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trashystarker · 3 years ago

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oblivious - a starker one shot

Title: oblivious Fandom: MCU/Iron Man/Spiderman Pairing: Starker (Peter Parker x Tony Stark) Rating: Mature (Mild NSFW - No Powers AU - Meet Cute - Fluff - Tooth-rotting Fluff - Smut) Word Count: ~3,775

Summary: Peter takes the train home for Christmas, and winds up sitting with someone who shouldn’t be on the train.

A/N: For the lovely @livvibee . Please enjoy! :)

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Peter sees the train that he needs to take back to New York from Boston is pulling out of the station. Determined not to miss it, he races to the train, his backpack flopping up and down as he charges full speed towards the moving train. He sees a porter shaking his head, but he ignores him and instead keeps running at full speed. Just as the platform is about to disappear, he gets to where he wants to be and hops onto the train, almost knocking down the porter in the process.

“Nice, kid.” The guy holds his hand out and Peter takes it, his chest rising and falling as he tries to stabilize his breathing. “You better have a ticket.”

“I do!” He reaches into his pocket and pulls it out. “See? I’m not stowing away. I’m going back to Queens for Christmas.”

“I don’t care.” The porter turns around and starts to head to the next train car.

He looks down at his ticket, and tries to see if there’s any sort of indicator of where he’s supposed to be sitting. Figuring that if anyone comes to find him, he’ll just show his ticket. Adjusting the straps on his backpack, he starts to walk down the aisle, and sees that there’s a seat opposite someone that’s hidden behind a newspaper. Perfect. This person clearly doesn’t wish to be bothered, and he feels the same. Peter puts his duffel bag that he’d been carrying in his hand above the seat in the provided luggage rack, then takes the aisle seat caddy corner to the person behind the newspaper.

Digging through his backpack, he finds his headphones and pulls out his iPod, the screen cracked but not enough that he is still able to read what’s playing. He starts to put them on his head when he hears the person with the newspaper clear their throat. Pausing his movements, he looks over and sees them lower the newspaper enough that he can see their eyes, and he feels his mouth drop open from pure shock.

“Relax, kid.” The newspaper comes down further. “You a student at MIT? Heading back home for the holidays?”

It takes effort for Peter not to squeak or scream as he looks at the person now showing him their face. He thought for a second it was a trick, but with the newspaper no longer blocking anything, Peter can see that it is indeed the person he thought it was - Tony Stark, the billionaire scientist that he idolizes like no one’s business. The whole reason he’d chosen to go to MIT to begin with is because Tony Stark had gone there. And now, here he is, sitting on the train with him.

“Do you speak?” Tony asked, a smirk on his lips as he adjusts his cuffs. He’s dressed in a suit - probably more expensive than his tuition at MIT, but money is nothing to someone like him. “Or are you mute? Kid, you’re starting to freak me out. Talk to me.”

“I’m Peter. Peter Parker.” He answers, not at all sure why he’s just told him his name. “Yes, I go to MIT. What gave it away?”

“The sweatshirt?”

Peter looks down at his chest and sees that he’s wearing one of his black MIT sweatshirts, with the lettering of the school also in black. “Right. Duh.” Peter puts his headphones down, and tries not to show how excited he is. “You’re Tony Stark.”

“What? No.” Tony fakes a shocked expression, which has Peter laughing. “Who told you such a lie? I’m not Tony Stark. I’m….Bob Roberts.”

“That’s a silly name.” Peter looks around, and is glad to see there’s no one nearby. “Why are you on the train? Don’t you, like, have private jets and expensive cars?”

“I do.” Tony nods his head. “But, you see, sometimes I like to take the train because it allows me more time to escape the humdrum life of the city. Private jets are fun, but getting to spend some time with the commoners is really what it’s all about.” Tony winks, which Peter has to hold onto his backpack with a little more strength as it hits him out of nowhere. “Tell me about yourself, kid. You said your name is Peter?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Drop the sir. You can call me Tony.”

“I can’t do that, sir.” Peter shakes his head.

“What? Why not?”

He clears his throat. “Because, sir, you’re one of my idols. The whole reason I tried to get into MIT is because I knew that’s where you went to school. Your creations are legendary, and I hope to be just as good in the field as you are.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Pete. Fine, if you won’t call me Tony, you can call me Mr. Stark. Deal?”

“Deal, Mr. Stark.” It feels very easy to call him by that name. “So, you like to be cheap? Is that why you’re on the train?”

“A ticket to Penn Station isn’t that cheap.” Tony points to his headphones. “If you were going to listen to something, don’t let me stop you. It’s a long trip back to New York. We don’t have to talk for the whole six hours.”

“What if I want to?” Peter tries not to sound too eager, but he can’t help it. “Look, Mr. Stark - I really admire you, and think you’re pretty awesome. I’d love to pick your brain about things, if I may?”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-two?” Peter isn’t sure why Tony’s asking him. “Why? Do I look young?”

“You look like you’re barely in high school, let alone your last year of college.”

He blushes, shaking his head. “Uh, I’m in the graduate program. I graduated early from high school, and went to MIT when I was seventeen. Now I’m working my way towards a PhD.”

“That’s amazing. You must be really smart, Pete.” Tony does sound impressed, and it has Peter’s heart hammering like a jackhammer. “What are you working on for your dissertation? And is that old coot Doctor Jensen still there?”

Peter groans, and nods his head. “Yeah. He’s a nightmare. But luckily, I finished his course last year. I never have to deal with him again.”

“He’ll be on your panel for your Ph.D. For sure.”

“You think??” He leans his head back and sighs. “Great. Maybe I should transfer to Harvard for my doctorate.”

“No, stay at MIT. Now, tell me about your projects.”

He winds up talking to Tony for close to three hours nonstop, showing him all of his completed projects from undergrad, and what he’s currently working on for his masters. Tony seems to be impressed, but Peter isn’t sure if it’s real or if he’s just being nice to him. By the time they’re on hour four, Tony stands up and stretches.

“Listen, I’m gonna go get us some coffee. How do you take it?” Tony asks, as he moves out to the aisle. “Black? Cream, sugar?”

“Black.” Peter puts his hand into his back pocket, but then stops as Tony shakes his head. “You sure?”

“Kid, you know how much money I have. I can afford to buy you some coffee. Maybe even a pastry too.” Tony winks again before he walks away.

Peter looks at his phone and sees that his best friend has sent him a text. “Dude, wru? I landed like four hours ago and you’re still not home. What gives?”

“I got the last train from Boston to NYC. Sorry. :( Got stuck on one of my projects. Dude, guess what.” He sends the text to Ned, his knee bouncing from excitement as he waits for Tony to return with his coffee.

“What? Did you meet the Dali Lama or something?”

“Guess who I’m riding the train with? TONY STARK.”

His phone begins to ring. He picks it up and puts it to his ear, and winces as Ned yells, “NO WAY.”

“Yes, way!” He whispers, a bit dramatically as he ducks down into his seat. “He’s going to get us coffee right now. We’ve been talking for hours.”

“Is that why you sound like a smoker right now?” Ned asks, as Peter brings his hand up to his throat to touch it, as if that will change how his voice sounds. “How cool. You gonna get his number? Hang out while you’re in the city?”

“Oh my God, I don’t know.” Peter hasn’t thought that far ahead about his good fortune. “Great, now I’m going to freak out. Not cool, dude.”

“Just call me when you’re like six stops from Penn Station. I’ll come pick your ass up. Least I can do for my bestie at Christmas.”

“Thanks. Okay, I gotta go. See you soon.” He hangs up before Ned says anything else as he sees Tony walking up the aisle. He jumps up and grabs the cup offered to him. “H-Hey. Thanks!”

Tony has one eyebrow raised up. “You okay? Did something happen while I was gone?”

“No, nothing happened.” He points to the bag in Tony’s hand. “What’s that?”

“I didn’t know if you were a cheese danish kind of guy, or a double chocolate brownie man.”

Peter groans at the choices, perhaps in a more inappropriate type of noise but he doesn’t realize it. Not until he sees the look on Tony’s face. “What? I haven’t said anything yet.”

“You don’t have to.” Tony still looks at him kind of funny, making his stomach feel a little off-kilter. “Which is it going to be?”

“Brownie. For sure. Give me diabetes, please.” He makes a grabby hand for the bag, which Tony laughs at. And that sound instantly makes him feel like he’s shaking as he doesn’t think he’s ever heard a recording, or seen a video of Tony Stark laughing. And it’s a really nice sound. Nicer than it should be, but that’s something he’ll worry about later.

Tony grabs the brownie and hands it to him before sitting back down. “You’re not going to sugar coma on me, are you? Do you have someone coming to get you at Penn Station, or do you need a ride home?”

“R-Ride??” Peter tries not to get too worked up by the question. “Why?? Are you offering, Mr. Stark?”

“I might be inclined to, but you have to give me an answer first.”

His heart pounds so loud in his ears, he doesn’t know if he’s speaking or if he’s just thinking the words. “You haven’t asked me a question, Mr. Stark.”

“I know, Pete. I was going to ask you right now.” He waits for Tony to continue, keeping his lips on his coffee as he takes silent sips of it. “Go out with me to dinner tomorrow night.”

Peter’s stomach sinks. “It’s Christmas tomorrow. I can’t.”

“Shit, right. Sorry.” Tony runs a hand through his hair, Peter noticing little flecks of silver and grey scattered amongst his brown hair. “Day after. Boxing day. Dinner? You, me - bottle of red, bottle of white.”

“Whatever kind of mood you’re in tonight?” Peter finishes without even thinking about it.

Tony smiles, and it makes that pit disappear. “Billy Joel fan?”

“What kind of New Yorker would I be if I didn’t like Billy Joel?” He returns Tony’s smile. “Yeah, sure. Why not. You’ll probably flake out on me, but that’s okay. I know you’re a busy man. You’ve got important things to do.”

He watches as Tony pulls his phone out of his pocket. It’s the newest model that Stark Industries has out on the market. “What’s your number?”

“Why?”

“Peter, how am I going to know where to pick you up if you don’t give me your number?”

“Oh, right.” Peter rattles it off, and then gets a text from a number that comes up ‘Unknown’. “You block your number?”

“I have to.” He pushes the button, and as Tony brings his phone closer to his, the Unknown changes to be a number that he knows is an LA number, as his dorm mate is from Los Angeles. “I don’t let everyone have this number, Pete.”

That makes him feel really good. “Right. Of course not. Duh.”

“Eat your brownie. I’m sure your mom and dad will love you being on a sugar high when we get back to New York.”

He takes a bite, then shakes his head. “No, they’re dead. But my Aunt May might have an issue with it, only because she’ll be jealous she didn’t get to eat this stale brownie.”

“Shit.” Tony reaches for it, but Peter puts the rest into his mouth before he can. “You’re killing me, Smalls. Why would you do that if it was old? Sorry, I should have found one that wasn’t so firm.”

Peter laughs after swallowing his mouthful of stale brownie. “It’s okay, Mr. Stark.”

“Pete, if we’re gonna go out to dinner, I’d really like if you’d get used to calling me Tony.”

It’s difficult, but Peter knows that he’s right. “Okay, Tony. I can do that.”

“Good. Now, where were we on your projects?”

***

Christmas goes off without a hitch. May and Ned had picked him up from the station on Christmas Eve, and then the three of them had gone over to Rockerfeller to watch the people ice skate while they looked at the tree. Peter and Ned stay up for most of the night telling each other about their lives - Ned is also in a masters program, having finished his undergrad in three years.

On the actual day, he and May stay on the couch in their pajamas, and watch all the best Christmas movies while eating chocolate chip pancakes. He tells her he’s got plans the following night, and she doesn’t seem to be bothered by it. Probably because he’s staying in town for a week, so she’ll have plenty of ‘Peter’ time.

He looks at himself in the bathroom mirror, trying to decide if he should wear something super fancy, or if he should dress like he was dressed on the train. But even that wasn’t normal as it was Christmas Eve and he had wanted to look presentable for his aunt. He decides on a stupid science pun shirt - ‘Think Like a Proton and Stay Positive’, and grabs a grey cardigan to throw over it as the nights were a bit brisk, and he doesn’t know where he and Tony are going.

Tony pulls up in a black Audi, and looks pleased to see him again. “Hey, Peter. Merry Christmas a day late.”

“Merry Christmas, Tony.” He hops into the car, and sighs as he feels the seat is heated. “This is really nice.”

“Thanks. I always take the nice car when I’m on a date with someone.”

“D-Date??”

“Did you think this was a friendly social call?” The smirk on Tony’s face has Peter’s head spinning. “Look, I really took a liking to you on that train ride. Figured I’d see where it might go if we head out on a date. You like Italian?”

“Yes, I do. Where are we going?”

“Somewhere in Manhattan. Do you have a curfew?”

“What? No? I’m twenty-two, Tony. No curfew.”

“Just checking.”

He’s still trying to accept the fact that Tony Stark is interested in him in a way he really didn’t think could be possible. He hasn’t dated anyone since high school, and even that had been a Shakespearean tragedy. He fidgets a little on the seat, then holds his hands between his knees. “Are you sure you want this to be a date? I sort of figured we were just going to talk more about projects, and how things are going, and-”

“Peter.” A hand touches his mouth, silencing his rambling. “Stop. Don’t stress about this. We can have this be whatever you want. A free dinner. Time with Tony Stark. And hey, if that leads us to heading back to my place for some private time? I wouldn’t be upset with that outcome.”

“Sorry, Tony, I’m trying to hear what you’re saying, but I don’t think I am.” Peter turns to look at him, Tony’s hand back on the wheel. “Are you saying you want to have sex?”

Out of all the scenarios, Peter never thought that that might be on the table. “Sure, why not? I told you - I like you. I like your mind. We’re alike, and that’s so hard to find. If you’re off put by my age, don’t be.”

“I’m not.” He could care less that Tony’s older. “Is the dating pool that bad?”

“You’re real cute, Parker.” Peter blushes as he takes the compliment. “I hope you’re hungry, because you’re in for some good eats tonight.”

“Sounds good to me, Tony.”

***

His back hits the soft mattress in Tony’s bedroom, his clothes discarded into a pile on the floor. Peter doesn’t know what’s made him come back to Tony’s place - he should have asked to go home, but he wants to know what it’s like to be with one of the most influential people on the planet. And plus, he’s had a huge crush on him since he doesn’t remember when. Talk about a dream come true.

Tony’s hand is playing with his cock, making him moan and writhe on the bed while two fingers are pushed into his ass. “You like how that feels, Peter?” Tony asks, his lips coming down to his chest where he leaves a little bite.

“Y-Yes, Tony.” He moans, pushing his hips down. A deep groan leaves his throat as the tip of Tony’s finger nudges against his prostate. “Oh, God.”

“That’s it, sweetness.” Tony pushes his finger against that spot again, making Peter scream. “Let’s see how you look when I make you come.”

“Tony!” Peter shouts, unable to stop himself as his orgasm explodes out of him, the hand on his cock milking him until he’s dry, but then those constant touches bring him back to full arousal. “M-More?”

Tony nods his head, a grin on his face. “So much more, Peter.”

He loses all sense of himself as Tony makes him come again and again, his body feeling like it’s experiencing the best euphoria possible. He lays limp on Tony’s bed, after they’ve both shared a final orgasm together, as he watches Tony pull the condom off of his cock.

“Am I leaving now?” Peter asks, feeling like a complete ass for asking it. But he’d rather ask and know, instead of being surprised by it.

The bed shifts as Tony lays down next to him. “I’d love for you to stay the night. I can take you back home in the morning. Would that be okay?”

“I’d like that.” Feeling instantly better, Peter nods his head. “Is this….is this just for this week?”

“Let’s see how things go.” Tony doesn’t say yes or no, which is good enough for Peter. “Get some rest, Peter.”

“Night, Tony.”

“Night night, sweetness.”

That name makes him smile as he drifts off to sleep, feeling a little loopy after the evening he’s had with Tony Stark.

***

The week goes by too fast. Peter splits his time between Tony’s place in Manhattan, and with Aunt May. Ned hangs out with him and Tony one day, and then after he leaves, Tony takes him in a few different spots in the apartment. It’s a week that Peter never expected to happen, and now that it’s almost over, he wishes it wasn’t.

“Are you going to call me when I’m back at school?” Peter asks, the two of them naked under the covers, Tony’s fingers running through his hair. “Or is this it?”

“Don’t worry, Peter. It’s not it. I’m having a lot more fun with you than I expected to be. Let’s see how things go.” Tony kisses him softly, making him moan against his lips. “Mmm….sounds like you’re up for some more fun?”

Answering his question by moving himself to straddle Tony’s hips while he rubs himself against his cock, Peter nods his head. “Always, Tony.”

“Then let’s have some more fun.”

***

Once back at school, Peter becomes so focused on his projects that he forgets about everything in the world except what he’s working on. He’s been back at MIT for close to a month, and is spending the weekend in the lab, running experiments for his dissertation, running on about three hours of sleep and lots of caffeine.

“Excuse me, but is there a Peter Parker here?”

He looks up, and sees Tony is standing there, a bouquet of flowers in his hand, and some chocolate under his arm. “Tony?!”

“Ah, so you do remember me.” Tony walks into the lab, dressed down in a pair of jeans, a shirt and a blazer. “I was wondering, because you haven’t been answering any of my texts.”

“OH SHIT.” He pulls out his phone, and shows it to Tony. “I got a new phone. I dropped my phone into the river by accident. It’s a long story. Sorry. I didn’t….I didn’t think it mattered.”

Tony sets the roses down on top of his notes, then comes over to him. “How about you let me push you away if that’s what I want to do, okay? Because I like you, Peter. I thought I’d made that pretty obvious on New Year’s.”

“I’m sorry.” Peter looks at the door, then looks at Tony. “A-Are you sure you should be standing that close to me right now?”

“You’re an adult. So am I. And I’d like to kiss my boyfriend, if I may.”

“Boyfriend? Me?!”

Tony puts his hand on his cheek, and nods his head. “Yes, sweetness. You’re mine, and I’m yours. Thought you knew that.” He lowers his head and kisses him on the lips, Peter slow to kiss him back, but then does and has his breath stolen away. “Ah, there he is. Hello, baby.”

“Hi, Tony.”

They stay in the lab together for another hour, and then Peter heads to Tony’s apartment that he keeps in Cambridge, as he comes up to MIT often to do lectures. Peter looks at him, as they stand in the foyer together.

“Boyfriends?”

His lover looks at him, and flashes him a smile that he knows he’s going to see in his head for days. “Boyfriends. Now, come upstairs with me and let’s have some fun.”

“Anything you want, Tony.”

Peter knows that this may be a quick relationship, but as far as he’s concerned, he’s in it for the long haul. He knows that he’s met his match, thanks to Tony Stark being as persistent as himself. That’s why they are made for each other.

#starker #fanfic #livvibee #a gift for mah friiiend <3 #my writing

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spite-and-waffles · 2 years ago

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A meta analysis on Oliver Queen written in Feb 2008 on Livejournal.

Workshop: "Writing Green Arrow (Oliver Queen)" by Merfilly

Just a quick warning to anyone reading this looking for current canon...while I may touch it, I have a disagreement with both Green Arrow: Year One and Green Arrow/Black Canary. In many ways, the character I have seen since Winick took on the book has been touch and go with his history. It happens, and is very easily explained, considering Winick's tour is post-resurrection. Death, if anything, should have a right to change a man.

Introducing...

Car. Plane. Gadget for every gimmick, gimmick for every trap. Sidekick. Costume. Rich lifestyle, with a need to do good.

Cool your bat-jets, folks...that's really Green Arrow I'm talking about.

He made his debut in More Fun Comics, back in November 1941. He ran in the book from issue 73 to issue 107, after which the superheroes of the title moved over to Adventure Comics instead. Creators Mort Weisinger and George Papp defined him, and opened the door for years of comparison to Batman almost from day one.

Like Batman, Green Arrow is merely human. He has, since the first days, relied on the use of a bow and arrow, employing several 'trick' arrows, arrows that ranged from a boxing glove to a cryogenic arrow. All of which, it should be noted, he invented himself. He might have been following in Bruce's shadow, but he had the brains to do it with, a facet that is sometimes, sadly, lost.

It's worth noting that Green Arrow began with his sidekick, Speedy. As storytelling progressed, it was decided GA had been active before Roy came along, but we had to wait quite some time to learn their separate origins.

Historical data

Oliver's history has been victim to subtle retcons over the years, but the gist is still the same...and made it mostly intact onto Smallville. He's the millionaire heir to Queen Industries, his parents having died when he was young, and he wound up playing Robinson Crusoe on his very own castaway island without a volleyball for a best friend.

To survive, he drew on his resourcefulness, made himself a bow and some arrows to hunt. Then there is conflict (pirates, hippies, drugrunners...take your pick) and he escapes back to civilization a much changed-man who chafes at the injustice of the world. He picks up the inspiration of Robin Hood, and soon becomes the latest of the costumed crowd to run amok on the bank robbers and kidnappers.

Pre-Crisis on Infinite Earths, Green Arrow was the much younger lover of Black Canary, the man she left her world, that of the JSA, for. Arrow's involvement in the League was argued as reasons to bar her from joining, by Hawkman, whose own girlfriend had been refused, but it was argued right back that Canary did not overlap her boyfriend's powers. Just goes to show the sexism there, as Ollie most certainly overlapped the other rich boy on the League.

Post-COIE, though, paints us a new story. One of a man behind the scenes at first, willing to avoid the limelight of financing the League, and taking his time showing just who he was to the five founders. The fact he already had Speedy with him in his first meeting with the League is a subtle retcon of the DC universe as a whole...between the two Crisis events, Speedy, not Robin, is the first sidekick, a factor often ignored or tossed aside on the thought that Robin was already running around in Gotham, just not worldwide. Ollie did eventually get invited to be the sixth member of the League.

According to the Black Canary mini series, we now have a new history of Ollie with the League. Both of them were 'rookies' when Batman is already established on the team...and that rings poor when every Bat-fan knows how long it took the League to convince the Bat to be on the League even unofficially, let alone a deciding member. It's also not holding up within DC continuity, as there have been other titles to suggest Oliver's place as the sixth member remains secure.

Speaking from his own book, Ollie came back to his wealth from that island, and balanced corporate heir with do-gooding, as well as raising a thirteen year old boy who was full of hero worship for him. It really wasn't enough to hold the character up in the light though.

So they stripped him of his money, his company, and eventually, his ward. They got a liberal man-for-the-people hero that Batman had never been, and that grittier image stuck hard. Long before Miller repainted our other rich-boy-with-issues, we had Oliver Queen penniless, learning what America really was in a hard hitting look at normal life, and finding out his teenage ward was a junkie.

Mike Grell took what Denny O'Neill had begun and got DC to give him the character for a Mature, No-Powers book. We got an Ollie who killed, who contemplated real-world issues, aged, and who otherwise showed every flaw and merit in close, graphic detail.

With lots of pretty, naked him and Dinah.

Those flaws started adding up too quickly. The long-time relationship with Dinah Lance (now the younger of the pair) came to an end in the face of infidelities and long absences, setting Ollie on what can only be termed a self-destructive spiral. He toured the world, looking for his place in it, trying to forget the woman who he'd driven away.

And met his son. Connor Hawke. Originally, he had no idea who the kid was. Met him in the ashram he had sought out for meditations, and they grew uneasily into friendship. Connor knew, but Ollie did not for a long time.

Then this nasty thing happened. Actually, it began around the time Dinah had left him. It was when Superman died and was reborn, because right around then, his absolute best friend forever, Hal Jordan, went bug-screwy-nuts.

Considering GA and GL had just had an adventure the issue before the one where this happened, is enough to make my fan-teeth itch. See the Hal Essay and you might know why I have issues with the handling. That Oliver Queen was not more involved in efforts to save Hal from himself is the rest of my grievance, given their canon near-inseparability since the 70s.

Eventually the bug-screwy-nuts Hal decided to remake the universe into the multiverse and undo the sacrifice of his other best friend, Barry Allen. This didn't set well with Ollie in the least, and when he had to, he fired what he believed to be a lethal arrow.

That, fellow fen, is when Oliver Queen died, in my own brain. The issues following Zero Hour were a meltdown that would eventually (not so long, as Supes still had the long hair) lead to his death in his own title, saving Metropolis from devastation with Superman right there.

Why'd he have to die, then, if Supes was on deck? Because Oliver Queen chose to die, rather than sacrifice being Green Arrow. The only way out of the plane, rigged with a dead man's switch and armed as a bomb, was to let Superman take his arm off.

Ollie let go of the switch instead.

Fast forward a little bit. Hal Jordan gets kicked in the conscience by Kyle, the baby Lantern. Comes home and saves the solar system...but does one selfish act before he does it at the cost of his life. He resurrects Oliver Queen, but with amnesia and from about 'ten years' (DC time) in the past.

Final Night was published in 1996.

Green Arrow relaunched in 2001 to explain the details of the resurrection. Five years, folks, between setting up his return and actually doing it. Why? Because Kevin Smith wanted the title, and was tied up forever. The Green Arrow title had come to an end, even with Connor Hawke as the Emerald Archer in 1998.

With the relaunch, came retcons. Minor ones, to start, and a return to old favorites. Connor and Ollie getting to know each other was written in great fashion. A new Speedy, this time a girl. Dinah/Ollie goodness. Roy and Ollie finding new ground with each other. Shifts in everything.

