#i got an offer for a position on a dig site for a month. i just dont know when that would be

[kath-artic]

do i send my white ass to iowa

[ddejavvu]

it’s dbf!indy anon and I finally had a thought!!!

looking at old photos of your dad and indy with dbf!indy, and just being like “wow I would’ve smashed younger you” or “you’ve just gotten more handsome with age” or like, subtly flirting and he’s trying so hard to not flirt back bc he’s still trying to forget that he finds you attractive

today is multiverse monday, send me any au you can think of! :)

this post is 18+ (due to an age gap), minors dni.

Your dad seems to have been a whole other person before he'd settled down with your mom. You've never seen this side of him before, the cocky young man pictured beside Dr. Jones at a dig site, squinting into the sun and marred with dirt. Now he's neat, proper, and wouldn't spent days at a dig site if he was offered millions of dollars.

Dr. Jones is even more jarring to look at. There's a layer of rugged scruff on his face in the picture, his shirt hanging half open over his chest and sweat lining his brow. His sleeves are torn off in the photos, probably due to the sweltering heat they're working in, though you wonder if having his skin exposed left him vulnerable to sunburns. He doesn't look burnt, only gorgeously tanned, and you marvel over the man he used to be.

"That's you?" You ogle at a shot of him standing atop a carrier plane, lugging crates of god knows what into the hold. The cut-off sleeves give you a fantastic view of the muscles in his arms bulging while he lifts the boxes, and you only wish you'd have been there in person to avoid the slightly grainy quality to the film. It's a precarious position he's in, one that you wouldn't expect from the proper professor beside you.

"That's me," He drawls, "You like my hair?"

It's not combed, laying fluffy and natural over his forehead. There's a hat hanging from his belt, and you're surprised it hadn't messed up the strands of hair that flop so naturally over his head.

"it's different," You laugh, turning to face him. He'd been peering over your shoulder to see the pictures you're looking at, so when you turn, you're rather close. He doesn't move away, though, not even as you study him with a discerning gaze.

"You're proper-handsome now." You decide, "The gelled hair, the glasses, the suits-and-ties. But you used to be rugged-handsome." You flip to the next page, showcasing him caught sleeping against a load of cargo in the tiny plane.

You're too focused on the photos to notice him watching you, jaw working to tighten his lazy grin so that it doesn't turn upside down. He's fighting an internal battle, he knows he shouldn't be attracted to you but he is, and he can't decide whether he'll allow himself to accept your compliments or not.

"See?" You point to his posture, toned arms stretched up and over his head, his hat over his face to block out the sun, "That's a picture they'd put in one of those super-sexy firefighter-of-the-month calendars. The muscles, the open shirt, the thighs on display..." You muse, tracing over each feature you name.

He's torn. You're complimenting him, openly, brazenly. He knows he's not taking advantage of you, you're coming to him, but something about it seems so forbidden that he almost can't respond. But he's well-acquainted with danger, with the exhilaration of doing something he shouldn't, so he lets a chuckle escape, "Yeah? You think I'd make it as a sexy firefighter?"

"Oh, for sure," You nod, like you think you're reassuring his insecurities, "Just lose the shirt and swap it for suspenders, Indy, you'd fit right in."

"Really," He marvels your bold nature, unable to stop from laughing again, "Well sweetheart, maybe you 'oughta take the pictures for me. Pose me, oil me up, that sorta thing."

"Deal," You grin, turning back to face him again, still not backing away from your tantalizingly close proximity, "Should I bring socks to stuff your crotch with?"

"No need," Indiana assures you, his drawl never having been cockier, "I've got that covered myself, sweetheart."

[mythical-fangirls]

Now, for my own safety because people don't know how to simply scroll past salt. I'm gonna say it now if you like Dragons The Nine Realms Scroll Away now. This is a rewrite of the series because of its wasted potential and god-fucking awful ending.

Now that the Nine Realms is over, I can talk about a rewrite my brain has been brewing up since the show began.

Now, there are two ways a rewrite can go after I witnessed the finale.

A series of episodes that showcase dragons being found again and again by humanity, and in the end humanity always deciding to leave the dragons alone once again. Because after that ending, my brain immediately thought of it happening before, of humans and dragons always meeting and bonding again and again and again, only for humanity as a whole to prove unkind that the humans who care for the dragons have to hide them once more

A general rewrite of the series. I'm bias to an OC I crafted when the series started, but to keep things simple I'm going to be using the same characters and just tweaking their stories to better fit the whole idea the series was trying to get to

The cast is first aged up to be around young collage age, and they're at the Icarus base as part of an internship as per their varying majors. This would explain Alex's skills with tech and hacking and shut because she's majoring in it.

Tom's studies would be more general sciences, with a focus on ecology. It's only a coincidental plus that he's working with his mom since she's a geologist. Tom's here to study how the opening of the fissure has affected the environment around it as whole

Jun's studies are history based, with a focus on archology. As the fissure is around a historic site that she was already interning at. Jun is also a bit of linguist due to needing to translate the old texts they find on digs. The fissure opened up more potential dig sites in the shockwaves after it first opened

Alex is a cyber security major currently at the site as an intern to help manage the base as she also has varying tech classes and certifications under her belt

D'Angelo is a biology major, with plans to eventually become a veterinarian. He's there to study the flora and fauna within the fissure and how the opening of the fissure has affected the plants outside of it

Eugene is currently on a gap "year" and has been simply working during it. But a company he's working for offered him position to basically be in charge of Icarus' food supplies and the like as, due to the uniquely somewhat confidential nature of the project, it would be easier to have someone who already knows the people within the project and thus someone trustworthy to the people within the project, to handle their supplies

The kids are mainly here to help the people they're interning under analyze information the proper project team acquires to do more menial tasks for them. Except Eugene who's main job is to basically ensure stock of mainly food supplies but also other things the team might need

Tom isn't related to Hiccup, he's actually related to the Twins for pure Comedy

Jun is still incredibly fond of myths and folktales, its the reason she's a history major because those tales are a window of how society was at the time (if that makes sense)

Eugene and Jun are still siblings, and their parents are still divorced, but Eugene was left in their mother's primary custody and Jun was left with their father. Eugene was coddled too much by their mother, which left him indecisive over his path in life

D'Angelo's desire to become a vet is because of a pet his dad got him before he would've had to leave for another military assignment. That animal was his best friend, and it died due to an illness that they didn't catch because his dad just got home after months of being gone. Out of grief he could never bond with an animal like that again. Out of a bit of guilt, he's aiming to become a veterinarian

Now I always had an image of the Nine Realms within my head before the show aired that I refuse to let go of

There's a biome of shadows and storms where dragons like the Skrill, Night Terrors, and Night Furys live and thrive within

(Yes, Night Furys. I always thought it would be amazing if Toothless wasn't truly the last of his kind but rather the last of his kind to join them in the Hidden World)

Animals from ages past live and thrive in the Hidden World alongside the dragons. Mammoths, Dodo Birds, Saber Tooth Tigers, Giant Sloths, Eurasian Aurochs, and so many more. The environment of the hidden world is borderline fantasy in how it operates and thrives despite the lack of sunlight

There are eight realms within the hidden world, as the nineth would be where the Icarus base is. Each realm is unfathomably vast with so much nature and creatures living within it. What makes the Fissure so special is that its basically Yggdrasil in that its the point where all of the realms connect

Dragoncite, as a rock, has no use to dragons. At least to dragons in the modern day. When dragons first went completely underground, many of them missed the feeling of the sun against their scales. One day, a Rumblehorn, after consuming a specific diet that only happens in the heart of the hidden world, produced the first Dragoncite. Dragoncite, when heated with dragon flame, radiates a heat similar to the heat of sunshine. Dragons heated it up for survival or addition, they heated it up for nostalgia. As a reminder of times long past. Dragons in the modern day do it because their ancestors and forefathers did it

With ^ in mind, this would also lead to many dragons being very eager to soar into the open sky. Finally feeling the true heat dragoncite was replicating. But the loud machines and once familiar now unfamiliar sky intimidate them, for there is no reason to trek beyond their home that has all they need

The initial earthquake that opened the fissure was a quarrel between a Fault Ripper and a teenage Screaming Death. The following earthquakes are the result of the Fault Ripper attempting to close the fissure

The Fault Ripper is a noble species in the hidden world, they are the dragon that create vast caves and paths between the varying realms. Where Whispering Deaths dig to eat, Fault Rippers dig to serve their environment

Jormungandr, as a dragon, is like the hidden world itself. Unfathomably large. One doesn't even realize it's a dragon unless you somehow find its head/tail. One can find oddly rounded formations in the Hidden World that go through mountains and caves. No one would ever suspect them to be the same nor even consider it to be a dragon because the environment and the dragon itself have melded into one. Jormungandr is in a sort of eternal hibernation, absorbing nutrients through its scales in the varying environments of its segments

Treasure Hunters/Poarchers/Hunters trying to head into the fissure to steal either information, creatures from within, or even just Plants constantly try to go in and is in fact an ongoing issue for the research team because these goons are disrupting the natural environment of the creatures and thus tampering with data!

The goons go missing a lot though, and none of their people on the surface know why because even the search parties they send in go missing

(Answer: dragons and other carnivores but mainly the dragons)

Now, I refuse to believe Hiccup would leave so much random shit in the Hidden World and seem to move his young children and wife to the Hidden World and leave Berk to what?? Snotlout??? Democracy??? Anyways

Either Hiccup himself (with Astrid obviously and maybe the other riders), when his kids are grown and managing the village in full, or (again another bias thing my little wrym brain wants) a child of his (maybe a 3th after Zephry and Nuffink? To match with Toothless also having three kids?) is the one who stays in the hidden world and records their findings. Living out the rest of their days in the Hidden World, hoping that their notes will guide the future. They pray to the Gods that whoever finds their notes is kind to dragons and will show them the kindness of the world

The notes are locked in a container made out of gronkle iron and death song amber

And that's all for now my brain is a pile of water mashed potatoes

[museeeuuuum]

I'm sorry if this question has already been asked and answered, but what did you go to school for and how did you enter the field of museum work? I'm currently in university aspiring to someday work in museum conservation, I and would be very grateful for any wisdom you could offer. Thank you!

This has been sitting in my inbox for a long time, partly because I have been trying to sort out how to reply, I do apologize.

I got into museum work in a roundabout way. Once upon a time, I was trying to figure out what the fuck I wanted to do with my life, and what I wanted to do was travel. What job would pay me to travel ? Ah, archaeology! I always saw those khaki wearing nerds in exotic places on TV. And they got to dig up history? Sign me up.

I got a degree in Anthropology. I didn't like it very much. At the same time I got a degree in Classics. I liked that alot more. Having come from a low income family where, to this day, I am the only college/university educated person, I was led to believe by well meaning family members that people would be BEGGING me to work for them. I had not one, but TWO degrees after all.

I spent the two years after university continuing to work at 4 star hotels, cleaning up after sex parties and fixing toilets. I was an idiot and did not apply for many jobs. I was frozen, unsure of how one acquired a career.

I did another fieldschool, got an Archaeology Assistant certificate that feels like it was worth less than the paper it was printed on, and I decided I ought to step up my game. I went and got myself a graduate diploma in cultural resource management, did a little conservation internship at a big local museum that completely changed my trajectory, and also started applying to jobs like I should have been 2 fucking years prior.

I got a job as a commercial archaeologist working on pipelines and the most idiotic hydro damn project in human history. I worked the field and also got lab experience, writing numbers on tiny fragments of rock while the lab director and assistant tried not to tear each other's throats out.

I decided I no longer wanted to be an archaeologist. I worked labour for 15 years and my injuries were stacking up. That internship stuck in my head. I started applying everywhere. Galleries. Museums. Obscure archaeology digs in muddy English countrysides.

I was interviewed for the Assistant Curator position at a small house museum that was trying to start from less than scratch: the site had been horribly mismanaged for decades and the place was falling apart, the collection a mess.

I didn't get the job. But I did get lucky: the woman who got the job got pregnant and they needed someone to cover her maternity leave, and guess who had a shiny new graduate diploma?

I got cold called 7 months later and was offered the mat leave cover. The pregnant lady had her baby and moved to Vancouver and, voila. I got a permanent position.

Some advice: volunteer with museums, make friends, and remember peoples names. Make sure they remember yours. Public history is very chic in museums right now: get a degree in that. Conservation is cool, but you get pidgeon-holed into a job that pays well and has openings once every few years. If you want to do curation and research, get a public history degree. If you want to do collections stuff, look for something that will teach you the basics of conservation and collections management. Learn how to work with your hands, how to work an electric drill, and how to clean (like REALLY CLEAN, not the shit treatment you give your apartment once every three weeks). Connections are everything in this field. The pay is okay, but don't ever expect to own a home unless you have an inheritance.

Most importantly, support your local museums, even if you don't want to work for them. Donate a little extra. Vote for mps or senators or whoever makes decisions in your country, province, state, or municipality who respect education and the preservation of cultural heritage. If you don't, jobs will be cut.

That is the story of how I got into museums and a few nuggets of advice I wish I had been told a decade ago. I entered through a convoluted way, so I am not sure how helpful this will be to you. But I wish you the best of luck.

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

If I Go Universe - Dreams Come True (Rick Flag x OC)

Summary: Dee is unsure about going back to school to get her degree, but Rick is nothing but supportive of her pursuing her dream.

Pairing: Rick Flag x OC / Squad Family & OC (Delphia Holman)

Word Count: 1375

Warnings: fluff, self-doubt, language, rick being the most supportive husband

Timeline: October 2022

if i go masterlist

Delphia never got to go to college. As soon as she graduated from high school, back in 2007, Waller offered her a job that she couldn’t say no to. It had nice benefits, paid well, and though her contract was a mile high she didn’t think much of it. She was only a kid when she signed the thing, she didn’t know what she was getting herself into. She thought that, eventually, she would leave that position and go back to school. Finally get that degree she had always dreamed of, that her father had always told her was so important.

But now here she was. Thirty-three years old, married, with a baby, and no longer working for Waller. It was later than she expected — and she certainly hadn’t been expecting the husband, the son, the white hair, or the house full of ex-cons for that matter. And even though she was extremely happy with her life, she still felt like something was missing.

So there she sat at the kitchen table, laptop and webpage open to the local university website, scrolling through the course list dreamily. One hand propping up her cheek while the other held a sleeping Leo.

She had searched through every major offered at the university so far, trying to see what would fit her best if she were to hypothetically go. But she was always drawn back to the same one, over and over again. History. As she scrolled through the course offerings for the major, a deep longing settling in her chest like a cat ready to nap the day away, she had to blame her father for this. Every summer she lived with her parents, all her growing up years, she had been dragged to countless dig sites all over the world. She remembered her dad letting her down into the pits with him, teaching her how to brush away the dirt without damaging the artifacts they were trying to uncover. He was retired at the time, but he was still called to consult and he had the terrible habit of not being able to say no. All in the name of archeology, her mother would like to say. And while other kids may have found all that dirt and old stuff boring, Delphia lived for those summer trips spent with her parents. Lived for finding a piece of broken pottery and learning from the graduate students what it may have been used for. Lived for going back to the rental home they would stay in for the summer and pouring over the books about the city they were in and its history.

The front door opened and closed. Familiar footsteps pounded through the foyer and then Rick entered the dining room. He wore a pair of jeans and a flannel, the sleeves rolled up and a baseball hat on his head. Him and DuBois had been working a tough missing persons case for the past month — one that felt hopeless and that it was going nowhere. She could see his frustration as he entered the room, lined in that crinkle between his brows and the downturn of his mouth.

Now was not the time to bring up her wanting to go back to school, it seemed.

“Hey, baby girl,” Rick sighed, planting a kiss on the top of her head as he passed her.

“Home for lunch?” she asked as she pushed the laptop away from her.

“Yep.” He crossed the kitchen and opened the fridge, scanning quickly for leftovers to heat up. “Gotta make it quick though — DuBois’s got a lead.”

“Hm, that’s good,” she mumbled, distracted as she reached for the laptop again and scrolled a few paragraphs down the screen.

God, wouldn’t it be amazing to take a class over the myths of the ancient world? Or a class about the history of birth? She sighed again as she read over a few more course descriptions. She knew that some people dreamed of being in her position. A stay at home mother with really no other responsibilities besides cleaning house and cooking. And she could recognize the privilege that she indulged in, thankfully and without complaint. But learning had always been such a huge part of her life, and when she started working for Waller all of it just stopped. She missed it. She missed reading scholarly articles and writing essays and discussing topics with her teachers. Delphia remembered fondly Eleanor calling her a huge dork in high school, but there really was some truth to it.

“Dee?” Rick called her name as he sat down beside her, carton of reheated Chinese in hand.

Her eyes snapped over to look at him from the computer screen. “Hmm? What — you say something?”

“I asked what you were lookin’ at,” he chuckled before quickly shoving lo-mein noodles in his mouth.

“Oh, nothing.” Delphia readjusted the sleeping baby in her arms to where he was laying on her chest instead. “Just looking.”

Rick leveled her with a look. “Lookin’ at what?”

“College stuff…again,” she mumbled, absentmindedly patting Leo on the butt.

For some reason, she felt a heat rise in her cheeks and she found she could barely look at her husband. She was a grown adult, she shouldn’t get embarrassed by the things she wanted in life. But this seemed so childish, so rudimentary. And she already had everything she had ever wanted except this one thing — and shouldn’t she be satisfied with that? Was it terrible of her to want something more?

She heard Rick’s fork settle on the tabletop with a clatter, forcing her to finally look over at him. He looked exasperated — but gentle and understanding.

“Baby girl, we talked about this,” he said, hand coming up to hold the back of her neck, massaging gently, “I ain’t gonna stop you if you wanna go. I’d be thrilled if ya did.”

Delphia sighed. “I know, I know. I just…I don’t know. We just had a baby and taking classes would distract me from him and I don’t want to…to mess up, I guess? And it’s so much money, and what if I don’t even like it and — ?”

“Dee, you’re a huge fuckin’ nerd. There’s no way you’re not going to like going to college.”

“Okay, rude,” she laughed.

“But seriously, I know you. I know it’s been your dream to be a mom…but I also know it’s been your dream to go to school and get a degree.” He gave her neck one final, reassuring squeeze. “You should do it, baby girl.”

“Are you sure?” she asked apprehensively.

“I’m absolutely sure.” Rick sucked down the rest of the Chinese leftovers before he got up from the table. “We’ll work on your application tonight when I get home. How’s that sound?”

The longing and doubt that had set up shop in her chest was pushed aside. In its place there was joy and a childlike excitement. Delphia pulled the laptop back towards her completely with a wide grin — looking at the courses offered with fresh, determined eyes. No longer like they were dreams but like they were realities.

That spring, Delphia walked onto the small college campus bright and early in the morning, a nervous ball formed in her gut just like she was back in high school. Rick had dropped her off with a good luck kiss and last minute Leo snuggles. She only had the one class today, but it was still daunting and terrifying and God, everyone was probably going to be so much younger than her.

With a shake of her head, she headed towards the proper building, having snuck onto campus with Rick the evening before so she knew exactly where she was going. The halls of the history building were already bustling with students — sitting on lounge chairs trying to complete assignments or chatting before classes began. Yes, she was definitely one of the oldest people there. But that was okay. She could do this.

She walked into the proper classroom and quickly found a place to sit towards the middle of the room. Pulling out the required textbook for this History 101 course, she set it down on her desktop with reverence.

Finally, another dream come true.

Taglist (if you would like to be tagged in future installments, just let me know!): @bbygrgu @a-reader-and-a-writer @slayerx147 @xoxabs88xox @kasey-puff @witchygagirl @the-pink-petite-princess @blooo0ooop @woodlandmouth @csigeoblue @rexorangecouny @h-hxgirl @thisisthewayrose @blondiekook @darkestbeforethedawn16 @runic-belova @weallhaveadestiny @oopsiedoopsie23 @nerdgrrlramblings @ocfairygodmother @reysorigins @hawsx3

[shorkbrian]

I’ve noticed a shortage of yan! Shoto :0 Whilst Kiri is my absolute fave, Todoroki needs some love too! Could I request some Yan! Shoto being absolutely touch starved and obsessed with a sweet, loving, motherly and smol reader? (it can be nsfw if you so wish!) Thank you!! (Btw, I love reading your stories, it’s a blessing in my day, even just looking at your shitposts/memes. And if you ever want to talk, jus say so. I hope you have a good day!! 🥺💞) - Sugar Anon 🧚‍♀️

Sugar anon! That is such a cute identifier and I hope to see you in my asks again!! Hopefully this is along the lines of what you were thinking!!!

It’s a very good concept btw cause like mhm him getting completely overwhelmed and overstimulated during diddly times cause he’s never had anyone be intimate with him.

Like moaning and his cheeks are flushed and oh

(Y/N) is a new doctor  at Shouto’s agency in charge of patching him up between missions and basically being his doctor. Shouto likes her gentle hands and soft touches, lets himself get a bit more scraped up then he would normally.  He’s just so touch starved and she’s so motherly and its such an intimate setting and he’s never had feelings like this before and he doesn’t know what to do.

Has yandere tendencies but tries to squash them down or hide them, tries to be normal.

One day gets hit with an aphrodisiac quirk, stumbles into her office and she’s immediately worried, once she figures out what’s up she tries to get out, lock him in there until someone stronger than he can come escort him home but he grabs her before she can get to the door. 

He’s crying cause he’s so horny it hurts (he’s never been this aroused in his LIFE) and he wanted everything to be perfect and he wanted to woo her but now he’s forcing himself on her and he can’t stop his hips from moving and he’s confessing all the bad things he’s done while he’s known her and she’s absolutely horrified, traumatized.

Warnings - NSFW, noncon, very hard noncon. Aphrodisiacs (spelling?) and a low-key weird comment about Shouto’s mommy-issues at the end. Dude is so twisted and sad and touch starved.

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

“Todoroki-san, I have had to patch you up six different times in two days.”

Shouto cocked his head, staring at you with his bi-colored eyes, studying your face as you tended to the wound on his shoulder. The lilt to your voice suggested you were teasing, making small talk to distract the man as you swiped a disinfectant pad over the cut. You knew what you would be expected to do when you applied for this job, knew that heros were often injured. 

He had overseen the hiring process himself, his last doctor had left the agency for a job in a different country. Shouto held no hard feelings for the doctor, knew that as a hero he often got himself into trouble, needed a lot of attention and care. Not everyone could be expected to spend so much time with him, attending to his health - even if he was paying them a more-than adequate salary.

Most of the candidates had bored him when they came in for their scheduled interviews. Too many of them were looking at this position as a way to launch them into a nice comfortable position in a prestigious hospital. They seemed… uninterested, or too interested, some of the candidates invading his space when they came for a handshake, babbling about how much of a fan they were.

  You weren’t like that. There was a professional distance when you shook his hand, smiling at him pleasantly as you introduced himself. Then you sat down, waited for him and his team to begin asking you questions. Shouto couldn’t keep his eyes from straying to your hands, letting himself wonder whether those hands would be the right ones for the job. You looked so delicate, at least to him, a pro-hero.

But he already liked you better than any of the other candidates.

So you were hired, on the condition that you would be on a trial period for the first two months, with halved pay. It was still far above minimum wage, but Shouto was weary of hiring seemingly-normal employees only for them to turn out to just be trying to get to know him, whatever their reasons. The trial period was for his own sanity.

Currently he was sitting in your office, perched on the edge of the exam table tucked into the corner. Today he had managed to escape his most recent fight with only a few mild scrapes and bruises, but as his doctor, you needed to make sure he was okay, clean his wounds and patch him up before letting him go home for the day. It wouldn’t do anybody any good if one of the top pro heros collapsed on the job because of a lack of medical care. 

Your office was stocked with everything a doctor of your caliber could possibly need. Your “office” was really a mock hospital room, in a medium sized room located at the back of the agency. Having you on site meant that Shouto never had to bother with trips to the hospital, being swarmed by fans when he wasn’t feeling good or having someone who didn’t understand the capabilities of his quirk try to treat him.

It also meant he could relax, know that he was being taken care of. With you being so new, Shouto still had his guard up, ready for any-and-everything. So far you had been nothing but gentle.

You had hardly talked to him, other than the expected “This might sting” or “Deep breath in”. You warned him before you touched him,  but otherwise were very quiet, working diligently and professionally.  Shouto enjoyed it honestly, being able to step away from the buzz and hubbub of his agency and into his doctor’s office, where it was quiet and calm and peaceful.

