#i got a sock full of quarters-

[cyarsk52-20]

let me know when y’all ready to start stoning Da Baby for his involvement in Tory’s harassment again Megan. he willfully still antagonizes her to this day which is weird and obsessive.

[hotniatheron]

and kris kristofferson is dead, we are truly losing our greatest haters

[withleeknow]

october 23rd.

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff, slice of life; one ass grab, unedited bc i am a danger to society word count: 1k note: i whipped this up pretty spontaneously and i actually kinda loathe it lol but i still wanted to post smth bc it’s my anniversary of joining the fandom 🥺 also a little early bday post for mimo. the bunny in question is leebit but i couldn’t drop any names bc this is not idol specific lol. anywhomst happy jen(o)versary

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

Minho comes into your shared apartment, shrugging off his coat and taking off his shoes with minimal noise. It’s not that late — just a quarter past midnight — and you’re not a light sleeper by any means, but still.

He had told you not to wait up for him, that his work dinner might end late and he knew you had a long day. Minho patters on socked feet further into your home, expecting you to be in bed already sleeping, surrounded by your loyal trio of cats, and yet, it’s not the bedroom where he finds you.

Yes, you’re sleeping, but you’re on the couch, in front of the TV with Netflix’s question “Are you still watching?” written over a paused scene of the K-drama you’re both currently obsessed with. There’s a stuffed bunny in your arms, held tightly against your chest like it’s your most prized possession. Looks like you’ve been napping for a while now.

The white bunny is dressed in a navy hoodie, his eyes full of mischief that’s only emphasized by a toothy smile that he sports. It’s the plushie that Minho got for you during your vacation trip to Osaka last year, when you happened to spot the little fur ball in the window of a toy store and said it looked like your boyfriend. It’s become a great companion for you ever since you brought it home, something for you to hold onto whenever you miss your love.

Minho is a little surprised. You don’t usually force yourself to stay up for you, especially when you’re tired.

He doesn’t disturb you right away though. Instead, he heads toward the bathroom to change and freshen up for bed. You would probably kill him if he touched you in his outside clothes anyway.

When he returns some fifteen minutes later, he switches off the TV, tugs the bunny by its ears to free it from your embrace and chucks the thing haphazardly to the carpeted floor. It’s your prized possession, not his. Besides, you don’t need your little replacement Minho anymore now that he’s home.

When he scoops you in his arms, you stir awake, adorably confused as he carries you to the bedroom.

“Where’s my bunny?” Half a question, half a yawn.

“Hello to you too,” he mutters, laying you under the covers with narrowed eyes though he still leans in to press a greeting peck to the corner of your mouth. “I guess I don’t even matter as much as your little toy. Not even a ‘How are you?’”

“Okay, love of my entire life.” You roll your eyes with affection, pulling him down to kiss him properly. You can still taste it, the white wine that he must’ve had all night. “How are you? How was the dinner, big baby?”

“Boring. Unbearable. Should’ve just stayed home with you,” Minho laments, crawling into the space next to you, settling into your arms as you hug him close. This is what you should be doing all the time. With him, not some lame rabbit. “Why did you wait up? I told you you didn’t have to.”

You card your fingers through his soft hair, playing with the strands that curl at the nape of his neck. “Our anniversary’s tomorrow. Or I guess it’s today already. Just wanted to see you before the morning.”

“Would it make a difference?”

“I don’t know. I just wanted to see you.”

Your boyfriend detaches from you for a second to hold himself up on one elbow. He just stares at you for a brief moment, makes you blush under the scrutiny of his gaze. His big eyes, usually keen and sharp, always soften to a dizzying degree when they look at you.

Then Minho is leaning close to slant his mouth over yours again. “You’re cheesy today,” he comments, his tender smile still pressed against your lips. "Happy anniversary."

You only hum in response. One of his hands slides down your body to rest on your ass, giving it a little affectionate squeeze, the moment still entirely innocent despite his sneaky fingers.

You kiss for a while, lazily moving together in tandem, gentle hands holding onto the other person like a lifeline. In a way, you suppose you are. You’re each other’s lifelines, each other’s lighthouses.

When you pull away, it’s to let out a yawn that you can’t hold in anymore. “Happy anniversary”, you finally say back, sleepily. “Can you go get my bunny now? Did you leave him on the floor again?”

Minho rolls his eyes, yet it’s playful and completely endeared. “Your bunny again. That thing is on the floor where it belongs. You replaced me. Didn’t you use to call me your bunny?”

“Don’t do that to him,” you scold softly. “He’s our son. Have you seen the resemblance? You look like you literally birthed him.”

“Oh my god, why would you compare me to that thing like that?” Before you know it, Minho’s rolling over, resting half of his body on top of yours like a weighted blanket to pin you down, to get you complacent before you nag him any further about a toy bunny that he only sometimes gets jealous of. “You’re delirious. Please go to sleep.”

The next morning, you wake up to an empty bed, the warmth that you usually feel beside you gradually waning by the second. Minho’s gone, but greeting you in his place is a white bunny with a mischievous smile and a twinkle in his big eyes — truly a perfect replica of the man. The same bunny that he always makes a show of hating so much.

The sun is out to play, hanging high up in the sky, slithering through the cracks between the curtains to caress your hair. It feels like it’s gonna be a beautiful day; you’ve got your bunny, the sun, and if you focus hard enough, you’ll hear the sounds of pots and pans out there in the kitchen, Minho’s soft voice humming a tune you’re too familiar with, and the smell of fresh coffee and pancakes wafting all around.

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 23.10.2024]

[johnbrand]

Updated Employee Handbook

Ding! Ding!

Clark groaned. “Did you just get this email from Corporate?” 

“I think so,” Weston frowned. “‘Updated Employee Handbook’?”

“That’s the one,” Clark confirmed, the pair opening their respective emails. “Ever since this new CEO was confirmed, I feel like he’s been restarting and refreshing everything we do here.”

Weston scoffed, “We can’t even enjoy our 30 minute break outside the office without somehow getting looped back in. 

Click. Click.

“Are we sure we want to read this now?” Clark flicked a blond curl out of his face. “We could just enjoy the remaining minutes of our ignorant freedom.”

Weston chuckled, “I don’t know if we can, man. It’s flagged for mandatory reading, immediately.”

“I just hope they’re not revoking the jeans policy,” Clark commented. “I didn’t bring an extra set of clothes.”

Weston scratched at his man bun with an exaggerated sigh. “I did, but that’s because I knew I’d already be sweating through this shirt by now.”

Fwoosh. Fwoosh.

“Step by step confirmations?” Clark remarked. “This’ll be fun.”

“You know it,” Weston added.

Confirm. Confirm.

“‘The foundations of a man’s future are found in his wardrobe',” Clark began. “‘Traditional, full cut briefs are the center. Their stiff, starchy materials, blindingly white to showcase utter perfection, solidify the role of an employee. Their cotton fabric may appear inconsequential, yet they affirm that the employee is at the very core follwing instruction’.”

Confirm. Confirm.

Weston shifted his bottom uncomfortably. “‘A pristine button-down should expertly cover the upper body.  Depending on the weather, and the corporate setting, the following should either be a suitable pair of trousers or shorts. Trousers shall remain woolen and perched millimeters below the briefs and only be supported by braces. Shorts can be designed of lighter material, but must be of adequate length’.”

Confirm. Confirm.

“At least he’s letting our legs breathe,” Clark commented, itching at his own exposed limbs absentmindedly. “‘While the stiff shirt and particular cut of the trousers will keep the employee upright and tall, the jacket is designed for decorative purposes. The shape will reform the man as thick, strong, and uniform. Depending on the season, colors will remain modest. Blacks, grays, and blues for winter, with simple patterns and refined hues allowed for summer’.”

Confirm. Confirm.

Weston pulled at his striped lapel, thankful that his choice of attire today was not too exciting. “‘Accessories shall follow a similar suit. Silky black socks, generic yet tasteful tie, a handkerchief and or watch reflective of wealth, not personality. A highly polished pair of oxfords should represent every employee’s wardrobe; the gel holding his hair should represent how the employee is held to standards’.”

Confirm. Confirm.

“This better be the last page,” Clark moaned. “This is giving me more of a headache than refluffing my quiff.”

“It’s almost as agonizing as visiting an inexperienced tailor,” Weston quipped, to which both men laughed.

“Alright alright, I got this,” Clark finally said. “‘The foundations of a man are found in his wardrobe. Therefore, what is built upon that foundation should match. After all, the clothes do make the man’. There, that’s it.”

“Thank god that’s the last one,” Weston agreed.

Confirm. Confirm.

“Quite the peculiar update to our terms of service, wouldn’t you agree?” Clarence remarked.

“Well how so?” Wesley questioned. “I maintain that the boss’s wishes perfectly align with the standard workplace etiquette."

“My point exactly,” Clarence confirmed. “What is unordinary is how these quotations were not enforced before. The sense here is that I have already adorned this Cascade green jacket numerous times throughout these last two quarters alone.”

“And I with my own blazer showcasing these off-golden buttons,” Wesley added. “Perhaps our boss is tastefully solidifying our strong, traditional, classic values, even if we were already abiding.”

Meeting Invite for CLARENCE JOHNSTONBOROUGH, WESLEY LAUDER II 

“Bizarre how we appear to consistently be transported back to our duties, even while on intermission, is it not?” Clarence inquired.

“Indeed, it is bizarre,” Wesley replied.

[willieverseetheland]

jingle bells.

spencer reid x fem!reader summary: spencer gets a little too tipsy at the office christmas party.

WARNINGS: alcohol consumption, language, spencer being a dork

fluff, mutual pining, friends to lovers

I know christmas has been over, I just felt inspired.

wc: 1.4k

You've always loved Christmas. It wasn't the holiday itself; it was how it brought people together. Everything just feels so cozy and bright. So when Penelope asked you to help her decorate for the party, you were more than happy to do so.

Although your job can be very depressing at times, the office environment is truly amazing. Everyone is so kind. You couldn't ask for better coworkers. However, there's one fellow profiler you've grown rather close with these past few months.

Spencer Reid was one of the first people you became friends with at the BAU, other than Penelope of course. He's such a good friend, and always seems to be genuinely interested in what you have to say. He notices the little things, like when you were always complaining about your feet being cold, so he bought you fuzzy socks. Or when he overheard you talking to Emily about how badly you wanted this decorative plate set for your new apartment, and he got it for you for your birthday. He's truly the best friend a girl could ever ask for. But recently you've been wondering if it's only platonic love that you feel. Could it be more than friendship? You find yourself putting extra effort into your appearance, but you just chalk it up to wanting to better yourself. You have also noticed how when you shop, you choose clothes you think he might like.

Sometimes you catch yourself wondering if he feels the same way. Does he lie in bed at night thinking of your voice and laughter the way you think of him? Does he get flustered when your knees brush together during debriefs? Does he get that fluttery feeling in his stomach when you lock eyes from across the room?

Now that you're thinking about it, you really fucking like him. You feel like a teenager with a schoolgirl crush. God, how could you let this happen? You know that co-worker relationships rarely work out. But you're an adult, you can be mature about it, right?