Personality and Interactions

Over all, Ollie's a charmer. He's a witty man, with good looks, and charisma. If you look at him in the Golden Age, he comes off as patronizing toward Roy on a lot of occasions, but no worse, normally, than Bruce toward Dick. By the Silver Age, his appearances were focused more on the League and Dinah Drake Lance, the widow from that other world, who was older and wiser than him in a lot of ways. By the modern age, he was still given to words like 'kiddo' (his most endearing poke at the fact he was the elder of post COIE Canary/Arrow), but had developed a more guarded personality. Never as closed off as the Bat became, he was less trusting in the Grell book, a facet Dixon and other writers made use of in the 25 issues that led to his death following Grell's departure.

Since Ollie's return...especially OYL, he's been presented as a man who looked in a mirror darkly and didn't really like what he saw reflecting back at him. He's more mature than he was during the 80s, less grim than he was in much of the 90s. Family, first and foremost, seems to drive him. He's still a charmer...but he's got to have a reason to charm you.

Top of my head, the people who rank high in his life are Hal Jordan, Roy Harper, Dinah Lance, Mia Dearden, and Connor Hawke. Hal's still his best friend, and Dinah...regardless of how you feel about it, is his canon wife right now. Connor is the son he never had a chance to know, and Mia is the girl he's bound and determined to do right by. As far as Roy goes...they've gotten over a lot of the pain and seem to have actually fallen into a true father/son vibe that is very far from the buddy pair they were in the golden age.

Other notables of his life have included Bonnie King, aka Miss Arrowette. According to a throwaway panel in a Young Justice Comic, and a lot of fanon, Cissie King-Jones (Arrowette) may be his illegitimate daughter. Bonnie was a Star City heroine captivated by the Archer. Eddie Fyres is a notable ally/antagonist of the Grell era, being a CIA spook who got Ollie in deep trouble. Repeatedly. And who then later looked over Connor closely.

Possibly the most complicated relationship to dwell on is Shado, the Yakuza bow-mistress who raped Oliver in the throes of a fever, and conceived his son, Robert. (Forgive me, but I fail to recall Robert's Japanese name, revealed in the Connor Hawke Miniseries.) Ollie is very torn by her, between attraction, fascination, and betrayal.

Other portrayals

Green Arrow in Justice League Unlimited, like most of the animated heroes, is a much more 'white hat' character. He gave up his company after the Bat invited him to the League and talked him into staying...or after he laid eyes on a Pretty Bird, at least. He's still got issues somewhere, as evidenced by Speedy's brusque comments his way in one episode's cameo, but he's got the real feel of a Knight in Shining Armor...no offense, Sir Justin.

Oliver Queen on Smallville came about after a long, losing battle to get Bruce Wayne allowed. And, no offense, Bat fans, I think the options available to Oliver Queen make more sense for him than they would have for Bruce. He's got murdered parents and a thirst for vengeance when we first meet him. He's robbing the rich (Lex's pals), and using the proceeds for justice...or in theory, anyhow. He's far more wiling to go to violent measures than Bruce is typically portrayed as willing to do. He's a CEO of his company, and he's slowly building this motley band of heroes who may one day be the Justice League....

He only enjoyed one appearance on SuperFriends, alas...

Questions? Recommended authors

I've tried to keep this brief. I'd be glad to handle questions in comments though.

If you really want good portrayals of Oliver Queen, I beg you to go look at gottaluvit123's fic. I tend to live in awe of her Oliver. greeneyelove also handles him quite nicely.

Brad Meltzer introduced the first of the retcons that really impacted the way Ollie is handled to date. He let it be written in that Oliver Queen had known about his son from the beginning. This seems to directly contradict everything Connor Hawke's creator intended (Chuck Dixon, folks...man seemed to hate Roy Harper, but gave us a great character in the form of Connor). And it made Ollie into a form of coward and heel he'd never really been depicted as.

Judd Winick finished the job begun in undermining Oliver's sense of noble character that had been semi-regained in his rebirth. Though Dinah had slapped a still pretty much amnesiac (soulless, actually, and lacking a decade of experience) Oliver with the events that destroyed them, the two had hit it off fairly well. Within the first arc Winick wrote, Oliver Queen cheated on the woman of his dreams, reducing him back to where he'd been in issue 75 of the prior series. He lost Dinah...a fact that would not be made clear for over a year's worth of publication.

And then comes Identity Crisis and Infinite Crisis and One Year Later, and we've been force-fed a very abrupt reunion in that relationship, a mayorship that must have been bought, and a lot of other changes, including the coma and kidnapping of his son...who he quit looking for, supposedly, because he found a sidekick.

You might say I'm bitter, looking at that summary of the past few years of canon.

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differentkettleoffishalltogether · 4 years ago

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I’m On Fire [Chapter 1]

Summary: With her sister’s wedding fast approaching and her Mom hounding her about finding a date, Y/N makes a terrible decision that lands her and her least favorite genius in a confusing situation.

A/N: This is the first part in a series, I’ve written the first few chapters already so I’m hoping to update pretty regularly! I hope you guys enjoy, and any feedback is always appreciated! ❤️

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

Category: Fake Dating, Enemies to Lovers, (Eventual) Smut, Fluff, Angst, it’s a Slow Burn Baby

Warnings: None really for this chapter, cursing? Mean-ish Spencer

Word Count: 6.5k

Next Chapter

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

I wasn’t at the BAU long before it started to feel like home. The team became my family, pure and simple.

Having been recruited by Hotch at only 22 I'd sort of fallen into the roll of the little sister to the team without really meaning to. It's not that I was naive, or particularly sheltered even. I know I'm good at my job, and I'd want to be, given how my life's revolved around it almost entirely. But the team seemed to adopt a protective mindset over me right off the bat.

When I first joined the FBI everything was terrifying. I worked so hard for my PhD, trying to get into the unit, but there's almost nothing that can actually prepare you for the real thing. Being out in action in the field, working the cases out in real time. Sometimes they had a smooth, easy conclusion followed by loud obnoxious drinks together. Then there were the others, the ones that kept me up for days after and felt as though they owned little pieces of my heart still.

It was JJ that helped the most on those horrible flights back on the jet. Noticing my anxious ticks and uneasy disposition after that first case that had ended badly. JJ had been through it all before, taking too many cases home with her. Seeing her son's little faces in the kids that we couldn't help. If I was the baby of the team JJ was the big sister, looking out for everyone.

Morgan on the other hand was the outrageously cool older brother, the one you just wanted to be. Early on he'd helped my weak self with the ruthless fitness regimen the FBI required, he offered to pull some strings and get the test written off. But I couldn't accept that, there was something in me that just wanted to impress Morgan, and honestly still does. Like somehow if he thought you were cool, then it became true. So I passed the exam, but getting up a flight of stairs was near impossible for a week after.

Emily was probably the fun aunt. The one that would sneak you booze at the family gathering, or take you to your first concert. Emily was actually the one who'd found me, digging around colleges for potential recruits she'd had me picked out for a while I later found out. Insisting that Hotch give me a shot. It was reassuring to know I had someone who would stick up for me from day one.

I was an tech analyst, among other things, sort of a counterpart for Garcia in the field. So it was no surprise to anyone when the two of us hit it off as though we'd known each other forever. We weren't the same by any means though. Penelope was bold, and bright, and confident beyond measure, where I've typically felt like more of a blend into the background type. I've always thought of myself that way, despite my achievements. I'd also always believed I was fairly inoffensive, no one I'd met had ever had a huge problem with me, 'till I got to the BAU that is.

Every rose has its thorn I suppose.

That thorn in my side was Dr. Spencer Reid.

It wasn't that Dr. Reid was a bad agent, or even a bad person. I hadn't actually met him before that first day in the conference room, but I'd known who he was for a long time. Before I came along he'd held the mantle of 'youngest ever recruit' in the unit, while I was studying I'd read any of his work I could get my hands on because of that fact.

I figured it must've been some sort of hazing when he looked me up and down that first day I was introduced, and then proceeded to blank me entirely for a full week. Up until I'd wrapped my first case.

The whole team went straight from the jet to the bar. Proceeding to get far too drunk. Spencer joined, which the rest of the team found unusual, and I probably should've taken as a sign of things to come.

That case went well, and everyone was in high spirits but Reid had a sour disposition, at least it seemed that way every time he looked at me. After a few too many drinks I went outside in an attempt to sober up in the cold air, unfortunately Reid must've snuck outside not long before.

"Ugh" was all he said when he first caught my silhouette approaching him. The night was unusually cold so it had been deserted outside the bar that evening. I wasn't really sure why it made me nervous to be alone with him like this, the two of us leaning back against the same small area of brick wall, looking out at the cold night.

"Nice to see you too doctor" was all I could muster, I was drunk enough that I let my sarcastic tone leap out, "you can relax, I'm just trying to get some fresh air, it's too stuffy in there, and loud. I'm not here to talk to you or anything."

"Well aren't you a sensitive thing" he responds in kind, at that point I wasn't really sure if it was a coincidence or if he'd been genuinely avoiding me, but things were starting to clear up.

"I'm sensitive, that's a fun take on things" I joke, taking a long sip of cold water from my glass.

"And what's that supposed to mean, newbie?" his emphasis on the last word all but confirms my suspicions.

"Fuck man, what's your problem with me? Is it because I'm new, or because I beat your stupid record?" I quip. hoping that at the very least it might coax him out of his shell. Dr. Spencer Reid getting angry at me could honestly be better than the nothing I'd been experiencing from him until now.

"What stupid record?" he sounds genuinely confused

"I'm the youngest BAU recruit now?" I didn't know why else he could be so sour. He'd never met me before last week, and since he'd ignored me that first day I'd done all I could not to step on his toes. So if he had a reason to hate me this much, it wasn't something I'd done on purpose.

He takes a few moments to respond, raising his eyebrows and considering the information. He chuckles. He fucking chuckles.

"That's funny." he says, his voice leveling out, "I didn't peg you as funny newbie" that word sets something off in me again. Something about it is dismissive, or belittling. Before I could fight back he starts to move, maneuvering around me and heading back inside. A little too tipsy to think of anything constructive to say, I just mutter "Fuck you Spencer."

He swings open the door, as he walks inside he just says "See you Monday, Newbie" without even looking at me.

And that was only the beginning.

----

"You know I'm just trying to make sure you get enough rest sweetheart. There's no need to get so defensive!" it was far too early in the morning to be dealing with this call. Since joining the BAU a few years ago this was a standard call from my Mom. Equal parts well meaning and over-bearing, and generally asking far too many questions.

"I'm not getting defensive Mom, I get plenty of rest, my job is just very important to me and you know that." I knew she was right to be at least a little worried, this job was consuming, and in all honesty I wasn't sure how people like JJ were married and still here. It seemed like an impossible feat.

"Fine sweetie, how are your co-workers doing then? How's Penelope? Give her my love" she loved Penelope, I think she thought that Penelope tethered me to the normal world, and in a way she was right. She kept me sane, and fun, and made me eat pizza and do face masks once a week at least. Even when I didn't think I wanted to.

"Pen's great Mom, everyone's good. Well, the usual ones get on my nerves, but I'm fine." As I say it I glance across at Dr. Reid, the only person who's also in as early as I am most days. I'm not sure if he can hear me but he's tapping his pen so loud on his desk that it takes all of my energy not to walk across the bullpen and stab him with it.

"Y'know what Mom, I'm actually just after getting to work and it's a busy day so can I call you back later?" I chance, getting her off the phone is always an ordeal.

"Fine, fine, I'll let you go. But wait one last thing!"

I knew what was coming. It was always coming.

"Are you seeing anyone, Margot's been wondering too, just thought I'd check in?"

Pinching the bridge of my nose and trying not to scream down the line, I just sigh out the frustration instead.

"No Mom, believe it or not, I've made no progress on that front since you asked me all of 3 days ago."

"See you are being defensive!" she snaps

"I gotta go, bye Mom. Love you!" I say, hanging up quickly before dropping my head down into my arms on my desk, resting like that for a few moments in silence.

Hearing Garica chuckle behind my ear I perk up and spin around. She's holding a small paper cup of coffee and hands it to me. I look at it confused, "Sorry about the paper, I couldn't find your mug in the cabinet" she apologizes, looking over at Dr. Reid and rolling her eyes. Now I know he can hear me from his seat, he takes that moment to sip from my mug and place it gently back on his desk.

It hadn't taken long for him to start toying with me. It was always stupid childish things. Things I couldn't get genuinely annoyed at, that would give him far too much satisfaction, knowing he was getting to me in any real way. This was one trick he liked to play if he got into the office before me, he'd take my mug and make his coffee in it, just to spite me I guess.

"Why does he even do that, it's so stale" she said, just a little louder than normal to make sure he could hear. Garcia and Reid were still good friends and team-mates but she liked to stand up for me when she could. He liked to avoid me as much as possible so he'd usually go to Garcia before me if he needed help with something. Even when the two of us were out in the field together. Which was obnoxious but it was just another thing I'd gotten used to over time. And as long as it didn’t interfere with the case I just forced myself to let it go.

"I know it's such low grade bullying isn't it?" I shot back with a chuckle.

"So I'll take it that was Mommy dearest" Penelope gestures to my phone. She knew my Mom, and she knew about her general overbearing energy. I let out a groan thinking about the call again, and the calls that were to come.

"Isn't it always Mommy dearest?" I joke

"So she's still on your ass about the wedding then?" I'm sure Penelope was almost as sick of hearing about it as I was,

"Margot's getting married in like 4 months now, and every time Mom calls there’s just some new hometown loser she wants to set me up with Pen. It's fucking exhausting" I take a sip of the coffee she made me, savoring the bitter taste. She sits down on my desk for a moment, leaning in.

"Honey, did you ever think that if you got out there and found someone, she wouldn't be on your ass at all?" I don't want to think about that, about how she's completely right. All I can do is let out another small groan and lean back down onto my desk.

"Too early Pen" I say, it's muffled by the desk but she gets the message. Hopping up and heading to her own office as some more people start to arrive for the morning.

Leaving me alone to make a start on my paperwork that had built up throughout the week. Fridays were usually slow like this, giving me a little too much time to think. I couldn't shake the thought that my Mom and Penelope were actually right. Maybe I was a bit too invested in the job, and maybe that was a pretty big factor in why my last relationship imploded but I wasn't about to admit that to anyone.

----

After that the day crawls by, thankfully no cases pop up so the weekend might actually be free. Trying to make sure I clear up all of my paperwork takes a little longer than I'd hoped and leaves me alone in the bullpen. It seems like everyone's gone home by the time I've packed up and I'm ready to leave. Which wasn't as out of the ordinary as I'd like it to be really. Everyone else seemed to have somewhere to be on a Friday night.

Waiting for the elevator to arrive my phone started to ring, I could see my Mom's caller ID on the screen. If I just let it go I know she'll call back later, may as well get it out of the way. I take a deep breath in anticipation before I answer.

"Hey what's up?" I answer, stepping inside the elevator as the doors ping open.

"Hi sweetie, I've got good news! Do you remember David? That lovely boy, he helped out your Father that summer in high school?" I know what's coming and rub my temple, trying to stifle the headache I know is coming. As I answer a hand slides between the elevator doors, popping them open again.

Dr. Fucking Reid walks in, and he looks about as happy to see me as I am to see him. I make eye contact and look away just as fast, willing him away with my mind. "Yes Mom, I remember him, why are you telling me this?" I already know the answer but I'm fed up, she still sounds excited when she responds.

"Well you won't believe it! I ran into him at the market this morning and I thought you'd like it if I passed on your phone number to him, maybe for the weddi-" it took all I had not to shout into the receiver, and maybe I would've had the elevator been empty.

"Mom! Jesus!" I have to reign myself in, but I have a bad idea, "You know what, I'm actually sorted. I've got a date lined up now" I'm not sure why I said it with no real plan in place. She sounds even more excited than I've ever heard her.

"Oh my, that's amazing sweetie! That was fast, I can't believe you found one since this morning, it's someone from work so?" she assumes, and I'm just not thinking fast enough to correct her.

"Mmhmm, yeah" I'll figure out the logistics later I rationalize.

"Oh! Is it that boy you're always on about, the one who teases you?" she asks, and her voice is full of joy, and it makes me feel horrible that I'm lying already, and that I'm going to let her down.

"Yup, that's the one, look Mom I gotta go, I'll talk to you later! Night" I blurt out so fast it has to be obvious I'm nervous.

I can hear a stifled chuckle behind me. Fuck. How loud is my phone speaker. Could he hear that. Surely not. But this elevator was completely silent. The doors open and I have to stop myself from running to my car at top speed. Instead I walk out just a little faster than normal, turning around to shoot him a small wave goodbye. And he's got this devious smirk on his face that makes my stomach turn.

Sitting into my car I pull out my phone to text Garcia immediately.

I'm on my way to yours right now. It's urgent.

——

Traffic's light so it takes maybe 10 minutes before I arrive at Garcia's place. My mind's racing and my body takes me there on autopilot. Why did I say any of that, why did I even answer the damn phone. Why did I wave goodbye to Spencer, I never usually did that. Maybe that's why he had that look on his face. Maybe he was just thinking of something funny that happened earlier and it had nothing to do with me at all. That was something he'd do to mess with me for sure.

How was I going to walk this back with my Mom, she was just gonna have more questions that I couldn't answer. Fuck.

Garcia buzzed me up and her door was open for me by the time I got up the stairs. This little purple apartment had become my second home. It was where I spent most of my evenings off, laughing on the same sofa I was collapsing face first into right now. Garcia nestles in beside me and runs her hand over my hair, "Hey sweet pea, what's happening? I don't want to sound too concerned but you're not giving me much to go off? Are you dying, is there drama? You're going to have to tell me what's so urgent before I burst a blood vessel?"

I let out a muffled, "is drahmuh" into the pillow, Garcia shakes my shoulders.

"Sit up babe, damn!" I have to heave myself out of the pillows, sitting upright on the sofa beside her, clutching one of the pillows in my arms.

"It's drama" I repeat,

"Well, out with it then, you know I'll take all the drama I can get! Spill, spill" she rushes me along. I'm already apprehensive, Reid's her coworker too, but if anyone would understand why this was such an issue it was gonna be her.

"Okay, I'm after doing something stupid and I think I really need your advice" I cringe already, thinking back to the elevator, throwing out my words faster, I continue the story, mostly trying to get it over with, "my Mom called again when I was on the way out tonight and she was trying to set me up with this guy, and Reid was there, and I got all flustered, and I told her I had a date already" I throw my head down into the pillow again.

"Wait why was Reid there?" she looks like she's trying to fit puzzle pieces together and she's getting nowhere, "And what's the drama?"

"Shit Garcia, it was in the elevator and it was all quiet, and maybe he heard the call, maybe he didn't but he had this fuckin' look on his stupid face" I can't shake the smug little smirk, it's burned inside my eyelids. Garcia's face falls in what looks like disappointment.

"Ugh Y/N! That's nothing chill out, why does it matter if he heard your call? I know you guys are all weird but none of that is any of his business anyway!" she shoo's her hand in the air, dismissing the whole situation.

"No Garcia, it is his business now" I have to close my eyes when I say it, I can't look at her "I told my Mom that he was my date, well, I didn't say his name or anything, she assumed it was someone from work and so I just agreed, and then she suggested that it was him and then I fucking panicked Pen, I fucked up so bad. What do I do?"

I finally opened my eyes to look up at Garcia. She was sitting in pure silence, pursing her lips in what seemed like contemplation. The puzzle pieces finally slotting together. It's as though a light bulb goes off behind her eyes and she bursts out in fits of laughter. Doubling over on herself before finally taking a few breaths to calm herself down. I'm honestly not sure why she finds the whole thing so funny, she know's how needlessly annoying he's made my life, she's seen it first hand and heard me talk about it over and over again in this very apartment over pizza.

"Garcia, this is not fucking funny! This is serious!" I try to calm her down, I need advice not whatever this is.

"I'm so sorry Y/N, I love you dearly. But this isn't funny, this is hilarious. It's like you're Sandra Bullock in some mid-90's rom com. I love it" I don't love it, in fact I hate it. I nearly snap at her but pull myself back.

"Pen, come on, help me out. What do I do with this, how do I fix it?" I plead.

She stops laughing and pulls out her phone, "Okay, I'm sorry. I'm going to order us a pizza, and we're gonna sort this thing out together, sound good?" I just nod and collapse back into the sofa. I think I feel better now that I've gotten it out in the open.

----

Penelope makes us tea while we wait for the pizza, she keeps lemon & ginger in her cabinet for me, just like I keep mint for her. The warm mug and the steam calm me down. After a few minutes alone to think about it I start to figure it out a little better. I figure I can just lie to my Mom for a while, it might suck but I can pretend for a bit and then make up some excuse as to why he can't come closer to the time. Then I can just bring Garcia instead and everyone's happy. I'm about to float my plan to her there's a knock on her door. I was so caught up that I hadn't really noticed quite how starving I'd gotten. Leaping up of the sofa to grab the door.

I swing it open but it's not the pizza guy. Somehow it's the opposite of the pizza guy, my worst nightmare is on the other side of the door. He must notice my eyes blow completely wide. "Y/N!" he says, more of a statement than a question really, like he's telling himself that he's actually seeing me in the doorway. I'm not as gentle.

"What the fuck are you doing here Reid?!" I can't even disguise my anger. He seems a little flustered, like he's got absolutely no idea how to proceed.

"Um, uh, is Garcia here? I can, um, I can just come back later?" he swallows hard and shakes his head, before I can agree and tell him to get lost Penelope races to the door, pulling it wide open.

"Nope, that won't be necessary Doctor! Come on in, you're right on time sweetheart" she waves him in and he walks past me, his demeanor changing almost instantly. He's smug, like he's won whatever battle this was. And I hate it. Though he's still as confused as me despite the newfound attitude. Reid sits down on the sofa, right where I had been sitting. I bite my tongue and sit on the opposite end.

"Are you okay Garcia?" he asks with a genuine concern, "What's going on, what was the emergency?". He's not stupid, he knows she's not in danger now that he's here. But he wants answers. I don't know that I've ever seen him this confrontational with anyone, well anyone but me. The entire time I’m staring her down as she sits in the armchair opposite the two of us. My keys are in my pocket and my car's right outside. I could just jump up and make a break for it. Escape.

"You know what Doc, you won't believe it but I'm not actually the one with the emergency" she takes a beat, and I'm starting to think that I might understand why people murder other people after all these years, "Y/N has something urgent she needs to talk to you about" she's silent for another moment, and she almost looks giddy, "Actually Spencer, you might already know a little something about the matter already, now that I think about it" she smirks, and it's pure joy.

My keys are in my hand ready to bolt when the doorbell chimes again. "Oh, that'll actually be the pizza this time, if you two will excuse me" she hops up out of the armchair and races to the door, leaving the two of us alone in a horrible silence. The tension is almost too much, I want to speak but I really have no idea what to say, or how to even start saying it. But he starts.

"Y/N what's going on, I feel like I'm out of the loop here? What am I missing?" he asks, and there's something uncharacteristically genuine about the way he says it, but he can't turn to look at me as he speaks. I almost want to let my guard down and just have a conversation but I can’t force myself to do it. "Shut up Reid." is all I mutter, folding my arms across my chest.

He turns sharply on the sofa to face me. "Hey Y/N. Believe it or not I'm about as happy as you with whatever kind of Parent Trap situation Garcia's got going on here. But from what I'm picking up on you've got a problem and I'm supposed to be able to help with it. So do you want to tell me what's going on or not? I can just go?" I can see that there's an anger bubbling right below the surface, threatening to burst. I know I shouldn't but I let him stew in silence for a little too long and he jumps up off the sofa.

"Y'know what, typical" he mutters, rolling his eyes as he says it, "this is all about you." he throws his bag over his shoulders and begins to walk towards the door. Something in me just snaps.

"All about me?! Are you fucking kidding? I've been tip-toeing around you for years, ever since I joined this damn unit!" I shout as Garcia comes back into the room, pizza box and plates in her hands.

"So, who's hungry?" Garcia asks, trying to break the tension, or pretending there's no tension at all. Reid shakes his head in disbelief and rubs his temple before he speaks again, "Actually I was just gonna head out" he gestures to the door, "I'm clearly not wanted here so I'm gonna leave you guys to it." Spencer makes a move to leave but Garcia grabs the strap of his shoulder bag, yanking him back ever so slightly before he really has the chance to escape.

"You are going absolutely nowhere kid" She points back to the sofa, "get back there" she glances to me, staring with far too much intensity. "You too, sit." Her voice is more stern than I've ever heard it, even while we were on a case. I can't help but obey her command and I sit back down on the sofa in silence. Followed by Reid, clearly processing the same uneasy feeling of a serious Penelope.

She sits opposite the two of us again. "Y/N, Spencer, I love the two of you with all of my heart, albeit separately, and I would die for either one of you. But you've got to chill the hell out!" she says it like she's had it bottled up forever. The tension that releases from her as she says it looks euphoric.

She opens up the pizza box and lays it on the coffee table and takes out a slice for herself. Taking a bite she leaves the two of us in stunned silence. Once she finishes the mouthful she turns to me specifically, "Y/N you tell him, or I will." dead serious. And the feeling in my belly is like I've just fallen down an elevator shaft.

My stomach is in knots as I turn to Spencer on the sofa next to me. His face is puzzled and I think I might be able to make out pure terror in his expression. I don't know that I've ever been looked at like this before and my stomach screws up tighter. I have to take a deep breath and I can't believe I'm about to say it. "Fuck it" I have to take another breath almost immediately so I just have to force the rest out, "I don't know if you heard the call I was on while we were in the elevator earlier?" I look up to gauge his reaction and I can see his face relax, and worse than that, one corner of his mouth lifts into a sort of smile. It's a look of pure smug satisfaction and I think I might scream. I have to close my eyes because I really don't think I can look at that face as I say the next part.

