hours of work are now suffocating your other best friend

✰ you feel every step and he takes as he walks you both towards your room the air is tense, and you don’t know what to do

✰ you enter your bedroom, still being carried by him, and he drops you on the bed, and falls on top of you, letting out a noise of comfort as you squirm

✰ “Hajime please get of you’re squishing meee!” you wheeze out the last part

✰ he doesn’t verbally acknowledge you but he adjusts himself so you both are comfortable

✰ “Is this ok?” he asks quietly

✰ “yeah,” you reply, “It is.” 

✰ Neither of you seem to notice oikawa taking photos, and the next day, oikawa shows iwa, but not without a volleyball to the head 

✰ neither you nor oikawa know that's his screen on his phone

~Bokuto~

✰ When does this boy not get jealous, not because of you no! He trusts you with anything and everything, and he loves showing you off

✰ that is until all the attention goes to you and he thinks everyone is going to take you away, especially when he goes emo mode, he’s about ready to give you up to anyone :( but you never go obviously

✰ akaashi managed to convince you to become manager, he said that it would come in handy when he started to become self destructive

✰ and it worked! You were able to save a lot of games and akaashi’s mental health, for a while that is

✰ today was the first day of spring high finals, teams everywhere, balls flying, and Bokuto was anxious, and it was showing

✰ as the team walks to the court, you grab Bokuto's hand and you grab it tight letting him know you are there for him

✰ he began to feel less tense and calmed down once again 

✰ the game started and it was going smoothly, the other team wasn't able to shut down any Fukurōdani’s attacks

✰ that is until, the other team's captain started flirting with you

✰ whenever he makes a point, he would say some gross ass pick up line, or wink at you, and even worse, he would make sure to meet eyes with Bokuto, every, single, time

✰ Bokuto’s shots have gotten worse, he's hitting into the blockers, the net, and even missing the ball completely

✰ it physically hurts you when this happens to your boyfriend, and at this point you are sick of it, and have started to grow annoyed at the creepily corny capitan 

✰ you whisper to the coach to call Bokuto in who is currently hanging onto akaashi, asking him not to set to him anymore

✰ the coach calls a time out, and signals the rest of the team to stay on the court, Bokuto doesn’t even notice the rest of his teammates standing still around him

✰ when he reaches the bench you grab him by the shoulders and look him in the eyes and say “Baby, kick his ass.”

✰ you move your head to face the other captain and smile, then you grab Bokuto's face and kiss him, hard

✰ the time out ends and your team is flushed with embarrassment, but Bokuto was hyped up jumping all over the court, and ready to destroy the other team

✰ (they won the rest of the set no points lost)

[neowinestainedress]

DYNASTY / NCT

CHARACTHERS 

TAEYONG LEE "I've been having a hard time adjusting. I had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting"

The role of the leader passed at him naturally. When the fire changed their lives forever, none of the others hesitated for a moment to know that the future of the city had to be put in his hands. Yet, he didn't feel the same. He couldn't see how they had so much hope and trust in him to hold things together when he couldn't even hold himself, anymore. But he knew that they still saw in him the protective older brother that used to take care of everybody and tried to defend them from everything, unfortunately, he knew that child wasn't there anymore.

𝞦

THE PROTECTOR

In charge of protecting the city and looking after the citizens. He's helped by his team, divided between the protectors who stay at the door of the city to control who comes in and out, and a team inside of the city that mostly focuses on the citizens' needs and external relations.

JOHNNY SUH "Cause in the end the road is long, but only cause it makes strong. It's filled with twist and peaks and turn. Sometimes you have to learn to forget about it."

If there was something Johnny was good at, it was observing. He loved to see things from a different point of view and analyze them since he was a child, so it wasn't surprising when the role of the protector was given to him. He always believed that everything happens for a reason, and you can choose to make it kill you or make you stronger. He once went for the first one and lost a loved one, so he won't let that happen again.

𝞦

THE THINKERS

The unit in charge of the bureaucracy. They are the ones that take care of the plans for the city, helping Taeyong with their outstanding logical thoughts skills. They can always maintain calm, even in the worst situations, always trying to weigh the pros and cons of the situation.

TAEIL MOON "All the things that I've done and I've seen. Still I don't know, don't know what it means, to be human."

Taeil always felt a big weight on his chest for being the eldest of the group and not manacing to protect them all. He wasn't the one who started to see the red flags, he never stopped Taeyong and Anastasia and their reckless plan. Thoughts haunt him at night that he should've done better. As the oldest, he had seen the worst thing, but the more he tries to remember, the more he feels disconnected from reality.

DOYOUNG KIM "Tell me the truth, tell me, do you still remember feelin' young and strong enough to get it wrong in front of all these people?"

Doyoung has always been the most impassible one of all of them. Nothing could tarnish him. He strongly believed that behind everything there was a scientific and logical explanation. He had no time to let himself get caught in pointless things like emotions and hypotheses. But with that came a strong need of never failing, because he couldn't let people see him as weak, or wrong. He always had to get it right on the first try. Live, though, loved to prove him wrong. .

TEN LEE "'Cause I feel like I'm the worst, so I always act like I'm the best."

Ten intelligence has always been witty and sharp. With his way, he could manipulate anybody with a blink of an eye. He loved control and power, and the feeling they brought with them. He always had to be one step in front of the others and know exactly what to do, how and when. But behind all of this confidence, a fear of failing hid behind.

𝞦

THE FIGHTERS

The unit in charge of fighting. Their abilities are mostly physical and differentiated in different specialities. They have been training since they were children and all of them got better in a specific field but overall they developed ability in all the ??.

YUTA NAKAMOTO "My demons are begging me to open up my mouth. I need them mechanically make the words come out. They fight me, vigorous and angry, watch them pounce. Ignite me, licking up the flames they bring about."

Yuta had one thing in mind, revenge. He had to carry with him the name of the people that put them through the worst and he couldn't bear it anymore. He wanted to see them beg for forgiveness and then take everything from them just like they did.

JAEHYUN JEONG "My heart's gone bad, now it won't beat for you. You had your laugh, now I won't play the fool. I've lied for you, and I liked it too. But I'm black and blue, from bleedin' for you."

Jaehyun has always been quiet, always in a corner, respecting the rules and never talking back. At least in front of their parents and all the things he was afraid of. He was calm of nature, that's what they would say to him. But the more life marked him, the more he realized he had a fire inside, and they weren't ready to see the flames.

LIV HANSEN "I can feel the flames on my skin. Crimson red paint on my lips. If a man talks shit, then I owe him nothing. I don't regret it one bit, 'cause he had it coming."

Liv was just like her name, life. Her burning red hair was flames itself, just like her. Dangerously pretty, dangerously quiet. Nobody could shut her, always saying what she was thinking since she was a child. She never let anybody step on her or tell her no. She had always been a force of nature, protecting everyone around her like a summer breeze caressing skin at night, until she realised that in that world she had to be a hurricane to protect who she loved, and never fail again.

LUCAS WONG "I don't envy, I will survive. And I've been begging and begging myself, please don't close your eyes. I don't have tears, I cried it all."

Lucas has always been the positive one of the group, the one that managed to always bring happiness even in the worst situations. He wasn't a hopeless romantic, he simply had to try and find the good in everything to survive. He knew it couldn't rain forever.

𝞦

THE HEALERS

The unit of doctors. They mostly learned by themselves, studying hard as soon as they realized they needed to always have somebody who could heal their friends. And then have been trained professionally. They work downtown at the medicals studios but also operate in the palace.

KUN QIAN "Losing is easy, winning takes bravery. I am a tiger's fool Out in the open. No one to save me. The kindest of whispers are cruel."

Kun always liked taking care of the others, from the smallest things to the biggest. So it wasn't surprising for him to be a healer. But he also had another passion, magic. It had started when he was bored and had nothing to do, behind everybody's eyes. People were scared of the unknown, and he simply found it stupid, because, behind every magic trick, there was logic. Little did it know, what life had planned for them.

SICHENG DONG "I found what I'd been looking for in myself. Found a life worth living for someone else. Never thought that I could be happy. I believe in possibility. I believe someone's watching over me."

The bad things that happened in his life never made him lose hope. He believed in kindness. But most importantly, he believed in people and that everybody could have another chance in life. Helping others came naturally for him because nothing could come close to the feeling he got when he saw the person he helped have a smile on their faces.

𝞦

THE DREAM CHASER

The unit made of teenagers who are not children of The Rebels, except for Mark. Their team is wide and filled with other personalities that don't take place in the other units, except for a thinker, a healer and two fighters.

MARK LEE ⮚fighter

DEJUN XIAO ⮚pilot

HENDERY WONG ⮚ hacker

RENJUN HUANG ⮚thinker

JENO LEE ⮚ training fighter

DONGHYUCK LEE ⮚ hacker

JAEMIN NA ⮚ healer

YANGYANG LIU ⮚ racer

CHENLE ZHONG ⮚ chemist

JISUNG PARK ⮚ hacker

𝞦

JUNGWOO KIM "I live inside my own world of make-believe. Kids screaming in their cradles, profanities. I see the world through eyes covered in ink and bleach. Cross out the ones who heard my cries and watched me weep."

Being a functional human being felt impossible to him, by now. Anxiety trapped him in a cage and it felt worst than when that trap were burning flames. He couldn't let go of his past and the pain they inflected him, and he couldn't let any of his friends close to him again, terrified they would use him against them again.

ANASTASIA ARENAS "But I got smarter, I got harder in the nick of time. Honey, I rose up from the dead, I do it all the time."

Anastasia has always been inconvenient, she never liked their little games, and she always made it clear. That's why they had to get rid of her. If only they knew she would've found a way back home, and this time ready to break the chain once for all.

ANIKA SINGH "I didn't have it in myself to go with grace, and so the battleships will sink beneath the waves. You had to kill me but it killed you just the same."

Is it possible to have a family, a house, and feel like you don't have a place where you belong? For her, it was. Anika spent her whole life being somebody her father wanted her to be. She was trapped between her duties and her dreams, always selfless, focused on taking care of her sisters. But what if the perfect daughter chooses herself for once?

SOOMIN WAN "Now I breathe flames each time I talk. My cannons all firin' at your yacht. They say 'move on' but you know I won't."

Soomin learned how to survive all by herself. She has no idea what a family is, and she's not even looking to find out. She's only looking for revenge. Because she used to have a family, before they took it away from her, right in front of her eyes. Nobody likes a mad woman, but He wanted her to be like that.

[apparitionism]

Why

I want to wish a very happy Gift Exchange Day to @mysensitiveside ​ ! This gift, a short and sweet AU, will keep on giving for a while, in that I wasn’t able to fling the whole thing across the finish line for you today. (No surprise, I’m sure, given my posting pace over the past... um... some time.) A second part will appear sooner rather than later, however, and I hope that the whole thing will be to your liking. Thanks of course go to @kla1991 for the organization of the whole  @bering-and-wells-exchange extravaganza... and I do just want to say that, as for my own reasons (reasons as such being quite relevant to this story), I still love Myka and Helena, and everybody in this bar, very much.

Why

“Why are you here?” Myka Bering asked of the dog she discovered in the hallway, gazing up at her, when she opened the door of her apartment one Saturday morning.

The dog blinked.

“Aren’t you Sam’s dog?”

The dog blinked again.

Things happen for a reason.

Myka had always been sure of that. So much so that it had shaped her idea of heaven: surely, the experience of paradise was nothing more, less, or other than finally being in possession of all the reasons.

When she was small, her “WHY?” refrain hadn’t distinguished her from her peers, but while most other children eventually gave up the incessant repetitions of that question, she never did. She discovered early on, however, that knowing whom to ask made an enormous difference in the quality of the answers she received: her mother’s exasperated “Because” was endlessly frustrating, as was her father’s equally unsatisfying “It’s magic.”

Which was why she became a research chemist, her choice of career happening for just that reason: it was always going to be a science of some sort, for the “why” questions—which she tended to ask internally now—had answers, if she put enough effort into finding them.

So it struck her as strange, that morning, to find herself asking “why” of a neighbor’s dog, out loud. The quality of any answer she got wasn’t likely to be high.