You snap out of your daydream and realize its already 6:00. The party starts in an hour, and you only have a quarter of what you need to do done.

"Hey Penelope, think we could get some Christmas music going? I work faster with music playing!"

"It's like you read my mind y/n!"

The sound of bells fills the room and suddenly you find yourself feeling very festive. You hear Penelope humming along.

You work quickly to get the last of the lights and tinsel strung up. You wish it could look like this year-round. You check your watch. 6:53. Everyone should be arriving soon.

You hear the elevator ding and see Derek walk out with a plate full of what is most definitely store-bought cookies.

"Wow, you ladies really outdid yourselves."

"Hello Derek and thank you" you smile.

People begin to arrive one-by-one. Emily, JJ, Hotch, and Rossi. Everyone says their hellos and get settled. Some make their way to the booze faster than others.

It's 7:25 and Spencer isn't here yet. You feel a pit begin to form in your stomach. You were really hoping to see him tonight. You decide to grab yourself a drink and socialize, take your mind off of him. He'll show up eventually, right?

"Y/N! Hey! Where's your other half?" Emily chuckles and raises her eyebrows. You can tell she snuck a few shots in the elevator.

"I assume you mean Spencer. Not sure actually." So much taking your mind off of him. And what did she mean by other half? It's not that obvious right?

You scan the room, hoping to see Spencer, but you don't. However, you do catch Rossi getting rather comfortable with new forensic photographer.

You finish your drink and wander off to get another. Looking at your watch you see that it's 7:47. You're starting to feel a little hopeless. But right as you turn to rejoin the party, you see him. Those big brown eyes and fluffy hair.

"Hey Y/N, sorry I'm late. I had to go pick up some last-minute gifts."

Weight falls off of your shoulders at the sound of his voice. You feel overwhelming relief now that he's here. You had spent the last hour, or at least what felt like an hour, with your jaw clenched and a heavy feeling in your stomach. You hate feeling this way. You know you need to talk to him, but you don't want to screw up a good thing.

"It's alright Spence, I'm just glad you're here now." You give him a warm smile and place your hand on his shoulder.

He gives you his classic dorky smile in return, and you feel those all too familiar butterflies swell in your stomach.

As the night goes on, the wine flows and sounds of laughter fills the room. You stay by Spencer's side practically the whole night. Now you understand what Emily meant. You notice he's had quite a bit to drink. Definitely not more than Rossi, but more than usual. You feel like he's being more playful and affectionate as well. But you assume it's just the alcohol. You desperately hope he's flirting, but you don't want to look too far into it.

Your thoughts quickly dissolve into the air as the room goes silent and Rossi's rather loud voice announces it's time to exchange gifts. You give out your gifts and accept the ones given to you. You receive a cinnamon roll scented candle from Emily, a pair of heart shaped earrings from Penelope, a fuzzy blanket from JJ, and various trinkets and gadgets from others. Spencer hands you a slender box wrapped in shiny blue snowflaked wrapping paper.

"I wonder what this could be." You raise your eyebrow playfully and give a small laugh.

You carefully tear off the wrapping paper and open the box. Inside is a necklace with small heart shaped locket.

"Go ahead, open the locket." he has a drunken grin, and his eyes are eager.

You open the locket and inside is a picture of you and Spencer from your birthday. You feel a warmth spread over your face and you can't help but smile.

"Oh my god Spencer, this is- thank you so much, really." You pull him into a tight embrace. Relishing in the feeling of his arms around you for just a moment. You pull away, smile faltering slightly.

"Would you walk with me? Outside? It's really warm in here." His eyes are glassy and his cheeks are a rosy pink. His drinks have definitely caught up with him now. No wonder he feels warm.

"Of course, are you feeling okay?" you ask with sincerity.

"Yeah, there's just a lot of noise. Just need some fresh air s'all."

You two slip out into the crisp, December night. The sky's clear so you can see the stars. Your breath creates mini clouds in the night air.

You look over at Spencer and wonder what's going on inside that brilliant brain of his. You've always been so fascinated by the way he thinks.

"You look so beautiful right now. I-I mean you always do, but in this moment you..." his voice trails off like he has more to say, but doesn't know if he should say it.

"You don't look too bad yourself." You let out a quiet laugh.

You can hear carolers singing jingle bells in the distance.

You glance up at him and see that he's looking at you. His eyes reflect the full moon. There's a sadness in his eyes but also an admiring, soft expression.

"y/n."

"Yeah, Spencer?" You place your hand on his forearm. His mouth opens and closes slightly like he doesn't know if he should say what he's about to say.

"I love you. I'm in love with you, y/n." his voice is soft and trembling ever so slightly. His eyes jump across your face, searching for a reaction.

You feel like your brain might short circuit. You're overwhelmed with emotion. You feel a sting as your eyes prick up with tears.

"Spencer, I don't know what to say." You see his smile fade and fear that may have been poor choice of words.

You decide maybe words won't do how you feel justice.

You step closer to him, placing your right hand on his cheek and the left just below his jaw. You breathe in deeply and pull his face to yours. You place a soft kiss on his lips. He then grabs the sides of your face deepening the kiss. You feel heat creeping up your neck, and the whole world feels as though it's melting away.

You pull away, catching your breath. He looks starstruck, like he can't believe what just happened. And honestly, you can't either. You almost want to ask him to pinch you.

"I love you too, Dr. Spencer Reid."

[catiuskaa]

ticklish, cold water nights. —bf!jisung thoughts.

A/N: the bf!thoughts series is finished! I’m so happy I could finish it. I had so much fun coming up with these lil scenarios. Feel free to check them all out, they’re all linked in my masterlist!

i’m an absolute simp for this man. that’s it. that’s me.

(got a bit carried away, oopsies, lol)

jisungie, who softly blinks, sitting in front of his computer screen, eyes itchy and throat dry after hours of work.

jisungie, who wants to drink water, but the bottle in his study room is empty, and the kitchen is too far away for him not to grunt at the thought.

jisungie, who grins like a naughty boy santa would think twice if he should write him down on his list, closing his laptop and waddling to your room, only a few steps away.

jisungie, who smiles like a fool at the sight of you, wearing a sweater of his and a pair of fluffy socks that he gifted you as a joke because the design looked like penguins.

jisungie, who giggles when you move your eyes away from your phone and stare at him from the bed. “Well, well, well, look who it is.” Even after a couple months dating, you still make him blush when you tease him.

jisungie, who happily plops himself down over you, his face lying on your chest until you cradle it with your hands. “Hi, cutie.” You smile, and he grins back.

jisungie, who starts peppering your face with soft kisses, his hands trailing under your—his—sweater. “Hey, lovely.” He mumbles, still focused on his task.

jisungie, whose heart flutters at your giggles. “H-hey! Y-you’re tickling me!” You playfuly start pushing him off you, but your antics don’t work against a gym bro.

jisungie, who stops to let you breathe, and you struggle to catch your breath, your cheeks red and your lungs begging for a break. “You’re a meanie.” You huff, and he kisses your forehead with a smirk.

jisungie, whose smirk grows even wider when you whine. “Baby, no!” He snorts. “Baby, yes.”

jisungie, who teases you, his fingers threatening to tickle you again, stroking your skin under your—his—sweater.

jisungie, a secret meanie. “I want water.” He starts. “And you, beautiful, want me to stop tickling you.”

jisungie, who plays his part, holding back the urge to just grab the water himself when you whine again. You’re so cute, he almost can’t help it. “Not fair!” you pout, and he coos at you.

jisungie, who grins, counting down, now resting comfortably on your bed. “Three… two… one… one and three quarters… one and a half…”

jisungie, who frowns. “No! That’s water from the sink, I want a bottle from the fridge!” You roll your eyes, and he smiles back at you, throwing a kiss.

jisungie, who is slightly confused when you bring a bottle of water— empty. “You didn’t specify if it had to be full.” You mock, sticking your tongue out at him.

jisungie, who raises from your bed and pins you up against the closet, tickling you again. “O-okay, okay! I’ll grab your stupid water!”

jisungie, who smiles cheekily when you hand him the bottle of cold water, and stops you by his side as he takes a sip.

jisungie, who smugly makes you swallow not only your snarky coments when he kisses you deeply, messily passing the water to you, but also said water.

jisungie, who softly cleans the remaining water off your lips. “There. Gorgeous and hydrated.” He teases, and you slap his butt as he cackles, both of you heading off to bed now.

~kats, who has no excuse for that ending, but has no intention of apologizing for it either lololol.

[littleslaywrites]

dixieland delight | professor!spencer reid x student!reader 

summary: spencer reid is your professor, and you find out he’s never been to a football game. you take him to the last game of your senior year. (in honor of going to my first iron bowl tomorrow. roll tide beat auburn.)

word count: 2.3k

cw: f!reader, fluff, minor age gap (reader is 21, spencer is about 15 years older), possibly niche references to bama gameday traditions, excuse to write fanfic of bama winning since we can’t do that irl this season apparently

As Spencer Reid’s student, you spent a good amount of your time visiting during his office hours. In fact, that’s how you got close enough to him that he asked you to become his girlfriend about six months ago. It was his first year teaching, and your final year in college. You assumed, considering that football was a prominent part of the campus culture, that he had been to at least one game this season. Therefore, it came as a surprise to you when he revealed that he had never been to any college football games. Something about him being a little too young and far too nerdy to enjoy the environment.

You had made it your mission for the past two months to convince him to come with you to just one game. He was resistant at first, but eventually you convinced him to attend the last game of the season. Your selling point was that it would be a great way to observe the minds of college students. A weak argument, sure, but he secretly wanted to spend time with you. It was the school’s big rivalry game, and he felt that he should experience it just once. He thought of it as an opportunity to do something he could never enjoy when he was younger, and if he could go with you, that would make it even better.

The week before the game, you made sure to prepare him for the traditions. First and foremost, you went to the store on campus and got him a polo with the team logo. He had to wear something nice to match you, but he couldn’t wear a suit and tie, or he’d end up looking like a pledge. You gave it to him in a gift bag with tulle, along with a shaker in the team colors. When you presented it to him, he was grateful for the gift, but not too thrilled about the outfit. You eventually convinced him to wear it, saying that he’d stick out in his usual outfit. You couldn’t convince him to forgo the mismatched socks, though. Next, you sent him all the chants and songs he would need to learn, Dixieland Delight being the most important. His reply was something about chants being passed down to each generation and popular culture transitioning to folk, but you were more focused on him focussing on not messing up the words come the fourth quarter. It was just one instance of many where you were grateful for his eidetic memory. Most importantly, you make sure he remembers the four most important words in the English language: “Roll Tide” and “Beat Auburn”. 

The morning of the game, you wake up bright and early at 8am. You told Spencer to meet you outside of your sorority house at 9:30. He was a little taken aback, considering the game didn’t start until 2:30, but you insisted on him getting the full experience, including early morning tailgating. It took you longer than usual to get ready, considering it was a full glam event. You put on your dress and boots, put your gameday pin on, and walked down the stairs, grabbing a sticker with your letters on it for Spencer. 

