#if i ever get my laptop working i’ll come back to this and add sources where necessary

[felidaeng]

hey !!! i found you on twitter and i really really love your ideas and characterisations alot but do you ship n and hilbert together? cause iirc hilberts 14-16 and n is 18-20 :[ apologies if this isnt actually the case, thanks if you read and have a nice day kody felidaeng !

this is something i’ve gone over multiple times before, but to summarize, hilbert is 16 and n is 18. this is based on interviews that place n as 20 during bw2 and the anime (which uses many elements of bw2 in regards to team plasma specifically), story writer toshinbu matsuyima stating that hilbert and hilda were designed to be 16, several other sources claiming that hilbert and hilda were supposed to be the oldest pokemon protagonists at the time, and these ages fitting into the story of the game much better than the alternatives (n’s coronation ceremony that seems to take place just before the game begins would be a fitting coming of age ceremony for an 18 year old, 16 being the age that in america [unovas inspiration] is seen as young peoples first steps into being an adult on their own hence becoming a pokemon trainer, bianca and cheren having adult designs and legitimate careers only 2 years later, n being referred to as terms like boy/brat, etc.). n and hilbert (and by extension hilda, but canon leans much more towards hilbert) have an almost comical amount of subtext that begins with n being an inverted mirror of the player character through the story- being team plasmas protagonist, with his own box legendary and design that mimics what you’d expect of a pokemon protagonists. he’s also a deliberate parallel to rival blue, even going as far as to paraphrase a line of dialogue blue says to the johto protagonist, and saying it to the bw2 protagonist, while hilbert is a direct parallel to red. for them to have a significant age gap would be out of place, and does nothing for the story except make several instances in the game itself bizarre and off putting.

additionally, even though it’s possible that in-game canon hilbert MIGHT be 14, the protagonists do not exist as realized characters in the main series, instead being placeholders that the player can make into whatever they want them to be. even pokemon itself does this- serena, who appears to be in her late teens at earliest in her xy design, is 10 in the anime, and has romantic subtext with ash. going off of that information, you’d think that there’d be more upset about it being done…. but there’s not. you are supposed to project whatever ideas you’d would like onto the player character, which is how i’ve been able to build a whole original canon from the basics that the game gave me. this is also why i’m fine with people headcanoning the characters differently, and it’s more than okay to not want to engage with my artwork based on that, just as i personally don’t want to interact with content that portrays n and hilbert with a significant age gap and/or if it’s interpreted as a familial relationship, considering how i view the characters.

tldr; hilbert and n are only 2 years apart in age

[amjustagirl]

CHAPTER 1 - TAKING FLIGHT

Fic Summary:

The sky Oikawa Tooru’s heart seeks is a world away from the earth yours is buried in. You are a fool to trust him with your heart anyway.

Where Oikawa Tooru does not make it to Argentina straightaway.

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3

Icarus, Icarus, I must be blind not to see you long to touch the sun.

Updates every Monday

Pairing: Oikawa Tooru x you, Oikawa Tooru x fem! reader

Genre / Wordcount : Angst (5.6k words)

Warnings: One non-explicit bedroom scene

Masterlist link here!

Join my tag list here!

“Home sweet home ”, Tooru declares grandly, throwing his hands out with the air of a conqueror bursting with pride at the sight of his domain. 

Never mind the fact that the apartment looks like it’s been hit by a tsunami of cardboard boxes and scattered bits of furniture. Or the fact that you’re covered in sweat and grime from lifting boxes and shifting furniture and you’d very much like to lie down and not get up for the next week or two, but you can’t because of the never ending list of things to be done - unpacking your belongings, filling in your enrolment paperwork, attending medical school orientation to attend. 

But his words wash away the tide of anxiety lapping at the edges of your mind. 

Tooru wept and gnashed his teeth when his parents refused to let him chase his dreams to Argentina, and not a single professional team in Japan even looked his way. Don’t be ridiculous, his parents told him with wagging fingers, especially when Chuo University sent a full scholarship his way. 

“It is the top school for volleyball” you pointed out, as he spent yet another hour lying flat on his back, eyes swollen from spent tears. “You could go there and grab everyone’s attention by being their starting setter for the next four years.”

He does not respond. You wonder if he’s waiting for the paint on the ceiling to crack. 

“Plus” you add slyly. “I’ll be at Chuo with you.” 

This catches his attention. “What d’you mean”, he mumbles, throat still sandy with salt. 

“I got into medical school there”, you tell him  ,  the smile on your face growing when he finally hurls himself bodily at you, both of you toppling off the bed and onto the floor. 

“You’ll be there with me?” he whispers in disbelief. 

You laugh wetly into the crook of his neck. “Every step of the way”, you declare, slipping your hand into his. 

You’ve both transplanted yourselves from your childhood home in Sendai to a tiny apartment in Tokyo, a veritable hole in paper thin walls. Your hearth is a pair of rusty iron hobs, and your bed is a cheap mattress on the floor, but sunshine spills in from the windows like liquid gold and Oikawa Tooru’s hand is warm in yours. 