She had never seen the dog this dirty before. He... was it a he? maybe? she thought she’d heard “boy” at some point... had always seemed a little disheveled, his coat fluffed but lopsided, like he always slept on it wrong and nobody bothered with a comb. But never like this. Never with actual dirt.

She picked up the dog—he weighed less than she expected; she hadn’t realized how much of him was fur—and with some trepidation went to knock on Sam’s door.

No answer.

Myka took the dog back to her apartment. “Are you hungry?” she asked him. He blinked.

She had no idea what dogs ate, other than dog food, and she had no dog food.

She discovered that dogs ate several slices of cheese, a ham sandwich, a peanut butter sandwich, and a corn tortilla. Then dogs took a nap, no doubt exhausted from all the eating.

After numerous fruitless attempts at Sam’s door throughout the day, Myka called Mr. Nielsen, the super. “Sam moved out,” she was told. “Couple weeks ago. No forwarding address.”

“But I have his dog.”

“That’s nice of you,” Mr. Nielsen said.

“You don’t understand. I didn’t intend to have his dog.”

“Then maybe it isn’t nice. It’s not my problem either way.” He hung up.

Myka hadn’t liked Sam. He had asked her out, and she had said no, because he made her nervous. Anyone asking her out made her nervous, but this felt... different. She sensed she’d been right to turn him down, for he got visibly offended, in a way that made her even more nervous, such that she avoided him as much as possible afterward. He didn’t seem like a good person. But to move away and leave his dog behind?

She considered taking the dog to the animal shelter. What was she going to do with a dog? “What am I going to do with a dog?” she asked the dog in question. He blinked.

“I guess it’s you and me, dog,” she said after that Saturday turned into a weekend, the weekend into a week, one week into two.

And he looked at her as if to ask not “why?” but “what took you so long?”

She bought a leash. A bed. Actual dog food. So many products. “I’ve never shopped this much for myself,” she told him. She couldn’t decipher his blink in response to that information. Was it “But of course you should buy more for me” or “You should buy more for yourself”?

As it happened, he was a responsibility in ways she had not expected to enjoy. She had to leave work at midday, every day, to go home and walk him. She had that thing to do, and she did it. Her lab neighbor Abigail teased her about the dog being just an excuse to escape the lab, an excuse who probably didn’t even exist. “He’s real,” Myka protested. “I even had to come up with a name for him.”

Abigail laughed. “Sure you did.”

“Leukotriene.”

Pause. “Okay, now I’m convinced. Mostly. But I still want photo evidence.”

It hadn’t occurred to Myka to take a picture of the newly named Leukotriene, but she did so that night. She included a ruler in the photo for scale, lest Abigail mistake him for a Pomeranian, which was the breed—as far as Myka could tell, given her limited dog knowledge—he most resembled. The next day, “That’s him,” she said.

“Your dog.”

“I guess so.”

“He’s really... pretty.”

At home that night, she told him, “Abigail thinks you’re pretty.” He did the blink. “Yes,” she affirmed, “I do too.”

She shortened his name to “Leuko.” He didn’t seem to hate it. Then again, he wasn’t very vocal, positively or negatively.

She took him on walks, increasingly long ones, on the winding trails of the city’s largest park. She had never been a walker, but Leuko was... well, no: he was a trotter. A delighted, peppy trotter. Myka tried to match his bright energy, but she didn’t ever feel the same shine. It made her unaccountably happy, though, to see him that happy.

When she bathed him, he suffered it (no bright energy there), but she had a sense that he knew how impressive he looked when he was clean. His fluffy tan coat expanded into even greater glossy magnificence, an invitation to sink fingers in, and it rewarded the venture.

The best part, though, was when she would sit on the sofa, reading a journal or, less frequently, a novel, and he would lie against her, sighing as she rested her hand against his soft, warm body.

It was easy to forget that Sam had ever existed. Easy to sink into the belief that she and Leuko had always been a team. That this new texture of her life—this sneaky, responsibility-laden velvet—was a reality that had simply been held in abeyance until the right time. And now was that time.

One Saturday, as they walked in a nearly empty park, enjoying an early cold snap, Myka heard from a great distance an exclamation: “Monty!” She wouldn’t have thought anything of it, but suddenly her leash hand was empty, and Leuko was tearing across an open field, toward a solitary female figure, barking, making noise like he’d finally learned, or just remembered, that he had a voice.

Myka took off after him, drawing near at the moment he leapt—yes, leapt—into the woman’s arms.

She was striking, with dark eyes that rhymed with Leuko’s... in fact, she rhymed entirely with him, with his beauty. She looked up from him to Myka, those dark eyes widening, seemingly shocked to find another person present. “This is my dog,” she said, a little halting, as if she were trying the words out. Or as if she were coaxing them back into her mouth from far away.

Myka’s breath seized. “No,” she said, forcing the word out. “He’s my dog.”

“He is not. He’s mine. You can see it.”

Myka could see it. It drove ice in her heart to see it, to see him so ecstatic to see someone else, but it was there to be seen. It was there to be heard, too: Myka would never, she was sure, forget that declarative bark.

“He was lost for so long. How did you come to have him?” the woman asked, and Myka, trying to hide that heart-ice, explained about Sam. The woman said, shortly and with pain, “So that’s what happened.” She didn’t offer anything more, and while Myka wasn’t the most sensitive of souls, she could tell that this was not the sort of thing a stranger could ask any question about, not why or wherefore or anything at all.

A stranger. She was a stranger to both of them now, this woman and her dog, a stranger in their way, on the path in front of them—on a path she never should have been on in the first place. And if there was one thing Myka knew how to do, it was get out of the way.

She tried, mightily, to tell herself that that was what she should do: just step away. Let them carry on down the path. You didn’t have a dog before, and you were fine.

Leuko—Monty—looked at her from his perch in the woman’s arms. He blinked.

In response to that, Myka found herself babbling, “Can I... I mean, would you maybe let me... walk him sometime? Because he and I. I mean, or maybe just me. I. I’ll miss... it all.”

“I’m disinclined to let him out of my sight,” the woman said, with seeming care.

Myka didn’t have to ask why. “I don’t mean alone,” she said. “Just to see him.”

The woman looked at the dog in her arms. Did he blink? Whatever he showed her, it was enough. “All right,” she said. “Next week?” At Myka’s nod, she continued, “I should introduce myself. I’m Helena Wells.”

Myka understood even that was a matter of trust. “I’m Myka Bering,” she said, “and let me give you my number so you—”

“I’d rather not,” Helena Wells said, with the same care.

Not overmuch trust. “I can bring you what I bought for him,” Myka said, and maybe it was a flail to show that Helena Wells did not need to doubt her intentions. “If you want.”

“Thank you, but I still have all his things. Always holding out hope.” She said that with a quirk of her lip that Myka envied. Hope—what was it?

But of course Helena Wells had held out hope. Even after Myka’s own short time with Leuko—Monty—she would have done the same thing. Had he suddenly been gone, had she not known why.

The next Saturday morning, Myka spent some time pondering a very strange question: what do you wear to walk your ex-dog with someone who probably wants to forget that you exist?

The relief Myka felt when Helena and Leuko—Monty—appeared... it nearly felled her. There he is, she thought, and he’s all right. Not that she had expected anything different, but it was a relief. After a week she had not understood as a ratcheting up of anxiety, she at last felt relief.

They walked, side by side, Leuko—no, Monty—leading the way, shining even more brightly than Myka had known he could. “I didn’t intend to have your dog,” Myka started. “I didn’t mean to keep him... I mean, to keep him from you. The super can testify to the timeline, and I—”

“It’s all right,” Helena said. “I see that.”

“But I’m trying to tell you why this happened.”

“It doesn’t matter why. He’s here, and I told you, it’s all right.”

“Of course it matters! You’d care if I did try to steal him.”

“But you didn’t,” Helena said, and her words were gentle. “You cared for him. You didn’t have to.”

That left Myka strangely perplexed, because now, in retrospect, what else could have happened? “Of course I did.”

And Leuko—no, Monty—looked up at her, and he did the blink, and Myka knew what it meant: “Of course you did.”

Meeting, walking. They fell into a regular Saturday-walk schedule. As the weeks progressed, Myka’s anxiety gave way to, made room for, anticipation. Leuko—Monty—never barked when he saw Myka, but he did pull on the leash as she approached and gave her a nuzzle when she knelt to greet him.

“Why did you name him Monty?” Myka asked, one Saturday.

That made Helena smile. “I didn’t. His breeder did.”

“His breeder?”

“He’s a Mittelspitz.”

“He’s... a medium? A medium spitz?” Well, that explained his looking like a Pomeranian.

“Precisely.”

Myka felt dim. “But what does that have to do with being called Monty?”

“Nothing, as far as I know. The breeder named his litter after the stars of A Place in the Sun; he’s Montgomery Clift. His sister is Shelley Winters, and his brother is Elizabeth Taylor.”

“His brother? Why?” Myka really did try to limit the asking of that question out loud, but this seemed extra-justified.

“He’s even more beautiful than Monty.”

Did Monty the Mittelspitz turn his head and harrumph at such blasphemy? Myka surely was imagining that. He must have just seen a squirrel. “Poor Shelley Winters, though,” Myka said.

Helena laughed... and Myka felt that she should name that laugh “Elizabeth Taylor” as well. Helena said, “No, no, she’s pretty too. A remarkably lovely litter, and in fact Shelley was the only one who was show quality. If beauty were all it took, Liz would have ruled the circuit.” Another harrumph. “Don’t pout, darling,” Helena said to the dog, then to Myka, “Why did you name him Leuko?”

“After a peptide,” Myka admitted. “Well, a group of peptides.”

“A peptide.”

That was an implicit “why,” and Myka was strangely comforted. “I’m a chemist,” she said.

“A chemist.” Helena furrowed her brow. “How funny that I didn’t know that. How have we not got around to professions?”

Myka wanted to say, “Because when we get close to anything about our real lives, one or both of us backs away.” They still had no contact outside the park, and even as they shared and deepened this strange long-walk familiarity, Myka did not know where the line was. Had it shifted? If not, would it ever? She tried, very cautiously, “I don’t know. Will you... will you tell me yours?”

“I teach writing.”

For some reason, Myka couldn’t hold back her next question, even though it was not justified: “Why?”

“I have knowledge and expertise to impart. Due to having studied writing. And having made a living in the past as a writer myself.”

“That’s a good reason,” Myka said, and she thought, That’s more than you’ve said about yourself in weeks of walks. Was something different about this day?

“Thank you. Though I may not need your imprimatur, I’m pleased to have it.”

Was she... teasing? “I like good reasons,” Myka tried to explain.

“Good reasons. Recognizing them is not inapplicable to the craft of writing.” Helena said this with a funny little bow of her head.

Myka’s facial capillaries flooded with blood.

She knew why, but she hid the answer in her heart, for she remembered all too well Helena’s desolate “So that’s what happened.”

On one of their earlier walks, they had run into Abigail. “How’s little Leukotriene?” she asked. “Or I guess he’s not so little. That’s weird; I thought he was a Pom.”

Myka resisted the impulse to remind her of the ruler in the photo.

The next day, “Who’s your girlfriend?” Abigail asked.

It was the first time Myka really registered that she had continued her habit of going home in the middle of the day. To no purpose at all, she went home, stood in her kitchen, ate a sandwich that no one else wanted any of, and then went back to the lab. It was not a responsibility anymore, and it did nothing for her. She resolved to stop.

“Not my girlfriend,” Myka said, but she was appalled at herself: for a rash moment, she had wanted to let Abigail believe otherwise.

“Walking your dog with her?”

“Not my dog.” On that point, of course, Myka wished she could let herself believe otherwise.

“Pretty sure the dog matched that picture you showed me.”

“He’s her dog.”

“You were trying to pass your girlfriend’s dog off as yours?”

“She’s not my girlfriend. And he was my dog... for a minute.”

Walking in the park every week was not a responsibility. It was a reward.

And as Myka enjoyed her reward, each week, she studied Helena’s face, listened to her words. She tried to tell herself she was merely continuing to assess Helena’s relationship with Leuko. No: Monty. And she was doing that... but she was doing so much more.