He is waiting outside your house, looking slightly out of place in the enthused crowd of girls that were taking pictures along the row. 

“I like the shirt,” you say, complementing your own taste.

“Thanks,” he replies, “I had a fantastic personal shopper.”

You laugh, pressing the sticker on his chest. He politely grabs your hand, intertwining his finger with yours.

Making your way to the quad, you tell him about who you’d be tailgating with. Some were clubs and organizations you were in at school, others were friends that lived nearby. He listens intently, curious about the peek into your world. 

“I brought earplugs,” he says as you walk to the grassy plain of pop-up tents. 

“Are you serious?” you say, lightly laughing at him.

“You know, repeated exposure to loud noise due to crowds can cause permanent hearing loss, especially–”

“Alright, I get it.” You smile at his aversion to even the slightest form of risk-taking. It’s hard to believe he rushed into danger as a special agent, but his innate instinct to help others must’ve driven him, you conclude. He smiles back, admiring your outfit and hair. He hardly ever gets to see you done up like this, so the picture of you makes his heart flutter like the first time he saw you.

By the time you’re done tailgating at about one, Spencer is tired from all the social interaction. Of course, he enjoyed meeting your friends, but he’s not necessarily the social type. Noticing his quickly draining social battery, you reassure him that he won’t have to be as conversational once you get to the stadium. 

“I know it’s a little hectic,” you reassure him. “Believe me, I was just as lost as you were as a freshman.”

You think of yourself at the beginning of college, an out-of-state freshman who’d never been to a big SEC game before. You were grateful for your sorority sisters who had shown you around, and you were excited to be that person for Spencer.

You stand together outside of the steps of the library, watching the band play the elephant stomp. Once they finish their routine, you follow the band, along with the crowd, to the stadium. Spencer is mesmerized by the crowd and their traditions, as well as their passion for the team. You follow his eyes, seeing your younger self in him, a reversal of the usual dynamic where he sees his younger self in you.  

His one request was that you wouldn’t sit in the student section. He could picture how thousands of drunk college students would be, and decided that it would set his germaphobia off as soon as he got there. You two are sitting near the field, Spencer not minding spending the extra for a better view. As you told him, if he was going to do it, he should do it right.

Before you take your seats, you stop by the concessions. You get stadium essentials: pretzels, Denny dogs, and popcorn to share. When you walk out of the tunnel, Spencer is instantly blinded by the sun. The fans are astonishingly excited, considering there’s still 45 minutes until kickoff.

“Are they a little more peppy than the crowds at your comic cons?” you ask, seeing his eyes widening.

“A little.” he smiles down at you, following the lead of your clomping boots up the stairs. 

When the game starts, he follows along in the fight song, thankful it’s not too hot. He brought sunscreen along, explaining to you that UV is damaging even when it’s cloudy. At his request, you put it on, wanting to make him happy. 

Throughout the game, you lean in to his ear to explain the plays. He opts not to wear the earplugs, wanting to hear every word you say. 

“So they get four more downs?” he asks after one particular play where the announcer calls out “first down Alabama”, and the crowd replies with a Roll Tide. 

“Exactly,” you say, proud of how fast he’s learning. “You're almost as good of a student as you are a teacher.”

He smiles at your compliment. “It helps when the rest of the crowd is giving hints.”

At halftime, he finds he enjoys the band performance a little more than the actual game, but he’d never tell you that. He makes sure to sing along when they play “Yea Alabama”, knowing it’ll make you proud of his memorization. Your enthusiasm in his interests made him feel supported, and he wanted you to feel the same. He knows what it’s like to be ignored when ranting about whatever fun facts he had to share, so he takes effort to not make you feel the same. 

He tentatively wraps his arm around your waist, reassured when you lean into him. He’s always nervous to be affectionate with you, knowing you were worried at first how people would see you when you started dating. Slowly, you got more comfortable in his presence, allowing him to steal a kiss every now and then. He was professional in class, but after that, you were just like any other couple. In a sense, the game was a milestone. Not only were you in public with him, but surrounded by your peers. It warmed his heart that you were proud enough of your relationship to let others see you with him. He always feared he would date someone who would be embarrassed by him, but you were the opposite. You were enamored by everything about him, you loved his brain, his looks, his heart. Enough that you even asked the people sitting behind you to take pictures of the two of you. 

You smile down at the image, the two of you in your gameday outfits with the field behind you. 

“You look downright southern,” you say, turning your phone to show him. 

You both laugh at this, him asking you to send the picture to him. He likes to print his photos out, organizing them in physical albums rather than on his phone, like you did. He makes sure to remember to get an extra for you. 

At the start of the fourth quarter, they play “Basket Case” by Green Day, the only song he knew before his lessons in football. He dances along with you, embarrassment escaping him due to your carefree moves. 

It’s not too sunny but not too cold, the perfect weather, in your mind, for a game. You wish it was a night game, but the rivalry makes up for it. 

When “Dixieland Delight” comes on, he pulls out the shaker you bought for him. 

Holding my lover with the other, a sweet, soft, Southern thrill 

For a moment, he understands why the crowd doesn’t make you feel claustrophobic.

Hold her up tight (against the wall), make a little loving (all night) 

There’s a unity he feels with the other fans as they chant the same words as him.

The sun begins to set over the stadium, dipping below the edge of the upper bowl. You comment on it, and Spencer says something about why the colors look the way they do, but you’re instantly distracted by the Tide running in the game winning touchdown with a 1:32 left in the fourth quarter. The stadium erupts right as Spencer finishes talking, confusing him as he wasn’t really watching the game as his attention was on you. 

You’re jumping around and cheering, so he joins in. He would usually feel weird being so enthusiastic, but with the crowd all screaming, he’d almost feel weirder if he didn’t. As the clock runs down, he remembers the final tradition of the game: Rammer Jammer.  

When you made him learn all the traditions, you told him that this one was for when you won. Not if, but when. He pointed out your phrasing, but your reply was only “we’re Alabama, of course we’ll win”. 

You assumed prior to the game he’d be opposed to heading down to the strip afterwards, considering the crowd would probably pack the streets. He didn’t seem like the type of guy to go to Rounders, anyway. However, as everyone filed out of the stadium, he turned to you and asked what you were doing after the game. 

The high from the win was infectious, and, realizing how fun your traditions were, he wanted to do it all. 

“What about Taco Bell?” you ask, making the executive decision to rule out any bars. He agrees to that plan, holding your hand as you two walk down University Blvd, packed on all sides by the celebrating students. 

“You people go crazy when you win, huh?”

“You should be glad this wasn’t against Tennessee,” you reply.” “I would’ve made you pull out a cigar with the rest of the crowd.” 

He smiles, just slightly concerned at the tradition, but choosing not to mention the health risks of smoking. Since you’ve been dating, he’s loosened up, your spirit infectious. 

Crammed between the rowdy crowd, he looks at you and smiles. He can tell you have a hint of concern for him, so he squeezes your hand, signifying that he’s enjoying himself. 

“I’m glad you convinced me to come,” he says, taking in the energy. 

“Me, too. I just wish I convinced you before my last home game.”

“I guess we’ll just have to come back next year.”

This makes you blush, being the first time he’s mentioned anything long term. Part of him enjoys seeing your reaction. He’d usually fumble over his words, explaining himself away, but he sticks with it this time, meaning what he says about the future. 

The two of you grab your food, watching everyone on the street from inside. 

“A little different from CalTech?”

“A bit,” he smiled. “I wouldn’t call it a party school, and we sure didn’t do football like you guys do.”

“Ever wish you went somewhere down South?”

“I think today was about enough for me.” 

You both laugh at this, knowing, even if he wasn’t as young as he was in college, he wasn’t in his element. 

He walks you back to the house afterwards, hugging you outside the door. In bed that night, you find yourself smiling at a future where you can drag him along to more games, hoping his comment of “next year” would ring true by then. Or this year would work better, a playoff at Bryant-Denny or even the Rose Bowl. Now that you thought about it, that’d be even better. You fall asleep with visions of a national championship (with Spencer and you in the crowds watching) dancing in your head. 

Lucky as a seven, living in heaven with my dixieland delight

a/n: This fic is majorly based on my own life and my own daydreams about our boy Spencer if he worked at my school. Reading it over it sounds like I’m crushing on bama football more than Spencer (which might be true oops). Anyway, I'm gonna start going thru requests soon but I just had to put this idea into writing 🫶

[gatorlovebot]

find my king simon masterlist here and read from the beginning. thanks to @ghosts-cyphera @gemmahale and @redzscare for the encouragement <3

it seemed as if your little walk through the park was all that simon needed to get him acting like himself around you again. while he had spent most of the trip quiet and withdrawn, now, on your last night, he was coming back to himself. opening up doors for you, getting your chair for you at dinner, sharing jokes with you just to see you roll your eyes.

you spent a lot of this trip thinking. thinking about your wants and needs and your future. in the past, in only fleeting moments, you had thought about a future beyond the castle, beyond simon. but only just for a moment, before you told yourself you were being silly, before you told yourself you shouldn’t let your unrequited feelings for him get the best of you, lead you to making rash decisions. but maybe making a life for yourself elsewhere wasn’t a rash decision. maybe it’s what you needed. 

when you both retire up to your rooms for one last night’s rest here is when he finally addresses what’s been going on. he’s slipped into the sleep clothes you laid out for him and is sitting on the edge of his bed, watching you fold clothes to put into his luggage in the morning. he offered to help but you shooed him away, knowing that his help would usually cause arguments. 

“dove?” he broke the comfortable silence from his spot on the bed.

you just hum in response, scrutinizing a stain on one of his nice silk shirts. you can’t remember when he wore it on the trip, but you accepted it as a lost cause, knowing that it would be another full 24 hours before you were even back at the castle. no use fretting over it now. you ball it up in your hands, throwing it in a pile with the rest of his dirty clothes. you turn to him as he waits for you.

“come here,” he beckons you over with one of his outstretched hands. you take it, your socked feet coming to rest in the space between his big thighs. his hands are cold as they engulf your’s, the heating situation at the inn you’ve been staying at has been less than ideal. “i just want to thank you.” he says, earnestly, thumb brushing across your knuckles.

you laugh, just a quick breath out through your nose, “for what?”

he averts his gaze from your face back down to your entwined hands, seemingly trying to find the right words to say. he takes a deep breath before speaking again, “for being here, putting up with me. i don’t tell you enough how grateful i am to have you.” he squeezes your hands in his before gazing back up at you, “especially lately.”

it takes you by surprise, honestly, him acknowledging what’s been going on between you two. this back and forth of you trying to express what you want and him in turn, retreating. not knowing what to say, you urged him with your eyes to keep going.