Being with his mother had felt like this. Felt safe and refreshing and like a secret haven tucked away from the rest of the world.  

Clicking you tongue, you gave the pro hero a thumbs up as you stepped back. “Alright, you’re good to go! Please be safe on your way home Todoroki-san.” Shouto nodded, a stiff smile passing his lips as he rose to his feet. You were a good doctor, always took the best care of him.

“You as well Y/N.”

——

The next visit to your office revealed that you had added a few personal touches. 

A cheesy poster on the wall, directly across from the exam table, a single plant on your desk, A bowl of mini lollipops on the shelf by the door.

Cute.

Today was a short visit, just a quick once-over to make sure there weren’t any cuts or wounds that he hadn’t felt, the normal questions any quirks used against him during the day.  Shouto found himself wishing the visit had been longer as you gave him the all-clear,  moving away from the exam table so he could stand up. Before he walked out the door, you stopped him, silently handed him a lollipop. He took it,  noticing how soft your hand felt against his as he withdrew.

Shouto didn’t like sweets, but he didn’t mind accepting a lollipop from you. He could just offer it to his secretary when he passed her desk, no biggie. It was easier to do that than hurt your feelings by refusing.

Well, he knew it probably wouldn’t hurt your feelings.  He just liked seeing the little twinkle in your eye when he accepted it. He assumed the lollipops were a gag, something usually given to small children for being brave at their checkups.

He wasn’t your only patient, much as he would’ve liked. His agency had several other up-and-coming heroes, and several sidekicks, and you tended to all of them. Shouto liked to think that you saved the majority of your tenderness for him.

One time he had come in while you were setting one of the sidekick’s shoulders. You had asked him to sit down in your office chair, to give you a minute so you could finish up with his coworker. Shouto had done exactly that, watching as your soft hands gripped the sidekick hard, fingers digging in. 

“One, two, three.” You gave a countdown, forcefully jerking the shoulder back in place on “three”. The sidekick groaned at the pain, head shaking as if to clear his head from the intense sensation. You went over to your lollipop bowl, ignoring Shouto as he sat in your chair, returning to the sidekick to give him the sugary treat.

The sidekick sucked on the lollipop while you bandaged his arm into a sling, immobilizing it so it could heal. When you were done, you sent him on his way with a soft smile, before turning to Shouto.

“Todoroki-san, thank you for waiting.  How are you feeling today?”

Todoroki moved to the exam table when you motioned for him, immediately stripping off one of the boots of his hero costume.

“Hello (Y/N), it’s good to see you. I’m feeling good, got nicked by a spike during a fight today. Luckily it hit my ankle, and it’s not very painful.”

“Mm, let’s have a look.”

You kneeled down,  giving him a small warning before pulling his foot towards you, examining the tiny cut gracing his ankle. Shouto paused, closing his eyes as he relaxed at your touch. He didn’t remember the last time he felt this at-ease with another human. He didn’t know what it was about you; maybe your gentle, soft demeanor? Perhaps it was your kind touch, how you never pressed too hard and always respecting his personal space.  

Even as your fingers prodded at the cut, feeling the bone underneath, Shouto felt relaxed, content. He liked being around you, being with you. Even if the two of you hardly conversed. Maybe he could change that?

“(Y/N), how have you been finding working here?”

You looked up at him, bright eyes warm and kind. Shouto felt his chest tighten. “Oh, it’s very nice Todoroki-san! I hope I’m doing a good job attending to everyone.” With a smile, you returned to his ankle, producing an alcohol wipe from seemingly nowhere.

Shouto nodded, hands gripping the edge of the exam table. “I certainly appreciate your service. You have very tender hands.”  Just like his mom.  When he was younger, before his scare… Shouto remembered the care his mother would give to a scraped knee or a bump on his head. The soft touch, the kindness, the gentle hands - Shouto didn’t want to insult you by comparing you to his mother, so he stayed silent.

With a start, the man realized you were beaming up at him, wrapping a bandage around his ankle. He smiled back, felt his cheeks flush a little. What was this?

“Thank you! I know how important my patient is to the world.”

Ah, yes, his job. 

His job that he should probably getting back to.

Reluctantly, Shouto accepted the usual lollipop from your hands, wishing you would linger so he could feel the brush of your skin against his own.

Was he developing feelings for you?

——

It was a startling idea. Shouto never thought himself the type to have /feelings/ for someone else. When he thought of his future, it never involved another person. He didn’t want a family, didn’t want the opportunity to make the same mistakes as his father.

But as he gave the idea more thought, Shouto realized that he was feeling… something towards you. It was different to what he felt for Izuku, for Bakugou and Kirishima. He didn’t crave their touch like he did yours. Had physical contact always had such an appeal?

His last doctor had touched him, it was necessary of course to patch up his various wounds from fights. But somehow it wasn’t the same as when you touched him. 

Shouto spent each exam studying you, your features, the way you moved, how you almost skipped over to the lollipop bowl to retrieve him one at the end of the exam.  He felt drawn to you, wanted to touch your hair, hold onto your hand when you handed him the lollipop. Would you touch him if he asked? A hug maybe?

In his penthouse, Shouto mulled over his feelings, his wants and needs and how you fit in. Would it be prudent for him to start a relationship at this point in his life? Would you even consider him as a partner? No, probably not. You were much too professional, wouldn’t even think of starting a relationship with your boss. 

Maybe he could fire you.

No, no, Shouto couldn’t do that, it would make you hate him. Plus, he wouldn’t be able to see you as often. And Shouto was quickly becoming of the opinion that he wouldn’t mind seeing you more often than he did now.

He wanted more from you. He didn’t know what he wanted, but… maybe he could learn. 

——

If you noticed how frequently Shouto seemed to be visiting you, compared to his usual once-daily check up, you didn’t say anything.

Tabloids were beginning to comment on how eager the pro hero seemed to engage in hand-to-hand with villains. His usual strategy involved using his quirk, only getting his hands dirty if absolutely necessary. But now? He was constantly looking to get hit, kicked, clawed, wounded.

He had to come see you after every over-dramatic scrap with a villain.  You didn’t seem to notice, nor mind seeing his face pop around the door 3-4 times a day, sheepishly asking if you could patch up a new cut, check out a new bruise, make sure his nose wasn’t broken.

Shouto could feel himself falling, further and further into the rigid embrace of love, or at least, his version of it. Did other people experience attraction this vividly? 

He had come to terms with the fact that he was attracted to you, not just your body but your mind, your personality, your very existence.  He wanted to stay in your office, lingering after every visit and awkwardly attempting small talk just so you would interact with him, just so he could be with you a little longer. 

In the privacy of his own apartment, Shouto found himself researching on his laptop. “How to get the girl” “Ways to let her know you like her” “What does love feel like”. He felt so juvenile,  but the man was genuinely at a loss for how to deal with his feelings for you. Telling you outright wouldn’t be appropriate. You would never enter a relationship with your boss, Shouto knew this, you were too good of an employee. Flirting was not his forte, and was completely out of the question. 

So he stuck to what he knew how to do - keep his mouth shut and watch. You never turned him away from your office, never showed irritation when he showed up, never gave any sign that you were becoming tired of his presence. Shouto took this as an invitation, a sign that maybe, just maybe, you had feelings for him too. He found himself bringing his lunch down to your office, asking if he could eat there, just to get away from everyone for a little bit. You always let him, nonchalantly scrolling through your phone as you ate during your lunch break. 

Shouto was a bit embarrassed of himself when he pulled your file from the employee records. If anyone asked why, he would just tell them that he was considering giving you a raise, but wasn’t sure. That’s a valid reason to bring out an employee’s file, right? He just wanted to know where you live, if it was far from the agency. The man couldn’t stomach the thought of you, gentle, little (Y/N)  having to walk home alone at night, or take the train with all the creeps that could be there. 

When he came upon your address, Shouto made a note to ask if you’d like him to drive you home. It was at least a thirty minute drive, he didn’t want to think about how you usually got home. What if something happened to his doctor? When he broached the subject, Shouto thought he did pretty well at acting nonchalant.

“The weather’s getting colder, isn’t it?”

You nodded, wrapping gauze around a nasty gash on his calf.

“I feel bad for anyone who has to walk during the evenings.” He stated.

“Aw, it’s not that bad in my opinion.” You took the bait “I walk home from the train station every night and the weather isn’t awful. It’ll probably get nasty as winter comes though.”

“You have to take the metro to get home? Where do you live.” As if he didn’t know. But you’d recoil if he offered just yet, probably be weirded out that he knew your address.

“Yeah, I live over in the Shikuyu district. It’s a really pretty walk in the fall though, all those trees turning different colors.”

Shouto wrung his hands, taking a deep breath. “Let me drive you home tonight, there’s been some criminal activity going down over there and it’s not one of my sectors. I need my doctor safe.”

You tried to protest, and Shouto let you, but ultimately pulled the boss card, insisting that he needed to take care of his employees, especially one that he bothered so much.

“You never bother me Todoroki-san.” You laughed, dropping a lollipop into Shouto’s lap.

Shouto kept his face from souring, missing the usual contact of your gentle, silky-soft hands as you handed the treat to him. But it was fine, he would get more time with you. In his car, just the two of you, outside of work.

Then he registered what you said, and his head snapped up, eyes wide and roving over you as you turned away, cleaning up the exam table and messy supplies. 

It was all the confirmation he needed.

——

After the first time Shouto drove you home, you refused to let him go out of his way to help you out. Still, he was your boss and he could insist that you at least call an uber, or a cab. He didn’t feel comfortable sending his little doctor off onto the train every night after work. Shouto even upped your pay so you could afford it easier, saying there was no reason to be unsafe.

It was hard for him to know if he was being too suffocating.  He didn’t want for you to regret your statement about him never bothering you.

So he had his agency install new security cameras. 

One was placed in your office, where there hadn’t been one before. You weren’t too pressed when Shouto asked you what you thought of the upgrades, said you could see the sense in making sure the building was safe, especially the doctor’s office, where the heroes would be at their most vulnerable. 

Shouto agreed - he was always at his most vulnerable when he was around you.

But now he could stop letting his body take a beating in order to see you. He could sit in his office, busy himself with paperwork and have the security feed from your office pulled up on his laptop. Half the time Shouto got distracted, abandoning the paperwork in order to watch you work, treating sidekicks and heroes-in-training and anyone else the agency had hired. 

He tried to ignore the bitter pang of jealousy that reared it’s head.

Shouto knew jealousy, knew anger and negative emotions very well. His childhood had been littered with nothing but bad memories and negative moments. The only time he felt at peace was when he was curled in his mom’s lap, the woman running slender fingers through his bi-colored hair. Sometimes, when he was still very small, she would have the time to read him a story before bedtime. 

She was such an amazing woman. 

Shouto saw her in you.

The way you tended to him so gently, delicately treating his wounds. How you carded through his hair, just like his mom used to, when you were checking for head wounds. The way your lovely hands pressed against his back when you felt to see if a rib was cracked, rubbing each rib slow and soft, pressing. It was just like how his mom would rub his back.

The man swore your touch was addictive. He wanted more and more and more and he didn’t have a clue as how to get it.  Shouto had to be satisfied with fleeting brushes when he moved before you were ready, accidentally jostling you against his body. Or telling you (lying) that his body was hurting, sore, it didn’t quite feel right. You would do your best to check for any injuries, asking where it hurt (usually his torso “hurt”) and then skimming your hands very carefully over the skin there.

Shouto imagined how nice it would be to fall asleep with your hands on him. He wasn’t stupid.  He was getting too attached, too invested, was practically stalking your at this point. He shouldn’t be doing this, lying to you, watching you. But he didn’t know what else to do.

Guilt was beginning to take root in his mind.

One day he knew he would have to tell you, confess his feelings and deal with the outcome. You would accept him, hopefully. Shouto felt afraid for what he would do if you didn’t.

——

Shouto felt hot, disoriented, thirsty. He was pretty sure he was in your office, had gotten hit with a villains quirk during a fight. Apparently it had knocked him out, as he didn’t remember even coming into the agency.

Muffled voices could be heard past the closed door, and Shouto winced at the noise, at the light, at the feelings of his clothes against his skin. Everything felt  too much.  He stumbled off the exam table, yup, your office, and moved towards the light switch, stripping off his shirt as he did so. 

The voices outside were still making noise, but with the light off Shouto felt a little better. His remaining clothes were still bothering him. His head felt fuzzy. His boots came off, followed by his pants. He wanted to take off his boxers, but his rational mind supplied how bad of an idea that would be. What if you came in?

At the thought of his little doctor, Shouto’s stomach jolted in arousal. Confused, the man peered down, surprised to find himself completely hard in his boxer briefs. He knew he considered you very attractive, but it usually took a fair bit of stimulus before he found himself aroused. 

Shouto gulped as he climbed back onto the exam table, immediately curling onto his side towards the wall. He was practically panting with the heat of the room, sweating and drooling. Wait, drooling?

The door opened.

“Todoroki-san, I have bad news.”

Your voice was so sweet, like warm honey. Shouto shivered when he heard it, his cock twitching between his legs. He wanted to turn to you, stand up, pull you close. But he… he shouldn’t.

“You got hit by an aphrodisiac quirk. It’s going to take a bit to leave your system, and will probably be uncomfortable until then. I’m going to leave some supplies in case you would like to use them, but I will be taking my leave after getting you settled. The rest of your team and I have decided it’s safer for you to remain in this room than attempt to move you back home. We will be locking the door so no one can come in.”

And you can’t get out.

You didn’t have to say it,. Shouto heard you shuffling around the room behind him, he was so hot, sweat was beading all over his body.

“(Y/N), Why am I so warm?” Shouto groaned out, trembling. It felt like he was sick but with… arousal.

Objects were set down on your desk, before Shouto heard you step towards him.

“The quirk is going to make your libido hyperactive for the next twelve hours or so. It’s very likely that you will be aroused and craving stimulation.”

You sounded so clinical, so robotic, none of the usual warmth in your tone when you talked to Shouto. He wanted to whine, cry that you weren’t treating him the way you usually did.  And when he needed your help too! His rational brain was telling him that you were trying to be professional, give your mostly-naked boss privacy. 

HIs rational brain told him to stay still, wait until you left the room to grab whatever you had left for him on the desk.  It was entirely possible that he wouldn’t be able to hold himself back from grabbing your hands if he turned. He wanted to feel your hands on him, running over his torso, rubbing his back, cupping his cheek. He wanted your touch, so, so bad. 

Shouto decided it was time for his rational brain to shut up.

When he turned over, sitting up, you looked like a deer caught in the headlights, already halfway to the door.

“(Y/N)” Shouto rasped, rising to his feet unsteadily. The arousal pooling in his gut was overwhelming - he couldn’t remember a time when he’d been so hard.  His penis was so rigid that it hurt, throbbing in his boxers.

You took a step back, eyes trained firmly on Shouto’s face, determined to not let them stray below the belt.  

Shouto didn’t know what was happening, couldn’t rationalize any of it. The man wasn’t even in control of himself, feeling as if some demon from hell had invaded his body, taken his dirty thoughts and insisted that he act upon them right now.

The pro hero didn’t even know when he had grabbed you, but then he was pressing you up against his body and it felt so good that the man whimpered. A low, needy sound, softer than the spluttering and shocked noises tumbling from your mouth as you pushed against your boss, trapped in his grip.

“Todoroki-san! Please let go! The quirk-!”

Shouto didn’t listen, didn’t want to. He started grinding his hips against yours, breathing hard through his nose at the pleasure roaring into his veins at the simple contact, his dick pressing into your stomach. 

It wasn’t enough though, he needed more.

Shouto dragged you to the exam table, manhandled you up against the flat surface and bent you over despite your struggling, the shouts of “No! Stop!”. Should he stop? Probably. But he wanted this. Had ever since he realized that he loved you, although it hadn’t been this intense before. With one quick movement, Shouto pulled off your scrubs, discarding your underwear in the same movement. He wasn’t concerned about foreplay - he needed, he needed all of you right now.

But the man couldn’t resist falling to his knees behind you, hands moving their iron grip from your palms to your thighs. His fingertip dug into your flesh, dimpling up your skin as he leaned forward, your pussy exposed oh so prettily for him.

Shouto didn’t know if you were screaming or crying or begging for more. He was too focused on the juicy flesh in front of him, leaning forward quickly to greedily slurp at the pink slit. He felt you jump, try to straighten your back but he let his hold on his quirk weaken, simultaneously heating and freezing each thigh held in his grasp. 

You quickly resumed the position he had put you in.

The pro hero couldn’t get enough, licking and sucking with fervent desperation at your folds, no rhythm or technique whatsoever. He couldn’t think, not with his face buried between your legs, your thighs shaking in his hold, your sweet little cries (“Todoroki-san /please/! Stop!”) filling the air. 

It could have been seconds, or minutes, Shouto had no concept of what was happening, only that you were the best fucking thing he had ever tasted in his life, and he needed everything you had to give him. He couldn’t stop himself from trying to burying his face closer, trying to spread your thighs further and further so he could reach deeper into your puffy pussy.

Your cum gushed onto his tongue, and the man slurped it up, reveling in the stick, wet sensation. 

He couldn’t ignore his dick any longer.

Letting go of your thighs, Shouto stood, pushing his boxer briefs down his legs as fast as he could, desperate to sheath himself inside your cunt. He could barely breathe, was so aroused he was light-headed with need.

With his boxers off, the man pressed close to you again, lifting one of your legs to brace it on the table, forcing you to go on tiptoe. When the head of his dick met your folds, Shouto felt his cock jump, the strange sensation making butterflies rise in his stomach. 

“Mmhm, (Y/N) I don’t know-I don’t know what’s happening.” Shouto confessed, one hand on your hip, the other guiding his thick cock into your pussy. “You just-oh, you look so good, always - always do. I need to feel - need to feel you so bad.”

He could feel your body trembling, and it briefly crossed his mind that you were probably crying. But his arousal slammed into him like a truck the moment he let his hips twitch forward, sliding his length into your wet pussy. “Oh god, oh-oh god, oh!”

Shouto came, crying into your neck, saliva dripping from his mouth and onto your heated flesh.

To his surprise, his dick was still hard, and the arousal was still pushing, urging, needy.

“(Y/N), I don’t - I’m so sorry.” Shouto stuttered, pulling back just to have his hips plunge forward again. You were so warm, so wet from your own orgasm and from his cum sliding inside you. It was heaven. 

Shouto had never touched, nor been touched this much in his entire  life. He didn’t know what to do, how to feel; it felt like his brain was on fire, and with each desperate snap of his hips, he was throwing on more and more gasoline. He had longer stamina this time, pounding you into the edge of the table for what felt like forever until his hips stuttered, his legs shaking as he orgasmed inside you.

When Shouto felt himself steady, he was horrified to find himself /still/ aroused. “I’m sorry (Y/N), This isn’t - I didn’t want to do it like this.” He was crying as he rutted against you, tears dripping hot onto your back. “I’ve been trying to be perfect, plan - plan dates, a relationship, anything, as long as it’s you.”

The man buried his head into the crook of your neck, inhaling raggedly. “It can only ever be you.”

His clarity was returning, each orgasm making him feel less and less feverish. At this point, his cock hurt, and he was too sensitive, but still, his hips wouldn’t stop. 

“I was going - going to ask if we could go out.” A lie, but it felt like the right thing to say. You were definitely crying underneath him, Shouto would be lower than trash if he didn’t try to comfort you. You didn’t need to know that the pro hero would rather have made you his home-doctor than ask you out. That way you’d be at his house, waiting for him, just like a pretty little wife, like a mother.

“I love you… think I always have.”

It felt good for Shouto to admit it out loud.

[spencersawkward]

switchblade faith // spencer reid - chapter 2

summary: one month after joining the BAU, Clea is still settling in. between solving murders and getting acclimated to DC, the only comfortable thing in her life is her friendship with Dr. Spencer Reid.

word count: 3.5k

masterlist

Richard Slessman's bedroom looks like something straight out of a serial killer documentary. floral wallpaper taunts Morgan and I as we walk inside. a model airplane hangs above his bed; cheap medals-- the kind kids get for participation-- decorate the area above his desk, which is littered with books about forensics. there's a carousel of CDs, too.

"whoa." is my brilliant analysis.

"we should have Garcia check out this guy's laptop." Morgan starts to wander around the room, trying to piece together Slessman's head just by examining his things. a group of cops are already huddled at the table with the laptop open, and I realize too late what they're doing.

"log in password." one of them plucks a post-it off the screen, starts to type it in.

"wait, wait--" Morgan and I nearly lunge toward them, but the crackling sound of a fizzing motherboard tells me we're too late. the screen goes black.

"it's not turning back on." Genius #1 observes. Morgan sighs and squeezes his eyes shut in frustration.

"yeah, and it won't. it's a false password."

the cops stare up at us blankly.

"it triggers a complete shut down of his system." I clarify. they share a look, deservedly feeling stupid. I want to roll my eyes, but Morgan's told me that the police on these cases get defensive most of the time; they don't like us on their turf. one glance from my partner, though, and those guys flee the room without another word.

I pull out my phone and dial Garcia's number in the hopes that she can salvage whatever's left of this asshole's computer. we arrested him an hour ago and we can only hold him with probable cause because we don't have any charges yet. this house search could be our only chance to get him in custody.

"well hello, my fresh-faced beauty queen." Penelope answers on the second ring. a slight smile turns up the corners of my mouth.

"hi, Penelope." I watch Derek plugging something into the laptop, then opening another monitor next to it. "listen, Morgan's trying to set up Richard Slessman's computer and I was wondering if you'd be able to hack into it."

"oh, kitten," she sighs contentedly. "that's my bread and butter."

"great. I'm putting you on speaker." I press a button and wait for Morgan to talk. he's typing furiously until a tab pops up with the words "Deadbolt Defense" in bold above a box for a password.

"what's the six at the bottom of the screen mean?" I ask.

"remaining password attempts until it wipes the hard drive." Morgan replies. shit.

"Penelope, there might be a journal or document or something that tells us where Heather is." I inform her.

"what system are we talking?" she asks.

"Deadbolt Defense?"

"Deadbolt is the number one crack-resistant software out there, hon. you're gonna need to get inside this guy's head for the password."

my heart sinks. when my colleague double takes, it makes me think that this is a rare occurrence.

"babygirl, are you serious?" Morgan complains. my shoulders droop. Penelope has been nothing short of genius since I got here. slicing through sealed files and unfurling secret criminal records is always ridiculously easy for her.

"sorry, handsome."

"thanks anyway." I hang up and shove my phone into my back pocket. "so... what now?"

"now," Morgan takes another look around the room. "we get creative."

...

somehow, I wind up in the attic. I don't really know how this happens, seeing as I started by flipping through discs in Slessman's weird quasi-childlike bedroom, but it's certainly an interesting space. Christmas lights are strung about, along with some shawl-like material that drapes raw ceiling.

the laptop sits in front of me, password cursor blinking mockingly while I sit in the chair. my head is aching. despite having the unit go through every single one of the CDs in search of the most-played one (hoping it'll crack the password), there's been nothing.

at least there have been other successes since we got here: we know that Slessman isn't operating on his own. he's the submissive in a partnership with Timothy Vogel, a prison guard where he was incarcerated a while back. the problem is that Vogel was onto us and fled to the kidnapping site, which we can't find. I feel useless sitting here with nothing to offer.

I consider going back downstairs and perusing the room again when I hear footsteps on the stairs. Reid's head pops into the room, spinning a bent paper clip between his fingers.

"hey." I greet curiously.

"I've been thinking about the CDs." he responds, walking over to me. I rub the heels of my hands against my eyes.

"we tried it, Reid. there's nothing there," I slam my back to the cushions with an exasperated groan. "if we don't find something, this girl is dead."

instead of replying, Reid bends down next to the laptop in front of me, squinting at the DVD slot in the side. he pokes the end of his bent paper clip into the small opening.

"I think we may have missed the obvious." he murmurs, working diligently. I scowl.

"what do you--?" in response to my question, the DVD slot pops open and out slides a copy of a Metallica CD. Reid and I look at each other with wide eyes before I snatch the disc out of of the computer and stare at it. "what made you think of this?"

"it was the only empty case." he shrugs. I grin at him.