"My sister is getting married in a few months and my Mom's been on my ass to find a date for the wedding and she keeps trying to set me up with these losers, so I fucking panicked, and I told her you were my date." by the time the sentence is out my eyes have screwed up so tight it feels like I have to pry them open.

He sits in silence for too long. Thinking, maybe?

"So I'm the boy who teases you then?" he grins. So he did hear. And he did laugh. He looks far too self satisfied. Now he knows he's right. He knows I've talked to my Mom about him, that he's gotten in my head. I can tell from his smile that he's savoring the moment. Mostly because I can't slap the smug smile off his face I drop my head into my hands. In an effort to disappear I guess.

"So," he says, taking a moment, "is that all you wanted to say then?" he asks, lighthearted and obnoxious, back to his usual self. I snap back to reality, shooting my head back up.

"What do you mean is that all?" I throw back genuinely shocked,

"Is that all you had to say Y/N? Can I go now? It's a long bus ride home y'know" he smirks but makes no effort to move. He can't possibly be making me do this.

"Well no, obviously!" I stutter, "I mean, are you, will you, uh?" I can't bring myself to say it out loud. He leans in on the sofa looking directly at me, refusing to break eye contact.

"Did you have something you wanted to ask me Y/N?" I just want to smack that fucking look off his face,

"Fuck you Spencer Reid" I almost whisper under my breath, but Garcia snaps me back to reality.

"Hey!" she looks at me, stern again, "Ask him." it's not a question, or a suggestion, it's a command.

"Fine okay" I scrunch my eyes up again, "Will you come to my sisters wedding with me as my fake boyfriend?" I curl up into myself as I say it, I can almost feel the bile rising up from my stomach. Like I'm having a biological reaction to the whole thing.

Reid crosses his arms and sinks back on the sofa, like he's performing the act of thinking. He's considering my offer to make me squirm.

When he finally speaks he says "Well I would Y/N, but I really fail to see what's in it for me" he's after getting cocky now.

Garcia pipes up, excited, "Oh, Oh! I know! I have an idea!" she interjects, "Spencer remember how a while ago, back after your apartment flooded you were all all worried about your antique books and prints and stuff?" he nods, "Well Y/N could digitize the collection for you as a back up? I know you're a technophobe? C'mon Y/N, you know you could do that no sweat, and it would take you a lifetime alone Spencer?" I really don't want to admit it but she's right. Even I knew Reid was adverse to any technology that wasn't vital, but it was your specialty. And maybe that was a good trade off, a job like that would be near impossible for him to pull off without help. I take a glance over at Reid and he seems to have had the same train of thought as me. He lets out an exaggerated sigh and relaxes his posture.

"Fine, I guess that's a fair trade. I'm in." he resigns and I almost can't believe it. I'm barely processing the whole conversation as he sticks his hand out to me, I'm confused for a second before I grab it and shake it firmly. Condemning myself to whatever's about to happen. And it's not the time to be thinking about it but maybe this is the first time Spencer and I have ever touched? But I shove that thought away.

Garcia's positively beaming and she's not even trying to hide it. "Now it's like you're both in a Sandra Bullock movie, oh, but you're Hugh Grant maybe?" she points to Reid.

"Don't push it" I shoot in her direction, taking a slice of pizza, now that my anxiety stomach has sort of passed.

Once the pizza's been eaten in near completely awkward silence Spencer stands up off the sofa. His unsure demeanor has returned and he looks nervous. "I actually should get going this time" he says but Garcia pipes up to protest,

"No, it's not even late!"

"It takes me a while to get back home, thank you though Pen. For... this?" he gestures to the whole living room, "Night" he waves. He's almost made it to the door before I stand up out of my seat. I'm not really sure what comes over me, maybe it's gratitude, maybe it's guilt, or maybe I'm just exhausted.

"Wait Spencer. Let me give you a ride home?" I ask and it's like it's not even me saying it .

"Thanks, but I think I can make it home just fine" he dismisses, and there’s an antagonizing tone in his voice that snaps me right back to our usual rapport.

"I'm trying to do a nice thing here, fuck! Just let me do something nice!" I snap, and he throws his arms up in surrender.

"Fine alright, if it'll make you feel better"

"Fuck you Reid" I mutter under my breath and I sort of hope that he does hear me really. If he's gonna be hostile about this I can be too. I give Garcia a hug goodbye but I'm going to scold her for this whole thing later.

----

I lead the way outside and climb into my car, Spencer hops into the passenger seat and it feels as strange as always to be alone with him. Especially because it's not an accident, and it's not in work. Maybe this was a horrible idea. He seems like he's unwilling to break the silence, so I just get it over with.

"Where the hell do you live man? I'm gonna need directions." I say, as deadpan as I can muster, which probably isn't all that intimidating.

"Sorry, yeah, so you're gonna want to turn on the ignition" he teases. I definitely wasn't intimidating enough.

"Don't push it" I say, turning to give him a cruel stare, he just reacts with a smirk, that same one from the elevator earlier.

"Oh, I'm pushing it?" he asks, feigning disbelief

"I'll kick you out of this damn car" is all I can think to say. He barely responds, he just lets out a soft chuckle. I want to ask 'what's so funny' but he speaks before I can get the words out.

"I can't believe you talk to your Mom about me" he continues to laugh. That's enough.

"You know what Reid, of course I have! I work with actual murderers on a daily basis and somehow you've been the only real source of friction in my life since I joined the BAU!" He stops giggling a little, but not entirely, he looks like he's making an effort to contain himself.

"I'm sorry. I guess I just never knew I got to you like that" he still finds the whole thing amusing, but I sure as hell don't.

"Directions, now" I demand, looking straight out the front windshield.

"Fine, keep going straight on this road for a while and I'll tell you when to turn" he says, finally playing nice.

The two of us drive silently for most of the journey, the radio playing softly in the background. Eventually we arrive outside his building, and it's nicer than I thought it would be. But I have no idea what I was really basing that on. For some reason it hadn't occurred to me that Dr. Reid lived in an actual home, I had pictured him sleeping upside down in a cave maybe, or in a cryogenic chamber with all the other life-like genius robots.

"So," he says, breaking the silence, "When is this wedding?"

"4 months from now, in and around" I respond, matter of factly. Spencer nods, taking it in.

"Alright, so I've got 4 months, in and around, to learn enough to convincingly pass as your loving boyfriend. Doesn't sound so difficult." he jokes, his tone harsh and sarcastic.

"Look Spencer, I know this is insane and honestly kind of stupid. But in all seriousness, you can back out right now if you're not on board with whatever this is. I'm telling you this is the last exit ramp." I try to say it with sincerity, giving him a genuine out if he's not comfortable with the weird set-up that Penelope pulled on us both. He thinks on it for a moment and shakes his head.

"So how are we gonna do this?" he asks, and I really thought he was going to back out. So I don't have an actual answer.

"Well, I uh, I haven't really given a plan much thought. How about I come over and start working on some of the stuff you want digitized like Garcia mentioned and I can use the time to give you the footnotes on my life?" I suggest, at least that would make it easier to knock things out all at once. Rather than having to spend even more of my free time with Reid than necessary. He looks content with the improvised plan.

"Alright, sounds good." he undoes his seatbelt and opens the door to hop out of the car before turning back to me, "Are you coming inside or what?"

— —

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qslovebot · 4 years ago

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Trivial Diffusion: Spencer Reid

Summary: Spencer and the reader have been pretending to be rivals for quite some time, jokingly taking shots at each other and trying to win games against each other to prove higher intelligence. One day, Spencer suggests they play something else and little do they know that game turns into a whole lot more play.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warning/Includes: playful hatred, friendly-fire rivalry, kissing, protected sex (hardly written), tension to smut to fluff.

A/N: lightly based on The Name of The Game, by ABBA

“You know what I think, Dr.Reid, is that secretly, deep, deep down in the skinny soul that fills your skinny body... you like me.” You teased, setting down your cards. That was it, the game was over, you had won.

Spencer Reid shook his head, “I would say we’re acquainted and not friends. Coworkers at worst.” He set down his cards to show you he had nearly nothing. Chances, chances, chances. “Derek, was she cheating? I think she was cheating.”

Derek Morgan was entirely asleep in his seat. It was just after the BAU had been sent on another big case and everyone had been working on it from the BAU until you all could get the jet. It was nearing nine o’clock but nearly everyone on the jet was sleeping from a day of overworking at home. All but you and ye of little faith. Hotch confirmed that the team didn’t start interacting with the police until tomorrow so that everyone could crash at the hotel before it all actually began, so it was a matter of time before everyone woke again.

Spencer was good at his games, knew probability well and could probably win against the averagely smart man, but not you. He could never beat you at cards and that nearly killed him, so every time you flew back to or from Quantico, he asked to play, hoping he would somehow win. This had been going on for months along with the little jokes and friendly fire you had with him. As much as you pretended to hate each other, you were both pretty transparent to the rest of the team.

“Sorry that I’m not your favourite member of the team,” you smiled at him playfully and tossed him the reorganized deck. He caught it with a small smile. “If you want, we can play something else and I’ll let you win.”

He shook his head and cracked his knuckles. “Battle of wits. Random trivia. I want to see you flail and drown.”

“Violent, Doc.” You raised your eyebrows at him. He had confidence in something just as risky- his mistake. There wasn't time, though. “We land in ten, though, so on the way home from this case if you’re up for it.”

“Are you too tired or are you afraid to lose?”

“Neither,” you sighed, cracking your knuckles. “Fine, you’re on.”

----

At the hotel, everyone was groaning and grumbling and ready to crash for the night. You guessed working from the BAU for two and a half days before getting to the case was too much for them, but with your cup of sugar with a little coffee, you were wide awake.

The second Hotch dolled out the keys, you grabbed Emily who was moving like a zombie and pulled her to her designated room. You were all lucky enough to get your own rooms on this case so once you dropped her and her bags off there then found your own room next to hers.

The first thing you did was pull yourself out of your office clothes and into your pyjamas. You slipped on long, flowy, pale blue, loose-fabric pants that felt cool against your skin as well as sat on your hips paired with a simple white tank top. You kept your bra on just to keep a little decency and let your hair fall down around your shoulders, brushing it through a little.

You were prepared to win against Spencer. That was it, flat out. You would win. You both were the geniuses of the team and he had been waiting for a moment to prove he was better than you in some way, but that would be his downfall. He wanted to win so desperately and you wouldn't let that happen.

It had been months of this snarky attitude from him that you know was only in play. Maybe this would make him give up when you won. You slipped out of your room and up to the door of the room you saw Spencer walk into. The knock you gave was quiet enough not to disturb anyone but him and it only took him a moment to answer, his lips pursed straight.

"Come in," he said, gesturing. You saw his eyes flicker over what you were wearing as he had probably never seen you so entirely casual. You narrowed your eyebrows at him as you slipped into his room.

The room was identical to yours but smelled a little different. "I love what you've done with the place, wow, Dr.Reid..." You joked, sitting on the edge of his bed. He shut the door slowly, pressing his back to it with that crooked smile of his. "So are you ready to lose?"

"I-I don't believe I am," he said, hands behind his back. Something was off... he didn't stutter when he was in that teasing pretend hatred. Never- it was always as if that was his comfort in trying to beat you. "Let's begin."

You raised your eyebrows and slid onto the floor at the edge of the bed and pat the spot in front of you against the wall. He didn't protest, in fact, he sat right down with his laptop.

"What's this?" You asked.

"This is Garcia who searched up trivia questions and will be asking us. To answer, we hit this button in front of us. If the answer is wrong, it goes to the other person. Got it?" Spencer set the computer up.

"Yeah..." you nodded, setting your eyes on Garcia. "Hey, Penelope!"

"If it isn't my favourite (Y/N)!" She exclaimed, blowing kisses through the screen. "I must admit I'm a little scared. Spencer here called me and he sounds like he's about to... murder you."

You looked up at Spencer through your eyelashes and back down at Penelope. "He's the one about to be murdered, Pen. Both of you, brace yourselves. I'm ready."

"And now I am even more scared, thank you for that Elton John and Madonna..." Penelope clicked through her computer.

Spencer looked at you now with confusion. For a genius, he wasn't very well-educated in celebrity culture. "This is why you're going down, Reid." You laughed.

His voice raised in pitch, "Because my-my-my name isn't Elton John and I don't understand the reference?" Oh, he was so going to lose.

Spencer set the button out. Convenient that he had them... maybe he'd been planning for this longer than you'd thought. Penelope on the screen sat to the right of you both and she had all her questions lined up. She did a little drumroll, then began.

"Name the number that is three more than one-fifth of one-tenth of one-half of 5,000, go!"

It took you a second but you and Spencer hit the button at the same time. "53!" You said in unison.

"Fuck!" You laughed, rubbing your eye.

There was a slight clicking noise on Garcia's end and you watched her face go from confusion to wide-eyed wonder. "You both are too smart for your own good-"

"Ne-Next question, please," Spencer said, his face in his hands. If the whole thing was like this, how would either one of you win?

More questions passed, some were ties, some were won by Spencer and some by you, but at the end of Penelope's list.. you had tied and it was 11:30pm. With each question, you felt the tension in the room worsen. Each loss, each win, your stomach had butterflies. Who was going to win this? You and Spencer, after an hour and a half of losses, wins, and ties and Garcia getting more scared by the second, you tied.

Then of course there were the tiebreakers which you both tied on. After five tiebreakers, Garcia was done. "Congrats, you're both smart as hell! I am tired, so I'll let you little birdies wrestle it out, just don't blame the injuries on me."

"Garcia, no-" Spencer protested, needing to win.

Penelope waved goodbye and Spencer reached for the laptop, but he couldn't stop her. "Garcia, out!" She ended the video call, leaving Spencer and you alone.

Well, nobody won now. Nobody lost either. Spencer, you could see he was done, just done. All the talk of winning and he really got so nervous he stuttered around you. You grinned, tilting your head against his bed and just laughing. Nobody won!

For some reason, the tension in the room was still thick. You noticed it when you finally stopped laughing at the circumstances when you looked at Spencer with his head in his hands. He wasn't really upset, he was just confused as to how it came to a draw with you like this.

"Was it my tits that threw off your game, Reid?" You teased, standing up and going to the coffee-maker in the corner of his room. "Is it okay if I have the Earl Grey here?"

"Yeah, that's- that's fine," he nodded, swallowing hard. His pretty face was still contorted into confusion. You hopped up on the counter and made the tea with the teabags complimentary to the hotel. "Did you cheat?"

"Did I what?" You laughed again, leaning over so your forearms resting on your thighs. "You think I have tricks up my sleeve, Reid, I'm not even wearing sleeves."

"My IQ tells me you should have lost."

"You and your noble IQ," you blew on your tea. "Want some tea?"

He rubbed his temples and stood up, walking over tiredly. You hadn't noticed what he was wearing at all, you'd been too focused on the trivia. He was wearing flannel pyjama pants and a large sweater. It was the most casual you'd seen him before. "Orange Pekoe, please."

"Got it," you turned and made him a cup of tea with the machine. You'd never really hung out with Spencer before away from work. On the jets, you were always still surrounded by coworkers. Even though you were alone with him earlier, Garcia's presence was there. Now it was just you, Spencer, and the tension that wouldn't seem to lift. It was unexplainable- how it was still there. What was it really and why wouldn't it thin out? "Here you go."

Through handing him the tea, your hands touched and you pretended to be disgusted by it for a laugh, but he just exhaled sharply. Spencer sat on the edge of his bed facing you on the counter, sweater sleeves over his hands that held the mug, curls falling over his face.

Why was he always looking like he was solving math questions in his head? When he drank his tea, you drank yours. Why were you even still in his room at all... he hardly liked you, he just wanted to win and now that neither of you had, you were still here? It was a question for both you and him, but would this question come to a draw as well?

"I don't think I've mentioned how much I like your hair, Reid." You said out of the blue. "I think I've been too focused on kicking your ass in every way possible to properly compliment you."

"You've never kicked my ass physically, so you can't say in every possible way if you-"

"I was trying to compliment you but if you want me to actually get up and kick you in the ass, I will." You threatened playfully. Spencer grinned down at his tea. "I just think you have nice hair and I am very jealous it's not mine." You opened and shut your fingers like a pair of scissors.

Spencer straightened himself out and shook his hair out of his face. "I- thank you?"

You nodded, "You're welcome."

No more words were said until you both finished your tea. Why were you still here? Why didn't he ask you to go and why did he keep looking at you with thoughts in his eyes and why the hell did the tension keep building? What was it leading to?

Spencer eventually stood up and placed his mug in the sink next to yours, standing next to where you sat on the counter. You looked at him through a strand of your hair that had fallen in your face and you moved it to better understand. He mirrored you for a second, pushing his hair behind his ear as well before asking that one, fatal question. The one question he gave, knowing that if you lost, he had won and if you answered correctly, you had won. It was the unofficial, official ending to the game, but at a risk.

"In the 1830s, what scientifically gifted woman led to the coining of the term 'scientist,' because 'man of science' didn’t apply?" He asked, his eyes narrowing in. This was it... damn it, your brain was scrambled... as to why? Unexplainable.

"Mary..." you said, grasping at something you knew but it was clouded by something else you couldn't recognize. As if a clock was ticking, your heart was pounding. "Mary, her name was Mary..."

Spencer just stood there, right next to where you sat on the counter as you searched, racking every inch of your brain to find it. You couldn't give up or else he had won and you'd never hear the end of it and he wouldn't play cards with you and you wouldn't have an excuse to talk to him... wait, where did all those thoughts come from.

"Reid, I have it, I know it, I just-"

He looked at the watch on his wrist, his loose curls falling over his face again. Goddamnit, Spencer Reid... You only had seconds as Spencer counted down. Mary... Mary Smith... Mary So- Mary Somer... Mary Somerville.

"One, ze-"

"Mary Somerville!" You said, maybe a little too loudly. But you knew it was too late. Spencer had won. You sat there, looking at your hands for a moment while he stood there in what seemed like shock at his winning, but the odd tension still pressed, even with your loss. It seemed like Spencer felt it too because you looked up at each other at the exact same time and it was a silently-made mutual decision that led to both your lips and his crashing into the other person's.

It happened so quickly- you opened your knees to allow him closer, your hands on either side of his face, holding his jaw as you kissed him with the same power he kissed you. His hands on your waist and knee. So this was what the tension lead to, huh?

Kissing him from slightly above him gave you the advantage of kissing harder, which he easily allowed and returned. You slid your fingers back into his hair, the hair you had so awkwardly complimented. Of course, you understood yourself and your awkward comments about his hair because in reality, you meant 'please kiss me already'.

There was no noise other than the travelling of hands, short breaths, and lips on lips in the room and that sound was much better than the entire silence from the moment before. Hatred was never hatred, not even when it was mock hatred. It was always that pending feeling of hidden lust that shied behind mockery and mindset. And it was fucking hot.

He didn't protest when you broke the kiss to pull his sweater over his head. He didn't care when you gripped his shoulder and pulled his hair with the other hand. All this time you'd spend pretending to be rivals was being released into the air in the means of pheromones and you were all he really wanted then, there, now.

It was becoming messier by the second as you pulled your tank top over your head and tossed it aside like you did his sweater. His hands of course travelled upward to where they needed to be. You'd thought him inexperienced, but perhaps you were wrong.

"I fucking hate you," you mumbled against his lips and tugging his hair, a grin playing on your lips as he reached to untie the strings of his pants. He looked up for a moment, his eyes were half-lidded but determined.

"I hate y-you too," he managed the same grin and pulled you back into that same kiss he performed so vehemently. Oh, he was a mess. Spencer Reid would be the death of you. His long fingers moved delicately over your body, leaving goosebumps over your chest and the feeling of ice trails on your hot skin. You wrapped your legs around him, keeping him trapped and close.

Your lips left his mouth, trailing down his cheek, then his jaw, below his jaw. His breath was sharp and your lips were teasing. He smelled good, too. If only you'd figured out things were supposed to be this way sooner...

Poor Doctor Reid's hands were so cold compared to your body. You let them explore as you continued to kiss and lightly bite his neck. It was your turn to ask the question of risk, "Do you want this, Reid?"

He nodded more than he needed to, kissing you properly again. "Yes." A solid, strict, and determined- yet lust-filled yes. It was signal enough. Kissing led to touching and more touching lead to breathing harder. You doubted Spencer Reid was a virgin at all with the way he knew exactly where to touch...

He didn't even bother taking you to the bed that was six feet away from the counter. He didn't care and neither did you and it took him a second to actually get going, but once he did, everything fell right into place. His touch was soft, but his hips rough. You were breathing hard as he went, doing everything perfectly with his perfect body and his perfect hair right back in his face. He looked like hell, but in the best possible way.

Spencer Reid was, in fact, the death of you. Everything was in haze- breathing, kissing, touches, thrusts, trying to be as quiet as you could but small whimpers slipped from your lips and occasionally noises from him. Your nails in his shoulder and on his back as he practically fell to pieces in front of you, coming undone the same way you did only seconds later. You had to physically cover your mouth to stay quiet.

The air became ten times hotter when he rested his head on your bare shoulder, not even bothering to pull out. He was there, you were there... you had just fucked the man who you had pretended was your enemy and god, was it good. You were surprised that this had happened at all, it was so unbelievably unguessed earlier. You just wanted to win and your loss came to a prize anyway.

He took a second to recover, then kissed your shoulder which was unexpected and oddly sweet. You thought it was rivalry sex to diffuse tension, but that wasn't how it felt to you anymore and... maybe not to him either. Spencer pulled out, discarding protection and cleaning himself up a little. No words were spoken now as he put his pyjama pants back on and you fixed yourself up too, slipping your legs into your loose pants and tank top back over your head.

You took a cup that was belonging to the hotel and filled it with water, then you slipped off the counter and handed it to Spencer. When he took it, he looked just like you probably had when he had kissed your shoulder. "Thank you." He said, blinking a few times. Were things awkward for him now? Was he expecting you to leave, now?

"I can go if you want me to, Spencer," you said, pointing back at the door. "If I've overstayed, I'm sorry."

"N-no-" he blurted, nearly spitting his water out. "No, you haven't overstayed, I like you here- I just... I don't know how good that was and my mind is kind of everywhere because it happened so quickly and it was all so-so-so unexpected and I... wow."

He ran a hand through his hair frantically, his fingers shaking a little. There were those butterflies again...

"Spencer, it was good. It was more than good, holy fuck." You assured him, stepping closer. He set down the cup of water. "You did so well, I can hardly-" Your shaking knee gave out at just the right time and he caught you by your hands before you hit the ground. "See?"

He was smiling that shy, crooked grin. Everything was ten times sweeter now and it seemed like maybe you didn't really need to pretend to hate him anymore. It's much easier to humiliate, degrade and just generally shit all over someone than it is to admit that you like them. But here you were, looking up at him.

"I told you, Dr.Reid, that somewhere deep down, you liked me."

"Coworkers at worst," he reminded you jokingly.

"You just fucked me nearly senseless, I don't think 'coworkers at worst' works on me anymore." You grinned, reaching up to tuck his hair behind his ears. "Just kiss me again, Dr.Reid."

He didn't even hesitate to take your face in his hands, kissing you sweetly, a little different than earlier. This time he wasn't entirely frenzied by the rush and need to touch and grasp and this time, there was meaning... there was diffusion... and it was loving.

The only real issue was that tomorrow, both of you had to face a team full of profilers who would take greatly accurate guesses as to why you and Spencer suddenly got along.

Tags: @laurakirsten0502

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itscomplicatedx · 3 years ago

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Thoughts on Loki Episode 2. In no particular order. Major spoilers ahead.

-Apparently some people and other language dubs are saying that Lady Loki is really Sylvie Lushton. Guess we’ll find out. Pretty disturbing if Loki can’t tell. Why would Sylvie want to destroy the TVA? Is she working for/with another Loki who doesn’t want to get his hands dirty? And how did she manage to fool everyone into thinking she’s a Loki? She also said it’s not about him at all-so if it is Sylvie-maybe he recognized her when she revealed herself?

-Loki brawl? Maybe?

-Why are Loki’s magic powers still getting nerfed-possibly by himself? Why was he so easily thrown around by an enchanted human?! Why didn’t he use magic to fight back? This is the guy that held his own with Captain America! Someone I talked to said that the enchantress/variant could’ve made the human stronger through magic. I guess so but that’s kind of a weak answer and I’m getting really tired of seeing him getting beat up all the time. Stop nerfing him!!!

-Pompeii! Loki speaking Latin! “Be free my horned friends (horned individuals stick together)!” 😁 That’s one of the things I love about him-that fun chaos quality. You can tell Tom’s having a ball.

-The whole apocalypse lapse in the TVA’s security is a major thing they easily missed. It didn’t take much for Loki to find it.

-The trick of enchanting/possessing people-how come our Loki has never done that before?? Cause the space lizards didn’t want him too? Or because she’s not really Lady Loki?

-How come no one but Renslayer has seen the time keepers? Are they real? Who is her other agent? Gugu Mbatha-Raw said there’s a major betrayal coming from Judge Renslayer.

-Damn-the possible Lady Loki variant really hates other Lokis. Though she did leave the time door open for him so I’m guessing she wanted him to follow. My guess is that they’re going to the ruins of Asgard. And she just created a shit load of new timelines.

-Loki is experiencing true free will for the first time in his life. If he seems a bit OOC sometimes, that’s a pretty good reason why.