How much could Myka continue to hide in her heart? And for how long?

As if in answer, the Saturday following their “professions” discussion, Helena (and Leuko—no, Monty) failed to appear. Myka, desolate at the absence of them both, walked by herself. It was terrible.

The park was empty of them the following week as well. Still, Myka walked, taking the isolation as her punishment for having misunderstood lines and crossing them, for having been so foolish as to let any part of her secret heart show on her face.

The aftermath of that second lonely walk left Myka restless, anxious. Should she try to find Helena and ask her why she had so abruptly decided against... whatever they were doing? Could she then beg her to reconsider walking a dog together to no purpose? “I’ll stop wanting anything more than that,” Myka thought to tell her. “I promise.”

But of course trying to find her was out of the question; if Helena didn’t want even to walk with Myka, she surely didn’t want to be stalked by her.

So Myka did the only thing she could do: the next Saturday, she returned again to the park. And she hoped.

TBC

[nomimits7]

Cold Phoenix | 1

Title: Cold Phoenix

Pairing: FBI BTS x Gang/mafia member (named) reader

Genre: Mission au, FBI au, Gang au

Warnings: Angst, manipulation, riddles (sorry), betrayal

Summary: Being born as the Taboo child between the good and the bad of this world, Zebah grew up believing she was just another one of the stolen. But just like the moon that needs the sun to shine, seven FBI agents enter her life with the promise of freedom. Before long Zebah realizes she is just another pawn in the game of Mafia vs. FBI. Will Zebah ever learn to trust the seven men that betrayed her to get what they wanted? Will she ever believe the truth behind her own birth? Or will Zebah fall alongside her family that lied to her from the start?

A/N: This story is told in the third person. Try to guess who the narrator is! Also this is my first time writing in this style. Please do tell me what you think. Should I keep to it or not?? The bold words are flashbacks of past scenes. The normal words are what the narrator tells.

@kookmin9795land​ Hope you like it 

*-*

“It’s done. Mommy made the big bad mistake go away. Now, remember what mommy said. You made this mistake…” The woman with grey hair points to the new-born baby in her son's arms “and whatever mommy had to do in there is your fault. If she ever finds out about her true identity, mommy will have to ‘fix’ that to” The woman concluded as she exited the hallway, ordering some of the bystanders to clean up the mess. She was the wife of one of the most feared mafia bosses out there. Ruthless and heartless, even towards her own son's breaking heart. No amount of tears could break her, even if she silently felt joy seeing and holding her first grandchild.

“Don’t worry angel, even if you might never know the truth… Daddy will always love you and protect you from afar” He whispered close to his newly born daughters’ ears. Regret and sadness the only available emotions as he watches the others remove the love of his life’s lifeless body. A silent sacrifice to save her life. A sacrifice she would only come to hear about when it’s far too late. His mother has removed the sun in his dark life, fortunately, he had his daughter to fill the void, even if she, like the moon, would only reflect her mother's brightness.  

Growing up in the mafia Zebah always thought she was one of the stolen. You see there were just too little children born into the mafia to maintain sufficient numbers, so some of the mafia leaders decided to steal what they needed. Reinforcements. At first, they stole teens, they were young and could learn fast, but they also had grown to the extent where they wouldn’t forget their past lives. They would rebel against the mafia, causing more problems than fixing them.

Soon the age decreased, toddlers were kept under lock and key and even baby cribs had alarms on them. People started living with the fear that their child would be next. Once Phoenix took them, they would never be seen again. The only time they would be found, is when they have already reached skeletonization.

Once the children were old enough to talk and walk properly, their training began. From handling knives to shooting with their eyes closed. They were trained to become the best of the best. The best at hiding, the best at stealing, the best at killing. Even though they knew children would sometimes make mistakes, they treated it as a game of baseball. Strike one was a warning, strike two a punishment, and strike three meant you were out. Out of the mafia and out of society. How they killed off these recruits depended on the day, but luckily Zebah never got to experience such an event. She barely had one strike to your name.

It’s been sixteen years since her training started and twenty-one years since she started breathing. Zebah was ruthless and feared amongst the mafia members. Even some of the rival mafias kept their distance from her. She was still young, but since her skills surpass most of her seniors, Zebah quickly became a favorite. Even her best friends and partners in crime envied her position. Alex and Ray barely left her side. Even with her skills, they knew Zebah was still just a young girl stuck in the mafia world. Physically feared but mentally broken. All of them were, their upbringing wasn’t exactly normal.

Most of the mission they were sent on went without fault, but they were still learning. This fact alone was why the big boss never sends them on ‘more important’ missions. The risk was just too high, the FBI and even some rival mafias would take any chance they got to take down Pheonix, even if they would have to deal with Z. Luckily they always failed, and as cocky as that sounds that may be exactly what lead to their success in the end. One thing nobody realized in the beginning was just how fragile the minds of the young ones are. Phoenix simply focussed on the hardcore stuff. They barely trained their minds to withstand temptation. This was one of the biggest mistakes Phoenix could ever have made.

So why this is important you ask? Well, you see every story has a start and the very birth of the taboo child leads to the downfall of Pheonix. She might have been born and raised in the mafia, but her heart was pure and believe me when I tell you she wanted out. None of her friends shared her desire and Zebah learned that the hard way. Now I won’t bore you with the boring stuff, so I’ll cut to the very boys who granted her, her freedom. I have to warn you though, this story doesn’t have the usual ‘enemies to lover’ enigma. This story includes heartbreak and betrayal with a dash of blood for taste.

You won’t believe me when I tell you that it was seven FBI agents. You heard me right, seven FBI boys. These seven were compiled of three hackers and four specialists. Now I know in the FBI all of the agents get trained in how to handle a gun and how to investigate and all that nitty-gritty shit. But here’s what sets these seven men apart. Their leader is a genius. Not in the sense of he can solve a crime within 5 seconds, no he’s extremely smart in the strategic sense. I think he mentioned once he had a degree in philosophy or something like that. The oldest hacker came from a criminal background. Both his parents were cyber thieves and they taught him everything he knows. One of the specialists was a chemist, the other two are experts in human behavior. The other two hackers just did it as a side job to get through college.

So in short, these individuals make up one heck of a team. Maybe that’s why their superiors gave them the mission to take Pheonix down. But the funny part of this whole story is that they never made a move. It was like they were the mafias and were waiting for their target to slip into their trap. At the time Pheonix didn’t even know they had a new target on their backs. Typical if you consider what idiot the leader was.

“Boss. We worked through the entire list of known mafia members and identified 3 candidates we can consider as possible insiders. All male, all young and naïve” Hoseok said as Namjoon walked into the office. This was not great news. Naïve-ness leads to failed missions and that’s one thing they could not afford. They had an image to maintain after all.

“You know that’s not a good start at all, right? We need insurance. Someone willing to take down the only family they know.” Yoongi casually stated as he cleaned his weapons. None of the profiles were stable enough to use. They all held the risk of failure. Some of them the members were too high up and other members were to low down to trust. It was nearly impossible for them to find an in.

“Maybe we’ll find something tonight. There’s a small gathering down at the docks and if my sources are correct, there will be a deal going down.” Seokjin said gaze still firmly attached to his screen.

“And how do we know your sources can be trusted Jin? People lie all the time to get what they want” Namjoon asked somewhat frustrated that his team’s not getting anywhere. It’s been a whole week since the big man told them to take Pheonix down and the man wants answers. Nothing made Namjoon more pissed off than someone nagging him for progress, especially in a high-profile case like this. Taking down Phoenix would be considered one of the most impossible tasks to ever cross an agent's desk. Many have tried in the past, and all have failed.

“Seriously Joon? I’m a hacker for goodness sake. I saw the text messages with my own eyes. Before you say anything I know it’s illegal that’s why I had Kookie send in an anonymous message leaving the tip for us to follow” Seokjin said as he finally made eye contact with a ‘shocked but not surprised’ Namjoon. He has done this before, once a criminal always a criminal. Seokjin, like the others, lived for the thrill.

If there is one thing you should know about this group of seven it’s this, they play by their own rules. I still believe that if it weren’t for their leader to keep them in check or his ability to legalize their actions, they would have been very cunning criminals.

Part 2

A/N: I know its short but there’s a reason...A good one. Let me know if you want to be added to a taglist! thank you for reading <3 

[samwrights]

Elixir - Punk!AU mini-series

Hi guys! So I wanted to write something a little different. Not necessarily a “choose your own adventure” but something along those lines. This mini series will be a Punk!AU where the reader is in a band where your story depends on the person you choose! While no place is actually mentioned, I’m thinking Chicago (home sweet home) for setting. I’ve been working on this between requests and, while the requests keep coming, I’m trying to get the routes going. For now, I present to you the prologue.

Thank you quarantine, necessary drives to my Starbucks, Halestorm, Neck Deep, Pierce the Veil, and Paramore for inspiring these babies. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: there will be swearing, smoking of cigarettes and weed, consumption of edibles and alcohol, cheating and possibly be NSFW. I haven’t decided on the last one yet. Everyone will be of legal US age for consumption of nicotine, marijuana, and alcohol in the present day (18+ in some states for tobacco, 21+ in for everything else). However, there are mentions of underage consumption/distribution of alcohol. These are genuinely mature themes! If you are unable to understand that these themes are not encouraged to be re-enacted, specifically cheating and underage consumption/distribution of nicotine, alcohol, or marijuana, please do not read for your own safety.

A complementary playlist can be found  »  here

Photocredit by @scandeniall​

Word Count: 3504

Prologue is below the cut!

You had been trying to ignore the gnawing thrum of discomfort that had worked its way into your intuition the last few weeks, but today the dull throb had transcended into an alarm blaring at the back of your consciousness. Like your body was trying to tell you something that should have been painstakingly obvious, yet when you attempted to pinpoint the cause, you fell short with an answer.

Period? Nah, too early for that.

Food poisoning? That wouldn’t last multiple weeks.

Pulled a muscle at the gym? That was a joke, considering you hadn’t gone to a gym since your senior year of college.

Anxiety? Well that was a given, considering you had a nasty gut feeling about something.

Stress? Stress was nothing new. In fact, stress was a very familiar friend to you.

What the fuck was it?

Even meditating on the thought for the last three hours, an answer had yet to come to you. Without ever finding one, you reluctantly pull the plush covers off of your queen sized bed and push yourself up to sit on the edge before checking your phone’s lock screen for the time. 1:23pm. You still had quite some time before you needed to leave for band practice, but you knew full well that laying in bed any further would encourage your current laziness. Making your way around the clothes that haphazardly littered your disheveled bedroom floor, you entered your bathroom to shower and get ready for the day.

The warmth of the water did little to quell the unsettling feeling that emanated from your gut. You even attempted to center your with old therapy tactics such as identifying all of your surroundings, such as which muscles of your body the shower was raining upon or the different notes in your voice that reverberated off the shower walls as you subconsciously sang. When that had failed, you allowed your mind to wander through the metaphorical meadow that resided in your brain.

At first, your mind focused on whatever lyrics fell from your lips, recognizing the prose as one of your band’s songs. Connecting the words that were committed to memory with people, your mind began to wander to your friends—the three boys you were thankful enough to call your best friends of a decade and members of your band, Elixir—Tetsurō Kuroo, Takahiro Hanamaki, and Yūji Terushima.

Kuroo, or Tetsu as you sometimes called him, was the guitarist of Elixir and the “mastermind” behind the name of your little group. Mastermind being a relatively loose term, as at the time, you all had felt indifferent to the name. But as nobody had come with any better alternatives, you all had stuck to it until it had grown on you. Kuroo was a year younger than you and, outside of the band, was a chemist for a small time company at the ripe age of twenty six. As you thought of him, you let out a soft snort that nobody but you could hear, thinking of his disheveled raven haired locks that framed his face; thinking of his earlobe holes that had been stretched out to nearly half an inch in diameter; thinking of the myriad of tattoos that littered his body from neck to toe. Sometimes, it did seem a little funny that this man had to wear a lab coat on the daily. You were so proud of him and of his accomplishments. He was ambitious and driven, focused on his goal of succeeding in both his field and with his band. Whether that meant recording an album and touring or just continuing to have fun was unknown, since really he would be fine with either or both.