"okay, okay," we still don't have the password. I read the cover of the case he hands me. "I'm an insomniac who listens to Metallica to fall asleep. what song would make me do that?"

Spencer frowns, grabs the thing back from my hands, and scans the track list within the span of a second.

"'Enter Sandman'." he says. I watch the puzzle pieces fall into place in his brain, those lips parting with a slight smile playing at the edges. his eyes gleam with satisfaction.

"you are a national treasure." I type like the wind, unlocking the screen and immediately digging into his files. Spencer peers over my shoulder as we search for any indication of Heather's location.

"fucking bingo." I mutter when a video feed pops up. it's black-and-white, showing a crate in the corner of the room with a light hanging above it. Heather's inside, eyes duct taped and hands tied in front of her.

Spencer is already dialing Hotch's number. the blood drains from my face as I watch her trying to breathe through the gag in her mouth.

nothing in the feed is helpful in terms of finding out where she is. it's a nondescript room with wooden floors, mostly shrouded in darkness except for the light hanging overhead.

"wait a minute." I pause what I'm doing.

"hm?" Reid asks. I hit a few keys, trying something.

"I'm lining up the last twelve images." I explain as he watches me work. the photos sit in a grid on the screen, causing my heart to stop in my chest when I notice what I've been meaning to find. "look at the light."

"it's shifting positions like it's swaying," he notices. "like the earth is tilting."

"the ocean." I nod. we share another glance, both of our hearts hammering. we're so close to solving this, I can feel it in my chest. "we need to tell Hotch. find out if there are any piers or docks near here. there's no way he could get the webcam image from the middle of the ocean."

Reid nods, runs downstairs as fast as he possibly can. when he goes, I notice the board in the corner of the room: Go, mid-game. I've never learned how to play.

...

by the time I get back to my apartment that night, my limbs feel like jello. I collapse into the chair by my door and rub my eyes again. my head is still pounding now that the adrenaline rush has subsided. we ended up finding Vogel at the docks; Heather is safe. Hotch was shot in the arm, but he'll be fine. and I'm still a little in shock.

I hate the rumble of my stomach as I realize I haven't eaten since this morning. my head was too full of other thoughts to even consider food and after such a long day, I can barely fathom getting up to change into pajamas.

my phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out to see that Garcia texted me.

what are you up to? followed by a series of emojis that make me smile. I sink deeper into the seat before replying.

nothing why?

can I bring over takeout?

I stare at the message for a second with surprise. Garcia is fun and we've had drinks as a team, but I've never hung out with her one-on-one before. I'm curious.

sure. what genre of food should I expect?

Thai. send me your order!

that sounds so good right now, I almost order it myself. part of me is nervous about hanging out with a team member by myself, except she's been so friendly to me. Penelope was the first person to make me feel at home, aside from Prentiss.

I wait patiently for her to arrive, watching some TV and working my way through some leftover paperwork. my thoughts are everywhere right now, but when she tells me she's downstairs, I try to put it all out of my mind.

"hey!" I open the door to see Garcia with an armful of plastic bags.

"I have your curry, and I got chicken satay and spring rolls and fried rice in case you're still hungry." she beams at me. her bracelets make a pleasant clinking noise as she waves the goodies around.

"a woman after my own heart." I smile, stepping aside to let her in. we head upstairs and before long, we're settled on my couch with a full display of food on the coffee table. I heap my plate while she looks around my space.

"this place is so cute!" she says through a bite of spring roll.

"thanks. I've had it for about two years now. that window over there was really the selling point." I point to the enormous view of downtown DC, which is sparkling right now. there's another chair set in front of it, where I sometimes read or nap in my free time.

as we eat, Penelope and I gossip about work and the city and everything else. she's really easy to talk to. when I ask about her life, she doesn't seem guarded at all; unlike a lot of FBI agents I've met, she wears her experiences on her sleeve.

"how are you liking the team so far?" she asks a similar question as I received this morning. I smile to myself before answering truthfully.

"everyone is great. Hotch is kind of terrifying, but I've worked with people like him before." I shrug. he reminds me of one of my old professors: perpetually stoic to the point where he doesn't even seem like a real person. she laughs.

"he's super nice once you get to know him."

"really?" I look up.

"definitely. he's just always got that scowl on his face. don't let it put you off." she pats my hand reassuringly. I sigh, finish chewing my bite. there's been something prodding me since visiting Garcia's tech lair for the first time, when she showed me her collection of puppy calendars and fuzzy pens.

"can I ask you a question?"

"anything, my love." she smiles warmly. I hesitate, hoping I don't ruin the moment somehow.

"how did you get involved in the FBI? you just don't seem very..." my sentence trails off.

"government oriented?" she laughs. "I used to do a lot of hacking in my free time, and I got into some stuff that the government didn't like. and, um-- you know that saying, 'if you can't beat 'em, join 'em'?"

I nod.

"it was like that, except they hired me. and I love it." she finishes the last spring roll. I think on this, imagining Penelope doing something so serious that the American government hired her on the spot for her skills. it's interesting.

"so you don't profile at all." I state.

"technically no, but I've picked up a couple things." she smirks.

"oh, yeah? like what?"

"well, it's obvious that you're never home, based on the lack of decoration here." she refers to the mostly blank walls of my apartment. aside from a couple photos of my friends and family, there's not much unique to me. "and you've obviously got a candle addiction." she points to the various spots around the living room, where half-burned pots of wax sit patiently awaiting their next light.

"that's definitely true." I laugh. she gets up and starts to smell the various candles.

"I like this one a lot." she sets down my chai vanilla one. I let her go through my things, despite the fact that Garcia is incredibly reserved about people touching her own little office trinkets. she picks up stray books and memorabilia, occasionally making a comment.

while she does, I finish my curry. I'm way too tired to resist her search, anyway. I'll be curling up in bed soon and praying that tomorrow is a paperwork day. eventually, she settles onto the cushions again.

"you seem tired," she says when she glimpses the dark circles beneath my eyes. "I'll get out of your hair."

"what? oh, I'm sorry." I draw myself up a little more. "this last case just took a lot out of me."

"they all do." she gives me a soft expression, then pats my knee as she stands.

"Penelope." I say as she gathers up her coat and purse.

"yes, darling?"

"thanks. for the food and for coming over." I smile gratefully at her. the tech analyst stands at my door with a look on her face that makes me think we're going to be good friends.

"anytime." she heads out, leaving me on the couch. I stare at the mess of empty takeout boxes that I told her to leave. now that I've eaten, getting up to clean the space is even more difficult. I trudge about the apartment, wash some dishes, and head off to bed.

my body is too exhausted to remember the dreams.

...

"oh my god, I'm so sorry!" I practically sprint into the conference room, swinging my bag down by my feet as I grab the last open chair. JJ is standing at the front of the room with a new case on the screen. everyone stares at me as I settle in. "my train was super delayed."

"everyone is allowed to be late," Hotch barely glances up from the case file. "once."

a chill runs down my spine and my face flushes an embarrassing red as JJ passes me the remaining file. keeping my head down, she notices my discomfort and clears her throat.

"okay, you guys are heading to Arizona today." she clicks a button. some pictures pop up for us to see. "Bradshaw College in Tempe has had six fires in seven months."

it's a video recording of a building from the outside, and two students talking about a fire inside. the camera shifts to show them in their own dorm, examining a strange wet spot leaking into their room. and then one of them catches on fire.

he burns to death on tape. it's jarring, the shrieking noises he lets out as the flames engulf his body. they travel up his legs alarmingly fast, so much so that it's obviously chemical.

"the first fire was in March, the second in May. the third didn't happen until September." JJ explains once the clip is over. "and then two weeks later, there were three that happened in one night."

"he's speeding up." Prentiss observes from her spot next to me.

"82% of arsonists are white males between seventeen and twenty-seven. female arsonists are far less common, with motives usually limited to revenge." Reid sits across the table, adjusting his watch.

I raise my eyebrows at his fact and look more at the crime scene photos. burned flesh is definitely an uncomfortable sight, one that makes my stomach churn.

"sounds like he's a student." Morgan taps his pen against his fingertip and leans back in his chair.

"I wouldn't be so sure," Hotch continues to read the document. "we don't want to rely too much on precedent."

at this, I press my knuckles to my chin and try to think of other suspects. he's obviously doing these during the school year, but that doesn't necessitate that he's a student. he could be working on campus-- a professor, even.

"there's a rapid escalation. he's gone from the damage to a building to something far more satisfying." Morgan closes the file and we all look to Hotch.

"wheels up in thirty." he says. I get up to grab my go-bag and gather some things from my desk, my cheeks burning at the memory of being late again. I've never done that before, but I don't want to start now. maybe it's best if I start coming in early, just in case my train gets delayed again. I can't risk losing this job, or being moved to a different department. it was enough of a hassle switching from sex crimes to the BAU. I really want to settle into this position, and that includes having the unit chief not hate me.

"hey." Prentiss catches my wrist just as I'm hurrying out of the room. I turn to her.

"hi."

"a little birdy told me that you and Reid pretty much single-handedly solved that case yesterday." she smiles.

"oh, no. it wasn't just us." I shake my head.

"quit being modest. nice job." she nudges my shoulder as we walk down the steps to the bullpen. "also, I brought a couple of those horticulture magazines that I told you about. we should read them on the jet."

"no way!" I pause at my desk, grinning.

"one of them has a whole section on caring for orchids."

"orchids?" Morgan overhears her from his desk. he appears deeply concerned with our discussion.

"if you have to ask, you wouldn't understand." she smirks. he turns his attention to me in hopes of a clearer answer.

"it's plant care." my explanation seems to be enough to bore him, however, because he just shrugs and returns to packing his bag up. Emily waves the stack of magazines at me before I head over to her desk.

she doesn't really seem like the type of person to be into it, but when Emily caught sight of the air plants I've got scattered on my desk my first week, we got wrapped up in a conversation about them. there's a special magazine subscription as well that has a bunch of helpful tips about where to buy and how to keep them healthy.

I'm flipping through one of the copies on the way to the elevator, my nose buried in a section about how much to water Hoyas, when Reid and JJ pop in next to me. the blonde is on the phone with someone, presumably the Tempe police. I haven't seen much of her recently-- she's been staying behind for most cases-- but she sends me a sweet smile before returning to her call.

"what are you reading?" Spencer's eyes hungrily run over the paper, as if seeing something he hasn't already absorbed in that big brain is unbearable. his hair is slicked back as usual, and his tie is sort of crooked; he's not aware of it. I hold the material between us so he can take a peek.

"a magazine about plants that Prentiss and I like."

"fascinating. can I see?" he grabs it before I can answer, although I don't think he means to. his fingertip runs down the page quickly, and then he's flipping them like mad, staring at the pictures. my eyes widen at how eager he is; I guess his curiosity is enough to override any awkwardness.

"did you know that owning indoor plants is actually correlated to overall mood improvements?" he asks me once he finishes reading, attention still focused on the back cover. the elevator door to the main level slides open.

"no, but I'm proof of it," I take back the reading material and put it in my bag. we walk out into the lobby. his long legs mean that my pace has to quicken a bit in order to keep up. "something about taking care of them is quite nice. they don't need as much attention as a pet, but they still rely on you."

"interesting." he nods.

"I like to think so."

"maybe I'll get one." he muses more to himself than anyone else. I smile at his open-mindedness, keep my eyes on the tiles we're walking over. maybe he, Prentiss, and I can have our own affinity club. he would become more knowledgeable than both of us combined within the span of a week.

[cozy-neko]

The Cherry On Top • 01 • 02 | The Cherry On Top • 03

“Kozume, are you even listening to me?” Akaashi sighs and closes his laptop. He was only halfway through his scheduled agenda for today’s meeting, but there was no point in continuing if his client was just going to ignore him for the whole hour.

“I am, I am,” Kenma mumbled, eyes fixated on something that was hidden under the table.

“What did I just talk about for the last ten minutes then?” Akaashi challenged.

“We’re changing my video uploads from Tuesdays to Fridays, and Black Sheep wants to do a sponsorship with me in my next stream,” Kenma replies without skipping a beat. His feline eyes are still glued to his phone, unblinking, as his fingers tapped away at one of his games.

Akaashi sighed once more. “And you’re fine with the upcoming changes and sponsorship then?”

Kenma nodded. “Akaashi. I trust you to make the best decisions for me.” He finally slipped his phone back into his pocket and tilted his head to look his friend in the eye. “I didn’t hire you as my manager for no reason.”

“If I knew working with you was going to be this difficult, I would’ve stuck with my previous job.” Akaashi flashed the male a wry smile.

“Hey, if you want to hand in your resignation letter right now and go back to your previous life of disgusting convenience store food and cigarettes for lunch, by all means.” Kenma smirked and extended a hand out, palm up as if waiting for an actual resignation letter to manifest from Akaashi.

Akaashi cleared his throat and reopened his laptop. “Moving on...”

“TOORU!!!” Y/N screamed at the top of her lungs as soon as she spotted the fashion editor from across the courtyard. Lunchers nearby stared at the loud girl before turning their heads to look at the unfortunate boy on the receiving end of the shout.

Oikawa contemplated ignoring his friend and instead considered turning around to head back inside TK Mag’s office building. He would rather eat with his annoying suck-up intern than his embarrassing friend. Unfortunately for him, said friend yelled his name once more and beckoned for him to come over.

Oikawa’s eye twitched and he reluctantly trudged across the courtyard and towards Y/N.

“Don’t be so embarrassing, Y/N-chan,” Oikawa grumbled as he took a seat across from her.

“Oh please, as if that airplane tie you’re wearing isn’t embarrassing,” Y/N shot back, eyes flickering up once at the cartoon-printed tie before back down at her laptop screen.

“They’re UFOs, for your information,” Oikawa mumbled through gritted teeth, “and besides, Ayame-chan said it was cute, so your opinion is invalid and unnecessary.”

“Enough about your tie. I’m about to literally combust from nerves.” 

“What is it this time?” Oikawa rolled his eyes and lazily sipped his latte. 

“I’m about to schedule my first blog post for tomorrow.” At this, Oikawa’s eyes widened and he straightened up in his seat.

“Who’s the unlucky victim?” Oikawa scooted closer to Y/N, their elbows touching as he leaned in to read off her screen.

“You know, for someone who looks like she’s about to shit her pants from nerves, you wouldn’t be able to tell with Cherry’s online persona,” Oikawa hummed and nonchalantly commented. 

Y/N smacked his shoulder once in response. 

“That’s the whole point, Oinkawa. No one’s supposed to know that Cherry is me, and that I am Cherry.” Y/N sighed and brought the tip of her thumb to her mouth. She nibbled on her fingernail nervously as she clicked on the draft of her blog post. “Well? Can you tell who it is?”

“I would say Miya Atsumu, the MSBY setter, but I wouldn’t exactly call him beautiful, Y/N-chan.”

“It’s not Miya Atsumu and you take that back! He is beautiful, but that’s besides the point; it’s Kozume Kenma, the professional gaming streamer and content creator.”

“Well that’s subjective,” Oikawa sneered. Iwaizumi once had the opportunity to interview Miya Atsumu for an editorial, and Oikawa had tagged along much to Iwaizumi’s headache. Having played as a setter as well during his time in high school, Oikawa had some differences with Atsumu’s playing style, and the two did not get along too well that day.

“How’d you even get this dirt on Kozume Kenma anyways?” Oikawa made a face and smacked Y/N’s hand away from her mouth. “That’s disgusting, Y/N-chan, and you’re getting nail polish in your teeth.”

“I stalked his fan accounts on Twitter. It’s amazing what you can find with a little digging, to be honest.” Y/N scanned her draft. “And a little scary,” she added as an afterthought.

“Ugh, kami, I can’t do this, Tooru!” Y/N whined and shut her laptop, taking her head into her hands. “This is the most disgusting line of work I’ve ever imagined myself having to do.”

“You know no one is forcing you to take this promotion, right?” Oikawa leaned back and crossed his arms across his chest.

“This is Y/N and TK Mag we’re talking about here.” Oikawa and Y/N turned around at the new voice. “If you were over $100k in student debt and a well-known and well-paying company offered you a promotion, wouldn’t you take it?” Iwaizumi and Hanamaki walked up to the duo and took a seat at their table.

“You’re literally talking about the girl who’s dream is to become a princess and find a rich prince charming to take care of her,” Hanamaki added.

“Hey!” Y/N interjected, but was ignored. 

“But she also didn’t graduate as a journalist with an emphasis in fashion from UTokyo to become a gossip blogger,” Oikawa pointed out.

“Okay can we not talk about me like I’m not here?” Y/N pouted. “And you all have valid points.” 

She sighed. This was a tough decision. Y/N does have a lot of student debt to pay off, and the pay raise that came with the promotion was definitely enticing and worth drooling over. On the other hand, Oikawa was right in which Y/N didn’t graduate with over $100k in debt with a journalism degree to become a gossip blogger. But one thing that Y/N also had to think about was that this promotion would’ve been her opportunity to become a full-time employee at TK Mag, her dream company. And then there was Hanamaki, who was there just to out her (slightly) embarrassing and (very much so) unrealistic dream.

“Why’d you even take the promotion anyways? You could’ve just stayed an intern and wait for staff writer positions to open up.”

Y/N knocked twice before entering the Editor in Chief’s private office. “Good afternoon, Chief! You wanted to see me?”

“Oh yes, Y/N, come in. Please, take a seat while I finish up this email.”

Y/N grinned and skipped over to the loveseat that occupied the middle of the office. She crossed her legs and smoothed her blouse. Y/N was buzzing, and it wasn’t just because of the three cups of coffee she had stomached throughout the day.

“Judging by how you can’t sit still, I’m assuming you know why I called you in here.” 

“Oh, sorry. I’ve had one too many cups of coffee today,” Y/N responded sheepishly. “But I hope you’re gonna tell me what I think it is you’re gonna tell me.” 

It was hard for Y/N to keep the smile on her face from growing as she watched her Chief pull out a folder and place it down on the coffee table in front of her. The smile on Y/N’s face grew bigger as the Chief pulled out a piece of paper and slid it towards her. It was exactly what Y/N was expecting: a contract for a full-time position at the company.

“Congratulations, Y/N. Your hard work has not gone unnoticed these past few months you’ve been at TK Mag as an intern, and we’d like to extend our offer to you as a full-time employee.”

“Yes, yes, yes! I accept!” Y/N squealed and eagerly looked through her tote bag for a pen. “I don’t even care what staff writer position it’s for -- although my first choice would be for the fashion department since I did go to school for fashion journalism -- but I’m so excited!!” Y/N was already picturing herself attending fashion shows with Oikawa.

“Y/N, wait. Before you sign, I just want you to know that the full-time position isn’t to become a staff writer for the fashion department.”

“Huh?” Y/N stopped riffling through her bag. “...What is it for then?” 

“TK Mag is going to try something new. We’re going to branch out to a sister site and run a gossip blog called The Cherry on Top. I want you to take on the alias as Cherry and run the blog.”

“Gossip... blog...? The Cherry on Top? Me?” Y/N could hardly comprehend what the Chief was saying.

“Will you accept? I know it’s a brand new position and something we’ve never done before at TK Mag, but we have high hopes and I know you’ll do well as one of my best employees.”

“With all due respect, Chief, I’m a fashion writer. I write about fashion week and the latest trends in the fashion industry. I don’t write gossip nor do I want to slander anyone. It’s not my cup of tea.” Y/N narrowed her eyes. She couldn’t believe the Chief wanted her to do such dirty work.

“I had a feeling this might be the case.” The Chief sighed, and all signs of pleasantries disappeared. “Listen, Y/N, if you don’t want this promotion, I’ll give it to the next intern in line. But just know that if you don’t take this position, you’re going to have to clear out your desk by end of day and find a new company to work for.”

Y/N was in disbelief. She couldn’t believe her career was getting threatened. Her grip on her pen tightened as she stared at the document in front of her. The words Full-time Employee Contract for: Cherry, The Cherry on Top seemed to glare at her. 

“There will also be a hefty raise included in your promotion,” the Chief added after witnessing Y/N’s hesitation. “You did just graduate from UTokyo, did you not? Surely you don’t want to be riddled with student debt.”

Y/N was torn. What was she going to do? TK Mag was her dream company, and if she refused the promotion and got let go, she would drown in debt. Surely being a gossip blogger wouldn’t be too bad, right?

Y/N swallowed her pride and uncapped her pen. With a quick flourish, she signed her signature on the contract and forlornly shook hands with a now-smiling Chief. 

I hope I didn’t make the wrong decision...

“You made the right decision, Y/N. Welcome to the team.”

Y/N gulped. She couldn’t tell her friends that her job security had been threatened if she didn’t take the promotion.

“Well maybe it was time for me to grow up. I don’t need a rich prince charming to take care of me. I’ll take care of myself with my new pay raise.” Y/N grimaced on the inside. She hoped that was convincing, but judging by the silent stares she received from her three male friends, even she knew they weren’t too believing of her.

“Anyways, Cherry promised her 500 followers the first post will be up tomorrow, and she isn’t one to break promises, so... let’s queue this baby up.” With a swift click of her trackpad, Y/N’s first gossip post as Cherry was scheduled.

Unbeknownst to Y/N, Oikawa, Iwaizumi, and Hanamaki shared a look.

Kenma was unfazed. He really was. Even when his Twitter notifications blew up with mentions, he simply ignored them. It wasn’t like he paid much attention to them in the first place anyways. And when he was in the middle of streaming and his Twitch chat started spamming the link to the blog post, he simply told his mods to delete comments that had anything to do with it.

Kenma was unfazed. Simply because it just wasn’t true. And even though the readers didn’t know if it was true or not and the article was currently trending in the Esports vertical and being repurposed for other articles, Kenma knew it wasn’t true and therefore did not care.

Except Akaashi was getting on his nerves as his manager continued to try to bring it up in conversations. 

“Kozume, you have to say something.”

“Why?” Kenma sighed. He really didn’t see the need to say anything. It wasn’t like this was the first time Kenma had been the subject of a rumor. It was all going to die down soon anyways.

“It’s been three days already and people are still commenting on it. Your fans are upset, and I think you owe it to them to explain your side.” 

“It’s not a big deal, Akaashi. If fans are that upset about a rumor of me boosting League accounts as a side business, they probably should get a job and hop off Twitter once in a while,” Kenma mumbled and continued to click away on his game controller.

“Well it’s not just your fans that are upset, Kozume. Your sponsorship with Black Sheep is also on rocks right now because of the rumor.” 

At that, Kenma’s fingers slowed, and he watched his character get headshot by the enemy on the TV.

“You’re telling me that they believe some stupid rumor that was probably written by a jealous 13-year-old?” Kenma scowled, and Akaashi finally felt his friend getting serious about the situation. It wasn’t often that Kenma showed his emotions other than his usual aloof self, but when his projects started to get affected, Kenma took things really serious.

“It’s not that they believe it, but they haven’t been as responsive to my emails as they usually are ever since the post was published. It seems they might be taking your silence as the truth.”

Kenma sighed and tossed his controller to the side. He wasn’t in the mood to game anymore. Instead, he stood up and trekked down the hallway towards his game room. Looks like he had a fire to diffuse if he wanted to keep his sponsorship alive.

end notes:

→ student debt and job security is no joke 😢

→ mattsun did not join y/n, oikawa, iwa-chan, and hanamaki during lunch because he was away on a photoshoot assignment

→ kenma did boost league accounts back when he was still in college and barely starting out as a streamer... except the accounts he boosted was kuroo’s and hinata’s because they wouldn’t stop begging him to until he did

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[gottawriteanegoortwo]

Yancy x Illinois - First Impressions Aren’t Always the Best

I decided to try properly writing Yanois, just to see how I’d manage it. After rewatching Illinois’ scenes, I think he would get on the nerves of the Yancy I write at first.

Word Count 2,122

(Read more because Illinois talks so much...)

-

Happy Trails Penitentiary was renowned for its rehabilitation initiatives. They had a wide variety of classes and visitors to help prisoners. Educational courses, chances to learn new skills, pen pal projects. Many prisoners would never have the opportunity for such experiences, and it was an integral part of helping them prepare for a better life outside of prison when their sentence was finished.

There was one visitor that most prisoners in Yancy’s ‘Gang’ adored. His name was Illinois, a renowned adventurer and archaeologist. Between his job in the university and research trips, he only had time to visit once every few months. It worked in his favour, as those that wanted to visit were able to to hear the various stories that Illinois was more than happy to tell. Not only that, it would encourage the small ‘fan club’ among the younger prisoners.

