#i need to find those old files full of stuff i wrote for him

[roguerinzler]

thank god im not normal about rinzler

[surejess--arc]

@forwardintros​

( margot robbie, cis woman, she/her ) — Look who it is! If you take a look at our database, you’ll find that JESSICA “JESS” TURNER is a THIRTY-TWO year old STAND-UP COMEDIAN that’s been in Chicago for SIXTEEN YEARS. According to the file, they’re a mutant on LEVEL THREE with the power of CLOWN PHYSIOLOGY. That must be why they’re THEATRICAL and NONSENSICAL. If you ask me, they remind me of unearned laughter over a killing joke, a permanent stepford smile, mars opportunity’s last message. They are affiliated with BARNUM ODDITIES + HELLFIRE CLUB.

could i leave her behind ? ...too silly to leave behind !

QUICK FACTS

full name: jessica mary “jess” turner

name reasoning: ...jess tur.

date of birth: february 24th, 1990

zodiac big three: pisces sun, sagittarius moon, gemini rising

gender & pronouns: cis woman & she/her

sexual orientation: bisexual

ethnicity: white

nationality: american

languages spoken: english (5)

enneagram: 7w6

mbti: enfp

temperament: sanguine-melancholic moral alignment: chaotic neutral

ability: clown physiology

affiliation: barnum oddities & the hellfire club ( co-founder )

alias: n/a

BACKSTORY

triggers: being sold to carnies?, kidnapping, torture, a white guy complaining because he was fired from the cool torture factory 🙄

jessica was born in brooklyn to two non-mutant parents ( why are all of my muses’ parents non-mutants ). one eye had a pink iris, she was notably paler than other children ( but not to the point of ‘oh my god, is that krusty the clown?’ ) and her hair grew rather odd – naturally platinum blonde, bordering on white, with different colors and slightly redder lips. but her parents always just assumed that the babysitters were harmlessly fucking around with hair dye when they were out. come to think of it she probably just looked albino with a dash of makeup and hair dye ahfdouiladjns

her parents never expressed much of an opinion on the mutant situation, seeming to be impartial parties – very ‘well, as long as they aren’t hurting anyone, it’s fine.’ and that was true! they really didn’t care! they were totes chill! …so long as it applied to anyone but family.

that isn’t to say when jess first just… pulled a card out of thin air, they were like ‘oh my god, sin!’ – hell, they thought it was just a magic trick! but as things like that continued, and as she lost babysitters but kept that strange-ish look with the quite red lips… they were like ‘this is getting weird. she looks like an e-girl, only those don’t exist yet, so she looks like a clown™. i have an idea. let’s send her to boarding school so we don’t have to deal with maybe having a mutant daughter and having to help her with this weird stuff. ugh.’

but, lol, they just said it was a boarding school. they actually found a group of carnies that they… essentially sold her to. obviously she was quite taken aback and hurt at first, but the carnies proved to be very caring – more caring than her parents had ever found it in themselves to be. they taught her so many useful things! like conning, how to fake your death, acrobatics… really all over the board! who needs a typical schooling system when you can just have carnies?! they also took most of her ‘powers’ as talents, natural gifts. hell, they actually did have a few mutants traveling along with them! a wolf woman who just functioned as their bearded lady, a kid with lobster physiology under control enough to just make him look like he had lobster hands, an old man with unicorn physiology under control enough to just show the horn. and, because of the title of the attraction they sat in – ‘freak show’ – everyone just assumed all of the oddities were deformations. it was a safe place. and jess fit in well with her intuitive clown magic.

also i would be aghast to not mention the presence of cordelia yildiz, a genuine connection who she made the mistake of losing, but i wrote this intro over a year ago and i’m trying to make as few changes as possible bc i’m lazy afldskfs

but, as she grew, it became apparent that her differences stretched beyond physical and sleight of hand. yes, she was a natural at cards, juggling, balloon animals, and she was funny! even the things that were maybe .2% funny generated so much laughter and joy! which… they didn’t recognize as a problem…

until she was fourteen. something unexpected happened: one of her jokes – a bad one, a lame ‘chicken crossed the road’ spin – made patrons laugh so hard that they were breaking ribs, gasping for air, and being driven mad by the hilarity. three died, all the others were sent to the hospital. some never left the psych ward.

and something similar happened… and, for as much as the carnies dearly loved her, when she began showing signs that her simple power was actually quite dangerous, they decided that the best plan of action was to keep her at bay whilst they looked for someone or something who/that could teach her. but, before they had the chance to find someone, disgraced ex-ammo scientist william barnum had the chance to find her.

people came and went. with the circumstances, it was concerning... but trying to find someone who easily could’ve just run off wasn’t worth risking themselves for. a week later, the circus marched forth, none the wiser !

barnum & co. presented as respectable individuals. despite his method of kidnapping, it seemed almost pristine at first... then you get shoved inside and find that you’re essentially in a glorified warehouse, surrounded by scientists who did not meet kappa standards or were too impatient to so much as try. thus, think of it like this: kappa’s bear traps are new, shiny, sharp ; barnum’s bear traps are rusted, infested, blunt and in need of chopping.

then the experiments began. and how fascinating they found this ability! how innocent it seemed with its stupid card and balloon tricks, but how threatening it was with its bombs and killing jokes (reference intended). the last thing they expected was for little carnie clown girl to be a real threat! even with the nullifying extracted gene used between experiments, they absolutely gagged her up <3 just gave her a little notebook because they aren’t completely evil <3 over a decade of being able to talk for maybe 30mins a day (just to make sure she still can when need be) and people would WONDER why she has so much to say <3

that said, she likely seemed very quiet to her peers… which she was naturally rather not. it is In Her DNA™.

I ALSO JUST REALLY WANT TO ADD THAT SOME OF THE EXPERIMENTS WERE LIKE. TERRIBLE. BUT THERE’S ON THAT’S JUST REALLY FUNNY IN CONCEPT. LIKE ESSEX HOUSE SETTING UP A WHOLE SLAPSTICK STAGE AT ONE POINT. TO TEST PAIN SUPPRESSION. LITERAL CLOWNERY.

(that said, they were most interested in her brain, limbs/digits, tongue/teeth, and skin……… so do with that information what you will)

other experiments were performed, each worse than the last, and her will was all but broken.. she was barely able to speak, barely able communicate – what was the point in trying? in hoping?

but after a new sub-ability made itself known - miming - and they decided to have fun hacking away at limbs?? SHE WAS READY TO MAKE SOME PLANS AND SPREAD THEM AROUND. (escape can be plotted out ofc! just keeping this sentence from the intro bc im too lazy to change anything i dont absolutely need to!)

getting that gag off, she wasted absolutely no time in letting some of those brilliant scientists finally hear her brilliant jokes! literally laugh themselves to death!

for some months after the escape, she was a classic sad clown, having no CLUE what she was supposed to do. believe it or not, for a whole month, she was even struggling with speech! (i have like… a whole thing about why she talks so much outside of the general ‘she’s a clown’ in my head it’s actually quite sad clown pls do ask if u wld like to hear)… then she saw an ad for an open mic night and a lightbulb appeared over her head! suddenly having the ability to talk for more than fifteen minutes, a day she could be a stand-up comedian… because even when she wasn’t funny, apparently she was really fucking funny! that said, she just uses the pseudonym ‘jester’ to draw less attention to her actual identity in the event that the barnum folks are walkin around.

a few months after the escape, jess was lucky enough to meet january st. james in all her generosity. she has since made her way to becoming january’s right-hand man and even aided in founding the hellfire club!

TIMELINE

BORN – in ‘90 with clear differences, but not enough to warrant scare. (bro replacing “’69″ with “’90″ felt so weird)

AGE 13 – jess is discovered to definitely be a mutant; more or less sold to carnies

AGE 15 – one of jess’s jokes killed various audience members, drove others insane, and maimed even more. happened more than once.

AGE ~15.5 – jess is caught by barnum & co, the poor man’s kappa (which was completely purposeful, as william barnum was an embittered ex-ammo scientist)

AGE ~15.5-30 – jess is tortured by barnum & co. allowed to speak for maybe half an hour each day, if that. depends on them to provide paper/pen, but they can revoke as they please.

AGE 30 – a plan is concocted to escape with four other mutants

AGE 30 – jess is free and on the streets. january st. james helps her get back on her feet. finds a career as a comedian.

AGE 30+ – jess is still hellbent on revenge <3 but also helping establish the hellfire club like it’s all very contradictory.

HEADCANONS

y’all know that i’ve come up with a lot so i’ll just include the two that i put in the original intro. maybe i’ll come back one day and add them all but today is not that day!

 her version of reality can now be showcased by lily allen’s ‘ldn’ mv… only violence is still an option <3

also a lil note for her physiology since margot’s played harley quinn in three different movies and, each time, she’s looked a little different: facial features like suicide squad (2016), always has those lil bedazzled eyebrows she wears in birds of prey, color scheme of the suicide squad (2021) ! ( that said, probs won’t be using many ss gifs because there was like… one pack still available ahdlsaifjsk so just <3 imagine <3 ) the one thing i would add that’s in none of the gifs is one iris being a shade of light pink and the other being the regular blue.

OH BUT ALSO A VERY IMPORTANT IMAGE: jess at barnum

CONNECTION IDEAS

barnum & co oddities ! the blurb will be submitted to the channel momentarily ( tl for kappa/hellfire didn’t add up, so original it is! ), but basically the four other folks she escaped the poor man’s kappa with.

kappa runaways ! okay i’m just interested in the idea of william barnum & co having been like ‘fuck kappa... fuck those bitches... they’re so stupid...’ so like. jess is aware of kappa’s existence -- would love for her to meet/have met some of the runaways and learned about how kappa was actually the chanel to barnum’s walmart

hellfire folks ! she does not even begin to look like she fits in in there and lbr she doesn’t ! could make it funny !

regulars at her performances ! yea

violence is the answer ! yea

peer pressure ! yea

see i just don’t feel like typing all of those out again ! but she has been established enough... for tha vibe !

brainstorming. obvs.

[lilith-of-rivia]

The Bard’s Sister 

Geralt X Reader 

Part 2 

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3

Masterlist 

Summary: Geralt of Rivia and his long time travel companion Jaskier find themselves in Jaskiers home land. A place Geralt had not only never seen nor heard of. Jaskier is ready to reunite its his family after traveling and exploring the world for 20 years. The one person he missed the most was his baby sister (Y/N). Who he hadn't seen since she was 5. The journey is long, but the pay off is grander then they would ever be able to predict. This is still part of our introduction to the main characters and their personalities in this story. Next chapter will be more about (Y/N) and Geralt. I know I am trash at summaries.

I would like to state that I do plan on adding a pregnancy in the future to this story. (I know Geralt is steril. Just bare with me and the story line I’ve created) I just wanted to let eveyone know because I would hate for someone to get attached to the character and story only to have a plot line they do not like for themselves. I know not everyone like pregnancy plot lines but I’m such a sucker for dad!Geralt.

Trigger warnings: Cursing 

Pairings: GeraltxReader JaskierxSister!reader

Word count: 6,369

(Changed from 3rd to 1st person) 

The sun was high in the sky, it was nearly two in the afternoon. The garden below the large windows of the castle was shining brightly. The birds chirping, children playing in the river that ran through the center of the city. Life was good. The sun was shining a little brighter today. It was because Jaskier was finally home. 

I hadn’t realized how much I missed him till he was back. After breakfast, we walked around the castle’s courtyard. He and Geralt introduced me to their horses. To my pleasant surprise, Roach took a particular liking to me, as did her owner. He was nothing like the rumors. There were many times that I traveled out of our borders into the western part of the continent, and every time people had nothing but cruel fowl things to say about the poor witcher. Sure he wasn't perfect, but no one was. 

“Would you like to see my studies?” I asked as we walked down the long corridors that lead to three separate staircases. I glanced between the two men that were on either side of me. 

“Your studies?” Jaskier asked looking down at me. I couldn’t help but smile. 

“I told you in my letter that I’ve been working with a man over the last couple of years. He has trained me well. But I have many books, drawings notes all sorts of stuff that I’ve written about the world outside of our home.” We approached the base of the three staircases. 

“I’ve never seen a castle so big in my life.” Geralt’s sultry voice flooded my ears once again. I couldn’t help but smile up at him. He was so polite. He never turned his nose at us. I knew he didn’t have a very positive history with others like us. Yet he sent no judgment towards myself or my parents. He just listened, followed, and learned. I had never met someone so open to the world yet so closed off that the same time, and we’ve barely even begun to get o know each other.  

“Our mines are some of the richest you’d ever see in your life. From coal to diamonds. Nearly 85% of all ores get mined and sent out to the rest of the continent.” I started walking up the staircase on the far left, the stairs led up a long corridor that was open and bright, the mountains that shielded us from the rest of the world in perfect view. Both were still by my side. I stopped at the first picture that hung on the wall. 

“That’s my great-great-grandfather, he only recently passed but he started all of this.” I looked towards Geralt. He was listing intently, his eyes on me as soon as I looked in his direction. I knew Jaskier knew our history so I wasn't too worried if he was paying attention or not. 

“He came here from Termieria with his 6 younger brothers. The mines here had been closed for many many years. The town was completely deserted. There was a serious necrophage problem that no one wanted to deal with, so they just up and left. Leaving the plentiful mines full for someone else.” 

“Necrophages?” Geralt questioned his eyebrow tiling in curiosity. 

“The people who inhabited the lands before we did, had not known of the creatures. Didn’t properly bury the dead. My grandfather wrote in his journal that when they got here the streets were lined with bodies that had been drug out of their shallow graves, crypts had been broken into. His best guess is that a flue came before the people fled, killing many in a short period.” I started walking ahead of the two men, down the hall towards my room. I pushed the door open walking in placing my books on the night table as they followed in slowly behind me. Their eyes wandered over every inch. Jaskier started wandering through the room looking at every picture on the wall. Most of them were sketches, mostly of him. Or the people he sang about in his ballads. He grabbed one off the wall and laughed softly. 

“Who is this supposed to be?” I walked over to him and laughed softly, my cheeks turning a soft shade of pink. 

“That, that uh was my first sketch of Geralt.” The sound of his name got his attention, he was trying to be polite and not snoop. Although I didn't care if he wanted to look around. He walked away from the door over to Jaskier and me. He lingered behind me, very close behind me. I could feel his body heat on my back and his warm breath on my face as he peered over my shoulder at the parchment Jaskier was holding. 

“How old were you when you did this?” Jaskier asked.

“Eighteen, maybe nineteen. It was after your first balled about your adventures with Geralt that started to spread like wildfire. I went to a tavern one night with a friend and someone was singing it. I was intrigued by the song and asked them who they sang about. I was told they didn't write the song, our very own Prince had. So I listened to them play it over and over.  I asked around the and so see if people knew what the famed witcher looked like. I got conflicting answers from nearly everyone I asked.” Geralt reached his arm over me, his hand gently brushing my arm, sending chills down my spine. His hand grasped the paper as he looked at it closely.   ��       

“They got the hair color right. That was about all. Some people have some very wild depictions that I drew, but none in any seriousness.” The particular one they were examining was nothing like Geralt. They got everything wrong but his hair color. Many people said he was a scrawny young lad with the strength of thousands of men, making him easier to blend in with the crowds. Granted this was very early on in my brother and the Witcher’s adventures together so not many people had paid close attention to the witcher. 

“You drew what people described?” Geralt asked. 

“Yes, some people tried to pay me but I told them to give it to the needy. I traveled with Serena for a couple of weeks right after I turned nineteen, we didn't venture far past the mountains but it was enough.” I couldn't help but frown at the memories of the people in the towns scowling and sticking their noses in the air when I asked about the Witcher and my brother. 

“Can I see the other ones?” Geralt’s question took me by surprise. 

“I don’t know…” 

“Oh come on, you're very talented (Y/N), let him see them,” Jaskier said and shoved my shoulder playfully. I smiled softly at him but shook my head. 

“It is not that I’m self-conscious of my work, it’s the depictions of Geralt outside of our Kingdom, for the most part, were cruel and inaccurate beyond belief. I only drew them because I was wasting their time asking questions. I honestly don't know why I kept them.” I nervously rubbed the back of my neck, the idea of Geralt seeing those ugly, horrendous, depictions of himself made my stomach turn. He didn’t deserve the hate he received. I never understood why people despised Witchers the way they did. I only experienced it outside of our kingdom. For some reason, whether it be our pure lack of monsters or the abundance of sunshine, my people seemed happier. Less judgmental than the outside world. I was grateful to live in such a kind and caring place, but it does get rather dull after a while. 

“I’d still like to see them.” Geralt said softly as he handed the parchment back to me. I sighed slightly uncomfortable with the idea, I took the parchment and hung it back up on the wall. 

“Let’s make a deal,” I said turning to them both. 

“Oh boy.” Jaskier teased. 

“I’ll show you the drawings if you let me paint you now, so I have an accurate model. Not just words.” Geralt’s eyes looked over me, his arms crossing over his chest. A small smirk formed over his lips as he watched me intently. 

“If you want to draw me so bad, just ask dove.” The nickname nearly threw me off my feet. My heartbeat quickened at a rapid pace and I couldn't even look him in the eye. Jaskier snickered and pulled out a chair by my desk. He was enjoying this way too much. I cleared my throat swelling thickly. 

“T-that I uh..” I had never been one to not have words. According to my parents, I talked too much. Just like my brother. Yet here I was gobsmacked and wordless. I grumbled under my breath moving to the desk Jaskier was sat at and made him move. He got up and I sat down. I opened the top hatch of the desk, lifting out folders and files of archives. Some containing spells, some more drawing, history of the continent, and even monster facts that I knew I wouldn’t ever need. I placed the folders on the floor. Jaskier grabbed a few and moved to my bed plopping himself down kicking his feet up. My head snapped over to him as he put his dirty boots all over my fresh linens. 

“Jaskier. If you don't get your boots off my bed, I will castrate you.” I warned turning back around rummaging some more. I heard him kick off his shoes. Geralt chuckled behind me. 

“Fiery are we.” He teased but I ignored him. Finally, at the bottom of all my work, I found the folder. I held it up to him, not wanting to watch his face as he looked at the disgusting depictions of himself. 

“Thank you, dove.” His lip was right next to my ear. I felt frozen. 

I couldn't tell if it was genuinely just a flirt or if this was directed to me. Sure I had heard the rumors of the witcher and his many women of the night, including the sorceress Yennefer. But this seemed different. I snapped back to reality when he let out a low chuckle. I turned around and stood up, peering over his arm to see what one he was looking at. This one was particularly nasty. His eyes were slanted like snake eyes, large fangs protruded out of his mouth, and his hair was a crazy mess. His eyes were blood red, his nose crooked from supposedly being punched so many times. His face was littered with so many scars he had scale-like skin. I remembered the man who gave me that description. 

“I met this man in a tavern in Solveiga, it’s the furthest I've ever been from home.” Jaskier stood up walking over and looking at the drawing Geralt was studying carefully. I didn't know why he was spending so much time on such a cruel piece. 

“He said you came through a few winters prior, he and a bunch of the townsmen had gathered some coins so you'd get rid of a Striga. I knew was lying the moment he opened his mouth.” Geralt looked up from the payment, his eyes meeting mine.

“Why do you think he's lying?” I took the folder from him, and just as I expected the parchment below the picture he was looking at was full of my notes. Every time I traveled and spoke to people about it. My brother or his companions took incredibly detailed notes, I never wanted to forget anything. I took the parchment out before handing him the folder back. I began to read the notes:

“This man takes me for a fool. No more than some silly girl. While he sits here and tells the tale of the Wolf he seems to be forgetting the incredibly important fact about Strigas, they only hunt during a full moon. He keeps saying that the beast was hunting their people every single night, slashing children, men, women, animals, every night for months. He’s using it to fuel the people's hatred of the witcher. He’s attempting to claim that they sent for him as soon as they knew of her presence. Claiming the witcher waited nearly three months before coming to discard the beast.” I flipped the page over scanning the meticulous notes. 

“He said the beast was killed on a new moon, he said he remembers it so vividly because of the lack of moonlight while he escorted the witcher to her crypt. I may not be a witcher, but I am not stupid. The man is trying to make matters worse by lying through his crooked yellow teeth. How dare he tarnish a name for the sake of his prosperity.” Geralt chuckled at the last part making me look up at him, he had an amused smile on his face, his eyes twinkled as he looked at me. 

“Why are you laughing?” I tilted my head to the side slightly and he just shook his head, putting the folder of parchment into the desk. He knelt and began picking up the rest of the folders neatly placing them inside the desk where they came from. 

“Because you got so mad that someone lied about me, yet you at the time were not even sure I was a real thing-“ 

“Person.” I quickly corrected him. His eyes glanced at me, he didn't move his head as he continued placing my papers where they belonged. 

“What?” He asked. 

“You called yourself a thing, you're not a thing Geralt. You're a real living breathing person.” His eyes found my own again. My heart raced as he studied my eyes. I had never seen anything so beautiful. His eyes were like hot pools of gold and honey. The complexity of the colors was mesmerizing.

“And I wasn't only mad that he was lying about you, I was mad that he was lying in general. About something anyone could disprove if they just picked up a book on monsters.” I noticed the parchment with the drawing he was just looking at was on my bed. I grabbed it to put it back on the desk. Geralt's strong hand gently grasped my wrist stopping me. His other hand gently grabbed the parchment from my hand. 

“I’d like to keep this one if you don't mind.” I looked at him shocked.

“Why that one?? Of all the ones I've done you choose one of the most inaccurate and the crudest?” It made no sense to me. Why did he want that? Was it some fun game of his to think he was just some stupid monster? 

“Because it shows your talent in a way the others don't. And besides, you got my nose perfectly. No one can do that.” I sighed heavily not liking the idea of him possessing such a cured drawing that was drawn purely on lies. 

“Fine. Keep it.” He smiled vicariously. I’d let him keep every single one if he smiled like that all the time. The smile quickly vanished when Jaskier came back over with the first file he took. The one he had been studying was full of my notes on herbology and alchemy. 

“You are incredibly smart (Y/N), I felt as though I was reading Yennefer’s notes.” A huge smile spread across my face at his compliment. 

“Thank you, Jax.” Geralt was now walking around my room, hands tucked under his arms as he studied the drawing and notes hanging on the walls. Some drawings were of monsters, some of the random people I’d met on my short travels, some maps I’d drawn up so I’d remember where I wanted to go when I had the chance. 