“i’ve taken you for granted since you stepped foot into my quarters for the first time, if i’m being honest.” he lets out a little self-deprecating laugh, and your mouth opens on instinct to rebuff his claim. as much as you hated it when simon would speak unkindly about himself he wasn’t being untrue about himself. you let your mouth fall back shut as he continued. “but not anymore. you’ve really opened my eyes these past weeks. made me see things and feel things.”

his words taper off, voice sounding horse. you feel frozen in that moment, not knowing what to do or say. in the time that he had been reserved and standoffish, had he actually been doing self reflection? had he actually taken your words into account? 

he seems to get a hold of himself and his emotions, clearing his throat before meeting your gaze again. his eyes are glassy but he has a small grin on his face as his volume drops, conspiratorially,  “i have a surprise for you when we get back.”

a smile blooms across your face, matching his excited grin. a surprise? the king wasn’t one for grand gestures or making a spectacle of himself. curiosity got the best of you, different scenarios flipping through your mind one after another. 

“just for us.” he gives you a cheeky wink and even though you roll your eyes you know that your cheeks are heating up under his attention. it felt like old times. but was that enough? the thought popped in out of nowhere, bursting your little bubble of brief happiness and excitement. these moments with simon recently were short and fleeting, you didn’t know how much more you could take of this back and forth with him. 

you excuse yourself for the night, knowing you were both in for an early morning. you walk the short distance down the hall to your room. you undress and pull on layers to combat the winter chill in the air. when you finally rest your head, you dream of blooming flowers and a foreign city. when you wake the next morning you can’t help but remember being alone in your dreams. 

-

even in the face of hours and hours worth of travel in a compact train car, simon is in an agreeable mood in the morning. rousing from his bed with less whining than usual. he slips on the clothes you picked out for him and gracefully grabs his heavy bags from your hands. “none of that now, little bird.” you know not to put up a fight, instead grabbing your small tote and trailing behind him down to the lobby of the inn. 

-

simon makes himself comfortable next to you when you finally settle into your seat on the train car. not much to do to pass the time besides enjoy each other’s company. you two spend most of the morning resting against each other, finally having time to unwind after such a busy week. simon rouses you awake for an early lunch, having not had much for breakfast. for the past few weeks you two had spent many meals in tense silence, but now you make comfortable small talk, chattering on about this and that.

a few more hours go by, simon quietly reading aloud to you from one of his many books. at the end of a chapter he dog ears the page and sets it down on the seat next to him. “gotta stretch the legs, dove.”

you could tell that he was starting to get restless, his hand had been fidgeting with your fingers while the other flipped the pages of the book. he gets up from the seat next to your's, stretches his legs out in the aisle before slipping into a seat a few rows from your’s, next to one of his guards. you don’t mean to eavesdrop but it’s hard not to when the train car is so quiet, everyone else is either sleeping or keeping to themselves. 

before you can fully make out what simon and his guard are conspiring about, simon's secretary takes the empty seat next to you. even though you had been hoping for a moment alone with your thoughts, he’s not an unwelcome presence. “i have some news that i think you’ll be interested in.” he offered, excitement clear on his face.

news? “well out with it.” you cajole him, a smile slipping onto your face at his poorly contained enthusiasm.

“well, i don’t know about you, but i’ve been having a delightful time working closer with you the past few weeks,” when you think of your time spent with the secretary you don’t think about the hours spent with him planning out your trip. no, you think of his proposition for you all those weeks ago. you avert your eyes for a moment, his gaze intense as you try to think of a response to what he said instead what he had offered you all those weeks ago. 

you spot simon’s book, where he had just been sitting. you subconsciously adjust yourself closer to the window, putting just a bit more distance between you two. his smile falters at your minuscule movement, and you rush to find a response, “it’s been worlds better than working with the last secretary.”

there’s humor in your voice, you can laugh about it now knowing your king was sat just a few feet from you, safe. the secretary smiles at your dark joke, “i would never put you through something like that, mostly because i’m afraid of knives.”

his admission has you giggling for a moment before you contain yourself, “so, what’s this news?”

“yes, yes,” the secretary gets himself back on track, “i’ve been brainstorming ways we could work closer together that wouldn’t impede on your time with the king. it’s almost impossible to separate you two for even a few moments.”

he’s not wrong, but it still makes your cheeks heat up in discomfort, usually feeling uneasy whenever anyone pointed out your relationship to simon. “and then something absolutely perfect happened. one of the girls from the kitchen approached me about wanting other duties. if we got someone to take over your duties for the king then you could step into an advisory role.”

his offer has your interests piqued. not the advisory role, simon already listens to you over anyone else, especially his advisors. no, you’re interested in the girl from the kitchen replacing you. a way out. a little voice in your head says. you had never thought you could leave your role because there would never be anyone to replace you. but now there is. 

you lean closer to the secretary and lower your voice, aware of simon’s proximity. “when we get back to the castle you can inform her that my duties can now be her’s. tell her to come to the king’s chambers first thing in the morning, she can shadow me.”

“really?” the secretary questioned, seemingly in disbelief.

“yes, but you have to promise to not say anything to the king about this matter yet.” you plead, dreading the idea of having to talk to him about this.

“i promise, this will be a big change for you and him, you should be the one to tell him about this.” he replied.

you have to blink away the tears that threaten to overwhelm your eyes knowing that you wouldn’t be telling simon anything. 

[avatar-anna]

You Make Me Feel

you don't necessarily have to picture it this way, but for me this is a 1970s au!

"Lookin' out on the pourin' rain, I used to feel so uninspired..."

You hummed the words as you folded laundry on your bed, the words coming to you as easily as breath did. They carried you through sorting your delicates and clothes that needed to be hung up, from the clothes that you needed to give back to your boyfriend and the select few you would keep until he asked about it. You hummed as you stood up from your bed, repeating the chorus over and over and circling back to different verses out of order, not a care in the world except for the paired socks you put away and the shirt that still had a pesky stain in it.

"You make me feel, you make me feel, you make me feel like a natural woman..."

So caught up in the little world you'd created while finishing up your chores, you didn't even notice Harry leaning against the door to your room behind you. He'd come up around the second chorus, and even though the floor creaked with his steps, you hadn't so much as looked up or away from your closet.

Harry was half amused, half trying to figure out how to make his presence known without startling you. He'd always found it so cute how you got so invested in such menial tasks—folding laundry, doing the dishes, washing your face, making food. It was like you could never do a single thing without giving it your full attention. The humming didn't always coincide with your laser focus, but it occurred often enough that Harry wasn't phased by it.

Deciding that there wasn't a foolproof plan to keep you from jumping out of your skin, he knocked on the door, trying to hide his laugh behind his hand when you did just that.

The humming and half-singing stopped immediately as you turned around, eyes wide as you took Harry in by the door.

"Jesus, you scared me!"

"I'm sorry, sunshine, I didn't mean to," Harry said, the fact that they had similar conversations regularly. "You knew I was coming over, didn't you?"

"Did I?" You looked at him with furrowed brows. "Oh, did you call? I must've missed it. I'm sorry, peach."

"No sweat," Harry said. "I got a little performance out of it, so we're square."

You narrowed your eyes at your boyfriend, who was no longer trying to hide his grin. He knew you couldn't stay mad at him for long when he gave you his best smile. It was like he had some sort of superpower. You saw his pearly white teeth and dimples and squinty green eyes and you were completely smitten all over again. You felt that smile down to your toes sometimes.

You gave up after a few more seconds, trying to pretend that you were still cross. But when you gave up, you went over to him and pulled him close by the loops of his jeans. "Well, you're here now, might as well help me finish putting all this away."

"Laundry day?"

"Laundry day," you confirmed. Your apartment complex didn't have a washing machine, which meant you had to take your clothes to the nearest laundromat, which also meant you waited until your pile of laundry was a small mountain before lugging it and a bag of quarters down the street.

Harry didn't bat an eye and jumped right in to help, though perhaps you should've known why when he zeroed in on a specific pile.

"You gonna wear this on our next date?" he asked, holding up a bra made of delicate lace, one of the only fancy items in that pile.

Your grin was sly as you continued hanging up clothes in your closet. "Doesn't go with my crochet top."

"Oh? And what does, pray tell."

"Nothing. I usually don't wear anything under my crochet top," you said.

Harry's gulp was audible, as was the soft thud of your bra on the carpeted floor of your bedroom. Your grin widened even further, a blush creeping up your cheeks as well. Harry was a known flirt, but whenever you gave it back to him, he clammed up like a local church boy.

A real stud, your boyfriend was.

"You—You don't?" he said, voice less confident than it had been before.

Turning back around, you went over to him again. "Of course not, you'd be able to see it."

You watched with mild amusement as your boyfriend short-circuited like a faulty computer, his eyes dipping between your face and chest. From anyone else, you would've been pissed, but Harry was harmless, and he admired much more than just your body. Plus, you liked to give him a good once-over too.

"What—What, um, what song was that? The one you were singing?" he finally asked.

You snatched the bra off the floor, along with the rest of your intimate items. "Aretha Franklin. I bought her record the other day and I can't stop listening to it."

"Haven't heard it," he said, but you weren't surprised by that. Harry's tastes laid with the Stones and The Who and the Ramones, and Fleetwood Mac once you knocked some sense into him. But you loved any music that made you feel something. And whatever was cheapest at the record store.

"I'll play it for you," you said.

You finished up putting your clothes away with a little help from Harry, though he really only made comments about the sheer amount of clothes you seemed to have. Perhaps it was excessive, but fashion seemed to always be changing, and you liked to have everything from the latest trends to pieces you knew would be timeless.

When you were done, you joined Harry on your bed, perching yourself on his lap and winding your arms around his neck. You found the soft curls at the nape of his neck and began twirling them around your fingers.

"We goin' out tonight, peach?" you asked him, voice soft.

Harry kissed the top of your cheekbone, mumbling his answer into your skin. "I don't know. Are you gonna wear that shirt with no bra?"

"I might," you said, your grin spreading as he continued to kiss your cheek and jaw.

"We can. There's a show at the Whiskey tonight, but," he paused, pulling back just slightly to look you in the eye. "I think I might just want to stay in and listen to music with you. But I'm cool with whatever you want. Just as long as I get to spend time with you."

Your heart thundered in your chest, but you tried to keep a collected appearance. "You want to spend your time with just little old me?" you asked. "What happened to the guy who chased after beach bunnies?"

Harry had been such a flirt when you first met. So forward and confident. You didn't give him the time of day until he ditched the bravado and told you how he really felt about you earnestly, and now that you were together, he was nothing but a sap.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, playful pout gracing his lips. It made you want to kiss it away. "I've only ever had eyes for you...Now."

Both of you laughed, unable to keep up this little charade of yours. You both knew Harry had...subscribed to what the hippies called "free love," having never been the type to believe in settling down or tying himself to one person for the rest of his life. But that all changed when he met you, and once he realized you weren't all that impressed with his swaggering, he opened up and showed you a more vulnerable side he'd never shared with anyone.

He was still a flirt and indulged in the occasional innuendo when the time called for it, but it was rounded out by nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck or tucking his hand in your back pocket when you walked somewhere, or leaned you up against your front door before he kissed you goodnight. Harry was right, he only had eyes for you now, and there was no doubt in your mind that that would never change. He made you feel like no one else ever had, and you wanted to hold that feeling in your heart until you were both old and wrinkly.

You kissed him on the lips, pulling away faster than Harry would've liked. But you held his chin between your fingers and said, "I would love to have a night in with you, peach."