-Quite ironic how they keep holding Loki responsible for everything but Renslayer literally says that he’s been “made evil” because the time keepers willed it so and he can’t change within the timeline unless they want him to. His decisions were made because some sadistic lizards decided to use him as a plot device to create so called heroes.

-Do you understand this peeps? He has NO free will in the original timeline. No one does. Outside the TVA people don’t have free will. It kind of makes the MCU universe seem pretty bland. There doesn’t really seem to be much of a point to decisions people make if it’s all preplanned.

-It’s extremely hypocritical how they keep holding him responsible for decisions he had no free will in making.

-Seems that that’s not the natural state of the universe- because otherwise we wouldn’t get so many variants. The time keepers are trying to force a false constant order on the universe and the universe is constantly fighting back because its natural state is chaos.

-What makes a variant able to somehow develop free will and slide off the predestined timeline?

-Does the original timeline keep running-the branch that Loki created was pruned, so does that mean that there’s another Loki there right now that is experiencing the original timeline? It’s confusing. Also, if the branch was pruned, where did Steve return the scepter to?

-Honestly, the first truly free decision that this Loki ever made was picking up the Tesseract. You can only really hold him responsible for everything he’s done since then.

-Seems Renslayer and Mobius have more freedom and agency than we thought. I think the higher up in the TVA you go, the more free will you have.

-The conversations between Loki and Mobius are fascinating and Tom and Owen do a great job of playing off of each other. Someone get Mobius a jet ski!

-So the time keepers are literally planning the end. Endless order. No wonder several Loki variants keep getting in there and messing it up. Endless order is boring.

-THE TVA IS NOT GOOD. At best, it is amorally neutral. At worst, it’s evil (though there are innocent people in it). How anyone can miss that when it’s so obvious is beyond me. See the kind of fascist dystopian posters they have (below) and the director of the show pretty much admitted they were based on a dystopian bureaucracy. Several people who have survived Soviet communism have mentioned that it reminds them of that time. Makes me think of a facist dystopia too. Basically strict authoritarianism-big brother is always watching. 1984 vibes

-Loki is not the villain. The Time Keepers are.

-So Earth really did itself in with the natural disasters and climate change. Wish I could say I’m surprised.

-Holding Out For A Hero was playing for possible Lady Loki beating up time cops and I am here for it. The implication is that she’s the hero-down with the TVA-burn it down Lokis!

-I’m still angry that any timeline where Loki and his family might’ve had a better life was pruned. Anywhere where people didn’t die for those stupid infinity stones was pruned. Anywhere where the snap didn’t happen was pruned.

-Loki calling the TVA out on literally vaporizing universes and people is great. They’re sick.

-The only cosmic mistake murderer people I see are the TVA. They are in no place to lecture anyone on anything.

-Casey! Poor Casey! Stop tormenting him Loki! You’re giving him anxiety. Though you were trying to be nice. 😁I think workers like Casey have some free will but they’re purposely kept ignorant just so they can do what they’re told to do. I want them to be spared.

-Some workers there really do seem to be pre-programmed-like the librarian who doesn’t respond unless you ring the bell! Which is really creepy.

-I hope the Lokis (or Loki and Sylvie?) team up. It’s kinda weird seeing other actors possibly playing Loki.

-Asking her to be your lieutenant Loki? Do you not know yourself at all? She’s either going to want to be equal with you or be in charge!!!

-Loki fooling with Miss Minutes 😁

-The Time Cops really do come off as sadistic assholes. I’m still trying to figure out how much agency they have and how responsible they are for their own actions. I don’t like the character B15 but I like Wunmi Mosaku very much. She did one hell of a good job playing a Loki variant. She got the cocky grin down well.

-I want to see more variants! Especially ones who look like Tom!

-Yeah Mobius Loki is really going to go back with you and the Time Cops running after him with melt sticks after you basically threatened him and told him if this mission doesn’t work out he’s in big trouble.

-Speaking of which-for a while now some Mobius stans have been anoning and harassing people who write about not liking the character on their own blogs. To me he’s a frenemy, although as of this episode he’s trending more toward enemy; though I do think that will change later. Some of y’all act like he’s this big angel who loves and cares for Loki but he literally admitted he’s using him and even said that he’d delete him if things didn’t go right. He’s fascinated by him and he wants him to catch the other Variant. Now it is possible he was just saying all that to get on Renslayer‘s good side but still-until we know more, we can’t really trust him; he’s not some therapist, or guardian angel, or canonical love interest (the head writer said their friendship is going to be like that between the two main characters in the movie “Catch Me If You Can”. Though obviously, feel free to ship). And really-an ice runt? Nice. I think both of his claimed “reasons“ for wanting Loki around are true but the sentimental one isn’t enough if the useful one doesn’t work out.

-Mobius believes in order and the sanctity of the TVA. I like Owen Wilson so I’m still hoping his character will turn against them but it’s going to be a majorly difficult turn. Do I want him to turn out to be a friend? Yeah. Do I think on some level he wants sympathizes with something broken in Loki? Yes. But that is a secondary motive that he will not put above the motive of his loyalty to the TVA. His loyalty is to the time keepers who made Loki who he is. No matter how fascinated he is with this Loki variant, if this Loki doesn’t do what the TVA wants Mobius will follow the TVA rules. His primary motive, at least for now, is using Loki. And now Loki has made him look bad. If you really like him, good for you. But stop telling those who don’t or those of us in the middle that we have to feel the same way. And that goes the other way too.

-Loki’s face when he saw that Asgard got destroyed. 🙁

-Is Lady Loki somehow the original Loki from the prime universe? Her basically implying to our Loki that really he’s an offshoot of her makes me wonder. Or could Loki prime’s soul somehow be in Sylvie’s body?

-She doesn’t want to rule the TVA-I think she wants to destroy it so that she can have free will and change her and everyone else’s fate. Also she’s resurrecting the multiverse-because I think that is the original natural state of the universe. I’m all for it.

-We saw at least 5 variations of Loki variants (Loki’s face seeing them was priceless). Seems Loki has a knack for stepping off the timeline. One of them was openly Jotun and another was a Hulk Loki! That’s the second time I’ve seen a Hulk Loki mentioned (AOA Loki mentioned him in the comics too). Can somebody please tell me where in the comics he came from?? I’ve looked but I can’t find any reference to a Hulk Loki in the past comics?

-I’d like to see a fight with Hulk Loki, Banner Loki, and B15.

-Loki is supposed to be a good tactician and I get that there’s supposed to be some humor; but why is it always being made to seem that he’s stupid and his schemes are obvious? Unless he’s doing that on purpose? I know he was just stalling at the Renaissance fair.

-Loki said he wouldn't treat himself like that. Physically, I think he’s right. Loki’s first impulse is usually to talk-not hit.

But that’s the thing Loki- you do treat yourself that way-figuratively. You act like you think you’re superior even to a possible other version of yourself; and you have no idea how to even talk to yourself. Of course he’s also experiencing free will for the first time in his life so things are complicated. But it’s pretty obvious that as much as they try to cover it up with arrogance, there’s a mutual loathing.

I have a hard time understanding how anyone who really thinks critically can think that the TVA is “good” after seeing these:

https://thelightofthingshopedfor.tumblr.com/post/653766380035899392/always-watching-zero-tolerance-nexus-events

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hellotherekenobi · 4 years ago

Text

─── would you say yes?

summary: younglings love to pull pranks and play matchmaker. when you’re called to assist obi-wan in the recent mission, a bit of both ends up taking place.

a/n: this contains mentions of injury.

ONESHOT. ⟶ 3,616 WORDS.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You turn around to face your class, your eyes scanning over the many faces of the younglings sitting cross-legged on the floor, and are expecting their wide eyes of interest to greet you. However, despite that being the expression on most of the faces, confusion littered the rest and even a yawn from one of the boys in the back row, who stretches his arms above his head as if you can’t notice him all the way back there.

You sigh, “Does that make sense?”

Most of the younglings nod at you, although some you can tell aren’t quite genuine. The rest remain still.

“Perhaps if I explain it this way—” you sit down in front of them, cross-legged too— “Imagine drawing something in the sand at a beach. What happens when a wave crashes onto the shore, onto what you just drew?”

“It gets washed away.” One youngling speaks out.

“Yes, exactly. And although the drawing you made fades away, there’s still an indent where you drew in the sand. That’s what it’s like.”

A collective ‘oh’ voices among the younglings and you nod at them, knowing that they now all understand. Although, even you can understand why it would be something difficult to process; memory loss. At their age, it would seem something so bizarre to happen to a person. It was even something bizarre to really teach them, considering that their training is more centered around the Code and their practice of the Force. But every student needs to learn the basics and this is where you come in— you have been assigned to teach the younglings more on life itself so that they are aware of the mundane and, well, the bizarre.

Suddenly a hand raises from the back row and you encourage them to speak, noticing that it is the same boy who had yawned before, “Um, but, if a Jedi loses their memory... can they ever get it back?”

“It depends on the situation. Some people who suffer from amnesia never regain their memory.”

“What?” The boy cries, looking desperately over at the rest of the younglings who sit around him, “You mean like Master Andar?”

What a fragile subject. Jedi Master Andar was one of the very best and he was a close friend of yours too but, sadly, he was critically wounded on a mission and didn’t get the medical attention he needed fast enough; thus, he now suffers from amnesia. It’s hard for him, you know how hard it is for him, you just wish his condition wasn’t so much a public spectacle or conversation topic, which he feels the same way about.

“Yes,” you say softly, “like Master Andar.”

“So it could happen to any Jedi?” One youngling asks.

“Yes—”

“Like Master Yoda?”

“Yes—”

“Like YOU?”

“Alright—” you wave your arms— “I think we’ve centered our focus on this subject long enough. The rest of the lesson will be spent meditating.”

Thank goodness for meditation. It was like nap time, the perfect excuse to quiet the younglings and give yourself a breather. Standing back up, you ask for the blinds to be closed and all of the younglings wiggle their way on the floormat to sit more comfortably, all closing their eyes... except one. You shoot him a raised brow and he gasps, screwing shut his eyes and starting to meditate like you had asked. You can’t help but shake your head with a smile on your face; you love these children. But you love silence just a little bit more and you were ready for just that for the next 20 minutes if it weren’t for a knock on the door.

“Master Kenobi!” Shouts one youngling, and now the others all repeat his name and jump up on their feet.

Well, no more silence. With a shake of your head, you sigh, “What can I help you with, Obi-Wan?”

He smiles, a breath of laughter rolling past his lips, “I’m here by request from the Council. May I speak to you privately?”

“Of course—” you spin back around to the younglings— “continue your meditation.”

They all collectively groan and you raise an eyebrow at their response. Telling them not to complain, they all sit back down on the floor and you walk over to Obi-Wan but turn back around just before you make it out of the door to point a finger at the youngling who had yawned at the start of your lesson and he sits back down after trying, and failing, to sneak out with your back turned.

Once outside, you let out a real sigh, “What’s so important that the Council sent you to my doorstep?”

“Well, I’m not sure you’re quite going to like this.” Obi-Wan smiles awkwardly, fingering his beard, “We have a very good lead on a Separatist working within the Outer Rim and we must act swiftly. However... we’re lacking in numbers.”

“Not me.” You shake your head, “Any of the clones can assist you. They're good soldiers.”

“I know they are but the Council asked for you.”

“Obi-Wan... I don’t do missions anymore. You of all people know that.”

Sadly, he does. It wasn’t as if your reason for becoming a Republic educator was a tight secret but, like Master Andar, it was a fragile subject. In so many words, the last mission you were on was difficult and afterward you had requested leave. The Council offered you the job of teacher as a substitute and you had taken their offer. But you’re not going to take this one.

“Ask someone else. There’s always someone else.”

“I don’t like this anymore than you do—” he takes a step forward— “but I wouldn’t be here unless I knew no one else can take your place.”

How many times are you going to sigh today because of somebody else? It’s not like you have much of a soft spot for the Jedi Council that would have you accepting this so suddenly. You really don’t want to do this.

“I said no.”

Obi-Wan nods, “Would you make an exception if you knew I would be by your side the whole time?”

“Are you trying to flatter me or trick me?” You ask with a smile.

“I could hardly trick someone as intelligent as you, and I don’t think you’d be too easy to persuade with the Force.”

Leaning in, you whisper, “Now are you trying to tease me?”

He copies you, “Would you say yes if I was?”

Before you can reply, a tiny hand tugging the fabric of your robes has you looking down at a youngling. She’s a cute girl, the youngest of your class.

“Can I have some water, please?” She asks, and it melts your heart.

“Of course.” You smile, then look at Obi-Wan, “Master Kenobi and I were finished talking, anyway.”

He gives you a smile that you know is laced with protest as you’re sure he doesn’t want to leave here empty-handed, in a sense.

“Are Jedi allowed to marry?” The young girl suddenly speaks.

You look down at her confusedly, “Why do you ask?”

“The boys... they were talking about how you and Master Kenobi talk like an ‘old married couple.’ Is it true?”

“Oh, my dear—”

“As flattering as that sounds, we still have a Code, dear one.” Obi-Wan talks over you, smiling gently at the girl, “How about I take you to get some water?”

She nods excitedly, reaching her hand out for Obi-Wan to take.

“Consider this a favor to return for you joining the mission.” He whispers beside you.

“My answer is still no.” You whisper back, and watch as he chuckles while he walks down the hallway with the girl’s hand linked in his.

A favor? That was hardly a favor. You’re putting your foot down about this whole thing, no matter what Obi-Wan does or says. And you’re about to put your foot down about certain topics of conversation as you walk back into the room with your eyes pinned down on the youngling boy you know started the ‘rumor’ about your marriage to Obi-Wan.

But just as you’re wrapped around the youngling’s fingers, you’re pretty wrapped around Obi-Wan’s as well. Damn him. So when you approach him the next day, you don’t have to say anything before he’s smiling and crossing his arms at his chest.

“Here to return the favor?” He stirs.

With a clearly obvious disgruntled chuckle, you smile synthetically at him, “Just this once, Obi-Wan.”

He accepts your answer, stepping to the side so that you can walk with him over to the hangar bay. He was going on this mission whether you were or not but it only dawns on you as you reach the jet that he had waited for you in the hall. That too-good Jedi knew you were coming. Once again, damn him.

“I trust you remember how to use this.” He says, handing you a lightsaber.

Taking the weapon from his grasp, you say, “I’m still perfectly equip, don’t worry.”

“With you by my side? I could never.”

You flash him a genuine smile this time but it fades just as fast as the jet rises from the ground. There’s a sudden weight in the pit of your stomach as you’re flying out, where a muffled buzzing nips at your ears. You’re scared. It definitely has been a long time since your last mission, even though you are equip, that wasn’t a lie, but your last mission was the reason you stopped. Before your anxieties can get too loud, Obi-Wan’s hand touches your shoulder and grounds you.

“It will be alright.” He says, “I won’t leave your side for a second. I promise you that.”

“Thank you.” You breathe out.

When the jet lands and you, Obi-Wan, and the Clone troopers aboard all file out, Obi-Wan sticks by your side like glue. He’s barely an inch apart from you, just like he promised. Unfortunately, it was a half promise— where you all are becomes the main point of attack and you’re ambushed. Kriffing hell, it’s a trap! And it looks like it was well thought of in advance, seeing as there are more attackers than you, Obi-Wan, and the Clone troopers combined. Things weren’t looking good, and this is where the promise Obi-Wan made was halved.

You all had to get to cover, otherwise no one was making it out of here alive, so Obi-Wan pushes you ahead of him. You are only separated from him for a moment when something flies over your head and lands on the ground in front of you. It was a grenade, one with prongs that stuck into the ground to prevent it from moving or being moved. Your chances of running from it without injury are slim but you know that those running behind you could dodge it by their distance. They just need a warning.

Spinning around, you raise a hand up and shout, “Obi-Wan!”

His feet skid to a stop from how blood-curdling your voice was, knowing that you were shouting at him to not come any closer, and then the grenade detonates; rattling the ground, knocking Obi-Wan and the Clones off of their feet, and your vision goes black.

For Obi-Wan, he sees your body drop and he swears his heart does the same. With eyes wide, he scrambles up on his feet to race across the distance to reach you. He turns your body over, his skin burning from the heat that radiates off of your robes, now all singed and black. Your eyes are closed, your face covered in blood from the force of hitting the ground, and Obi-Wan can feel the panic rising in his throat, threatening to scream out but it chokes on the smoke left over from the destruction of the grenade.

It’s a mad rush to pick you up off of the floor and run toward cover, cradling you in his arms. A transport jet arrives after far too long a wait in Obi-Wan’s opinion and he with the other Clones climb onboard. Immediately, Obi-Wan lays you down to asses your wounds— he can now see the severity of your injuries, them being a temple wound. You’ve hit your head hard and he’s getting no reaction from you, just a steady breathing, which, in a sense, is a good sign but also not a good sign; if you don’t wake up soon then— no, Obi-Wan doesn’t want to think about it.

As soon as the jet lands back on Coruscant, Obi-Wan is running toward the Medbay with you in his arms and asking for immediate medical attention. A nurse leads him over to a vacant bed and he places you down on it as gently as possible, getting pushed back slightly when another nurse races over to assist. It’s only when Obi-Wan steps back does he realize that his hands are shaking. He barely hears the nurse telling him to leave the room before he even registers that his feet are moving; every step feels heavy, each new one thumping loud but hollow at the same time in his ears.

Why did he leave you? Why did he break his promise? He said he wouldn’t leave your side for a second but he did, and now you’re... well, he doesn’t know if you’re going to be alright. Especially when he returns to the Medbay that same evening, asking for a status report and hearing back that your breathing is steady, yet you still haven’t woken up. So he comes again the next morning, then that same afternoon, and Anakin is waiting for him at the door that evening to place a comforting hand on his master’s shoulder. But your eyes stay closed.

Eventually, on the third day, Obi-Wan gets a call on his comlink that you’re awake and he races over to the Medbay to see all of the younglings you’ve taught already there, some on their tip-toes to peer over the half wall where you’re laying in bed, looking at the nurse who is currently talking to you. Obi-Wan’s chest feels tight from exhaustion— he did just run from one end of the Jedi Temple all the way over to the Medbay— and he takes a deep breath, combing his fingers through his hair and stepping beside the younglings. They all look up at him and smile, some calling his name. He returns the sentiment and then it’s the nurse who calls his name next, gesturing for him to come closer.

He takes one step and the younglings take two, all of them flooding into the room you’re in. Two boys push past and put their hands on the side of the bed, saying, “You’re awake! We’ve missed you!” but the chuckle they expect to hear from you is replaced by silence. You just sit there and stare at them, something acting like a smile faded on the corners of your mouth.

“Are you feeling OK?” One youngling asks.

Before you can nod, another youngling says, “Of course she’s OK! Master Kenobi is here.”

Finally a smile forms on your face when all of the younglings giggle, and one boy decides to push it just a little bit further and say, “He saved your life, didn’t he, Mrs. Kenobi?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head, ready to tell everyone to give you some space to breathe, but your soft voice has him stilling, “Mrs. Kenobi? How did we manage that?”

“What?” He asks.

“Well, we’re Jedi, aren’t we? Yes, we are, I’m sure. Unless we married before the Order? I’m sorry, I— I’m having trouble remembering.”

Obi-Wan.exe has stopped working. He looks over at the nurse, “Her head?”

“It’s a little foggy.” The nurse replies, not wanting to look at the younglings when she says the words.

“Wait,” the same youngling boy speaks, “I was just playing around, I didn’t think that she—” he spins to look at you— “Do you have amnesia!?”

Chaos. Suddenly, the younglings are wailing and crying, becoming more and more clamorous as they ask the nurses a million and one questions, some even asking Obi-Wan. He can see your wide eyes and confused expression through the sea of screaming younglings and calls out for them to lower their voices and, for Maker’s sake, to keep calm.

When they do ease their volume, Obi-Wan says, “I think she just needs some rest. Come now, your training hasn’t stopped. Master Windu is teaching you all today.” and when some argue, he emphases, “We wouldn’t want to keep him waiting.”

The younglings seem frightened for a moment before scrambling about, thanking Obi-Wan for reminding them and saying goodbye to you, who is still sitting there absolutely puzzled, before they all rush out of the Medbay. The young boy who had made the marriage joke, however, reaches over to poke Obi-Wan in the leg, looking up at him with guilty eyes.

“It’s not your fault.” Obi-Wan says, kneeling down to his level.

“But what if she never remembers? Like Master Andar?”

Obi-Wan places a hand on the boy’s shoulder, “Time will tell.”

“You’re worried too, aren’t you?” When Obi-Wan doesn’t reply, the boy caringly places his hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, just like he had done before, “Trust in the Force.”

With a smile, Obi-Wan pats the boy’s arm and he runs after the rest of the younglings. Your eyes are on him as he stands and he looks over at the nurse, “Could I speak to her for a moment?”

“Take as much time as you need.”

The nurse walks out of the room, leaving you and Obi-Wan alone. And you just keep staring at him. You know him, of course you do, it would take more than a grenade blast to wipe Obi-Wan Kenobi from your mind but... husband?

“I can tell you have questions—” Obi-Wan steps beside the bed— “and I’ll do my best to answer them. First and foremost, um... we’re not... married.”

“Oh,” the word sounds so sad from your lips.

“It was just a practical joke. The youngling boy, he— he does that a lot.”

“Yes, I... I remember him being like that.”

Silence.

“We’re not even... together?”

“Oh, um, well,” why is he so flustered? “No, we’re... not.” Obi-Wan takes a breath to calm himself, “How far back do you remember?”

“Well, I’m not sure.”

Right, of course you don’t know. Stupid question, Obi-Wan!

“The last thing I remember is leaving the jet, where you told me you would stay by my side.”

Great. Just throw that at him. Obi-Wan sighs, sitting down on the space of the bed where your legs aren’t, “Yes, that. I, um, I didn’t exactly keep my promise. I told you to go on ahead of me and that’s when...”

“The grenade went off.” You finish for him. He nods. His face is all clenched; eyebrows furrowed, lips in a tight line. He’s upset. Reaching over, you place your hand on top of his, “You’re not to blame for this, Obi-Wan. You understand that?”

“But you got hurt, after I promised you that everything would be alright.”

“Everything is alright. I’m still breathing. I just... have a bit of thinking to do.”

“Well, I can ease your worries, you haven’t forgotten much.”

“Yes, the nurse told me I’ve been out for a few days.”

“Three.” Obi-Wan says. You raise an eyebrow at him and he blushes, “I... I came by whenever I could to make sure that you were alright.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, “and those?”

Looking over his shoulder to see the flowers on the table adjacent to the bed, you see Obi-Wan turn even redder, “Ah, yes, well, you see, I thought they would be nice to wake up to if I wasn’t already here...”

“And somehow they’re my favorite kind?” Yep. He’s red. “And, if I’m remembering correctly, I’ve never told you my favorite flowers before...”

When you find yourself beside a silent Jedi, you squeeze his hand, “Obi-Wan—”

“I should be going,” he talks over you, standing on his feet, “I’m glad you’re alright. Call me if you need anything.”

Obi-Wan turns on his heel but before he even reaches the doorway his comlink beeps, and he looks down at it to see that you’re the one that called him. Turning around with a faded smile on his face, he sees you; comlink in hand.

“I’m not alright at all.” You start but the pause you take is agonizingly long to Obi-Wan, “I would have liked being your wife.”

His heart is racing faster than he believes it ever has before, even in the heat of battle. He’s stumbling on sentences in his head, tripping over risky words and broken promises. There’s a vein of hope pounding against his heart and he wants to steady it, calm it, and tell it to slow down before it gets over its head but it’s too late; he wants to tell you what he shouldn’t.

The corner of Obi-Wan’s mouth turns up, “And I, your husband, but we still have a Code to follow.”

“Of course.” You say, “It still would have been nice.”

You both stay in that moment, pretending. Maybe if things were different, maybe if you both weren’t so scared, then maybe it could be possible. For now, it’s just a dream— one you both sleep on that night and rethink the next morning, and just like he had waited for you in the hall for the mission so many days earlier, Obi-Wan is already at your door with that glowing smile, a promise between his fingertips, and saying, “To return the favor of saving your life?”

tags: @marvelinsanity @immoral-rose @inukako @penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories @alwayssleepingforreal @bloodybunnyuwu @nagitokomaeda-onthe-nintendo-ds @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @princessxkenobi @mythandmagik @i-cant-hear-you16 @holdurhuxbby

#obi-wan kenobi #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi imagine #obi-wan kenobi imagines #obi-wan #obi-wan fanfic #obi-wan fanfiction #obi-wan imagine #obi-wan imagines #obi-wan x reader #star wars #star wars imagines #star wars imagine #star wars prequels #ewan mcgregor #oneshot

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refinedbuffoonery · 4 years ago

Text

Looking Through A Window (2)

macriley married undercover au

masterlist.

Oh man. My dudes. I received so much love and support and excited feedback on the first chapter that I thought my heart was going to explode. Y’all are so wonderful. Keep it up. <3

*****

Luckily, Matty lets them take the Phoenix jet to Houston. Flying commercial would make today even more tortuous than it already promises to be, albeit for a different reason.

No matter how hard he tries to distract himself, Mac cannot stop staring at the diamond ring on Riley’s finger. The princess cut gem is stunning and ridiculously large, but it suits her cover as a lucrative arms dealer. A white gold wedding band sits below it. Riley left her usual assortment of rings at home, and Mac can’t help but think her long, delicate fingers look bare without them.