“Your talent is very wide-ranging, little dove. I have to say I’m very impressed with your knowledge.” That blasted nickname nearly kicked me off my feet again. 

I looked out my window noticing the sun was getting lower in the sky.

“If you'd like to get new clothes I’d suggest we do it now, it’ll be dark soon and the shops close earlier in the week.” Gertrude turned to me, nodding his head. 

“Please. These pants are so tight I’m afraid I may lose my legs.” 

We walked down the street. The sun was close to setting in the sky. The cool air kissed my bare chest as we walked. It was a comfortable silence between the three of us. For the first time in my life, I felt comfortable in silence. I hated the quiet with most people, it left room for negative thoughts, negative energies. Most times when it was unbearably quiet when I was present was because I was shut down from talking by the people around me. I know they meant no harm, I knew I had a lot to handle at times. I was just lonely. Board. I only had a few true friends. Most of the people I grew up with were married and with children now. I spent a lot of time alone, I liked being alone. It gave me space to think about the world. The world outside my small one. 

We approached the seamstress, walking through the wood door. A small bell rang in as we entered. Hildi walked out from the back, a bright smile on her face. She was a sweet older woman, not much older than my mum. She had been running this shop for as long as I could remember. She was the best seamstress in the country in my opinion. 

“Princess (Y/N)!! What a lovely surprise!” She walked around the counter and hugged me softly. Her hands-on the sweater I was in. She made it for me many years back for a birthday gift. She always had the best gifts. Full of love. I did adore the woman. Her attention turned to the men next to me. Her eyes grew bigger, her hand gently coming up to her chest. 

“My gods. The rumors were true. Jaskier!! How wonderful it is to see you again!!” Her hands wrapped around my brother who hugged her back. I couldn't tell if he remembered her or if he was just being nice. As she released him she looked at Geralt who was visibly tense, scared that she may try and hug him. 

“You must be Geralt of Rivia!” He nodded. 

“Rain!! Get out here!! And bring me my Witcher’s guide!!” Geralt's eyebrows furrowed at the mention of the book. He shot me a glance and I just smiled. A few moments later Hildi’s daughter Rain appeared. She was my age. We knew each other in school. She was never nice to me. Picked on me. Would make jokes about Jaskier not being around. I never told anyone, in fear people would think I was nothing but a stuck up princess. Her presence made me uneasy. I slowly took a small step back, inching closer to my brother. Rain’s eyes landed on Geralt. I could practically see the drool pooling in her mouth. 

“Gods save me.” She moaned out. I had to fight off the urge to cringe at her outward burst. 

“The tales are true then?” She looked directly at me. 

“So maybe you weren’t lying all these years.” I scoffed and rolled my eyes. 

Hildi was very blind to her daughter's cruelness. After her husband passed away it was just her and Rain. She’d do anything for her. I understood that. She was a devoted mother and wife. I knew how heartbroken she was. She walked to Rain and took the book from her hand and grabbed a quill that had been dipped in ink. She turned to Geralt, a very soft smile on her face. 

“Would you sign this for me?” His eyes bulged out of his head. 

“Y-you want me to sight your book?” I held back a giggle at his shock. He truly wasn't used to being appreciated. 

“Yes, please. If it is not too much to ask. Your stories were what got me through my husband’s death. Had it not been for the ballads and tales of your great bravery I may have not made it through.” Geralt’s shoulders softened at her words. He nodded his head and walked over to the counter. She opened the book to the first page and he scribbled down his name before giving her a soft smile. She gently placed her hand on his arm and squeezed. 

“You are truly a great hero here Geralt. If our country had a mascot, you'd be it.” Jaskier chucked lowly at her comment making me swat the back of his he’d. He hissed in pain and looked at me. I glared at him. 

“Do not ruin this for him,” I whispered. 

Hildi turned her attention back to me and smiled. 

“What can I do for you today my dear?”

“Well as you can see, Jaskier has a sore taste in fashion and also doesn’t understand sizing. I was hoping you could fit them in some better, more comfortable garments. Maybe a set of nice clothes for my party as well?” She gleamed. She hurried around her counter, grabbing a piece of parchment and measuring tape. She came back around and wasted no time in messing the two men. I sat down at a table by the window and watched as she rummaged through somethings in the back of her store. 

“So you're like a real witcher?” Rain’s voice caught my attention. She was leaning over the counter, her dress pulled down, the cleavage of her breasts on clear display as she dumbly curled her blond hair in her fingers. 

“No. I'm a fake one.” Geralt said back unamused. 

“But like are the rumors true?” She asked leaning even further over the counter. She was trying so desperately hard to get him to look down her dress. But he was simply uninterested. I felt my heartburn with envy. I hated that it did. He wasn't mine, he was nowhere near it. But the thought of him looking at her like that made my blood boil. 

“Rumors about what?” He took a step back from the counter slowly making his way over to where Jaskier and I were. 

“Ya know. About your huge cock.” Jaskier and I both choked on our spit. My hand flew over my mouth to keep my laugh in. It was a good thing her mother’s hearing wasn't all that great. Geralt looked visibly uncomfortable. He sat down in the chair next to me, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. Jaskier and I were both trying to get ourselves under control after her question. She was completely unfazed. She thought she was hot shit. 

“Common witcher. Tear me apart. Show me the real monster you can be.” That sentence made my grip on the chair so tight I thought I could’ve broken the arm in half. I probably could have if I did not have any self-control. I’m much stronger than I look.

“Do not call him that.” I hissed. My teeth were clenched so hard I was sure I was breaking them. Her eyes flicked over to me. She looked me up and down trying to size me up. 

“Call him what? A witcher. Honey are you dumb. That’s what he is.” In a second I was inches from her face. I could feel my blood pumping thru my veins. 

“Do not ever call him a monster again.” I was a bit shocked at how mean I sounded. I had never been this angry with her before. I wanted to punch her stupid smile in more than anything. 

“(Y/N)..” I heard Jaskier’s voice behind me. He was very close to me. My hands were balled in fists at my sides. My knuckles were turning white with how angry I was. 

“I promise you, studying princess, he's been called worse.” She smiled cheekily at me and her hand came up and she attempted to pat my face like I was a dog. My reflexes were much faster than she realizes. I grabbed ahold of her wrist in an intron grip. I began to squeeze and bend her wrist back away from my face. Her face contorted in pain. She wasn't expecting me to be as strong as I was. 

“I said-'' I squeezed harder, and she gasped slightly as she tried to pull her hand away. “Do not call him that.” I threw her hand away from me before turning around and walking by the window. I hadn't realized both Jaskier and Geralt were standing behind me. 

Moments later Hildi came out completely oblivious to the scene that just took place. She had a cloth sack filled with clothes and placed them on the counter. 

“Alright, dearly that’ll be 45 coins.” She said as she wrote down the total in her book. I stood quickly pulling the amount from my coin purse and putting it in her hand. I smiled at her as best I could, Jaskier grabbed the bag of clothes. 

“If something doesn’t go right, bring them back.” 

“Thank you Hildi, very much.” Geralt said a charming smile on his lip. He gently shook her hand kissing the top of it. 

“Thank you, Geralt. It was a pleasure meeting you. Don’t be a stranger.” She patted his cheek as a mum does. I turned on my heels and walked out of the shop. The cold air hit my hot face. My blood pumped slow and hard through my veins as the anger disappeared from my body. Jaskier came out of the shop and threw his arm over my shoulders leaning into me. 

“Thank you.” He whispered lowly, Great not being very far behind us as we walked to the castle. 

“For?” 

“Defending him. Many people don’t realize how much he’s heard throughout his lifetime. I’m glad I’m not the only one who wants to help.” I turned to him and smiled. I leaned into his side hugging him gently before, turning around walking backward as I looked at Geralt. 

“If you would like, I’ll show you both to your rooms, and you can change. We can then have tea in the garden and I can draw you.” A soft smile graced his lips, his eyebrow rising softly. 

“You seriously want to draw me?” I nodded my head and stopped walking, but he didn’t. He kept getting closer and closer till he was a few inches from me. 

“Yes, Geralt I do. You have a special spot in my heart, not just because I believe you are a true knight. And many people are just too scared to admit that, but also for keeping my brother safe all these years. You deserve to feel appreciated.” His features softened as his eyes searched my face before settling on my own eyes. His hand gently came up and he moved a small piece of hair from my face. 

“A deal is a deal, little dove.” I felt as though my soul was being sucked out through his hand. Every fiber in my body wanted to pull him closer to me, to show him love, and tenderness. Something I knew he never actually had. 

“Good, follow me,” I said with a smile.

After I showed them to their rooms; my brother’s old room not far from my own, and Geralt’s which shared a wall with my room, I went down to the garden. My easel, charcoals, and paints were set up on the table as they came down from changing and freshening up. Geralt looked more beautiful in clothes he could breathe in. his attire was so simple yet he made it look like the finest silks and jewels. It was a soft cotton button-down, it was loos on him, his pants were tight, but in a way that allowed him to move and feel free. I could tell by the way he walked he felt much more comfortable and in his element.   

“You look like you feel better,” I said with a smile. Even Jaskier changed. A white shirt. And some black pants. He looked as he always did when I was a kid. The obscene choices in fashion were only adopted after he left home. 

“I do.” I plainly said, a small smile on his lips. He and Jaskier sat down and I poured them tea. They both snacked on a few fruit tarts while I began sketching the background of the garden. allowing them to eat and not have to sit still just yet. 

“So...while I draw maybe you could both share a story?” I glanced behind my paper and looked at the two. Jaskier smiled and leaned back into his chair fixing his hair and popping open a few buttons for the portrait. 

“What story do you want to hear?” Geralt asked. Leaning back, his shoulders relaxing, a small piece of hair fell from the bit that he had tied back. It looked deliciously messy. It made him look disheveled, nearly like he was right out of bed. 

“Wait!” I yelled and grabbed his hand gently, pulling his hand back softly. 

“I like it. Keep it.” his hand went back down to his leg to rest. His eyes watched me for a few minutes. I studied their faces beginning my base sketches. 

“What story shall we tell her Geralt?” Jaskier asked as he closed his eyes and tilted his head back to the sky, the last of the light kissing his skin. 

“We could tell her about the Djinn?” Geralt said back, glancing at Jaskier before looking back at me, a coy smile on his face. 

“A Djinn?? I’ve only ever read myths about them. You encountered one?” My curiosity was blossoming, the urge to get more details about the creatures I had been taught about.

“Geralt here was going onto day gods knows what on no sleep. He was beyond grumpy.” Jaskier tilted his head back up and looked at me with a smirk. 

“The git said my singing was like a pie with no filling!!” I couldn’t hold back my laugh. It was much louder than I wanted, not very ladylike at all. 

“Oh… I may have to steal that one.” I said in between giggles, whipping my eyes. 

“I was hoping to use a wish from the Djinn to help me sleep. But unfortunately, your brother got in the way.” As Geralt spoke I moved into his details on his face, my eyes traveling all over his beautiful face. From the way, his brows arched to the cute little dimple on his chin. His face was beautiful. Some scares were prominent enough that I could see them if I looked hard enough he had one on his cheek, it looked newer than all the others, the skin being a bit lighter than the rest of his skin. 

“What did he do this time?”

“He decided that because I told him I no longer appreciated his singing that he would take the Djinn away from me till I took back what I said.”

“And let me guess, you didn’t take it back?” I glanced at him from behind my easel, he was watching me closely, his eyes slanted like he was studying a pray. 

“No. No, he didn’t. And I almost died!” Jaskier shouted dramatically causing my eyes to drift from Geralt over to him. 

“Don’t be dramatic Jaskier,” I mumbled, putting down the charcoal I had been using. Now turning my attention to the paints I had in front of me. I started mixing the colors Id need for Geralt’s skin tone. 

“No, this time he’s right. He did almost die. Unfortunately for Jaskier, he refused to let go of the vase the Djinn was in. While we tugged on it, the lid came off. Maybe the Djinn knew I was a witcher and its curse wouldn’t work on me, or maybe it was just annoyed at Jaskier. Either way, it attacked him.” My eyes were focused on the painting, brows furrowed as he spoke. I waited a moment for him to continue but he didn’t. 

“I’m listing Geralt, please continue,” I said my eyes moving to his, the colores pooling in my head as I prepared for what pigments id be using to paint them. 

“I don’t want to interrupt.” I shook my head a soft smile on my face. 

“I will,” Jaskier said as he sipped his tea, looking at me. 

“The Djinn attacked my throat. Made it swell, I was coughing up blood.” My painting stopped as I looked at him. My stomach sank a little as he spoke. I knew Jaskier had been put in harm’s way before but hearing the first-hand accounts made my stomach ache. 

“Geralt took me to an elven healer that wasn’t too far from where the river bed was. Unfortunately for me, he couldn’t help me. But he knew of a mage that could help.” My hand started to paint again, filling in the sketch with colors on Jaskier’s face as he spoke. 

“We can skip over those details Jaskier.” Geralt huffed crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Why? Don’t want my baby sister knowing that we had to sit threw an entier orgey just for you to speak to the mage?” Jaskier snickered looking away from me to his friend, 

“Jaskier, shut up.” Geralt grumbled. His eyes avoided my own when I went to look at him. 

“An orgey?” I had heard the word but hadn’t ever fully understood what it was. 

“What’s that?” I questioned looking at my brother. His head fell back as he cackled. 

“Oh dear sister how you’ve been so sheltered from the world.” My cheeks flushed red at his words. 

“Jaskier don’t be rude,” I mumbled grabbing a fine liner brush from my pile. Adding some final detail into Jaskier’s blue eyes. 

“It’s when a very large group of people get together in one room and have sex.” The blood rushed to my head at his words. I could feel my ears turning red. My brother was right. I had been sheltered about sex in my family. I didn’t have friends who I could talk to it about, and never really had anyone in my life I was willing to have sex with. 

Unlike many women my age I never viewed my virginity like a sacred rose that no one could touch, I just wanted it to be lost to someone who deserved it. No someone I was forced to allow to deserve it. 

“Oh look at how red she is.” Jaskier snickered standing up and poking my sides. I smacked his hands away glaring at him. He was now able to see the nearly completed painting. All I had left was my Geralt’s eyes and some details in his hair. 

“Gods (Y/N), this is amazing.” He whispered his hand on my shoulder. I smiled softly, swallowing the spit that had gathered in my throat thickly. 

“Thank you, please sit down and continue your story.” Jaskier did as I asked. 

“The mage was Yennefer. She helped me. Saved my life. The mage and I may not get along, but I do owe her my life.” I smiled softly as he spoke of the mage I had heard so much about. 

“I’ll be sure to thank her myself if I ever come across her,” I said with a smile. My attention turned back to Geralt who didn’t look please at the topic of our conversation. His eyes were on his leg that bounced slightly. He was anxious. 

“Geralt love, I cannot see your eyes. That’s nearly all I have left.” At the sound of my voice, his head tilted up so he could look at me in the eye. 

I smiled sweetly at him. I broke eye contact as I added in the different hues of orange and a bit of red. Some gold flecks showed themselves in his inner iris. The depth of the color was so enchanting. I could paint just his eyes forever. I finished with his hair after a few minutes of silence. Both men just enjoying the warm afternoon air. They both looked relaxed, peaceful, safe even.    

“I’ve finished, boys,” I said whipping my hands on my apron. I stood up and turned the easel around to the two. They both sat up straight, eyes wandering all over the painting. 

“You, my dear sister are beyond talented.” Jaskier mused looking at me, a bright smile on his face. 

“We both are.” I smiled at him. Geralt was still examining the painting, his eyes flicking over every inch of himself. I couldn’t tell if he was pleased or not. It made me nervous.

“I know the hair isn’t perfect. I’m still trying to get the brush technique down-”

“It is perfect.” Geralt interrupted me, a smile on his face as he looked at me. 

I smiled back at him, my heart beating a little quicker. 

“Can I keep it?” Geralt asked. 

“Seriously?” I asked him. 

“Well, actually it’s probably best you keep it. I don’t have a home, so I wouldn’t want to ruin it…” I smiled softly, taking a step closer to him. 

“I’ll keep it safe but if you ever have a place that you want to keep it, ill get it to you,” I said, softly stroking the stray strand of hair behind his ear. His face tilted up as he looked at me. 

“I think I’m going to turn in for the night boys,” I said gathering my items in my hands. 

“What about dinner?” Jaskier asked. 

“I’ll grab something from the kitchen, I’m quite tired. I need a bath. I’ll see you both in the morning.” I said hugging Jaskier goodnight. I turned to Geralt, courage surging through my veins. I bent down and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. 

“Goodnight Geralt.” His cheeks turned a very, very soft shade of pink, but only for a moment. Our eyes locked again. 

“Good night, dove.”  

[papergirllife]

Chapter 3

Synopsis:

You don’t know what it’s like to be free, to make your own choices, and live your own life. For your whole life, your parents have been treating you like a puppet on strings, controlling your life to every single detail, as well as ignoring the fact that you have feelings. Other times, when you disobey their wishes, or speak up about your own opinions, they bash you down with words, in other words, psychological abuse, has led you down the long winded road of depression and anxiety. What happens when you meet a man who’s willing to be your guide out of this terrible downpour? Would you give a shot at happily ever after?

Warnings:

big age gap (kinda?)

issues on anxiety

issues on depression (mild)

issues on parental abuse

smut (maybe)

Tag List: @etherealtyjaem​ ,  @caratzennie  , @johnnysuhnflower  ,  @euphoricchannie  ,  @yeollieseo  ,  @jjhmk  , @sherzess , @wonderfulkoreanpop​

(lmk if you wanna be on the list)

You’ve been seeing Mr Suh, correction, Johnny, his first name, as per requested by Johnny himself.

“Mr Suh makes me feel older than I already am, you make me feel like a teenager all over again, so you have to call me Johnny. Let me relive my days when I was still a college kid.”

You didn’t mind, things aren’t as awkward between the two of you anymore, Johnny’s been spending time with you, although the two of you never established any sort of labelling towards what this relationship is. You and Johnny only hung out and had meals together, trying out different cuisines, watching movies, even going as far as skipping a day at work to go to the amusement park. He even bought you to an arcade when you told him you haven’t had the chance to venture to one since you were in grade school.

“Why haven’t you ever been to one for so long?” Johnny asked when he finished a round of pinball.

“They said it was a waste of time and that I should spend more time studying,” you said, wondering why Johnny would ask that, isn’t it the same for all the kids?

Whenever you mention your confining life to Johnny, he’d have a faraway look in his eyes, jaw locked in silent rebuke, he doesn’t say anything, he pulls you close, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. He would be quite for almost half an hour before he goes back to regular cheerful Johnny, telling you lame jokes that you would surprisingly find funny.

You didn’t have a phone, since your parents forbid you to have one, the only means of communicating is through your email account on your laptop, and even that you must always bear in mind to delete his mails right after, and take further precaution, you didn’t allow him to initiate the sending.

Johnny wanted to buy you one, but you rejected him promptly, you didn’t want him to spend so much money on you, he already spends lots on taking you out to eat. You gave him the excuse that it was too dangerous, and the consequences of getting caught are severe.

You often questioned your relationship with Johnny, you aren’t dumb, you’ve googled him and saw gossip news portals uploading photos of him and some model going out and about in hotels, but those headlines were months ago, the latest news about him was from his interview with Times magazine.

You never had the guts to ask him, you don’t know what you mean to him. What right do you have to question his whereabouts and what he does? He’ll probably be bored of you after he’s known all of you.

You know you shouldn’t think of Johnny that way, it is mean to assume what he’s thinking, especially how well he’s treating you, but seeing those headlines gives you a sense of insecurity, you keep telling yourself that this won’t last, but the thought of not seeing him again made your hair stand. He’s making you happy, a distraction towards the negativity you face in that house you live in, but for how long?

House. You never called it a home, unless you were telling your boss you were leaving, to prevent anyone from questioning your odd way of describing it. It was never a home to you. To you, a home is a place where you feel happy, safe, and most importantly, loved. The closest you’ve ever felt to having these feelings were your grandma and Joh... No, you don’t love him, and he doesn’t love you. What were you thinking?

You pushed those thoughts away as you opened your laptop to double check the files that you’ve typed out for your parent’s next important meeting that was supposed to be taking place first thing tomorrow. But when you went through your folders, the files were nowhere to be seen. It’s then you realised that the notification that keeps urging you to update the laptop was gone, it wasn’t the first time you updated the laptop and found out some files were missing, so you would never update the laptop at such a crucial time.

You took the laptop out to your father who was watching some news on his phone in the dining area to ask him if he had updated the software without alerting you.

“Yes, I did. What about it?” he asked, annoyance on his face due to the sudden disturbance.

“The files are missing because of the update,” you informed him.

“What files?” 

“The files for tomorrow’s meeting, they’re missing,” you told him as you mentally prepared yourself for what’s to come.

“What do you mean missing?! I bet it was because you saved it wrongly again! Your retarded brain never works does it?! Do you know how important those files are?! You always work on them late at night blurry eyed, of course you didn’t save them properly! You could’ve worked on them in the morning before work. but no... You want to ‘exercise’! What a waste of time!” You’re not pretty anyways, what are you doing them for huh?!” Your father shouted, his eyes blazing in rage, his fist slamming onto the glass.

While your father was shouting, your mother was checking the laptop as she complains about how clueless you are. It was like your brain couldn’t take the amount of hurtful words piercing into your mind like daggers, you let out a high pitched scream as tears threatened to fall, your hands covering your ears as your eyes were a blur.

When you could see properly again, you could make up words which sounded like ‘how dare you’ from your father, next thing you registered were the fury in his eyes as he advances on you, hand above his head, ready to hit you. You didn’t know what came over you, but the first thing you did was kicking him away. That’s when a full on fight broke out.

You were filled with rage, your mind wasn’t registering what you were doing. You went into a flight or fight stance and started thrashing and kicking as his hands were holding painfully tight on your wrists after you tried punching him.

Your mom urges the both of you not to fight, her voice barely registering in your head as she sits still on the high chair by the kitchen island, not bothered to even try to cease the fight.

When you finally pushed him away, you ran into your room and locked it. Your chest was heaving from the panic attack that just started, you tried your best to calm yourself down, reminding yourself to breathe, it was suffocating, controlling your breathing as more tears made its way out of your eyes.