It was one of the few events that Yancy avoided. Something about Illinois rubbed him the wrong way. He was so arrogant and cocky, acting like the world revolved around him. It wasn’t an act, either. Yancy had spotted Illinois speaking to the Warden on his first visit two years earlier, and he acted the exact same way as he did in the talk that happened that day. After that, Yancy decided he didn’t want anything to do with the adventurer. But if Illinois were to ever become an inmate? Yancy would make sure Illinois had the snot beaten out of him within the first week.

Unfortunately, a lot of the Gang were of the opposite view, especially those around Yancy’s age. To them, Illinois walked straight out of an adventure movie and lived the ideal life. What prisoner didn’t dream of going exploring in uncharted territories? It meant that they would frequently share Illinois’ tales in rec yard when he came to visit. Yancy would roll his eyes, but keep quiet. Let them have their fun.

Today was the day that Illinois visited the prison. It had been over three months since the last visit, so there was an excited buzz among individuals in the Gang. Yancy spent the morning bracing himself. There was a talk after lunch that the others would go to, which would mean the rest of the afternoon and evening would be nothing but historical chatter and “Illinois is so cool!”. He would grumble, but he would keep that to himself. It wasn’t fair to deflate their excitement. He went to the library, found some random book and focused on that for the day. Then, once they had their excitement, it would die down and Yancy could enjoy more casual conversation.

Which was the plan… Until Bam-Bam pleaded for him to go to the last talk of the day. It turned out that his shift clashed with the talk everyone else they knew went to, and he didn’t want to go alone. Begrudgingly, Yancy closed the book, returned it to the shelf, and followed Bam-Bam. A flaw of being a loyal friend was knowing when to swallow your pride and do something you would rather not do.

-

When you go to something with low expectations, it can be incredibly difficult to feel the time was used in a worthwhile manner. Some might have memories of a teacher they hated, or a family gathering they had been dreading. This was a similar position to what Yancy found himself in. One of the ‘classrooms’ had been adjusted slightly to allow various displays to take center stage, with the chairs in neat rows in front of it. Bam-Bam and Yancy claimed two seats at the back, allowing the greaser to slouch in the chair with his arms crossed. Then, once more prisoners had arrived, the talk began.

On and on Illinois went, droning endlessly in that slow drawl. Yancy wished he had a TV remote to speed up the talking a fraction. Was Illinois focused on making sure everyone could understand him, or did he want to prolong the joy of hearing himself talk? It might have been more tolerable if Bam-Bam wasn’t genuinely engrossed in the lecture. They could have made amusing comments throughout. Instead, Yancy was stuck. Sure, history was interesting, but Illinois really drove home the stereotype of boring history teachers. The ‘adventures’ even sounded cliché and fake. Maybe he should have taken the book with him after all...

A painfully slow half hour passed. Once the talk was over, Illinois would literally open the floor to the other prisoners. The chairs would be pushed aside and those that wanted to look at the items Illinois brought were welcome to do so. Yancy was dragged along to view the pieces. Most of the articles were dated to be approximately eight thousand years old. What caught Bam-Bam’s attention was a stone carving that vaguely resembled a cat.

“Ahhh, I see the ‘White Jaguar’ has caught your attention.” Yancy had to repress a shudder at the smooth voice interrupting their own questions back and forth. Illinois stepped over, resting an arm against the perspex container. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she? A miracle we even found her in the first place. She was why I wasn’t able to visit like I said I would last month.” Bam-Bam’s eager question had Illinois chuckle and shake his hand dismissively. “Oh, I’m sure you two gentlemen have much better things to do than hear about how I nearly lost my right hand in my most recent adventure.” When Bam-Bam insisted otherwise, Illinois smirked (and Yancy nearly gagged).

“If you insist. While on our recent dig, I noticed one of the ruins had a floor panel that looked a little different from the rest. It took a little persuasion, but I got that pesky stone up. There, sprawled out before me, was a staircase leading down into the earth. I picked up one of the torches and made my way down. Slowly, I delved deeper into the darkness. One step gave way under me to set off a series of poison-dipped darts, but I was able to dodge them all without breaking a sweat.” Illinois continued, dramatically regaling every single trap that he encountered until he found the White Jaguar. When taking everything around it, he surmised that the owner of the house had been a thief. The jaguar motif was familiar, as he had noticed something similar in a nearby cave that had been repurposed at the time as a sacred spot.

“- Now, this heart of this cave was still guarded by ancient jaguar spirits. They rattled the large statues as I approached, obviously sensing the treasure I carried. In the middle, there was a jaguar’s head carved out of stone. Its jaw was open wide and I couldn’t help but feel as though it was just the right spot for this precious lady. But then, skeletons of what I assume were magic users from an era long gone by pounced and tried to wrestle the statue off me, but I was too fast for them. At last, I reached the carved head, put the White Jaguar in the mouth… and the stone head moved, trapping my arm in a ferocious bite!” He gestured to the cloth wrapped around his right wrist. It was unwrapped just enough to show the healing bite marks. “It had the strength to bite it clean off, but relented when it realised what I had done by offering my arm as blood payment to return -”

“Wait wait wait.” Yancy’s interruption had Bam-Bam elbow him, but it didn’t stop the objection. “That can’t be right. If youse managed to bring this back to where it’s meant to be, why the fuck is it here?”

“An excellent question. This is my recreation of it. I am no thief. I return artefacts to where they belong. Archaeology has a rotten connection with thievery, and I try to rectify the mistakes of my predecessors.”

“So then this entire thing could be bullshit!” Yancy scoffed. “Bam-Bam, this guy just got bitten by someone’s dog and has made this pile of baloney to hide that.”

“Are you accusing me of being a liar?”

“Well, I ain’t calling you a ‘truther’, that’s for sure!”

Yancy was ready for a proper argument. In fact, he was hoping for one. Instead… Illinois laughed, and it wasn’t that typical ‘cocky chuckle’. It was a bright, genuine laugh. He could almost see Bam-Bam go starry-eyed at such a rare moment. Typical Yancy. Getting more attention from Illinois when he wanted to rile him up.

“I suppose it all does sound rather suspicious when you put it that way. Let me show you something.” Illinois gestured for the pair to follow him toward a display of photographs. Instead of pointing to these, he instead reached for his briefcase. A small photo album was pulled out. Yancy noticed that it was dated three months prior. While Illinois flipped through it, both prisoners could see what looked like an area that had been dug up. It matched the pictures in front of them of an excavation site. At last, Illinois found what he was looking for.

“One Guardian Jaguar, complete with the White Jaguar in its mouth. As you can see, the teeth have fresh blood on them. It was an… Oddly tranquil sight, despite the unfortunate situation.”

“So then why act like these are the real deal? People just take youse’s word for it?”

“Normally those that attend my talks know that what I show are my artistic recreations for purely educational purposes. I suppose I do take for granted that those who attend here are invested regulars.” Illinois gave a small shrug. “It’s an easy mistake to forget to remind people who might be new to my talks. I’m sorry if you thought I was a fraud, but I am the real deal. Too good to be true, yet here I am.”

“Yeah yeah, ‘sucks that I’m perfect as shit’, I get it. Least you knows not to make that mistake again.” Yancy rocked back on his heel with the intention of turning and walking away.

“Now now. I can’t let you walk off like that. Take this.” Another item was pulled out of his briefcase. “I made this smaller model of the White Jaguar as a ‘first draft’. I was intending on using it as motivation to my first-year students but… I think it should stay here with you.” Illinois took the opportunity to reach for Yancy’s hand. The small clay model was gently placed in it before Illinois curled Yancy’s fingers over it to keep it in place. His hands stayed where they were as he continued, “We think the White Jaguar was a symbol of good fortune. Perhaps it might bring you some good luck.” He smiled at Yancy, only to have the moment broken by the guard announcing that there were five minutes before the prisoners had to return to their cells for the afternoon count. Yancy took the chance to quickly leave the room without as much as a ‘goodbye’. At least his friend, who introduced himself as Bam-Bam, quickly thanked Illinois before darting out.

A few more questions were asked of him by other prisoners and curious staff; and then it was time to tidy up to bring everything back to the university. It was only when he reached the White Jaguar model did Illinois hesitate. There was something about that abrasive prisoner he couldn’t put his finger on. Was it because he seemed uninterested in the adventurer? Or was there something else? It was a rare moment that Illinois wished he’d had an excuse to chat to the prisoner longer. Maybe not here, but somewhere quieter. Just the two of them.

Huh… Was this what an attraction felt like? He joked about others falling in love with him so often, he wasn’t sure if this was payback for never returning interest in others. He was drawn toward a prisoner that seemed keen to dismiss his hard work and reputation. And worse! Illinois didn’t even know his name!

Then again… A good adventurer always loves the thrill of a mystery. Maybe he could try and find that prisoner next time he visited. Now that the university was open again, he’d be able to drop by more frequently…

--

For what it was worth, Yancy also had a mystery on his hands.

Namely, how to get away from Bam-Bam - who would not SHUT UP about their prolonged conversation with Illinois - and half the gang - who were incredibly jealous Yancy got a gift from the Illinois!

He dropped his head against the chow hall table with a low ‘thunk’. This was the opposite of getting the others to stop talking about Illinois around him!

[sussex-nature-lover]

Saturday 5th February 2022

Gardening

That’s been the focus of this week, starting the big tidy up and my oh my there’s a month’s work at least. The task is simultaneously daunting and depressing for the sheer workload and satisfying as the incremental improvements are achieved. One side benefit is quite curious. My shoulders have been painful, constantly, since a good couple of weeks before Christmas, if not longer. Every day I have a neck and shoulder massage and a heated lavender bag for relief. Crow was concerned about me wielding the hedge cutter, which is my job, because of the potential to cause further harm. Once I get going with it, he calls me Arnie (as in The Terminator) because I really go for it. Well, I was true to form, but curiously the after effects were actually beneficial. All that unaccustomed movement must’ve acted as home-spun physio and Crow has reported back that some of the stubborn knots have been eased away.

I should add at this stage that me doing all the cutting and Crow clearing up after me is the distribution of labour that suits our respective talents best of all. I wouldn’t say I’ve managed even a sixth of what I need to achieve as soon as I possibly can, but the extension of ‘The Corridor’ which runs alongside the house, is now cleared and some bird boxes re-sited there.

As you’d expect we had some lovely little friends watching over the work and it’s not just us, someone else has a new little friend too...

They seem to enjoy spending time together these days.

Because Pritchard has the title of Inspector, we thought about other TV detective names and have decided this particular pheasant is to be named Lewis. It makes a change to with that theme because we usually say our male pheasants are either vicars or none clerics  😀

Here’s Inspector Pritchard showing off how his tail feathers have grown. He’s so much more adult these days, but still quite juvenile in some of his behaviour, especially when I didn’t know he was by the dining room windows (his favourite mirror) He didn’t hear me approach and we both made each other jump in quite a comical fashion.

Sad news of one of our garden birds’ favourite bathing spots. The old brown cooking bowl is no more. Crow went to change the water and it completely split in half. It’s a shame as it was extremely popular. No doubt I can unearth a similar size replacement from one of the cupboards and sacrifice that instead.

Our Spring offerings are coming through now, although the daffodils have been long green sticks for a quite while and slow to show any change.

I’ve firtled the soil in this pot and am going to add a moss topping because ‘someone’ has been digging.

Inside the house I have a pot with grape hyacinths coming along very gradually and this sweet little vase of wild cyclamen and cistus leaves. The vase was a vintage find of my late mother in law and I’ve always had a soft spot for it.

Going back to the results of our labours, Inspector Pritchard discovered a new posing site on top of next door’s wood shed. He has a clear flight path since I cut down all the mess at the side of the house. Over the years I’d planted clumping bamboo, winter jasmine, climbing roses, honeysuckle and pretty skimmia. I knew the jasmine would end up in a big tangle with lots of dead vines, but the skimmia is supposed to form low rounded clumps and that definitely hasn’t been on message! The raised bed looks positively bare for now, but won’t take long to fill out again and don’t ask me where that tree’s come from, like the one in the corridor’s hedge, it’s just something that got totally out of hand. My downfall is always the same, I leave things for the birds and before I know where I am, we’re engulfed.

Today has been an indoor day, it was so cold that even the postman was wrapped up with a hat and coat and he was wearing long trousers. I didn’t think posties were allowed to do that! That put an end to our gardening and so we stayed indoors watching football, rugby and following updates from the Under 19s cricket world cup final in Antigua, where it’s currently very warm. I don’t get on that well with hot weather, but after today I think I might like to swap for a while.

[maribatshipper]

Miraculous 39 Clues

Lillian glares with her dark eyes at the picture of the Ladybug-themed heroine. The heroine was lying on the ground with her arm twisted into an unnatural shape after a fight with one of these akumas. Lillian picks up her phone & calls a cousin of hers.

"Dan, I'm going to Paris. I need to speak to Stone." Lillian growls.

Dan asks, "Why? What's wrong with him?"

Lillian frowns, "Not what's wrong with him, what's wrong with the city he lives in. Check a site called the Ladyblog. You'll see why. I have to look out for my fellow Janus."

Lillian hangs up as she buys a ticket to Paris, running her hair through her burnt amber hair.

***

"STONE!"

Jagged Stone winces. He's always known about his heritage & everything that went on. He preferred the love he got from people when they heard his music compared to the backstabbers he called his family & their obsession with the clues.

"Lily, what are you doing here? In Paris?" Jagged asks, his pale-green eyes hidden by some glasses with 2 Eiffel towers & Paris' flag incorporated into it.

"Why didn't you tell the Cahill's about the situation in Paris? Those of us who are good could have done something to help the heroes of this city. They clearly need all the help they can get, & who better to help than an entire family of spies, inventors, artists, & jocks?" Lillian glares at the much older man.

Jagged sighs, "The Lucians have a base here & said nothing. You've seen the reports, Lillian. The heroes are just kids. I was turned into a rockin' villain. What was I supposed to do? Call the entire family over to get us all akumatised when they find out what's going on?"

Lillian glares, "No, you're supposed to warn us about Paris & about keeping emotions in check! The Lucians here are fools for not bringing this to our attention! Our branch is supposed to share information with the rest of our branch! This is something that has to be taken to the head of our family! This Hawk Moth character could be a rogue Cahill, or a Vesper! If this guy is a Vesper, our whole family needs to be warned about him! No matter how much we hate each other, we don't leave other Cahill's to deal with Vespers. What if he's like Peirce? What then, Stone?"

Jagged sighs, "You're right. I haven't been thinking clearly. So un-rock'n'roll of me. But this isn't something that can be fixed with the master serum. Cahill's can't face against the power of these jewels called Miraculous. Even with that serum. These Miraculous are more powerful than anything, & they should be kept out of our family's greedy hands."

Lillian frowns, "But we could help. We've had exper-"

Jagged whirls around, "Not with this! We've never had any experience with this! This is dangerous, Lily! No matter how genuine our talents, we can't help them against this! I know it's un-rock'n'roll, but that's what it is, Lillian!"

A knock comes from the door. Jagged breathes a few times & opens the door to see a familiar face. Jagged's face stretches into a giant grin.

"Marinette! There's my Rockin' designer! Whatcha got for me this time?" Jagged asks.

Marinette smiles, "Well, I designed you some new glasses, because the ones you have right now are starting to fall apart, since I didn't really have the best materials when I started that, but these new ones should last at least for a few years, & I have a small-scale of that poster you asked me to do, & I need to just adjust your outfit for your show tomorrow. Oh, I also have some stuff for Fang. It's all in my backpack."

Lillian walks up to Marinette & studies her, a suspicious glint in her eyes.

"Who's this, Stone?" Lillian asks, not taking her eyes off of the teen.

Jagged smiles, "Lily, this is my best designer, Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Marinette, this is a relative of mine, Lillian."

Marinette smiles & holds her hand out to shake with Lillian's, only to fall when her backpack bursts from being overfilled. Lillian's eyes widen as Marinette collides with the ground. She crouches down to help Marinette pick the stuff up, only to catch her eye on an open design book. She picks up the design book. Her eyes widen at every design. Marinette panics as she sees this & grabs the design book quickly.

"I'm so sorry. I'm madly clumsy. Those are just rough sketches-"

Lillian smirks, "Rough sketches? If those are rough sketches, the finished product must be good enough to go to heaven, Dupain-Cheng."

Jagged stares at Lillian in shock. She is harsh, cold, & not one you'd expect compliments from, even if she is a Janus.

"Stone, I need to talk to you." Lillian grabs Jagged's arm & drags him away from the confused blue-eyed teenager.

"What is it?" Jagged asks, rubbing his sore arm where Lillian's nails were digging into his skin.

Lillian frowns, "She's got the skill of a Cahill with the Janus serum. Does she know anything about the Cahills?"

Jagged shakes his head, "Not a thing. Her mother is most likely a Tomas from China, even though she is small. I saw her in action when Penny was akumatised. Her father is a French baker, & she designs clothes, posters, glasses, she could design a coat for Fang if she wanted to."

Lillian holds a dark coloured hair between her fingers & smirks, "Let's see if she is a Cahill."

Jagged gapes, "How did you get that?"

Lillian laughs, "Stone, I'm a Janus who's been taught at each of our branches bases & in each art. Canada, Hollywood, Venice, any base there was, I've been there. I've done what our ancestors did. We test this. If it comes back positive, we train her in the Janus ways. If not, you don't have to worry about anything."

***

Marinette was confused when this strange teenager who was somewhat older than her dragged her favourite singer away with such authority.

"What was that, Tikki?" She whispers to her little purse attached to her hip.

The quiet being in her purse answers, "I don't know Marinette. She radiates an artists' soul, but she seems so..."

Marinette offers, "Standoffish?"

Tikki chuckles, "Yeah, but there's something more to her than that."

The two older artists come back, Jagged cowering slightly when Lillian looks towards him. Tikki stays hidden in the purse.

"Do I wanna know what that was?" Marinette asks.

Jagged laughs, "It wasn't really anything Rock'n'roll to talk about."

Lillian nods, keeping an eye on the teen.

"So, Marinette, what are your interests?" Lillian asks.

Marinette smiles, "Well, I'm really into fashion, I even design & sew my own clothes. I'm really good at video games, especially Ultimate Mecha Strike 3. Then of course there is music, I mean, I listen to Jagged's music all the time while I'm sketching out designs, his music inspires me! Unlike XY. Bleh! I even designed the costumes for Kitty Section, & I've made so many different outfits, & I'm starting my own website, but I really don't know if it's a great idea with so much stress at school, & akumas, & of course I'm class representative for my class."

Lillian smirks, "I think I'll visit your school, kid. See how well you do in a place like that."

Marinette panics, "It's really no biggie, I just have a lot on my plate."

Lillian smiles, "Either way, I'll be visiting. I gotta go to my apartment. Remember, Stone. I will be telling."

Jagged nods, confusing Marinette.

"Am I missing something here?" Marinette asks.

Lillian smiles, "Nothing to worry about, kid. See you at your school, Dupain-Cheng."

Lillian walks away with a dangerous looking smile on, which scares Marinette slightly.

Marinette suddenly asks, "Does she even know which school I go to?"

***

Lillian checks the test results of the hair she plucked from Marinette's head earlier. Lillian calls Jagged.

Jagged sighs, "Well?"

"It's a match. She's Janus alright. But she's also Lucian & Tomas. Test result says 5% Lucian, 5% Tomas, & 90% Janus." Lillian smiles.

Jagged sighs, "Check her classmates & parents too."

***

A month has passed, & Lillian gathered as much information about the Dupain-Chengs as she could. Marinette's mother, Sabine, is the Cahill with genes. The father, Tom, is a Tomas, which Lillian thought was funny. The only issue? Neither parent knew that they were part of a giant family spreading all across the world. Marinette's grandmother Gina seemed to at least know something of the Cahill name.

Lillian sighs, "I can't believe they don't know a thing about us."

She looks at her research notes on the classmates. All of them have tiny bits of Cahill DNA except Cesaire and Bourgeois. When she visited with Marinette that one day, the kids seemed sweet, but Lillian's a Janus. She can tell when someone's acting. There was one that was acting the most. Her acting was spot on, except for one small issue. She couldn't keep her stories straight.

"Well, miss Rossi, you are about to get a few dozen lawsuits delivered right to your school in the middle of your class. You shouldn't have messed with Marinette. You mess with a Janus, you mess with a powerful enemy. Now to get the kid trained like a Janus."

***

Lillian shows up to Marinette's school again & points out a flaw in one of Lila's stories. She then walks to the bathroom, where she has laid a trap for the fox.

"Hello. Lillian, right?" Lila fakely smiles.

"& you must be Splenda." Lillian smirks.

Lila asks, "What?"

Lillian explains, "Artificially Sweet. Like Splenda. Fake sugar. Drop the act, I can smell the Lucian on you!"

Lila actually seems surprised, & asks, "What's a Lucian?"

Lillian looks through Lila for any sign of deception, but she sees that Lila actually has no idea what she's talking about.

"Of course. That makes this so much easier. Keep away from Marinette, or I can guarantee all your fame will disappear."

Lila drops her Façade & smirks, "How could you possibly do that? Everyone here can't resist when they hear what they want to hear. There's nothing you can do about it anyway. You don't want to be my friend, fine, but I'll make sure no one here wants to be your friend at all. You're a little less dumb than the others, so I'll give you one chance. You're either with me, or against me. You only have until the end of class to decide, Lillian."

Lillian giggles, then full out laughs.

"Oh you poor, delusional soul! I don't want to be friends with anyone here except Marinette! & thanks for saying that. Now I have all the proof I need!" Lillian smirks.

Lila asks, "What do you mean?"

Lillian smirks, "You'll find out."

***

Months passed, & Lila's entire empire toppled once lawsuits were coming to her in public for defamation & slander, & Lila was also sued for abuse. Marinette got paparazzi swamping her, asking about how long Lila had threatened her, but Lillian kept Marinette away from the Paparazzi with practiced ease. Marinette had found out how she was related to many important people. Lillian trained her, causing Ladybug to defeat villains much quicker, & Cat Noir stopped showing, not that it bothered her. Cat Noir stopped even helping, acting childish every time Ladybug denied his feelings. Ladybug decided to pick a new hero, a new fox. The new fox made everything easier on Ladybug, & even stole Cat Noir's ring & gave it to Ladybug after his first week.

Ladybug smiles, "You ready for patrol, Corsac?"

The new Fox smiles, his red hair with white tips blowing in the wind. He was also a Janus, which is why Ladybug chose him for the fox. One needs a really good artistic mind to use the fox power.

Corsac's blue eyes widen in happiness.

(I couldn't find one with white tips. Imagine they're white.)

"Of course, Ladybug."

A/N: While reading Miraculous Salt fics, I suddenly had the thought, “What if the 39 Clues universe was part of the Miraculous Universe?” And this came to life with a prompt. I can’t remember the prompt, but I’m happy with how this came out. 

Okay... so... I ran out of really cool fox names, so I actually googled Fox species, and there was only 2 cool sounding ones. Culpeo and Corsac. Can anyone guess who Corsac is?

[chickensarentcheap]

Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter 21

Title: Juxtaposition

Warnings: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @alievans007, @miss-smutty, @tragiclyhip​

It goes better than expected.

The older kids handle the reunion remarkably well; fake yet believable smiles plastered upon their faces, accepting kisses on the cheek and praises and compliments regarding how big and beautiful they’ve gotten, and returning enthusiastic embraces with tense and awkward one arm hugs. They’re polite and mildly pleasant; sticking together in a small, tight group as they thank their grandparents for the gifts and answers questions about school and their favourite extra curricular activities and life in Australia as opposed to the U.S. And Esme notices the look of disappointment that comes across her mother’s face when it's obvious just how much the kids prefer ‘the land down under’; gushing about the house and the acres of property it sits on and the close proximity of the ocean. She knows her mother had long held out hope that the kids actually hate being where they are; thousands of miles away from any extended family and never getting to experience the true wonder of four different seasons. But they hold firm even when Michelle tries pushing them to commit to visiting Colorado; adamant that they're perfectly content where they are and have no desire to ever go back to THAT part of their lives. Australia is home; the sand and the surf and the kangaroos and koalas and the smell of the salt of the ocean and the feel of blazing hot pavement under bare feet.