Entertaining your analytical thoughts about Kuroo brought you to the bassist of your band, Takahiro Hanamaki, as you had met them both at your high school jobs in a local cafe. Makki, though he initially seemed profoundly reserved, had a relaxed sense of humor that typically came at the expense of others. At the time, he was a distinct contrast to Kuroo’s loud, antagonistic nature. Now, the two of them began to take bits and pieces of each other’s personalities. While Makki’s cool, composed self remained, he also was not one to avoid baiting someone just to crack a joke or tease them, an attribute he had adopted over the years of exposure to you and the guitarist. However, his laidback attitude was almost never immediately acknowledged by strangers, as his lanky build and harrowing, deep set eyes typically intimidate those who don’t know the light hearted bassist. And while he wasn’t the most “modified” member of the band, many saw the two eyebrow rings that rested above the right brow and, in conjunction with his natural features, immediately assumed the impression that Makki was unapproachable. You always had a soft spot for Makki and his slightly misunderstood ways.

Speaking of misunderstood brought your mind to the youngest member of your quartet—Yūji Terushima, or Teru as you affectionately called him. While he was only a year younger than the boys, two years in comparison to you, he was the life energy of the squad. When he had entered the cafe in which you, Kuroo, and Makki worked at for his first day, it felt that the final missing piece of the puzzle had been found, though you didn’t know it yet. It had been a year later, with you officially accepting the role of supervisor instead of trainer and Kuroo being your replacement. The two hit it off swimmingly and, while Makki didn’t necessarily match his energy, he compensated with humor. Terushima was, and still is, a wild thing. He breathes life into the rest of you by offering up crazy adventures that varied from a simple 2am Walmart trip to breaking into forest preserves at the dead of night to swim in a creek even though you had finals to attend to the following morning. In a sense, Terushima was the very reason Elixir had been born. After all, he was the one who encouraged each you to learn covers of songs until the interest had been sparked enough to learn how to properly play everyone’s respected instruments.

Backtracking your thoughts—finals. Finals meant university, and university was probably the most wild time of your life. As the friendship between the four of you continued to blossom with years passing, you all had made a pact to attend the same university. At one point, it had been tricky, trying to decide on where you were going to go and if you wanted to wait for Teru to catch up due to the age gap or if you, as the eldest, were going to pave the way for your juniors. It came as a surprise to the boys when you announced that you would wait, taking a two year gap in order to save money to lessen the blow of tuition in your bank account. Even more surprisingly, Kuroo and Makki had agreed with each other to do the same—what was the point in you staying behind and waiting for Yūji if they weren’t going to as well?

Waiting for Terushima turned out to be the absolute best idea ever. While you were initially hesitant to be rooming with three boys, friendship be damned, the four of you getting an apartment together for your university years was the best chaotic good moment you had ever been involved in. In a way, you all had gotten to celebrate many firsts together because of it. Did it bother you that you were a slightly older freshman? Sure, a little bit. Did it matter? Not at all, considering you were able to start buying liquor and beer as a sophomore in college and, as soon as your younger peers found out, you had turned it into a business to help pay rent for your shared apartment. Oddly enough, Terushima was the one who handled all of the expenses and calculated what you should be charging for your, ahem, “services”. Go figure, the youngest of you all was a math whiz. There was one unwritten rule for the apartment—no parties. Period. You could use your services to grab whatever supplies needed, whether it be alcohol, weed from a dispensary, or cigarettes, they were for your guys’ personal use only. Home was meant to home, and that was that.

Home; probably the single most important word in the entirety of your personal dictionary. While home was most often defined as a place in which a person or family resides, it meant something entirely different to you. Being home meant being with your best friends, your family. It meant being free to be yourself, unapologetically and unabashedly. And, maybe after rummaging through every single thought and analyzing each one through a metaphorical microscope, maybe that was where the disturbance in your intuition—that nasty gut feeling residing in the pit of your stomach—was coming from. There was something that you could not quite place that was disturbing your freedom, your home. Coming to the realization that your hot water had now gone cold, prompting you to shut it off and seek refuge and warmth in a fluffy towel and robe. Had it gone cold in that moment—the moment you realized why you had been on edge? Or had it been running cold out of irony that you had been in meditation for so long you hadn’t even realized it? You would never know the answer.

2:07pm. You still had plenty of time before band practice, considering both Makki and Tetsu would still be at work for another hour. To give them ample time to unwind from their work day, practice always started at five in the evening. In an attempt to kill time, you opted to make yourself a small lunch before sitting down to do your hair and makeup so as that you felt more comfortable being in public. Not that the boys cared—they lived with you for four years in university, they knew what you looked like at your absolute worst. Perhaps it became a habit to do so when you re-entered the working world as a full fledged adult three years ago.

2:29pm. After having your lunch, even taking the time to do all the dishes before moving into your next task—getting ready. While you didn’t feel the need to go overboard on your appearance, since it was just practice after all, you still had a solid hour and a half before Elixir was supposed to meet. Having plenty of time to kill allowed you to take your time to forego some self-care as well; maybe giving your locks a little extra tender love and care if you felt you needed it; plucking stray eyebrow hairs that had grown just a bit further outside of your desired shape. You checked the time on your phone again after you felt your look was complete, hair, makeup, and all. How the fuck had only an hour gone by? That was way more effort than you normally put in, or so you claim, yet time seemed to be mocking you.

3:36pm. If you could magically waste time picking out an outfit to wear to practice, you were doing so now. One part of you almost wanted to chuck on the leather pants you would potentially be sporting for tomorrow evening so as to give them a slight stretch and make them more comfortable while you performed. Another said to just keep it simple, and stick to leggings and a nice loose tee to keep you at ease. The last option that your mind entertained was wearing shorts and a tank because it always got so hot in Terushima’s basement during practice. You even went so far as to try on multiple shirts and tops that were essentially the same, swapping out different preferred accessories to see if you liked the look, if only to make the minutes tick by. Hell, you even tried multiple pairs of shoes, lacing each foot individually before the clock had passed four in the afternoon. Eventually, you tied on your typical, everyday combat boots despite the wasted minutes trying to do a wardrobe check. Now that there was only an hour left for Elixir to begin arriving the at the drummer’s family home, you decide to give yourself ample time to stop by and grab coffee for everyone.

4:13pm. You send a text message out to your mates, waiting for them to reply with what you knew would be their typical orders. Well, as typical as it could be considering Terushima was always trying out crazy concoctions. One by one they responded and of course, your assumptions were correct when Teru sent in his drink that took up four rows of text. “What in the actual fuck?” You grumbled out, squinting at your phone while simultaneously trying to enter your car. Following your typical routine of turning on whatever guilty pleasure playlist you were feeling in that moment and lighting a cigarette, you glanced at your friends order one more time before ultimately deciding to place the order online. You didn’t want to embarrass yourself ordering Yūji’s stupid drink. After placing the order, you made your way to a Starbucks closest to the aforementioned boy’s family home.

The drive to Terushima’s wasn’t a particularly long, even with the coffee run. Traveling between two suburban towns typically only took about twenty minutes regardless of the direction you were coming from, though you hadn’t taken into account the long line wrapping around the Starbucks Drive-thru. Not that it mattered—you were still on time for practice. Even if it seemed all of your friends were already here. Cautiously exiting your car with the tray of drinks in one hand while you let yourself into the Terushima residence.

His parents greeted you warmly as you always did before you made your way down to the basement. “Ayeeee, there’s momma.” Makki greets, taking the tray from your hands and distributing everyone’s respective drinks. Small talk place between band members, distracting you from the other three people in the basement—your bandmates’ girlfriends. When you did finally acknowledge their presence, you gave them a tight lipped smile, so as not to be rude, though they only gave a blank stare before bringing their attention back to the phones in their hands. You gave a roll of your eyes. It wasn’t that you didn’t like them, per se. It was more along the lines of you were the only female in the band and they automatically assumed that you were out to steal their mans. Not the case, especially considering you all formed the band before any of them were even in the picture, but go off.

Having already finished your beverage from earlier, you began plugging in the microphone into the amplifier and tuning the guitar you used for a small number of songs. Everyone else seemed to be ready to go except for you, who was strapping on the aforementioned guitar to prepare for the insanity of an opening that is Kuroo’s masterpiece. Besitos, he called it. Spanish for little kisses, you often wondered where the romantic title had come from considering the narrative was less than pleasant, even foreshadowing murder in the final verse. When you asked him about the inspiration for the lyrics and the title, Kuroo did nothing but laugh, adding in, “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

The second song was a project curated by your drummer, Terushima. Brick by Boring Brick was a song that he claimed was inspired by his girlfriend, which was an endearing gesture if that were the truth. But from what you and the rest of Elixir had known of his girlfriend, she didn’t come off as a person plagued with baggage. Not that you could base it solely off of appearance, but with her and Yūji’s short lived relationship, it was a bit unbelievable that he had unlocked her tragic backstory in a matter of three months. Then again, what did you know? You didn’t even remember her name.

The title of the third song, Growing Pains, always made you laugh at the irony considering that Makki’s tall ass wrote the song. While a romantic, upbeat love song from Teru didn’t strike you as a shock, it certainly did coming from the bassist. Emotions that danced in the “love” category didn’t really sway him often. Maybe his girlfriend was just that special to him? You weren’t sure, because once again, you knew none of their names. But you knew for a fact that the song seemed to call for something more stable, endearing growth together and support for each other, which had you questioning how long had you been apart from your friends.

After the third song, you were winded and uncomfortable and no amount of water you chugged was helping you with sweat and dehydration. “I’m gonna die tomorrow.” You joked after setting your water bottle down by your microphone stand.

“We’re only a third of the way through the set, headass.” Terushima joked, pulling down his lower left eyelid and sticking his tongue out to you.

“For real, it’s only been like twenty minutes since we started practice.” Kuroo chided.

“Yeah, but can we smoke instead? I think there were a few things we should tune up before moving onto the next third of the set.” You looked to your guitarist with pleading eyes, holding a cigarette and lighter between your fingers. Makki, without saying anything else, pulled out a small bowl and packed it. He knew that any form of pleading made Kuroo a weak man, which inevitably meant a smoke break was up next rather than continuing on with work.

“Fine.” Despite the mock defeat in his tone, Kuroo is already gliding up the stairs, taking two steps at a time with you in tow. More steps could be heard, but they were lighter than the boys you had come know so well, meaning the three stooges were most likely following suit, despite them not being smokers themselves.

You and Kuroo were currently seated on a stone barricade as you lit your cigarettes, the rest of the crew picking at sporadic seats along the wall. Teru and Makki were next to each other to share their bowl while their girlfriends sat on the outside of them, just to your right. Kuroo’s girlfriend had taken up occupying the space between you and your guitarist and, maybe for a moment, you were wondering they were deliberately arranged this way.

The worst part of the girlfriends accompanying practice, in your eyes, was not their presence, but rather the fact that you felt like you couldn’t even talk to your best friends, your bandmates at band practice, because they were too busy comforting them so that they “didn’t feel out of place”. Regardless, you respected your friends enough to not make the situation more difficult for them—if you needed to say something, you could say it in the basement where spectator talk was not welcome. Out of the corner of your eye while you were internally monologuing, you see the lanky arm of Makki offering you the bowl, a few cinders of his hot still lit. With poor timing, he grabbed your attention while you were exhaling the smoke in your lungs, unintentionally doing so onto his girlfriend. “Shit, I’m sorry.” She rolled her eyes, though you know you didn’t do it on purpose. Whatever, she had her truths. You held up your hand that squeezed the filter of your cigarette between your index and ring finger. “I’ll get it on the next turn,” making Makki shrug and pass the small glass bowl back to the drummer.

A couple more drags of your cigarette soothes your craving for nicotine and when the paper had finally burned all the way to the end of the filter, you tossed the butt into the dead fire pit that acted as the center for your gathering. Terushima stands up real quick to hand you the bowl that had been nearing its end—giving you the last couple hits before it was cashed. When it came to marijuana, you didn’t smoke very often, but today you were grateful for the offering. Maybe the high would take the edge off of your...anxiety? No, that wasn’t it. Irritation seemed to be a better fit.