He tears his eyes away from the rings again and again, both on the plane and while driving to the safe house. Riley drives with just her left hand, her right elbow resting on the center console. Mac likes driving, but there’s something relaxing about riding shotgun while Riley drives instead. He’s never been able to put a finger on it, but the sense of ease washes over him all the same. Admiring the way sunlight illuminates her engagement ring is simply a bonus.

He doesn’t let himself imagine what he might give her, in an alternate future where she reciprocates his feelings and one day wants to marry him.

Harley obediently lays in the backseat, staring out the windshield. She's been on her best behavior the entire twenty four hours Mac's known her, ever the professional.

Which puts her completely at odds with Mac and Riley's shenanigans—cracking jokes, dancing on the plane and in the car, doing purposefully bad impersonations of Russ. These are the best parts of going on ops alone with Riley. They can let loose in a way they just couldn’t when anyone else other than Bozer was around. Everyone else is professional all the time; Mac and Riley are only professional when they have to be.

Riley taps the steering wheel in time to the classic rock song on the radio. “What do you want for dinner?”

“Dinner? We haven’t even had lunch yet!”

“True.” Riley chuckles. “Can you tell I’m hungry?”

Mac gives her a sly look. “Not at all.”

They settle on Texas barbecue for lunch on their way to the safe house, because that’s what Jack would choose if he was here. If only the old man could see them now, all grown up and getting sent to take down terrorists unsupervised.

Seated in a booth in the far corner of the restaurant, Mac raises his brisket sandwich in a toast to Jack, in whatever afterlife he found himself in. Hopefully it’s the one with an endless supply of good barbecue.

“Oh man, Jack would’ve loved this,” Riley says through a mouthful of food. She sneaks Harley a piece of brisket.

Mac smiles. “Yeah, he would’ve.”

It’s easier, now, to talk about him. At first, Mac hadn’t been sure he could ever get to a point where talking about Jack didn’t make him want to hit something or just curl up and sob.

But here he is, on the other side. Him and Riley both.

Their safe house is another twenty minutes away from the restaurant, in a nice neighborhood full of trees and children playing on the sidewalks. It’s so much greener than a California neighborhood could ever dream of being. There’s even a park across the street from their apartment complex. It’s exactly the sort of place a young, affluent couple would want to live.

Riley parks in their designated space, and the pair ascend the stairs to apartment number 202. Outside of the car, they don’t dare use each other’s real names until they’re sure the apartment is free of bugs. The place was furnished earlier that week by other Phoenix agents, but Mac and Riley do a thorough sweep of every room just in case.

It’s a nice apartment. Wood flooring, granite countertops, matching cabinets throughout. There are pictures on the walls, but Mac doesn’t bother to stop and check what they are.

Riley clears the space from back to front, so Mac does the opposite. He clears the kitchen first, frowning at the absence of any sort of food, before moving on to the living room.

Mac stops dead in his tracks when he enters the bedroom. The singular bedroom. With a singular, queen-sized bed.

Oh no. This is not happening.

Mac shakes his head and rubs his eyes, hoping his mind is just playing tricks on him and that there’s actually two beds. Or a whole other room he missed before.

The one and only bed seems to mock him.

He walks back out, finding Riley already sitting at the kitchen table, turning on her laptop. “Uhh, Riles? There’s only—”

“One bed,” she finishes, not bothering to look up. “I know.”

Oh god. He can’t do this. He can’t. Not with his dignity still intact. Mac stammers, “I’ll, uhh, sleep on the couch. You can have it.”

That gets Riley’s attention. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re going to be here for weeks. You’ll hurt your back sleeping on the couch that long. Just sleep with me.” Riley’s eyes widen as she realizes what she just said. “In the bed,” she quickly adds.

Mac ducks his head to hide his blush.

“What are you working on?” he asks in a feeble attempt to distract himself from their sleeping situation. Because it will definitely be a situation if Mac’s not careful.

“Connecting to the Wi-Fi,” Riley says in a slow, “What else would I be doing?” sort of way.

“Right.” Mac silently curses himself. Of course that’s what she’s doing. “Anyway, I’m assuming you already know this, since you probably opened the fridge too, but we have no food.”

“I saw.” She’s multitasking again, manicured fingers flying faster across her keyboard than Mac can keep track of. “Why don’t you unload our bags while I finish this, and then we can go.”

Unable to help feeling like he’s been dismissed, Mac complies without protest.

Soon they’re back in the car, headed to the grocery store, and the whole thing feels ridiculously domestic. Mac’s never been a fan of grocery shopping, but Riley makes it almost...fun. For starters, she’s not methodical about it the way Bozer and Desi are. But more than that, getting to spend time with her doing mundane, non-work stuff is a nice reminder that their relationship is more than just the job. They’re friends too.

Mac wishes there is a way to tell her all that without it sounding weird.

They come home, unload the groceries, and take Harley for a long walk, and that feels easy too. It feels normal, even though literally nothing about this situation is normal, and Mac already knows he’ll miss this when the op is over.

But normalcy ends when Riley beckons Mac to sit beside her at the kitchen table, and together they write an advertisement for their arms dealing business. Once they’re satisfied with it, Riley sends it off into the dark web, and there’s nothing to do but wait, like a spider after spinning her web.

The waiting is the worst part.

Mac is contemplating taking Harley for a second walk when Riley asks, “Want to help me make dinner?” He takes one look at her hands on her hips and the “you don’t actually have a choice” look on her face and knows he’ll be left to fend for himself if he doesn’t help now. Mac learned that the hard way back when he and Riley lived together.

“Sure.”

They work in comfortable silence. Mac chops vegetables and grates cheese for their quesadillas while Riley does the actual cooking part. Even though they are doing separate tasks, Mac is acutely aware of every move Riley makes, no matter how insignificant. Flexing her long, thin fingers around a knife. Itching the back of her calf with her foot. Dancing in place, spatula in hand, while she waits to flip the quesadillas sizzling in the pan.

Mac smiles softly. Her random little dances are cute. He’s noticed them more and more since realizing he has feelings for her, but if Mac is being honest, he’s always thought the dances are cute.

Riley hisses as she peeks under the tortilla, checking to see if it’s browned yet.

“You good?” Mac asks, frowning.

“Yeah, I touched the pan by accident.” Riley runs her thumb under cold water.

Her laptop dings while they eat. Wide-eyed, Mac glances at Riley. That was fast. She grimaces before sliding the laptop closer and checking the notification.

“Is it them?” he asks tentatively. That’s the hard part about this; in order for their business to look more legit, they had to just put an ad out and hope for a response, rather than target the terrorist organization directly.

Riley exhales. “No, it’s not them. It’s someone else.”

Swallowing another bite of quesadilla, Mac says, “I don’t know whether I’m relieved or if that’s worse.”

“Same.”

There are no more responses that night.

*****

Mac wakes up in the same position he fell asleep in—on his side, facing outward, with as much space between him and Riley as possible. When they crawled into bed the night before, Riley did the same.

Harley spent the night on the couch.

She’s a very guarded dog, Mac is slowly realizing. Tolerating, but not trusting. Mac supposes he would be like that too if he was a dog and he got stuck with a bunch of strangers after his human suddenly disappeared one day.

He makes coffee, feeds Harley breakfast, and takes a shower, all before Riley loses her battle with the snooze button and finally gets out of bed. While she showers, Mac takes Harley for a walk in hopes that the cool, spring air will ease the anxiety that took root the moment Riley released their ad into the void.

It doesn’t.

Dark, puffy clouds loom on the horizon, and the few birds Mac hears shriek at each other in warning. It looks like a storm is coming.

When Mac returns, he’s met with a grim expression, one he understands without Riley uttering a single word. “They answered,” she confirms.

“What did they say?” Unclipping Harley’s leash, Mac moves to stand behind Riley, resting his hands on the back of her chair. The scent of her shampoo tickles his nose, and he forces himself to ignore it and focus on what Riley’s saying.

“They want to meet. Today.”

“Time or place?”

Riley points at a small box on her screen. “Just an address.”

“What’s there?”

“A warehouse,” Riley says. “Owned by the same shell corporation other Phoenix techs already tied to the organization.”

“Not very clandestine, are they?”

“No, they’re not.” Riley looks up at him, her head bumping his sternum, and butterflies ricochet inside Mac’s rib cage. There’s something soft in Riley’s expression that makes Mac want to kiss her. “Are you ready for this?”

Mac sighs. “As ready as I ever am. Are you?”

“Yeah,” she says, but her confidence falters. Without thinking, Mac squeezes her shoulders in reassurance before walking away to change.

*****

The warehouse is located on the edge of the city, in an industrial area that has certainly seen better days. Even from a distance, Mac can see cobwebs decorating the warehouse windows and rust creeping up the roller doors. Aside from Riley, there’s not another soul in sight.

As per the directions the organization sent after Riley confirmed the meeting, Mac parks on the south side of the building, near the only functional-looking door. He doesn’t look at Riley as they get out of the car, instead desperately trying not to cringe at the cold, heavy weight of the gun holstered at his side, hidden beneath his jacket.

High-end arms dealers couldn’t walk around unarmed, unfortunately.

Although her hands are occupied with holding Harley’s leash, there’s a gun hidden beneath Riley’s suit jacket as well. Mac’s stomach churns. The second Riley emerged from their bedroom earlier wearing that jet black suit, she was a different person. She was wholly Genevieve Turner, and no matter how hard Mac tried, he couldn’t find even a single trace of his best friend beneath the icy exterior.

Locking their SUV, Mac smooths the lapels of his own black suit and slips into character as well.

The dark clouds Mac noticed earlier are directly overhead now. Mac has never believed in omens the way Jack did, but he can’t help hearing Jack’s voice in his head, warning him that black clouds are a sign of certain doom. Or something like that.

There’s no one inside the warehouse, at least as far as Mac can see. “Hello?” he calls, the word echoing slightly in the open space. Aside from a few random wooden crates, the room is empty.

A door slams, and then an older man comes into view. He’s probably in his late fifties, with graying hair and a beer belly his shirt doesn’t quite cover. The man swaggers like he owns the place, although Mac doubts the leader of a terrorist cell would deign to play tour guide.

No doubt there’s a quip on the edge of Riley’s tongue about entitled white men, but she doesn’t share it.

The man extends a hand to Mac in introduction. “Conrad.” His sneer doesn’t reach his eyes.

Mac frowns, keeping his hands at his sides. “Last name?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

What he’s about to say might screw everything up before it even starts, but Mac says it anyway. In his gut, he knows it’s the right call. “If it doesn’t matter, then we’re done here. My wife and I have no interest in entering a business relationship with someone too inexperienced to understand that trust is integral to any transaction.” Mac spins on his heel and strides toward the door, Riley falling into step beside him.

“Wait!” the man calls. They pause, turning around slowly. “Deacon. Conrad Deacon.” The man seems to know he’s already lost. Good. “Welcome to the cause.” He gestures for Mac and Riley to follow him.

Mac stands his ground. In his peripheral, Riley stands utterly still, the perfect mask of cool, collected neutrality. Almost bored, even. It’s scary how easily she becomes her cover.

“Come on now,” Conrad says, taking a single step forward. “We have much to discuss.”

That’s enough of the power play, Mac thinks, but just as he’s about to give in and follow Conrad, Riley utters a single, sharp command that rings through the room. “Sit.”

Harley obeys.

Riley’s lips curve in a cruel, taunting smile. “Then enlighten us.” Mac suppresses a shiver; he’s seen this side of Riley plenty of times before, watched her hone it over the years, but it’s still unnerving. Admittedly, it’s also kind of hot.

Conrad ignores her entirely. He croons, “Why don’t we start with your names?” It’s phrased like a question. It sounds like a question, but Mac sees the demand for what it really is.

Mac gestures to Riley. “This is my wife, Genevieve Turner. And my name is James.” His father’s name tastes like ash on Mac’s tongue.

“And the dog?”

“Killer,” Riley sneers. Mac isn’t sure if she’s kidding or not.

Again, Conrad doesn’t acknowledge her. “James, why don’t I give you the tour and explain what we do here.”

“We’ll go on the tour, but we are not here to join your cause.” It takes every ounce of Mac’s willpower to maintain his neutral tone. “All we care about is what you’d like us to provide and how much you’ll pay for it.”

Conrad doesn’t hide his displeasure. “Fine. Follow me.”

Mac and Riley are led through the open warehouse. The layout is straightforward and nearly impossible to get lost in. But after Conrad shows them a room full of rifles—countless hung on the walls, floor to ceiling, the rest in half-open crates—Mac finds himself counting the number of wooden shipping crates scattered around the building.

He doesn’t like his final number.

Arming terrorists doesn’t sit well with Mac, even if it serves a purpose. It makes him sick, knowing he will likely be indirectly responsible for their next attack.

Especially because those crates are no doubt full of the kind of rifles designed to kill people most effectively. The ones hanging on the wall are military grade, probably cutting-edge. Desi would know exactly what they are and how they work.

Trusting Riley is paying close attention, Mac only half listens to Conrad babble about the cause. But then the older man says something that stops Mac in his tracks. “Our country is being run into the ground by whiny do-nothings,” Conrad asserts, “who waste our money and spew garbage that some people matter more than others. Well, you know what? Hardworking, everyday Americans matter. But no,” he scoffs, “those damn liberals don’t like it when we remind them of the truth. Once we’re rid of them and the insufferables who elected them, this country will be better off.”

The ground sways under Mac’s feet. He knows these people believe this, read it in Matty’s extensive briefing notes. But it’s another thing entirely to hear someone say it to his face.

He can only imagine what Riley must be thinking.

Clearing his throat, Mac tries to redirect the conversation. “Like I said, we don’t care about your cause. Just tell us what you’re looking for, and we’ll be on our way.”

Conrad eyes him suspiciously, but complies. “We’re looking for something a little more than what you can get at the store, you know?”

Mac doesn’t, not exactly. He’ll have to ask Desi later. “I do,” he lies.

“Good. Here’s what we’re willing to pay for it.” He hands Mac a folded piece of paper, and Mac does a double take when he reads the number. There are a lot of zeroes. “And as a show of good faith, we’d like it delivered tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Riley splutters. Mac feels it then, the broiling rage slipping through a crack in her persona. He needs to get her out of there. Now. Not just to preserve the op, but for Riley’s wellbeing. Some audacity Matty has making Riley play nice with men like this.

Mac slides his hands into his pockets, using the movement as a cover to brush his knuckles against Riley’s fist. I know. I’m here. I’m sorry.

For the first time, Conrad addresses Riley directly. “Yes. Tomorrow. Unless that’s something you can’t do?”

“We can do that,” she replies calmly, and the difference between her reactions is like night and day. As quickly as that crack appeared, it was gone.

“Excellent.” Conrad takes another step toward Riley, offering to shake hands, but Harley’s low, menacing growl keeps him at bay. Rewarding the dog with a quick scratch on the head, Riley closes the gap and shakes Conrad’s still-outstretched hand.

“It’s a deal,” she says. Following suit, Mac shakes Conrad’s hand as well and follows Riley out the door, neither of them uttering another word.

Mac drives. One look at Riley’s trembling fist decides for him.

By the time the warehouse disappears from the rearview mirror, he can’t take the silence anymore. “Hey,” Mac starts, but Riley cuts him off with a hand.

“Not until we’re inside.”

They hit every single red light between the warehouse and the apartment, and Mac anxiously taps the steering wheel. Raindrops land on the windshield. They’re small at first, but soon the drops are large and numerous enough to refract the streetlights, and Mac struggles to see where he’s going. He adjusts the windshield wipers over and over, never landing on the right speed.

Too slow. Too fast. Too slow. Too fast.

Mac settles on a setting that’s slightly too fast, and the squeak of rubber on glass nearly matches his heart thudding in his chest.

Riley stares straight ahead, unmoving, unblinking. Mac wants to reach out, to let a gentle touch say what he verbally can’t, but the road is slick enough to make him keep two hands on the wheel. We’re almost there, he reassures himself.

By the time he parks, it’s pouring hard enough that the ten second walk from the car to the door soaks them to the bone. Riley’s hands shake as she unlocks the apartment door.

Once they’re inside and Mac unclips Harley’s leash, Riley turns to him with pained, pleading eyes. His heart breaking all over again, Mac draws her in for a long, tight hug. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to.

Mac just cradles the back of her head and sways gently, wishing he could fix the world for her.

Neither pulls away, even when Riley suddenly says, “If Conrad was smart, he would’ve had someone bug our car while he paraded us around the warehouse. I don’t think he’s actually smart enough to do that, but we should check first, just in case.”

Mac curses himself for not thinking of that. “Good call.” He rubs Riley’s back, hoping the gesture is soothing. “I hate the way he treated you,” he snarls. “Like you weren’t even worth acknowledging.”

“Welcome to being a woman.”

It was more than that. They both know it. But neither say it.

*****

“You need what?” Matty shrieks over the phone.

Mac winces. “Sorry.” He’d called Desi first, to ask what kind of guns Conrad meant with his innuendo, and received a verbal lashing for not asking any follow-up questions. But she made her best guess anyway. Now on the phone with Matty, it doesn’t take even a single brain cell to know that her reaction will be much, much worse.

“He wants us to prove ourselves,” Riley adds. “As a show of good faith.” The words come out dripping in venom, but their boss doesn’t comment. Mac takes a second to study her; Riley changed into leggings and an oversized flannel shirt, and there are still remnants of dark makeup smudges under her eyes. Now, she’s sitting on the kitchen counter with her knees tucked into her chest. It’s weird to see her take up so little space.

Matty sighs, deeply and loudly in a way conveys her annoyance more than words ever could. “Fine. A few weeks ago, Border Control confiscated a huge shipment of smuggled guns near El Paso, so I’ll see if we can borrow those. But next time, Blondie, don’t make promises you can’t keep.” He doesn’t correct Matty in that it was Riley who made the deal. That would only add fuel to the fire.

“Thank you,” he says, and Matty hangs up. Mac runs a hand through his damp hair. “That went well.” Riley’s lips twitch, but it’s not the amused reaction he hopes for. He’s at a complete loss regarding what to say to her, so Mac gently asks, “What can I do?”

Riley slides off the counter, and Mac reaches for her automatically, although he doesn’t actually touch her; his hand hovers just beside Riley’s elbow. She doesn’t shrink away, but she makes no move to touch him either.

“Help me put him and everyone like him in a deep, dark hole where they can’t hurt anybody. And then just…” she trails off, taking a deep breath. “Keep being you.”

With that, she walks away, leaving Mac alone in the kitchen, racking his brain to figure out what that last part means.

*****

Later that night, Mac tosses and turns, replaying Conrad’s words. Once we’re rid of them and the insufferables who elected them, this country will be better off. They seem off-kilter, like what the man said and what he really meant are misaligned. Mac sighs, rubbing his face.

Another bolt of lightning illuminates the bedroom, and Mac automatically counts the seconds until he hears thunder rumbling in the distance. The storm is moving closer.

Beside him, Riley lies on her back with her eyes closed, although her breathing is too light for her to be asleep. Mac wonders if her mind is just as loud and chaotic as his.

For Riley’s sake, he hopes it’s not.

*****

Sleep never finds Mac.

The storm rages all through the night, but by the time dawn arrives, the thunder and wind dissipate, leaving just the steady downpour. The clouds are dark enough that Mac can hardly tell the sun even bothered to rise this morning.

When Riley’s alarm goes off, it’s like the shrill tone is mocking Mac for being awake. Riley groans as she shuts it off.

“Morning,” he mumbles. His throat hurts. He needs water. “Did you sleep well?”

Another groan. “No.”

“At least you slept,” Mac mutters.

Riley rolls onto her side, drawing one of the extra pillows into her chest. “Do you always toss and turn that much?”

It was his fault, he realizes, that she didn’t sleep. Mac suddenly feels guilty. “Sorry. And no.”

He expects Riley to be upset at being kept awake, but she isn’t. With a look that just might be understanding, she softly asks, “What were you thinking about?”

Mac can’t say that his thoughts whip around his mind like raindrops in last night’s storm. Not without sounding crazy, at least. So instead he says, “I don’t even know. I just have a bad feeling about this.”

“Me too,” Riley admits. “It feels off.” Her eyes are heavy, and Mac’s had enough early mornings with Riley to know it’s not just the lack of sleep weighing her down.

“Go back to sleep. I can handle the delivery.”

Riley rolls her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not letting you do that by yourself.”

He doesn’t argue. “Okay.”

A moment passes between them. It’s been happening more and more lately—holding eye contact a little too long, sharing smirks when no one else is looking, stealing moments where it’s just the two of them and nothing else matters. Each one gives him hope that there’s not a wall between them, but instead, a door. Someone just has to be brave enough to open it.

Sitting up, Riley quipps, “Just don’t make me regret letting you sleep in the bed with me.” Mac snorts.

“No promises.”

~ Tag List ~ Want to be added? Send me an ask.

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#beth writes #macriley #macgyver #macgyver fanfiction #angus macgyver #riley davis #looking through a window au

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ghost1643 · 3 years ago

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Saiki K corpse bride au

So before we start let me tell you this is a non ship fic for Saiki. It's more like a revival short story about friendship more than romantic relationship.

It is also based off an old AU idea I had of necromancer Shun.

It also works with trans Saiki, which is canon.

~~~~~~💍~~~~~~~

Our story starts when Shun is 8 and the family dog runs out into the road. He doesn't know how when he stops to think about it. He just remembers his baby brother and dog going out to play, then popping his head out to seeing the car hit it.

His brother screams running to their mother leaving Shun to go pick up the poor thing. He slowly takes them into his arms sniffling as he wraps their tiny body up with his own coat to keep his brother from being scared for life.

Shun then sits on the lawn sniffling cradling the dog in his arms. Yet, as he mourns he finds he cut himself on something. Maybe it was the dog's claw. Maybe it was on the road. All he knows it's that his blood dropped on the dogs nose...and suddenly he could feel it's body shifting.

The dogs body shifted back to the way it was before and it wide awake. Just like that he preforms his only revival as his mother comes rushing out. Thankfully when the dog is brought back, sure with a broken leg, but he brought him back. He brought back their dog.

A dog that lived for another 5 years until turning 15 and dying peacefully in its sleep.

He's also revived bugs before. Right after this he found a smushed butterfly and got curious if maybe his dog wasn't really dead...maybe it was just his mind playing tricks on him.

So he pricks his finger and drops some of his blood on the smushed butterfly. The butterfly pops back into its lively form, flying off. He's resurrected a butterfly.

And from there he starts to convince himself that he's the jet black wing, just like in the manga. He's determined to prove that he's got this power for a reason. He has to have them for a reason.

....which comes back to bite him in the butt one day in high school.

~~~~~~~~~💍~~~~~~

So to put it simply ...shun messed up. Let's just say that.

To be honest he should have thought this through more. All he knew was that his friends asked him to come to a Halloween party, and he was determined to prove he was the jet black wing once there. They had been joking about the powers he had told them he had.

"No Shin I can get most of it. Like the magic hand thing I could see how that pops into your head." Aren sighs looking at him. Shun blushed looking down at the campfire as his few friends talked around him about him.

"Yeah, and we can see how you got the whole magic bought thing.." Chisato says leaning back holding a drink in her hand.

"Look I can do the stu-

"We're not saying you can't we just go a big question.Like how did you get necromancy out of it?" Nedō asks looking genuinely curious.

"What do you mean? I've done it before."

"Suuuuureee you have." Aren sighs.

"No I mean it! My brothers dog go hit by a car and I brought him back! And I brought bugs back before! I mean it!" Shun says determined, mainly cause this is on the one thing he knows he can do. He has done it before. It's the one thing that's made him determined to prove he's special.

"We know it's just kinda hard to believe."

"Oh and Reita talking to ghost is easier to believe!" Shun blurts out glaring at the purple haired boy.

"Yeah well I don't claim to be able to bring them back!"

By now other students are seeing the argument and have stopped to watch.

"Look we aren't-"

"NO, NO I am sick of being to butt of the joke! I will prove it to you! I will revive something for you guys! Name anything! Name a single dead thing and I will revive it!" He yells determined to prove himself. He's done with this all. He's gonna prove he's special and not a liar.

"Shun you don't have to. We just wanna know where the idea came from." Aren sighs holding his hand trying to be supportive. To him this is just his friend trying to find a way to explain why he was so ignored as a child.

"No I'll do it! Name one thing! One thing an I will bring it back!"

"Oh we could send him the the corpse forest!" Saiko suggested from the watching crowd. Everyone just looks seeming pale.

You see the corpse forest is an old forest where people have said to been buried after being murdered for years. So they are told not to go there under any circumstance. Like at all.

So yeah, Shun goes with his friends to the forest to prove he cane revive a body. From here things are gonna spiral.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~💍~~~~~~~~~~

Once in the forest the classmates keep looking for a dead thing. And for once they find nothing but a creepy forest.

After a while they go to give up when they find a branch that Nendo is certain is a hand. Yet, to everyone else it looks like an old withered branch. It looks like it has been through hell and is ready to give out. Not to mention Reita hasn't seen a single ghost here so this isn't a dead person.

Regardless of this they have Shun probe his powers. They have him prick his finger on a rock and have a drop of his blood fall onto the corpse. Fro there they wait...some classmates to tell jokes and his friends to be there for emotional support when it doesn't work again.

So they wait

And wait

And wait.

Nothing happens so the jokes dusty coming from the classmates. Ones about the powerful jet black and his skills. Ones that make him tear up a bit, quickly rubbing his eyes getting a tear wiped off his face which also lands on his hand...

And that’s when it happens.