You wonder what you’ve done in your past life for the gods to smile down on you, to bless you with a boy you love in a place you can both call  home .

You’re not usually this sentimental, but just this once, you tug him down towards you, stealing a kiss from him. “I like the sound of that”, you murmur against his lips. “Our home, Tooru”. 

He chuckles, wrapping his arms around you. “Do you love me?” he asks, with a smile that cages your beating heart in his calloused hands. 

You are young. You are eighteen. You know nothing of the world. You know nothing of life. 

So you reply - “More than life itself”. 

He kisses you with languid ease, stealing the very breath from your chest. You tell yourself you have four years to work up the courage to ask if he loves you as much in return. 

“Medical supplies are expensive, so stop coming here to ask for cold presses that you don’t need”, you tell Oikawa Tooru, Captain of the Volleyball Club and currently a veritable pain in your ass for constantly hounding you during your shifts at the school’s sickbay. 

You resist the urge to sigh when he throws himself onto the cot, groaning dramatically - “How mean! You and Iwa-chan are the same - brutes, all of you! What’s a guy gotta do to get some tender love and care, especially when he’s injured?”

You cast a doubtful eye at the bandage over his right knee. “Iwaizumi said you recovered, but I guess if you’re really still injured…”

Oikawa grins, sensing victory in sight. “So you’ll give me a cold press and let me rest here during class?” 

You drop said cold press onto his knee none too gently. “Sure - though..” your voice trails off, you tap your chin thoughtfully. “That would mean you’re not cleared for practice. I’ll send a note to your coach.”

Gotcha. 

It’s your turn to grin when alarm dawns on Oikawa’s face, his eyebrows pinching together as he waves his hands at you, pleading you not to mention a word to his coach - pretty please with a cherry on top, he forgot to do his homework cos he was staying up late to watch volleyball videos last night and needs a place to hide, and you’re the kindest, bestest, person on earth if you let it slide this time, his knee is fine, just fine - 

You glare at him, unimpressed. 

He pouts, with the largest puppy dog eyes he can muster. Even you are not immune to his charms. 

“Fine”, you say flatly. “Just once.” 

He thanks you, promising never to darken the doors of the sickbay again without cause. 

Of course, he breaks his promise the very next day when he sidles in just before practice, dropping a milk carton and a bun on your table.

“An offering to the maiden of this shrine” he answers teasingly in response to the question in your furrowed brow, trying his best to exude arrogance and saunter off, though his efforts are defeated by the pink tint to the apples of his cheek. 

Oikawa Tooru, huh. You wonder. 

You and Tooru are drawn into the ebb and flow of university life. You wake up with him by your side each morning, kiss him on the cheek before you both head your separate ways. In a fit of fancy, you imagine that your front door is the portal to different worlds - a little like the enchanted door in Howl’s Moving Castle, a movie Tooru used to make you watch with him on repeat. When you step through it, you find yourself in the humdrum world of medical school - anatomy classes, stuffy professors, scalpels and knives. Whereas when Tooru steps through it - like the titular wizard, he bursts like a fiery comet into a wholly separate, magical world of whistles and drills and volleyball practices. 

Your worlds never collide in the day, even though from time to time, you sneak into the gym to watch him practice, unbeknownst to him. Typically, you only see him at night. Dinners are prepared together, shoulders jostling over the kitchen counter to cook rice and produce sourced from the supermarket’s discount bin, before you both huddle over homework. More often than not though, Tooru prefers to spend all his time crouched over his laptop, earbuds on, watching endless streams of volleyball matches. 

“Aren’t you ever tired of volleyball?” you ask when you see him analyse yet another video - Argentina versus Japan this time. 

You already know the answer before your question leaves your tongue but you ask it anyway, amused when he squawks in indignation and knocks over your cup of tea in his hurry to exclaim -  Sick of volleyball? Him, Oikawa Tooru? Never! 

Of course, you knew that. Chuo University is the top collegiate team for volleyball, so the coaches demand nothing but the best from their players. You watch by the sidelines as Tooru grinds his body into dust at volleyball practice, coming home every night with sore tendons and aching bones. Balancing a full business course load on top of that would stretch anyone to their breaking point. 

Anyone normal that is, because Tooru revels in his hectic schedule. 

You attend his first match and you’re blown away by how much he’s grown from being transplanted from barren soil into rich earth. The unerring confidence he’s already shown in his high school days blossoms into an elegant ease. His athleticism grows by leaps and bounds, his game sense sharpens, his sets learn true grace.  

He claws his way to a starting position with bloodied fingernails, in blatant disregard of anything that might stand in his way. He builds his own wings, starts to take flight, the light in his eyes shining brighter and brighter the closer he flies towards the sun. 

He is no longer the simple school boy you fell in love with from Sendai. 

“Will you go out with me if I win our next match?” he asks suddenly, lifting his gaze from the video he’s watching from his usual corner in the sickbay. 

“Do I look like a prize for some school boy’s grudge match?” You snipe back, head bent over your homework. 