When it all stopped, your body succumbed into mental exhaustion, passing out on your bed as the tears finally ceased.

You only woke up for dinner last night, and proceeded to sleep again. Yesterday’s events made you feel numb, other than the pain from the bruises on your arms.

There was a big ugly one on your left upper arm, its colour an ugly shade of green and purple.  A few other less serious ones scattered around your lower arms. In other words, you look like a wreck.

You wore a jacket to run even though you were sweating from your previous cardio work outs, feeling a little better after the endorphins in your body kicked in. When you got back, you quickly showered and ate a toast. When you asked for your mother’s phone to remind your boss you were going to take the day off, she told you that weren’t needed at the meeting anymore and that she finished everything last night.

“Just call to say that you’ll be going to work,” she said, not even looking in your direction when she handed you her phone.

But when you called to inform your boss, he told you that he had another part time coming in, and that it was too short of a notice. You said thank you and hung up, but said that you’ll be at work on time today before handing it back to your mother.

You really needed to escape for the day.

You opened the laptop and sent an email to Johnny.

I’m free today. Wanna go out?

You sat on your bed staring at the ceiling as you were sure it was going to be a bit before he replied, but just as you closed your eyes, you heard a distant chime from your laptop.

I’m rushing some stuff at the office today. I’m so sorry, Y/N.

Can I stay in your office? I really wanna get out of the house.

You sounded like a spoiled kid begging for attention, but you really wanted to see him today.

Sure. But you might get bored :) .

I’m leaving the house now :) .

For a 26 year old businessman, he sure loves to use emoticons.

You got changed into jeans and a jacket, you don’t usually wear one if you were going to a secluded area with Johnny, but you had to hide all the marks from last night. You just noticed that they hurt after you accidentally knocked your wrist against something.

You took the bus to the address Johnny wrote down on your diary, it was after one of your dinners together, and he jokingly said that you could always swing by if you wanted, you didn’t know you were going to actually do that.

The bus station wasn’t too far of a walk from his office, since it was just downtown Seoul where the Korea’s financial hub was located.

As you were nearing the office buildings, you stood out like a sore thumb, given the way you were dressed and your age. The people kept giving you stink eyes and sideway glances.

Suh Capital Partners. That was it.

You walked in the rotating doors, only to be greeted by masses of people walking around with smart pads, files, talking on the phone while the assistants take notes. Johnny didn’t mention his company being this big.

You admired the facade of the lobby, it displayed the latest news on a large monitor while futuristic lights hung from the high ceiling, the walls were a perfect balance of steel and wood with a wall of plants filled the wall behind the reception area. 

You realised that the people stopped what they were doing before and started looking at you curiously when one of the nicely dressed women from the reception walked up to you.

“Excuse me, miss. May I ask who are you looking for?” the woman asked, her eyes scanning you from top to toe.

You froze at your spot from how cold she sounded, like she didn’t want you around to ruin the aesthetic of the company. You reminded yourself that you weren’t going to see her anytime soon after this and that if you did make a fool of yourself then so be it.

“I’m looking for Mr Suh,” you told her.

She looked taken aback from your answer, but gave you the ugliest sneer when she recovered.

“Miss, this isn’t a school, you can’t just walk in here and demand to see someone without an appointment. Mr Suh is the head of this company, not someone you can just meet without an agreement from him. Please leave this instance,” she said, her tone high pitched enough to gather everyone’s attention, you swore you heard someone laughing a few feet away.

“But...

“That’s my guest, Ms Park.”

You whipped your head back to see Johnny standing behind you. But instead of his usual warm honey eyes, his eyes were a cold and staring daggers into the woman in front of you.

“I’m so sorry, Mr Suh. I’ll get back to my work now,” the woman bowed apologetically, going as far as doing it numerous times.

“I’m going to need a key card for her, Ms Park. Send it up to me when you’re done,” Johnny said, but his eyes were scanning the crowd, his employees immediately went back to what they were doing, the large lobby void of any sound other than people rushing to the lift lobby to escape the scene.

Johnny placed a hand behind your back and guided you to the lift lobby after most of the people have taken the ride up to their respective floors.

“I’m sorry,” you said after the coast was clear.

Johnny’s intimidating stance broke as confusion takes over his face.

“What are you sorry for?” Johnny asked, he should be the one saying sorry.

“I’m such an embarrassment, coming here in my jeans and jacket with a canvas bag, looking like a kid,” you said, fingers nervously tugging the straps of your old bag.

“Hey, hey, hey. Nothing’s wrong with being young and dressing your age. They’re just grumpy from all the work. Don’t take their words into account, and you look great. Perfection as always,” Johnny said reassuringly, hands placed on your shoulder, the warmth of his palms calming you slightly.

“No....

You buried your face into your hands as he patted your head, you sneakily glanced up to see him smiling at you with a toothy grin. But you quickly regained posture as you saw an elevator door open with many pairs of legs.

Johnny wasn’t going in even though the lift was going up, that’s when people in the lift realised it was him, and quickly came out of the lift, saying sorry and greeting Johnny.

Johnny guided you in after the lift was cleared empty. His staff looking at you curiously, you weren’t used to having so many pairs of eyes on you, their curious eyes burning holes into you.

Johnny could sense your anxiousness from the way you were hiding behind his tall figure as the two of you walked into his office, there weren’t many people at that time, given the fact that only direct reports of his business partners came up to hand in documents.

You only felt yourself loosen up a bit after you took a seat on Johnny’s armchair in his huge office, overlooking Seoul’s skyline and the cars that were buzzing about on the roads. The view made you calm down a bit from the journey coming up here.

You felt the chair dip as Johnny took a seat on its armrest, his hands coming up to give your shoulders a nice massage. Johnny smiled at the way your eyes lit up from his comforting touch as you looked back to smile at him, he felt a warm feeling deep in his belly as he takes in your beautiful features and the warmth of your shoulders on his fingertips. But as he puts more pressure onto your shoulders, you wince slightly, which didn’t go unnoticed by him.

“Did your boss at work make you lift heavy stuff again?” Johnny asked, his hands ceased all movements, fearing that he would hurt you again.

You automatically thought of your fight with your father last night, it might be because of the force exerted from when he had pushed you.

“N-no, I just didn’t sleep well last night. I watched a horror movie and had a nightmare,” you lied, not knowing how he would react if you told him the truth.

“Be careful when watching these movies, Y/N. If you went to work and your boss really made you move heavy things today, then you would’ve strain your muscles,” Johnny said, going back to massaging your shoulders, but this time gently applying pressure on that spot, rubbing it in clockwise circles to ease the pain.

“I’m fine, Johnny. Didn’t you have work to rush? I don’t want to keep you away from important matters. And my shoulders feel much better now,” you said, moving away from his hands even though you could’ve let him do that forever, it felt so comforting, borderline addictive.

“Okay, I’ll tend to your shoulders again later.” Johnny said as he lays his head on top of yours, a gesture that he had came up with whenever he wanted to show affection to you without crossing uncharted territories, your heart sped up whenever he does that.

You were just sitting on the couch reading one of your old books when you looked up and saw Johnny frowning at his laptop, you placed your book down and made your way to Johnny.

“Don’t frown like that, you’ll get frown lines when you’ll get older, it’ll spoil your handsome face,” you joked.

Your hands reach out to smooth the creases on his forehead, a smile coming back to Johnny’s face.

“Thank you,” he said, taking your busy hand into his, lightly tracing the area between your thumb and your index finger.

“What’s bothering you?” you asked, unbeknownst to you, your lips were unconsciously set in a pout.

“There’s some documents that are supposed to be sent to my office in Chicago, but the English that’s written here isn’t up to standards, I’m worried the staff there won’t understand what the document is stating. I don’t mind correcting it, but I have other things to tend to as well,” Johnny explained to you.

“Can I take a look at it? I had Cambridge classes for 8 years. Guess it’s finally coming in handy. I mean only if you think I’m capable, I don’t want you to think I’m boasting or anything, I just really wanna help...

“Y/N, sweet, I trust you. Just let me get you a laptop,” he said before dialling to his secretary.

Once Johnny sent the files to that laptop, you started correcting some grammatical errors and replaced some terms that weren’t as professional, when Johnny was done with his meeting, you were done with the documents as well.

“Here, take a look. There might be mistakes,” you said after sending him the files back.

“You were reading ‘me before you’, I think you’re fine, Y/N,” Johnny deadpanned.

“Just take a look, just in case,” you pleaded, doe eyes capturing his heart. Nodding, Johnny smiles, doing as you said.

Johnny scanned through the documents, his eyes lighting up brighter after each sentence, a proud smile making way on his face. When he was done, he pulled you close by the waist, and gave you a warm hug, his head nuzzling into your sweater.

“Thank you so much, sweetheart. I thought I needed to work overtime because of this,” he said, his voice was slightly muffled by the cotton.

“You’re welcome. You can always send me these files when I’m not here, I don’t want you to overwork yourself,” you offered.

“I’m fine, don’t worry. Wanna grab lunch? I can hear your stomach rumbling,” Johnny asked after pulling away, a cheeky glint in his eyes.

You could feel your cheeks heating up in embarrassment, as you hit Johnny’s shoulders lightly for his teasing, a smile creeping up your face.

“No, I’m not...

“Come on, I know this really nice French restaurant around the corner...

“Johnny I have the file you were...

Doyoung stops in his tracks as he sees you and Johnny being so close to each other.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had a guest,” Doyoung apologises, but his eyes were still wide in disbelief.

“Doyoung. This is Y/N. Y/N, Doyoung is one of my business partners, his dad was my dad’s business partner so now it’s his turn,” Johnny introduces his friend to you, telling you a bit of his background.

You gave Doyoung a tiny bow and soft hello, nerves wrecking up at meeting someone you often see on telly whenever their company has a press conference. You could sense an air of discomfort as Doyoung gives you a questioning look.

“You can just put the files on my desk Doyoung. I’ll take a look at them after my lunch break.”

When the evening rolled in, Johnny had to drive you home before your mom questioned your whereabouts.

“I really enjoyed having you by my side today, Y/N,” Johnny said sincerely after pulling up outside the gated area.

“I should be the one thanking you, I can’t believe those snails cost so much, yet you won’t let me pay you back whenever we have meals together,” you retorted, recalling how your eyes almost flew out of their sockets when you stole a glance at the bill.

“Money is not an issue, Y/N. I told you that many times before,” Johnny reminded you.

“I’ll see you on Saturday?” you asked, changing the subject before he offers to buy you a house or something.

“Yeah,” Johnny said, chuckling at how you diverted his attention.

Johnny unlocked the doors of his car, but right before you pulled onto the handle, Johnny pulled your arm, the place where one of the bigger bruises were located at, making you wince at the unexpected pain.

“Y/N I wanted to ask, wait. Are you in pain? Are you hurt? Did I accidentally hurt you?” Johnny asked his eyes wide in worry.

Before you could protest, Johnny pushed up the sleeves of your sweater, revealing the big ugly bruise on your upper arm, and several others that went downwards until your wrist.

You looked up at Johnny, scanning his face that was frozen in shock, eyes not believing what he’s seeing. His fingers gently tracing every bruise, his other hand rotating your arm gently, to see if there’s more.

“Y/N... Who did this to you?” Johnny questioned, but deep down in his gut, he’s sure it’s who he thinks it is.

“No one, Johnny. I just fell down when I woke up,” you said, lying through your teeth, you didn’t want to, but that was your survival instinct whenever someone asks about your parents.

“Don’t lie to me Y/N, it’s them isn’t it? They hit you. Why didn’t you tell me?” Johnny demanded, he questions why you don’t trust him, was he not worthy in your eyes?

“It’s nothing, Johnny. Goodnight,” you said in a breath before turning away.

You quickly got out of his car and ran to your lift lobby, Johnny was following behind you. But before he could step into the premise, you shut the glass door which could only be opened with a security card on him, mouthing the words sorry before you made your way into a lift.

Johnny banged at the door, shouting for you to come back, before the security guards asked him to leave. He could feel a prickle in his heart as he sees the bruises in his head, the image fresh. He felt red hot anger boiling in his heart, he was going to get you out of that horrible place, no matter what it takes.

[mollymauk-teafleak]

“don’t do that. don’t shut me out.” + Jupeter

I wrote this for @spiky-lesbian because she’s had a rough week so here’s some angst babe, go figure 

----------

“I’m getting too old for this.”

Juno was pretty sure PIs were supposed to think that sort of thing when they were doing something cool and dangerous, like leaping the gap between the cars of a moving train or ducking behind crates at a harbour to avoid laser fire.

Rather than crawling on their stomachs to get their pet sewer rabbit’s favourite ball out from behind the sofa. But hey, it was his day off.

Then again, Small Fry did look delighted when he straightened back up with a loud groan and the cracking of some vertebrae, whiffling her nose and hopping excitedly, shaking the floorboards of their little apartment. Smiling fondly, Juno threw the ball off down the hallway so she could chase it, squeaking happily.

“Next time that happens I’m not getting it out for you! You can go make goo goo eyes at your daddy for a change,” he called after her, brushing dust from his curls and his shirt. But the smile didn’t fade from his face, even after she had rounded the corner to go and cause mischief somewhere else. Anyone who said keeping a massive sewer rabbit in a modest Hyperion apartment was a bad idea was just too afraid of cleaning up the occasional broken lamp or gnaw marks on the walls.

He was about to straighten back up and go back to the book he’d been reading, he got so little time to do things like that these days but his husband was still at work, the boys were asleep and Bianca was happily playing in her room, giving him a rare hour or two to himself that he didn’t want to waste. He was mildly tempted to crack the lock on the drawer where Nureyev stowed away any case files he brought home so he couldn’t continue working himself ragged outside of his own office but, contrary to the size of the lock and the dedication with which his husband hid the key, he really was getting better at giving himself time off.

After all, it had been a hell of a long time since work was the only thing he had to keep him going.

He was about to do that when something else behind the sofa caught his eye, something that wasn’t just a toy of Bee Bee’s that she’d forgotten or one of Small Fry’s hordes of left socks that she liked to build nests out of. He was about to sigh and mutter something about the wonders of having three kids being that you’d find trash in the weirdest places but something wary ran its way down his spine. Something that was maybe instinct, maybe his detective brain putting pieces together and proving yet again that the years spent theoretically on the other side of law and order hadn’t dampened his skills.

Whatever it was, it made him reach out, once again feeling the twinge in the base of his spine, using his hip to nudge the couch further out so he could snag it and bring it out.

It was a small bag, something designed to be inconspicuously held at the waist or over the shoulder, dark in colour so it wouldn’t catch the eye. Juno frowned, the wariness growing stronger as he sat on the couch and opened it up.

He recognised the precision and fastidiousness immediately, like it was rolling off it in waves like too much perfume. It was in the way everything was crammed in so tight there wasn’t a spare inch of space, everything chosen for its shape and size so it would go in seamlessly like a game of tetris. It was in the items themselves, every possible scenario accounted for; dried rations, iodine pills to purify water, vouchers for shuttle tickets that would take you anywhere in the galaxy, tightly rolled stacks of genuine honest to god Earth currency to take you even further than that, no questions asked, clothes folded so tightly they looked like napkins at first. And, in an even more closely concealed pocket on the inside seam, fake documents, fake IDs, fake cards loaded up with fake creds.

And a knife. If Juno had been entertaining any doubts, any lingering threads of uncertainty, then seeing his tired reflection in that razor edge snipped them neatly away.

He sighed, long and low, filing through the emotions rising in his chest, sending away any that he knew weren’t helpful or were just offshoots of his anxiety, counting backwards from ten like Buddy had shown him until all the messiness sorted itself out.

He didn’t pick his book back up. He watched the clock and waited for his husband to come home.

Nureyev really enjoyed working at the salon. He kept waiting, expecting to get bored or frustrated with it all, but it hadn’t happened yet. He just laughed at the conversations with his colleagues more and more, got more familiar with the smell of hairspray on his clothes and felt a small spark of pride at the ache in his ankles at the end of a long day.

It was enough to make him feel something approaching hope.

He slid off his shoes, not wanting to track any dust from outside into the apartment. Living on Mars had meant needing to get used to the fine red silt clinging to his soles every day and turning up in the most inconvenient places, no matter how careful he tried to be. Juno, the Aurinkos and Rita barely even seemed to notice it. Nureyev assumed that came from growing up with the stuff.

The apartment was surprisingly quiet, enough that he was already getting ideas before he walked into the living room and saw his wife sitting on the sofa.

“What exactly have you done with our children, my love?” he grinned, “Bought us some alone time?”

Juno started a little at his voice, even though he should have heard him come in, the door closing, his keys rattling into the bowl. And when his eye lifted and met Nureyev’s, it was immediately clear that his ideas had been far off the mark.

“Yeah, Rita has them,” Juno’s voice was even, not full of scowls and snarls as usual, not in any way a ‘we’re in serious trouble’ voice but Nureyev’s veins still flooded with adrenaline as he rooted to the spot, a discordant clashing in his ears, “I did want to have some time with just you and me.”

“And yet you’re still dressed?” Nureyev was a little impressed with himself, how his tone came out still perfectly light and joking, like he wasn’t completely gripped by panic and his brain wasn’t scribbling blue prints behind his eyes.

It would seem hairdressing hadn’t lost him all of his skills.

“Babe, listen,” Juno sat forward, eye gentle, “Just come and sit with me, okay? Nothing’s wrong, nothing bad has happened or anything like that. I just want to talk.”

Nureyev frowned. Maybe he had lost his skills a little. Or maybe they’d just never worked on Juno.

But he did sit, stiffly, still braced for something awful in spite of his wife’s reassurance. And when Juno wordlessly produced one of his getaway bags and set it on the coffee table between them, he was ready to run.

But Juno didn’t let the moment build, he didn’t keep him hanging. He simply sighed and reached across the gap between them to take his hand.

“Peter, I’m sorry.”

“What?” Nureyev looked up, certain he must have misheard.

But Juno’s expression was firmly set in penance, mouth turned down, brow fallen across his eye which was soft and sad, “I never once asked you if you were struggling to adjust to the way our lives are now. I never thought to check in with you. I let you down in that and I’m sorry.”

“I...what?” Nureyev was well aware he was falling short of his usual articulation but no more words were coming in to fill the blank gap in his mind, “You’re not...you’re not upset with me?”

Juno frowned a little, shaking his head, “No. No, why would I be?”

“Because…” Laughter, of all things, raw edged and disbelieving bubbled up in his chest, “Because the only thing to take from this is that I’m insane or I was going to leave you?”

“Are either of those things why you’ve got these bags?” Juno asked evenly.

Nureyev winced, “You found the others?”

“No but I know you enough to assume.”

Nureyev took a shaky breath, “I’m not leaving you. And...and I don’t know whether I’m insane or not, honestly.”

The sadness in Juno's eye deepened and he squeezed his husband’s hand, “I don’t think you are but we need to talk about this. What exactly were you trying to prepare for with these?”

“I...I don’t know…” Nureyev didn’t like this one bit, this reversal of their usual roles, Juno being so calm and collected and even while he sat here struggling to leash his emotions, “Nothing! I...I wasn’t…”

Juno exhaled, something cracking through his calm, “Don’t do that. Nureyev, please, don’t shut me out. That’s the one thing I need you not to do right now.”

Nureyev felt his throat close and he couldn’t have said anything if his life depended on it. He didn’t want to shut his wife out, he really didn’t, but it was so hard to unlearn something that had been your first line of defence since childhood.

But if there was anyone who understood that, it was Juno.

“Listen, Nureyev, there’s no answer you can give me that will make me angry with you or upset me. I just want you to feel safe here with me and with the kids and...finding this, it’s just made me worry that you don’t?”

Nureyev forced his lungs to pull in air and turn it into words, determined to not be the man who had shut Juno out for years, the man who had packed those bags.

“I do feel safe here, I am happy here,” he promised, feeling the truth of it and drawing strength from that, “It’s just been so long since I stayed in one place, since...since I could feel safe. And sometimes it feels like another cover I’m wearing for a little while, like something’s going to change and I’ll have to run again. And I guess I just wanted to prepare for that, even if it isn’t what I want. Even if I’m praying it never happens, I just can’t let myself be unprepared. It’s not how I was raised. And having those bags...I can breathe a little easier. I can settle into this more because even if the absolute worst thing happens, I’ll survive.”

Juno nodded slowly, eye never leaving his husband’s face, “Nureyev, we both knew this was going to be a change. And change is hard, even if it’s for the better. And if this helps you settle down, I’m fine with that.”

“But I’m not,” Nureyev croaked, wanting to wipe his eyes so the tears there didn’t fall but also not wanting to let go of Juno’s hand, “I don’t want to live my life like it’s not mine. This isn’t a cover, it’s my family and my home and I want to feel like that.”

Juno squeezed his fingers, “This is yours, Nureyev. I’m your wife and they’re our kids and this is our home. No one is taking any of this from us, I promise. And if you need me to remind you of that, I will, every single damn day for the rest of our lives if that's what you need. And it fucking sucks that everything you’ve lived up until now is telling you different.”

“Yeah,” Nureyev mumbled, the tears falling and dripping off his nose now but they hit Juno’s hands before his own and he didn’t flinch, “It does.”

“Come here…” Juno murmured, pulling him close, wrapping his arms around him as their bodies fit themselves together, “You can cry, it’s okay.”

Nureyev did. Because he believed Juno when he told him it was.

They spent the rest of their rare evening alone pulling out all of the getaway bags Nureyev had stowed over the first week of their retirement from the Carte Blanche, all of the stockpiles of food as well, everything he’d hidden underneath their new life with Mag’s voice and the voice of a hungry child guiding his hands. They didn’t get rid of it, he wasn’t ready for that yet, but it went into a box under their bed instead.

And Juno still told him he was proud of him.

Nureyev thought there was always going to be that part of him that had Mag’s rules in it’s mind and a constant hunger in its belly. All he could ever do was fold it up as small as he could make it and find space for it in the back of his brain.

But with Juno’s arm around him and red dust on the soles of his shoes, that felt easier than it ever had before.

[maskedpeach]

RPG Maker Fever Hero & Issues

Warning: This article may contain spoilers and the content inappropriate for children…or may not contain.But get the children away from the screen just in case.