Esme both understands and feels the same way. It’s where they belong and where they feel they can be exactly who they’re meant to be; not held towards ridiculous standards and allowed to freely explore and express themselves in every way they possibly can. There’s no judgement there; mom and dad encouraging them to be themselves and not bend to limits and labels put on them by others. Even twelve and half years ago Australia had been where she’d discovered herself; finding levels of freedom, comfort, and peace that she never even knew existed. The old Esme had been left behind; either perishing on that bridge in Dhaka or left in Bangladesh to wander aimlessly. She had ceased to exist the moment she chose to try and save Tyler’s life over her own well being; mere minutes away from safety yet refusing to leave him there to meet a likely extremely painful and gruesome end. That had been her choice; a chance at a new life with him as opposed to returning to an empty and meaningless existence.

The smaller children have a harder time accepting the sudden appearance of their grandparents; Brooklyn harshly firing off invasive questions while refusing all offers of affection, Takota tucking himself behind his mother’s legs and occasionally peeking out from behind and offering small, tense smiles, and Addie nervously and frightfully clinging to her father. Refusing to allow him to put her down; whining and pouting at the mere suggestion and then tightening her hold around his neck and digging her heels into his ribs. It takes nearly half an hour of Sarge attempting quiet and calm small talk before she relaxes; loosening her hold on Tyler’s neck and allowing him to finally sit down, but adamantly refusing to let him dispose of her entirely. She eventually begins to settle entirely; put at ease by Sarge’s deep and soothing voice and gentle disposition. The way he sits beside them, yet doesn’t infringe on her personal space, the soft smiles and the compliments on her ‘pretty clothes’ and being ‘beautiful just like her mommy’ and having the cutest little nose and freckles. It begins with her hold around Tyler’s neck going from two arms to one, followed by none; simply leaning back against his chest with her head tucked under his chin. It then proceeds to her slipping in between the two men and then finally ending up on Sarge’s lap. No fanfare or big deal made out of her brave move; just smiles exchanged as she settles in and begins chatting endlessly and amicably about her bedroom back home and the goats, chickens, and pigs, and Charlie the Joey that comes for peanut butter sandwiches.

While Brooklyn and the older kids eventually grow tired of socializing and head up to their rooms, Addie and Takota linger; the former now in her grandfather’s loving and protective embrace as they stand in front of the Christmas tree as she points out ‘special’ ornaments and the stories behind them. And after spending the majority of the ‘meet and greet’ hiding behind his mother’s legs and venturing a peek between her thighs every so often, he takes the opportunity left behind by his sister’s departure. Scurrying from one parent to the other and hurriedly climbing into Tyler’s lap; throwing both arms around his neck and curling his legs around his waist.

He grimaces when a heel comes in contact with the scar at the small of his back. It’s been five years and direct pressure still hurts; a burning sensation that originates at the site of the bullet wound and then travels straight down the back of his leg. “Really ‘Kota? Really?”

“Really, daddy. Really.”

“Here…” he slides a forearm behind Takota’s knees and shifts his position. Sideways with tiny legs draped across his lap; both arms wrapped around his son’s petite frame and hands locked together and resting on the four year old’s hip. “...sit there. Other way’s hurting my back.”

Takota pops a thumb into his mouth. “Where the bad guy shot you.”

“Yup.”

“Daddy kills bad people,” the four year old informs his grandmother, as she sits in the nearby recliner.

“Takota…” Tyler’s voice bears a scolding tone. “...what did I tell you? About talking about that?”

“We don’t. Talk about it.”

“Then why are you?”

He shrugs. “Making conversation.”

“Well make conversation about something else. And this…” he wraps his fingers around his son’s wrist and pulls; effectively plucking the thumb from his mouth. “...does not belong in there. You’re not a baby.”

“Says who?”

“Me. And mommy. You want me to get you a bottle? A soother? Put you in a diaper?”

Takota pouts. “No.”

“Then the thumb stays out of the mouth.”

Giving a whimper in protest, he curls an arm around his dad’s neck and rests the side of his head against his chest.

Tyler drops a kiss on Takota’s head. “What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. But there will be in a few minutes if you don’t smarten up. What’s going on? Why you being like this?”

“I dunno,” he shrugs.

“Tired? Wanna have a nap?”

“Nope.”

“What if I do? What if I want a nap?”

“You have one. I don’t wanna nap.”

“You’re just being shy?”

Takota nods. “Don’t want to get my brain eaten.”

“I already told you, no one is getting their brain eaten. There’s no such thing as zombies.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I DO know that. All the bad people I’ve come across? Not one of them has been a zombie. Out of all the millions and millions.”

“That many? That many bad people?”

“That many,” he confirms. “And not one of those bad people were zombies.”

“How do you know?”

“Trust me, I’d know. Zombies aren’t real. They don’t exist. That’s just stuff TJ and Millie talk about to scare you guys. There’s no zombies and no one is going to eat your brain.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. I won’t let anyone steal you and eat your brain. Or any part of you for that matter. So why don’t you get down and socialize and…”

“No!” Takota cries, and frantically scrambles up onto his knees, throwing both arms around Tyler’s neck and tightly pressing his much smaller, lighter body against his broad, solid chest. “No, daddy! I wanna stay with you!”

“I can’t hold you forever. I eventually have to put you down. What if I have to take a leak?”

“Take me with you. I don’t wanna get down. I wanna stay with you.”

“Why don’t you go and see mummy?” Tyler suggests, as Esme returns with fresh pots of tea and coffee; filling everyone’s respective drinks before setting the carafes on the cluttered coffee table and dropping heavily down onto the cushion beside him. “Mummy LOVES cuddles.”

“No,” Takota remains steadfast. “Mummy’s not comfy.”

“Excuse you,” Esme frowns. “I carry you inside of me for nine months, get all fat and gross and that’s how you thank me? By saying I’m not comfy? That’s some nerve, kid.”

“You’re beautiful, mummy. But daddy’s more comfy. He’s got bigger arms. So he gives better hugs. Your hugs are good, but they’re not daddy good.”

“I know who to NOT put my will now,” she teases, and tucks her feet under her and sips leisurely at her tea.

She watches them together; father and son. The trust and the adoration in Takota’s brilliant blue eyes as enormous hands -with their multitude of scars and calluses and misshapen knuckles- tenderly cradling the back of his head as he’s laid along his father’s thighs; palms slipping down to the little one’s back as he dangles upside down between slightly parted legs. His t-shirt sliding up and revealing slightly tanned skin and the adorable pudginess that often comes with four year old tummies. A high pitch screech followed by his musical little giggles filling the living room when the tip of a nose and the roughness of a beard tickle tender flesh. Lips coming to rest over that slightly outward positioned belly button; blowing a loud ‘raspberry’; accompanied by Tyler’s rich, deep chuckle as he carefully pulls Takota back up and once more settles him on his lap.

The smile on her husband’s face is real; reaching his eyes and making them sparkle and crinkling the corners. So genuine and beautiful; a man who has seen so much horror and inflicted so much brutality on others -and had it inflicted on him in return- still able to smile like that. Reserved for the people that are closest and most dear to him; his wife and children often the only ones who get to witness it. And it’s a juxtaposition; how gentle and attentive and caring he can be considering all of things he’s had to witness and do to stay alive. It still haunts him; mistakes of the past and having to kill people as a means of survival. He has a lot of blood on his hands; toes he’s stepped on and bridges that he’s burned. And if anyone should be cold and callous considering everything he’s done and has been done to him, it SHOULD be Tyler. But he’s become the opposite. He’s patient and loving and caring; hands that are capable of such damage remarkably soft and tender. Strong and burly; intimidating when need be. But possessing a heart that’s even bigger than his body.

“I really think you should get down,” Tyler says, and drops a kiss on the top of his son’s head. “So I can actually drink my coffee this time.”

“No,” Takota buries his face in the warm, safe place between his father’s neck and shoulder. “I want to stay with you. My tummy hurts.”

“Something tells me it doesn’t. Something tells me you’re making that up.”

“My teeth hurt,” Takota tries again.

“Your teeth hurt? Why? Got cavities?”

“No. They just hurt.”

“You got some loose ones in there? Let me take a peek. Let daddy look.” Tyler places one hand on the middle of the little one’s back, slightly tipping him backwards as the other rests on the top of Takota’s head. “Open up. Let me see.”

Takota obliges; bridge of his nose crinkling and the corners of his eyes scrunching as large yet surprisingly gentle fingers search his mouth for anything amiss.

“There’s nothing loose. Want me to yank them all out just in case?”

“No!” He speaks around the thumb and forefinger tightly grasping one of his top front teeth. “Daddy no! No yanking!”

“Why not? They’re baby teeth. You’ll get your adult ones. You won’t be toothless forever.”

“No!” Takota frantically wriggles in an attempt to get away. “No daddy! Don’t pull my teeth out! Mummy! Don’t let him yank ‘em!”

“Daddy is not going to yank your teeth out,” Esme assures him, and scowls at her husband and slaps him on the thigh. “Daddy, don’t. You’re tormenting him. He’s going to have nightmares.”

“I don’t know, mummy. It would save us dentist bills. Yank them all out now, worry about it when the big ones come in.”

“No!” Takota yells, and then shrieks when the fingers that were in his mouth find the sensitive spot just below his chin; savagely tickling until he’s giggling hysterically. “Daddy stop! You’re going to make me pee my pants!”

“Don’t get him so riled up,” Esme scolds. “It’s almost n-a-p time and you’re going to get him all worked up and it will never happen.”

“Mummy’s a party pooper,” Tyler says, and gathers Takota in his arms and settles him against his chest; lips finding his temple, palm coming to rest on the side of his head. The four year old gives a content sigh; arms once more curling around his dad’s neck, cheek pressed against the cotton of his henley shirt. “Tired?”

“No.”

“I think you’re lying. I think you ARE tired. Wanna go for a nap? I think you should go for a nap. Naps are good. You’ll love naps when you’re older.”

“Not tired. No nap.”

“How about if I lie down with you? Have my own little sleep? Would you nap then?”

“Maybe,” Takota singsongs.

“Let’s go and find out. Let’s at least try, yeah? Daddy could use a nap.”

“Daddy’s escaping,” Esme grumbles. “Daddy thinks he’s clever.”

“Daddy knows he’s clever,” he retorts, sliding a forearm under Takota’s bum and then standing up; wincing and muttering a barely ‘audible’ fuck as he’s assailed by pain in both the small of his back and his right knee. It’s a bitch of a thing; forty seven years old, getting yourself into what SHOULD be the best shape of your life, and having days where you feel like you’re ninety. It isn’t as bad as before; no longer chronic and debilitating. But there are moments of weakness where he longs for the relief brought on by the mixture of oxy and booze.

“You alright?” Esme’s face is lined with worry; hand resting on his hip as he leans down to kiss her. It’s hard for her to turn off; the worry -and even the fear- that comes with the vivid recollection of the damage that had been inflicted upon him. She’d seen it with her own two eyes; TWICE. And she’d been the one accompanying him to painful and gruelling physiotherapy sessions; the person entrusted to manage his pain meds, the only one he let himself be vulnerable with and would cry to when it all got to be too much to bear. “You can take more meds. The day’s still young and you’re nowhere near your limit.”

“If it gets worse I’ll take some,” he assures her, then presses a kiss to her forehead. “I promise.”

“Don’t let yourself suffer,” she whispers. “ There’s no need for that. Just take the meds. Don’t do that to yourself, okay? I don’t want you suffering.”

“I’m fine right now. If it gets worse, I’ll grab some. Takota, give mummy a kiss. She needs a kiss.”

“Love you mumma,” the four year old says, as he dangles over her and he lands a peck on her lips.

“I love you. Both of you. Sleep well. Just a little nap, okay? You don’t sleep tonight, Santa won’t come.”

“Just a little sleep,” Takota promises. “Daddy’s tired.”

“That’s because daddy's old and his body is falling apart,” Tyler says, and then slings his son over his shoulder; fingers hooked around one of the belt loops on Takota’s jeans, effectively and safely keeping him in place.

Esme watches as they go; Takota’s giggles and his pleads of ‘don’t drop me, daddy!’ and her husband’s constant reassurances and promise. His long and purposeful gait familiar; the slight hitch of the hip and the limp that becomes more pronounced when he’s tired or the nerve issues are bothering him or the arthritis is acting up. But none of that matters; the dents and the blemishes and the damages done. He’s beautiful no matter what; surviving the worst possible circumstances and surpassing all the odds that had been stacked against him. Fighting battles with his own mind every day; forcing himself to open his eyes and pull himself out of bed for the sake of his wife and children. And THAT’S what makes him truly brave; the ongoing war against his own brain and somehow managing to keep going and put one foot in front of the other.

*****

She checks on them an hour later; father and son fast asleep on a twin bed riddled with wrinkled sheets and stuffed animals. A long and muscular body looking even more so in such a small confined space; impossibly long legs stretching the length of the mattress, feet dangling over the edge. Tyler rests on his back with Takota on top of him; a flushed cheek pressed against a broad chest, strong, tattooed arms wrapped tightly around a tiny body, and a large hand protectively placed in the middle of a slowly rising and falling back. Both snoring lightly; lips slightly parted and their eyelids flickering as they dream, hair already mussed and slightly damp from sweat. She pauses at the side of the bed; running fingers through thick tresses and pressing kisses to foreheads; eyes closed as she breathes in the familiar scents that cling to both of their bodies. The biggest and the smallest men in her life; both so beautiful and perfect. Takota with his meek and mild disposition; shy to a fault and profoundly sensitive. Tyler with his enormous body and the scars and blemishes serving as reminders of a hard life; his heart so big and proud and loving with so much power and fierceness. It’s a side not many get to see; knowing him solely as a ‘tough guy’ with a checkered past and blood on his hands. But to know him...TRULY know him...is an honour bestowed on a select view; privy to what makes him laugh and what brings out that smile that reaches his eyes and what touches his heart and brings out that softer, more vulnerable side.

She had been one of the lucky ones; giving him an understanding and non judgmental ear and a safe place to land even from day one. He’d opened up easily and effortlessly. The first night in Dhaka -as they lay in a mess of tangled sheets and naked, sweaty limbs- confiding in her about the loss of his son and how the terrible choice he’d made at led him to the job; his drinking problem getting him kicked out of SASR, war injuries sustained leading to an addiction pain medication, the extent of his guilt, regret, and grief driving him to choose a dangerous yet fairly lucrative career. He DID have a death wish; he didn’t deny it and had confessed that he’d been too scared to do the deed himself and that with every job he took, he hoped and prayed a sniper’s bullet would finally hit its mark. He couldn’t understand WHY it hadn’t happened yet; why was he allowed to keep living when he abandoned his own child while he was suffering so badly? Was it punishment? Was he destined to live a life on the edge yet never meet his demise? Was that the plan? Make him suffer as much as possible -mentally and physically- but not actually kill him? It was the first time a man had ever been that open and honest with her; Mark was extremely closed off and strayed far away from sharing feelings and showing emotion. And her ex-boyfriends had been high school classmates; young and immature and with relatively clean slates.

Tyler had been different. She’d recognized it the moment she met him; his hands surprisingly soft and gentle despite the calluses on his palms and the damaged, misshapen knuckles. He had beautiful eyes; brilliant blue yet possessing a staggering amount of sadness, his smile never reaching them. He was a man with deep, profound secrets and a lot of pain; both physical AND emotional. It had been less than half an hour; from the time she’d stepped onto his front porch and their gaze had met through the open door to when she’d left to join Nik and Yaz on the flight to Fitzroy Crossing. Yet she’d found him intriguing. His simple way of life in that ramshackle house; built by hand and poorly maintained yet obviously giving him a sense of home and security. The tattoos and the scars and the strong, powerful build and a shockingly handsome face. A man that came with quite the reputation; skilled and savage and seemingly fearless. Someone with a dark, dangerous and mysterious past yet the kindest hands and one of the softest -if not entirely genuine- smiles she’d ever come across. And she’d liked that smile; the way he would tuck his chin into his chest and give a small chuckle and the corners of his mouth would just ever so slightly lift. And despite those humble surroundings and his simple attire, he’d smelled so good; a mixture of fresh air and salt water and the slightest tinges of coconut and whiskey.

The attraction had been there; right from that first handshake. She can remember thinking how it wouldn’t be so bad to just give in to primal urges; indulge in nothing more than mindless, no strings attached sex. To just surrender to physical and sexual attraction; allowing herself nothing more than being pleasured and pleasuring someone in return. After all, there was no chance anything COULD come of it; the job was no place to find a romantic partner and with thousands of miles between their homes, there was no possibility of ever really getting the chance to connect and get to know one another. A second marriage and children had never been in her wheelhouse; Mark destroying her and breaking her and stripping her down to a weakened and more vulnerable version of herself. She wouldn’t go through that again; give her heart and all her trust and faithfulness to one man, only to have them betray and hurt her. And that’s all she’d really wanted it to be; sex with an incredibly attractive man with a dark and dangerous reputation. She didn’t have the time or tolerance for anything BUT that; enjoying being single and independent and not feeling as if she had to answer to anyone.

In the blink of an eye, it all changed. That first night in Dhaka turning out to be much more than she ever expected or bargained for. Seeing him in a way he didn’t let anyone else see him; trusting her and confiding in her and being as raw and honest and vulnerable as he could possibly be. And she’d turned around and done the same; talking about the loss of her father and her abusive marriage and the loss of her identity and her journey to find it again. Mindless, no strings attached sex quickly became something so much more; the deep and intense conversations, the way he’d smile -genuinely smile- when she’d tease him about his accent or about how tall he was or how big his feet were. The way those big, strong arms felt when they wrapped around her and drew her tightly into him. And it was the exchange of long and soft kisses even though she’d told herself she wouldn’t do THAT; kissing way too personal and leading to the development of feelings. Which were way too dangerous.

She’d gone into it expecting something purely physical and came out with so much more. A best friend. A confidant. A protector. A lover that turned into a husband and who had helped her make seven beautiful, incredible little human beings. Someone so wounded and damaged that loves so profoundly; a man that worships her and loves her with everything he is and everything he has. Who will protect her at all costs. Who has proven time and time again that he has her back no matter what; willing to suffer and die for her if need be.

It’s overwhelming. To be loved THAT much. It brings tears to her eyes even now as she stands at the side of the bed and watches him sleep; his face and body relaxed and peaceful. She pushes her fingers through his hair and brushes it away from his forehead; lips meeting smooth, warm skin. And when she goes to step away, he reaches for her; fingers capturing her hand and bringing it to his face; his eyes never opening as soft, warm lips press against her palm.

*****

“Nugget?” Esme raps her knuckles against the wooden barn door that closes the bottom bunk off to the rest of the room. “Are you awake in there?”

TJ and Declan have long departed; holed up in the family room with Millie and Alannah as the four quietly and civilly play a board game. Tanner had a hard time; seeing grandma again after so many years had been a difficult and nerve wracking moment for him. But he’d done his best despite the lingering trauma her treatment of him and the things she’d said have left behind; politely answering questions and thanking her for the Christmas gift, but refusing to show or accept any form of affection. Sometimes it’s all he can do to hold it together long enough for the simplest of greetings, and he’d done exceptionally given the troubled past with his grandmother. But he’d fled when she’d tried to get too close; screaming ‘no!’ in her face and pushing her away and then dissolving into tears as he fled the room and rushed upstairs to his safe place.

“I’m awake.” The little voice is shaky and higher pitched than usual; the remnants of tears and his meltdown noticeable.

“I thought I’d come and check on you. Are you okay? How are you doing in there?”

“I’m okay.” He sniffles noisily. “I’m fine.”

“I brought you a snack. One of those wraps that daddy makes; peanut butter with banana and chocolate syrup and coconut shavings. That’s your favourite, right?”

“Right.”

“Daddy didn’t make it, but I’ve gotten pretty good at it. I’ve been taking lessons from him; on how to make it EXACTLY how you like it. It comes with a glass of chocolate milk. If that makes my meal preparations any easier to stomach.”

Tanner manages a small laugh. “You’re not THAT bad at cooking, mummy. You’ve gotten a lot better. Daddy and I are teaching you pretty good.”

Esme chuckles. “You really are. Do you want it? Your snack?”

“Not right this second, but thank you. Can you put it close by? Where I can reach it easy?”

“I’ll put it right beside your bed,” she says, and then sets the items on the ground and fetches the chair from his desk; setting it beside the bottom bunk and then carefully placing the treats on the seat. “Daddy’s taking a nap, but when he gets up, we’re going to do gingerbread houses. I know how much you always enjoy that. Will you join us?”

“Will grandma be there?”

“She’s not into that kind of thing. I’m sure she’ll just hang out in the living room with grandpa. You don’t have to worry about her, okay? You just stick real close to daddy. He’ll keep you safe and sound. He always does, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to do your thing. Your snack is waiting for you. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I’ll be downstairs, alright?”

“Mumma?” A faint of rustling of sheets and then the click of the lock; a little face appearing as the door slides open. “Do you really have to go?”

“I don’t have to go anywhere. I just wanted to give you your space. But no. I don’t have to go.”

“Will you snuggle with me for a bit? We haven’t snuggled in a while. I miss it; mummy snuggles.”

Smiling, she toes off her slippers and climbs into the bottom bunk; Tanner sliding his smaller body over towards the wall and giving her ample space.

“You can be the big spoon,” he offers, and rolls onto his side and presses his back into her front. “You never get to the big spoon, I bet.”

“Not once in the last twelve and a half years,” she says, and drapes a leg over his and curls an arm around his waist. “Daddy is NOT fond of being the little spoon. He’s much more comfortable being the big spoon.”

“That’s because of toxic masculinity.”

“Something tells me you’re right.” She settles the side of her face against his pillow and stretches her arm out along the mattress; fingers repeatedly brushing through his hair. Pressing a kiss to the back of his head when she feels him lace his fingers through hers and then tightly squeezes her hand.

“Mumma?”

“Nugget?”

“I don’t like grandma.”

‘I know you don’t. And you don’t have to. I understand why you feel the way you do. And you have every right to feel it. She’s done a lot of bad things. And SAID a lot of bad things.”

“About daddy.” His voice quivers once again.

“About daddy,” Esme confirms, and tightens her hold on him. “But you know what? Nothing she says matters. Because we know it’s not true. We know that he’s a really good man. A really good daddy.”

“The best daddy ever. If I could pick daddies, I’d pick him. A million times over. Why does she hate him? Why does she say mean things about him?”

“I don’t know, baby boy. I wish I did. I wish I had the answers. I know it hurts; to hear people say horrible things about him. It hurts me too.”

“She said daddy was going to hell. Because you and him made Millie before you were married. Is that true?”

“No, baby. It’s not true. Daddy is NOT going to hell.”

“And she said she wished daddy would just die already,” Tanner bursts into tears; body shaking with the ferocity of his sobs. “That we’d be better off without him. That it would be better if he died. It wouldn’t be. It wouldn’t be better AT ALL.”

“Nugget...come here…” She waits until he rolls onto his side to gather her into her arms. Pressing a series of kisses to the side of his head and his temple and his cheek; fingers buried in his hair as she holds him close. “...I am so sorry. That you had to hear those things. I am so, so, SO sorry.”

“Why would she say that? Why would she want daddy to die? Doesn’t she know we’d miss him? How sad we’d be? Does she hate him THAT much? Does she hate US? Is that why she doesn’t care if we’d be sad?”

“Tanner, I don’t know. I don’t know why she says the things she does. But she doesn’t hate you. She just wasn’t thinking; when she said the things she did. And I really am sorry. That she said those things about daddy. Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you say something? When did this happen?���

“When you and daddy were in Ireland. And grandma came to help Ovi with us. Right before Ovi took us away. Grandma got mad because we were being bad. We were fighting and causing lots of noise and she got upset and that’s when she said it. She said that she wished you never met daddy. And that he was nothing but trouble and that we’d all be better off if he died already. If someone did us a favour and killed him.”

“Oh my God, Tanner. You’ve been holding onto that all this time?”

He nods.

“Baby boy…” She fights back against her own tears; a mixture of heartache and rage; hands shaking as her fingertips clear away the tears on her son’s cheeks. “...you should have told mommy. You should have called me and told me.”

“I didn’t want to upset you. And I didn’t want you telling daddy. I was worried if you told him, he’d get mad and you’d get into a fight and then he’d leave again. He’d move out like he did last time, only he wouldn’t come back. Ever.”