That grin was back, with a starry gaze to match. "Just you and me then, sunshine."

What else could you possibly need?

[mysteriesmuse]

“Are you sure it’s such a good idea letting all these trolls and wizards into your home, Claire?” Jim asked. “Not really,” she whinced. Tonight Claire had given herself (and Jim) the task of preparing a full course for their guests. There between them lay a notebook with a list for tonight: The Guacamole Queen’s special guac and chip recipe, thrifted silverware, chorizo tacos, socks generously “donated” by Coach Lawerence via Steve, and the infamous Camelot-meat-pies that they tried while time traveling (she’d and Jim had been working for months to perfectly recreate the recipe). So far they’d gotten through with the guac, socks, and silverware . . . if some baby brother would stop eating all the appetizers.

Claire swatted at NotEnrique’s arm as he snatched another a sock from the bowl on the kitchen island. “Hey—!”

Brother and sister shared a look across the kitchen. “— anyways as I was gonna’ say, yous’ was only blamed two times— but now that the fleshbag mom and dad are in the know there’s no reason we can’t move our meetings to a cushier joint than your basement.” “Alright, alright that’s fair,” Jim conceded, “but I better not get blamed for ruining the Nunez house.”

“Again.” he added. “If anything goes wrong! I was never here!”

“Trust me, Jim. I think this will be really great for our friends. Where else are they going to get to talk about this kind of stuff? Plus imagine what kinds of lives they’ve already led. I mean,” crunch, “— Douxie is over 900 years old,” satisfied she slung another chip into the fresh guac and passed the bowl it in front of Jim. “I mean, we don’t know how old Blinky and Arrrghhhh! are, but they have got to be much older than that. I mean hosting this event is the least I can do after everything they’ve done for us.” Jim swallowed, almost choking. “You know I’ve never thought to ask . . .” He shook his head, “if anything starts to get out of hand with these magic geezers then you’ve got your trusty troll hunting boyfriend here!” “Uh-huh and if my parents ask?” She teased. Jim looked into his girlfriend’s big brown beautiful eyes and rounded the countertop to place the chips and guacamole out for their guests, “then I was never here!” And that’s how it ended up being immortal game night at the Mayor Nunez’s house . . . ————— From their kitchen hideaway the host couple waited barricaded behind the kitchen island as their guests poured into the living room enemies, allies, mentors, friends, and ultimately family. SCRABBLE went off to a smashing start . . . Nothing quite like explaining, validating, and bickering over each. and. every. single. word. as Latin, Spanish, trollish, and now alien-ese was added to the mix by Stuart. (Of which none of the others would let him use.) Douxie’s girlfriend defended a word by demonstrating the spell on him as Strickler and Blinky firmly argued that it wasn’t a word. It was. It was a nearly useless parlor trick spell that swaps your bellybutton from an inny to an outy. Fun. NotEnrique started to secretly eat Blinky’s, Stricklers, and Douxie’s vowels to hault their winning scores — until they caught him. “Oi kid, that’s bad form!” “Indeed, perhaps if you’d surrounded yourself with books you’d be as good at this game as us scholars!!” And eventually ARRRGH fed up and overwhelmed by the constant slew of words and fighting passing over his head ATE the board . . . (Blinky was in the led.)

—————— MONOPOLY was simply a bad idea . . . Blinky kept doing math while wildly gesturing with all four of his arms the entire game thus, smacking Strickler and Draal in the face, and was WAY too into being the bank teller. Nomura and NotEnrique had somehow managed to gain a three quarters monopoly on the board (and turned evil again) — despite the wizards subtle magical money laundering, which was only fueling the math god fire that possessed Blinky because as it turns out Jim learned from Claire that “Duplications spells are child’s play!”

and everyone was eternally suffering from the whole corner taxation, lots of groans and growls and glowing eyes, but Jim and Claire couldn’t help but snicker as they watched from in the kitchen. “No, Draal and I are not selling our yellow square, not after you ate the last of the meat pies!” In the end the changlings prevailed against Arcadias mighty hero’s and as if defeat wasn’t enough . . . they bragged the rest of the evening. —————— By Deya’s grace, The Voting Game, seemed to unfurl at breakneck speed. Perhaps it was because they all felt better after a quick snacking interlude courtesy of Chefs Jim and Claire. Who would be the last person on the shore if everyone was skinny dipping? Naturally Zoe won without question although a few ringers for Stuart as someone they wouldn’t want to skinny dipping with — rude! “I’m not that smelly am I?” a frantic shout of “yes!” came from the group. “yes, and I don’t even know you that well,” Zoe sighed pinching her nose, “which to be clear, is the only reason I wouldn’t be skinny dipping with all of you.” “yeah, she’s rather informal about her bathing.” Douxie added. Which earned him a proper elbow to the ribs, “Ouch!” “Shut. Up!” Which person would come back as a ghost? “Mordrax’s Miracles! ARRRGH my friend, you’ve already done this!”

“True. Have already.” “So do we choose to choose another bloke or do we go with the obvious?” “Well are we picking someone in our history that is already deceased or are we picking amongst us here in the room?”

“I’d say we pick from in here.”

“If that’s the case then . . .” The entire living room glanced over to the kitchen. ARRRGH said what they were all thinking, “Jim.” “Lively.” “Ditto.” “couldn’t have said it better me’ self. okay next — “

Who started a rumor that isn’t true, but everyone thought it was? An overwhelming amount of 5s. The culprit emitted a nervous laugh. “So come on, lay it on us wizard boy.” “Hisirdoux, don’t even think about it!” Archie growled from his spot on the top of the chair. Douxie laughed as the gang shouted in a frenzy. They quieted, “I am guilty as charged, but for what I can’t say. It would corrupt your sense of reality.” His familiar grinned back at him. “Precisely because you all believe it to be true.” He added with a nod. “A CONSPIRACY!!” ————— Eventually they forgot about the games (Blinkys conspiracy conniption diverting attention) and simply talked.

The card and board pieces forgotten on the board as they all munched on churros brought by Stuart, and watched a pie brought by Strickler courtesy of the Trollhunters mother. There was something cathartic and simply invigorating as sharing their life’s before they meet these predestined allies! Blinky spoke about the early Americas and his unfortunate near-death experience with a buffalo a month into life in the new world. And ARRRGGHH shared how he saved him — that time — and 17 other times just from buffalos alone in the new world. “They were a serious problem amoung troll kind in the early days!” “Just Blinky.” Stuart went on about the absolute best side of the space race story. Strickler and Nomura sitting on the ends of their seats with the most receptive feedback, nearly yelling like it was all a great big soccer match. And not, in fact, a great big scientific milestone. Draal and the trolls gave an interesting and disgusting angle on of one of the best underground prohibition bars which caused Arch and Douxie to sit up perk up. “—so you’re telling me as a customer I was unknowingly drinking glug? I’ve been in the food industry for centuries and this doesn’t pass any laws!” “Pretty much.” And at the end of the night when the apple pie he brought sat sadly and predictably untouched Stricklander commanded the room. A dark and twisted tale of his time teaching and unknowingly working alongside a decorated detective as he uncovered clues about the towns most infamous murder (not to mention the only real human inflicted murder). No one knew Arcadia Oaks High had such a deep true crime history. “It began to get increasingly difficult to remain undercover as a channeling in the Janus Order as Detective Miller investigated at our school. And each Tuesday like clockwork I would stay up listening to the radio in the evening as I worked to help keep the pieces of the story that got tangled in with us away from the public eye. Now one night I had discovered that . . .” Even Claire had slowly migrated from the kitchen as the gang gasped and laughed at Stricklers amazing story. She stood next to her magic teacher by the arm of her couch and NotEnrique passed her a greasy churro where she stood.

Jim could only chuckle and smile watching, as his girlfriend simultaneously took a bite out of her churro in one hand and petted Archie with the other to soothe her nerves. Jim stood in the kitchen still. This was home. Aliens, Trolls, Wizards and all. Douxie leaned back and peered past his girlfriend. He waved him over. Jim stood beside Claire before a healthy serving of churros was shoved into his hands. His soon-to-be stepfather indulged in the crowds reaction. Jim bit into his churros. . . “Now, as you guessed, the bureaucratic decision of using goblins to destroy evidence was a terrible idea. It wasn’t in my jurisdiction, nor would it have been my decision . . .” The welcome taste of cinnamon and sugar danced on his tongue; this was a good idea after all.

[lightninghikaru]

The ship makes its way into the cove as Shadow enters his quarters seeing Sonic stop his attempt to unlock the shackles around his feet. “Not wasting any time are you?” Shadow said stepping closer.

               “Y…ya know I think I’ve overstayed my welcome.” Sonic tried to joke still attempting to free his legs. “I’m just going to see myself out…” He blinks as Shadow disappears from his vision for a moment and reappears inches from his face causing him to yelp in surprise. Shadow rips the quill Sonic was trying to use as a lock pick out of his hand before grasping the chain connecting his wrists and pulling him off the bed.

“Did you forget what you gave in trade for the lives of your crew?” Sonic stiffens to him saying that. “You said I could do what I want with you. Are you breaking that trade? If so I’d be happy to hunt down those you care for in exchange for your freedom.” Sonic’s look of fear quickly turns to anger and hatred. Shadow smiles, good, he will cooperate better if he believes he’s keeping his pathetic friends safe.

“If you even dare…!” Shadow grasps Sonic by the chin before he could finish his threat. “If you behave I’ll forgive this attempted escape.” Shadow said as the door behind him opens and closes. Sonic’s eyes widen as he sees the stone sculpture he’s seen outside this room enter carrying a sack.

“By the flame… What is that?” Sonic said still staring at the golem that began walking towards them.

“Omega isn’t allowed to go around the cove in his natural form.” Shadow said as Sonic still continues to stare at the moving sculpture now staring back at him.

“It’s rude to stare.” Omega said as Sonic flinches before looking away.

“When you say natural form…” Sonic was curious what he meant,

“He’s a ghost, specters not within their anchors is forbidden here.” Shadow said. Sonic notices him shake out the sack.

“Now we’re going to go have a word with someone and I don’t want other pirates here seeing you.” Shadow said as Sonic tries to back away, but Shadow still had a hold of his chains. “You’ll stay quiet until we get there, got it?” Shadow said as Sonic glares at him with a nod. “Good, now hold still.” He throws the sack over Sonic’s head before he could retort.

Sonic couldn’t help but squirm a bit at the discomfort of being tossed into a bag. He feels large stony hands grip him just tight enough to hold him in place as he’s lifted and feels himself be carried out of the room. “Now let’s get this over with.” He hears Shadow let out an annoyed sigh as they leave the ship.

Like what you see? Vote for Tides!