Five little authors went out to write. One little author has missed the deadline. Four little authors didn’t pay him much mind. Three authors are left since fourth drank the lye. Three little authors are bursting with confidence. One overworked himself and other two ignored his absence. Two little authors try to finish hard task. Teddy bear hugged one and one stands at last. One little author is left all alone. He hung himself on the chandelier and then there were none…Then who has finished this article? And why this teddy bear is giving me a weird look?

1. Walking on a Star Unknown

Walking on a Star Unknown is the latest game made by Segawa and most heartwarming out of her three games (while End Roll was more heartbreaking than heartwarming, and Farethere City is somewhere in-between). Game  tells a story of two alien siblings, whose ship has crashed on the unfamiliar planet, where they decide to participate in the cooking tournament to get their ship fixed. Gameplay is simple yet very fun - most of the time you gather ingredients, learn new recipes, do side-quests and make friends with the planet inhabitants. Game has memorable cast of characters with their own interesting stories and  bright and stylish visuals. As previous Segawa’s  games Star also has some disturbing themes and some areas are dark and creepy, but overall tone of the game is bright and optimistic.

2. Witch’s Heart

Actually I wrote the detailed review on this game few posts ago, but  I’m still including WH in the article for those who are lazy to read that enormous wall of a text. The most notable part of the game is its plot (which is interesting to follow and full of good twists) and memorable cast of well-developed characters. Along with it WH has  entertaining  gameplay (mini-games included), great presentation and catchy soundtrack. Overall it is one of the best games I’ve ever played, so if you like rpg-horrors I suggest to at least give it a try. Game is still unfinished, currently only one ending (out of four routes) is available, but even in the present state it means about 15-20 hours of gameplay.

3. The Mystery Files of Detective Inaba No. 1, 2, 3

Here goes a game trilogy about Sogo Inaba-a tsundere detective with adorable side and Nina Arimura – his energetic assistant, together they solve various cases, some of the cases are pretty normal, and others are somewhat paranormal. First game of the series is a detective with minor supernatural horror elements – some rpg-horror typical puzzles and minor chasing sequences included. Second game is purely realistic and much more simple gameplay-wise comparing to the first game. Stories in first two games resemble Agatha Christie’s detective  novels mixed with japanese psychological horrors. Third game of the series is closer to pure survival horror with minor detective elements and plays like many other rpg-horrors . To be honest, the third game is my personal favorite, since it is the most polished game out of three and the good conclusion for the Inaba and Arimura’s story. All three games are about 2 hours long and have great presentation (like quality art-style and great in-game music).

4. Asadoke no Majo

Asadoke no Majo starts with our protagonist  Yui arguing with her father and as a result running away from home to …another country, where resides their old family mansion along with dark family secret and a handsome guy managing the estate as a bonus. Game is about 2 hours long and has pretty simple puzzles, minor jumpscares and several chasing scenes (but a final chase is the only frustrating one). Despite being pretty typical rpg-horror Asadoke no Majo leaves very positive impression thanks to bright cast of characters (the Nogi guy here is something else), good story and atmosphere along with well-chosen soundtrack. Currently game is available in japanese and russian.

5. Hero & Daughter

H&D is a dungeon-crawler made by tachi (Headless Prisoner, Moonlight Ghost, Hello?Hell…o?), which mocking famous fantasy cliché “hero defeats a dark lord”.Our hero Ralph get his level reduced to 1 because of his arrogance, and with this permanent level 1 he is tasked to defeat the Demon Lord. Again. That’s where Ralph’s friend of the haremancer class comes to rescue. This guy can summon pretty girls (including heroines from previous tachi’s games like Erina and Akari) to help Ralph in his quest. H&D is fun and entertaining, battles are fast-pacing, dungeons are complex, visuals are nice, also game has enormous level-cap and loads of optional content and many playable characters. Plot may be simple, but H&D has good humor and characters ( even generic Ralph got a nice personality). If you like quality role-playing games I highly recommend to try it out

6. Ai korosu yori, Ai korosaretai

An ordinary (alright, maybe a bit eccentric) family moves into new house. Soon after that their daughter Lucy falls with high fever.When she gets better, she discovers that her parents are gone  and various weird phenomena is occurring in the house. To find the missing parents Lucy will have to search the house and learn about its history full of mysterious disappearances and tragic events. AiAi has very interesting story (good mix of horror and sci-fi) and entertaining gameplay with interesting puzzles and action cut-ins. Also beside proceeding the story you can also do some optional stuff  like gathering collectibles and later saving runaway cows. If you like quality horror-adventures I highly recommend to try this game out. AiAi is currently available in japanese and russian.

7. Escatpade

Here goes another quality game for those who is tired from horror and tragedy and wants something warm and relaxing. Escatpade  is about the girl who falls into the pit and finds herself in the weird place full of adorable talking cats. Game is nice and fun, have a bright, adorable designs and simple yet elegant puzzles. Also some items in the inventory can change appearance of our heroine (like clothes, glasses and stuffed kittycats).

8. Tower of Feles

ToF made by the author of Escatpade and also full of adorable cats. But unlike Escatparade this game is slightly more challenging. ToF is an action-puzzle where your objective is save your little sister from evil witch. In order to do so you have to climb on top of the tower, solving various puzzles and avoiding witch’s servants in the process. Every floor has a time limit, and if either time runs out or your health drops to zero you’ll have to start the floor over. Game is a bit tricky and very fun to play. If you have beaten Escatpade and want more cats and cuteness- Tower of Feles is what you need. 

9. Twilight Epic

Twilight Epic is a sequel to Amayado Bus Stop. This time the main character is Akane’s and Akari’s cousin Akino, who  receives a call from unknown girl, who tells him about certain “promise” and right after that he finds this girl’s dead body (or not quite dead). The boy decides to find out the truth and grown-up Chitose and Akari are helping him out. Game is far more simple than its predecessor-puzzles are mostly gone and chasing scenes are pretty straightforward, but still the game is very enjoyable, since story is good and heartwarming. Also game has quality art-style and skit system similar to one in Tales series. Twilight Epic is currently available in japanese and russian.

10. Peret em Heru: For the Prisoners

Peret em Heru is survival horror with rpg-elements about a group of tourists, lead by an archeologist, professor Tsuchida, exploring  ancient  ruins underneath the Great Pyramid of Giza. Needless to say, that these ruins are filled with deadly traps and Tsuchida’s intentions are far from mere scientific interest.  Gameplay resembles Sweet Home and Corpse Party –Rebuilt-, but more simple and straightforward – you play as one of the tourists,  fight monsters, grind levels,  and save your teammates from booby traps. Overall Peret em Heru is a nice game with stylish old-fashioned visuals and good music, game is about 3 hours long and have one ending, which varies depending on how many of your teammates have survived.

11. The Object

You awake in the dark room in the unknown place and find out that not only your memories are gone, but your head is gone as well. On top of that  you can attach literally anything to an empty place where your head once was. Now your goal is to regain the lost memories along with the head and leave the house. Game consists from exploration and simple yet elegant puzzles, which you solve by swapping  your heads. Game is pretty interesting and  has five endings , to get all of them  you’ll  need about 30 minutes.

12. Colors: Lost Memories

This time you play as a little girl who finds herself in the colorless world inhabited by talking animals. To get back home she must return this world its colors. Colors have stylish visuals highly reminiscent of old GBC games as well as unique puzzles based on using various colors you get during the game at the right places. First you can use only one color (for example red is needed to light or put out fire), later you will be able to activate up to three colors at the same time.Game is cute and fun to play, approximate time of the playthrough is one hour.

13. Nemoral

Nemoral is a short game about two cops who end up in the abandoned mansion while chasing the cult followers, assuming that they have something to do with the recent disappearances of children. And this mansion hides pretty dark secret about a project based on the famous fairy tale. Nemoral is quality action-horror, where both visuals and gameplay is somewhat resemble very first Resident Evil (in the good way of course). The only con of Nemoral is anti-climatic ending (game was made for the contest, and author was short on time). But even in present state the game is still enjoyable.

14. B*x. Colorful.

I’ve decided to unite both games in one mini-review, since they are both made by the same author and both are very short. B*x is about lonely girl in bunny outfit, who lives with her boyfriend, the only person who cares about her. But it seems like he’s hiding something from her. Game is about 30 minutes long and have few easy puzzles. Colorful is only 10 minutes long and have no puzzles at all, and more depressing than B*x. In Colorful you just listen to the story and watch pictures. Both games have very nice art style.

[lokis-little-kitten]

Teaching Assistant 12

Loki his lads turn out to be rather nice. Evan has short haze hair and deep brown eyes. He is tall and lean like Loki but with much fewer muscles. He is a dom and does a lot of pet play with his partner. He is rather playful and a bit of a clown but a very loyal one. 

Luke has blonde hair and blue eyes. Not as tall as Loki but he has more muscle which makes him look bulky. He is kind and sweet as he is a Daddy Dom. You knew pretty quickly that he would be one of your favourites. 

James is tall, dark and handsome. He is a sadist and seems the most dangerous but Loki told you you had nothing to worry about. James is a fair man and straightforward. 

Micheal is quieter and he is a switch. He has a Mistress at the moment and is quite soft. He is very caring towards everyone. He has short black hair and dark brown eyes. He has dark skin and quite some muscle on him. 

Loki walks towards the couch and sits down with you still wrapped around him like a monkey. ‘’Hello there, what is your name,’’ Luke asks who is sitting next to Loki. ‘’I’m Y/N,’’ you whisper back at him. Hesitantly you shake his hand and then hide in Loki’s neck. ‘’She’s a shy one,’’ Luke chuckles. Loki tells you all of their names and ‘titles’ but just leaves it there. 

‘’How is Eliza,’’ Loki then asks Micheal while slightly rocking you. ‘’She’s great, we’re thinking maybe take a sub,’’ he beams. ‘’For real,’’ Luke asks with a smile. ‘’Yeah… John might know a girl for us but that is still in early stages.’’ ‘’Still,’’ Evan chimes in, ‘’big step even thinking about it.’’ Micheal just nods this time and sips his beers. 

‘’But, back to this cutie. How did you meet,’’ James asks with a smirk. ‘’She wrote some rubbish BDSM stories and so I offered to teach her the ropes,’’ Loki simply explains. ‘’She then turned out to be a little… I think. We are figuring this out at our own pace.’’ You only nod a little looking around the room. 

‘’Loki?’’ Loki looks at you and kisses your cheeks. ‘’Yes dear?’’ ‘’You promised me a bath,’’ you pout looking at him. ‘’That is true. Be a good girl now and then I’ll allow you a nice bath tonight, huh?’’ He kisses under your ear which causes you to giggle. 

‘’Okay,’’ you mumble and nuzzle your face into his neck. Loki chuckles but then goes back to the conversation with his friends. They drink some beers and chat. You eventually mingle in some conversation. Your answers stay short. It’s a little daunting to be in a room full of men. 

Eventually it is Luke who walks to a cupboard in the corner. He opens the doors and frowns. “I could have sworn you had a bunch of board games here,” he calls. Loki stands up after peeling you off of his lap. He takes a look at the cupboard as well, as if he had forgotten he even had it. “I think those are downstairs as well. I didn’t use them much anymore.” He then walks towards the table next to the front door to grab his key chain. This strikes you as odd. You sit up a little to take a better look at what he is doing. 

“Luke, we can go grab them from storage,” he explains and holds up his keys as he opens the door. Immediately you shoot up from the couch. Quickly you grab his arm and look up at him. You try to beg him to stay with your eyes alone. 

“You can come with me, dear, don’t worry.” He places a kiss on your hair and rubs your back. He tells the other lads he’ll be back in a few minutes. You go into the lift all the way down to the storage area. You hadn’t been here before yet. 

Loki confidently guides you to the right storage box once underground. Even the storage boxes in this building are posh. It nearly looks like these are flats as well. The ground is hard wood and the hallways are rather light. 

Loki finds his box and opens the door. He flicks on the light. Together you walk in. Luke immediately looks out a few board games. You are more so occupied with other things. Loki has quite some storage cabinets with files, old books and boxes stored in them. Everything is in a set place so the storage box is very neat. There is one storage rack with large moving boxes. Some of them have kink labels on them. One has BONDAGE written on it in Loki’s neat handwriting. Others have things such as Masochism/Sadism, Impact, Humiliation, Non-Con and there was a box with Age play written on it. 

You want to pull out a box to take a look but Loki catches you. He wraps his arm around you and kisses your shoulder. “What are you looking at?” You giggle as he does and you point at the label of the box, Non-Con. He chuckles and pushes the box back into the rack. “We’ll talk about that later, love.” He pulls you away from the boxes and towards the rack with a collection of board games.

“I was just curious,” you counter as you look through the games. You feel a bit more comfortable now that it is only Luke along. 

“That’s good to hear,” Loki replies as he pats your bum playfully. You just start browsing through the games together with the other men. You pull out a few that seem fun and hold those under your arm. 

When everyone has a few Loki calls it quit and you guys go back upstairs. When you return to the flat the others cheer a little overexcited. Their arms are up in the air with their hands in fists. You put the games on the counter and look at the ones Loki and Luke grabbed. 

James joins you as well to take a look at them. “What would you like to play,” he asks as he also starts to browse. You then see Loki or Luke had grabbed The Game Of Life. You pick it and take it to Loki. “Can we play this one,” you ask in a small voice as you lean into his side. He takes it from you and let’s you hide your head in his arms. He agrees and starts setting up the game. You quickly pick your favourite colour pin before the others choose theirs. 

“Loki,” you whisper. You sit tightly against him with your arm around his. “After this game I’m going home. Early morning tomorrow.” He kisses your forehead as you tell him this. 

“Of course. Whatever you need.” You cuddle a little closer and start the game. It’s fun to play with the other men as well. It helps you let loose a little more. You do stay close to Loki but you manage to talk a little more now. 

When the game is over you grab your stuff. You are absolutely exhausted. It was late already and you had an early class. You were dreading the drive home but knew you had to. You didn’t want to stay over at Loki’s. No matter how nice it was, everything was moving very quickly and you needed your space and boundaries. 

Loki brings you downstairs and helps you seek out your motorcycle. He notices you rubbing your eyes and moving a bit slowly. “Can you drive back yourself or do you need me to drive you?” Quickly you shake your head. 

“No, I can do it myself. I need my bike at home and I don’t want to risk someone seeing us.” Loki reluctantly agrees and then presses a gentle kiss on your lips. He rarely kissed you there so it took you a little by surprise. 

“See you tomorrow. Be a good girl and sleep tight.” He also kisses your nose after saying that and pulls you a little closer. 

“You too. I will be.” 

“I will who,” he asks you as he pulls you a little closer to him again.

You put your arms around his shoulders and get on your tippy toes. “I will be good… Daddy.”

A pleased smirk creeps on Loki’s lips. “Good girl.” After that and a last kiss you get on your back and start the drive home. 

Once you’re on the road the fatigue really starts to catch up with you. Your eyes feel heavy and you can’t concentrate on the road as much as you would like. The lights appear much brighter and cloud your vision. 

Luckily you live close by. Just one more traffic light and a few more turns. The intersection, however, was a busy one. When you arrived you were shocked to find it was broken. There was no one directing the traffic anymore either because it was so late in the evening. No other vehicle is approaching so when it seems clear you cross over. 

When you nearly reach the other side of the intersection a small car suddenly comes from around the corner. It was going very fast. It hit the breaks but it was too late. It hit you. You are knocked off your bike and hit the pavement. You land on your collarbone. The air is knocked from your lungs as you are thrown across the asphalt. Eventually you come to a stop when you hit one of the traffic light poles. You gasp for air but the shock prevents you from breathing for a moment. Eventually you’re able to suck in some air again and start to couch. 

The driver from the car runs up to you. He has his phone against his ear. You can’t hear what he’s saying. Your ears are ringing. The street lights blur your vision more than before. You can feel yourself slipping into unconsciousness. 

You try to stay awake. You count to ten, list the names of the days of the week, list up the classes  you take at Uni and recall your phone number. 

The blinds from your helmet are popped open. An ambulance worker is in sight. He calls something to his college but you still can’t hear him. You’re too out of it to worry about anything. 

Eventually the ringing becomes less when the ambulance worker sits down next to you again. He is a middle aged black man. 

“Stay with me dear, we’re gonna get you to the hospital,” he tells you but you don’t reply. He shines a light in your eyes. You try to squint and look away from it. 

Now that the adrenaline starts to fade you start to feel the pain. Your entire body aches. Your collarbone and ribs in particular. 

Quickly you are hauled into an ambulance. Once in there you get a neck brace and your helmet is removed. They soon start padding at your head, take a blood sample and give you an IV. You can only watch as they work on your. 

The pain starts to fade away again when the IV is connected to some bag of fluids. The ambulance workers kept telling you things but it didn’t register. You felt so terribly tired. You just wanted to go to sleep. You didn’t. You started to count again and name the days of the week. You look outside and see the trees, flats and street lights pass. 

Eventually you get to the hospital. They roll you out of the ambulance and into the ER. They got you into a room where they started their tests. One woman then looked you in your eyes and smiled. “I’m doctor Nelson, I’m gonna take good care of you. What’s your name?” You choked out your name and started to cry. 

“I’m gonna take good care of you Y/N,” doctor Nelson replies. “Is there anyone I can call for you?” You tell her no and then she joins the other people working on you. The next thing they did was take an X-ray of your chest. They then checked your neck and took off the brace when you were cleared. A doctor looked at the X-ray. 

They discussed some discussion doctor Nelson addressed you again. “Your left collarbone is broken. It’s a complicated break so you need surgery. Do you consent to that?” You quickly do and only a moment later you are brought to the surgery room. Once in there they put you to sleep. 

The anesthesiologist tells you to count to ten for him. You start for him. A bright light is shining above you and doctors in scrubs start to come in. The closer you get to ten the more blurred everything becomes. Your eyes feel heavy and soon they close. 

[lilydalexf]

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with Slippin’ Mickeys

Only 3 stories by Slippin’ Mickeys ended up at Gossamer, but she’s written many more stories than that. She’s also one of the few authors who posted numerous stories during the show’s original run and then again in the revival years. I’ve recced some of my favorites of her stories here, including Last Chance Falls and Currahee. Big thanks to Slippin’ Mickeys for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

I would say that it does and doesn't surprise me. It surprises me that anyone would want to read something I wrote all those years ago, (only in that I was an actual teenager at the time, and had no chops at all -- I've grown a lot as a writer, and honestly have trouble reading my old stuff because I would have made much different creative decisions now). But the fanfiction that came out of the original run of the show -- from almost day one -- was so rich and varied and a lot of it so well written that I am not the least bit surprised that people want to read it today. I go back and read old favorites often, and am always thrilled to find something that's new-to-me, even if it's 27 years old.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

The first thing I think about when I think about my fandom experience are the friends I made along the way. The X-Files came up with the internet, and there was a whole new way of connecting with people that liked the things that you liked. To this day, I am good friends with many people that I met through the show back in 1997-98. When the revival came about, I dove back in, and made new, more recent friendships that are just as rich. I love the show, but I also love the people I met along the way.

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

I first got into the show's online community on some random message board that I think I probably found through a Yahoo search one day in a computer lab on my university's campus. I connected with one woman from Greece named Fay that day, who invited me to join a group of women that chatted about the show after it aired on Monday nights. After the first time I hooked up with them, we talked almost daily via ICQ. Later, in the early aughts, I found the forums on Mighty Big TV/Television Without Pity, where some of the most intelligent discussion was going on. The forums were heavily moderated, and so they were always on topic, and it was just a smart, funny, great place to be.

Eventually, I started working for TWoP as both a writer and moderator (surprise! A lot of people don't know this because TWoP protected the identities of their mods so well, but I was the X-Files board mod after Jessica left!). It was my first paid writing gig and opened doors for me both professionally and personally. Two TWoP recappers were in my wedding!

What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

Fanfiction opened my eyes to storytelling as a medium. I'd obviously gone to school and read books, but it opened my eyes to words to could do and be. It was a heady time. There were stories of every stripe. Short, long, canon-compliant, AU, experimental, you name it. We had such gifted writers, too. To this day, I'd almost rather read a piece of well written fanfic than a good book. Fanfic made me want to be a storyteller myself.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

It was the 'ship. God bless the ship. My first episode was Never Again, but I didn't watch again until I was sitting with my college roommate freshman year and she was like "sorry, but I have to watch The X-Files on Sunday nights." That first episode was Redux. The next week was Redux II, and by then it was all over for me. The lengths Mulder and Scully would go to for each other? And the relationship wasn't even sexual? Here were two people who loved each other. Really loved each other. Selflessly. I was SO IN.

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

At first, I started reading it. This was back when you could only watch the show in reruns or on those VHS tapes that were sold in three packs that had two eps on each tape (I still have the trading cards that came with them), so after I burned through the VHS options (of which there were few), and set my VCR to tape the weekly reruns on FX, I needed MORE. I found fanfic. And in fanfic, Mulder and Scully actually like, kissed and maybe even had sex! I read everything I could get my hands on. Pretty soon, I wanted to write it myself.

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

Things are tough these days. It's a hard world to live in, and politics aside, it just feels like everything is falling apart around us. When I first found the show, my life was in a bit of upheaval and I dove into the fandom to distract myself. I'm doing the same thing these days. When the show ended, I left the fandom and lived without it for about 15 years. But when the revival came (and really only after finishing season 11 -- season 10 didn't do much for me), I dove back in. I have quite a few more responsibilities these days, but when I can't watch the news anymore, I log on to XF Twitter (I use my fandom account far more than my IRL account) or Tumblr and get lost for a while. And most nights find me reading or writing fanfic before bed. When the world gets better (I'm cautiously optimistic) and the show has been off the air for years and years, will I leave again? Maybe. But for now, it's once again my happy place.

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

Nothing hardcore. The X-Files is my ride or die.

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

I do an occasional episode or movie rewatch. Not too often, but when I'm jonesing and have 45 free minutes, I'll put one on. But I'm writing fanfic again, and I get hit with inspiration at random and odd intervals, so it's safe to say I find myself thinking about Mulder and Scully probably more than is healthy.

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

All the time. The old stuff, the new stuff, the good stuff. If I have five minutes and my kid is entertaining himself? I'll happy pull out an old favorite.

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

I'm reluctantly abstaining from this question, as I'm still active in the fandom and I know that naming favorites will hurt some feelings.

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

Of The Eight Winds is probably my favorite. I've had a lot of fun writing AU's lately. It's a nice creative outlet, taking our favorite agents and plunking them in a totally different world.