The seven of you shuffle back into the basement, rearranging yourselves, and knocking back a beer. “Okay, so before we move on, is there any song that you guys think we should work on before moving to the next third of the set?” You asked, your back towards your audience while you looked at your bandmates in earnest. They looked at each other, before locking eyes with you.

“Is there anything you want to work on? You’re the one who’s switching around with instruments and you’re the one who runs around on stage so we’ll leave it up to you.” Kuroo says evenly. You pursed your lips in uncertainty, think back to how each song sounded.

“Ya know what, let’s work on...........”

[ Besitos ] » Kuroo’s Route

[ Brick By Boring Brick ] » Terushima’s Route

[ Growing Pains ] » Makki’s Route.

BONUS: Terushima’s Starbucks order.

[maddie-grove]

Bi-Monthly Reading Round-Up: May/June

PLAYLIST

“How Do You Do” by Mouth and MacNeal (Once Ghosted, Twice Shy)

“Up the Wolves” by the Mountain Goats (Don’t You Dare Read This, Mrs. Dunphrey)

“The Daughters” by Little Big Town (Lady Rogue)

“9 to 5″ by Dolly Parton (Lady Notorious)

“Let the Little Girl Dance” by Billy Bland (What a Wallflower Wants)

“Poison Arrow” by ABC (Give Me Your Hand)

“Marie-Jeanne” by Joe Dassin (Never Mind)

“Mississippi” by the Dixie Chicks (An Unconditional Freedom)

“Semi-Charmed Life” by Third Eye Blind (Bad News)

“Honky Cat” by Elton John (Simple Jess)

“A Weekend in the Country” from A Little Night Music (Some Hope)

“Picture Book” by the Kinks (Mother’s Milk)

“A Place in the Sun” by Stevie Wonder (At Last)

“She’s in Love with the Boy” by Trisha Yearwood (A Dance with Danger)

“Little Hollywood Girl” by the Everly Brothers (Seduction: Sex, Lies, and Stardom in Howard Hughes's Hollywood)

BEST OF THE BI-MONTH

An Unconditional Freedom by Alyssa Cole (2019): Daniel Cumberland, a free black man from New England, had his faith in justice and certainty in the world shattered when he was abducted and sold into slavery. Now rescued, he does what he can as a spy for the pro-Union Loyal League, but he has a lot of rage and trauma that nobody knows what to do with, least of all himself. Then a new spy joins the organization: Janeta Sanchez, a mixed-race Cuban-Floridian lady pulled in too many directions by her white Confederate family and now in desperate straits. Once again, Alyssa Cole has produced a book that’s not only a compelling romance but a fascinating historical novel. Daniel and Janeta are both complex, involving characters with a great dynamic, plus Cole provides a great perspective on less-discussed aspects of the Civil War. 

WORST OF THE BI-MONTH

Once Ghosted, Twice Shy by Alyssa Cole (2019): Likotsi Adele, personal assistant to the prince of Thesolo, came to New York City a year ago for work and had what was supposed to be a casual affair with Fabiola, a gorgeous fledgling fashion designer. Just when her feelings were getting involved, though, Fabiola cut things off with no explanation. Now back in NYC on vacation, Likotsi runs into Fabiola, who proposes that they go on a date for old time’s sake. Although it’s technically the worst of the month, this novella is by no means bad; on the contrary, it’s very cute and sweet, with a pretty sexy love scene near the end. It just suffers from common romance novella pitfalls, mainly a dearth of conflict and some pacing problems.

REST OF THE BI-MONTH

Never Mind (1992), Bad News (1992), Some Hope (1994), Mother’s Milk (2005), and At Last (2011) by Edward St. Aubyn: Across five novellas, Patrick Melrose, son of an aristocratic non-practicing doctor and a charity-minded heiress, struggles with the legacy of his father’s sadistic abuse and his mother’s elaborately cultivated helplessness to intervene. The series follows him from early childhood (Never Mind) to drug-addled early adulthood (Bad News, Some Hope) to slightly more functional middle age (Mother’s Milk, At Last). I’ve never read such enjoyable fiction about the boredom and exhaustion of dealing with trauma and addiction, but St. Aubyn manages it with sharp characterization, whistling-in-the-dark humor, and a great sense of setting. I didn’t like all the novellas equally--Bad News has too many scenes about doing large amounts of heroin for my personal taste, and Some Hope sometimes loses track of its many characters--but, taken together, they’re magnificent.

Seduction: Sex, Lies, and Stardom in Howard Hughes’s Hollywood by Karina Longworth (2018): Using the life and career of billionaire/producer/aviator/womanizer Howard Hughes, Longworth (the podcast host of You Must Remember This) looks at Hollywood from the silent era to the waning days of the studio system. I love You Must Remember This, and this book exhibits all the strengths of the podcasts: the compelling style, the evenhanded consideration of evidence from multiple sources, and the use of film analysis to examine what was happening in the culture at the time. Longworth’s portrait of Hughes is also refreshingly non-sensational; he comes across as a juvenile reactionary with a little vision, too much money, and some pitiable mental health problems, rather than a genius or a boogeyman. 

Simple Jess by Pamela Morsi (1996): Althea Winsloe, an Ozark widow in the early twentieth century, is determined to remain unmarried and look after her three-year-old son by herself, despite the disapproval of her close-knit community. Still needing help on her farm, she hires Jesse Best, regarded as “simple” because of a cognitive disability stemming from a childhood brain injury. As they work together, Althea realizes that Jesse has depths that few people bother to see. I was a little concerned when I began this romance; the hero has serious, life-altering issues with mental processing, which I thought might create a troubling power dynamic between him and the heroine. Instead, Morsi contributes something really valuable by showing how society ignores the autonomy and complexity of people with disabilities. She also does a great job of showing how a close-knit community can be both claustrophobic and supportive. Finally, I enjoyed the journey of a gay side character (the song’s for him!).

Lady Notorious by Theresa Romain (2019): When George, Lord Northbrook, discovers that his father is part of a tontine whose members have started dying at an alarmingly fast rate, he enlists the help of Cassandra Benton, an unofficial Bow Street Runner, to investigate the possible murders while pretending to be his scandalous cousin. Already friends, they grow attracted to each other during this charade, but they come from different worlds and each have a complicated family thing going on. This is a thoroughly likable romance with a fun plot; I especially enjoyed how George’s efforts to care for his emotionally distant parents mirrored Cassandra’s struggles to let go of her codependent relationship with her twin brother.

Don’t You Dare Read This, Mrs. Dunphrey by Margaret Peterson Haddix (1996): Fifteen-year-old Tish Bonner doesn’t have much time for school; with an absent father, a troubled mother, and an eight-year-old brother she feels responsible for, she’s too busy trying to hold things together at home. When her father makes an unwelcome return, though, she finds an outlet in the journal assigned by a nice young English teacher who promises not to read entries marked DO NOT READ. I first read this YA novel in middle school, and it struck me as particularly unvarnished, both then and as an adult. Teens in horrible situations are common in the genre, but Tish’s matter-of-fact presentation the day-to-day of dealing with sexual harassment at work and total parental abandonment at home really brings out the utter bleakness. I love Tish, whose ultimate acceptance of her inability to handle everything alone is as brave as her desperate efforts to keep everything together.

Give Me Your Hand by Megan Abbott (2018): Kit Owens, a talented chemist from humble beginnings, is shocked when former classmate Diane Fleming comes to work in her lab. Although Diane was the one who inspired her to reach beyond community college, she also burdened Kit with a horrible secret...and now they’re in competition to work on a prestigious new grant. I love Megan Abbott as a writer; she has a very sensory-based way of describing things that makes everything palpable. While I didn’t love this book as much as The Fever, it has a delightfully twisted plot and female characters who are “bad” in a realistic (or, at least, a humanely portrayed) way. I did probably like Diane more than I was supposed to; like Lady Audley before her, she should maybe go to jail but she’s still awesome.

A Dance with Danger by Jeannie Lin (2015): In Tang Dynasty China, Jin-mei, daughter of a magistrate, finds herself in a compromising position with Yang, her father’s old associate and sworn enemy of a local warlord. Their mutual attraction makes the ensuing wedding a more pleasant fate than either expected, but Yang disappears mysteriously before the marriage can be consummated. Heartbroken and very suspicious, Jin-mei refuses to give him up for dead. This is a fun adventure-romance with a wonderfully spooky atmosphere, although the ending is a little rushed.

Lady Rogue by Theresa Romain (2018): After her sub-par art-dealer husband apparently committed suicide, Lady Isabel Morrow grew close to and had a fling with Officer Callum Jenks, a Bow Street Runner. Now she’s discovered that her husband sold his customers forged works, and she needs to (awkwardly) enlist Callum’s help in replacing them with the real ones. This is a solid Regency romance, mostly thanks to the fun burglary plot. Isabel and Callum’s relationship, while perfectly pleasant, is rather static; they obviously like and respect each other, but just need a little time to reconcile themselves to the not-onerous-to-them social costs of a cross-class marriage. There’s also a real bummer of a development involving a minor character at the end. I’m not averse to bummers, but it felt out of place here.

What a Wallflower Wants by Maya Rodale (2014): Stranded at a strange inn after a failed elopement attempt, secretly traumatized spinster Penelope Payton finds a friend in the striking Lord Castleton...but is he who he says he is? Absolutely not, but he’s pretty cool regardless. This is a sweet, heartfelt Regency romance with endearing leads and great messages, but it’s pretty sloppily written, and that detracted from my enjoyment somewhat.

[medievalemma]

emma’s secrets for a Great Presentation

hey y’all, it seems i’m becoming somewhat known among friends for making Really Good Presentations. here’s some secrets for turning your presentation from drab to fab :) there’s a tl;dr at the bottom if you don’t have the time or energy to read everything, but i recommend you do if you can. (also, if something i say doesn’t work for you, don’t worry. a lot of these aren’t hard-and-fast rules.)

APPEARANCE AND TIPS:

use a theme!!!! make it pretty!!! plain white slides are BOOOOORING.

visual interest will keep audience attention. you don’t need a super complex one, the premade ones are generally pretty good. 

for maximum! effectiveness! go for something sleek/modern, with solid color blocks rather than patterns. 

if you don’t like the colors you can change them. look past the colors to the underlying design.

if you add a new slide in powerpoint, it'll copy the format/layout of the slide you're currently on.

don’t just use the same format for every slide! quotes should use a different slide layout to photos or blocks of text.

you can hide slides that don't work, don't delete them just in case! 

please don’t use slide transitions unless absolutely necessary they are a relic of the past and should be left there.

WRITING YOUR PRESENTATION SCRIPT:

 MAKE YOUR POWERPOINT WHILE WRITING THE PRESENTATION. i cannot stress this enough. it is so much easier to do them side-by-side, so you can make sure that your slides are relevant to your text.

you are writing out a script, right? don’t do it off the cuff. save yourself uhhs and umms by having all your words already prepared.

i know y’all sciencey types don’t do this, which imo is stupid. having a script also ensures that your facts are kept straight.

that said, write your script the same way you talk. you don’t talk like an academic journal in your day-to-day life so don’t write a presentation like one. 

keep it formal, but don’t be afraid of simple language and the occasional contraction or colloquialism.

remember, you’re writing something that will be spoken not read so you should be comfortable with the language.

a good guideline is to write as though you are telling grandma (or an interested stranger) about your presentation topic!

your concepts/arguments need to be clear and easy to understand for someone with only the barest context of your research. 

remember: your audience doesn’t have your notes and experience with the topic. even if they do, assume they don’t.

you can assume a basic level of discipline-standard knowledge (i.e. historians shouldn’t need you to define terms and concepts specific to history but if you’re not presenting to an audience made up entirely of people from your discipline, you may need to give a brief definition and context for important discipline-specific knowledge.

i.e. i wouldn’t expect a chemist to tell other chemists what a titration is but i would hope they would briefly define it for a general science audience and i would expect a definition for a general audience including non-scientists.

if you have to turn your script in, cite as you go, same as you would with an essay. 

if you don’t, do make sure to toss in a few informal citations so you know where you found bits you may need to find again. this can be as simple as an author’s surname or a short title and a page number.

don’t use in-text citations in your script -- use footnotes, which you can format as you would in-text citations. this is so you can smoothly read your script without having to skip over long-ass citations.