[sinners-go-to-drink-the-wine]

Cold ‖ DRW

Pairing: Danny Wagner x Reader

Word Count: 3.6K

CW: (spoilers) Mostly fluff!, roommates, (some money talk -it'll make sense)

{Author Commentary: stuck in during a snowstorm with your roommate Danny, everything is ok... right? for optimal emotions, listening to come out and play by Billie Eilish is an option}

The moment you woke up you’d curled into a tight ball. Your tired mussels protested, but the warmth of where your body had laid as you slept helped the almost numb coldness of your feet. Your nose was practically numb too, so you ducked under your covers. You let out a pathetic little groan to yourself, knowing it was only a temporary reprieve, and that you’d have to come up for air in a matter of seconds. ‘Why is there no efficient way to warm your face?’. Surely enough as your lungs began to protest you had to raise your head and decide how to face the cold of your apartment. Your apartment, where you’d planned to spend your day off doing various lazy, self-indulgent tasks, had a faulty air system at times. And while your landlord had promised to have it worked on before it got cold, the weather seemed determined to prove him wrong.

All you wanted to do was go back to sleep so you couldn’t feel the cold. You considered taking a shower, to feel the full body warmth. However, the thought of getting out, and dealing with wet hair would probably result in you staying in for hours. The resulting water bill was not something you’d want to have to explain to your roommate. ‘How was he coping with the frigid conditions? He's probably layered in his classic sweaters… the cold never seems to bother him as much as it did you, though he wasn’t one to complain regardless…’

The shower was ruled out, but the thought of warm steam on your face gave you another idea. A warm cup of coffee would definitely feel great. You took a deep breath and braced yourself before throwing off your blanket and getting out of bed. You hastily pulled on your thickest sweatpants and pulled a chunky quarter-zip sweater on over your sleep shirt. The oversized collar covered the mouth as you zipped it up. All that was left to to guard you from the cold was tugging on a pair of thick socks and stepping into your slippers. 

You hugged your sides, practically waddling down the hall. The warm smell of coffee broke through the cold. You shuffled over to the pot on a mission. You heard a small giggle from the kitchen table and darted a bemused glance at him as you picked up the pot and hastily filled a mug before making your way to the fridge for your coffee creamer. After splashing it in, you put it back in the fridge, briskly closing the door. You leaned against the counter with a huff, half tempted to slide to the floor and curl your legs in. With two sleeve-gloved hands, you raised the mug to your face, letting the steam curl up and blanket it. You took a deep inhale, finally regaining some sensation in your cold nose.

“Wow… they should put you in a coffee commercial.”, Danny’s playfully mocking voice interrupted your moment of relief. You deadpanned over the rim of your mug as you took a sip. “What? I’m just saying, I didn’t make it good enough to warrant those dramatics.” He grinned at you as he spoke, his head tilting slightly. He was trying to break through your sour mood, but you weren’t here for it. “Sorry, I'm kind of freezing cold” you snapped at him, feeling only half-regretful. "Hey, not my fault your body can't heat itself." He quipped back, his smile unwavering.  "You're the one with a freakish body, you walking furnace!" a smile began tugging at your lips as your voice raised. He laughed loudly, making you break and join him. 

You sighed and rested your forehead on the rim of your mostly empty mug. "I'm… so cold." "Yeah, I'm sorry. I called and all they said was they can't do anything about the heating today." You could hear a sympathetic smile in his voice. "Let's watch a movie or something, I can share some heat.", he offered consolingly. You lifted your head, staring at the window across from you as you considered the offer. It would certainly work faster than your plan of going to your room and burying yourself in blankets. You tilted your head, offering him a small smile and nodding. 

He got up and clapped an arm across your shoulders, giving your arm a triumphant squeeze.  As you walked with him to the living room, you grumbled again at his chipper mood -and thanked him for the coffee. He just ran his hand up and down your arm creating some warmth. You made your way to the basket of throw blankets. "Get the biggest one- that green one." You pulled it out and turned around to hand it to him. 

"-What are you doing?". Upon turning around you'd been met with his bare abdomen as he tugged his sweater off, pulling the hem of his long-sleeved t-shirt up with it. "It'll be warmer, -trust me." He pulled off his sweater and straightened the shirt before taking the blanket from you. He handed you the remote to the TV and draped the large blanket across his back, holding the sides out with his hands as he lay across the couch facing out with his arms extended. "C'mere." He beckoned you towards his opened arms. You pulled off your chunky sweater, not that he'd asked, but you understood the logic. The heat would travel faster through two t-shirts. 

You quickly settled alongside him, tucking your arms up so you could still work the remote. He adjusted your hair slightly so he could still see over your head, then wrapped his arms and the blanket around you snugly. You sighed at the warmth of his chest against your back already working its magic. You fumbled with the remote a little before managing to point it at the TV. Some corny medical drama lit up the screen, a familiar comfort watch for you. "This good?" "Yeah, fine by me. …You comfortable?" he lifted his head slightly to catch your eye peripherally, seeing the corner of your lips curl up. "Getting there. …Thanks, Danny."

He secured the blanket around you before beginning to run his warm palms along your upper arms, creating some additional heat. Your muscles, which had been tensed from the moment you woke up, began to relax. You pulled the blanket up over your nose for a moment, clasping your cold hands together against your chest. 

You inevitably huffed and pulled the edge of the blanket from your face. Another pitiful groan escaped you as you breathed in the frigid air. "Something wrong? Do you get out, make a run to the… ?" Danny's voice was soft and his hands had stilled. "Hah, no, I just…" You sighed again, feeling silly. "...my nose is cold. My entire face is- but I can't warm my nose without smothering myself.". He chuckled softly, the sound echoing through you.

"You can turn over, I mean all the heat's right here behind you." You giggled this time. You set the remote down and began shifting to face him. He raised his free arm, readjusting the blanket over you and leaning back slightly more. You rested the side of your face on his chest and his arm curled around you. His large hand spread across your back, trailing across it slowly. You were more focused on warming the tip of your nose, nuzzling slightly as you settled in. The warm, clean, sweet musk of him surrounded you as your eyes fluttered closed. You unfurled your hand, resting it against his chest. "Oh-" a small sound escaped him "-you are cold.", he said in a slightly teasing tone. "I’m sorry-" "Don't be. Here-" He took your hand and brought it to his hip. He tugged the hem of his shirt up so your hand landed directly against his warm skin. "Have at it." He chuckled as you hesitantly relaxed your hand so it was flush against his back. His arm draped over you again and he tucked his chin over your head. 

With your face tipped down he wouldn’t be privy to the color casting your cheeks. You adjusted your arm to a more comfortable angle, your cold hand coming to rest on the center of his back. Your fingertips found the dip in his back along his spine, absentmindedly tracing along it. A small shiver ran through him. His skin prickled and his back curved slightly as he adjusted. You were reminded of just how intimate you were currently being. But neither of you felt the need to acknowledge it. It helped that you weren't face-to-face. 

You were soaking in his warmth and your eyes had drifted closed. Your legs had become tangled in his somewhere along the way, keeping him locked to you. "D’you want to take a nap? You're welcome to…" The soft rumbling in his chest was so comforting. "Yeah, I might… could you keep talking?" You heard a small breathy laugh and a smile when he spoke. "Alright…" he paused to think. "Ooh- Lemme tell you about the coldest day in Frankenmuth…"

He rambled on in a lighthearted voice punctuated by the occasional laugh and his hand gesturing against your back when he got to an animated moment. The recollection entailed a story of a much younger him and his best friend Sam making bets about how long it would take for things to freeze, resulting in some ridiculous consequences for them both. You didn't catch all of it, as your consciousness phased in and out.

You didn't realize you'd fallen asleep till a particularly obnoxious ad on the TV pulled you out. Your face scrunched up in annoyance and attempted to burrow further. Danny was warm as ever, and his breaths expanded his chest in a slow even rhythm. Even his heartbeats were relaxed. He must've fallen asleep too. Your eyes fluttered closed as your mind wandered; Had you missed some hilarious twist ending to his story? Had there been other stories? how long had he rambled on till he was sure you were asleep?

Soon enough, you needed to come up for air. When you extended your neck, you ducked your head back so you didn't bump his chin. You blinked as a soft breath hit your face. His sleeping face, merely an inch from yours, came into focus. 

Dark, dense lashes rested against his high-peeked cheeks. God, I'd kill for those lashes… why do boys always get pretty lashes… the apples of his cheeks were dotted with scattered freckles that trailed across the strong bridge of his nose. They're so random… they don't even follow a normal freckle cluster pattern… he had one on his lower lip too… just at the bottom, slightly to the right, from your perspective, right where the brighter pink that ran down the center of his lips curled over the edge. Your fingertip trailed along his chin, just under the slightly darker edge of his lip, landing near the freckle. Danny’s lips pursed briefly, causing you to freeze. He seemed undisturbed otherwise. 

When you pulled your hand away his lips twitched again. His face inched closer in search of the lost warmth. Your hand hovered for a minute before you laid your warmed palm on his cheek. The tip of your pointer finger grazed over his earlobe, soft, peach-fuzzed, and surprisingly cool to the touch. You imagined warming it between your lips, but of course, dashed the thought nearly instantly. 

You hadn't been this close with anyone in a while. You were content being single, no one you’d met had sparked any interest recently, but that didn't mean you didn't feel touch-starved at times. All your thoughts paused as he shifted again. The bridge of his nose aligned with your brow bone, his lips resting on the tip of your nose, warm and soft. Oh, how you wanted to melt into him and press your lips to his. It was just the sleepiness and rare instance of physical comfort, you knew that. And he was asleep, probably thinking about someone else as his lips puckered slightly to peck at your nose. ‘Was he seeing someone?’ You hadn't seen anyone over a lot or noticed any repeat names that would allude to it. It's just unconscious. And as nice as it was, you felt yourself pulling away. You didn't want it if it wasn't his intention. You held his face gently as you shifted yours away.

His eyes began to flutter. A sleepy smile began to form but faded as his eyes fully opened. He'd registered your recoiling, and your hand braced on his cheek, tied together with your eyes widening slightly as he'd opened his. He shifted his head back to give you room to breathe, since you'd apparently been sharing the same air. He cleared his throat, "You feeling better?" Even his first thought being to check on you made it that much harder. You offered a small smile "Yeah, much better." His smile spread as his hand smoothed up and down your back relaxedly. "Good, m'glad." "Thanks for spending your morning on me, 'm sorry if you had things you planned to get done…". His lips pulled to one side as he shook his head, waving off your apology. "Any plans I'd had for today went out the door with this storm and our aptly timed heating malfunction. Besides, there are worse ways to spend a day…" his voice was light and humorous, and you giggled with him briefly. "Yeah, maybe we should do this more often…" You replied in the same unserious tone. 

He let out a soft "hmh", simply smiling at you. His hand shifted from your back, moving between you. He reached to gently graze his knuckle across your cheek, shifting a few hairs that had landed there. It surprised you, despite you remembering your hand was still resting on his cheek. “Yeah… we can do this again.” Your heart was pounding in your chest. You hoped he couldn’t feel it.