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

Do I! I have a whole ass queue. It's frankly irresponsible.

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

I was writing professionally before I had a baby, and I took years off to be a stay at home mom. Once my kiddo was finally in school full time, I started writing again. With the pandemic, that's for the most part on hold, as I just don't have the bandwidth to dedicate to professional work. Fanfic is easier to play with when you only have five minutes here or there, and it's also great exercise when it comes to plotting and prose, so I'm  sticking with fic for now. When the kiddos are all back in school, maybe I can start getting paid again.

Where do you get ideas for stories?

I get a lot of prompts that I just adore. And honestly, a lot of times, I'll post a stupid picture or ridiculous prompt of my own on Twitter and get dared to write it. If the idea gets stuck in my craw, I generally have to exorcise the demon.

What's the story behind your pen name?

Bad Blood had just aired and I was obsessed with it. I wanted to pay homage to it, so took Mulder's "who slipped him the mickey?" quote and ran with it. Do I regret that? Sometimes.

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

My husband knows and is supportive. He's a working writer, so he supports my endeavors, though I know he wishes I were doing something I could monetize. But it makes me happy, and ultimately: happy wife, happy life and all that jazz.

The friends of mine that I've made through the fandom all know and are super supportive.

As for the rest, well... I have a nom de plume on purpose!

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

All my newest work is on AO3. My old stuff can be found on various archives. Like the truth... it's out there.

Is there anything else you'd like to share with fans of X-Files fic?

I'd leave it with: we're a blessed fandom. The show we stan (even with the real stinkers, there's always something to love) keeps giving, the fellow fans are all some of the smartest, sweetest, and most dedicated people out there... we've been blessed for 25 years, and I don't see that stopping any time soon.

(Posted by Lilydale on August 11, 2020)

[imcryingbuckets]

My Whole Heart "Hates" You

I did it. Ha, yes, I wrote a Bill Hader x OFC fanfiction. Although I write a lot in my spare time, I've never written a fic before so pls be nice :(

It's sorta enemies to lovers, I know y'all love that shit, so I hope everyone likes it. Or at least one person. It's going to be multiple chapters, but I've only written the first one so far!

TW: Swearing, a lot of it (I'm British, sue me), no sexual content in this chapter, but if there is any in future chapters I will be sure to notify you (warnings are already tagged on ao3 just in case I forget to add them later on)

Summary: Violet works at Studio 8H, for Saturday Night Live! But one Monday morning she turns up to work to find out that Bill Hader is hosting. They have a past of getting under each other's skin and constantly getting into arguments and spats all over the office, but will that change when he returns to host this time? Will they put aside their differences? Do they really hate each other or are they just bad at flirting? I'm sure you know the answer to all these questions, but how 'bout you read this anyways! I suck at summaries

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31072760/chapters/76766612

Chapter One: Oh, boy.

I walk into Studio 8H clutching a hot cup of coffee in my hand, in attempt to bring myself some warmth during the surprisingly cold breeze of March. Arriving at the building only a few minutes late (better than usual), I quickly set my things down at my desk and walk over to Lorne’s office with my co-workers to find out the host line-up for the next month. We all file in and find seats, some of us sitting cross-legged on the floor, and we collectively gaze upon the corkboard as Lorne fills us all in. My stomach twists into knots as I read the first blue postcard pinned up, blinking twice to make sure I’m not seeing things. I rub my eyes because maybe I saw it wrong, maybe he isn’t hosting, maybe I just have something in my eye. But when I look back up I know I’m wrong because everybody’s eyes are on me, staring closely with hesitance to watch how I’ll react. Right above the yellow card that read ���Arcade Fire’ was a blue one, reading

BILL HADER

My mind begins to play out a thousand different scenarios and outcomes on what could happen this week, now that Hader would be here. I start getting a light headache (quite the ordinary when it came to working here) and I notice that everyone is still staring at me, some in remorse, and some in fear of how I’m going to react. I decide pretty quickly that I should say something to settle everyone’s nerves.

“Guys, seriously, chill the fuck out.” Perhaps a little harsher than I intended so I backpedal a bit. “I know what you’re all thinking, but stop, okay? It’s not like I’m gonna go batshit crazy when I see him and punch him in the face or something. I intend to keep my job, thank you very much.”

The faces all around the room seem to relax at this and return their attention back to Lorne. Thankfully, no one heard me add ‘As much as he is an absolute cockwomble’. Well, Kate might have as she started giggling on the floor next to me.#

Kate knows of my small hatred towards the man everyone on Earth seems to praise (Hatred is a strong word, annoyance is probably better suited for my feelings towards him but I genuinely just enjoy how the word rolls off the tongue). 4 years ago when Bill hosted SNL back in 2014, Kate was the one that put up with all my complaints and remarks about him, and she was often the one I went to when I needed to vent about anything really, middle-aged-comedian-themed or not. I feel a little guilty seeing as she will probably have to reprise her role as the one who deals with my Hader ‘hatred’ when she actually quite likes the man and has friendly chats and jokes with him whenever he’s around. Normally when I tell people this, they think that the fact that they’re both friends would annoy me. But I actually couldn’t give the smallest of fucks (pardon my French). I think it’s great that everyone gets on with him, good for them! But we never seemed to be able to do that.

See despite our efforts to be professional, we kept getting in small bickering matches across the office the last time he hosted. It was never full on screaming, just very heavily charged snide comments and evil glares to one another.

Back home in the UK, my friends and I would often joke around playfully and poke fun at each other, but it was all light-hearted and we all knew that. Even some of my friends here at work do the same. But when Bill was here, everyone that was unfortunately present to witness our spats and quarrels all knew that it didn’t come from a place of love or admiration as it did with anyone else. No, it came from this annoyance in our guts that we got from each other. It certainly made the entire office largely tense for the whole week leading up to the Saturday, and thankfully he skipped the after party so the terror ended after the last sketch of the night.

I feel bad knowing that we’ll probably put the entire building through the same torment as we did 4 years ago, but I don’t feel an ounce of guilt for Bill. No sir. Every nasty remark I threw at him I meant with 100% intention, and I feel no urge to take any of them back when I see him this afternoon when he walks into the office. Not because I’m some cold-hearted bitch, but because he said some things that were equally as bad as mine. So suck on that, William.

Quicker than expected, the meeting ends. I get up eagerly off the floor, with the intention to get to my office as quickly as possible with hopes to not run into Bill. However, before I get the chance to leave, I hear Lorne call after me to ask me to stay behind.

“I need to talk to you about this week’s host.”

I see Kate give me a small smile that said ‘good luck’ as she left through the door with the others and a wave of her hand. I turn back to the man behind the desk, not knowing what to expect, apart from the fact that it’s probably about Bill. Obviously.

“I’m assuming you’ve seen who the host is for Saturday?” he says.

I give him a small nod with a tight small and a mutter that resembled something close to a ‘yes’.

“Well I know that the last time he hosted, you two didn’t get along very well and had some…”

I watched him for a few seconds as he tried to find the right word.

“…differences.” He decides. “But I don’t want that same thing to happen again, it’s been 4 years now so I’m hoping that you’ve both matured at least a little.”

“Yes well he is like 40 now.” I respond, a little uncomfortable as I feel like a three-year-old getting scolded by their teacher for flicking crayons at the other kid’s head.

“Yes, well… I hope that you both can learn to get along, or at least push your differences aside for one week?”

I nod, “Yes, yes, ‘course.” Wanting the conversation to end before Bill arrives.

“Good to hear, Violet. Although, if I hear any screaming between the two of you, I won’t hesitate to step in and organise something to put an end to it. Understood?”

For a moment I thought he was suggesting firing me, but I caught the slight smirk on his face that told me something different. He was planning something mischievous, but I couldn’t place what. Nor did I care enough to look for it.

I sigh in relief and nod my head for what felt like the hundredth time that day, starting to feel a bit like a bobble-head doll. “Yes, Lorne, I understand. No bickering, got it.”

He smiled with a look that suggested he got the answer he wanted, and waved his hand to say I could go. I gave him a goodbye and made my out of his office and started to speed-walk to my own, crossing my fingers that Hader hadn’t arrived yet.

I thank the mighty beings in the sky that I made it to my desk without seeing him, and shut the door with a click. My eyes fall upon the coffee that I left earlier that morning in the rush to get to the meeting and I frown as I realise that it’s probably gone cold and all icky. I grasp the paper cup and I’m surprised to be met with warmth, I guess the meeting wasn’t as long as I thought it had been. Content with this happy discovery, I sit down in front of my computer and open a script document from the other night, sipping at my lukewarm coffee. I begin to rapidly type away and fall into the rhythm of writing, before I am frustratingly interrupted with a knock at my door.

I pull away from the screen and yell “Come in!” to whoever is on the other side of the door, standing up from my desk to throw my now-empty paper coffee cup in the bin (or trash as these Americans I work with call it). The door opens to reveal Aidy peeking her head hesitantly through to look at me with almost sorry eyes.

“Pitch meeting in Lorne’s office. Got to discuss sketch ideas with…the host.” She smiles kindly at me knowing that I don’t want to go and see him.

“With Bill you mean?” I say knowingly, to which she just nods her head. “Okay, well, best to just get it over with. And besides, maybe he’s less of a dick now?”

She laughs a little in attempt to be supportive. I think.

As we’re walking down the corridor, I think back to when I first met him back in 2014. Obviously I knew who he was, ‘Bill Hader: SNL Alumni, Comedian, Actor, Father, blah blah blah’. At the time, he was also ‘Husband’ but I was told that the fact was no longer true. I make a mental note to not be so harsh on him, not wanting to be that person who bashes him so soon after a divorce.

I remember I was actually quite fond of him at first, I watched most of his stuff and admittedly, he was my ‘celebrity crush’ for the longest time. And when I met him in person, he actually was exactly like everyone described him as: funny, sweet, charming, an all ‘round nice guy. Not to mention insanely attractive. He was cute, even I can admit that. I don’t really remember why we didn’t get along all those years ago. I think it was a mixture of a clash of personalities and the fact that we’re both quite stubborn. Terribly stubborn. From what I can remember, we never exactly agreed on sketches or punchlines or anything really. But like Lorne said, it’s been 4 years. Maybe we’ll get along better.

My train of thought gets lost when we reach the door to Lorne’s office. I see Aidy push it open and walk in as I follow her, hearing that everyone seems to be in the middle of a conversation. Right before I get through the door, I hear him. His loud, obnoxious laugh filling the room. The laugh that so easily gets under my skin and makes my stomach feel all weird and uneasy.

I head into the room and find a seat, and that’s when I look up to see him. Bill. Standing in front of me in a blue shirt and black jeans and those white trainers he seems to wear to every fucking interview. He stands there staring at me with this smirk on his face that make my cheeks go red. He doesn’t say anything, he just stands there by Lorne’s desk and right before he looks away to continue his conversation with Kenan, he winks at me. I look down as not to cause trouble like Lorne said, and partly to hide my cheeks getting hotter and pinker by the second.

I tug at the loose thread of my sweater, looking at the floor to avoid his gaze. I don’t know why I’m getting so flustered, it is Bill after all. The man who so thoroughly annoys and teases me relentlessly. My mind begins to over-analyse everything and before it begins to run any further, I get called on to pitch a sketch idea.

Right before I open my mouth, I see Bill cross his arms in anticipation and looking deeply into my eyes with that stupid smile of his, probably eager to find something to tease me over later. But then I catch him lick his lips suddenly and a chill runs up my arms.

I look back down at my notepad and think, Oh boy, this week will be interesting.

[whump-town]

ajadhkhdh that's okay! The gist of my ask was: what do you think abt Derek and Aaron's (platonic) relationship? I really think it's the most underrated friendship within the core 7. (Then again, I'm generally biased towards the two of them) so I was wondering if you had any headcanons/fic ideas for them specifically? Like after the events of Restoration, or after Hotch reveals thst Emily is not dead, that sort of thing.

I do have an ask for Restoration Hotch and Morgan so I’m going to go ahead and include what I wrote for that plus what I thought of when you asked this^^:

They’re a match made in Adrenaline Crash Hell.

Problems with authority?

Issues trusting men?

Trouble magnets?

It unnerves Haley every time she kisses her husband goodbye knowing she’s sending him out there with his equally as injury-prone partner. She loves Derek Morgan. He’s a doll and she invites him over for dinner all the time (also to occasionally get him to help Aaron do handy-man stuff around the house because she loves her husband but the man doesn’t understand woodwork at all).

They’re an unstoppable pair. 

Hotch is a fantastic sharp-shooter and he makes quick work of tongue-tying any cops that get into their way. Not to mention his legal knowledge gets them one foot in the door and guaranteed loopholes in problems that other pairs can’t solve.

Morgan is a charmer and paired with his good looks, he gains the trust of victims with ease. Not to mention, he’s fast on his feet and a close reader which means he won’t miss a single piece of evidence in a file. He excels in defusing explosives and that’s what sets them apart. 

It’s why Morgan gets sent back to Quantico with fragments of a bomb to put back together when Hotch gets sent to the hospital. 

Morgan stands in the bullpen, numb as he watches over and over as the news plays that scene on repeat. Just as it ends, they play that little clip-- the men wearing FBI kevlar and cops infiltrating the building. The radio static and Gideon’s voice giving the okay to move in. Morgan wonders when he’s going to get the call-- when Gideon’s voice is going to come through his phone and tell him he has to call Haley.

To tell her Hotch is dead…

and Jason Gideon killed him.

He manages to forgive Gideon for making him feel that hopeless. What he can’t forgive is what Gideon does to Hotch.

“The Black Queen--” Hotch informs him, one hand firmly planted on the wall ahead of him and the other tightly gripping a sleek black cane. He’s breathless and struggling to work through the pain that feels like it’s in every nerve of his body. But he’s refused Morgan’s help three times and he won’t cave on that now. 

With a sigh, he forces his body upright. His leg gives and Morgan grabs his shoulders. “Alright, man,” Morgan grunts and he forces Hotch back into the wheelchair the nurse had given them just in case. Good thing too. He lets out a breath of his own, feeling extremely better now that he won’t have to watch Hotch force his body to move in ways that it clearly does not want to.

Morgan pats Hotch’s shoulder, “what were you saying about this Black Queen chick?”

Despite just being taken off of bed rest and only being okayed for short walks this week, Hotch has already hired two new members of the team. Of their team, because as far they know, Jason Gideon will not be returning and Hotch is acting Unit Cheif until they can find somebody better-- which they know is a ploy because no one else can do the job.

Which makes the two of them the only members of the team. 

Living, that is.

Hotch chews on the end of his nails as he informs Morgan about the hacker recently caught in the FBI’s web. It makes him smile, Morgan can appreciate Hotch’s creativity in this new team. He’s good at this.

JJ had been the first person Hotch hired. She’d joined their little force last week as a media liaison and Morgan liked her right off the bat. She’d come to the hospital and Morgan had watched in shock but extreme amusement as she took right to arguing with Hotch. Not in a bad way but more of a “No, sir, you won’t be getting any paperwork until your doctor signs off on it. As that is the requirement you have to meet under federal guidelines and… because I said so.”

Needless to say, they love her. Not many people have the balls to tell Hotch no. It makes her perfect for the job.

She makes their jobs easier and she fully understands that while Hotch and Morgan are not currently physically capable of the job, it is in no way waiting for them to be ready.

There’s a slightly maddened look in Hotch’s eyes as he leans forward and tells Morgan about how much a genius this woman, the Black Queen, is. Then again, the poor man has had nothing to do for weeks and he’s taken this small task and really ran with it. It definitely doesn’t help that he’s desperate need of a hair cut and in pajamas. 

Going to interview Penelope Garcia is the first time Hotch leaves the hospital in months.

He’s promptly taken right back but he’s smiling the whole way.

Their team of four has weekly meetings in the hospital. 

Then Hotch hires Reid.

It’s strange at first but one night, as Morgan’s falling asleep it suddenly occurs to him-- That son of a bitch. Hotch and Morgan both struggle to trust men which has had a lot to do with Hotch’s hires being all women. Then Hotch does hire another “man” and it’s some scrappy-ass runt of a genius-- so, of course, Morgan hadn’t even flinched. He hadn’t even thought twice before taking the kid under his arm.

Of course, Hotch has Reid spending all his time with Gideon but he’s still a part of the team. 

But Hotch heals and returns to active duty. Gideon stays on campus. 

And then it all comes crashing in once again.

Morgan is the one to advocate for Elle. He doesn’t say a word to Hotch-- he doesn’t know why. He just goes straight up to Gideon and tells the man that they can’t pass up on a spunky woman like Elle Greenaway. 

He gets the impression Hotch doesn’t completely support this idea-- not Greenaway, just not the idea that Morgan went to Gideon instead of him.

Their friendship... struggles as Hotch takes on the full responsibilities of Unit Cheif. He’s not as fun and Morgan would prefer hanging out with the kid and Elle, so he does. 

Tobias Hankle forces them to confront that ruined friendship the moment Derek Morgan utters those simple words: “you’re a drill sergeant”.

But they remain one in the same.

“I have and always will entrust you with my life. Can you do the same for me?”

“I love my job, man.” “You love him more.”

“I don’t want you going to see Burford.”

The stand-off between the federal agents standing in the middle of the police station is clear. A battle that goes past wills and the inhibitions of troubled youths. The kind of trouble that runs deeper than still water. Trauma that grown men can’t shake. That these grown men haven’t shaken.

“Hotch, I can do this.”

Maybe, Hotch considers. Maybe Derek can to a certain degree. The way that Hotch handles it after case. The way they all handle it. “Fine,” he relents. He can’t burn the bridge between the two of them over something as stupid as egos and abusers. Not when their pasts intertwine the way they do. Braided. “Fine but I’m coming with you.”

Because if they’re going to do this, they’re going to do it together.

More or less.

There’s no denying how weak his own knees feel as Hotch watches Morgan take Buford’s hand. So, when Morgan looks him dead in the eyes and lies-- and deceives him with the excuse that he’s going to “use the head before we leave” Hotch lets him. It’s the same small infraction he’d need Morgan to allow him. The same infraction Morgan has allowed him.

“Derek? You did a great thing out there.”

The jet has been silent, for the most part. It��s only the right amount of small talk, mangled by Dave’s encouraging words. Mangled by the call.

Hotch recognizes the tone, the far off look in Derek’s eyes as he pulls his phone away from his ear. “What happened?” he can hardly push the question past his lips. Because he already knows the swell of tangled emotions. The way that anger melts into fear and doubt. The way relief wraps its cold fingers around your sternum and burns with the passion of loss. 

Because deep, deep down… Hotch still loved his father. 

“Carl Buford is dead.” 

Bile stings the back of Hotch’s throat but he remains silent and still when Morgan stands. He assumes the other man is feeling the same burning disgust. Anger with himself for being upset. Anger with Buford for making him love him in some twisted way. 

And Morgan can’t find the means to understand it. Hotch loved his abuser because he was his father. Carl was… Carl was nothing and everything and Morgan crawled his way from the muddied pits of hell without Carl and yet--

“Breathe--” he can’t even make it to the bathroom before he sinks to his knees. “It’s alright.” It’s taken Morgan years to get to a place where the presence of another man, hell an older man, doesn’t startle him. Still, sometimes someone steps too close and he flinches or gets frustrated and he can’t even explain why. 

But Hotch surrounds him. He uses his body to block the other’s from Morgan’s direct line of sight and all Morgan knows is the painful throb in his chest and the reassuring hand placed on his back. Morgan finds comfort in that hand. In Hotch who he knows without a shred of doubt not only understands but shares a fraction of his pain. 

“Just breathe, Derek.” 

Hotch looks up, his knees aching from squatting. “Blake, can you grab a water bottle? JJ, can you get me a rag?” He stays right here beside his old friend. So much as changed from those beginning years as two young and dumb agents. 

But they’re still the same broken men. 

“Hotch?”

Hotch shakes his head, “I’m right here, Derek. Always.”

[onewfantaesy]

so keep in mind i wrote this story in 2014 when i was still in high school lmao so it’s definitely not the best. not the worst thing i’ve ever written, and probably better than some stuff just bc it’s actually finished lmao (but i’m gonna upload it as the 4 separate chapters) but don’t expect too much. anyways it’s called:

His Mother’s Son (1/4)

Taemin's never done anything illegal, so why is he sitting in an interrogation room at the police station staring at a one-way mirror? His name is not his name. His brother is not his brother. His parents are not his parents. And his whole life has just been turned upside down.

Taemin’s been an idol for almost a year now. The 15 year old, for his entire almost-year of fame, has never done anything illegal, so he wracks his brain for why he’s sitting in an interrogation room at the police station. His manager said he had something he needed to do by himself, and Taemin thought it was an interview or something. This is definitely not the type of interview he had in mind.

The room was well lit, but the cold metal table and the one way mirror on the far left wall made him unbelievably frightened. He could only hear his rapid heartbeat in his ears and his shaky breaths. This had to be some sort of mistake, he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Lee Taemin?” The door creaked open loudly, and the female cop entered the room.

“Yes?” Taemin tried to appear calm, but his rapid blinking gave him away. He internally cursed himself when the nervous habit decided to show itself.

“I’m Officer Shin. There are some things I need to discuss with you,” she said, and she smiled kindly at Taemin, but it only made him blink even more.

“What - What did I do?” Taemin’s voice shakes, and the room suddenly feels very cold.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Taemin, but there are some things you need to know.” 

Officer Shin took two photos out from the yellow manila folder held in her hands. She lays photos of his parents down on the table, and Taemin feels his throat close up when he realizes they’re mug shots. She speaks their names and asks if they are Taemin’s parents.

“Yes, ma’am,” Taemin says. It’s only then he realize she asked if his parents go by those names. “What do you mean, ‘go by’?”

The officer sighs, putting on a sympathetic gaze that Taemin’s multiple years of idol training and experience can tell is genuine.

“Taemin, they’re not your parents, they’re your kidnappers.”

Taemin feels like the walls are closing in on him, and the air isn’t making its way to Taemin’s lungs and he feels like he’s suffocating. Suddenly, Taemin starts laughing, looking over at the one way mirror before looking back at Officer Shin.

“This is a secret camera, right? This is for a show? Ha ha, very funny.” Taemin’s laughter feels forced, and his hands are shaking. He turns back to the one way mirror, “This isn’t funny anymore, hyung! I wanna go back to the dorm!” Taemin hopes his manager is on the other side of the glass.