“Tanner, that never would have happened. Daddy and I never would have fought over that. And he never would have left us. What happened way back then? When he did leave and was gone for a while? Things were bad between us. Really bad. Remember?”

He nods.

“But daddy never would have gotten mad at you if you told him what grandma said. He would have been angry at her, but not at you. Or me. He would've done whatever he could to protect you from her. Daddy loves you so much. More than he loves himself. He would never, EVER, get mad at you for something like that.”

“I don’t want him to know. Don’t tell him, mummy. Please don't tell him. I don’t want it to hurt his brain. I don’t want it to make his brain sad.”

“Tanner, you have to…”

“No,” he insists. “I won’t tell him. And you won’t either. Please promise, mummy. Promise me you won’t tell him.”

Esme relents. “I won’t tell him. That’s your secret to tell. And you will one day. When you’re ready. When you think daddy is ready to hear it.”

“I don’t want him to die,” Tanner sobs. “I don’t want daddy to die.”

“He’s not going to die, Nugget. He’s here and he’s safe and sound. With us. He’s in the next room; napping with Takota.”

He sniffles. “Yeah?”

“Yup. I was just in there. They’re fast asleep, snoring away. Daddy is safe. He’s with us. He’s not going anywhere.”

“I don’t want him to go away ever again. It’s scary when he leaves. I’m always afraid he’s not going to come back.”

“So am I,” she admits. “I worry about the exact same thing.”

“Tell him he can’t leave anymore. Tell him that he has to stay. With us. That he’s not allowed to go. Tell him, mumma. Please tell him.”

“I will,” she promises, and cradles his face in her hands and presses a kiss to his forehead. “I am so sorry, Nugget. That you ever had to hear that. I know how much you love daddy. And believe me, he loves you just as much. Remember what I told you? About how he stayed with you in the hospital when you were born? When you were sick? And he didn’t want you to be alone?”

He nods. “And he picked my name.”

“He did. He loved the name Tanner. We wanted two T names, and that’s the one he picked right away and that’s the one he stuck with. That’s pretty cool, huh? That you’re the one daddy named?”

“It’s really cool. I like that; that he picked my name. It’s really special. Knowing he did.”

“Well you’re very special. You always have been. Right from the very beginning. You were so tiny when you were born; you fit right in the palm of daddy’s hand and your toes didn’t reach his wrist.”

“That IS tiny!”

“It is. You were super tiny. And daddy wouldn’t leave your side. He stayed in the special nursery with you and he slept in a chair beside your bed and he made sure you got the best care and the best nurses. He wasn’t leaving you alone. He knew that you needed him. And you know what? He needed YOU too.”

“He did?”

“He did. He needed that time with you. You and your brother were the first boys after Austin. That’s a pretty big deal. Daddy never thought he’d have any kids again, never mind a boy He got two! At the same time. That was pretty special for him. Getting not just one son, but two.”

“Did he cry?”

“He did. He cried when he got to hold TJ and he cried when he got to hold you. He was the only one who got to hold you right away. Because you needed help and they sent you to the special nursery to be looked after. And he went with you and never left. Not until I was able to come and see you.”

“That’s proof, you know. That daddy loves me.”

“He loves you so much, Tanner. More than he could ever tell you. You have no idea how much he loves you. How proud he is of you. And he’s pretty good, right? As a daddy?”

“He’s an awesome daddy. All the kids at school are jealous. ‘Cause he’s big and has muscles and cool tattoos. None of their dads have those things. Just mine. Their dads are lame. My dad’s cool.” He rubs his nose on the sleeve of his shirt. “If you met daddy a different way, would you have still fallen in love with him?”

“I imagine I would have. I can’t see why not. He’d still be daddy; he’d still look the same. And it’s kind of hard NOT to love him.”

“How would you have met him? If you guys didn't do the same job?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I would have gone to Australia on a trip and met him that way. Or maybe he would have come to Colorado and we would have bumped into each other somewhere. What do you think?”

“A singles cruise.”

“A singles cruise?” Esme laughs. “Why a singles cruise? And how do you even know about those?”

“I saw a commercial on tv. And then I googled it. I bet you and daddy would have met on a singles cruise.”

“I don’t know about that, Nugget. Daddy isn’t really the cruise kind of guy.”

“Maybe you would have met at the supermarket. On your trip to Australia. Maybe he would have been in line in front of you when you were waiting to pay for your groceries. Or maybe he would have been behind you and when you didn’t have enough money, he’d give you some. Or pay for your stuff. Daddy would do that; pay for a pretty girl’s stuff.”

“I kind of like that idea. Meeting my knight in shining armour at the grocery store. Him coming to my rescue right when I needed it.”

“You still would have liked him? If you met him that way?”

“I definitely would have. A handsome guy doing something like THAT? How could I not?”

“And he’d still look like daddy. He’d have the blue eyes and the cool hair and the big muscles. And the nice butt.”

Esme laughs. “Yeah, he would. I would have for sure noticed all of that.”

“You would have went out with him if he asked you on a date?”

“I definitely would have. I probably would have even let him kiss me.”

Tanner’s eyes widen. “On the first date? Mummy, that’s scandalous!”

“Hey, when you know, you know. And I knew. Pretty quick. That your daddy was the one for me.”

“Did he know too? That you were the one for him?”

“I don’t know. I THINK he did. He won’t admit it, though.”

“I’m going to ask him. If he knew right away you were the one for him. He’ll tell me. I know he will.”

“Well good luck with that. Are we good here? Are you calm now? Are you glad you told me what you did?”

Tanner nods. “I feel a hundred pounds lighter. That was a lot to carry around. Especially for so long. You’re not going to tell daddy, right?”

“I promised I wouldn't. But I really think YOU should.”

“I will when I’m ready. I swear I will.”

“Okay,” she agrees, then smooths his hair away from his face and presses a kiss to his brow. “I love you. So much.”

“I love you too. Thank you for being my mum.”

“Thank you FOR picking me to be your mom.”

“And thanks for having sex with daddy. If you didn’t, none of us would be here.”

She laughs at that. “You know what, it was a difficult thing to do, but I managed. And I’ll lethim know that you appreciate his participation. And his cooperation.”

“You know…” Tanner flops onto his back, hands behind his head. “...you and daddy make a weird couple. Not weird in a bad way. Just a different way.”

Esme props herself up on her elbow, cheek resting in her upturned palm. “How so?”

“You’re so tiny and he’s so big. It’s funny when you stand side by side or when you walk down the street together. Because it’s SO noticeable; how tall he is and how short you are. And it’s really sweet; when he goes to kiss you and you stand on the top of his feet AND on your tiptoes and he STILL has to bend down.”

“Well what can I say? Your dad is freakishly tall.”

“And you’re freakishly tiny.”

“Hey!” She reaches out to tickle his tummy; smiling at the way his eyes scrunch shut and he giggles. “Don’t you start taking after him when it comes to trash talking my height!”

“Daddy’s right, mum. You ARE small enough for him to pick you up and put in his pocket. And that’s cute. REALLY cute.”

“YOU’RE cute,” she says, and places a kiss on his cheek. “I’m going to go and get daddy up and get him started on setting up all the stuff for gingerbread houses. You going to join us?”

“In a while. I want to have my snack first.”

She tousles his hair and pecks his lips before sliding off the bunk. “I’ve got it ready and waiting, good sir. I’ll see you in a bit, okay? Do you want things closed back up?”

“No. I’m okay now. Thanks, mum.”

“See you soon,” she says, and presses a kiss to two of her fingertips and then reaches out and places them against the tip of his nose. “Bring the dirty dishes downstairs, okay?”

“Okay,” Tanner agrees. “Mumma?”

Esme pauses in the doorway.

“Thank you. For loving me like you do.”

Smiling through the threatening flood of tears, she swallows noisily around the lump of emotion sitting square in her throat. “You make it very easy, Nugget.”

[codevassie]

i've got a request! prinxiety fantasy au. roman became a prince after making a deal with a magical creature (that can be a side but also can remain unnamed, whatever works for you). the deal was: roman would become prince but in exchange, the creature would take his true love when roman would meet them. so roman was always careful not to fall in love with anyone. that worked until he met virgil. aaand i leave the rest up to you! i hope this makes sense lol

CV: Sorry it’s so long and also not long enough and also really late. Thank you so much for your patience! My mind would not stop coming up with ideas for this fic but I wrangled it in enough to get this out. Hope you like it, An!

CW: Weapons, Trauma, Injury [Edit: Angst, Unhappy Ending]

On Ao3 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Prince Roman was kind and fair to all who knew him. It was uncanny to his citizens how Disney their prince was. He glowed in all ways–always smiling, exceedingly handsome, eyes gleaming with pride. 

He was also a bachelor, sworn to it almost like a monk. He loved to flirt and would dance with many a handsome man; Roman was no stranger to romance and collected kisses like precious stones. He was not one for staying with one person, sweetly turning down those who came back, wanted more. There was guilt in his eyes, but the prince never wavered.

He was determined to rule on his own, with only advisors to lean on and citizens to give his love. This was something that had never happened before, but their kingdom had also never had a prince like Roman before.

Since the day their prince had been crowned heir to the throne by the childless king and queen, things had been very different in their kingdom. Royalty did not have to be blood, and a king did not need a queen, or any spouse at all. 

Roman did not want to marry. And no one would have batted an eye at this–but the prince did not seem to want anything at all. Full of love, he had no one to give it. Friendly, but lacked friends. It was a constant source of gossip around the castle–why their beloved prince insisted on being alone.

But the prince knew what he was doing. Roman knew well the dangers of growing close to others.

He didn’t regret the decision he made. As prince, he could make a difference; he had somewhere he belonged. A mother and father who cared. Citizens he adored, and adored him in turn. People to care for, to fight for. Roman now had more than he ever hoped in his once hopeless life.

Most importantly, Roman had his brother back. That was worth more than anything Roman could have gained or given. Worth more than his very life.

So, no. He didn’t regret it. If he had the choice, he’d always go back and face those wild eyes, those scales and wicked lies for the chance to have this.

Whoever he’d meant to love one day would have to find someone else.

-/-

“How are you today, Remus?“ 

Remus hummed. Roman knew that translated to ‘not very well.’

“Okay,” he said calmly. He moved over into the brightly lit room to where his brother sat at the window. Roman sat across from Remus and said nothing else. Today wasn’t a talking day.

So Roman sat and let his nerves calm, his mind wander like his brother’s must have been. He couldn’t imagine what sort of things Remus saw–flashbacks from the hills and the caves and the fear. Roman grew restless, and he couldn’t imagine how Remus did it for days on end, jolted into another reality that existed in his head, in the past.

He passed a lot of his days like this, sitting quietly by his brother’s side. Probably not enough though. Never enough to help. But it was hard to balance his time now that he was prince, always something more to do, something he could do to help, to plan, to sign, to consider. It was a lot.

But at least they weren’t terrified every day would be their last.

At least Remus was with him again, safe. 

“I miss Dee,” Remus surprised Roman by speaking up. Roman looked over, but his brother hadn’t moved. His gaze was towards the hills.

There was nothing Roman could say to that. He stood reluctantly, taking a glance towards the horizon himself, before stepping back. “Sorry I can’t stay very long today.” It had only been twenty minutes Roman noted by the clock on the mantle, but Remus didn’t seem phased. “I’ll come eat dinner with you tonight, though,” Roman offered. Still, nothing. “Alright. Bye, Remus.”

Roman stepped out, careful to not make any loud noises as he shut the door. Days like this were the reason Remus’ room was far away from the hustle and bustle of the castle. The noise was too much for him. There were still plenty of people around to attend to him though, to make sure he didn’t get up to too much trouble during the times he was lucid.

That didn’t stop Roman from stepping away and quietly knocking his head on the opposite wall. Forehead supporting him, Roman sighed, trying to piece himself back together. Once he had built himself up, able to give a winning smile and a confident gait, Roman picked himself up and squared his shoulders.

A prince had very little time to spare already, and he had used what he had to visit with his brother.

Winding through the halls, Roman made his way back to the front study, where his advisor and a handful of guards waited. When he opened the doors, he shot them all his winning smile. “Are we all ready?”

It took them no time at all to get to town, then just a little further to the square, which was under construction. It was a smaller project, but one that Roman loved: a park, with room for community gardening, a playground with outdoor instruments, a couple pieces of exercise equipment, and a small stage for community theater. 

It was important to him, but it was something he rarely had the time to see into fruition. There was more pressing matters in the kingdom that Roman had to oversee.: discussions to meditate, economic policies to study, corruption to dig into. When Roman became a prince, he’d known it would be a tough job, but he had never expected what seemed like such a nice kingdom on the outside to have so much else on the inside.

It was exhausting, but this park was where Roman hoped to make a positive influence. He barely had the time for it, but he made the time for it. It was usually what kept him awake at night in his office, going over budgets and blueprints.

He hadn’t been to the site for a month.

When the carriage pulled up, Roman jumped out, guards already on his tail. He didn’t wait for them, though, striding straight towards the ring of architects and construction crew at one side. A quick glance around told Roman they were making decent headway on the tiny amphitheater. 

Looking back, he took stock in what he would be dealing with. The kind architect was there, so he’d have to do his best to steer clear. Roman was a sucker for nice guys. The smart one was there too. Damn it; double the threat. 

“Hello, Shelby, Logan, David, Patton, Christie,” he greeted the ones he knew by name. “How is everything going?”

Shelby, the team leader, stepped forward, giving a kind smile. “Moving forward at a considerable pace, my prince,” she said, and, from there, they dived in. The architects pointed to blueprints and talked about estimated times for finishing different aspects, as well as possible obstacles and needed materials. They talked for half an hour before they were talking in circles again, and Roman knew he needed to draw a line and make a retreat.

“It sounds like you all are doing splendidly and have things well under control. I would say continue forward with how you’re doing. I trust you to make the right calls.” His smile was wide, and he was beginning to feel the line of business and friendly failing. 

All Roman wanted to do was share jokes with Patton. Listen to Logan tell him about the book he was reading. Even hear about Shelby’s family–though she was hardly a threat to the curse inside Roman. Still, Roman felt wrong for staying around, for getting near anyone with the danger he posed.

Roman needed to get somewhere safe. He needed just a breath of fresh air–somewhere without pretense, where he wasn’t constantly tottling between unnecessary rudeness and letting his traitorous heart do what it does and fall far too quickly.

He had always fallen fast and hard, always one for all or nothing. Never at a mere glance, no. He may be a romantic, but love at first sight simply wasn’t real. Deep longing at first sight was something Roman was prone to, though.

But Roman was careful. Never would he let an innocent soul pay for his deeds. If the price he had to pay was his love, then he would simply never fall in love. 

And, since love at first sight wasn’t a thing, Roman could simply stay away from anyone he might have liked. If Logan’s smart words made him blush, if Patton’s puns made him giggle-

Off Roman went. If he didn’t stay around them, he couldn’t fall in love with them. Easy enough.

That may have been a reason Roman rarely made his way to the park construction or spent too much time at any of his projects. He cycled through advisors. He exchanged polite greetings with guards and nothing else. He was an amiable prince, who reached out to his citizens, but he couldn’t afford to be too friendly, to get attached.

He knew he could be better. Without this fear, he could be so much better. He’d be friends with everyone he knew, not acquaintances. He’d be a personal ruler, not a distant one. 

He couldn’t risk the lives of his citizens though.

So, at the nearest chance, Roman ducked away. The others invited him to coffee, but he declined. 

Instead, he went somewhere he’d normally never go. He marched into the library, waltzed straight up to the most infuriating person he knew.

Not even Roman was hopeless enough to fall for Virgil.

“My prince,” the librarian greeted lazily, not even standing from his slumped position across the desk. “What can I do for you today?“ 

He picked up a pen and scrawled across a paper, deigning to not even look Roman in the eye. Whatever pleasantness Roman had felt upon seeing a familiar, unexpectant face, soured at the blatant rudeness.

This callousness was what had sealed the deal for Roman in the first place though. The absolute zero percent chance that Roman could like, much less love, this man. Roman never thought he could hate one of his own citizens, but this guy… He was the worst. 

Roman could have never fallen in love with someone so… Virgil. So condescending and sarcastic and pessimistic. Virgil brought with him a stormy cloud of hatred everywhere he went. The mere thought of being around him was deplorable.

Which made him perfect.

“I just came to see your lovely face, my chemical woe-mance,” Roman said breezily. He had taken to maliciously flirting with the library assistant. It satisfied both his need to flirt with someone and his abhorrence of the man’s face.

And tone.

And personality.

And the way he pointed out every security detail his guards had missed by walking in there. 

And how he always pointed out the measures Roman was slow to take with his policies, and ones that he missed, redirecting Roman’s attention to needed areas. 

And when his hair fell in his eyes because, damn it, Roman wasn’t blind.

And when he laughed at something because he wasn’t horrible all the time and those were the times Roman panicked the most because shit did he mess up by letting himself talk to Virgil so much-

And his fashion sense was also horrible, so there.

But, of course, Roman was above such things. If the gloomy broody wanted to stoop, Roman would not-

“Forget how to say your own name again?” Virgil asked, and Roman stopped in his tracks, shooting him a confused look. “Hate to break it to you, but Roman doesn’t have a W.”

Roman’s face lit up red and he straightened faster than a cat struck by lightning. 

“I am your prince,” Roman said, hands curling into fists. The guards behind him didn’t react, however. By this point, they were all used to Roman and Virgil’s arguing. 

They thought it was ‘banter.’ Roman often reminded them it was a verbal battle of wits. They asked why he kept coming back.

He never answered that.

“I don’t need reminding every time you’re here, my prince,” Virgil rolled his eyes. It was ironic how the honorific fit in his mouth, like a bad taste. 

“Don’t call me that,” Roman snapped. Virgil raised a brow.

“What do you expect me to call you then?” he asked. “Your excellency? Your highness? General pain in my ass?”

“You make all of those sound like ‘general pain in my ass.’” Roman shot back with fire. 

“Then what?” Virgil crossed his arms.

Roman spoke without thinking. “My name.”

One of the guards coughed behind him. Virgil looked stunned.

“You want me to call you…” he said, and all anger had dissipated. If Roman had known this was all it would take to knock Virgil off his high horse, he would have done it so much sooner.

“Yes,” Roman said, feeling awfully proud of himself. “Call me Roman.”

Another cough behind him. What was it with the guards today? He hoped no one was coming down with anything.

“Roman?” Virgil asked, and it was said quickly, like he was still shocked at everything going on. This, however, is where Roman realized his mistake.

His name on Virgil’s tongue did not, in fact, sound like ‘general pain in my ass.‘ 

His name sounded….

Softer.

Sweeter.

Like a melody he’d never heard,

And one he’d kill to hear again.

Roman was suddenly hit with a sadness so unmistakable it was as if it had always lived in him. Something that felt lonely, something that felt like… goodbye.

Goodbye to this. Goodbye to the only person he had left that saw him as something that wasn’t a prince, or a stranger.

Oh gods, not Virgil too.

Roman straightened up, clearing his throat suddenly. “Um, yes?” he said, voice coming out squeaky. He cleared it again. “I mean, yes. Yes. Of course. If you’re going to insist on butchering everything else…”

“Might as well butcher the real thing?” Virgil asked, and he finally broke out of his shock to snicker. Roman’s heart thumped.

Fuck.

“Yeah, well. I actually have to go now, but it was nice seeing you and-”

“Nice seeing me?” Virgil asked, thrown off guard by Roman’s sudden departure. Roman hadn’t been there five minutes, but he had to get out of there.

“As ever. Terrible to see you as always, hot topic, and, if you’d just excuse me-” Roman was backing away, making his way to the door. He assumed the guards would follow.

“Hot topic…” Virgil seemed to be asking, but Roman didn’t give an answer.

“See ya!” were his final words before he ducked out.

Roman paid no mind to the knowing glances his guards shared behind him as he rushed off to the carriage.

He could only think of the heart in his chest.

And the noose it could lasso around Virgil.

-/-

“It’s not Virgil, right?” Roman asked pacing around his brother’s room. “Anyone but Virgil, surely.”

Remus continued to look out the window, mind probably elsewhere.

“It wouldn’t be. Virgil is… Virgil.” Roman shook his head. “He’s Virgil.”

“Virgil?” Remus spoke up, but he didn’t look at Roman. Maybe he was present, just a bit.

Roman nodded, pacing again to the other side of the room. “I can’t see him again. That’s it. It’s too dangerous. Even if there’s absolutely no way I’d fall for that guy, I can’t risk it.”

Remus turned Roman’s way, eyes looking troubled. Roman’s mind was spinning out of control.

“But it couldn’t be Virgil. I wouldn’t fall for him. I can still talk to him. It’ll be fine, right?”

Roman paused, thinking through his words before groaning.

“Oh my gods, I want to talk to him!” he lamented, then sat down heavily on his brother’s bed. Remus continued to watch him, looking for all the world like there was a puzzle in front of him, very close to being solved. 

“Remus, what am I going to do?” Roman asked, covering his face. “I like Virgil.”

“Virgil,” Remus mumbled.

“I can’t ever see him again. This is the end. We were never even friends! He was the asshole in the library. That’s it. That’s all he’ll ever be. And, somehow, I like him. What the fuck, heart? What the actual fuck?”

“Virgil,” Remus repeated, brows furrowing. Something was there, but Roman was too distracted to consider it.

“Gosh, but I can see it now. He’s got the warmest brown eyes to go with his shit personality. He’s so sarcastic. He actually makes me laugh. How dare he?! How dare he make me like him and all his assholeness?”

Roman stood from the bed. One look Remus’ way and he immediately regretted everything. 

“Rem? What’s wrong?” he rushed to his brother, who had the most distressed look on his face, fingers sparking green. Roman folded his hands over them, not minding the slight sting. It was better than someone walking in and seeing the magic. “Remus?” Roman asked again, kneeling before his brother. 

Remus blinked. Looked down at his hands and frowned. “Sorry, Ro,” he said, then looked back at the window. Whatever he’d been thinking, it was gone. Roman couldn’t help the sigh that escaped him.

One second of lucidity and Roman was glad it was gone. What kind of brother was he? Watching Remus look out the window again, lost to everything but the hills past the kingdom, Roman felt a deep sinking loss in his chest.

But, with that look that’d been on Remus’ face… how could he not be relieved? 

He sighed again. Roman did that a lot in this room. He wished he could help it, for Remus’ sake.

But Remus probably didn’t hear it anyway.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” he breathed, words lost to his brother. “I’m the one who should be sorry.”

Roman retracted his hands, absently noting the singe marks across his palms. He’d wear some gloves to cover them.

“Sorry,” he repeated. The word rang in his head, begging to be said again and again, until his sins were carried off with them, somewhere far away in the wind of those words. “Sorry.”

-/-

The next time Roman visited the park, he didn’t go to the library. However, it seemed he didn’t have to.

“Thank you so much, kiddo!” Roman absently heard from Patton as he scanned over some of the construction plans. “I can’t believe I forgot this.”

Roman heard one of his guards cough, stifling what sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Funny, they usually only did that when-

“No problem, Pat,” a deep, vaguely uncomfortable sounding voice replied, and Roman shot straight up. There was another noise that was definitely a laugh this time, but he didn’t pay mind to it. His eyes shot to the interaction happening not five feet from him.

Virgil.

He was standing a bit slouched, hands stuffed into his pockets and nodding along to Patton’s excited gibbering. It was sort of adorable, how patient Virgil was, the way he hid his smile when Patton punned, how out of place he seemed to feel, but comfortable around his friend.

Roman hadn’t known Virgil and Patton were friends. That was adorable.

Okay, Roman should really stop thinking of Virgil as adorable. Soon. Now.

But his eyeshadow was slightly smudged–probably from wiping it on accident–and that was adorable too.

No. Stopping now.

Roman dipped his head back down, boring his eyes into the blueprints. He absorbed none of it, but he acted the part like a champ. Looking busy sure came handy when a prince wanted to avoid people. You couldn’t argue that a prince wasn’t doing important work.

Well, perhaps a lesser prince. But everyone knew how seriously Roman took his job (whether he lived up to expectation or not. Virgil saw past that. Virgil pointed out exactly where Roman lacked…. but he also commented on the good things too. He’d said how much safer it was to walk home lately–how the children were excited about the park–how some patrons of the library complained about the tax increases, but Virgil argued with them about the necessities of the kingdom; all the community works, roads paved, safety measures).