You cleared your throat. "D’you… have any thoughts about lunch? I should make something -haven't had anything other than coffee yet." “Hmm… I’ve been wanting to try and make that soup from that tiktok you sent me.” Aw, he’d saved it. “The creamy cauliflower and roasted garlic one?” You could practically feel your stomach about to grumble. “Yeah, I think the person also had a grilled cheese with it?” he recalled. “Oh god. Yes. Kitchen. Now!”. He laughed and nodded. “Let's get on it.” You remembered your body was barricading him from leaving the couch. You dropped your hand from his face, bracing it on his chest briefly as you untangled your legs. The bone chilling air of the apartment outside your little cocoon had not changed. When he retracted his arms to allow you to get up it swarmed you, quickly permeating your t-shirt. You got up and quickly tugged on your sweatshirt hoping to lock in some of his heat. Another layer of warmth enveloped you as the large green blanket was draped over your shoulders. Danny stepped around you without a word and proceeded to don his sweater. You watched him for a moment before closing your mouth and heading toward the kitchen. 

You secured the blanket around your arms before getting out your large soup pot and placing it on the stove. Danny preheated the oven before getting out a baking tray and beginning to prepare the cauliflower and garlic for roasting. You connected your phone to the speaker and queued a few songs before placing the phone on the counter next to him as an offer to add his own. Once his tray was in the oven the two of you began prepping the rest of the stock ingredients. You usually cooked and ate separately to accommodate your different schedules. But you both loved cooking, and recipe sharing was commonly mixed into your regular texting. It was a pleasant but unfortunately infrequent occasion when the two of you got to cook together. And these days he was gone for longer and longer stretches of time with his band having taken off. 

The stove had warmed the kitchen slightly and the smell of roasting cauliflower and that delicious melting garlic filled the air. Danny was standing at the stove stirring the pot as you buttered some bread and sliced the cheese for your accompanying sandwiches. When the oven timer dinged he removed the the tray and emptied the roasted items into the soup. You got the hand blender and plugged it in before handing it to him to blend the soup together. The sandwiches only took a few moments and soon enough you were both filling your bowls and grabbing your sandwiches. 

“Back to the living room?”, he offered, looking to you. “I’m kinda tempted to just stay here, the oven’s still warm…” you looked down at it. He paused for a moment, biting his lip, secretly endeared. “...Sounds good.” He started gingerly sitting down, with his back against one half of the stove door, and his plate in his lap. You practically beamed, before sitting next to him, shoulder to shoulder. You giggled a bit at the ridiculousness of the situation as you both took your first bites. The soup was amazing, creamy, savory, and instantly warming you from the inside out. Danny had dipped his sandwich in his soup and made a pleasured groan upon taking a bite. You smiled at him. 

“...Thank you.” He turned his head to smile back at you, “Thank you, great recipe find!”. You chuckled, “Not just for the soup, and all your help today… thanks for being here, really.”, you looked down at the food in your lap. Danny’s smile softened at your shifting tone. “Ofcourse I’m gonna be here, where else would I be?” he leaned his knee into yours playfully. “Well I- I know you could afford to live somewhere nicer… and yet you- you continue to stay in this shitty place, god knows why, and basically pay half my rent, since you’re away so much these days…” “Do you… miss me?”, Danny broke his attentive silence. “What?” your eyes snapped up to meet his, that hadn’t been where you intended that to go. “When I’m gone all the time...”, he offered for clarification. His eyes had a noticeable earnesty to them. “Well, yeah of course, but that wasn’t- that’s not the point- I mean, like why are you still here?”. It didn’t come out right, you realized that immediately after the words left your mouth. Danny blinked, before averting his eyes. “Hard to find good roommates,” he shrugged, his voice casual once again. 

He resumed eating his lunch like nothing happened. Well, nothing did happen. Not that you could put into words. But you felt the weight of a rock in your stomach. And the questioning, which had started as an expression of gratitude, was intended to ease your guilt of him taking care of you, and staying in this shitty broken apartment with you. All the interesting places he got to go now, but he was always practically giddy to be back after a long stretch. Like he somehow missed this... 

Oh.

“Danny…” His name left your lips in a soft, sympathetic tone. He lowered his spoon to look at you. “You miss me…” it wasn’t a question, but he slowly began to nod yes. You'd already said your part; 'Well, yeah of course', but maybe it warranted a rephrasing. "I miss you too… I know I don't exactly show it, but I just… don't want you to feel bad. I'm so glad you're out there living your dream- I don't want you to feel any pressure to tie yourself down…" "I don't feel tied down. I just wish- I don't know, I wish you could be there for all of it sometimes… but I don't want you to feel any obligation either. I was thinking about us getting a better place, but I don't want it to seem like some power trip if I'm paying… you know I've thought about flying you out while I'm on tour, like a million times- but I didn't know if you'd accept, and it felt kinda selfish, ‘cause… I just wanted to see you." 

His words were echoing around in your brain, namely the ‘us’ of it all… He’d said it, like you were a package deal, like a single indivisible unit. And his fears weren’t unwarranted, paying a fraction of his rent to stay in what would be his apartment wasn’t ideal. Being at his will when it came to housing, despite knowing he’d never use it against you, was a nerve-wracking thought. But he wanted you, the two of you, somewhere better. Knowing his character, you knew he truly wanted it for you, not just his own comfort. Or maybe it kindof was, maybe he’d at least feel better knowing you were in a better apartment while he was away. The thought of him worrying about you was… unfamiliar, and some unhealed part of you wanted to reject it. Moving together seemed like some sort of promise, certainly a commitment. But just a commitment to remaining roommates. 

“...Where were you thinking? -If we were gonna move.”, you finally spoke. His face formed a tentative smile, “Wherever you’re comfortable, could just be a different part of town, closer to your work? -since mine’s always moving.” You let out a small laugh at the last comment, and his smile widened. You felt the warmth of his words fill you and took another bite of your food while you considered. He smiled down at you from your peripheral, leaning his head towards yours. “So, …you’d consider it?”. You let your head lull to the side, resting against his as you smiled down at your legs stretched out side by side. “I’ll consider it.”

~

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[yesbutmakeitgay]

Once Upon A Time I Used To Know A Girl

Chapter 14.5

Carol Danvers x Reader

Masterlist | This work's masterlist | AO3

Summary: Carol's perspective of the past few days.

Angst, Slow Burn, Amnesia.

Word count: 1110

A/N: This one's for you @unicorniusfallapatorius, and the power of comments.

Fixing All The Cracks

Carol is in her home with Goose when she hears an engine coming closer, she instinctively goes into a defensive state and walks outside to investigate. As she gets to the porch she sees Fury's car sloppily parking on her front lawn, and if that wasn’t enough confusion, it isn’t the Avengers' director that comes out of the vehicle, but non other that The King of New Asgard.

"Val?" Carol asks with a frown.

The King exits the car and aggressively shuts the door, "Get your stuff."

"What?" Carol was expecting to be greeted with more kindness.

"Now," Valkyrie commands, the rage in her eyes is apparent.

In her abstracted state The Captain chooses to comply so as to not make the situation worse. She goes into her house and packs a duffel bag with one of her uniforms and the basics that she would take to an impromptu mission. She comes out and dumps the bag in the trunk of the car.

Val remains standing by the driver’s side, watching her over the vehicle, "Get her stuff." Carol remains staring at Valkyrie as she waits for her brain to process the instruction.

Once she understands, she goes back in the house to get the keys to her ship. She comes out to unveil it and wait for the door to open, The King doesn't move an inch, her arms stiffly crossed in front of her chest.

Carol drags her feet inside her space home for the first time since she got back and takes it all in. It's messy, yours and her things are scattered all over and some of your blood is still smeared on the furniture. It drives shivers down her spine.

She walks into your shared room directing her attention to your side of the closet, she pulls all your hung clothes out at once and into some boxes.

She turns to the bed and finds your favorite hoodie crumbled up in the middle, she grabs it to fold it neatly and decidedly leaves it on top of your pillow.

She then opens your drawer, where you keep your socks and pajamas, and takes its contents out in one swift movement to dump in the last box, as she does, a solid object hits the floor and startles her.

She looks for the source of the sound and finds a small velvet box. She glares at it, frozen in place, "It can't be. Please don't be," she thinks, crouching down to pick it up, her heartbeat going a thousand miles a minute.

Inside she finds a shiny, golden ring.

She feels all the air escaping her lungs, time around her stops, and a million thoughts start fighting in her brain as tears threaten to fall. What if it’s too late? What if she can’t fix this anymore?

A loud thump brings her back to reality, "I don't have all day!" Val yells hitting the outside of the ship again. Carol puts the small box in her pocket and brings the rest of your things to the car.

Valkyrie closes the trunk, "Let's go." She is fuming with anger.

"Where?" The Captain could make an educated guess, but hopes to be wrong about it.

"Just get in the fucking car."

Once they're on the road Carol hesitates, "How is she?"

"You don't get to ask questions."

"It's a 20 hour ride," The Captain tries to bargain.

"And we will spend it basking in the beautiful sound of silence."

——————

They arrive at the compound, Valkyrie informs Kamala of the visitor and then goes to her quarters, her job here is done.

"You came?" Kamala gently asks.

Carol feels so awkward being back here, "I didn’t have a choice," she growls, Valkyrie’s temper rubbed off on her in the full day they spent locked in a car together.

"Are you sure you wanna see her now?" The girl is unsure about it.

The Captain tries to ignore her overheating body and the heartbeat trying to pound out of her chest, "Yes."

——————

The next day Carol walks into Fury’s office, he looks up at her and disregards her, going back to his computer.

"Silent treatment?"

"It’s not like you were speaking to me before, is it?"

Carol sits down, "Do you have her health reports? Is she ready to go back in the field?"

Fury stops his work and takes a deep breath, "You’re the one who put her to the test yesterday, do you think she’s ready?" It’s a rhetorical question and a scolding.

"Do you know what happened to her?"

"Yes, I’ve been here the whole time, unlike some people." As much as it hurts Carol to hear, she knows she deserves it. "Pick a room yet? Better find one in a different floor than hers."

"I’m not staying long."

"Yes, you are, you’re not leaving until you fix your shit show."

——————

"Hey," Kamala greets Carol as they run into each other in the hallway, "do you have her things? She could really use them back." She tries to be as sweet and calm as possible, Carol only responds with a nod.

The Captain goes to her room to get your stuff and as she’s exiting remembers the velvet box. She stands in the doorway debating what to do when Kate walks by, catching her in her internal argument, "Fury wants to see you, he says it’s important."

"Thank you," Carol mumbles before shoving the ring in her pocket and taking your stuff to your room.

She’s walking away after placing the last of your things in front of your door when she remembers the velvet box, "Fuck," she whispers, stumbling on her feet, trying to hide it in the other boxes. That’s when you open the door and see her.

——————

The Captain finally makes it into Fury’s office, "You took your time," he retorts.

"Got held back."

"I need you to do something for me." Carol stares him down dangerously. "You wanna get back on my good side or not?"

"What is it?" Her tone softens slightly.

He places a card on the table and pushes it towards her, "I need you to get her to comply."

Carol frowns in confusion, "Why?"

"Stark wants it to go perfectly and somehow that’s my problem, so now it is your problem too."

"She hates my gut, how am I supposed to do that?"

Fury shrugs it off, "You promised you’d be there, you just have to make sure she is too. Maybe start by getting on her good side."

Carol is gonna have to build from the ground up using every strategy she’s learned in the past few years.