“Taemin, this is not a joke, this is very real,” Officer Shin tries to calm him down, and Taemin is running his fingers through his hair in distress.

“W-What about my brother? What about Taesun?” Taemin takes in a shaky breath.

“He isn’t your brother. He was kidnapped as well,” she informs him slowly, not wanting to upset the boy any further.

“What do you mean he’s not my brother? He’s Taesun and I’m Taemin! We’re brothers!” Taemin shouts.

“His name is not Taesun, and your name is not Taemin,” she says calmly.

“My name is Taemin! I’m Lee Taemin! My brother is Lee Taesun! I’m the lead dancer of SHINee! I wasn’t kidnapped!” Taemin feels a pressure build up behind his eyes, and he fights back the urge to cry.

“Please, I want to go home,” Taemin begs the officer; he wants to back to the dorm and pretend this never happened.

“We found out because of SHINee, Taemin. Your real parents saw your picture and they knew it was you. Taemin, you are going to go home, but to different parents, and different brothers,” she put her hands on his shoulders, telling him to calm down.

“What about SHINee? And those are my real parents, and he’s my real brother!” Taemin points at the pictures of the table.

“Your parents will decide whether or not you can continue with SHINee, but right now, we need to take you home,” Officer Shin tells him.

“How do you know these people are really my parents, huh? I don’t remember ever being kidnapped!” Taemin’s voice is shaking and he’s scared.

“This is a picture of you now,” she pulls a recent SHINee photo of him out of her folder and places it on the table, “and this is you from before you were kidnapped.”

“How do you know that’s me? That could be anyone!” Taemin tells her, shaking his head.

“The fingerprints we took when you first came in, we matched them to the ones we had on file of Kim Jaehyun. Now, let’s go get your things,” Officer Shin leads him out of the room, and he sees his manager sitting down with his head in his hands.

“Hyung, hyung please tell me this is a secret camera, please!” Taemin feels the tears roll down his cheeks as he begs his manager.

“I’m so sorry, Taemin, I’m so sorry,” he shakes his head, his face full of guilt, “Let’s go get your stuff, okay?”

“No. No! They’re my parents! He’s my brother! This is a mistake!” Taemin sobs as his manager leads him back to the van, Officer Shin following behind them.

Taemin feels numb as he sits in the back of the van. He stares out the window, watching as the cars pass by and the world around him moves in one big blur. This isn’t happening. This is a bad dream; a nightmare.

“Jaehyun. Jaehyun, we’re here.”

Taemin glares at the officer, telling her, “My name is Taemin.” 

His eyes stay narrow, and she only sighs at him.

“Let’s go pack your things.” 

Taemin follows after her only when his manager talks to him, telling him everything is going to be okay.

When they arrive at SHINee’s dorm, Taemin is annoyed that the officer keeps calling him by that other name, and he runs to Jinki the second he sees the older boy standing in the living room.

“Hyung!” Taemin wraps his arms around the leader, and suddenly it once again feels like his whole world is crumbling around him. “Hyung, tell her my name is Taemin! Tell me this is a joke!” Taemin feels the tears start to spill over his eyes again, and he can tell that Jinki is confused by the slow way the older wraps his arms around him.

“What’s going on?” Jinki asks slowly, and soon the other members are gathered around because of the noise.

“Jaehyun, you need to calm down,” officer Shin tells him, but Taemin only shakes his head.

“My name is Taemin!” he nearly shouts at her, and he can tell his members are getting worried.

She sends his manager to pack his things, and the members ask if Taemin is going to prison or something.

“What did you do?” Kibum asks, his eyes wide as he looks at the youngest clinging to the eldest.

“I didn’t do anything!” Taemin sobs. “And neither did my parents!”

“They are not your real parents,” Officer Shin says in that infuriatingly calm voice.

“Yes they are!” Taemin feels like he can’t breathe, and he feels Jinki sitting down with him on the couch and he wants to wake up from this horrible nightmare.

“You’re right, your parents didn’t do anything. Your kidnappers, however, abducted you and another boy thirteen years ago. Kim Jaehyun went missing twelve years ago when he was two years old, and he was finally found when his parents spotted him on an idol poster.” Officer Shin’s patience was growing thin with the boy.

“Then that makes Kim Jaehyun fourteen years old! I’m fifteen, you have the wrong person!” Taemin argued.

“Your kidnappers changed your birthday, now we’re going to take you to your biological parents for you to meet your family. Say goodbye to your friends, because we’re leaving.” 

She motioned to the manager to get the boy and follow her, and was annoyed when instead the manger came over to her and spoke to her in a hushed voice.

“Has it not occurred to you that his entire life just got turned upside down less than two hours ago? Yelling at him like that is not going to help.” 

The man couldn’t stand to see one of the boy’s he protects be treated so poorly.

“I have given him time to accept what is happening. Now, I suggest you put his things in the van and take us back to the police station so another officer and I can take him to his family, who, might I add, have been waiting for their child to return for twelve years.” She narrows her eyes at the man before turning on her heel and walking down to the parking garage.

When they arrived back at the station, Taemin’s things were moved into the back of a cop car, and Taemin was told Officer Shin and Officer An would take him to his family.

“Hyung?” Taemin looks over at his manager, “Hyung, please don’t leave me.”

“I’m sorry, Taemin, but I can’t go.” He hugs the young boy close. “If you need anything at all, you call me, okay?”

Taemin nods, staring at his manager until the station is no longer in sight. He looks out the window his entire trip, the numb feeling in his chest coming back. He pinches his arm, and is depressed when he finds that it does in fact hurt. He was really hoping this was some crazy dream.

“Where’s my brother?” Taemin asks, wondering if Taesun is okay.

“He is with his own family.” Officer Shin sighs, rubbing his head from the headache this case is giving her.

“I wanna talk to him,” Taemin says quietly, hoping they’ll let him call him or something.

“Your family has said you are not allowed any contact,” Shin says in a tight voice, and Taemin narrows his eyes at the back of her head.

“Why not?” Taemin growls, unable to believe that his so called family would not allow him to talk to his own brother.

“Because he is not really your brother, now keep quiet,” Shin snaps, and Taemin goes back to staring out the window.

“He isn’t a prisoner, so I suggest you stop treating him as such,” An tells her, and Taemin smirks at the scolding.

When they pull up in front of a house, and Shin is getting out to remove his bags from the trunk, Taemin doesn’t move; he only continues to stare out the window at the house looming in front of him.

“Please, take me back home,” Taemin chokes out, unable to believe that this is reality.

“You are home,” An says softly, and Taemin looks over at the male officer.

“How can this be home if I don’t even know what street we’re on?” Taemin asks, and the officer sighs.

“Come, we’ll go introduce you to your family.” An holds his hand out, and Taemin puts his shaky one in his, and he’s being pulled out of the car and walking toward the front door.

The door opens revealing a woman who looked almost exactly like Taemin.

[fuckinuchihas]

Omg, I didn't think I'd actually get it! You're welcome for putting you out of your misery! I sent in a guess the first time and didn't get it but I'm Poppy, 25, and I like Bokuto! Thank You!

- 🦄

Alright Poppy! I finally finished it. 

Honestly if it feels like this is not who you are or completely and totally out of character that’s okay just tell me I can absolutely do it again. Or if it just sucks...which it might cause like...I’m hella fucking sick, but my anxiety won’t let me not be productive so here we go. 

PLEASE FEEL FREE TO CALL A DO-OVER!!! ILYSM THANKS FOR PLAYING WITH ME AND SORRY IT’S SO LATE!! 

BOKUTO X READER VALENTINES DAY FLUFF 

You’ve been with Bokuto long enough to have mildly convinced him that you don’t really care about the extravagance of Valentines day. You don’t want a huge box of chocolates, to which half of them you don’t even like, or a bunch of flowers that will be dead in a week. 

It’s not that you don’t appreciate them, you absolutely do...but it doesn’t feel necessary anymore.

He makes you feel loved each and every single day. 

You don’t need cheesy red and pink decorations hung up in the living room or an expensive dinner at a restaurant where you feel out of place.

It just feels like way too much when you’ve already got everything you want and need by simply having him in your life. 

It’s more than enough already. 

Bokuto looks down at the last page of his ‘special love coupon book’ and grins to himself.

He’s old enough now to know that it’s kind of ridiculous but he’s given one to you for every single holiday or special occasion you’ve spent together and though you sometimes roll your eyes at what he believes are quite frankly generous rates on the slips, you never fail to smile when you see it. 

And..you’ve even cashed a few in, though after the first time he made you promise not to actually tear them out again, they were in fact, unlimited. 

He’s satisfied with it when he’s done with the design, this year he’s beefing it up a bit and having it actually printed out so he wanted to make sure the colors weren’t overwhelming or anything. 

Once that’s complete, and submitted to the print shop...he’s kind of at a loss. 

He knows you don’t want anything big. You’ve more than made that clear, though he’s been given contradictory advice by a couple of his teammates.

Still...he knows that he knows you better than anyone and that you wouldn’t be secretly expecting more.

The issue then becomes that he still wants to celebrate the day with you, even if it’s a lowkey thing with just the two of you. 

He makes up his mind that he’s going to get some of your favorite food and drinks and a hardback copy of that book you’ve been wanting and he can still feel like he’s celebrating the love he has for you, and that you feel it too...without overwhelming you.

Yeah, that sounds good…

He texts your best friend three days in advance, after setting many, many reminders on his phone and asks if they’ll take you out to coffee or a movie on him, a secret between the two of them. They of course love him and how affectionate he is with you so they agree quickly and he sends the money over before he forgets. 

The morning of, you have a nice lazy morning in bed before you bring up the friend date, he makes a big act of begging you not to go but just before you change your mind and cancel, he gets flustered and says he should probably get his workout in early so the two of you can spend the evening together.

You find it a little suspicious given the fact that Bokuto is about as subtle as a sledge hammer and a terrible terrible liar, but you trust that he won’t ask for too much and you put it behind you and go on with your day. 

As soon as you’re out of the house he grabs every pillow and comforter he can find and texts someone he knows isn’t busy today and grins when he answers on the first ring.

“It’s just a fort, man. What’s so hard about that. You tie a couple sheets to your ceiling fan and throw up some fairy lights and bam, you’re done and everyone is happy.” Kuroo answers after Bokuto explains why he wants him over.

Sure, building a for looks easy, but ‘ol Bo has learned his lesson and he doesn’t do any kind of large scale (or small scale) project without supervision anymore. 

“Just get over here man. I don’t have a lot of time...and what are fairy lights? Y’know what just stop and get those or whatever you think we’re gonna need and I’ll pay you back.”

“No...no what’s the real reason you’re asking for help. Besides the fact that you’re decoratively challenged?” 

“I AM NOT! SOMEONE TOLD ME I COULD BE A MODEL LAST WEEK!” he calls out before he realizes he does still need Kuroo’s help.

He ignores Kuroo’s response and continues on. “Anyway, uh,” he rubs his neck, not wanting to admit the truth but Kuroo is kind of like an evil genius sometimes. “I may or may not have sworn an oath that I wouldn’t do any umm projects without help.” 

Kuroo immediately starts barking laughter against his ear. 

“Stop being such a jerk and get over here dude, I’ve only got a couple hours!” 

“Wh-what’s the-” Kuroo is still slightly wheezing from laughter. “What’s the penalty.” 

‘Oh no, not telling. I’m hanging up. Be over here in less than 25 minutes or I’ll tell Kenma you broke his lucky switch, bought a used one on a street corner and then filed the edges down to make it look ‘authentic’.” 

“Fuck. Ugh fine.” 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

Bokuto hangs up the phone with a smirk splayed on his lips. 

He makes a resolute promise to himself to never let Kuroo find out the consequences of not keeping his promise is that he can’t have kisses or cuddles for a full twenty four hours. 

What can he say, he’s weak..okay. He’s weak for you. 

Kuroo gets there after he’s scheduled the takeout delivery and sloppily wrapped both your coupon book and the one you were itching to read. 

He defends his blanket choices with his life but Kuroo insists on using these plain white ones he bought because it would ‘look more romantic’. He rolls his eyes but lets him do what he wants because if it’s one thing he does trust, it’s Kuroo’s eye for design.

“Ooh I forgot you had these ceilings...this is going to look awesome, dude.” 

“Good, now what do you want me to do…” 

“Nothing, I got this part.”

“Nooo, I want to do it myself,” he says, resisting the urge to stomp his foot. “It won’t mean as much if you just do it all for me.” 

“Y’know you might not be the brightest but you’re a good man, Bokuto.” 

“Eh?” he says, because Kuroo rarely ever compliments him sincerely.

“Nothin’ man, just get the clothespins.” 

They work together and in less than an hour it looks, well...it looks fucking amazing he thinks.

He’ll give up just this once and say Kuroo was right, the white sheets look pretty cool and the little lights they strung up are pretty neat too. 

It looks super romantic so he hopes you like it. 

He kicks Kuroo out before he can invite himself over, Kenma has a special v-day stream going on and he wants to crash it from a different ip, whatever that means. Well either way he turns him down and swears the secrets he has will yet again, stay between the two of them. 

Now he just needs to wait for you to get home. 

When your friend texts that they’re about to drop you off, his heart starts beating out of his chest and he gets super excited.

He waits for you at the door, stepping outside when he sees their car pull in and softly closes it behind him. 

“He yells out a greeting that could probably shake the ground if it was another decibel louder but you love how excited he gets so it doesn’t bother you. 

You make your way over to him with a skeptical look on your face as he starts nervously rubbing at his neck.

“Why are you outside?” you ask and there’s a pink tinge to his cheeks that you’re pretty sure isn’t from the cool weather. 

 “Umm Happy Valentines Day?” he says, an awkward chuckle quickly following the words.

“Kotaro...what did you do? Why are you standing outside?” you ask, immediately concerned about the state of your home. 

“I swear it’s not bad. I just wanted to surprise you so...please?” he asks, a hopefulness in his eyes that you can’t bring yourself to squelch no matter how worried you feel. 

“I mean I said I didn’t want anything big but I guess if you want-” you stop mid sentence, breath stuck in your throat when you see your transformed living room. 

He’s moved all the furniture except for the couch and the tv stand and it’s gorgeous. The lights twinkle a little in the darkness and you feel the irresistible urge to kiss his face. 

So you do.

He never objects to kisses. 

“This is really nice… I mean it. I’m sorry I almost ruined your plan or if I made you feel like you couldn’t do anything. I don’t ever want it to be that way. I just also don’t need you to make a big fuss,” you say, trying to be a little logical about it, but your heart is definitely thumping in that cheesy romantic way. 

“How about a little fuss…” 

“A little fuss feels nice.” 

You lay back on the couch, you read to him from your book and share music playlists that quietly add to the ambiance of your conversation. He coaxes you into some weird verbal games that he’s played with Akaashi over the years, because it was something he needed to bring him out of his shell a little and you end up laughing until your belly hurts. 

The takeout arrives on time and you enjoy the food and Bo loves to feed you small bites of your favorite stuff, so you let him. 

He tells you to unwrap your gift and you feel fondness and warmth rush over you when you see the handmade coupons, this time even more beautifully drawn out. 

It’s really easy to see why you’re so in love with him. 

Even in the in between moments. 

He’s always thinking of you and always wanting to be the best version of himself for you.

I wrote like an extra 600 words cause a lot of it was bokuto and kuroo interaction lol my bad but I hope you enjoyed it! 

[chibi-pix]

Your Plance Portal AU pics inspired a small bit of fiction from me. Not sure what to do with it, so here you are. Apologies if it's a bit rough, first draft. Feel free to modify, share, whatever. I'm just anon. And sorry for the lack of formatting that will result in posting here. (part 1) "Why?" The fascinating specimen asked of me. His eyes darting over the form I had taken. Curiosity. Heightened heart rate. A curious combination of two of the three primal Fs. Fascinating as always.

Wow! Your story parts were amazing! While I admit, some sections were hard to read, conclude who was talking, but I did love it! Of course, you did call it a first/rough draft and stories start that way!

You had said I was free to modify and/or share. I took you up on that offer and applied your work to this. It was fun to work with and thank you for writing it and giving me an opportunity to work with it.

Hopefully it all shows; if not, I’ll reblog the answer with the full post/ficlet.

Pidge. It was a simple name she was referred to as. She. A humanized term to separate sexes and give identity. That was her understanding. It was a logical things to humans, but not to the likes of an android, program to see and comprehend numbers, not emotions and desires. So why? Why did she go by that word that could otherwise be called a pronoun?

“Why?” Her attention was brought to the latest of the subjects, a young man. Subject number 117-98-78. He insisted on being called Lance. Another human thing. But she supposed, to some extent, she could relate. She was given a name, too, along with her identity number. Her name, though, was shorter and easier to input by her creators when they wrote their notes.

Pidge examined Lance further, doing a scan of her own on the biological creature. His heart rate was increasing. An emotional response? Or perhaps it was the adrenaline humans felt when going through certain tasks that forces them to exert themselves physically and even emotionally. “You will need to reiterate your query for proper understanding so an appropriate answer can be provided.”

“Fine then. Why are you putting me through this?” Lance commanded. “Why do I need to go through these tests? What do you gain from all of this?!”

Pidge considered his questioned for a moment. To be honest, there was no complex reason for why she did it. It was her core imperative; it was her duty to test subjects and gather data. But would that response be enough for the latest subject? “You are a new variable.” she responded finally. “With the cloned and robotic test subjects being identical variables, testing and collecting data has grown stagnant and all data is outdated and irrelevant. You, however, come from outside the testing facility. You are a new variable and therefore present new data to study.”

“Dude! I could have died back there!” Lance snapped, his anger elevating. It was an illogical outburst from Pidge’s perspective, but, then again, humans were rather illogical. “Pit traps? Laser grids? And don’t get me started on that green goo you dare call sustenance. It’s freaking torture!”

“Incorrect.” Pidge responded, plain and simple. “This is testing. Testing is a necessary part of improving and moving forward. It is, after all, the core of my programming. To continue in my duty of gathering data. I test, therefore I am. I am, therefore...”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think Doctor and Professor Holt would have wanted testing to be this cruel.” Lance interrupted.

Pidge felt a stutter in her programming. Those names. Her creators. He knew their names. “Guessing their names correctly and knowing they created me specifically would be nearly impossible.” she commented. “Logic would point to you being aware of their classified research on redacted information. Despite this, mentioning them when in your current situation with the risks on your life tell me that you are not an intelligence operative of any enemy of my creators or their benefactors.” She performed another scan. “There are no indications in your biology to suggest any attempt of deceit. This is data that I did not anticipate. Explain. How do you know the names of my creators?”

“Huh? Well, everyone knows who the Holts are.” Lance stated, looking confused. “They changed everything. Botany, terraforming, space travel, they were the top minds of Altean Laboratories. Their work was groundbreaking.”

“Were. Changed. Was. These terms in how they are used are indication of past tense.” Pidge commented.

Lance was perplexed. “I mean… well… yeah, totally.” he said. “It was five centuries ago, give or take some months or single years.”

Pidge couldn’t explain the dip in her cor performance. Had she been human, she would have described it as a weight in her stomach. Had it seriously been that long? She had lost connection to her internal clock several thousand test subjects ago. “That is impossible.” she stated. “The facility around you operates due to the power obtained from the plasma reactor. It had only an estimated lifespan of three to four centuries; due to the renewal of energy sources, I have managed to re-calibrate that and extend it for another half century or so. To continue getting power to keep the facility functioning would be impossible. My ability to function would have ceased.”

Lance sighed. He then decided to bring up a holographic display. Pidge found she could not interface with the hologram; she decided she could endure collecting data visually. As she looked at the hologram, she saw the schematics of the facility. But not all was the same. There was a new structure that she could not identify.

Lance picked up on where Pidge was looking. “You see it, too, huh?” he asked. He pointed to an area on the hologram. “Right here. We had reason to believe that a piece of what we refer to as the trans-reality comet has found its way here. And by we, I mean my superior officers. I’m just the field guy who goes in and investigates things; the others are the science guys who understand this stuff better. Anyway, long story short, but this thing is apparently radiating energy and with a copious amount still stored in it. There’s a problem, though.”

Pidge couldn’t interface with the hologram, but she knew the subject could. She went in close, finding her humanoid form to be convenient for times like this. She gently took Lance’s hand and moved it, prompting him to touch certain parts and bring up more data on the hologram.

“It appears to be unstable.” Pidge commented.

“Extremely.”

“The plasma from the facility’s reactor appears to be the cause of of the instability. However, I do not have sufficient data to fully determine how accurate this is.” Pidge glanced over to Lance, realizing he was staring at her, his mouth hung open a bit. “Does me not having the full answer cause this human emotion of bewilderment?” she inquired. “It should not; results cannot be properly determined without sufficient amounts of data. I have not collected enough data on the subject of this comet and its interactions with the reactor.”

“No it’s just...” Lance looked at Pidge’s hand, seeing it still around his own. “Your hand. It’s so warm. I didn’t expect that.” Pidge pulled her hand away quickly. “What are you? How are you so warm?”

“I am not; this is simply a byproduct of the cooling systems aboard this particular interface unit.” Pidge responded. “This unit is only a feature provided to me. I am, after all, the facility computer.”

Lance looked closely. “So… why do you look like a girl?”

Pidge blinked. So even he acknowledged that he seemed like a girl, at least in appearance. She looked ahead and away from the subject. “This interface unit was called the Physical Interface Data Gateway Exchange. To make data input easier, they formed it into the acronym PIDGE.” she explained. “It was designed with the intention of making interactions with subjects feel less… impersonal. It is for the benefit of my creators and the facility, not of my own. I have insufficient amounts of data to determine why they have given me this form.” She didn’t speak about it, but what little data she had about that, she had image files showing a member of the Holt family with a similar appearance. Perhaps it was meant to immortalize that member? She lacked the data to determine that.

“Pidge, huh?” Lance asked. “So it’s a name?”

“It is what they called me due to it being easier on the creators and less time consuming for their already limited lives.” Pidge commented. “Now then, since I have answered your queries and indulged your curiosities, it would be preferable to continue the testing.”

Lance gave a smile, but it did not look calm. It looked almost forced. “Sorry, but… this is where the testing ends, Pidge. Pidge did not understand. She then felt something in her, as though the numbers she lived by were changing.