“Ro?” Patton asked, and, even if it weren’t for his voice and bubbly nature, Roman would have known it was him. Patton was the only one on the construction crew that had taken him up on his offer to not use ‘my prince’ every time they referred to him.

“Hm?” Roman asked, pretending to be busy. He saw Patton from the corner of his eye, dragging another person by his side–no doubt Virgil. Roman swallowed harshly.

“This is my friend Virgil. Sorry to interrupt work and all, but I try to introduce him to everyone around here. He doesn’t get around too often and-”

“Pat!” Virgil hissed beside him, and Roman couldn’t help it. He looked up.

And they locked eyes.

Virgil’s cheeks were a dull pink, furiously trying to escape the bounds of the pale foundation he’d applied. For a moment, they were suspended there, Virgil and Roman just looking at each other.

Then, Virgil looked away. “Patton, you can’t just drag me around everywhere.”

Patton, the dear, had the good grace to look sheepish. “I just thought you’d want to meet the prince is all.”

“We’ve already met,” Roman said, against the wishes of his panicked nerves. It felt like something he wanted to keep for himself, something he could hold secret and close to his chest. He forced the words out though. Surely there was no valid reason to keep it secret.

Virgil flinched as Patton whipped around to face him. “Really?!”

He shifted a bit on his feet, and Roman noticed how considerably less confident he was outside the library. Maybe it was the new space, or the unknown gazes, but it worried Roman how much smaller Virgil appeared outside his familiar walls.

While Patton excitedly talked to Virgil about this new development, Roman was able to take a second to himself. It was Roman’s first time around him knowing how he felt about Virgil–without the panic of last time, mind spinning with Do I like him? Do I like him? Do I like him? Roman could examine those feelings up close here, scrutinizing them for what they were. He definitely liked Virgil, that much was definite by then, but how much? Roman fell quickly, but, as long as he was even still a bit afloat, it was fine. Virgil was safe.

And Roman understood with relief that this was indeed the case. He wasn’t in love with Virgil. It was still frightening how easily he’d fallen in deep like with the man, but Roman could remedy the situation. It just… took a bit of… severing of their relationship. Just a dash of distancing, a pinch of avoidance and rigid politeness. 

It was less than a minute that Roman had to think on this, Patton and Virgil’s conversation ending abruptly when Virgil started to get visibly overwhelmed. That worried Roman too, but it only seemed to embarrass Virgil.

“Virge? Buddy?” Patton asked, but Virgil’s red face shook back and forth.

“It’s fine, Pat. Let’s just moveonrightnow,” Virgil spoke without a lot of breath, words coming out quick. He was different outside the library, like he was constantly afraid of… something. He was jumpy, and Roman was sure that if someone were to sneak up on him right now, purposefully or not, they would be socked in the jaw.

“Yes,” Roman spoke up, seeing his opportunity. “I’m afraid I’ve actually ran out of time here, but we got a lot done here today. Great job, all of you.”

“You’re leaving?” Patton asked, looking disappointed. 

And Roman realized what he’d tried to avoid for so long. Patton was cute. He was funny and kind and made Roman feel like the world had light. But Roman really had nothing to be scared of. He looked at Logan too, clever and full of passion for his work and interests, and thought the same. He’d been avoiding all the wrong people–people who could’ve been his friends.

So to Patton Roman gave a sad smile of his own. He gave his excuses–the many duties of a prince, how busy things have been lately, that he really should let them get back to work instead of hovering over their shoulders so often–he was just a prince, after all.

It all paled to the real reason, nestled deep in his chest where he hoped no one would look, see his obvious lie.

Roman couldn’t be near Virgil.

Too risky.

-/-

The thing with falling for someone–it doesn’t stop when you don’t see them.

What was the saying? Distance makes the heart grow fonder?

That saying existed because days without those you’re infatuated with just make you think about them more. And Roman, the chronic dreamer he was, could not stop thinking about Virgil. He dreamed in his sleep about pushing the hair from Virgil’s face, curling it around his ears and leaning down for a gentle kiss. He day-dreamed about Virgil in his library, slouched over his desk, waiting for patrons and passing the day in boredom.

Roman thought of his snarky quips, eyerolls, insistent gestures when he was trying to tell Roman something. Those milliseconds of a softer look that Roman would ignore, trying to convince himself he loathed Virgil, so he wouldn’t have to go away.

He realized now how too late it was.

Virgil’s laugh was stuck in his ears–Virgil’s nervous voice outside the library–Virgil’s stories of friends he’d never see again, growing up in a distant place. 

And Roman hadn’t realized how much of himself he’d given as well. Virgil had been an ear to Roman’s rants, a backboard to spring off horrible ideas. Virgil could be ruthless, and Roman could be idyllic, but, somewhere in there, it actually worked. He’d told Virgil about spreading himself thin, about the demands of a prince he hadn’t expected when the king and queen had adopted him. He told him about how much he cared, cared so much, about the people of this kingdom, even while he’d only been there for three years himself. 

There was so much, now that Roman considered it. And still so much he wanted to share. He’d never told Virgil about his brother–no one knew about Remus. He wasn’t fit to be in the public eye. That much scrutiny and pressure, after everything he’d been through, would destroy him.

But he found himself wanting to tell Virgil. Found that he trusted him with the information.

And he wanted to tell Virgil about where he and his brother grew up, about the night he woke up and Remus wasn’t by his side, and it took two years of searching and loneliness to find him and save him. Roman wanted to tell Virgil his favorite color was red, that his favorite stories as a kid were about knights, not princes, that he spent his free time–or what freetime he used to have–writing poetry, and he had a secret love for theater that he’d never had the opportunity to explore. 

Roman felt his heart pulling pulling pulling. It wouldn’t rest, wouldn’t relinquish the hold it had over him, would not forget him- him- 

Virgil. 

His heart was a selfish thing. It stuck like glue to those who didn’t want it. It kept its love in a cage, never to let go.

But Roman had to stop thinking of him. It would only lead to heartbreak. It would only lead to Virgil’s doom.

That should make it easier on his heart–knowing the person it longed for was at risk for its choice–but nothing did sway it. It was up to Roman to wrangle it in, suppress, push it down down down.

A sound at the door of his office snapped Roman out of his thoughts–spiralling, an hourly occurrence at this rate, sending him straight to a world far away, spinning in purple irises. The door creaked open, and there stood an odd sight.

“Remus?” Roman asked, concerned. He was already standing, walking around the desk and across the room. “Is everything alright? Why are you on this side of the castle?”

Remus was very far from his room, and the castle was pretty confusing. It was a surprise his brother had found him at all.

“Virgil,” was all Remus said, like it held all the answers he’d ever been looking for. Roman paused, eyebrows furrowing.

“What about him?”

“It’s him.”

“What?” Roman asked, and Remus reached out, grabbed his hand. Before he knew it, Roman was being pulled along. Remus was leading them down the corridor, looking more sure of himself than Roman had seen since they were kids. “Remus, what are you doing? Where are we going?”

Remus didn’t answer him. In fact, Roman was thrown into even more confusion when he was steered into a random room at the end of the corridor, his brother huffing as he shut the door behind them. “Walking takes too long,” he seemed to be realizing. His hand was glowing and, when he reached out for Roman again, it was a blink of an eye before they were standing somewhere completely new.

“Remus, what the hell?” Roman asked, retracting his hand. “You shouldn’t use your magic like that! Anyone could see you.”

But Remus wasn’t listening. Was he ever? Instead, he was looking around. “Not where I would have picked.” He was sounding… like himself. Roman stared, wide-eyed. If he wasn’t so confused, he’d be elated. He’d long since thought getting his brother back to any normalcy–or whatever was normalcy for Remus–was impossible. 

“Who’s there?” a voice interrupted his thoughts, carrying across the library stacks. Roman recognized it and cursed internally. Why had Remus taken them there?

Slowly, Roman put up his hands and crept out of the small alcove Remus had taken them to, ready to come up with an explanation for their sudden appearance on the fly. “Do not be afraid,” Roman said, as any prince would. He stood in the open and found Virgil’s gaze. All Virgil had to protect him were his own fists–not the best tactic, Roman thought. Then again, it was only the other day that Roman had been afraid Virgil would sock the nearest person.

Still, just his fists didn’t seem like a great defense against swords or knives or any number of weapons a burglar could have. There was a pang in Roman’s heart as he thought of what might have happened if it wasn’t just him and Remus in there. Virgil would have been defenseless.

As realization dawned on Virgil’s face, they stood at a stand still, both almost afraid to move. When Virgil’s eyes drifted to his raised fists–loose, not really fists at all, who had taught Virgil to fight?–he dropped them like hot coals, stuffing them in his pockets. 

“Fuck, Roman, you nearly gave me a heart attack,” Virgil said, and Roman knew he shouldn’t be focusing on this–but Virgil had said his name again, and his heart was singing.

“My dearest apologies,” Roman bowed, and, going by the weirded out look on Virgil’s face, that was not of norm between them. He supposed they had never been quite civil with each other–even at the beginning. “I wanted to show my brother the library and you weren’t at the front desk, so we just came in.”

“I’ve been at the front desk this whole time,” Virgil said, not defensive, but confused. Well, at least Virgil wasn’t in a bad mood.

“Funny. We didn’t see you.”

“Wait wait wait,” Virgil said, backing up a second. “You said brother?”

Shit.

Looked like Roman would have to explain that sooner than he’d thought. Or, really, at all. Wanting to tell Virgil and telling him had been on two separate lists entirely. Roman wasn’t actually supposed to be talking to Virgil at all. 

“Okay, so-” Roman went to start, but he was caught off by a twin set of gasps, one shortly after the other. The first had come from behind him, so that’s where he looked.

“It is you,” Remus said. Roman’s eyes widened, finally catching on to what his brother had been trying to tell him.

“Wait, do you know each other?”

“Remus?” Virgil’s reply answered that question well enough. Roman turned back to him, eyes darting between the two. Virgil sputtered, “What- How-”

“It’s too late,” Remus mumbled. It sounded a bit more like he had over the past year–less like himself, but his eyes were present; he looked to be considering something–something he didn’t seem to favor. “It was a trap.”

“A trap?” Roman asked. “What do you mean? A trap for who? Who’s trapping?”

“Remus, what the fuck? How are you here? How did you get away?” Virgil asked, walking closer, but not too close, like there was still a part of him that couldn’t believe what was in front of him. 

“Get away?” Roman said, pieces further slipping into place. He didn’t like where this was going.

“What about Dee?”

“Dee…” Roman mumbled, the name familiar in his ears. I miss Dee, Remus had said. I miss Dee I miss Dee I miss Dee…

“It’s too late,” Remus repeated. “Of course it was you.”

Then, the room erupted into chaos.

-/-

Books flew, shelves rocked, windows clattered. From the corners of his eyes, Roman could see flashes of purple and green. Past the wind in his ears, he heard vague shouts from Virgil and a round of fuckfuckfuckfuckfucks from Remus. He couldn’t recall if he was saying anything himself, but he knew what he was feeling. Scared.

Roman had no idea what was happening, but, from the flashes of light, he deduced it must have been magic. This made him turn toward his brother, suddenly scared that all of this had gotten to him. Being outside the castle, some place unfamiliar, not to mention Remus had always been kind of a loose cannon with his magic–it could have caused Remus to panic.

But one look at him and Roman knew his brother wasn’t the one doing it. He turned to Virgil, remembering what he’d been saying, how he’d known Remus, how he’d raised his hands in a stance that made no sense in traditional fighting–but, with magic?

Purple sparks flew across Virgil’s skin, like they were doing on Remus too, but his eyes weren’t aglow. He wasn’t doing it either.

What was happening?

Then, abruptly, it stopped.

Shelves balanced back to their places and books dropped to the floor, lifeless. It was all they could do to just stand there before movement caught Roman’s eye at the top of one of the shelves.

Someone sat there, legs folded elegantly over one another where they balanced precariously. Roman recognized the one glowing eye peering down at them, the scaly hands, the knowing smirk.

“What a lovely reunion,” she purred. Roman was stricken, fear clenching his gut. Instinctively, however, he stepped forward in front of Remus and Virgil. He watched as her eyes traveled over each of them, finally landing behind Roman’s left shoulder, lips curling further into her face. “I was hoping it would be you.”

“How- How did you-” Virgil stuttered, but his voice died out. Roman narrowed his eyes, something protective overpowering his fear.

“You should not be here,” Roman stated. 

“But, my prince,” she said, “We made a deal.”

“A deal that hasn’t come to fruition,” he said. 

“I see someone’s still in denial,” the woman leered. “A witch’s curse knows all, though. You can’t scam the Dragon Witch of her hoard, my prince.” The way she said ‘my prince’ infuriated him, but nothing like Virgil’s had. The Dragon Witch said it like it was nothing, like it was delectable and sweet and hers to keep. 

“What is she talking about?” Virgil asked, and Roman turned. Instead of scared, he now looked confused. He was watching the two of them, apprehensive, but ready to fight. His hands were up again in those loose fists, purple sparking off of them. Magic. Virgil had magic. “You made a deal with the witch?”

“Not that he had much choice.” The witch shrugged. It seemed casual, despite the manic glee in her eyes. “I was going to kill him and keep Remus. But he wanted his brother, and he got to be prince of a kingdom! Fair trade, if you ask me.”

“It’s not fair,” Remus said, and the witch seemed to remember he was there. “You can’t take him-”

“Shut up, Remus,” she said offhandedly and Remus flinched. Rage filled Roman, and he stomped further toward the witch.

“Don’t you dare-”

“Don’t I dare what, sweetie?” she asked, folding her legs up onto the bookshelf with her, where Roman couldn’t reach. He was ready to topple the whole shelf when her words caught him. “I’m only here for what I’m due. I was hoping you’d choose Virgil.”

“What?” he asked, and his voice echoed. He turned around and saw Virgil’s ghostly face, mouth open, having spoken at the same time.

“There’s so many possibilities, you know,” she said and sighed like she was bored. “There’s some realities where you fall for the architects, but there were quite a few where we’d end up here and that was certainly a risk I was willing to take. So glad it paid off.”

“But I’m not-” Roman protested, and when he was cut off again he felt ready to pull his sword. It would do nothing against her magic–something he knew well–but she was really getting to him.

“Not in love? Please,” the Dragon Witch scoffed. “It’s not my problem you haven’t realized it yet.”

“Wait!” a voice suddenly tore through their conversation, and Roman looked back at Virgil, something tightening his gut. Virgil looked simultaneously angry and afraid and lost. “Hold on for a second. What the fuck is going on?”

With a grace that shouldn’t have belonged to someone so wicked, the witch floated down from the bookshelf, jumping right over Roman and landing in front of Virgil. Virgil seemed to have masked everything in those few seconds, standing defiant and tall before the woman. It mystified Roman. It was nothing he had ever seen before–nothing like Virgil’s comfortable confidence in the library. Virgil lowered his hands, appearing defenseless and unafraid under her manic gaze. 

“Long story,” she said, tossing her head side to side. “But I’ll tell you the ending if you want. My little happily ever after… minus dear Remus over there. I’d rather have all three of you but Remus turned weak. This. This was the outcome I was betting on.”

She leaned in, centimeters from Virgil’s face and anyone else might have missed the minute flinch in the man’s body, but Roman saw–tuned into it. Virgil’s eyes were hard. He said nothing.

Even as he was sentenced to his doom–to a doom brought to him because of Roman–because of a heart he couldn’t control–because Roman had signed away another’s life–a life that wasn’t Roman’s to give–a life Roman hadn’t yet met–that he was destined to love and hate and damn forever.

And it’d been a trap.

“Virgil, my long lost terror, you belong to me again. The End.”

[curiosi-tea-writes]

Stuffed T-Rex

Pairing: Alan Grant / Ian Malcolm

Summary: Ian has had a hard time sleeping for years but a joke gift from the man he has feelings for brings him just enough comfort to help. After a while, though, he has to admit it to someone other than himself.

Note: Wrote this little one-shot for @intricatecakes because if it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t have had the confidence to actually post it.

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

Alan thought it was hilarious. It was the funniest thing in the world at the time. He knew it would earn him a scowl, perhaps a light hit to the shoulder, but it was worth it to watch Ian pull the red stuffed t-rex out of the bag.

"You really just enjoy making fun of me, don't you?" Ian scoffed as he set the bag aside with a roll of his eyes.

"What else are friends for?" Alan shrugged with a laugh. He gave the man a nudge to his shoulder with a large smile.

Ellie laughed which earned her own scowl from Ian. "Alright, open my gift, birthday boy." She handed him another small bag.

Ian rolled his eyes with a huff. "Such great friends," he spoke with a sarcastic tone but truly he meant it. The two paleontologists at the table with him knew that.

Alan would soon forget the present he had gotten his friend slightly as a joke, despite that it had sat on his desk for nearly a month leading up to his birthday. But Ian eyed the gift bag with a soft smile. There was something about who it came from that made what could have brought about a painful memory rather sweet.

That night after Ian had said goodnight to Kelly, he went through his normal nightly routine of tossing and turning. He hated this time of night where he could lay awake for hours, fighting to go to sleep with no hope of such a thing actually happening. He could go nights at a time with not a wink of sleep, he should be used to it. This had been happening for years, since the first night he slept after the incident of Jurassic Park. Sorna had only made it so much worse. Before it was just nightmares. Now he would wish for even those because at least that would mean he slept.

He had tried many different ways to fix it. After Jurassic Park, he would often wake from nightmares, needing to not be alone. Ellie helped with that. A simple phone call to her would talk him away from the fear triggered pain in his leg and calm him enough to rest for the remainder of the night, even if he couldn't fall back asleep. After Sorna, he couldn't put Ellie through the long nights he was awake for. After having her first child, he knew she needed every ounce of sleep she could get. So he started calling Alan. He knew the paleontologist worked incredibly late nights, up fascinated over his latest finds or agonizing over funding. After the third of fourth night, Ian began to believe Alan enjoyed their late night calls as much as he did. Even if for most of them they simply sat in silence.

With a tired sigh, after multiple hours of struggling to sleep, he finally sat up. He made to reach for the phone sitting on his nightstand but his hand froze. Pain filled his chest as he remembered that the other man was currently on a plane back to Montana, having only been able to go to dinner with him because he and Ellie had work to do a few towns away from him. He wouldn't be home for a few hours still.

He let his hand fall back to the bed. He racked his brain for who he could possibly call but no name besides the two paleontologists came to mind. Nobody knew him like they did. Nobody else understood.

His eyes fell on the bags the two had given him earlier that evening at dinner and Ian's face softened to a small smile. Nodding to himself, he got out of bed and pulled the red stuffed dinosaur from the bag Alan had earlier set in front of him. He examined the animal slowly, taking a moment to enjoy how soft it was. In a moment of unthinking, he brought the toy up to his face and took a deep breath, taking in the scent that he knew all too well was Alan's cologne and the dust that perpetually filled his house, carried back from the dig site every day. It was a scent of comfort.

It pained him a little when he realized what he was doing. Although he would deny it to any person who presented him with the question, he had to admit to at least himself that his feelings for Alan went well beyond friendship. If there was a possibility he could deny it to himself before, there was no chance of it now. Not as he carried the soft t-rex back to his bed and climbed back under the covers, the toy never parting from its spot nestled under his chin.

Ian couldn't help the small smile he had as he held the toy close to him and, for the first time in a very long time, managed to slip into a peaceful sleep.

Years later as Kelly lay dozing on Alan's sofa one summer night and the two men sat on Alan’s bed, Ian commented that he should go make his way to the hotel he typically stayed at while visiting the other man in Montana. But for the first time in their few month old relationship, instead of offering to help get Kelly to the car, Alan asked him to stay.

A small wave of panic washed over Ian. He had long ago made Alan aware that he was sleeping better through the night but never, even after they got together, admitted what made that change. He thought a part of him believed he wouldn't have to tell him. Maybe one night he would manage to fall asleep without clutching the stuffed animal to his chest. Then he could consider himself cured of his nightmares for good without the need of a crutch. Now, however, he was put in a position where it was impossible to avoid the fact. He couldn’t bring himself to turn down the offer he had silently been waiting for Alan to be comfortable enough to bring up. But in order to accept, he needed to either tell him or make peace with the fact that he wouldn’t be sleeping that night. He found himself not particularly fond of either option.

"Hey," Alan drew his attention back, his hand falling gently on the back of Ian's neck. He smiled softly as he felt Ian lean into his touch. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

Ian sighed heavily and made his way to his suitcase in the corner of the room. "You are not by any means allowed to laugh at me for this," he told Alan sternly and he knelt and opened the bag. He took a calming breath as he pulled the stuffed dinosaur from his bag and carried it back to the bed.

Alan smiled brightly, memories of working at his desk with the animal sitting beside his papers came back after years of being forgotten. "You still have this thing?" He held out his hand for the toy and smiled softly as Ian handed it to him. "I just found it in a museum gift shop and thought it would be a funny gift."

"Yeah, well. I slept with it that night and it became a crutch of sorts," Ian admitted quietly, eyes down looking at his hands as he fiddled them in his lap. "I can't manage sleep without it. It just- it made me think of you and it helped."

"That's why you started sleeping better?" Alan gave a soft laugh.

Ian scrunched his nose a little. "Hey, I told you not to laugh." He bumped Alan’s shoulder with his own, trying to lighten his own mood.

Alan brought his gaze up to Ian's face and covered the man's slightly shaky hands with one of his own. "I'm laughing but not at you. I think it's sweet and I'm glad you found something that helps."

With a sigh of relief, Ian let his head fall to Alan's shoulder. He turned his hand over and threaded their fingers together, smiling brightly as he felt Alan give his hand a light squeeze. "Now that that's done with," Ian chuckled out, "can we go to bed?"

Alan nodded with a bright smile. He turned his head to place a soft kiss to Ian's hair and hummed, holding the t-rex out to the other man who took it happily and held it close to him. Alan could only smile fondly at the man he absolutely adored.

As Ian tucked his head under Alan's chin once they were in bed, the t-rex under his own, Alan gave another soft chuckle. "Did you name it?"

Ian sighed out a soft laugh. "Uh, yeah, I did. I named him Parker."

"Parker?" Alan pulled back a little to look at Ian, smiling as he met his eyes. His brain ran through different reasons for the name, looking for some connection Ian might have to it but nothing came to him. "Why?"

"'Park,'" Ian spoke with a large smile. "Like 'Jurassic Park.'"

Alan scoffed lightly with a smile. "You named your stuffed t-rex after the place where you were almost eaten by a real t-rex?"

Ian shrugged. "Felt appropriate."

"You're absolutely ridiculous," Alan muttered, shaking his head.

"Yeah," Ian sighed, putting his head back to Alan's chest. "It's why you love me." He smirked softly to himself as he could hear and feel Alan's heartbeat quicken at his statement. He held the paleontologist closer and gave a soft content hum.

Alan sighed into Ian's hair. "Yeah, it is," he admitted, his voice muffled, unsure if the other man could even hear him. It didn't matter. They both knew it was the truth.

[popculturebuffet]

Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck Restrospective: The Raider of the Copper Hill! “You Got Rich Son”

Hello all you happy people! And welcome back to my retrospective of the Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck! It’s been far too long, almost three months since we last checked in with Scrooge and frankly I feel i’ve been spacing these entries out too much for this one and for the retrospectives that aren’t paid for in general. So expect at least one McDuck adventure a month till I finish, possibly two when I can swing it like this month. 

Now i’m done beating myself up, when we last left off a younger more naive, more optimistic and less experienced Scooge took up a career as a cowboy for  Cattle Baron, gained his first sidekick in the form of his Horse Hortense, and took out some cattle thieves with the help of Teddy Fucking Roosevelt. 

This chapter marks the end of the story’s first act. The first act is about a younger and far nicer Scrooge: still onrey and still a cheapskate, but still a good kid and far more outwardly friendly and welcoming, a far cry from the bitter untrusting man we come to know. This chapter is one of the reasons why, as Scrooge learns a hard lesson about wealth and success, the sacrifices one needs to make for family and about sticking your hand in a lightbulb while it’s plugged in. So join me under the cut as Scrooge meets another valuable mentor, one of his greatest enemies, and about 50 feet of barbed wire. 