PICTURES ON SLIDES:

don’t just have text, please. put in pictures. audiences like pictures.

not clipart tho clipart is laaaame and so 2003

that said, how are your pics relevant? you gotta discuss them, don't just have a picture to have a picture. every photo has a purpose.

the bare necessary information for photos is licensing, year, and location. 

full citations of images can go in your sources list, which should be your last slide. (have that up during your concluding paragraph.)

when it comes to diagrams and graphs please ensure they are:

informative

accurate

relevant

use common sense: pie charts should only be used when you are showing parts of a whole. it is a mortal sin to do otherwise. do not use pie charts if the whole does not add up to 100%. if there is category overlap such that it cannot be displayed as a separate category then do not use a pie chart.

i will make an entire post about this if i need to

TEXT ON SLIDES:

don't have tons of text unless it’s necessary: i.e. you're doing a textual analysis, and then highlight the relevant bits with color and/or bold. 

i did an analysis using a list of criteria and i highlighted each criterion as i discussed it with color and bold, then changed the color to a darker one when i moved to the next but left it bold so the audience could see what we’d covered.

if you do have to have a ton of text use either multiple slides or the text animations (just have them appear or fly in, anything else is just...no.) so your audience doesn’t get info overload when you change slides.

when you’re using those animations, i personally prefer if the first bullet point is already on the slide. your header should not be the point of discussion -- it should tie all the points together.

when it comes to stuff you've quoted, put the full quote in its context in the slide. highlight the important stuff if it’s a long one. not necessary but it’s nice to see the full quote when you’re in the audience.

make sure the text is a size (and color) that is readable from a distance! 

whatever the default size on your presentation application is should be fine, usually that’s around 16-18pt.

16pt is generally the smallest you should go for text you expect your audience to read

citations can be smaller, i generally put those around 14pt or 12 if they’re massive.

your text should be readable if your presentation is viewed in greyscale. easiest way to determine this is to take a photo and put one of the greyscale filters in instagram on it. don’t publish it tho nobody wants to see that

ACTUALLY PRESENTING:

have some method of knowing where you want to switch slides, i like to highlight the text where i plan to go to the next slide. however you do it, have something that means NEXT SLIDE in your script.

just as you've put the slides to your text, put the text to your slides. you know that bit you highlighted? put that in the slide notes so you can easily see if the slide is where it should be.

read your presentation with your slides BEFORE you have to present it. this is how you can ensure they work together.

also, since you're reading your presentation (you did write it out didn’t you?), don't read from a script that’s at 12 pt whatever font. 

scale the font up so it is easily readable from a distance. 

if you're reading from a device, try to get it in a format where there are no overt page breaks and you can just continuously scroll. i find the “web format” of most word processors that have page-breaks is generally the best way. 

resize the window so it is no wider than a standard sheet of printer paper (A4/8.5x11″) -- this prevents you from having lines that are too long to comfortably read.

don’t worry about stumbling over your words. everyone does it. nobody really cares. it rarely distracts from your presentation. if you’re stumbling over the same part while practicing, fix it so you don’t. 

have a bottle of water to drink from when you’re done, bc your throat will be dry af. you’re welcome ;)

TL;DR: make it pretty, everything in the powerpoint should be relevant to your script, and of course, write a script that you can read from a distance!

[hpswl-cumbercookie]

johnlock, number ten- highschool popular kid/nerd au :>

Hey there! So sorry for the long wait. I hope it was worth the wait. (Apologies for the horrible title, I needed something and I couldn’t think up anything that wasn’t horrible) Again thanks a ton for requesting this, I really enjoyed the challenge of writing a request (this is my first one)

Chemistry in Chem Class

3600 words

“John, you will be paired with Sherlock,” the teacher called from the head of the classroom

John leaned over to whisper in Mike’s ear, “Who?”

Mike simply nodded his head towards the far back corner of the room, completely opposite where he and Mike sat. He had never really paid much attention to the dark, drafty corner and had simply assumed nobody sat there but, sure enough, when he stood ever so slightly to peek over the heads of his peers a dark mop of unruly curls could be seen hunched over the desk there. John, being captain of the rugby team and all-around popular guy, made it his goal to know the names of all the students in his year at least. He had never met a face he couldn’t place or put a name to until now, which made Sherlock extremely intriguing.

When the teacher split them up to talk to their partners, he slowly picked his way through the cluttered narrow maze of desks to the corner where Sherlock sat, hunched over the desk. He didn’t so much as turn his head from his paper, upon which he was writing furiously, as John plopped himself down in the seat in front of Sherlock, sitting backwards so he could face him. He waited a moment for Sherlock to address him. When he still made no attempt to communicate, John attempted to initiate conversation.

“Hello! I’m John. I don’t believe we’ve met before. Pleasure to meet you.” He held out his hand to be shaken. Sherlock, head still bowed over the desk, continued to write at inexplicable speeds, even as he slowly raised his hand to grasp John’s. As soon as was socially acceptable Sherlock tore his hand back to his paper where he had begun to do what appeared to John to be some rather complicated calculations. When Sherlock still ignored him after shaking hands, John once again attempted to engage with the boy.

“So -” he started, clasping his hands lightly together and breathing out slowly, “How is it we’ve never met before? We’re in the same year I’m assuming, since we’re in the same class right now, but I know everyone in our year so how come I don’t recognize you? Are you new?” At this Sherlock’s head shot up, cold verdigris eyes piercing John to his core, leaving him feeling both shot through and full to the brim all at once.  

“Of course not, John. We simply are not in the same year and I keep to myself. I tend to avoid the kind of tedium that accompanies a ‘group project’ at all costs. I prefer to work alone so as to also avoid mingling amongst the idiocy of my peers. I am in the year below you but all of my classes are advanced a year because my teachers cannot provide me a proper challenge so as to occupy my mind and are therefore forced to endure me at my most bored, in which case they find me both insolent and insubordinate, so the headmaster advanced my classes to accommodate both myself and the teachers. I also do not attend lunch in the cafeteria, for similar reasoning. Hence you do not recognize me.” He spoke quickly and succinctly, ending his speech with a quick nod and then falling into a still silence as he observed John with a sharp eye.

He spoke with a frankness that John found both bothersome and yet endearing, who responded to the awkward silence that followed with a warm smile that Sherlock seemed to find shocking, as his eyes widened and mouth slackened just slightly enough to be barely noticeable before pulling back to his cold, closed off expression, eyes pinched slightly and mouth set.  

“So, this project, it’s something isn’t it? Never been much of a chemist myself, my marks certainly aren’t fantastic, so I might struggle a bit with it.” John huffed a short, amused breath, a self-deprecating smile alighting his features.  

“Never mind it,” Sherlock said, waving his hand like one might shoo away a fly. “I certainly don’t mind doing it; I’d do it all on my own anyways if I was given the choice. We won’t even have to see one another if you like,” he scoffed, returning to his calculations with a sharp turn of his head, almost angrily. John was thoroughly caught off by the statement.

“I don’t mean that you’d do it all on your own Sherlock. Jesus. That’s not what I meant at all! I simply meant that I might not move as quickly as you, seeing as you’ve already done about half the project on that scratch paper,” John said, gesturing to Sherlock’s paper before giving it a closer look, eyes squinting as he leaned forward to read the hastily written calculations and notes. When he couldn’t see it well enough upside down he grabbed the paper directly from beneath Sherlock’s pencil and turning it towards himself. “Dear God, you really have! You’re a genius, honestly! I could never do calculations like this. Brilliant! You’re brilliant!” he said reverently, glancing up just long enough to catch the shock written in plain view across Sherlock’s face this time, and this time it hadn’t dissipated when John looked up to meet his eyes again.

“What?” John asked. “All I said is you’re brilliant. Is that a problem? Because if it is I won’t say it again.”

“Nothing, nothing. Simply caught me off guard is all. I don’t often receive such praise for my intelligence,” he said, control firmly back in place, yet his eyes were downcast slightly, not quite meeting John’s.

“What do people normally say?” John asked, genuinely confused as to how someone couldn’t appreciate the genius in front of him, despite having only known him for 5 minutes.

“Piss off!” Sherlock said with a smirk, but there was a sadness, a dimming of the sparkling electricity behind his eyes, that John only just caught as Sherlock’s eyes left his again. It left him feeling an inexplicable sadness, to see the spark dimmed in the cutting eyes that had already left their mark on him. Despite having only just met the young genius, John had already grown protective of him, seeming to sense a fragility hiding behind the sharp cheekbones, the piercing eyes, the cutting words.  

“Anyways, I would very much like to work this all the way through with you. Maybe you could teach me a thing or two, help me out a bit? I really am hopeless in this class.”  

“Might as well. You don’t seem completely, hopelessly idiotic,” Sherlock said with a smirk, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Gee, good to know,” John replied good-naturedly, rolling his eyes as he bent over to stuff his notebook and pencil into his already overcrowded bookbag. When he looked back up, Sherlock seemed to be blushing somewhat, but it was hard to tell considering how pale he was if it was blushing or just from getting some blood pumping as he also prepared to leave.  

“Shall we meet after school today at Angelo’s to work? I don’t have anything on after school today. You?” Sherlock said, just as the bell signaling class change yelled out from the speakers.

“Yeah, should be good for me! I’ll see you there!” And with a quick wave and a warm smile, they parted ways at the doorway and both joined the screeching, pounding, thrumming cacophony of the crowded hallway and were swept away by its relentless current.

That afternoon they met at Angelo’s. Sherlock was there already when John arrived, once again hunched over his paper, calculating frantically, muttering quietly to himself beneath the curtain of his frankly adorable curls. John could feel himself falling for the younger boy; his angular features, soft brown curls, and untempered wit drawing him in quicker than anyone he’d ever met, which was something considering how quickly he had always made friends. There was just something about him that was irresistible.

They sat and worked, chatting away over their project well into the evening. At first all Sherlock would talk about was the project, rapid fire calculations and facts about the chemicals and their reactions and all manner of crazy facts, to the point where John’s head was spinning on an axis that shouldn't have been there, lost in the complicated terms Sherlock was spouting off like a textbook. When he finally managed to get a word in edgewise he was so befuddled he didn’t even know what to say, he just sat there staring at the walking, talking, exploding enigma before him, until Sherlock cleared his throat loudly, shaking John from his reverie.

John had proceeded to shower him with praise, allowing Sherlock to preen wantonly, something he obviously was able to indulge in rarely if his huge, gleaming smile, the first true smile he had seen from Sherlock thus far, was anything to go by.

Once John had succeeded in loosening Sherlock up a bit he was all of a sudden privy to a side of the young man he rarely let show. He spoke animatedly about experiments he had performed and planned to perform, about his aspirations to be a consulting detective, whatever that was, and a plethora of other things. He spoke quickly, eyes bright and shining with excitement, hands flying as he played out his words with his hands in the way only those who are inexorably excited do.

It was obvious to John, who had always been surprisingly skilled at reading others, that the boy he found himself so inexplicably drawn to did not have many friends, and probably hadn’t for most of his life. This realization only made him more protective of Sherlock, and more determined to win his heart.

Now John had never been one to hide his bisexuality purposefully, but he had never had a true relationship with a boy before so this was, admittedly, new territory for him but he was a captain and a leader, always ready to brave the new horizons. Throughout the evening he attempted to make his feelings more apparent without frightening Sherlock, who didn’t seem the type to have been in many relationships.

He didn’t even know if Sherlock was gay but he didn’t want to broach the subject so bluntly as to ask him outright, knowing it would be the ammunition for an extremely awkward conversation, so he simply put himself out there as far as he dared and hoped Sherlock would take the bait.