The branch traces up grabbing the person slides to it, which happens to be Saiko. Everyone screams running off except for Shin and his buds. At first some start to try and pry the hands off of him in a blind panic. Then suddenly Shun drops to his knees and starts digging the hand up. No one clues into why until the digging brings up another hand that’s been trying to free itself.

That’s when those who stuck around realize Shun brought back a person. He brought back a dead person who was currently suffocating in the ground.

Needless to say they dig with him just as the hand lets go of Shun. That is except for Nendo. He seems to just be holding the hand that’s above ground now which he explains had been shaking in fear seconds ago.

As they dig they soon unbury a pink haired corpse who is gasping for breath while their body reforms, while shaking for a second. Once they catch their breath they all just sit around for a second wondering what the hell just happened when Nendo speaks up, still seeming to hold the hand, (that is now clinging to him since the corpse is still scared crap less of what they just experienced no matter how much he denies it) speaks up.

“So we’re all buddies with a necromancy..pretty cool...”

~~~~~~~💍~~~~~

The body Shun brought back belonged to Saiki, a young Psyche from the 1800’s, who was killed by a supposed suitor for identify different from his birth gender. A suitor who may or may not have stole Saikis money when he was killed, and may have buried him alive without telling any one of their families. And by bringing him back, Shun has effectively given him a second chance at life..a life with enhanced powers.

Turns out once when a Psychic is revived their powers just jump up and get better. Shun doesn’t know how gut all he knows for sure is when Saiki first described his power to read minds and float an object in the air, he definitely didn’t mention being able to teleport.

Of course they learn this together when Shun moves Saiki into his father’s old abandoned work room which hasn’t been used for year since his dad left. And it takes so readjusting for the both of them. Shun, to have a person in his life who was picked on for being special too and having someone who acts more like a father than his ever did in his life. Saiki, for living in a more accepting time and with new powers seeming to pop up every other day now.

Thankful Shun’s friends are there to help keep the peace and keep everyone happy...and in Nendō’s case get some new people to try new restaurants with.

Either way they’re happy he’s around, and happy to have a new friend.

(This idea may be built upon more later down the line lol)

#saiki kusuo no psi nan #Saiki k #saiki k one shot #Oneshot #fanfic #shun #saiki kusuo #fanfcition #fanfiction #Fanfic #corpse bride au #au #Nendō #nendo riki #ideas

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alternateafterthought · 4 years ago

Text

Arcane

Ø Meaning: Secret, Mysterious, Understood only by few. MAGIC

Ø Pairing: Panther Hybrid Min Yoongi x Reader

Ø Summary: Some secrets are kept for the good of people. Some secrets are kept for abuse or power. Yoongi had been a victim of abuse and power, and he wasn’t going to let anyone else use secrets for that purpose. So, when Y/N comes into his life with secrets, he doesn’t want to fall into that rabbit hole again. He doesn’t want to give all his trust to someone who will abuse their power over him. But maybe Y/N’s secrets are a good thing.

Ø Genre: Hybrid!au, fluff, angst, eventual smut

Ø Warnings: None

Ø Word Count: 1897

Ø A/N: Hey guys… this is my first Min Yoongi fic!! After finally finishing my first ever BTS fic, GOLDEN TIME, I started working on this one!! If you haven’t noticed, I really love Hybrid stories and I seem to love writing them just as much!!! So, I really hope you guys love and support this fic like you did with GOLDEN TIME!! If you want to be added to a tag list, message me or leave a comment or ask!! Thank you so much!!

Training a house dog was one thing. Walking around parks and seeing them full of dogs playing and learning to sit, come, stay, roll over was something rather cute.

What wasn’t cute was walking past those same parks to see full grown adult hybrids learning the same tricks as dogs. They may have animal genetics, they may have eats and a tail, and some attributes of their animal counterpart. Yet, it gives no proper reasoning as to why hybrids needed to be trained to sit, stay, come, roll over for a treat like they were lesser.

Hybrids might have been part animal, but they were also part human. A small detail lots of humans seemed to miss themselves.

Y/N walked through the park, having slipped away from her overbearing parents 30 minutes ago, loving being by herself. Even though it was loud, children running and playing, their parents running and shouting after them, hybrids playing with children, dogs running around. There was so much noise, so much around her, and yet it was the most at peace Y/N had been in months.

She was never allowed this type of freedom, not since she was a kid, and so she basked in the walk alone. The rays of the sun warming her up as she stood in the middle of the grassy area, head raised to the sun, eyes closed. The light cardigan over the dress she wore in the summer breeze moved as she looked around, happy to be alone, even for a while.

“HEY, I SAID SIT YOU STUPID ANIMAL!”

A rather loud, high pitched shout caused Y/N to open her eyes. Y/N blinked a few times, her eyes adjusting to the bright light of the sun, only to catch the ending of a tall woman hitting a hybrid.

From where Y/N stood she could make out small golden ears on top of the hybrids head, the same colour of the mop of golden hair on the hybrids head. A long golden tail wrapped around the hybrids own thigh as the hybrid curled in on themselves, their hands moving up to cover their face.

The hybrid was obviously scared, and it was even more obvious that no one was going to help the hybrid. Human and hybrids alike just looked as the woman punished her hybrid for not listening to her before looking away. Y/N noticed some hybrids, the closer ones and younger ones looked at the hybrid sympathetically, but the whole world knew that no one could help the poor hybrid. Like Y/N, all they could do was watch, before turning away herself.

Moving off the grass, Y/N followed the path to the edge of the park, joining the crowded streets of people. Y/N only had so much time to herself before her parents found her again, and that was an argument she could wait for. After all, this was the reason she had convinced her parents of this trip to the city, having planned the whole trip out.

Checking her watch as she moved across the street, Y/N only had 3 more hours before she had to meet her parents back at the hotel. She was already setting something up that would undoubtedly give her parents some type of heart attack, the least she could do was be on time.

Well as on time as a daughter can be in adopting a hybrid without her parents knowing she would.

Following the GPS on her phone, Y/N finally made it to the shelter, quickly opening the door. She was welcomed by a lively room, what was obviously once white walls were now covered in pictures of hundreds of hybrids. Some playing by themselves, some obviously posing for the camera and some with the biggest smile and humans, just having been adopted. The people in the room seemed to be just as lively, smiles and laughter coming from everywhere.

Y/N could tell who worked at the shelter, the purple shirts with the words “HOPE Sanctuary” on the back told her just that. It seemed there was a small family who had just happily adopted a dog hybrid, from the looks of it the young hybrid must have been the same age as the son he currently played with. There was also an elderly couple who had just adopted a cat hybrid, the younger feline standing next to the elder woman who gave the hybrid such a warm grandmotherly smile.

“Excuse me?” A voice spoke from behind Y/N. “Can I help you?”

A young woman stood next to Y/N; the purple shirt she wore matched the purple hair she sported. She was beautiful, the smile on her face was infectious, the soft dimples making her look that much younger. Y/N could tell she enjoyed working here, it was always good to see that there were humans like her that only wanted the best for hybrids.

“Hi yes. I called a few days ago about adopting a hybrid?” Y/N recalled the conversation she had with a very cheerful man.

“Ah yes, the older hybrid, right?” The woman’s eyes seemed to spark something. “If you would just take a seat, I will go get the owner.”

“Oh okay, thank you.” Y/N bowed her head before moving to sit in one of the chairs.

Sitting on one of the free chairs, Y/N’s phone buzzed, reaching into her handbag to check the screen. She breathed a sigh of relief, thanking every god she could think of it wasn’t her parents. It was just a reminder, a needed reminder, but just a reminder to take her medication.

It was a simple enough task, one she did willingly, taking the small tablets then the water in the bottle she always carried around. She may not like it, she may not like the effects of them, and she may not like how her parents treated her like some child. But at 24 years old, she knew when to argue about something, and when to accept her fate and do as she’s told.

“Hello, Miss Y/L/N?” A familiar voice made Y/N look up as she screwed the lid tightly on her water bottle. “I’m Jung Hoseok, but please, J-Hope is what everyone calls me. I believe we talked on the phone.”

“Yes, Mr. Jung…” Y/N caught his eyebrow raise before laughing a little as she stood, taking the man’s hand in a handshake. “J-Hope.”

“Would you follow me to my office?” J-Hope gestured towards an office door, and with a nod they both moved towards it. “Can I just say, when we got your call that you were interested in one of our older hybrids, I just had to take your case personally.”

“Oh?”

“It’s nothing to be worried about, trust me.” J-Hope smiled widely, letting Y/N know he was excited. “It’s just when it comes to hybrids, people normally go for the younger children or even teens. I worry about the older hybrids, and unfortunately any hybrid over the age of 21 is considered old.”

“Really?” That was news to Y/N, her eyes wide as she took a seat opposite J-Hope.

With a sad nod from J-Hope, he moved some paperwork around, obviously finding the right stack; “So when you said you had interest in older hybrids, I just knew it was a case I had to take.” He finally found the right stack of paper with a small sound of approval. “We currently have 6 older hybrids here and I would love you to meet them all. Though with 2 of them unavailable you will only be meeting 4 of them.”

“What species of hybrids are they?” Y/N sat up straight in her chair, intrigued and happy. “The ones I’ll be meeting at least.”

“Two dog hybrids, a fox hybrid and a cat hybrid.” J-Hope looked up and smiled as he handed over 4 files to Y/N. “These are everything about them, you can read them first or you can meet them first, which ever you choose first.”

Looking down at the 4 files, she quickly flipped through them, a picture on the front of each yellow file. All 4 hybrids were males, first was a golden retriever hybrid, sandy blonde hair, the same colour as his floppy ear. He had a boxy smile, large eyes that shone brightly and he seemed to have been playing in mud as the picture was taken. Mud covered his clothes, parts of his face and hair had muddy stains, he seemed to be having a great time, even in the picture.

The second was a German Sheppard hybrid, large ears stood tall, tan and black, his head was tilted to the side. He looked to have been caught off guard, a book sat on his lap, his mouth opened slightly. He looked tall, even sitting on what looked to be his bed, his large hands looked like they wanted to move up to block the camera from taking his picture. There was a small note on the front of his file “Would be best suited for someone who lives close to the outdoors.”

Third was a very handsome hybrid. Anyone could tell that hybrid or not, he was truly very handsome, his black hair matched his shorter black ears. His eyes bore into the camera it seemed, welcoming anyone who looked at the picture. His smile was almost childlike compared to his eyes, his lips looked so soft and pink and honestly Y/N could stare at them all day. Y/N saw that he was the oldest of the 4 hybrids, and yet he could easily be mistaken for so much younger than his age.

The final file was of the only feline hybrid in the pile. A hand covered most of the view of the hybrid, but from what she could see was a pair of intense eyes. They looked almost black, his hand covered one of them, but still they drew her in, if not making her shiver. His hair was jet black, as were his small ears, in the light of the photo there was almost purple streaks. There was a small note left for him too; “If he is not adopted in the next 6 months, he must be signed up for the breeding program.”

“Um… could I meet them maybe?” Y/N lifted her gaze up from the feline hybrid. “I just… I think I would feel a lot better if I was able to meet them before making a decision.”

“Of course, you can. Would you like to meet them all together, or one at a time?”

“I think it would be better one at a time.” Y/N moved the files to sit on her knees.

“Perfect choice.” J-Hope stood. “Follow me and I’ll take you to a meeting room.”

Soon J-Hope had set Y/N up in a room, large windows that completely illuminated the room, two comfortable looking chairs and a table between them. J-Hope had left to go get the first hybrid as Y/N paced a little around the room. She was scared to meet them, but she was more scared of walking out of the shelter without a hybrid.

It was the one thing in her life that she truly needed right now, she needed independence. A hybrid would give her that.

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unholyhelbig · 4 years ago

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We Sold Our Souls | 001: Beca

Summary: A small-town rock band continues to play even smaller venues well past high school graduation. Aubrey, Beca, Emily, and Chloe struggle with newfound fame and the long bloody road to get there.

[Based off of "We Sold Our Souls" By Grady Hendrix"]

Read on AO3 | Dt to the amazing @ifionlyhadmorepaper

Beca’s fingers were split and callused where Chloe’s were warm and protected. They were covered in bandages of all shapes and sizes, little adhesive papers that browned at the edges from dirt or from blood that hadn’t been dabbed away. They were wrapped, lacerated where she had pressed too hard on the velvet cords of her guitar. Beca Mitchell would play until rustic oozing syrup covered the face of the instrument.

They stung, sometimes, but right now she leaned into the numbness that the temperature in the office provided. She wanted to spread them in an equal motion over the glass of the desk so each finger lined up with a toe in her Doc Martins. Instead, she placed them calmly in her lap and stared at the silver pen that rested next to the contract.

She picked silently at the ace bandage that she had strategically wrapped around her pinky finger. It had been the newest slice; a wound still fresh to the sterile room. She was sure it would drip one, maybe two drops of red on the white linoleum.

Beca glanced up from the writing utensil and saw nothing but a suit, a slate and dull grey that blended perfectly with the rest of the room. There were no photos on the wall, nothing but a bland black leather sofa and a glass coffee table that matched the same desk they sat at now. She wanted to look through the floor to ceiling windows but saw nothing but white. Everything was white.

She was the darkest thing in the room.

Her boot tapped against, a low and thumbed rhythm. She waited for him to say something, to say anything. But she realized quickly that he may be darker than her. She could stare into the abyss that was his face, into the shadow but it would mean nothing. There were no defining features other than a crisp, business-like smile.

She had switched from pulling at the dressing of her wounds to picking at the frayed edges of her black jean jacket, littered with patches and permanent marker. Beca traced a signature that Chloe had drawn on one drunken night.

They had popped a bottle of champagne and the bubbles made the cuts on her fingers burn something fierce. But she let the golden liquid slosh onto the carpet of the hotel room, and bubble up in her throat until she couldn’t quite hold it between her lips anymore. Chloe kissed her and she tasted like weed and cherry.

It was the first night that their song was played on the radio.

The four of them huddled around a radio, its antenna stretched to the ceiling of that dingy room. The lights buzzed as much as the static, and it was close to three am; too late for the bar handlers to be heading home, and too early for the suits to be warming up their cars. But they played it- they played it.

They could quite possibly be the only four people in the entire world to hear the first song from the DEMO that Beca slid under the studio door.

When she leaned forward, the leather her pants made an ungodly noise. She didn’t’ want to read through the stack bound with a thick black clip. The first page was highlighted where she needed to initial and bolded at the most important parts; the parts that distracted her from what really mattered.

Her father was a stockbroker before he was dead, and he would tell her every single time he brought home a new contract, that they make the glittery things darker. That’s not what she was supposed to read; she was supposed to look at the little pieces of text that had stars next to them. People liked to trick you with shiny things.

Beca moved her finger across the large stack; the paper was cool to the touch and caught on the adhesive of her ace bandage. “What exactly are you offering me here?”

Summer 1985

It took her four whole months to save up for the old white Charvel that sat at the back of Shawl's pawn shop. There were bars strapped across the windows and an ugly neon orange sign that let Beca know when they were closed and when they weren’t. She would cling to those bars when old man Shawl would tell her to buy something or get the fuck out.

He stared at her even harder when she emptied the shoebox of change and crumpled up bills stained with sweat and sticky substances onto the glass counter, but even he couldn’t turn down a profit. She waited for ages while his liver-spotted hands counted the money carefully. Then he pursed his lips and pulled the beat up guitar down from his perch above his shoulder.

In later years, Beca knew she didn’t have nearly enough, and she thanked him silently for taking pity on her and passing it over anyway. She was driving all of his customers, she reasoned, by sulking on the hot sidewalk in front of the shop, letting banana flavored popsicles drip onto her fingers until it was nothing but a stick left.

She had fastened the worn leather strap around her chest and straddled her jet red bicycle. Beca had never peddled so fast in her life. The Mid-August heat clung to every inch of her was humming with sweat by the time she skidded to a stop in front of her house. She let the bike drop and got an instant hit of relief when she crossed the threshold into the open garage.

Beca scooted past the dusty Monza that barely fit in front of the door leading into their kitchen. Her mother had bought it off a stranger that came into the diner back in 78’. There were questionable stains in the backseat and an odd scent of Clorox that they could never get rid of. But it ran back and forth, and that’s all they needed.

She pulled open the honey blossom fridge and grabbed the closest thing they had to a cool drink. Beca drank tang straight from the pitcher, letting it drip down her face and soak into the collar of her shirt. She was noisy when she drank, and oblivious to her mother watching her from the archway as she tied her apron around her waist.

“We have glasses, Bec’s”

Her mother didn’t’ comment on the guitar strapped to her back. She figured that her daughter had picked up another hobby. Last year it was basketball, and the year before that she begged and begged for a set of baseball cards from the local hobby shop. After they were shoved under her bed she was told to fund her ventures on her own.

Beca swallowed the last of the orange flavoring on her tongue and took a savoring breath to fill her burning lungs. She turned to the woman and smiled “That would just dirty two things instead of one. Besides, you don’t drink this anyway.”

She couldn’t argue with that. Her mother wrestled silently with the faux pearl earrings that matched the beaded necklace against her collarbone. The soft blue tone of her uniform washed out her skin and made her look pale despite the summer heat that lingered well into August.

Beca placed the glass decanter back into the bottom half of the fridge before she mock saluted her mother and wandered back out to the garage. Her skin instantly became slick with sweat. She pulled an empty milk crate a few inches from the line of the setting sun.

She finally pulled the old Charvel from her back and situated it in her arms. It was far from a perfect fit. She reached over the neck and felt the way the side dug into her ribs uncomfortably. The strings were frail and sounded rough as she dragged her thumb against them.

Beca had only learned the start of one song, the first few cords of Black Sabbath’s Tomorrows Dream. They had printed the cords on the back of the record sleeve, each specific note highlighted in a comically large dot. Beca would breathe in the dust of the garage and listen to the record on a constant loop, pressing her fingers down against the notes.

She took a deep breath and started to follow the instructions that she had completed a million times over. The strings were too tight and it sounded choppy, sharp, and thick all at once. She cringed at her half-hearted attempt and the way the cords cut so deeply into her fingertips they stung.

She ignored the old car pulling out of the garage, and the way she had to squint at the darkness after a while. There was still the sour taste of orange on her tongue and sweat dripped from her nose. But she played and played, and played until there was blood against the white face of the instrument and tears pinching at her eyes. It sounded somewhat like Black Sabbath.

“You like metal?”

Beca jerked her hand back quickly and drew in a sticky warm breath of air. She had been so wrapped up in her task that she hadn’t realized she wasn’t alone anymore. A girl stood in the dull light that leaked from the garage and into the pavement. She didn’t’ quite pass the threshold- instead, she lingered.

A certain chill had invaded the air and the girl folded into herself. Her wild mane of orange hair fell around her shoulders and ghostly blue eyes lit up optimistically at the sight of a guitar.

“Uh,”

“That’s a Charvel, right? I begged my parents for one last Christmas but they got me an acoustic instead. Hooked me up with lessons from Miss Jensen. I learned one country song and started pocketing the fifty bucks a week instead.”

“Yeah,” Beca swallowed hard “It’s a Charvel”

“That’s cool,” she rocked back and forth on the souls of her sneakers. The cold didn’t’ seem to get to her much anymore. Beca tried to place her. Her ears were ringing and her fingers hurt. The crickets were hissing their own song. “You go to Kennedy don’t you?”

“I’m second year”

“I’m third.” She beamed “I live right next door, I’ve seen you around.”

Beca lifted her chin; she had seen the girl around too. It usually followed loud screaming and slamming doors. She would sit on her stoop and stare at the way her cassette player would turn. Beca had seen her flip a tape four times once- still like a statue until the music stopped and hat to be reset.

“Listen, I uh- don’t want to intrude, but maybe we could play together sometime?”

“Yeah, I would like that.” She found herself saying, the orange drink in her system making her stomach churn. She nearly felt bad, felt a pang of sadness for the girl. “I’m Beca.”

“Hi, Beca. I’m Chloe.”

Winter 1994

Beca let the case fall shut a little too loudly. The acoustics on the small stage seemed to catch all the wrong things. She couldn’t get her voice to carry earlier in the night, but the fur-lined box that they housed their amp in bounced all the way to the entry of the little venue in Portland.

She blinked hard, trying to ignore the harsh red lights that covered every single inch of the place. There were bumper stickers covering the spotty paint of the walls and a bar that was more piss and peanut shells than anything. Emily gulped down warm beer and struggled to keep it down momentarily. She didn’t look up at the noise, her stare trained on a coaster, and the crumbs that lie next to it.

Beca leaned back on her heels and pulled in a thick breath. She smelled like sweat and blood and alcohol. Her little stunt had drawn the attention of Aubrey, the woman wrapping the cord to a different amp around her forearm and palm. She narrowed her unripe stare.

“This was fucking shit,”

“I’m doing my best”

They spoke at the same time. She knew that Aubrey’s anger was buzzing, it was festering until it finally burst. She looked pale under the red lights, the same tattoo they had all gotten two years ago stretched under her tank top and down to the gap between her jeans.

She knew what Aubrey was going to say. Her best wasn’t good enough, and it never was; they had been doing this for years, eight long years and they were still playing the shit-stink venues in even shittier towns. They barely had an audience tonight, and it had all been Beca’s fault. The whole room was thinking it, but no one had the balls to say it other than Aubrey.

Chloe moved from the corner of the room, “We’ll get a better place, Bree.”

“Yeah? When? I’m tired of giving my all to an audience that doesn’t’ fucking exist. We’re not kids anymore.”

“We’re shit broke.” Emily turned in the creaky barstool, swallowing the foam at the bottom of her glass. “I don’t even think we have gas in the van.”

“How much from this gig?” Chloe asked.

Her hair was matted with sweat and her thumb pulled at the chain around her neck. It was fastened with a marbled red pick, one from their first real venue ever. She had nervously wiped away the gold lettering and now the smooth plastic was all that was left. Beca hated disappointing her, and she did it often these days.

“Five hundred.”

“Five hundred? Beca that’s barely enough to cover the hotel rooms.” Aubrey let the wrapped cord fall back to the stage “We don’t break even on this. It’s not fucking worth it. It never was and it never is.”

They all knew what came next. Emily stared down a coaster she had begun to shred. The remaining foam on the glass culminated at the very bottom of the glass and she knew she couldn’t muster enough change to order another one. So she sat with the sour taste in her mouth and festered.

Aubrey would mention Julliard.

“I could have had everything.” She hissed instead.

Beca didn’t dignify it with a response. Instead, she leaned down and pulled the amp up with nothing more than a grunt. Instead, she walked out into the cold Portland air and let it make her skin tighter. She blinked away the red light and searched for the keys in her pockets. She had left them inside.

#Beca Mitchell #Chloe Beale #Bechloe #Emily Junk #Aubrey Posen #Junksen #band au #rocker au

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zigtheeortega · 4 years ago

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redeemed

pairing | m!raleigh x mc

word count | 6.6k

warnings | cursing, innuendos, mentions of sex

tags | @natesewell, @choicesarehard, @empressazura, @raleighcarrera, @pixeljazzy, @pixelsandkink [tagging people who usually ask to be tagged !]

author’s note | i’ve talked about this before but i’m not a huge fan of the platinum mc’s personality, so i’ve kind of crafted my own that’s quite a bit more rebellious than canon. i’m obsessed with the idea of an mc who’s romancing raleigh and falls into the same pattern of behavior and it genuinely concerns them – so yeah i play with that idea here! i deviate from canon some but not too much ! this is my submission for day 2 of @platinumweekend as well ! also i had no idea how to end this so i apologize for the fizzle out at the end lol

•─────────────────•

As soon as he stepped off stage, he was shuffled to his tour bus, Fiona on his heels. She looked like the human embodiment of rage in a grey blazer, a look in her eye that made him thankful he wasn’t the one it was directed at – or at least he hoped he wasn’t the reason she was two seconds away from a murderous rampage.

She slammed the door behind her, locking it, running to the windows and closing the curtains, peeking out at the paparazzi that no doubt had already tried flocking at the edges of the blocked off area where the bus was parked.

“Damn, what’s the problem? Can’t I at least get my food from craft services? Jesus,” he complained, grabbing a bottle of water from the fully stocked mini fridge, downing it while Fiona frantically ran around the bus, turning off every electrical device in sight.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

She wheeled on him, a few strands of her hair sticking to her lips. “We’ve got a problem.”

“Yeah, you won’t let me go get my fuckin’ overpriced grilled cheese that I know is waiting for me,” he jabbed his thumb towards the venue. “At craft services.”

She eyed him, pupils wide, her anger nearly palpable. “It’s bigger than food.”

He ran a hand through his damp hair, some strands completely drenched in sweat. “Lay it on me.”

And the three words that fell from her lips were soul crushing, his post-show high wearing off in an instant.

“Dom’s been arrested.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He sat up, posture rigid. “What happened?”

“Not here. We’ll talk on the plane,” Fiona said, twisting the knob of the closet door, grabbing the black duffel bag on the ground. She tossed it at his feet, motioning for him to stand. “The jet leaves in an hour. I packed for you.”