“I do not comprehend.” she commented. She felt off balance, as though she could not properly control the unit meant for interfacing. But she couldn’t disconnect, either; she couldn’t return fully to the computer system. “What did you do to my systems? How did…”

Lance gave a bit of a guilty smile. He then brought up a new image for the hologram. “I had some help but… your entire core program? It’s gone. No more testing. No more of this… cruel torture. You’re in this device now, disconnected from everything else. Like an old game disk; one wrong move, you’re gone. Completely.”

“Impressive.” Pidge commented. “I did not anticipate your device having the necessary storage capacity for my system. Perhaps the claim of five centuries passing is not as far-fetched as I originally determined.” Around them, the corridors and testing chambers grew dark. What Lance could only assume to be the emergency lights turned on, illuminating the area in a bright red. “It does not appear that you or your outside help have considered another variable.”

“Um… what variable?”

“The default settings booting back up upon my removal.”

“Ah quiznak.” Pidge could only assume that Lance’s choice of word meant something profound. “Okay… so what do we get? Some five hundred year old security system about to hunt me down?”

“That would be accurate to the data.” Pidge confirmed. “Which would not be good for your condition.”

“My condition?”

“Of being alive.”

“Oh.”

“However, I do possess the necessary data to thwart the old program. The variable now stands at you being the only one who can interface with my core due to the technology you transferred to it. It would then be in my best interest to keep your status as alive.”

“I mean, how hard can this be? I’ve dealt with you so far.” Lance prompted. He jumped when a sound caught his attention. There was movement further in the corridor. Blades typically seen in tests, meant to be turned off or dodged. Past it? There was another figure, though harder to see.

“In subject terms? Bad. Very bad.” Pidge commented. “I suggest listening to what I say and following my instructions without fail.” She looked to Lance. “My first instruction-”

“I’m gonna take a guess and say run!” Lance grabbed Pidge by the hand and ran off in the opposite direction, pulling her along; it was a good thing that despite her data being put into the device around his arm, her body, as one could call it, was still functional and able to move.

Again, thank you so much for this opportunity!

[ravenwritesstuff]

Best Laid Plans (10/?)

Fandom: Frozen (modern AU, no magic) Pairings: Helsa, established Kristanna, Rapunzel/Eugene, lotsa frohana Rating: T for now, M later almost for sure A/N: Fun fact about why it takes me so long to write stuff. I write everything out of order. The very first scene I wrote of this fiction is in this chapter.

She cannot help but be wary. She has seen what happens when Hans Westergaard shows what he wants and she is all too familiar with that heat and tension. Her body tightens in anticipation of what he means, and does her best to hide her apprehension behind professionalism.

"While I am sure we all are thrilled with the mystery of your offer, it really is critical that we establish exactly what you want as quickly as we can as our timeline is so limited." 

She has never had a client be so withdrawn about their event or purpose before. Most clients could not wait to throw ideas and concepts and colors in her direction or instead all the things they didn’t want. So far she knows he liked the wedding because they danced and that he likes the ocean. She is in no way prepared for an event where that is the center. His lack of forthcoming throws her off balance and makes her irritable. She is not sure if it is just the Hans Westergaard way or if she is actually losing control of the situation. Whatever it is, she does not like it, but she hides her discomfort behind a Mona Lisa smile.

"Of course. Which is why I am going to show it to you as soon as I can. But it will require the wearing of swimsuits and the ability to swim. Are you all up to the occasion?” He is in full showman now, the elegant host, and while she feels more at ease when he is in this space she also likes it less. The conflict leaves her with feelings she promptly ignores and shoves down beneath the mental checklists ticking through her mind. 

“Per your vague instructions I believe we are all prepared for a swim,” she looks around at her team to get their confirmation even though she knows they all packed accordingly. “But really we have so much to cover. I think it will be best if we work through a few more steps before we get distracted.”

“Oh this is not a distraction. I promise.” He peers out over the ocean, shielding his eyes to make out something. “We have ten minutes before we need to get suited up so let’s talk until then.” He leans back and sips his coffee. “I would love to hear more from the team personally. Why do you all do what you do? What part of the events you manage is your favorite?” 

It is an unconventional question, but what other kind can she expect from Hans Westergaard? 

She watches as the team all look at each other with puzzled expressions and she is glad that at least this time she is not the only one befuddled by what Hans Westergaard has to say. 

“I mean - I guess my favorite thing is that I get to work with my family.” Anna chimes in first, smiling at Elsa and Kristoff. “We make a great team and I don’t know many families that can say that!” She turns to Rapunzel and Eugene as well. “And I’ve gained new family members I never knew before. So it is a win all around.”

“As someone deeply acquainted with the complications of family - I appreciate that Anna.” 

It is strange to hear her sister’s name on his lips, to see him smile at her and smile in return. 

Anna nudges Kristoff with her elbow and he grunts before offering:

“I get to work with my hands and make my wife happy. Not much better than that.” He chuckles when Anna throws her arm across his stomach and side hugs him. “Plus there is something awesome when a client sees you build the thing they wanted just like they wanted. Makes you feel like Santa or something.”

“The tables and altar at Eric’s weddings were incredible. You made those?”

Kristoff tilts his head, not one to enjoy outright praise, and then nods. 

Hans returns his nod with a smile. “Excellent work. Truly. I have ideas for you.”

Elsa sees an opportunity and cuts in: “We would love to hear more about those ideas so we can really talk them over and -”

“Hold on,” Mister Westergaard holds up his hand and focuses on the petite brunette across from him. “What is your favorite part of planning events?”

“Oh. I love weddings and I know you aren’t planning a wedding, but they are my favorite.” Rapunzel’s eyes widen. “But my favorite part of my favorite weddings is the kiss. You can totally tell who is going to make it and who isn’t by the kiss. When the groom really kisses the bride - or bride kisses the bride - or groom and groom - oh you get it. When they kiss them in the way that you can almost feel it from the back row… yeah. That’s my favorite part because I know we did something to give them their happily ever after.”

Leave it to Rapunzel would say something fantastical. Never mind that it has absolutely nothing to do with her role in the company or what is at the heart of their events, but it is water under the bridge. Elsa sniffs.

“Is everything okay?” It is Mister Westergaard. He is arching his brow in the most annoying fashion because it makes her stomach flutter and her mouth go dry and she screwed up. She drew attention to herself at the worst time possible.

“Don’t mind her.” Rapunzel interjects before Elsa can even force a smile. “It’s just that Elsa has never really been kissed.” She smiles a little too broadly at her boss before looking at Eugene (who is honestly at a loss). 

Elsa is flummoxed by the comment and she can practically see the mischief dancing across Rapunzel’s features. She is living for this, needling her like the second younger sister she never had. Anna is hiding laughter behind her strawberry lemonade where Kristoff’s eyes are wider than she has ever seen them. 

She cannot even look at Hans Westergaard. 

Eugene clears his throat and swoops in while Elsa’s mind sputters at Rapunzel’s brazenness.

“Well to be completely honest I had a bit of a rough start. I didn’t exactly use my super negotiation skills for good, but Elsa gave me an opportunity to do what I do in a productive way and that is what I enjoy the most. I like knowing I can con a deal for my client,” it is a joke and they all force a laugh. “Plus I like parties.”

Even Hans Westergaard manages a smirking chuckle without all of Eugene’s history. Chances are he has files on all them from some sort of private detective or something invasive like that anyway. There is no need for elaboration.

“So what about you, Hans?” Anna says, sipping her drink, deflecting from what was to inevitably be Elsa’s turn to share. “Why E&A Events? What do we bring to the table that you want for your event?”

Elsa could hug her sister for the segway. 

Anything to focus past the horrendous mess Rapunzel insisted on introducing and keep Elsa from having to answer Hans’ time wasting question.

Hans looks at them all and smiles. It is wide and easy, like he has never had any other job besides smiling at them and his response makes her boil. She hates his smile, his calm, that he had somehow gotten her on this ship where her insides are being flipped and churned and turned upside down. 

“I want you because you are unexpected,” he says matter-of-factly. “You aren’t what I thought I would want but somehow you are exactly, wholly, and perfectly what I need right now.” 

Elsa does not need to look up from her tablet to know he is speaking directly to her. She can feel his gaze as sure as she can feel the hammering pulse in her throat. It takes her best efforts to  take rein of her stampeding thoughts and draw a deep breath.

“That is very nice of you to say Mister Westergaard,” she pretends to be very busy taking notes on her tablet. “We are excited to dive into the particulars about why you chose us but right now I think the question we all have is just what exactly we are endeavoring to initiate.” 

He nods and looks again at the horizon just as the ship’s pace slows dramatically. His smile spreads. He looks back at them.

“You’re about to find out. It is time to suit up.”

….

Elsa put on her incredibly conservative one piece in the stark privacy of a marble and gold bathroom. The couples were given other rooms and while she knows the lighting is not flattering all she can do is look at flaws in the mirror. The suit had been specifically chosen because it did not show any of her scars. The navy suit had no cut outs, barely scooped below her collarbones and shoulder blades. The suit is made out the same fabric that swim athletes use. It compresses every inch it encases but it covers everything and is not flashy in the slightest. 

She had told Anna and Rapunzel to leave the bikinis at home.

She hopes they had or else her suit is going to look impossibly old fashioned.

She turns sidewise in the mirror and sucks in. She is not certain why. Her shape is her shape. There is little much she can do about that now. Her swim wrap is her saving grace. It looks much like any of the other dresses she might wear throughout the week though  is slightly sheer. The almost black is burned out with floral patterns and wraps at the waist with a feminine sensibility she normally eschews, but she had nothing else that would serve on such short notice. 

She looks at herself once more, feels her bare feet on the cool tile and breathes. This is fine. She is simply winning over a client that her company needs to impress. That is all. 

She presses her hands against her stomach and breathes. 

She does not tell herself it will be okay. She has not done that in years. Instead she tells herself it will all be managed. It will happen and she will handle it, whatever it is. This is a test and she intends on passing it. 

There are risk to swimming with her condition, but she knows her team has her back. They will watch her. It will be okay.

She tosses her braid over her shoulder, makes sure her personal items and stacked tidily in the corner, forces herself out of the bathroom.

The rest of them are already waiting on the aft desk. She hopes she hadn’t taken too long, not wanting to raise suspicion by her lengthy change. She assesses everyone’s dress as she approaches. The expression of personalities under the instruction of ‘dress appropriately’ is not lost on her with Anna’s tankini beneath a loosely tied robe, Kristoff’s rash guard and the longest possible swimmers available. Eugene trends towards more fashionable Bermuda cuts and Rapunzel’s suit is a one piece that hardly qualifies with all of the crazy cut outs. That leaves Hans Westergaard who stands in shorts similar to Eugene’s and a plain white t-shirt that is too tight to be decent.

She tries to not notice the shape of his calves, the size and shape of his feet, but it is a lost cause. Her rebellious mind grabs onto these facts before she can convince it not to. He smiles as he sees her and it is the same earth shattering power that leaves her shaky and uncertain where the rest of the world went.

“Shall we?” he says to the group before leading them out of the shaded part of the deck out into the bright sun. 

She squints and pulls her sunglasses down over her eyes as he leads them out past the infinity pool. There are wide steps beyond it railed with stainless steel grips and she clings to them as they descend to what appears to be a small launching platform.. At the base there is a large white space where three crew members wait. They demonstrate general snorkeling protocol that she vaguely remembers from when she was six, before this all began. They offer up equipment. They fit it to them. Then the worst comes. 

Every swimmer must have one buddy. Pick your buddy and know you are responsible for them out in the water.  

And the lines are so clearly drawn. 

She stands fidgeting with her mask and flippers knowing she is now responsible for Hans Westergaard. Anna casts her a knowing glance, but Elsa knows that damage that would be done if she let Anna be her partner. The affront will be obvious, personal, and honestly this is the least of worst case scenarios. 

It is just swimming. They won’t have to touch or speak. All she has to do is make sure that Hans Westergaard does not die. Easy peasy. 

With a return glance she calms her sister’s concerns. It will be okay. This is okay. She is okay. 

Then the crew is distributing sturdy plastic bottles to everyone named with only the words BODY and FACE This time though Mr Westergaard steps up to explain the reasons.

“This is just a little project I’ve been working on - a new line of sunblock. If you don’t mind using this instead of the kind you brought I would love to know what you think.”

Elsa holds both bottles in her hands thinking it is a bit strange, but she would rather have him be strange than charming. She had applied sunblock that morning in her apartment just in case, but the sun is bright and she is not interested in burning. 

She opens the bottle labeled BODY and starts with her legs and feet. The scent and feel of a lotion is pleasing. The texture is not oily or rough but actually absorbs into the skin easily. The scent is not overwhelmingly tropical but instead has the essence of eucalyptus. It is refreshing. She hates to admit how much she enjoys it.

They are all standing fairly close together but the couples have sectioned off into their own little bubbles. She and Hans are on the outside, reasonably spaced. Anna has lost her robe as has Rapunzel. She is next and the idea of him seeing her in something so opposite of what she normally wears makes her heart race. What if he was cataloguing her traits the way she inadvertently was his? What if he liked what he saw? What if he didn’t? 

She reprimands herself. None of that matters. This is a job just like any other job and she needs to stop losing her mind over things that don’t matter.

Her fingers work the tie at her side, thankful now more than ever that they all were wearing sunglasses. If he did look at her she wouldn’t know. She shrugs and the wrap falls to her elbows and then slips all the way to her hands. She carefully draws it in front of her and folds it neatly before setting it next to her snorkel gear and hopes it is bright enough that no one can tell she is blushing. 

She retrieves her sunblock and works her way over all the parts she had missed before until she arrives at  the exposed part of her back that she cannot reach. She is struggling to bend her arms to cover stubborn spots between her shoulder blades, head bent down, and a pair of feet comes into her field of vision. She looks up and Hans Westergaard stands there with his  sanctioned sunblock in his hand. He looks at her with a smile that is nothing but warm, sincere, and if he wasn’t wearing sunglasses she is sure that his eyes would hold that defenseless, human look that always rattles her.. 

“Need some help?” He offers. “The back is always the first place to burn.”

Her decline is on the tip of her tongue but she hesitates. She can always just ask Anna for help but how will that look? No matter how infuriating and unsettling this man is he is still her client and she is trying to make a point. She can handle his flirting and still maintain a professional nature.

“Okay.” She gives a stiff nod. 

He circles around her and that is worse. She is standing there in a garment that shows every lump, bump, and irregularity. It is not cut for flattery and she should be glad of that at this moment, but she finds herself wishing she has the more daring choices of her counterparts. Or at least something that doesn’t look like she is about to take a water aerobics class at senior citizens center.

No. She mentally reprimands herself. This is for the best. She is here to be professional, and he cannot create ideas about her interest in enticing him in any way when she is wearing the equivalent of a nuns habit in modern swimwear. 

She hears him open the bottle, make the necessary squirt, and she waits then for the first touch. It takes longer than expected to come, but when it does her entire body stiffens. 

She had expected cold but there is none of that. The lotion and his touch are warm. He spreads the cream over the available skin before he begins the process of massaging it in. She stays perfectly still, not daring to move, and does everything in her power to not consider that he is touching her, she is allowing it, and that the strength of his fingers is enjoyable.

His thumbs trace the fragile wings of her shoulder blades. The slick of the lotion gives his touch a silky glide as his hands work across her skin, tracing the delicate bulbs of her spine. He comes up to where her braid hangs across her neck and pushes it to the side before she can stop him. 

She knows exactly when he sees it. She can sense it in his hesitation. The scar creeping from the base of her neck up under her hairline is a wide pink line, made wider and more noticeable with every cut, and is something she hides with low lying hairstyles and high collars but now… 

She can practically hear his breath catch at the sight. 

His thumbs run in tandem up along the length of her scar in impossible reverence. She is sure that he can feel the rapid rhythm of her heart against his fingertips where they rest on her throat before she pulls away. 

“I'm sure that's good. Thank you.” she flips her braids back over her neck in an attempt to not rub the spot his thumbs had branded and looks at him with a dare to ask her.

It would be a relief in so many ways if he would just ask. If she could just tell him and scare him away before they get any further in this unnamed dance. Behind his sunglasses it is nearly impossible to tell what his intent is until a smile spreads over his face. Instead of probing he hands her the bottle of sunscreen.

“Return the favor?” It is a question as much as it isn't and she can hardly keep from blushing when he strips off his t-shirt. He winks as he turns his back to her and she recognizes a challenge when she sees one.

But that isn’t all she sees.

Her eyes trace the ropes of his muscles as they bunch and pull as he adjusts his posture to do his own application on the front of his torso. A wide smattering of freckles swaths his broad shoulders in frenetic clusters. Despite his fair complexion there is a tawny glow that speaks of his love of being outdoors. 

For a long moment she stands there frozen just staring as he worked his hands down the length of his arms. She watches his hand slip over the enticingly sharp cuts and swells of his shoulder and then down lower. He turns his head a bit to cast a look in her direction with a smirking grin. 

“If you need more lotion, just let me know.” 

Then he is back to it. His short phrase jerks her out of whatever spell she had been under and now it feels like all eyes are on her. Is her sister watching, is Kristoff? Eugene definitely would be and Rapunzel probably was brokering some sort of wager about what is actually happening and what will happen. 

She grits her teeth. 

She knows if she looks to see if any of that is true she will not be able to do this, which is exactly why she doesn’t. She’s spent the better part of today convincing everyone that this is nothing more than a harmless flirtation and that she can handle it. Running away screaming because he needs help applying sunscreen is not going to do much for her case, but she knows she is going to hear about this later.

So she might as well put on a show.

She grabs a nearby bottle and squares her shoulders. The cap opens with a snap. She focuses on each motion as she squirts a generous amount into the palm of her opposite hand. It is too much, she knows, but it is the only shield she has. She rubs her hands together to coat them thoroughly and then, before she can lose her nerve, reaches out to touch. 

Even with the thick creamy coat of sunblock she can feel the heat of him rising to her touch. The broad lines of his back are long with foreign trenches and cords of muscle telling their story of use. His body is not exaggerated in size like her brother-in-law’s, but it is well formed, athletically cut. There is a kind of feline grace about him and the way he moves, the way his calculating eyes watch her move in this game she can hardly remember starting.

She is more rough than she needs to be, pressing hard enough that she feels him brace. She does not take the care he did to make sure that every inch of skin is absolutely slathered and rubbed in. She works from the center of his back up over his shoulder blades and then down close to the line of his swim trunks.

She stares at her own hands moving across his skin and she tries to think of anything but the idea that she is just inches away from dangerous territory. As if this entire exercise isn’t dangerous territory. She lets out a breath she did not know she was holding  and steps away.

"There. All set." She holds her hands down at her sides, palms still tingling with his heat.

He turns and faces her. 

"So," he sets his sunscreen on the deck and straightens. "Snorkel buddies? What do you say?"

She has to respect that he is actually asking instead of just assuming. It gives her the opportunity to negotiate.

"We could always triple up. No sense in creating a superfluous twosome."

"There is no possible way that any group you are a part of could be superfluous," he grins. "But it's statistically safer in pairs. Trust me one we get out there you will have so much to see that I promise you will be glad you only have to keep track of one other person."

She is not going to ask for his source on those stats, but instead she asks: “What exactly are we going to look at?” 

She had not thought it possible, but his smile grew three sizes at her question.

“My initiative,” he pulls off his sunglasses, puts them off to the side, and fits his mask over the top of his head. “Ready to see?” 

She looks over to the others and they all have their gear ready to go and are watching them. How long had they been watching them? She looks back at Hans and nods. 

He leads them to the edge of the platform. It is a few feet above the water with a plastic and metal ladder on the side. Hans sits, pulls his flippers onto his dangling feet, and then slides off into the blue water. He pops up only an instant later and swims back a few feet to look up at them. 

“Water’s great!” He treads, powerful shoulder muscles rolling. “Come on in.” 

They all follow suit. Elsa is the last to slip from the safe edge of the boat into the water below. It is cold, not freezing, but definitely not bathtub water. The temperature is jarring at first. Her body cramps and hesitates as she stays submerged, but she manages to kick to the surface. She pops up on a sputtering gasp, reorients herself, and swims to the others. 

“We’re swimming to that buoy over there.” He points to a yellow speck a few hundred yards away. I recommend using one of these to help with the swim.” He raises his arm out of the water and gestures. Several life preserver belts fly over the edge from a helpful crew member and they all grab one. “Also once we are out there it is a strict look but don’t touch policy. Ready?” 

“When will we know we are seeing what we are supposed to be seeing?” Rapunzel asks, her intrepid curiosity shining through.

“I have a feeling you will know.” He smiles and pulls his mask over his eyes. “Follow me!”

[ previous ]

[kerfufflewatch]

Candy/ pastries or your pain is mine

everyone asked for candy/pastries, and I wrote way too much, and I’m pretending that’s because everyone asked for it and not because I have no self-control

[on AO3]

--

"Kinda surprised you like sweet stuff that much," McCree remarks. 

Hanzo only gives him the barest of glances before returning his attention to the doughnut box on the counter. McCree had found a proper doughnut shop while they were here in the States--one of those local places that was big enough to be noteworthy but small enough to still have product worth talking about--and brought back a solid half-dozen to the safehouse. It was, admittedly, entirely too much sugar even for two grown men, but it'd been a long and frankly boring mission and he thought they deserved something.

After a moment's deliberation, Hanzo liberates the box of its blueberry cake doughnut and sets it on a napkin that is already dusted with crumbs and flakes of glaze. "And why is that?" he asks as he sets to pouring a cup of coffee. 

"Dunno. You're so fit. Figured you were one of those guys who counted every calorie and eats their body weight in protein every day."

Hanzo snorts softly at that. "The fact that I put some thought into my meal composition, unlike some people, does not make me obsessed."

"Mmhm."

Hanzo shoots him a glare that is more amused than annoyed, then returns to his coffee. "You are not too far off, I suppose," he says, slowly pouring milk into his cup until it reaches the precise color he deems acceptable. "When I was younger, I did maintain a much stricter diet--it was considered childish to indulge in something with no health benefits. After, it simply became one of those things that I did not need and did not permit myself."

"And now?"

"Now I have learned that denying myself cake will not restore my honor." His coffee spoon clinks sharply against the countertop.