They spoke for hours, jumping from topic to topic so often it was impossible to follow their train of thought, well into the evening. Sherlock, throughout, didn’t appear to catch onto John’s flirting in the slightest. When they parted ways though, it was with great reluctance on the part of both boys, which made John hopeful that perhaps Sherlock had caught on to his flirting more than he had let on and was just scouting the unfamiliar territory as well. They made plans to meet after school again on Thursday, as John had rugby practice on Wednesday, but this time at Sherlock’s house.

When Wednesday rolled around John stood with Sherlock on the curb outside of the school for Sherlock’s car to retrieve them. John was shocked when, not a normal parent’s subtle sedan or van pulled up to the curb, but a sleek black towncar with dark tinted windows rumbled up to them. His shock was increased exponentially when, almost the second the car stopped, a primly dressed man in a driver's uniform popped out of the car and pulled open the rear door for them. Sherlock slid in neatly and plopped his bag down on the floorboards, then looked up at John expectantly.

“Are you coming? Or are you just going to stand there gaping like an idiot?” he said sarcastically, a joking sneer alighting his features.

“Of course, yeah,” John said as he slid in beside Sherlock, shaking his head with the incredulity of the situation. “Just wasn’t expecting to be picked up by a bloody limousine.” He paused to admire the sleek leather interior of the car. “It’s very posh, very nice,” he said, running his hands over the plush seat.

Sherlock seemed surprised at John’s response but he didn’t voice his confusion; he simply smiled at John warmly and turned back to face front. The silence was comfortable as they slowly made their way through the crowded streets of outer London and into the wide open spaces of Windsor. After the 20 minute drive, they finally pulled up outside of Sherlock’s house. Although, house isn’t really the word; more like, manor.

They pulled through the large wrought iron gate and down the gravel drive where the house was revealed in all its glory. Set atop a hill that rose up from the sprawling, neatly cut grounds was the grandest house John had ever seen. Two huge main stories could be seen through the aged yet pristine windows that covered the front of the house. The worn terracotta bricks and mosaic of colored tiles on the roof gave the house a lovely antiquated look. The car pulled around the circular drive and stopped in front of a long set of ancient stone steps that looked older than the house itself with beautifully carved stone banisters on either side leading up to the large, round-topped cottage style doors. When Sherlock led him through the doors he was met with an equally grand entrance hall, complete with priceless fur rug and ornate side table.

Sherlock’s grand entrance to his home was quickly subdued as he led John through the house to his room on the second floor, routinely interrupted by cheers of “Brilliant! Fantastic! Gorgeous!” from John as he admired everything they passed with wide, excited eyes. When they finally arrived at Sherlock’s room the boy in question was positively sulking.

“You alright?” John asked, concerned at Sherlock’s exuberance fading so quickly.

“Nothing, nothing! Just ...” He faded off, eyes glued to the floor and head bowed. “The last time I had a friend over﹣,” he sneered out the word friend like it’s a curse - “it didn’t end very well. Mainly because he was jealous of my home and the riches my family has. Despite my best intentions and pleas, he fled the house on foot, calling me a freak and other such hateful expletives until he was long out of sight in the drive. This was several years ago, and not only did I never speak to him again, but I have not had a friend over before nor since. Not as if I had any friends to invite anyhow.” There’s a sadness in his eyes as he related his story, but as it came to a close so did his features, finishing the monologue with a turned up nose and a haughty snuffle, as if he’s above the idea of having friends. John could tell that the rejection of his previous, and apparently only, friend had stung more than Sherlock was going to let on.

“Sorry about that, Sherlock. That’s really nasty of him, whoever the sorry git was. You don’t need that in your life anyhow. Anyways, I promise you won’t see any jealousy out of me; I’m perfectly happy not having to take a 5 minute walk to get to my kitchen in the middle of the night, thank you very much,” John proclaimed with a smile. There was a moment of silence where the two boys just stood and smiled at one another, before they both simultaneously burst into raucous laughter. John’s bright giggles mixed gorgeously with the smooth bass of Sherlock’s hearty chuckles, his curls flying about as his head bounced with the hitching of his chest as he tried to catch his breath; John couldn’t help but be mesmerized by them.

He was quickly subdued by this thought, caught up in the warmth it brought to his chest. He really did care for Sherlock, despite not knowing him very long. He was coarse and sometimes John couldn’t understand a word he was saying, he would speak so quickly as to make it impossible, but he was charming and clever and beautiful, and he had endeared himself to John in a way none of his previous girlfriends had. The problem was he had no idea if Sherlock felt the same way.

They studied for several hours, well into the evening. When dinnertime came around both Sherlock and John were surprised at the knock on the door, jumping at the interruption. They had been so engrossed that when John looked at the window he was shocked to find it was dark out, the sun long fallen below the horizon. Just as he was about to hop out of his seat and apologize for intruding so late in the evening, Sherlock’s deep voice shocked him back into his seat.

“You aren’t intruding John. In fact, you are welcome to stay for dinner. My mother and the cook were both made aware beforehand that there might be an extra mouth to feed come dinnertime, so there is already a place setting waiting for you at the table.”

John, not yet accustomed to Sherlock’s ability to seemingly read his mind, leaned back in his chair, jaw dropped in incredulity, eyes shining with adoration. After a moment he shook himself and a broad smile took over his features.

“Well, alright. Let me just message my mum and let her know. I’ll meet you down there, I have to run to the loo as well.”

Sherlock simply nodded his head once before turning and heading down the stairs. After messaging his mum and washing his hands, John followed down the stairs and into the dining room he had passed on the way into the house earlier, now beautifully lit by a glittering crystal chandelier and set with a full china set, white with inlaid gold designs around the edges of every plate and cup. Sherlock and his family had already sat down at their places and were conversing quietly so he slid in next to Sherlock as quietly as possible so as not to interrupt. When Sherlock’s mum noticed him her face immediately brightened and she abandoned the conversation she was having with Sherlock’s brother to address him.

“John dear, how lovely to meet you! It’s been so long since we got to meet one of Sherlock’s friends. I hope he’s treating you alright!” she said cheekily, a sly sort of look on her face, like she knew something he didn’t. She asked after his family and his schooling and rugby, chattering at him nonstop as they ate. Dinner was through at an ungodly hour so Sherlock, blushing as he did so, offered for John to stay the night.

“I can sleep on the floor if you like, and you can borrow some of mine or Mycroft’s night clothes. In the morning we can stop by your house so you can get ready, I don’t sleep much anyways so getting up early isn’t a problem.”

“Don’t sleep on the floor on my account,” John assured him. “I’m sure we can figure out a more comfortable sleeping arrangement. As far as the morning, I have some spare clothes in my rugby bag, so neither of us has to be up early; might even sleep in a bit.”

Sherlock blushed even harder at this, though he was very obviously trying to hide it. John smiled inwardly, he knew he had hooked him, now to reel him in. When both were dressed and brushed and clean they clambered into Sherlock’s overly large bed, having determined it to be the most comfortable course of action. Neither questioned it a bit as they settled, facing one another. They stared into one another’s eyes for a long few minutes until John’s eyes closed of their own accord and fell into deep sleep.

He woke to find himself wrapped in the tentacle-like embrace of Sherlock’s enormously long, gangly, firmly muscled limbs clutched around his chest and legs, like Sherlock had tried to devour him in the night. It was warm and firm and comforting and it took all of his considerable will-power to turn himself over and rouse his gorgeous friend (though hopefully more than that before too long), whose face was even more beautiful in the orange yellow glow of the just risen sun streaming in through the window. Sherlock’s long, fan-like lashes slowly fluttered open as John called his name softly, the usually piercing verdigris-grey eyes softened by sleep and morning sunlight met his. There was a soft intake of breath from Sherlock as John leaned in a bit closer, their noses just brushing. They could feel one another’s breaths on their faces. They lay like that for just a moment before together they leaned forwards and lips met.

They kissed chastely for just a moment before separating, staring at one another with bright smiles, before untangling themselves and prepping for school. When they arrived they held hands and kissed again when they parted for their separate classes. When they had chemistry John sat with Sherlock instead of Mike, who watched them confusedly for all of class; though neither of them noticed, to engrossed in one another to be aware of any of their surroundings. Eventually everyone knew that the exceptionally gorgeous rugby captain, John H Watson, was taken, much to the chagrin of girls and guys alike. Sherlock still didn’t have many friends, despite being in a long term relationship with the most popular guy in school, but he doesn’t have friends, he has one, perfect, beautiful boyfriend. And that is all he needs.

FIN

Thanks so much for requesting. Much love!!

[meowloudly15]

Stranded: Day 3 - MILES OF INTEREST

Sorry about the delay in terms of updates! Expect a new chapter either once or twice a week from now on. I will update on Mondays and Thursdays.

Also, a bit of irony that I noticed a month or so ago (yes, I've been writing this thing for a while): Gwen is impersonating a Wanda Maximoff while at Visions Academy.

If you don't get it, I'm not gonna explain it.

Anyway, enjoy!

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Gwen blinked and rolled over. It was morning already, and she had a slight headache. She wished that night time could last a little longer.

Speaking of which, what time was it?

She lifted her phone from the table. It was 8:13 am.

Oh no. Class started at 8:30. She had forgotten to set her alarm.

Gwen hauled herself out of bed and threw on her uniform. It was a bit too big for her, but she didn't have the time to deal with any minor inconveniences.

She darted through a silent hallway to reach the hall bathroom. It was unnerving, going to a school as selective and rigorous as was Visions Academy. Apparently, you had to be super smart to even be considered for it, and Gwen wasn't exactly what one would call academically rigorous. But if this was where she was supposed to be, she had to do her best.

She wondered how that other girl, Wanda, whose identity she was borrowing, had gotten in. Was she just that smart? Was there trickery involved? Did it really matter?

Gwen dashed back to her room and stuffed the thick navy folder full of her back work into her backpack. It was now 8:24. Here was hoping that the trip to class wouldn't be too difficult.

ATOMIC DISJUNCTION

She fell flat on her face as she passed through the doorway.

It was just her luck.

How on earth would she stop people from noticing her atomic disjunctions during class?

She would have to figure that out on the fly, so it seemed.

As Gwen jogged through the halls, she thought about her veritable mountains of back work. There were slide notes from history (keeping two different dimensional timelines separate was not something she was looking forward to), worksheets about trig functions, a physics problem set, a set of questions about the book Great Expectations, and plenty of other things to do. If she actually was Wanda Maximilian, or whatever her fake name was, she'd be working on these assignments until kingdom come.

At least Gwen didn't technically have to work on any of the papers.

IMPENDING MORAL CRISIS

However, in addition to feeling bad for not turning anything in (curse her conscience a thousand times), she needed to at least pretend to be a normal student and not a trespasser from a parallel universe.

Gwen started to chuckle. Her life sounded like a story from a cheap sci-fi novelette, or worse, an amateur superhero fanfiction. But this was her reality. Truth was indeed stranger than fiction.

She managed to get to class right on time, thanks to her wall-crawling ability. Upon walking in, the teacher directed her to the seating chart. Gwen sat in the second row, near the middle of the room. There was an empty desk to her left.

The teacher scanned the aisles of desks and asked, "All right, does anybody know where Morales is?"

Nobody responded.

The teacher – her name was Mrs. Quinn, Gwen recalled – nodded. "That's an attendance deduction for him. Now, today is Technology Tuesday, so we're going to watch a fifteen-or-so-minute video about this cool new technology that's currently in development before we get to our lesson." She pulled forward a bulky television on a metal cart and slid in a DVD.

The video opened with a brief animated Alchemax logo sequence.

OCTAGONS

A young woman who looked to be in her mid-thirties walked onto the set. "Hi, everybody, my name's Doctor Olivia Octavius. I'm a theoretical physicist, chemist, and engineer at Alchemax, one of the world's leading research institutions. And I'm here today to explain the process of interdimensional transportation."

Gwen's heart skipped a beat. She wanted to yell out something, to express some form of shock, but she couldn't. She was in class; plus, she was undercover. She had to act normal, no matter what.

Gwen took out her notebook and pen and furiously jotted down notes as Dr. Octavius jabbered enthusiastically about spacetime and quantum mechanics.