“The plane? Where is she?” He was getting more and more frustrated, nearing hysterics. He should’ve felt a bit more shame about how worked up he was getting, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Fiona took notice, her fiery gaze softening at the edges, the blue flames flickering across his face. “Not here, Raleigh.”

He slung the duffle bag on his shoulder, walking to the door.

“Wait –” Fiona said, leaning over the couch to pull the curtain to the side, peering out again. “I paid off a security guard to distract the paparazzi. And when he does, we have to run to the car that’s gonna pull up any minute now – undetected,” she shot back at him, her icy gaze warning.

Within minutes, a security guard with a similar build to Raleigh sprinted towards the venue, jacket over his head, paparazzi on his heels.

With the camera’s flashing finally pointed away, they were able to slide into the back of the cab, thankful that Hank had connections everywhere. The driver rolled up the barrier without question as soon as Fiona tossed him a wad of cash that she’d fished out of a plain leather pouch.

She shook the pouch, her lips set in a thin line. “You know what this is?”

“A purse?” He asked, brows furrowed. “Is this some kind of fuckin’ trick?”

“It’s an emergency fund. Cash. Not traceable.”

She shook her head, dropping the pouch into her lap, before pinching the bridge of her nose. “When Dom first started getting into trouble, I had to pay off a few people here and there, but when it became more frequent, I had to actually sit her down with her accountant and sort this out.”

“Sort… what out?”

“How much money she needed to allocate to her… antics,” she rolled her eyes, propping her elbow on the back of her seat, hand pressed to her forehead.

She looked drained. Fiona never looked disheveled, but he sensed this was the closest she’d be to it.

“If it’s money she needs, that’s fine. Lemme call my agent –”

“There’s only so much cash I can hand people under the table before it becomes a problem. Not just financially, put publicly,” she sighed, chewing the inside of her cheek. “I’ve been able to cover up the smaller mishaps, but this, I’m afraid, might be the start of something… much worse than disorderly conduct.”

“You gonna tell me her charges?” His jaw set in anticipation, already running through a list of the best lawyers in L.A. that got him off from potentially hefty lawsuits.

Her short locks swayed as she shook her head. “I don’t think it’s my place to tell you.”

He blew air out of his cheeks, leaning into the corner of the cab, legs splayed wide as he tried to take a nonchalant stance. “Can you at least tell me where we’re going?”

“You’ll be glad you have a bedroom, shower, and fridge on the plane,” she said with another shake of her head.

––––

Raleigh laid in bed, aimlessly scrolling through his burner account.

He never really cared for social media under the public eye. Every post of his was either related to tour or the series of brand deals for products he never used. Each page was a personified advertisement – some shit he regretted signing up for.

One drunken night, his curiosity got the best of him and he found himself making a pretty inconspicuous profile, following some funny internet personalities and political commentators. And although he had plans to delete it, once Dom came into the picture, he unabashedly lurked.

He followed her on all platforms, and when he had the chance, he watched her stories, voted in her daily polls, and occasionally scrolled through her old instagram photos.

This time in particular, though, he was looking for something specific without really knowing if there was an answer.

He scrolled to her first post, hundreds down, smiling at high school Dom. Thick eyeliner, layered hair, brace-adorned grin – she was a poster child of adolescence.

Photos of her with Shane at pep rallies, in Halloween costumes, in prom formal wear filled the screen, later transitioning to senior portraits, graduation photos, and dorm photos. A setting of picturesque normality as Dom grew into herself, growing out her choppy layers, softening her makeup, her gleaming smile lighting up each photo.

She grew more beautiful with each year, each little phase of her life coming with a new style, a new little identity or association, Dom’s willingness to try new things the reason she was able to break free from her small town.

God, was Raleigh so fucking envious of this imperfect little portion of her Instagram. If someone were to look this far back for him, there’d be photoshoots and magazine spreads and paparazzi photos all neatly planned. The shaky off-guard photos, the unedited red eyes, the off guard photos, the expressions they made in them… it was something Raleigh never had the chance to do.

Being in the business for ten years, everything was pristine, crisp – always smiling or smoldering, no in between. Sexy and rugged or smiling and happy. Like he had two modes and he wasn’t ever able to exercise those other parts of himself because being in front of the camera was restrictive – while Dom was able to be unabashedly herself.

He was breaking shit just to feel something, to have some range of emotions even if it was a stupid fucking publicity stunt where he damaged property or made out with another politician’s daughter or attempted irreparable blows to his public image.

The more recent the posts, the more calculated her photos got, the phrase “ad” showing up more and more. But even with a skincare brand deal, her step-by-step skincare routine video was on brand for Dom, her bright smile and wit always present in everything she did.

But Raleigh couldn’t help but feel like parts of her were slipping away.

Her online persona was still pretty crisp, except for her style shift – tattoos, a couple piercings, and some edgier photoshoots signified a tonal shift in Dom’s aesthetic, but nothing he hadn’t seen before.

Hell, when he used his first innuendo on his solo album, there was widespread outrage on Sunset Skatepark fan forums, ripping into him for singing about using his dick (even though he was definitely an adult and definitely not a virgin).

But other than her general style, nothing was different. Nothing to indicate this downward spiral that Fiona kept a secret.

Where’s the shift? He thought to himself as he scrolled to the top. When the hell did she start changing for the worse?

She’d come a long way from her clean songs that didn’t require a radio edit. He felt a pang of something in his chest –– regret, maybe? Was he the reason she’d changed?

The questions sent him into a near tailspin, his pulse quickening at the realization.

He was the problem.

She’d since deleted her photos with Raleigh, because their breakup was so public, but he could tell that the shift happened right around the time she started spending more time with him.

He’d been a mentor of sorts, opposite of Avery, showing her the ropes… which meant that he was teaching her how to evade the press, fuck with the paparazzi, pick out industry plants – the whole nine yards.

She was impulsive, daring, adventurous, fearless – all the qualities he liked in himself. But he never thought those traits would take a negative turn, morphing her into a rebel with an affinity for breaking laws.

He could blame himself all he wanted, but he couldn’t blame her for taking the same route he took.

He knew it better than anybody – it was hard to shift the public’s persona of you. Once you did something horrible to make them hate you, either the rebrands and ass kissing worked, or you get written off by everyone.

Raleigh Carrera was a special case, a wild card of sorts who toed the line, unpredictable, both with his craft and his behavior. The nastier his lyrics, the crazier his publicity stunts were, the more polarizing he was.

And that was no doubt the route Dom was on, heading towards an inevitable press nightmare – if people were to find out the home grown rags-to-riches Dominique Avalos dove headfirst into her rebellious phase with no smooth transition, she wouldn’t be able to Google herself for months without having a panic attack.

She’d changed drastically, but that’s what fame did to people. Some people cracked under the pressure, or they rebelled to show the public they were in control of their narrative… or that they desperately wanted it back.

He took a shaky breath, swiping out of the app.

He wasn’t sure if he could save her, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t gonna try.

––––

The moment the jet touched down, Fiona was in full manager mode, adamant on abandoning his phone, stressing the importance of going off the grid.

“If anyone finds out you’re here, they’ll be able to put two and two together. Why else would you be in the same country as Dom when you’re supposed to be heading towards New York for your next show?” She asked, hand outstretched.

“I hate it when you’re right,” he grumbled, tossing his phone into her palm. “Where are we exactly?”

“I can’t tell you,” she sighed, looking exhausted. He had a gut feeling she hadn’t slept a wink since they’d boarded the plane.

“Why not?”

“It’s a bit safer that way.”

He scoffed. “You’re serious? Look, I’m not exactly thrilled to pull the A-List celebrity card, but this is borderline kidnapping.”

“Let’s just say you might be able to pick up on some of the language,” she said, turning on her heel to exit the plane.

Within minutes, they were pulling onto a dirt backroad, the small houses they passed barely casting shadows onto the ground.

The town itself was seemingly innocuous – the tiny brick houses riddled with dust, the stone paths lining the road cracked and deserted. The tiny town had turned in for the night, their old Sedan sticking out like a sore thumb despite the old model.

Raleigh squirmed in his seat, twisting the expensive watch on his wrist. He fucking hated this.

No matter where he went, he was noticed in some capacity – so wearing a Rolex and Cartier rings in a small village in the middle of nowhere just made him look pretentious.

He slipped the rings and watches off, shoving them deep into the pocket of his jeans, ignoring Fiona’s calculating side eye (one he knew all too well).

The only light, other than the gas lamp posts and their high beams, came from the building at the end of the road.

The car pulled around the side, flicking their lights off, the driver peeking around before motioning for them to exit the car.

“Throw the hoodie on, Raleigh,” Fiona ordered while slipping on a ball cap of her own, her casual t-shirt and leggings wildly different from her normal outfit.

“Sure,” he murmured, tugging the hood on.

The walk from the car to the dusty glass front door was short, Fiona breaking into a light jog to keep up with Raleigh’s brisk pace.

The makeshift “waiting room” in the front corner of the station was empty, the scratched up folding chairs in crooked rows. The front desk was occupied by a sleeping form, head buried in the crease of his elbow, snore muffled by the counter top.

The other officer stood at the back near an old vending machine, sliding coins into the slot, the clink of each piece ringing out against the brick and linoleum.

No cameras, he thought, after a quick scan of the room, shoving the hood back in its place at the nape of his neck.

The holding cells were farther back, but he couldn’t see her.

He stepped up to the counter where the man was sleeping, giving a gentle knock to the top. The man stirred, unfurling his arms, while the other man in the back glanced up from where he was, elbows deep in the snack machine as he fished out his bag of chips.

Raleigh offered a basic greeting in Spanish, frowning just a bit when both officers’ eyes lit up – the phrase “famoso” and “celebridad” falling from their lips almost as soon as they recognized him.

Yeah, he was gonna use his notoriety to their advantage, but that didn’t mean it still didn’t sting when people immediately tried gauging what they could get from him when they realized who he was.

For a long time he’d been waiting for the day where name dropping himself didn’t get him out of deep shit.

And the day he met Dom, when he assumed she knew who he was, all she did was raise her brow as if to say “Why the fuck should I care?”

It startled him, truthfully. But it was such a breath of fresh air. He couldn’t remember a time before or after that someone showed no interest in him.

The officer in the back jogged to the front, pulling his phone out of his back pocket while asking for a picture.

He looked to Fiona, who was shaking her head furiously, stepping up next to him like her 5’5 stature was enough to shield him. “Nobody can know we’re here.”

He nodded, turning back to the men, trying to negotiate with them.

Yes, Dom’s here.

No, you can’t see her.

He racked his brain trying to figure out how he was gonna get himself – and Dom – out of the situation unscathed if he couldn’t give them a photo or autograph.

“Dom bought me the Rolex and Cartier rings, right?”

Fiona’s brows furrowed. “Yes. She gifted them to you on your birthday. You know this –”

“No, what I mean is, she has the receipts? Or you do?”

“I don’t have them, but I have access to them,” she said, still confused.

“Get rid of ‘em. I haven’t told anyone she bought them for me.”

Her face lit up in recognition, and she nodded, encouraging him to go on.

He dug in his pockets, fishing out the watch and thin bands.

After a quick exchange, the officers took two rings each, and began rapid fire arguing over the Rolex. They tossed Raleigh the keys, stepping out the front door.

“I’ll keep watch,” Fiona said, turning towards the door.

“Hey –” Raleigh said, laying a hand on her shoulder.

She quirked a brow at him. “What?”

“You’re not coming with?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Why not? I’m not even sure what the fuck I’m supposed to say –”

“She specifically asked for you.”

He took a step back, resting his palm on the countertop behind him. “What the – are you… are you serious?”

She nodded once. “She might’ve been slurring, but she was clear as day. She wanted you.”

He blew air out of his cheeks, running a hand through his short waves.

Fiona’s gaze softened, her eyes still piercing. Fiona was a lot of things – steadfast, headstrong, determined – but she wasn’t soft. She didn’t sugar coat shit.

“She’s missed you. She doesn’t confide in me much, but even I can tell she’s unhappy. Be gentle with her,” she said, gaze tearing right through him.

The walk to the holding cells felt miles long – his resolve was shrinking with every step.

He wasn’t afraid of seeing Dom, not at all. He was afraid of whatever part of himself that might’ve been reflected in her.

The cell was empty, save for the curled form on the bench, long dark hair cascading over the edges of the seat.

“Dom?” He called, hearing her sharp inhale of breath as she stirred, bending into a long stretch, her limbs unfurling until she was lying on her back on the bench, tilting her head towards his voice.

God, even when she looked like life had torn her to shreds, she still looked beautiful.

“Raleigh?” She croaked, her eyes squinting to adjust to the low lights. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

She arched her back, stretching again, her long frame covering the bench. It was almost the right level of distracting to stop the creeping annoyance at her question.

“What do you mean? I’m here to bail you out, obviously.”

“Where’s Fiona?” She asked groggily, rolling off the side of the bench awkwardly, trying to gain her footing.

“You asked for me, didn’t you?” He raised a brow, sliding his forearms through the bars, resting them there.

“She told you?” She asked, voice raising in betrayal, a scoff following his silence. “I was drunk.”

“And? You still asked for me.”

“Oh, fuck off,” she murmured, crossing her arms as soon as she was balanced.

He dangled the keys between his fingertips, gently jingling them. “I’ll let you out if you tell me what happened.”

Her lip curled in annoyance. “You’d really leave me here?”

“You don’t want to find out.”

She ran a hand through her hair, blowing air out of her cheeks. “Alright.”

He unlocked the door and slipped in, the heavy door creaking as he slid it wide enough for him to fit through.

She backed up, plopping back onto the bench, arms lowering to curl around her sides.

He followed suit, sitting a couple feet away from her on the other end of the bench, shoving his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie.

She stared at the floor, clearly waiting for him to make a move.

“So…”

“So, what?” She grumbled.

“So… how’d you end up here?” He asked, trying to remain as relaxed as he could since she was clearly on edge, ready to tear him a new one at a moment’s notice.

“I was drunk. I got in a fight. Here I am.”

He sighed. “Look, you don’t have to tell me everything, but I can’t help you if I don’t know if you’re ankles deep or neck deep.”

She chewed her lip, chin dipping lower, strands of her hair falling forward, creating an inky veil. “Fine. I’ll tell you but… can you not… look at me?”

Raleigh’s face contorted in confusion, but he listened, swivelling until he was facing the back wall, propping one leg up on the bench.

He waited for her to speak. The break in conversation was a bit too long – but before a quip could fall from his lips, she spoke.

“I did get drunk, and I did get in a fight. I’m telling the truth but I, uh, left out some details,” she started, her voice low.

“I, uh, was passing through this town after my last show because I wanted to go to a bar without being noticed. Like the old days. I know it was stupid, but I didn’t think anyone would find me here.”

That was her first mistake. Smaller towns surprisingly had the most dedicated fans – maybe because they’re bored or nothing exciting happened in their towns, but most of his die hard fans came from the middle of nowhere.

“The first hour was fine, and I was able to drink and dance with strangers. Most of them were a lot older than me and spoke zero English – and I speak a little bit of Spanish as you know, so I could make some small talk, but I was on my own just… enjoying myself and my freedom,” she said, and he could almost see the grin tug at the corner of her lips.

“I noticed someone taking photos of me with their phone, so I got a bit paranoid and sat in a booth in the back drinking for a little while longer so I could figure out my next move,” she continued, before sighing loudly. “I guess they told the local news or something, because by the time I decided to leave, I ran smack into a reporter on the sidewalk.”

Silence ensued again, this time more deafening than the last.

“I didn’t mean to give her a black eye. Or break the camera. Or elbow the camera man in the face when he tried restraining me. I just… couldn’t think straight. I was mad. Intoxicated and wrong, but still mad.”

“I know Fiona’s trying her best to get me out of this mess but… I think I went too far this time.”

Raleigh stared at the wall, racking his brain for something. He was a little dumbfounded that she spilled to him so fast. He figured it was gonna take a bit more digging to get her to open up, but she blossomed in front of him; despite the wilted petals, he was relieved to know she still trusted him enough to confide in him.

“Are you gonna say something?” She asked, a bit timidly.

“Not if I can’t look at you.”

“Okay, then don’t say anything.”

He sighed, settling into his spot on the bench, waiting again for her to speak.

“Why did you come?”

Instinctively, he shrugged. “You asked me to.”

“But you don’t owe me anything. We’re not together.”

“Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t drop everything to come help you. I mean, I’d like to think we’re at least acquaintances, if not friends,” he joked, resting his arm over the back of the bench.

“Sure,” she said, voice straining just a bit. Just enough for him to notice.

Dom was a special kind of resilient – one trait that Raleigh was sure she didn’t copy from him.

He knew that being a woman in the industry was already hard enough – everything from beauty to body standards to raging misogyny was enough to give people reasons to hate her, as stupid as they were.

Raleigh benefitted from the standards in place for men. He was young, attractive, talented – didn’t matter what he did wrong. He’d bounce back.

But he’d seen some vile shit since he’d ascended to fame. So many celebrities fading into obscurity after one mishap. One bad album. One bad interview. One rude encounter. One rumor.

For some reason, despite diving headfirst into troubled waters, Dom bounced back every time, fire in her eyes, her jaw set in determination, her face painted with the look she got when she was ready to face the world.

But whatever she was feeling in that moment, in that jail cell in the middle of nowhere – was enough to break her.

He heard her take a deep, shaky breath, and he started to turn, but he felt her warm palm on his shoulder, holding him in place.

“Don’t,” she whispered.

He listened to her labored breathing, likely struggling to hold back tears, while he stared at the cracks in the wall, trying to think of something – anything – to console her.

“Did Fiona seem… upset?” She asked, seeming a bit nervous.

“It’s kind of hard to tell, to be honest. She’s pretty intense all of the time,” he laughed, not really meaning to.

He was relieved to hear a light chuckle from behind him.

“Yeah, I figure she’s pretty mad at me. I don’t blame her,” she sighed, another break in conversation ensuing. A couple beats later, she asked, bluntly, “Are you mad at me?”

“No,” he answered with zero hesitation. “I know you’d do the same for me.”

She laughed again, a bit more genuine that time. “Not sure where you got that impression.”

“You wouldn’t leave me here to rot if I asked you to come, Dom. You’re not that heartless,” he teased gently, glad that things were taking a lighthearted turn.

“I’m just glad you’re not gonna lecture me. I already know I’m gonna get an earful from Fiona, not to mention the shit I’ll get from Shane and Avery. I couldn’t handle one from you.”

He grimaced. “Uh, well, you’d rather hear it from me than Fiona, right?”

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” she mumbled under her breath.

“You know I normally don’t care what you do, because it’s your life, and you should be able to do whatever the fuck you want, but Dom…” he trailed off, trying to choose his words carefully.

“I know I fucked up, Raleigh. I don’t need you making me feel more guilty than I already am,” she said defensively, voice raised.

“I’m not gonna make you feel guilty. Just offering some advice.” God, did those words feel foreign to him. Offering advice. He never did shit like this for anybody.

He took her silence as a green light. “You’ve just gotta slow down, Dom.”

Whatever impact his words made, he couldn’t see it, since he was still facing the damn wall. “Can I please turn around? I can’t talk to you like this.”

“Sure.”

He adjusted himself on the bench, trying to look attentive without staring. She was stunning, even with the smudged makeup, the dark circles, the red eyes “You don’t have to do anything and everything you’re asked to do, but you gotta find some kind of balance.”

She wrung her hands in her lap, picking at her cuticles absentmindedly. “Yeah, I know.”

“I mean balance the good and bad, Dom. There’s a line for people like us and you can’t cross it often. You can get close, but you can’t just dive over it and not expect there to be some fallout.”

“I know,” she said, bluntly, looking a bit more annoyed with each word that came from his mouth.

“You can cause some chaos, but some of it isn’t acceptable,” he said, watching her expression contort in anger. “For them. Not acceptable for them. The average person, I mean.”

“Oh, you’re one to fucking talk!” She rolled her eyes. “How are you gonna sit here and tell me that your brand of shit stirring is okay, but mine isn’t?”

“I’m not the one sitting in a jail cell right now, Dom,” he said, calmly but firmly. He wasn’t used to being the rational one, but he had to be level headed. He was trying to save her.

She ran a hand through her hair, leaning back against the back of the bench. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

“Trust me, I know.”

“You’re hypocritical.”

“Not necessarily,” he said, propping his arm up on the back of the bench. “I was in the industry for years before I started dirtying up my image. You just got here.”

“And you’ve been here too damn long to act the way you do,” she nearly spat, lashing out.

“I’m too far gone,” he simply stated, keeping surprisingly calm through it all.

“What the hell do you mean by that?”

“I’ve been here for a long time, which means, I’ve got a lot more fuck ups under my belt. Irreparable damage, if you will.”

“People love you,” she said, matter-of-factly, like that solved it – it honestly relieved him. A bit of Dom’s naivete from when they first met was shining through.

“People also hate me, because I’m a little shit who sets fires for fun,” he grinned. “For legal reasons, my lawyers insist I clarify that I’m joking.”

She rolled her lips, trying to suppress a smile. “People who hate you don’t know you.”

He nodded. “You’re right, and you’re so close to the point I’m sure you can taste it.”

“I’m too far gone to save. No matter how hard I try for the rest of my career, I can never get away from the wild card label. Plenty of people don’t wanna work with me. I’ve damaged business relationships. Lots of artists don’t want to collab with me because of how it’ll make them look.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because I know you don’t want this. You’re too good for whatever baggage comes with being a ‘rebel’, Dom. I don’t want to see you turn out like me.”

For the first time that night, she stared at him – really stared at him. Her deep brown, nearly midnight eyes searched his for any sign of insincerity.

“You’re… serious?” She asked finally, brows furrowed in confusion.

“One hundred percent honest,” he said, nodding.

She sat back in her chair, chewing on her lip, contemplating.

“Can you turn back around again?”

He nodded, wordlessly facing the wall again.

“I left out a few details,” she said from behind him.

“I’m listening,” he affirmed.

“I, uh, was pretty hammered by the time I left, so it was even harder for me to understand what people were saying,” she said before he could speak. “I heard the reporter say ‘Raleigh’ and ‘novio’ and I saw red… so… I, uh… swung.”

His chest clenched, tightening until it was difficult to breathe. He was thankful she’d asked him to face the other direction, because he knew his reaction betrayed his cool demeanor.

“I guess I’m not over it,” she laughed humorlessly.

He ran a hand over his face, racking his brain for a response, but coming up short.

“You, um, don’t have to say anything if you don’t feel the same. I shouldn’t have gotten attached. It’s on me.”

That made him turn, swivelling around before she could finish speaking.

She flicked her head towards the bars of the cell, raising a hand to cover her face. “I said ‘don’t look at me’, Raleigh. Goddamn.”

Years and years of PR training and interviews and he had no idea how the fuck to console her. Partially because he was trying to get a grip on whatever the hell was going on in his brain as well.

Instead, he answered her with a question of his own, a tactic he’d used anytime he wanted to deflect in interviews.

“Why can’t I look?”

Dom tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, slowly rotating to meet his gaze. She sank her teeth deep into her bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

“Fuck,” she cursed, rubbing the backs of her hands under her eyes, the dried black mascara under her eyes beginning to liquidate again. “Because I’m crying, Raleigh. And I don’t cry.”

“You wanna tell me what’s wrong? I know there’s more to it than you’re telling me,” he asked, holding up two of his fingers in a solute. “No judgement.”

She sighed, crossing the room to put some distance between them. She began pacing, taking slow steps as she spoke.

“I might’ve fucked up my career and I keep letting people down and I’m destructive because this whole fame thing isn’t what I signed up for and I didn’t think I’d cave under pressure like every other mid twenties child actor who goes through a premature mid-life crisis, but here I fucking am,” she said, nearly out of breath by the end.

His legs carried him across the room before he could think twice, pacing towards her while she strode across the room in the opposite direction.

“God, I’m so fucking stupid –”

“Stop. You’re not stupid.”

“I am,” she said, wheeling on him. “And – and I’m embarrassed. I’m embarrassed that my manager and – and my ex –” She stopped in her tracks, rubbing a palm over her forehead, shutting her eyes.

He reached out to her, but let his hand fall almost immediately.

“My acquaintance had to fly out to a fucking village in the middle of nowhere to bail me out –”

“Dom, stop –”

“– because I fought a fucking reporter over not being able to handle my fucking feelings –”

“Dom –”

“– like an adult with a functioning frontal lobe all because I love someone who –”

Her eyes popped open, her expression horrified. “Oh my god, I’m – I –”

She dug the heel of her hands into her eyes, dropping into a squat. “Fuck, fuck, Goddammit –”

“Did you just –”

“Yeah, Raleigh, I did. Don’t make me feel worse, alright? I know I fucked up,” she groaned from her heap on the ground.

“You just said you love me, Dom. I think I’m allowed to react,” he said, a slight teasing to his voice.

She glanced up, glaring. “Okay, then, react.”

Her gaze was fiery, her deep brown irises challenging – something else a bit more vulnerable lying beneath.

She was terrified.

He leaned down, gripping her around the waist to pull her back up, wrapping his arms around her upper back, hugging her to his chest.

She melted into his arms, relaxing and leaning into his embrace.

“I didn’t mean to say it,” she murmured into his chest.

“So do you?” He asked, chin gently balanced on her head.

“What?”

“Do you love me?”

“I don’t know,” she said truthfully, voice small.

“You don’t have to know. I don’t know either,” he said, just as earnest, feeling her tense in his arms. “But I do know that I like you enough to want you around, and that counts for something, right?”

She laughed (as genuine as he’d heard it), leaning back to look at him. “Yeah, it does.”