We begin with the end of Scrooge’s time as a ranch hand and cowpunch. With homesteaders moving in and dividing up the land, Murdo simply dosen’t have the space for cattle baroning anymore and has to let Scrooge go and head back to texas. We do get a great bit of Scrooge wrapped in barbed wire, having gone to cut some down so Murdo could move the herd out. 

So with his Job done and parting on good terms with his old boss, Scrooge sets up his own homestead on some land near the Anaconda Silver Mine, trying to make it as a prospector, starting on the path that would eventually lead him to riches.. in about a decade and a half.

 So Scrooge bemoans his rotten luck over Dinner with a stranger, Marcus Daly owner of said mine... who just.. randomly sat down to have dinner with a 17 year old. 

Marcus belays his own woes: While Scrooge has failed at what he tried to do, having gotten into both steamboating and cattle punching too late to go anywhere with either, Daly has a silver mine that’s full of copper: decent amoutns of it but still not what his investors wanted. 

Both however find their fortunes reverse in an instant in the weirdest way possible. The light goes out at their table and Scrooge tries to adjust it only to electcute himself. To his shock...

He finds out it’s running on electricty, which is starting to become widespread.. and requires vast amounts of copper wiring. Scrooge is back in the game but finds trouble getting equipment as the local seller naturally is a jackass who jacks up the price. Scrooge instead sells the gold teeth his dad gave him to the nearest gentleman after talking him into it. . And i’ts not even the weirdest transaction i’ve seen this week. 

For the record those weird things are the guy on the left’s skinflakes, his power is to make naked golems of himself out of his dandruff and skin flakes and what have you, while the guy on the right is paying for a mutant with a star for a head. So yeah a scottish cowboy selling his ancestor’s dentures to pay for mining gear is refelshingly tame after all of this. 

So we get the comic equivleant of a montage as Scrooge starts his work at prospecting, making a portable homesteader shack as a miner owns any land he lives on, and moving around to try and find it, but he runs into a problem: with his last two careers he had mentors to help him learn what to do: Pothole taught him riverboating and Murdo helped him learn to ride the trails. Here he has no one and while you can self teach a lot of things prospecting isn’t one of them. 

He end sup finding one though as a rich gentleman asking about the mine happens to wander by: Howard D. Rockerduck. If that names sounds familiar it should as he’s indeed the father of exactly who your thinking of and we meet a young 10 or so year old john who asks him to stop dealing with a grubby workman. We also find out whose responsible for him turning out ot be such a piece of work as his mother’s response to his father telling him “I used to be a grubby workman is well... word’s cant’ do this amount of classist bulslhit justice. 

Seriously his unnamed wife is so odious it hurts. And how the fuck did an honest, kind man like Howard end up with this bitch? It’ sbaffled me every time i’ve read this: did he marry for money? is he a gold digger? go down gold dig get down? Is she just THAT good in bed? Did he just make a horrible mistake one night? Did she lie to him about who she was? Was she replaced by a skrull? I have questions no duck comic has properly explained.. and if they have please tell me.  Also it does tickle me we’re getting a bit with a duck named howard though sadly he wears a top hat instead of a nice little bowler. And if you don’t know who howard the duck is.. shame on you. And if you’ve seen the movie.. my deepest sympathies. 

While Howard laments wanting to horsewhip his son, this was a century ago with change mind you standards were different and also John sucks. Howard crticizes Scrooge’s techqniue after introducing himself, and Scrooge and him get into a bit of a tizzy, with Howard offering to teach him for two cents.. but the hostility quickly desolves hours later as Scrooge realizes Howard was right and he’d been doing things completely wrong and the thrill of hard honest work again has washed away any ego driven competiviness. 

I”ll get more into Howard in a second but he does eventually strike copper, and while the vein is full it’s also thin. But Howard has one final trick and takes Scroogey for an ore test. I tried to find more on this but just found a lot of ways to do it yourself and what not. I”m now really intrigued how they did this and found the content of minerals. I know it’s a dull subject but i’m curious how they did it with the technology of the time. Did they just use acids like I found? If so how’d they get them? I do say this is one of the great qualities of Rosa’s works: he makes you want to learn more about history. I looked up more about TR after the last chapter and now I want to know how the hell metallurgy worked in the late 1800′s. 

We then get an intresting interacton as Scrooge.. warmly greets the townsfolk and vice versa.. yes the same Scrooge who as an adult would be introduced proclaming...

Is warm, optimistic and wholeheartedly belieives...

As you can probably tell by Howard’s reaction and what Scrooge becomes.. this story’s all about shattering that notion and is the first of two to shatter the poor kid’s trust in people and make him into the bitter old sod we know. 

The sample comes back 55% positive... which leaves Howard rushing to get Scrooge to a court house. As it turns out there’s an old, very real for the time, mining law called the Law of Apex: whoever owns the land closest to where an ore vein is on the surface owns the whole thing... so legally Scrogoe owns the ENTIRE ANACONDA COPPER MINE, which at this point as detailed in the time skip has gone from struggling to utterly thriving and sucessful. Whoever owns the land at the time the Judge rules it gets the mine.. and Scrooge’s friends, who seconds ago were concerned about him being dragged into court.. are now all scrambling to take his fortune, something Howard dosen’t seem at all suprised about. 

But while this may be a kinder, more naive Scrooge McDuck, it’s still SCROOGE MCDUCK. His response is to cut a nearbye power wire and swing it tarzan style over to hortense and ride her back ahead of the mob... with the electric wire slapping her rear and causing her to go extra fast.. and also quit. So Scrooge stands alone but manages to take out some of the ruffians with his shack while John and the Judge rush to the site. As for Scrooge well... you want to see what a McDuck family beserker rage against an ENTIRE angry mob of opportunistic assholes look like? 

And this isn’t even the most badass thing Scrooge will do this series. Or even in the next few issues. That’s how awesome this series is: fighting an angry mob SOLO with simply his pure rage and whatever he can grab and throw. And he WINS. He’s exausted and passes out, falling out of the sky on his final opponent.. but he took out what was at the LEAST 50 men, and ONLY passed out because one of them threw dynamite in his out house.. and even THAT didn’t kill him or put him out, simply casuing him to land on said dynamite throwing idiot and wins. 

We find out Rockerduck actually was one of the mine’s owners but helped Scrooge anyway: he has more than enough money and all it’s going to do in the end is go to a greedy brat. Marcus Daly shows up and while he’ll get the law overturned eventually, he still has to shut down while that happens and finds the right officials to bribe. And this is the 1800s... you gotta go by train to do your bribes. You can’t just do that shit over email and hidden bank accounts. Daly offers him 10,000.. but given what Scrooge could earn even before he got his mine back, Scrooge turns it down. 

However this victory is bittersweet as Scrooge warmly greets his friends.. only for one to cuss him out and the other to tell him to get loss. We then get one of my faviorite exchanges in this story.

This whole Panel is a masterwork. The sheer INNOCENCE on Scrooge’s face, almost looking like Donald, desperately wondering what he did, when as Howard points out.. he did nothing wrong. He simply got successful and they resent him for it. 

This has been a hard paragraph for me to write as I want to tread carefully. People do have good reasons to scorn the rich or celebrtiies sometimes. Some rich people or those in the media are genuinely terrible. Jeff Bezos, Tucker Carlson, Mel Gibson, Louie CK, Joss Whedon and even someone as low on the totem pole as Doug Walker is odious. And of course we all can think of one odious example of rich bastard i’d rather not think of, especially when thinking of John D Rockerduck and what he’l lbecome as an adult that i’m not giving a pleasure of the name drop but came to mind. 

But even for good people becoming succesful puts up a barrier between you and other people: Fans of yours will admire you or write fanfic or what have about you without even knowing you, i’ve been on that side, and some people will hate you just because without valid reason, especially in this day and age. Success breeds resentment and even people you trusted and loved can sometimes turn on you. It’s the double eged sword of achieving your dreams: You get what you wanted but you often loose what you had. 

And it was no diffrent two centuries ago, with Scrooge’s friends only being friendly as long as it suited them, turning on him first to steal his chance at glory and then to scorn him for daring to achieve it. Some people.. are only there for you as long as your not above them. And sometimes you can be happy. Look at Tom Hanks, who has a lovely family and a long and storied career. Or Linkara, a youtuber who has been at this for over a decade, has tons of fans, a loving wife with her own succesful channel, and just recently got contacted by his childhood heroes. You CAN be happy and successful.. it’s just very hard to make it that far. 

One of the central points of life and times is that’s often not the case: You can get what you want but it comes at a cost. And it’s how you pay that price that will determine how happy you are. Another central point intertwined with it is it’s not the journey but the destination, and i’ts how Scrooge takes that journey that ultimately leads him where he ends up good and bad. And we get an all to telling all too foreboding hint in how he takes everyone he knew for at least a year turning on him overnight. 

When faced with his first real loss on this Journey that wasn’t material.. he dosen’t care. He has his money and riches and that’s enough. And as we’ll see that attitude will cost him greatly. Howard is irate for a moment, hoping he wasn’t wrong in trusting Scrooge.. and indeed, for now, turns out to have placed his faith in the right person as Scrooge gets a telegram: his family needs him. And while he could stay, turn his back on them, and earn MILLIONS.. he tells Howard  to tell the owner he’s taking the deal. For now when given the choice between his family and his fortune, SCrooge will choose them. Sadly.. that won’t hold true forever. 

With this being the end of his time in the story, as he has a still insufferable John buy him a horsewhip for horrific but darkly funny reasons, as John brags about how rich his father is not realizing he’s buying his own whupping tool, i’d like to touch on Howard D Rockerduck and how amazing he is. Rosa managed to pack a throughly interesting, throughly engaging character into only 8 pages. While Rockerduck DID show up earlier in of ducks dimes and destinys, he wasn’t really fleshed out or named and only showed up for one page so still 9 pages total. 

But in those we see a kind and noble man whose easily what Scrooge COULD have been, kind, noble, generous, hardworking and willing to give up money to help people. He’s a good man.. but even he’s seen the sacrifice Money brings. He’s clearly lost friends, lost a sense of peace, and married the wrong Woman, whose poisoned his children into a spoiled brat who will only grown into an even more spoield adult in both continuities.. if raised quite a bit earlier in the 2017 cartoon as he was made scrooge’s contemporary there rather than a child, but semeantics. Point is Howard hismelf isn’t wholly satisfied with his success.. and that’s what he and Scrooge will forever have in common, with Scrooge, likely as a result of meeting the Rockerducks, fearing an indadiquate inheritor and someone squandering what he worked hard for. Though his reasons for not taking up a wife as we’ll see eventually, if outside the main 12 part story but I intend to cover the subchapters in their own time, aren’t entirely motivated by avoiding goldigging but a broken hard and his own stubborness. 

For now though we bid Howard and america adue. Scrooge however for once ends an occupation with less bitterness. Unlike his last two ventures where he made it out with only enough to get to the next one here he made it out ahead: he now has a decent suit, likely bought for him by Howard given he hasn’t cashed the check yet, I know this as it’s a major plot point for next time, 10,000 dollars.. and experince. He may of not gotten all the money he was due on this venture, but he learned more valuable skills and he feels with a land like america, the next opportunity to earn some dough is just waiting for him to get back. And as the chapter ends he muses that maybe the country could use a symbol of this countries boundless opportunity...

Final Thoughts for the Raider of the Copper Hill:

This chapter is one of my favorites. It’s nicely paced, something Rosa himself admits was often a struggle as he had to cover years at a time, has a wonderful new mentor for Scrooge, and sets up a lot of the tragedy to come in the last act beautifully. It’s a nice closer for our first act, showing Scrooge has come out of his first trip to america wiser, more experinced and more hopeful, but at heart still the same kind and noble kid he left Glasgow as. The next act is about the change of that boy into a man, how he will finally find his fortune after some more adventures.. and how the last viestges of his kindess and optimisim towards others die at the hands of a certain fake scotish gentleman. 

Next Life And Times: As is tradition for this series act openers, Scrooge returns home.. and just in time to get his castle back, fight a duel and go to heaven and back. So an average McDuck tuesday then. 

If you liked this review follow for more. And if you liked it a lot join my patreon so I can keep making these and hit my stretch goals. Even at just the 2 dollar level you get access to my discord and your pick of shorts whenever I do a series of them and with Goofy and Donald’s birthdays being the next ones to be celebrated you can’t pick a better time. patreon.com/popculturebuffet See you at the next rainbow. 

[arukou-arukou]

A Non-zero Chance

I jumbled the timeline as I was writing this. Just go with it, okay? For @stevetonygames prompt Fluff: Sparring, for team angst. Also adding fic non-linear and tropes: soulmates. Angst with a hopeful ending. Mentions of sex acts. Canon typical violence. There is a read more line after the first section.

 Many many months after that faithful day in Sibera, Tony returned to the scene of the crime. The site was untouched. He hadn’t told Ross about it, and apparently T’Challa had decided well enough was better left alone. The holes they’d put into the bunker of the facility had completely covered over in frost and ice, and Tony had to wonder how Zemo had even dug the little hillock out in the first place. Though there had been a snowcat parked outside when they all first arrived. Without any care, though, it had once again faded into the arctic surroundings. Only someone who knew what they were looking for would find it.

Tony broke in through the holes rather than the front door. He wasn’t really in a mood for digging, and as satisfying as it might be to melt snow with an overloaded repulsor, this mission was also supposed to be stealth and secretive, and he didn’t really need Ross any further up his ass.

Inside, the evidence of their fight wasn’t as big or horrifying as he remembered. There were some structures that had toppled, and a few spots where he’d scorched cement with a repulsor, but it didn’t look nearly as bad as he remembered it being. The Avengers had certainly done worse elsewhere. Tony ran his hand over a shield-shaped crack in the wall.

—

 “This is ridiculous, Cap, we need to know how to fight together, not fight each other.”

Steve smiles back over his shoulder. His ridiculously broad shoulder. “After Wanda mind-whammied us, I’m not taking any chances. We should all know how to incapacitate each other just as a precaution.”

“Only incapacitate, Steve? Not maim?”

Steve chuckles and starts strapping on boxing tape. “No maiming on the docket today. Maybe next Tuesday.”

 —

 Tony followed their trail of destruction back into the heart of the bunker, where the super soldiers still rested suspended, illuminated in sickly yellow. There was the fucking TV, right there. The thing that had ruined it all. Tony stared down at it, wondering where the tape reel itself was located. Probably back in that room Zemo had been hiding in. The bulletproof one. Somewhere in the hallways, Tony could hear water dripping. Impressive, really, given the permafrost all around. He would’ve thought the systems had frozen over long ago. Near his foot, there was a gun, the semi-automatic Barnes had been carrying. It was useless now, its clip and firing mechanisms slagged by his repulsors. He picked it up all the same and aimed it at the glass where Zemo had hidden. The suit’s fingers were too thick to fit over the trigger—what was left of it anyway—so Tony just imagined how satisfying it would be to fill that glass full of shrapnel, to watch Zemo crumple to the ground.

 —

 “Why are you even training me, Rogers? I’m retired. Aren’t you supposed to be looking after the rookies?”

“Just because you’re retired, Tony, doesn’t mean trouble won’t come looking for you. You’re a pretty attractive target.”

“Why yes. Yes, I am. Thank you for noticing.”

Steve punches his bicep gently before offering a bottle of water. Tony takes it, squirting some into his mouth before moving on to his sweat-drenched hair. On Steve’s left wrist, he catches sight of the red band that hides Steve’s words. It would be rude to ask. Totally taboo. But Tony can’t stop himself.

 —

 Tony managed to jimmy his way into the control room, and there he found the VCR, still loaded with the incriminating tape. If he were smart, he would just rip the thing apart, burn the tape and shatter the shell. And Tony was smart. Just not smart in the right ways. He fired up the power to the TV, rewound the tape, and then hit play again. He’d rewound too far. Barnes was in his cryo tube. Some slimy scientists were hauling him out, shoving him into some horrifying chair, pushing down the nodes, saying the words.

No. Tony didn’t want this. He didn’t want to feel sympathy for Barnes. He wanted to let his rage fester and corrode him until he didn’t care anymore. All caring had ever gotten him was betrayal.

 —

 “Do you know who they belong to?” Tony asks, looking up defiantly, refusing to be sheepish about his lack of willpower. Steve glances down at his band before looking up again.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” He looks wistful and boyish, sweet and beautiful. Tony wants to kiss away the sorrow he sees in that face.

“Who?”

“Doesn’t matter. He’s dead now.”

“Oh.” Tony touches his own band, thinking of the words beneath. He’s my friend. The most significant thing anyone will ever say to him. The thing that, if the romantics would have him believe it, points him toward his soulmate. He’s never really gone in for that, though. His parents had had each other’s words, and their marriage was anything but blissful and romantic.

No. Tony’s got a different theory about the words.

 —

 There. Tony spotted it before even knowing he was looking for it. On Barnes’ collarbone. Had fate known he would lose the arm? It was unusual for words to be somewhere else on the body. Non-dominant wrist. That was the norm. The tap quality was shit and Tony couldn’t enhance it without bringing the tape back to Fry. And like hell he was bringing the tape home. Were the files somewhere? Hadn’t Zemo had a book? Maybe it was here?

Tony searched the control room, trying to find evidence of the thing Zemo had used to control Barnes. There was no sign of it, but what there were were dozens of filing drawers, all of them covered in a layer of dust. Tony started digging.

 —

 Steve’s off his game today, Tony can tell. He’s distracted by something, mind not in the ring, and Tony takes advantage. Just like Steve and Nat taught him to. He sweeps Steve’s leg, rolls on top of him, pins his leg in a position that's precariously dangerous even for a supersoldier, and applies weight. “Yield?”

It’s late, the halls are quiet. Tony hadn’t even meant to do sparring with Steve today, but Steve had asked, so Tony had delayed his return to New York City and well, the late hour puts his mind elsewhere.

Their eyes lock. Tony’s still on top of Steve, holding him in place, threatening his knee joint. Between one breath and the next, their positions are flipped, Steve on top of Tony, both of them hard, teeth clacking. Tony doesn’t make it back to New York City that night.

 —

 What felt like hours later, Tony finally discovered what looked like a medical log. He’d been trying to learn Russian, but adding a new script was harder than adding a spoken language, and he was a busy man, what with covering Rogers’ ass every other day. Natasha might have been a master spy, but Steve was a puppy who hadn’t learned how to control his tail wag yet, and he left destroyed crockery in his wake. There was always some trail to some terrorist or smuggler or weapons dealer that needed cleaning up, lest Ross take notice. The point being, Tony’s Russian wasn’t exactly sparkling.

But he’d double-checked ahead of time to know what he was looking for and now he was pretty sure he’d found it. Flipping through the file, Tony found what he wanted to know almost instantly. ‘Til the end of the line. The words. Those words.

 —

 It’s a thing. Sort of. Tony comes to the compound. They spar. They fuck. It’s only their third time sleeping together that Steve drags him into the shower, wristband conspicuously absent. Tony touches the thin skin, for once asking permission before he looks down. Steve nods, trusting, contented. I’m with you to the end of the line, pal. “He” Steve had said. Tony doesn’t need to ask to know who “he” is. There was only one really important “he” in Steve’s life way back when. And it makes sense, too. After all, Barnes plunged to his death trying to protect Steve and Steve had tried to protect him just as hard. Of course they’re important to each other.

“Can I see yours,” Steve asks, kissing Tony’s band. Fair’s fair, Tony thinks to himself, and nods.

Steve gently unclasps the snaps and sets the band aside outside the shower. He looks down at the words and then up at Tony with a silent question. “I don’t know whose they are.”

“And you’re still okay with us?”

“Steve, I’m standing naked in a shower with you. I’m pretty damn okay with this.”

The bright grin Steve gives him feels like a gift.

 —

 Tony left, hauling the tape and the filing cabinets behind him. They would be useful sooner or later, he was sure. And it felt so important, hauling his literal baggage along with him back to the US. Well, first a pit stop in Wakanda so Shuri could make copies. Fry flew the quinjet on autopilot, which was maybe a mistake. Tony needed distractions and all he had were files rendered in Russian, which were frankly giving him a headache. He wanted to hate Barnes so much. But fate was literally sending him a message. Barnes. Rogers. ‘Til the end of the line.

Eventually, frustrated, he managed to sink into a fitful sleep, which took him to Wakanda’s borders. T’Challa sent along an escort at the shield wall to make sure Tony was alone and also to make sure Tony didn’t cause any undue trouble. As if he could manage anything more than a nervous breakdown at the moment. Shuri was waiting for him on the platform, and for her and her brilliant mind, he managed a tired smile.

“Brought a present for you.”

“Thank you, Tony. I would get them myself, but—”

“No, no. You’re busy in Oakland kicking science ass and shooting layups with the youth. Let the old guy take care of the analog—” Tony shuddered theatrically “—files.”

Shuri smiled more brightly and kissed him on the cheek. “You look tired. Go see my mother. She’ll be wanting to mother you.”

“I shouldn’t. I’ve gotta—”

“My brother has already ensured that General Ross cannot find you. Go. Eat some food. Get some rest. Perhaps we can talk about your latest arc reactor designs in the morning. I have some ideas.”

“I bet you do.”

Tony knew when he’d been dismissed, and he also knew he was being handled a little, but it felt nice to be handled. It felt nice to not have to be trying to outwit Ross at every turn for a little while. So he allowed Ramonda to stuff him full of delicious, spicy food and then shuffled off to the guest wing, intent on getting at least four hours before he took off.

But the second he laid down, he was awake and restless, unable to settle. His thoughts kept going back to those files, going back to the “end of the line,” thinking again and again about the letters carved into Steve’s skin. How many times had he kissed that wrist? How many times had Steve kissed his? How was it fair, that Steve would be Tony’s words, but Tony wouldn’t be Steve’s?

Fed up, he yanked on a pair of loose cotton pants and a loose cotton T-shirt and wandered the palace, looking for distraction. None of the guards stopped him, though they watched him with considerable distrust. He didn’t blame them. He wouldn’t trust him either. Not anymore. It was only when he heard the sound of skin slapping leather that he stopped short. That sounded like… But it couldn’t be. All the same, he pushed through the door, freezing as he discovered a huge training ground, Steve inside, alone at a punching bag.

Steve froze too, and the bag caught him on the backswing, smacking him straight in the nose. Tony found himself caught between laughing and rushing forward with concern, and ended up doing a bit of both, snorting as he approached, though he remained well out of Steve’s personal bubble. “Smooth, Cap.”

“Tony, what are you doing here?”

Tony scuffed his toes into the mats, which felt solid right up until he kicked them and then gave way like kinetic sand. It felt heavenly and he wanted to play with it and see what it was made out of. “Oh, you know. Just dropped in for a cuppa with the King.”

“Did…did you bring those files?” Steve remained sprawled on the floor, looking up at him, a trickle of blood trailing from his nose.

“And if I did?”

Steve swallowed heavily, rubbing at the blood and smearing it. And then he was up, faster than Tony could react to, holding Tony, kissing him sloppily through mumbled “I’m sorry’s.” Tony didn’t know how to react. Was this what an out-of-body experience felt like? He remained motionless even as Steve broke away, jumping back, looking more unsure than he’d looked since he and Tony first met. “Shit. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… You don’t want…” Steve took a huge breath and squared his shoulders, looking Tony in the eye. “That was wrong of me. I hurt you. In so many ways. It was wrong of me to kiss you.”

“Also pretty sure you’re cheating on your boyfriend if you kiss me. Don’t forget that bit.”

The little line between Steve’s eyebrows deepened. “Bucky and I, we’re not… We’re just not. I thought we would. But I can’t. Every time I tried, I felt like I was betraying you. And Bucky felt like it was wrong, too. We didn’t…we didn’t click. Not romantically, anyway.”

“You’re not…” Tony could barely dare to let himself to hope. “Didn’t you back in the war, though?”

“No. No, we didn’t. It was too much, running missions, fighting Hydra. Plus, he was afraid I’d get caught and outed. So we didn’t. I should’ve told you. But I didn’t think it mattered.”

All the thoughts Tony used to have about the words, the idea that maybe they had nothing at all to do with romance, came back to him. He ran a finger over his own wrist, where Steve’s words were hidden.

“Hey, Steve?”

“Yeah?” Steve stood there, square, looking as though he was waiting to be punched, ready to take his punishment like a man.

“Wanna spar?”