The lady's name sounded eerily familiar. Maybe Gwen knew her other-dimensional counterpart somehow?

Was this lady the reason why Gwen was in this strange new world?

All of a sudden, the door squeaked open. Heads swivelled around as a young dark-skinned boy snuck into the classroom, tripping over his untied shoelaces.

MILES OF INTEREST

Gwen felt the back of her neck itch.

Mrs. Quinn paused the video. "I see you skulking around in the dark, there, Morales."

Morales froze, wide-eyed like a kid caught stealing from a cookie jar.

"Well, uh, Einstein said that time is relative, so maybe I'm not late. Everyone else is early?"

Morales grinned uneasily.

MILES OF INTEREST

So this guy was important. He didn't look particularly out of the ordinary, yet Gwen felt compelled to talk to him. Her head was aflame with ideas, with too many questions, with not enough answers.

But not in the classroom.

Nobody laughed at Morales' poorly-timed relativity joke. Both the sub and the students were stone-faced, watching him, unamused. Gwen saw one guy turn to the girl sitting next to him and whisper something.

Feeling as though noise might relieve her of some of her mental tribulations, Gwen chuckled. She immediately regretted it upon noticing people turn to look at her, including Morales.

"I'm sorry, it was just so quiet," she half-explained.

Morales, his cheeks a vivid shade of red, checked the seating chart, then sat down next to Gwen. Mrs. Quinn turned the video back on, and Gwen refocused her attention on it, trying to disregard her spider-sense's insistently repeated messages.

MILES OF INTEREST

Ten seconds later, Morales leaned over and whispered to Gwen, "You liked my joke?"

"Well, yeah, but not because it was funny," she truthfully replied.

His face fell.

"It was smart, that's what it was. I liked that."

Morales smiled and looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

All the while, Gwen tried to figure out what significance this kid had. His name might be Miles, which would make sense. Was he secretly a superhero? He didn't seem like it. Was he secretly a supervillain? Again, he didn't seem like it.

More than anything, the kid seemed normal. Perhaps that was the key. Maybe he wasn't quite as normal as he seemed.

Gwen decided to not dwell on the issue quite so much and to focus more on the interdimensional transportation video. The information in it was both oddly fascinating and much more pertinent to her problem at hand.

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[waveridden]

FIC: the end of all things

“Nobody has ever researched limbo before.” (Skyjacks Inception AU, 2k, gen)

AUcember || read on ao3

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The air is cold, cold enough that it bites against Travis’s skin as he walks forward. It doesn’t feel like air conditioning, just like January. Like normal January inside this normal suburban house that Travis has never been in before. Everything is rotting or rotten, and he doesn’t want to breathe it in any more than he has to.

His footsteps are louder than they have any right to be, echoing dully against the walls. The hallway is carpeted, but the carpet is rotten and worn away to reveal the wood underneath, and his feet slap down on the wood. The brown paint is peeling off the walls in the hallway, and it’s covered with picture frames. Most of them are too cracked to see anything, and Travis gets as far as lifting his palm to brush off the dust before he decides against it. Some things are meant to be private.

Travis holds his breath until he turns the corner, into a living room, when he lets out an exhale. He can see his breath puffing in front of him as he walks in. There’s a horrible purple couch in one corner, with a stain on it that he doesn’t understand, doesn’t want to ask about. There’s a table filled with beakers, all mismatched glass, some of them chipped. There’s a PASIV machine, an old one, sitting in the corner.

He reaches out to trail his finger across the wallpaper as he walks through the room. It’s not a room he knows, but he knows everything in it. It’s what they keep in their warehouse, in what they all call Dref’s corner. It’s not comfortable or cozy, but they can never drag him out of it.

The wall above the couch is covered in pictures, these ones with clear, new frames. Travis stops to examine them. There are pictures of Jonnit, sitting on the high wall outside the warehouse that they use, of him in the dreamscape trying to build paradoxes. There are pictures of Gable, poring over blueprints, a rare moment of them smiling with abandon at something not in the frame.

There are pictures of Travis, too. He doesn’t spend much time looking at those.

He steps from the living room to the kitchen, and nearly gasps at the shock of warmth. It’s not January, it’s June, and it’s almost overwhelming. He has to grab the door frame to keep steady, and his fingertips peek around the edge to the living room, still freezing. He sways on the spot, drawn to the warmth, trying to adjust.

It takes him a second to look around the kitchen enough to register anything he’s seeing. The kitchen is clearly barebones, not something that anyone lives in. It’s hard to see the table through all of the piles and piles of notebooks, most of them with pages sticking out the ends. He hears Dref before he sees him: the scratch of the pen on the paper, the murmurs as he talks to himself. It’s not words so much as sounds, but Travis knows the rhythm of it. An idea, a rejection. A revelation, an adjustment. It’s so familiar it hurts.

Travis takes a cautious step forward. “Dref.”

“Busy,” Dref says, and if this were the warehouse, Travis would leave. If this were the warehouse, Travis would walk away and come back the next time he got bored.

But Travis isn’t bored. And this isn’t the warehouse.

“It’s urgent,” he says, and reaches out to touch the top of the book closest to him. “Can I sit?”

“Where would you like to sit?”

“Do you have another chair?”

The words are barely out of Travis’s mouth when a chair pops into existence, just beside him. at the perfect height for him. One of the stacks of books disappears when he blinks, and then another. They reform, loose pages and dog-ears and all, directly next to the table.

And there’s Dref. He looks older, but not unhappier for it. Just as skinny as ever, but his hair is longer, curling around his ears, the back of his neck. He’s not wearing his glasses. There are ink blots on his hands, dotting his fingertips and palm and wrists. It’s the Dref that Travis knows, and it’s a Dref that Travis has never seen before.

Travis takes a seat. “You’ve been here a while.”

“I’ve had time to master the mechanics of the dream.”

“You don’t stutter here.”

Dref doesn’t look self-conscious in the least. “If this is my dream, I can speak as quickly as you do.”

“It’s not your dream.”

“I know that.”

“But you’re staying.”

“I have research to do.”

Travis looks at the piles of books. “How long?”

“I’ll stay as long as is healthy.”

“No, Dref, how long have you been here?”

Dref pauses, long enough that something ugly curls in Travis’s stomach. “Years,” he says, and Travis decides not to ask for a number. “Not long enough.”

“You haven’t been in limbo long enough? Long enough for what?”

“Nobody has ever researched limbo before.”

“You can’t take the books with you when you leave.”

“They’ll be here for the next person.”

“Is that how limbo works? You can’t be sure.”

“I’m researching,” Dref says, clearly irritated. “It’s my job to be sure. It’s my job to stay until I’m sure.”

“Who gave you this job?”

“Nobody had to give it to me. It is my duty, this is what I do-”

“What you do is research the PASIV.” Travis leans forward, putting his hand on the edge of the table. “What you do is make sure that nobody else at Uhuru dies, including me. What you do is important out there.”

“What I do in here is important out there,” Dref says, with no small amount of acid. “I’m making-”

Travis scoffs. “Don’t say you’re making a difference.”

Dref leans back, looking stung. “How can you say that?”

“Because this is nothing. You’ve made your childhood home and you’ve put in your new life, and none of it is going to make it out. What’s the point of research that nobody will see?”

“I’ll know it,” Dref says decisively. It’s almost chilling, how certain he sounds about staying in limbo forever. “I will be here if someone else finds me.”

“Nobody else has found you.”

“You found me.”

Travis pauses. He was hoping to avoid this part, but with desperate times… “Do you remember why you’re here, Dref?”

“I’m here to-”

“Not why you’re in limbo, why you’re in the dream.”

Dref frowns. His eyebrows furrow. The temperature rises, just barely enough that Travis can feel it. “I’m here because… because… I came here.”

“Not willingly,” Travis says. “We woke up and you were gone.”

“That can’t be it,” Dref says, but that stunning certainty is gone now. Without that bravado, Dref seems smaller. “That- why?”

“We think that people were trying to get to Uhuru through you.”

“Do they know about Orimar?”

“Hard to say,” Travis lies. They know about Orimar, who came back from limbo wrong. They know that Dref fixed him, even temporarily, and they don’t want Orimar to be fixed. This isn’t a threat or a message, it’s an attack. “I had to use the same PASIV to get to you.”

“How long has it been?”

“An hour. Maybe two.”

“Two hours?” Dref repeats, startled. “You found me in two hours?”

“We need our chemist,” Travis says, like it’s nothing.

(It’s not nothing. Travis had been in a dream with Gable and Jonnit, trying to figure out something to do about what happened to Orimar, trying to find a more permanent fix. And then music had started playing. Travis doesn’t know the song, doesn’t know what happened, but he knows that Dref was trying to send them something. So he had Gable wake him up, and Dref was gone. There was a journal lying open on the floor, and that was when he knew something was wrong. It’d been a simple mission, other than how grim the three of them had been the whole time. Uhuru without Dref meant Uhuru without Orimar, and that would be dangerous.)

“I don’t-” Dref swallows. He looks pale now, and Travis is a little viciously glad for it. It looks right, to have him looking like this. A little more like he looks outside limbo. “I was sent here?”

“You were.”

“How did you find me?”

“Used their PASIV.”

“You know how?”

“I watched you,” Travis says, surprised. Dref has explained the ins and outs of the PASIV to everyone at Uhuru who uses it, just so they have a rudimentary knowledge. He supposes it shouldn’t be a surprise that most of them don’t retain any of that explanation. But he doesn’t want to put his life in the hands of a machine that he doesn’t understand, so he made sure that he understands it.

Dref is staring at him. Travis stares back. “You have to come back with me.”

“Uhuru can survive-

“Uhuru needs you.”

“Why are you so determined to bring me back?”

Travis blinks. He hadn’t expected this. It’d never occurred to him that Dref might want to stay in limbo. “You can stay if you want, but I think you’re wrong for doing it.”

Dref’s eyes flash. “And why am I wrong?”

“I don’t suppose it would matter if I said there are people relying on you?”

“People are relying on my research.”

“Jonnit and Gable and I are relying on you,” Travis says. He’s surprised to hear himself say it, but Dref’s fingers twitch, so he has to assume he’s doing something right. “That’s why we’re in the living room, isn’t it? It’s set up like Uhuru’s warehouse because that’s your home. We’re there because we’re your team, we’re your people.”

“I don’t-” Dref swallows. “T-T-Travis, I think-”

“There you are,” Travis says, without thinking. Now isn’t the time for thinking, because none of his thought-out arguments are working. Dref is too rational, too measured for that, so he has to resort to the territory neither of them are familiar with: raw emotion. “Jonnit and Gable are waiting for us, out in the real world.”

“What are th-they doing?”

“Trying to make sure that we can get out safely.”

“Is Uhuru safe?”

“We left it safe,” Travis says, which isn’t the same thing. Dref knows it, too, but they don’t have time to worry about their people. Travis doesn’t give a damn about the rest of Uhuru right now. “I’m not going to let anyone else there put me under, Dref, you know that.”

“One day you’ll work with another ch-ch-chemist,” Dref says, but he doesn’t sound like he means it. He’s looking at Travis with an emotion that Travis can’t read, can’t even begin to parse. Normally he can read people, but Dref is hard to understand. “It won’t be an easy adjustment.”

“Leaving limbo? I’ve been in here fifteen seconds, maybe.”

“I meant for me.”

Travis waves a hand. “You’ve been here two hours, at the absolute most. You know more about this than anyone else. You’ll know how to stop yourself from going out of your mind.”

Dref looks at Travis, even and inscrutable. The kitchen is warm, so warm that Travis can feel sweat gathering under the collar of his shirt. The pen is still in Dref’s hands, gripped tight between two fingers, but he’s not looking at it. He’s looking at Travis.

“Come with me,” Travis says.

The stacks of books vanish without so much as a pop. The pen is gone from Dref’s hand, and the ink stains are fading. He looks soft and surreal around the edges, but he looks sure. Completely self assured. The kitchen doesn’t feel like June anymore. It feels like the end of March, like it would be perfect with just a light breeze. There’s sunlight in the room. Travis hadn’t even realized how dark it was.

Dref says, quietly, “Okay.”