Chapter 15

Let this chapter be proof that if you leave a comment, there is a chance it will influence something...

Tags: @graniairish @carols-photonblast @thelittleliars @unicorniusfallapatorius @prplepeony @eringranola

Let me know if you wanna be tagged :)

[pampanope]

Graves Headcanons from Shadows’ POV (Part 2):

Part 1

((hello hello again, more written stuff~))

7-11 sat in his quarters trying to decide which polaroid of the Commander he’d donate to the Graves Manual.

Would it be one of him mid-stretch, wearing knee-high compression socks and thigh length shorts? Maybe.

Or maybe the one with Graves slumped over his office desk, hair askew, drool leaking out of a parted mouth? A lot of potential there, a sleeping Graves is always cute appreciated.

How ‘bout the closeup of the Commander’s face, hair mussed by the wind, head tilted down, one side of his mouth quirked up playfully to expose a prominent canine, piercing steel eyes staring dead on at the camera full of challenge and—

Actually, fuck, no, 7-11’s keeping that one.

But also…

Did Graves know i was up in that tree? From that distance? The whole time? Or was it coincidence and he just happened to look in that one tree’s direction? What the fuck—he’s never—he looked at me—

7-11 took a deep breath and shuddered (out of fear or excitement?).

Right, probably just a coincidence; no way he’s caught on to my personal game, a game that’s been going on for months.

He would’ve said something by now, right?

Right.

Deciding to make a choice at a later date, he turned to his most pressing matter of the evening.

Zorro (9-24) had cornered him after evening chow, his brows all furrowed and mouth pursed in displeasure. He shoved a handful of stained loose leaf paper into his chest and said:

“Rewrite, retype, I don’t care, redo your coffee stained shit, sleepy cachorro, or I’ll let the new recruits know that their favorite, cool, mysterious Lt. is actually a slob of the highest degree.”

7-11 could only blink lazily as he was booped in the snoot with more force than called for, before the Brazilian swiftly power walked down the hallway.

That was hours ago.

Now those entries sat there on his desk and taunted him.

Well I can’t have the adorable receuits go around spreading that slander, he thought, knowing he thrived on their regard as much as he craved the Commander’s attention.

Sighing, 7-11 grabbed a fresh sheet of paper and began to write.

——-

• The Commander had a gift for people in general that was uncanny.

• Graves, after spending just enough time with someone, knew which buttons to push, what switches to pull, and which gears he’d need to grease or sabotage within that person to get his desired outcome.

•He can easily gauge the emotional state of his Shadows as individuals or as a whole. His pre-mission pep-rallies (for there is no better word for them) got their spirits up and blood boiling. Graves effortlessly grabs their attention and holds it in a tight grip.

(It was, 7-11 thought, so nice to have a boss who made an effort for you and from the scribbles along the margins, other Shadows agreed)

• This gift for people offered other advantages in the Commander’s line of work.

• He can get a basic grasp of a person’s capabilities or weaknesses through observation and intuition and decide if they’re worth his time. And his estimations were accurate far too often (Extremely useful when ‘recruiting’ in the field…)

(What does Graves see when he looks at me)

• it was akin to having a faded map that showed how best to navigate negotiations and dealings with adversaries, whether in business or combat; Graves intuitively knew when to apply pressure, how to bluff effectively, when threats were necessary, and if honeyed words wrapped in his southern drawl would yield better results.

(That last one was quite effective. Unfairly effective.)

• It’s always a goddamn pleasure to witness the Commander leverage his cards over the target. The smug, triumphant look he wore if his efforts were met with success was exquisite.

•As sure as the Commander’s grin hides a pair of wicked canines, so, too, does this empathy of his. It’s been honed into a weapon that, when turned on his enemies, can be deadly.

• Weaponized empathy.

(Holy hell, the Commander turned a typical Piscean trait into a weapon

EXCUSE ME HES A PISCES?!

Yeah I bribed a newbie in HR for that bit of info so ssshhhhh

Lil shit wont give me the Commanders bday. Yet.

Lemme at ‘em, I’ll make ‘em talk ;))

• It makes him a master manipulator and it’s an oft overlooked skill of Graves; most would look first at his experience in the USMC, MARSOC, and the weapons on his person to determine weapon proficiencies (haha tough luck, he’s proficient at multiple types of firearms and yeet-able objects).

•It’s allowed him to claw his way to success, tango with the rich elite that made up his client base, negotiate contracts with governments, traverse the murky waters that was life as a mercenary

• and safely guide his Shadow Company through it all.

(and always be ready to have the Commanders back should shit go pear shaped because NOTHING is ever certain)

• The Commander maxed out his Charisma stat

——-

7-111 chuckled softly at the surprise addition because yeah, Graves certainly did.

The officers in the D&D club gave after action reports that read like epic campaigns. Fucking beautiful.

7-11 decided to keep the little addition.

With that finished, he stacked the newly revised manual entries, shredded and dumped the originals, and swore to himself he’d apologize to Zorro in the morning for making the other Lieutenant spend some of his personal time tracking him down in the first place.

Hopefully he won’t send Peaches after his ass.

His ass and dignity haven’t yet recovered from the last session with that massive brute.

After shutting off the light, 7-11 flopped into his mattress, nuzzled into his cool pillow and drifted off to sleep to dreams of sharp teeth and steel eyes.

[fortheloveofarchons]

How A Fish Finds Solace (from Ao3)

Where your Captain makes you do some tests to confirm your position as co-pilot, and confronts you directly about your issues. Full chapter in the link down below!!

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As you enter the lounge room, you find Captain Curly waiting for you, sitting down on the ground with his burly arms crossed and his thick blonde eyebrows furrowed. The lounge room was a stark contrast to the coldness of the sleeping quarters, with its bright display of a screen that replicated Earth’s blue sky that stretched over the small coffee table and the L-shaped couch. 

Captain Curly eyes you up and down, taking in your disheveled appearance and the obvious effort it had taken for you to drag yourself out of bed. Instead of wearing your uniform, you only wore an oversized white hoodie and a pair of black sweatpants. 

As for your footwear, you were influenced by Nurse Anya, green crocs pairing with white socks. A last minute mismatched decision. 

“I see you decided to show up after all,” Your Captain remarks, his tone even and measured as always. “I hope you’re ready to start, because you’ve got a lot of ground to cover.” 

His hand gestures towards the coffee table, where instead of a board game, is a thick pile of papers. 

Test papers. 

Oh… Hell no. Test papers. The bane of every students’ existence. 

“We’re going to start with the basics,” Captain Curly explains, flipping through a few pages that have already been stapled to one test. “Navigation, emergency procedures, damage control… We’ll work our way up from there.” 

“Uhh… Captain, can we–” 

“No.”

“But–” 

“Co-pilot, now. ” 

"....." 

In the end, all you could do was to sit on the ground, pick up your pencil, and start reading the questions on your tests. The lounge room feels heavy with the quiet rustle of papers, and the soft scratches of the pencil against the paper. 

Most of the questions were familiar, as the formatting felt nostalgic to your exams back in your university years, but the added pressure of Captain Curly’s intense blue gaze made your brain feel clumsy and uncertain with each of your circling and sentences. 

“Read the questions carefully, co-pilot,” Captain Curly urges next to your seat. Though his eyes weren’t on you and more so on the paper you’re writing, it still made your blood spike. “You’ve done this paper before. Trust your instincts. ”  

But your instincts had betrayed you once before, the fear of repeating your mistake hangs heavy in the air. The tip of your pencil almost crosses the writing lines, your heart pounding in your chest as you quickly erase the last few words on your paper. 

With your eyes completely focused on the paper, you almost dropped your pencil from Captain Curly’s hand that came down hard on your shoulder, his grip tight and unyielding for a few seconds. 

“Focus. This isn’t just some test. This determines your life, and the lives of everyone else on this ship.” 

Fuck, this is such a weird thought right now, but– 

Ooomfh

H i s f i r m v o i c e 

Thewayhegripsmyshoulder.

Killllllll meeeeeee. 

I am… so not nooooooormal. 

As the test continues, you feel yourself gradually falling into a rhythm of twisted nostalgia. The way you’d triple check every questions on the test to make sure you’re not about to make another careless mistake, how you’d write dot points to argue with yourself before you finalise on circling your answers, how you would check your answers more than how many fingers you have on your hand before you start with the next paper. 

And how you’d write funny comments on the test paper to maybe– just maybe with a pinch of hope– that your instructors and lecturers would be more lenient with marking your paper. 

What does ICAO stand for? 

International Civil Aviation Organisation 

Intense Civil Aviation Operations 

Interstate Civil Aviation Organisation 

None of these 

Ice Cream Assembly Organisation :D All hail ice cream!! Mint chocolate supremacy!!

… Heh. 

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

As the timer ticks by, you find yourself growing more comfortable with the questions. You navigated through questions about the functions of a typical longitude flight, how flight controls are used to counter adverse yaw, to writing essays on discussing the methods of protection against HIRF and describing the procedure including all checks and tests to be carried out when it came to a torque loading. 

You navigated these questions with a level of proficiency that surprised even yourself. 

Meanwhile, Captain Curly watches you closely as he’s sitting behind you on the L-shaped couch, and you can’t see his expression since you’re one-hundred percent focused on your papers. 

Finally, the papers are done. 

And both of your hands are about to request for a quick amputation. 

As you’re about to ask Captain Curly how did he manage to get those papers (Like, just where in the Tulpar did he find a printer??), he takes the stack of papers from your hands, his other hand already clicking the red pen open to mark them all. 

Although he didn’t bark any orders or commands, you could only sit back down on the floor as Captain Curly marked all of your papers. The lounge room feels heavy with the quiet rustle of papers once more, as Captain Curly leans slightly forward, his jaw set, and the faint scent of him… lingered in the air. 

His red pen scratches the paper methodically, his brows furrowing as he marks your answers, and you can’t help but overthink how each flick of his wrist is like a gavel striking a judgment. 

You wonder if he notices how you hold your breath every time he pauses to tap the pen thoughtfully against his lip. 

His lips– those damn lips, how they can be commanding yet sweet– reminding you of how he could disarm anyone, including you, with a smile or devastate with a frown. 

After what feels like so many hours, he finally sets the pen down, his fingers resting lightly atop the test papers. 

His posture then relaxes slightly. “Not bad,” He admits, his British accent gruff but not unkind to you. “You didn’t get a distinction from some mistakes, but it seems like you haven’t forgotten everything after all.”

Hearing his words, you allow yourself a small smile, the first genuine expression you had felt in days. 

“What’s next?” You ask, looking at your Captain with determination and a smile. 

Captain Curly's expression grows serious once more, his eyes narrowing as he considers your question. "Next," he said, his voice low and intense, "we're going to tackle the real challenge. The one thing that's been holding you back all this time, even when we first met." 

He sits a bit closer to you, his hand almost brushing with yours. "Your fear," he whispers. "Your fear of failure, of disappointing everyone around you... It's been eating you alive, hasn't it?" 

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart racing at his proximity. You knew that Captain Curly was right, but the idea of confronting them head-on was… well… 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61450888/chapters/159281999