Their bodies were still pressed together, Dom’s chin tilted upwards towards him, their faces nearly touching.

“If this gets out, don’t let anyone make you feel like you’re a bad person,” he said, voice low. “You’re the best person I know –”

Dom closed the gap between them, capturing his lips in an intense kiss. He cupped her face in his palms and held her in place, moaning into her parted lips.

God, there was nothing that compared to kissing her. Nobody matched up. He’d made out with a lot of people since he was flung into stardom at sixteen, and no one – absolutely no one – left him in a daze like she did.

She gripped the strings of his hoodie, pulling him closer, sighing contentedly against him.

The smell of her shampoo mixed with the sweet scent of her skin and the warmth of her hands and her chest flush against his – it was the next best thing to being inside of her.

He pulled back, trying to catch the dreamy, half-lidded look she always got when they parted.

“So… did you take your jet here?”

He smirked and rolled his eyes. “Out of context, that sounds so superficial.”

She grinned, her first genuine smile that night. “Oh, but you’re not? Hanging around a rising artist to cling to relevancy?”

He laughed, the sound reverberating off of the walls. “I really am rubbing off on you, aren’t I?”

“Yep. The good and bad,” she agreed, still smiling at him.

“The good?” He shook his head. “Nah, I’m not so sure about that.”

“You’re literally the reason I haven’t walked out on my label and moved to bum fuck nowhere and lived off the land,” she said, shrugging. “You taught me how to have fun. You were the only one keeping me sane.”

He thought he was the one encouraging her to leap over the edge, but he was the one tugging her arm back.

The whole time he was convinced he was a bad influence, but he was doing some good – for her.

But with that revelation came the guilt at her words.

“‘Were’?”

“Well, we don’t really talk anymore. I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

“Yeah,” she chewed her lip, stepping back, unraveling herself from his embrace. “I’m sorry.”

That was a slap to the face. Dom rarely apologized, because if she felt she was right, she wasn’t going to budge. She was stubborn as hell.

“Huh? Why?” “I don’t want to guilt you into spending time with me… or feeling things for me,” she said, rubbing her arm. “I didn’t mean to corner you.”

“You didn’t. I wanted to come.”

She glanced up, blinking at him. “No, you didn’t –”

“I did,” he emphasized, slipping her hand into his, intertwining their fingers. “I kinda missed being forced to hang out with you. Feels like old times.”

She couldn’t stop the laugh from ripping from her, this one louder than the last. “Oh, shut up.”

“No, but seriously, I’m here for you. Whatever you need. Always.”

“Thank you.” With her free hand, she punched his shoulder lightly. “You’ll regret that sooner or later.”

“Nah,” he said, lip curling into a smirk. “I don’t think I will.”

––––

#playchoices #platinum #raleigh carrera #raleigh carrera x mc #platinumweekend #my fic #jade writes choices fics #tbh i really loved writing this one - it's really special to me !!

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rubykgrant · 4 years ago

Text

(Lopez)

The first video plays for them all, automatically.

He’d set it to some kind of timer, they aren’t sure how he figured out how long to make it last… had he actually calculated the exact right amount of time it would take for them to win the fight? Even with all the unknowns and variables? It doesn’t seem possible, but it also seems to be what happened.

There was just enough of a pause when the battle was over for them to barely catch their breath, and start to feel cautiously optimistic. They did it, they won. In fact, that is exactly what he tells them.

It doesn’t feel like a victory.

The first message plays for them all automatically. They don’t have a choice but to listen to it. Carolina and Wash hear it together, Doc hears it alone, and the rest of them hear it as a group. When he’s done talking, and what just happened starts to sink in, they each notice they have another message waiting for them… from him. Individual messages, sent to them all. These need to be opened and played voluntarily.

None of them play these videos. None of them talk about it, either. Because of this, they don’t even realize he sent a message to ALL of them. They wonder, why did I get another message? If they listened, they would have their answers… but none of them do, and none of them talk about it. Perhaps if they did, things would have happened differently. They would have seen that he had, in fact, said good-bye to everybody. They would have understood how they each felt about this situation a little better. They would have made different choices later. Instead, they don’t talk about it, and they don’t listen to the messages…

Lopez doesn’t watch, and he doesn’t think about why. He doesn’t think of a reason or an excuse. He simply does not want to watch it, or find out what it is, or why Church sent it to him. He has absolutely no interest in it, and something not worth thinking about doesn’t require any effort or actions.

Lopez does whatever he wants to do, for once in his miserable excuse for a “life” (humans might want to debate if robots were really “alive” or not, but as far as Lopez was concerned; if you could complain about life, you must actually BE alive… therefore, he is). The others are all preoccupied doing various people-things. Like eating, sleeping, and… talking. Yes, a lot of them were talking to each other. A few of them weren’t talking at all, as though something was stopping them. Lopez can’t imagine what, it isn’t as if THEY have any language barriers… no, he doesn’t want to worry about them, or deal with them, or listen while they spill their organic guts to him about all their problems and then ignore anything he tries to say (or pretend like they’re listening, but totally misunderstand). He does that ALL the time, and right now, he doesn’t need to. Nobody is making him do anything.

Nobody is making him fix anything. Nobody is forcing him to add a gun that shoots knives to a jeep, or create a jet-pack that runs on barbeque sauce, or make more motorcycles they just wreck. He’s not obligated to do any of that right now, and he doesn’t want to… not that he EVER wants to do any of that, but he especially doesn’t want to right now. Is that really a surprise? He’s been quite literally bashed and thrashed in a vicious battle. It had nearly killed him (and not in the usual way, where his head got torn off… that could be fixed). It had nearly killed everybody else, it had nearly killed the whole planet, and it actually HAD…

He doesn’t want to think about it, and nobody is making him do anything, so he’s just going to find something he DOES want to do. He doesn’t want to work on things, or fix them right now… he usually enjoys that, when he’s allowed to make his own decisions about what he repairs. That just feels too much like “work” right now, and even if he happens to be a robot, he should be allowed to take a break (especially after… what happened). He doesn’t want to be around ANY of the people he’s usually stuck with. They’ll try and vent their emotions to him (and he doesn’t want to hear what they’re thinking about or what they’re feeling).

What DOES Lopez want to do right now? Maybe he just… wants to be alone. That sounds good. Nobody to bother him, or try to make him do anything, or talk to him… he leaves the city. Not far, just walking around the trees in the outskirts. It isn’t dangerous to be here anymore, the enemies have either been defeated (stop it…), or apprehended (stop it), or dead (STOP IT). None of that matters, nobody is going to bother him out here. Everybody else is still back at the city, rejoicing happily. Lopez is out here alone, and it is… nice.

He doesn’t get to simply stand around and appreciate nature very often. Even when he’s had the chance, he’s usually surrounded by a gaggle of very LOUD and OBNOXIOUS people, who get shot at so much you’d think they were magnetic and bullets were simply drawn to them. They were still being loud, but right now he had some distance. It was nice out here. The trees were nice, the rocks and dirt were nice… it was a nice planet. It would be a nice place for the people to live, now that they weren’t going to worry about dying in a war that wasn’t even a REAL war. It had nearly been a massive execution, one they all would have been tricked into willingly taking part in, just so some other people could have the planet. That hadn’t happened, though. It had turned out alright in the end, maybe not perfect, but nothing was perfect. People weren’t perfect. Even Lopez wasn’t perfect…

If he’d been just a little better, not perfect but BETTER, he could have done MORE. It wasn’t as if he had human limitations, he should have been capable of doing MORE. Nobody had ever been shy about giving him orders, expecting him to work miracles, fix their problems, and just be FINE about. It was thankless work, and they just ASSUMED he had no complaints, no matter how many times he told them he was sick of this. They only heard what they wanted to hear, and kept demanding more from him, and thinking he’ll just be A-OK… wasn’t that true, though? How many times had he gotten ripped apart? He was still OK. He was a robot, and while that might make him expendable to most people, he had never actually “expired”. His team, they kept on depending on him because he was still here. They were still here. None of them had died. Only one “person” had died… did Church even count as a person? He certainly complained about life, so by Lopez’s own standards, he had been alive. Now he wasn’t. Church could have asked for help, he could have told Lopez to do something, ANYTHING, because Lopez probably would have been fine, nothing ever killed him, not really, and maybe that was because he wasn’t… he wasn’t actually...

Lopez doesn’t talk to anybody about this, he doesn’t play the other message, and he doesn’t think about why. He doesn’t want to.

#writing #my writing #red vs blue #rvb #lopez the heavy #leonard church #epsilon church #rvb chorus

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saleintothe90s · 3 years ago

Text

434. “Without Warning” (10/30/1994)

(Watch the whole movie here on YouTube)

(spoiler alert, the guy on the cover is only in the movie for like, a minute, tops)

Boy, did i watch a dumb movie yesterday.

I was in the mood to watch something end of the world-y since I’m sad all the time. I was looking for the movie Testament, but couldn’t find a free copy. I saw a recommendation on YouTube for movie Without Warning. I remember it on like, a list of end of the world movies, but I thought it was a nuclear movie.

No.

Just a lot of busy dumb events. It plays off as breaking news in real time, but a made for TV movie. Like you’re watching people play end of the world pretend CBS news time:

They were basically doing a War of the Worlds for 1994.

I made screen caps on my iPad while I watched. as visual notes.

The movie starts out looking like any other Sunday night CBS made for TV movie from the mid 1990s. Then the “local news” cuts in with this lady. I’m going to tell you right now, she is only one of two convincing news reporters in this entire movie, and she only gets 5 seconds of screen time.

OH. did I mention that some of the news reporters in this movie are real deal reporters. Yes, real reporters for a fake news movie.

Like him, Sander Vanocur. He’s real. It bugs me immensely that this movie aired on CBS, and used many of the same-ish graphics CBS news used at the time. Let me try to pull something up as an example at the time.

I found the CBS Evening News from about a week before this movie aired. Hey, Connie.

Here is another example:

Movie.

Real deal CBS Evening News. Hi Scott.

I guess I should explain what’s going on. Three asteroids hit the earth at the same time, one in Wyoming, one in France, and one in China. The one that hit remote China looks like a cat’s butt. w2go, graphics department.

John DeLancie who just finished playing Q on Star Trek the Next Generation is in this movie playing a reporter in Wyoming ... for some reason. Come on, John, you’re way more talented than this movie. In the YouTube comments for another copy of this movie everybody was like, “I knew it was Q all along.”

So the news reporter in the newscopter (who is a real journalist) finds this little girl near the crater in Wyoming. The little girl speaks in content aware scale.

The commercials are in this copy! Here are some decaf coffee teabgs. mmm

All cleaning products in 1994 had to be potpourri scented. You know, dried flowers.

These would pop up before the movie resumed after each commercial break.

Malcom’s mom/the mean lady judge on the Simpsons, Jane Kaczmarek is the science correspondent for this faux network. She puts in the only good acting job in this entire film. She outperforms the real journalists. I like to image she watched a lot of news to study.

The first footage of the asteroid hitting was taken while these kids were getting ready to go trick or treating. They’re ok.

This bug-eyed creature was a guy that worked at NASA that the government flew to Johnson Space Center in a jet shortly after the asteroids hit. Why?

...because he’s some sort of experts in aliens, he was in an organization, that searched for extraterrestrial intelligence. Something with aliens.

(mm. The reporter in Houston at Johnson reminds me so much of Cliff from the final seasons of Matlock. If you know you know. )

When I saw that, I was like, give me a break. I almost closed YouTube and forgot about even writing this entry. I thought this was a plausible disaster movie, not an unbelievable alien movie.

Boston Chicken has a new vegetable pot pie with a mashed potato crust. It didn’t look good.

There was a political ad for someone named Frank Mascara.

They drug BILL into this movie. They didn’t make up a fictional president. They said that he was at some conference in Paris. I’m not really cool with them dragging real presidents into their budget made for TV film.

Jane mentioned this meteorite that several people filmed back in October 9 1992. I thought they were making it up, but it really happened. Hit a lady’s car.

I thought this weather and channel ID was part of the movie! Nope, that’s just the local affiliate.

Kimberly is the little girl the newscopter found. I had to laugh at this sign. Why do you love her.

Maybe the aliens are bringing us this sweet Oldsmobile Aurora that was in a commercial break.

Ohhh! The episode of Dave’s World when his son was hit by a car on halloween. I need to watch that episode.

Bug eyes is going against nasa protocol and telling us that more asteroids are coming, and the aliens are bringing them?

Do ‘yall remember that music video with Sting and the silver cowboy aliens. That’s how I imagine those aliens looked like.

There is a plot point that gets swept under the rug. The people in this little town just vanish.

MCI Pam Beesley

...did Continental pay for this? I think they diiid. Jane and Sander bring up how this Continental Lite was one of the last flights to take off because the aliens are interrupting radar.

I didn’t make a screen capture, but at this point, Air Force jets are coming to the North Pole to shoot down those other asteroids that are heading for more populous areas. Right as the jet pilots launch the missiles, the aliens kill em--the pilots saved the day though.

So, the correspondents are watching these missiles blow up the asteroids and they’re obviously trying not to freak out, try not to cry, try not cry while saying goodbye to family members. The guy in the lower left corner sniffles while saying that his 28th birthday is tomorrow. It’s soo cheezy, when the missiles destroy the asteroids all three of the reporters tell him happy birthday.

They need one last report from “Cliff” at Johnson Space Center. uh, Cliff?

It’s either a video game or the aliens are shooting off more asteroids. There’s radio signals all over stating that major metropolitans are gone. How do they know the towns are obliterated though. Maybe they just lost signal.

Most of these movies leave me scared afterward . Not this one. Maybe because we all had our own near end of the world experience this past year with the virus.

Of course, someone fell for it:

On Sunday night, minutes after the vidpic ended, KCBS newswoman Penny Griego stated on the 11 p.m. news, “Dozens of calls came into the Channel 2 newsroom.” 1

A CBS movie about an asteroid striking Earth triggered hundreds of phone calls nationwide Sunday night from confused viewers concerned the depicted events might be true.

[...]

WCCO-TV, the CBS affiliate in Minneapolis, apologized during its evening news to viewers fooled by the movie, which immediately preceded the newscast.″CBS broadcast disclaimers at every commercial break, but in spite of that we got almost a hundred calls from people alarmed, upset, some in tears,″ said anchorwoman Amy Marsalis. ″We called CBS network. They said they had very few calls from alarmed viewers across the nation, but for those of you who called here, we’re sorry for any bad moments.″ 2

Some 30 viewers phoned Channel 7 during and after the CBS Sunday night movie Without Warning, either to find out if, indeed, the earth had been struck by fragments of a gigantic asteroid or to complain about the network's audacity.

Although it didn't match the panic caused in 1938 by Orson Welles' radio broadcast of War of the Worlds, some viewers were genuinely upset, according to WHIO-TV station manager Don Kemper.

"One person said, "It scared my mother to death'," Kemper said. "And (others complained about) the fact that it was irresponsible. But I think people were upset they didn't know the difference between fiction and reality."

CBS superimposed a disclaimer saying "None of what you are seeing is actually happening" about every 15 minutes, but the calls still came.

Channel 7 finally added its own message, "This is a dramatization," midway through the 9-11 p.m. movie.

"We were getting calls, so we just added that just to try to help any viewers who were confused by it," Kemper said. "We put it on around 9:30, and then we put it on solid for the last hour. CBS had notified us there may be some calls, and I had notified the newsroom. 3

I even found a news report from October 31, 1994 out of South Bend, Illinois!

Review of movie over at We Are Cult

The movie is summarized on some sort of Halloween fandom wiki?

1. Loynd, Ray. “Without Warning.” Variety (blog), November 1, 1994. https://variety.com/1994/tv/reviews/without-warning-1200439570/.

2. AP NEWS. “Disaster Movie ‘Without Warning’ Realistic Enough to Confuse Some Viewers,” October 31, 1994. https://apnews.com/article/8adf3a6d5aa43fd75d6aaa8c0239eb06. 3. "CHANNEL HOPPING VIEWERS UPSET OVER CBS MOVIE 'WITHOUT WARNING': [CITY EDITION]." Dayton Daily News, Nov 01, 1994.

#1994 #the 1990s #1990s #made for tv movies #end of the world movies #dystopian films #alien films #asteroids #jane kazmarek #sting

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apenapaperandadoofus · 4 years ago

Note

RFA BEACH TRIP PLEASE🌊☀️🌴🐚🌺🐬🐠🦀

YESYESYES (I tried something a little different today, so I hope you enjoy it!)

RFA BEACH TRIP!

Jumin had recently bought this island, that was famous because of their cats. Yes. Cat island. And so because Jumin is such a sweetheart he got everyone some plane tickets so they would head out for the island the next day!

At first, everyone except Saeyoung and V weren’t really up to the idea. But then, when you got so excited and said that it would be so fun to have a beach trip, they changed their minds pretty quickly!

And so, all of you woke up at about 4am, Jumin sent some cars to pick you all up and soon you were all in his private jet. V and Jumin were listening to some classical music and drinking some wine, Yoosung at first was looking around everywhere, since he had never been on a private jet before, but a few minutes later he fell asleep on his seat, next to Zen, who was complaining loudly to Jumin, about how waking up at this hour was stupid, and that he only agreed to go because you were going.

Jaehee was watching some of Zen´s DVD in the background, Saeyoung was loudly singing to some music (you joined him lmao) which made Saeran groan and put on his headphones at full volume, trying to ignore his way too energetic twin.

You smiled as you looked at everyone in the RFA. This would be so exciting!

After you all checked in in the hotel -the fanciest hotel you had ever been in- you all changed into your swimsuits and decided to meet up in a bit.

You all set up on the fancy beach, Jumin and V sitting on some chairs under a really big umbrella, meanwhile Jaehee was wearing a hat and walking around the beach, looking at Zen, who was teasing Yoosung into getting in the water. Saeyoung was building some sand cats, yes, sand cats and Saeran was standing awkwardly on the side, not really knowing what to do.

This was going to be awesome!

Zen:

After traumatizing Yoosung for a bit, Zen called you over to get into the ocean with him. You smiled and grabbed his hand, as the both of you walked along the water, happily chatting. “I have to admit, even though I can’t stand that jerk, this beach trip was pretty nice. We haven’t all gone out like this in a while.” He said, while looking at all the RFA members, a big smile in his face. But then he turned around and pulled you closer to him, running his hands up your sides. “Although it is making me a bit jealous that they all got to see you in your swimwear like this. You look amazing.” A seductive smirk appeared on his face and Zen kissed you, and you both stood there, holding each other.

Until a big fucking wave got you guys and everyone laughed at the both of you. “THAT'S WHAT YOU GET FOR BEING ALL LOVEY DOVEY!” Yoosung yelled, and Zen glared at him. Apart from that the beach trip was awesome, and you enjoyed spending time with Zen!

Yoosung:

So, he wasn’t really a big fan of the ocean, but he liked the swimming pool! Yoosung and you had a swimming contest! And you ended up winning by a lot lmao. Afterwards you both made your way around the beach resort, admiring how fancy everything was.

Until you got lost. Yeah that wasn't good at all.

You both walked along for hours trying to find everyone else. And you didn’t succeed. At one point it had become night, and you were both back at the beach, holding each other’s hands. “I’m sorry Y/N. If I had just stayed with everyone we wouldn’t be in this predicament.” You shook your head and caressed Yoosung’s cheek. “It’s alright Yoosung. I had fun, to be honest! I love spending time with you.”

As Yoosung became red in the face, you saw a bright light and a loud bang followed right after. Fireworks!!! The two of you screamed happily and ran over to get a better view, and Yoosung wrapped his arm around you, giving you a forehead kiss.

It was absolutely adorable, and even though Saeyoung later teased the crap out of you two, you really enjoyed it!

Jaehee:

“Y/N? Are you alright? Why are you so red in the face, oh! Don’t tell me you have a fever! Let me check!”

You blushed even more as Jaehee placed the back of her hand in your forehead, and you nervously chuckled, gently pulling it away. “Uh. It’s alright Jaehee. I-I just got distracted for a bit haha, anyway! Look at those seashells!” You quickly made your way to the shore, trying to hide your flushed face. When you saw Jaehee in a very cute two piece swimsuit you felt as if you were about to die. How could she look so freaking hot yet adorable at the same time?! You were just speechless.

Jaehee slowly followed you and helped you picking up shells. You both laughed as Seven tackled Yoosung in the water, while Zen was screaming loudly at the both of them for getting his beautiful face wet!

Soon enough you and Jaehee had picked up enough shells, and you placed them in a little bucket. Then, Jaehee grabbed your hand and led you to the water, where you were both looking at the beautiful sunset. Everything was perfect.

Until you felt a splash of water hit your face. You dramatically gasped as Jaehee giggled, and splashed some more water in your face. Before you knew it, it had become a water battle between the two of you, and you enjoyed it greatly! Jaehee kept running around and giggling the whole time, even when you grabbed her by the waist and carried her up, spinning her around.

When you came home from the beach, you both took the seashells and made them into a frame, and you put your favorite picture of the two of you together.

She really enjoyed spending the whole time with you, and she would love to do it again!

Jumin:

When you came to the beach, you made your way to Jumin and sat beside him, while talking to him and V, who had a huge smile on his face.

“Thank you for the trip, Jumin. It’s been a while since all of us travelled like this, together. I never thought we’d go out again ever since Rika passed away. But now, thanks yo Y/N, we’re able to do this again.” You blushed and shyly smiled at V.

Jumin didn’t really like to go and swim in the ocean, but you two decided to build some sand castles, since apparently he had never done that before. It all started as an innocent competition, until Jumin literally started making blueprints and measured everything so his sandcastle could be perfect!

And it was :D

Afterwards, you both went to your room and you changed into some clothes that Jumin had bought you. He escorted you to a really fancy restaurant in the place, and he got seats near a balcony so you could look at the sea while you ate. It was absolutely beautiful, the wind rustling his hair a bit, and everytime he looked at you and smiled, god, was he trying to kill you?

At one point Jumin grabbed your hand and kissed it, looking at you with eyes full of love.

¨Thanks to you we're able to go out like this now...you've done so much for us, and you don't understand how lucky I feel to be here with you, right now. I love you, Y/N.¨

You both had an amazing dinner, and after the trip Jumin would sometimes take some days off so you could go there again.

Saeyoung:

He was so thrilled to go to the beach with you and his brother!

Honestly, he had never felt so happy in his life!

Then you saw that there was a place where you could rent surfing boards! And holy crap you both had never ran so fast to a place before.

The two of you tried (and failed miserably) to surf. Saeyoung had actually gotten the hang of it pretty quickly, but you kept getting distracted!

He just looked so handsome with his hair all wet, and pulled back a bit so it wouldn’t get in his way. And when he surfed he looked so fucking good.

At one point you bit your lip, and when Saeyoung saw the way you were looking at him he led you to a nearby bathroom.

After the both of you and back, and played some pranks on Yoosung, you decided to go and....LOOK FOR THE CATS! That was honestly one of the only reasons why he agreed to wake up that early and everything!

You both made your way around the little town that was near Jumin’s resort, and you soon found cats everywhere. They were so fucking cute holy shit.

The rest of the trip you took a bunch of pictures, sometimes with the cats and sometimes with Saeran (who was acting as if he didn’t want to be here but he was having a hella good time.)

One night Saeyoung led you to the roof of the resort and kissed you.

¨I love you so much Y/N. Thank you for everything.¨

When you come back Saeyoung promised you that you will go on trips more often now, and he just can’t help but smile remembering the good things that happened.

Bonus:

“How many times did we tell you to NOT DO IT?!” Zen screamed.

“This is not how I thought I’d spend my time. I’m leaving to see how Elizabeth the third is doing.”

“No you don’t, you jerk! You have to stay here with the rest of us.”

“Lololol Yoosung I never thought you’d actually do it!”

“Luciel this is partially your fault too, you were the one who urged him to do it, so you’re to blame too. If you hadn’t thrown your food it wouldn’t have been this bad.” Jaehee glared at Luciel, and he quickly hid behind you.

“AGHHHH Y/N SAVE ME!! That gaze almost turned me to stone, brrr so scary!”

“It’s your fault you idiot. You should’ve realized by now that Yoosung is dumb enough to fall for those stupid tricks of yours. Besides you didn’t even tried to help him, you made things worse!”

“Aghhh! Not you too Saeran! My own brother!! Everyone is against me right now, hey V, help meeee!!!”

“Well Luciel....if you hadn’t even dared him to jump in there, we wouldn’t be here right now...so I’m afraid I’m going to have to agree with Jaehee on this one.” V laughed nervously.

“SEVEN I SWEAR IM NEVER FORGIVING YOU FOR THIS!” Yoosung yelled.

You may be wondering, what the hell happened?

Seven did.

Let me explain.

You were all eating lunch, when Seven dared Yoosung to go and jump into this little pond (that was made because of some rocks) to grab some crabs. It was going fine, until a whole bunch of them decided to go against Yoosung, and they started pinching him everywhere, so Yoosung quickly got out and started screaming.

Zen was about to help him, when Seven threw his sandwich at Yoosung while yelling YEET and NATURAL SELECTION DO YOUR THING, making some seagulls who were passing by, go and attack Yoosung.

Then Yoosung fell in a sand hole that you and Seven had made before near the shore, it was really deep, and when the crabs and seagull were finally off him, a fucking little octopus appeared and decided to latch onto Yoosung’s head.

Seven just laughed while Zen and Jaehee tried to get the octopus off, Jumin was sighing like a disappointed parent, and Saeran was actually smirking.

Meanwhile V had tried to go and help, but he went to the wrong place because...well he can’t see, so he was touching a palm tree while yelling for Yoosung.

And that’s how Yoosung became traumatized for life!

But it was honestly so funny lmao

Later when you’re all in the restaurant Seven orders some octopus on purpose to traumatize Yoosung even more.

And that’s why, kids, you should never go and pick up crabs because Seven dared you to.

#mystic messenger #saeyoung choi #saeran choi #jumin han #yoosung kim #jaehee kang #mysme zen #jihyun mysme

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