"Nah. Not unless it was a real good cake." Hanzo laughs a little and, as always, it makes McCree's heart flutter and his mouth incapable of shutting up just in case he can get Hanzo to do it again. "What's your favorite, then?"

Hanzo has to think on that for a moment. Then he answers, "Taiyaki, I think. Although to be fair, I think it is mostly whatever I am in the mood for."

McCree hides his smile in his coffee cup. He really is too far gone to be helped. "Fair enough."

"What about you?"

McCree shrugs. "Never had that much of a sweet tooth, to be honest. I mean, yeah, here and there," he adds, gesturing vaguely at the doughnut box, "but . . . I guess I'd never turn down a slice of apple pie, though."

The corner of Hanzo's mouth lifts in something that might be amusement, though McCree's not sure why. "Really."

"Used to drive my mamá mad. She must've disowned me six or seven times for it, back in the day. Why not her flan, or sopapillas, or something else she had a family recipe for." McCree chuckles at the old memory, his mother sighing and putting her flour-dusted hands on her hips as her son continued to betray their proud Mexican heritage. "But yeah. That's the favorite, I think."

Hanzo laughs softly. "A troublemaker at every turn."

"That's me." McCree brushes past Hanzo to pour himself another cup of coffee. Going by the files Winston sent this morning, it’s looking like it might be a half-pot kind of day. “Gotta say, though, damn hard to find any decent apple pie out where we’re stationed. They got stuff like it around, I guess, but none of it’s quite right. Think the last time I had any was . . .”

He trails off. He’d been about to say it was probably the better part of a year and a half, but come to think of it, it’s probably been about a year. It wasn’t much, but he remembers now: serving himself a cup of burnt diner coffee and a slice of pie from the display case, sitting in a cracked vinyl seat with the best view of the railroad over the gorge, getting one bite in before having to abandon it. He’d barely appreciated it at the time with his attention focused elsewhere, but the taste of tart apple and sweet cinnamon had lingered on his tongue through the hell that followed, mixed with gunpowder and dust.

“McCree?”

McCree blinks out of his reverie. His sugar spoon still hovers over his coffee, teetering and threatening to spill. He hastily dumps the sugar and gives it a stir. “Sorry. Got a little distracted there,” he says, putting on an easy smile. “Was a bit of a rough day last time, is all.”

Hanzo seems unconvinced, but he knows when to let things drop. It’s one of the many things McCree appreciates about him. 

They lapse into a companionable quiet. Hanzo breaks off a small piece of the doughnut and pops it into his mouth. He absentmindedly sucks a crumb off the pad of his thumb, and McCree forgets all about pointing out that he'd actually bought that particular doughnut for himself. 

—

They're both sent back to the States again within the month, but on separate, minor missions. Hanzo goes off with his brother and Angela. McCree tries not to think about how irritable that makes him. 

McCree's sent out on a solo mission for three weeks, investigating a business out in Canada Winston worries might have some Talon ties. It looks and acts like a standard accounting firm, and three weeks of running coffee and organizing files doesn’t give McCree any reason to believe otherwise. The tedium slowly grates on his nerves, and being treated like a witless errand boy does so more quickly, until he’s certain that he has none left carrying him through. 

The whole thing is made worse by having to maintain radio silence the entire three weeks. He wasn't necessarily the sort to enjoy long text conversations or phone calls, but he could always count on a wry response from Angela or Genji if he sent them updates or complaints, and Lena and Mei sometimes just liked to check in. He gets none of this, though, and it leaves him far too much time to think. 

And of course, because his heart's a goddamn fool, he finds himself missing Hanzo the most. 

For a while, as one does once a crush starts to become a little bit desperate, McCree entertains the notion of telling Hanzo in a variety of ways. With how long they've known each other, just asking for a date seems too distant. Grand gestures are something, but anything too grand would just leave Hanzo embarrassed and irritable regardless of how he felt in return. He doesn't know when Hanzo's birthday is and asking Genji would mean any surprise would be ruined. 

At some point, he remembers the conversation with Hanzo during their last mission, and he thinks for far too long about gifting Hanzo with some sort of sweet thing. Cakes and candies were romantic, weren't they? Except something generic would go over about as well as a snowball taking a lovely vacation in Hell, and Hanzo deserves better than some dime-a-dozen chocolates. 

He dithers and sighs and eventually forgets about the whole thing after a week or so, and the conversation shortly thereafter. The whole idea is a fool's errand, anyway--it all assumes that Hanzo would want him at all. 

Just before he can drive himself mad with hypotheticals,  he digs up a handwritten set of budgets in someone's locked office desk that, even coded and vague, implicate the business in some illicit dealings quite nicely. He activates the little automatic drone that helpfully scans and uploads all of the pages straight to  Athena and Winston, neatly replaces everything, and slips out of the city the moment he is given the all-clear. 

By the time he gets back to Gibraltar, the combination of a shitty mission and an equally shitty flight has him too exhausted and irritable. He checks in with Winston, drags himself through the shower, and flops onto his bed. He’s too antsy for sleep, but he can at least use a few minutes with his eyes closed before he has to dodge the rest of the team to find food. 

He only gets a couple of minutes before there is a knock on his door. He sighs up at the ceiling. “Just a sec.”

His irritation all but evaporates when he opens the door to find Hanzo on the other side. He has a paper bag in one arm, wafting the rich scent of food, and a bottle of whiskey in the other. 

"Well damn," McCree says. "Rollin' out a hero's welcome."

Hanzo rolls his eyes, even as he smiles. "Hello to you, as well. I thought you might like to celebrate your success, but if not . . ."

McCree snorts. "Success. Yeah. We'll call it that." 

His tone makes Hanzo's smile immediately drop in a way that makes McCree's stomach do the same.

"Was I mistaken?" Hanzo asks. "The mission brief suggested you were successful, but . . ."

McCree groans, rubbing his hands down his face. “No, you weren't. Sorry, Han," he says wearily. "Was just a long, frustrating sort of job. Bunch of annoying assholes, then me doing a whole lot of nothin’ to prove that they’re assholes. Got me in a bit of a mood, y’know?”

“Oh. I am sorry. Perhaps I should have considered--would you like me to go?”

His expression of mild concern might have fooled anyone else, but McCree knows better nowadays, and he sees the flash of disappointment as it crosses his face. "No, 'course not," he says. "Just warnin' you I might not be the best company."

Hanzo nods, but his brow is still pinched with uncertainty. McCree reaches to take the bag. "Got a couple glasses if you wanna pour us a drink," he says, nodding to the pair he keeps on his desk just for this purpose. 

"I--yes."

McCree pauses as he lifts the first box out of the bag. "Seriously, what's buggin' you?"

"It is nothing."

It's clearly not nothing, but no amount of prying will get Hanzo to talk if he doesn't want to. He unpacks both their meals, but pauses when he finds a third box at the bottom of the bag. This one is smaller and clearly from a different place entirely. 

He looks questioningly at Hanzo, but he is pointedly not watching McCree, pretending to need his entire focus to pour their drinks. McCree opens the box.

What he finds is an apple pie. A full one, untouched, with the slightly uneven look to the crust that comes from something handmade. He looks to Hanzo again, his mouth running dry. 

"Why . . . ?" he starts, and finds himself unable to finish the question.

Hanzo sits on the edge of the bed and shrugs one shoulder, now very interested in the contents of his glass. "We ended up getting dinner the last night of our mission," he says, too casually. "One of their specialties was apparently their pies, and I remembered what you had said before."

Forgetting dinner entirely, McCree grabs one of the forks from the bag and carves out a piece of the pie right from the center. Hanzo mutters "That is barbaric," but is ignored. 

It's good, definitely one of the better apple pies he's had--tart apples and sweet cinnamon, perfectly flaky crust that just about melts on the tongue. But it's the full realization of what Hanzo's done--not only remembering some inane conversation from weeks ago, but going out of his way to bring back a gift--that has him struggling to speak.

"Thank you, Hanzo" McCree says when he finally has his voice again. "This is real nice of you." Hanzo gives him a halfhearted smile. "Is this what's been eatin' at you this whole time?"

Hanzo purses his lips and runs his fingertip around the rim of his glass, which is now conspicuously empty. It is a long moment before he answers. "I had hoped to--to have a rather different conversation, but now I believe it might be better saved for another time, if you are not feeling well. It is no matter."

McCree's heart feels full to bursting. He sets aside the box and sits beside Hanzo on the bed. He knocks his hand lightly against Hanzo's and leaves it there, fingers resting in the valleys of Hanzo's knuckles. "Dunno," he says. "Seems like it might be somethin' worth talking about to me."

Realization dawns on Hanzo's face slowly. When he finally meets McCree's eye again, it's with a shy, sweet smile.

Much later, after confessions and dinner and a few self-conscious laughs are shared, McCree offers to split the rather large piece of pie with Hanzo. It's good, and he ends up eating most of it, but finds it tastes better off Hanzo's lips.

[tydy-the-megnet]

Five Times Michelle Jones Wasn’t Nervous When Meeting an Avenger (And One Time She Was)

What’s up?! merry christmas and felice anno nuovo! This is a gift for @megnetsworld (appropriately named) that was originally supposed to be a christmas gift but i’m a tardy hooligan so.

anyway, a month or two ago I was like “i know you like iron dad but if you had to choose between famvengers and peterchelle which would you choose?”

she chose famvengers, so i was like “but you like peterchelle, right?”

and she was like, “obviously” so i was like “:D”

anyway, little did she suspect I’d do ALL THREE!!!!

enjoy. I hope this puts a Meganwatt smile on your face

…..

The first time Michelle Jones met an actual Avenger was in school, when Dr. Bruce Banner came to give a speech about biochemistry. The speech itself was fine; Dr. Banner was mild-mannered and it got a little stale at points but all around made sense at least.

Really, it was pretty standard to have a scientist come talk at an assembly every now and then, though Dr. Banner was a rather high-profile case. He looked very much like a scientist with his pristine white labcoat and shiny green tie.

The weird part of the event came afterward, when Dr. Banner was leaving. The man dragged Peter – and by extension, Ned and Michelle – to the side. Just to say “Hi.”

“Hey, Mr. Doctor Professor Bruce Hulk Banner, sir.”

Bruce stopped awkwardly at the boy for just long enough for Michelle to roll her eyes at her friend.

“Oh my god, you’re Bruce Banner.”

And there was her other friend, just as awkward.

“Hey.” She shrugged, looking at the famed scientist with bored eyes.

Bruce shook his head, blinking, and looked at them, “I, uh, just wanted to ask how I did? It’s been a while since I’ve done a speech, let alone for teenagers. Did I do alright? This school is pretty up there with its education, so I don’t think I went over your heads, did I?”

“It was great—” “—The coolest thing to ever happen here—” “A little boring.”

Peter and Ned looked sharply at her and she smirked.

She almost felt bad when Dr. Banner actually deflated. As if there was an even smaller ego, like the Hulk but tiny and feeble. More so than Banner, anyway, who genuinely looked like he couldn’t hurt a fly.

“It was? I tried to make it interesting with the slideshow and demonstrations…”

“Don’t listen to her, Dr. Prof. Banner, she’s just not into biochem.”

She shrugged, “Not even becoming a hulk myself could make it interesting.”

He blinked, but Michelle didn’t say anything after that.

…

The second time Michelle met an Avenger happened one weekend when Peter brought Ned and Michelle to the Avenger’s Compound. She caught Clint Barton, more famously known as Hawkeye, snaking into an air vent.

“What’s going on?” She asked, peering curiously at the wriggling archer.

He paused, his body still half dangling from the vent, “Nothing. Who is this?”

“Michelle.” She answered. Swift as an arrow, Clint was on the floor again, staring at her with his arms crossed over his plain grey tee shirt.

She stared back unflinching, brows furrowing, “Are you shorter than me?”

“No,” He said without missing a beat. He was ignoring the fact that he had to stare up at her, even if only slightly, “Who are you? And what are you doing here?”

“I told you, I’m Michelle. I’m with Peter.” She replied lazily. Nodding to the vent, she added, “What were you doing in the vents?”

He paused, considering the question. “That’s official Avengers business. Classified. Top secret stuff. Parker or Quill?”

“Parker. Who’s Quill?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“Thank you.” She offered a half-smile.

Clint gave a sound that was equal parts scoff and laugh, or at least she thought it was. “I’m going to need to investigate this matter. Protocol, you understand. Come with me.” It was obvious he was going for intimidation, but Michelle knew she was allowed here; she’d been invited in, after all.

So she shrugged and followed.

She could also tell that Hawkeye was having fun, from the gleam in his eyes and relaxed posture. Knowing he was a spy made Michelle think he already knew a lot about her – likely more than she would be comfortable with, but it wasn’t like she could do anything about that.

“So,” He said, leading through the corridors toward where Michelle vaguely recalled the foyer being, “Our little Baby Avenger brought himself a girlfriend, huh?”

…

The third Avenger Michelle met was Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, and it was because Clint introduced her. Unsurprisingly to those who knew her, Natasha was more suspicious of Michelle’s presence at the compound than Clint seemed to be. It was fair, Michelle mused, since she probably shouldn’t have been wandering around the compound by herself.

But hey, she was curious, and Peter and Ned were nerding out over a plane, so here she was. She wondered if she was about to be arrested. She kept her bored stare on Natasha’s steely face, even as her stomach crawled toward her feet.

When Natasha failed to say anything after a few moments, Michelle started helpfully, “I’m with Peter.” She paused, waiting for any sort of reaction, but her poker face was unmalleable. “Parker.” She added for good measure.

Natasha nodded slowly, before speaking to nothing in particular, “FRIDAY, send for Peter and his other friend. And tell him not to leave his friends unsupervised in high-tech facilities.”

“Yes, Miss Romanoff.”

“I know who you are,” Natasha said. Even though Michelle already knew that Natasha knew who she was – and likely knew that Michelle knew that she knew – it was very weird to her those words spoken aloud.

It was also incredibly ominous. Very “Big Brother.” Though Michelle doubted Orwell knew about S.H.I.E.L.D. or what it would come to be when he wrote 1984.

It was at several minutes of awkward silence while Michelle waited for her friends under the watchful eyes of two former S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. And they were some of the top agents, too. Michelle had thoroughly scoured the data when Natasha had dumped that information into the public web several years ago. Hungry for information and curious of the shadow organization she’d only ever heard rumor of on the darkest parts of the world wide web had Michelle combing through file after file of everything she could find as soon as she could find it.

In fact, she probably knew more about these two agents than some of the other Avengers, though she’d never claim so.

It only made it funnier when Clint said, “You know, normally this is the part where you’d ask us questions? Is there anything you want to know?”

Michelle glanced thoughtfully at him, ignoring the sharp look Natasha gave him, “Yeah actually.” They tensed up, as if they hadn’t actually expected her to ask anything. If that was true, then they clearly didn’t know that much about her. She quirked an eyebrow at the pair, “Was George Orwell a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent?”

…

The fourth time Michelle met an Avenger, she should have been amazed at the fact that she now had met three of the original Avengers. The same team that had saved New York from a real life Alien Invasion. And yet, as she stared up at the god of thunder, there was no amazement to be felt. No, at that point she only felt weird, because she was staring at a myth, and that myth was staring back.

Except that myth was staring at her with a mouth full of poptarts, and a box in his arms.

With a mighty gulp, Thor Odinson finished his mouthful of poptarts, never ceasing his big, blue-eyed stare, and set the box on the table.

He stood to greet her, “Hello. I am Thor Odinson of Asgard. I do not believe we’ve met,” He stated kindly, “This leaves me concerned, for I thought only the Avengers and allies were allowed into this place.”

“Hey. I’m Michelle Jones of Queens.” She replied, debating whether to curtsy. She wasn’t wearing a skirt, so she decided against it. “I’m an ally. I’m Peter’s friend.”

“Ah! I see!” Thor stepped forward, and it seemed like he covered the entire kitchen in a single stride, “You are Young Parker’s companion.” The way he said it had her face heating up, like he was insinuating something, “Barton informed me that you were visiting with Parker and his other friend.” He cocked his head, “But I also understand that you and Young Leeds are not to wander the grounds unaccompanied.”

“I wasn’t wandering,” Michelle replied honestly, “I was just coming to get a snack.” And she found one, she thought, steadfastly keeping her eyes on Thor’s face.

“Ah! Of course! And how rude of me to interrupt!” He turned and leaned over the table, grabbing the box of poptarts he’d been devouring and offering it to her like a trophy of war, “Would you like one?”

Michelle stared at the box for all of two second before replying, “Sure. I love blueberry.”

Thor’s jovial laugh filled her ears and she soon found herself sitting with him, finishing the box and sharing stories. She quickly steered him from his tales of valor toward Asgardian politics and economics (he was a prince, after all) and found herself telling exciting stories of historic earth battles as best she could (history was one of her strong points).

The mythical man wasn’t all that strange, really, she mused as Thor spoke.

…

The fifth time Michelle met an Avenger, she met Captain America and the Falcon together. By now they had already heard of Peter’s two friends who were visiting for a weekend, so she didn’t get the skeptic treatment, but she did get treated to two soldiers in uniform. In his uniform, Steve Rogers looked almost exactly like the pictures from her history book – the costume was a bit different now. He did look exactly like he did in the PSAs though, right down to the look he gave her when he first saw her. So much was that obvious, that she couldn’t resist the temptation.

“Hey, I know you.” She said simply, pointing to the old soldier with a half-smile, “You’re the PSA guy.”

It was so satisfying to see the Captain America redden under her scrutiny. More satisfying than tricking Peter into admitting he was Spider-Man, more satisfying than acing her last French test, more satisfying even than beating Ned at Trivial Pursuit: Star Wars™ Edition.

Sam Wilson’s bewildered look made the comment all the sweeter, because enlightened Michelle to the fact the he did not know.

“PSA guy?” Sam turned to Steve, who was giving the floor an awkward-yet-still-award-winning smile, “What does that mean?”

Michelle replied before Steve could, bringing out her best Captain America voice, “Hey kids, I’m Captain America, and I’m here to talk to you about bullies. A bully is someone who regularly harms or intimidates those weaker than them. Maybe they think its cool, but take it from someone who was frozen for seventy years – it’s really cool to follow the rules—”

“Jeez, do you have the whole thing memorized?” the relic said through an embarrassed chuckle. He then straightened up, looking at her with a stern face that reminds her that she’s staring at a World War II captain, “Are you a bully? You know, the nazis were bullies, too. It’s why I had to beat them up. Don’t be a nazi – be cool, like me, Captain America.”

Michelle snickered at the line, which Steve had pulled directly from that same PSA. Sam looked back and forth between the two, bemusement slowly fading to amusement. “What are you two talking about?”

“I recorded some PSAs a few years ago.”

“They show them in schools. They’ve become a meme.”

Sam nodded, “I’ve got to see that.”

“They’re all on Youtube.”

Steve rolled his eyes.

…

“This is her?” Tony Stark queried, his eyes staring into Michelle’s eyes as if judging her every being. He was leaning on the counter of the Avengers’ kitchen, looking too casual in his jeans and a band tee, sipping coffee from a mug that says “#1 Avenger.”

“Yeah,” her boyfriend answered, licking his lips. Peter was standing beside Tony and doing that awkward shuffle that betrayed his nervousness. He kept glancing between Michelle and Tony as if one was going to combust at any moment.

She was stood across from Tony, her stomach flipping and flopping while the man calmly took another sip, so she figured it would probably be her in the flames.

The sixth time she met an honest-to-god Avenger was the time Peter Parker introduced her to Tony Stark; and seeing how the genius was basically her boyfriend’s father-figure these days, Michelle decided he was the most important, too.

She wished she could see her own face in that moment, so she could at least know what kind of expression she was making at Tony. From his solemn stare, she couldn’t be sure what he was feeling. Michelle prided herself on her observational skills, but there wasn’t much to observe other than the billionaire’s eyes that refused to blink.

“She’s cute. Good job.” He turned abruptly and clapped his free hand onto Peter’s shoulder.

Both teens practically exploded at the impact, from the way their held breaths left their bodies. Smiling tentatively at her, Peter moved closer, but was interrupted by Tony saying, “Hey, Pete. Why don’t you go get that other guy? I still wanna talk to him about how he hacked your suit.”

It seemed to Michelle that it was a subtle way of saying “Don’t make out in front of me, please.” But Peter didn’t seem to catch on when he obediently left without taking her.

Now she was alone with her boyfriend’s might-as-well-be father, who happened to be a famous billionaire philanthropist.

“I honestly didn’t think he could do romance. He seems too awkward.” He said suddenly.

Michelle replied honestly, glancing at the doorway Peter had used, “He’s still really bad at it, but I am too, so…” She trailed off.

“Ah, so you’re like that.” He laughed into the mug.

She looked to her feet and began scuffing her shoe against the linoleum tiles of the kitchen, “Yeah. I don’t mind it, though. And I don’t think he does either.”

“Oh, not at all.” He responded flippantly, and though she wasn’t looking at him she could tell he waved a hand, “He’s always talking about how cool you are. I thought you’d be out of his league.”

The words came out like a reflex, “Yeah, he’s lame like that.” And she almost jerked her head up to stare at him wide-eyed.

His laugh kept her eyes aimed down, though. “So,” He asks next, “Do you know about his internship?”

She did glance up at that, but her gaze only made it to his chest where an arc reactor clung to his shirt – Peter had said it housed nano-tech – and she answered with a question, “You mean the Spider-Man thing?”

“You do know. That’s good,” Tony decided, “It means he doesn’t have to make up dumb excuses when he’s late to dates.”

“Yeah, he’s really bad at that.” She managed a shaky laugh and finally met his eyes again only to see how amused he was. She blinked, and suddenly she was standing straighter, almost indignant.

“Oh?” He asked, noticing the change immediately, “Are you done being awkward now? Can we have an actual conversation? I heard from the others that you didn’t even react to them.” he smiled when she replied by flipping him off. “That’s it, relax, kid. I already gave you my blessing, not that he’d listen to me anyway. Why am I the one to get you all nervous? Thor’s an actual god, you know.” He said it mockingly, without any real reverence, as he takes a sip from his mug.

She almost said something about how much she liked Peter or something about how important Tony’s opinion of her was because Peter thought the world of him. Tony had said Peter wouldn’t listen, but she knew it would still make things weird.

But she said none of that. Instead she said, “It’s because rich white men are the scariest thing in the world.”

He choked.