“It was worth a try”, he hrumphs. 

You hide a smile. 

“I would go out with you even if you lose”, you tell him, though you do not lift your eyes from paper and pen. 

A laugh bubbles from his chest - surprised, delighted, triumphant. 

“I better make sure I win then. So you don’t change your mind.” 

He did not win that game, losing spectacularly in the finals in his second year against his fated rival - Ushijima from Shiratorizawa, a specter that still looms unti over every match he plays in up to today. 

True to your word, you sat on his doorstep, waiting for him to return home red eyed, throat raw. You let him drop his aching head into your lap, and like a maiden comforting a weary warrior, you pressed a kiss to his forehead as a balm to his wounds. Then you dragged him by the hand to your favourite ramen stall, ordering two bowls of tonkatsu ramen, with char siu, bamboo shoots, spring onions and gyoza on the side. An inauspicious first date, but you consider yourself lucky nonetheless for having him beside you. 

Things are different now. You are blind not to see him long to touch the sun. 

No one is surprised when Chuo University wins nationals. The only surprise to the media (but certainly not to you or anyone from Miyagi for that matter), is that Chuo University brings home the trophy with Oikawa Tooru as it’s starting setter. 

The boy king finally reaches the national stage. 

Even then, he is always, always grasping for  more .

“You were amazing!” you gush, as he finally breaks through the triumphant huddle of his teammates to swing you into his arms and greet you with his customary kiss. “I’m so proud of you!” 

His eyes glitter as he laughs, giddy with delight, face flushed with pride. “It’s just college, princess. Wait til I go pro”. 

Like Ushijima, you think, though that name remains unsaid. 

Wax feathers had already started to sprout from the knobs of his spine back in high school, budding beneath your fingertips like a cancerous tumour. Back then it was easy to be wilfully blind to them, but now it's become too obvious to be ignored. Oikawa Tooru’s ambition lies spread eagled, naked beneath the blinding lights of the sports hall. He has only just tasted his first real victory, crossed the first hurdle separating him from his dreams of greatness. 

“I’m waiting for that day then”, you respond teasingly.

You only realise later that you lied. He's left the confines of your arms in his quest for the skies.

You laughed when Tooru first broached the idea of sneaking out at night to gaze at stars in the sky. ‘What nonsense’, you’d said. What are the chances of seeing stars amidst the light pollution from a city, even a relatively minor one like Sendai? 

“You’re being a meanie, just like Iwa-chan”, he pouted. He kept whining until you gave in. 

Tooru picks you up from your home past midnight, chuckling when you label his rusty bicycle ‘a contraption from hell’ and ask him archly whether he truly expects you to entrust your wellbeing to the tiny rack meant to function as the pillion’s seat. 

“Stop being a princess, it isn’t as if I can magick a seatbelt from thin air” he teases. 

“Howl could”, you point out. 

“Well, I could strap you on with my bicycle chain if you prefer”, he answers blithely. “Get on, stop complaining”. 

He pedals all the way uphill to the deserted park near school, whining all the way about the strain the extra weight (you) puts on his knees (lies, all of them). You’re torn between pointing out that he chose to drag you out in the middle of the night and kicking him off the bike and commandeering yourself home instead. You choose instead to slap the back of his head. 

“Ow!” he squeals. “Brute!” 

“Hmph”. You fold your arms in satisfaction. 

When he finally finds a spot perfect enough to commence his stargazing adventure, he stops the back, spreads a picnic mat and hands you a flask of hot tea. 

“I don’t see any stars”, you say, after fifteen minutes of sitting, stiff and cold in the dark. 

“Don’t be impatient! The clouds will clear up soon”, he says, squinting hopefully. 

The sky remains overcast. 

You sigh, the breath expelled from your nose forming your own personal cloud. You are accustomed to Tooru’s quirks, his all consuming passion for volleyball, his love for all things outer space. You decide to indulge him a little, just once. 

“Why don’t you pretend we can see the stars and tell me your favourite thing about each one?” 

He brightens up visibly. 

“You won’t be bored if I did that?”

You prod his nose, but your eyes are fond. “Have you ever bored me?”

His chest swells. “I suppose not”, he crows, and proceeds to trace the constellations with elegant fingers, spinning stories and conjuring random facts about celestial beings you cannot see. You find yourself enthralled, not by his words, but by the lilt in his voice and depth in his eyes. 

“Why d’you love the stars so much?” you ask.

“Did you not just hear anything I’ve just said?” his voice teeters dangerously close to a whine. 

You click your tongue against your teeth. “I mean – trivia and myths aside. Why are you so fascinated by what are essentially flaming balls of gas and light.”

“The shallow answer is cos they’re pretty.” He says, laughing airily, before turning his gaze to you, the stark intensity in his eyes causing goosebumps to prickle the back of your neck. “But if my lady here is searching for a deeper answer, well. Aren’t stars the ultimate embodiment of the dreams of all humankind? Even as we strive and fail towards our petty goals, the stars are always there to remind us to look up and reach for the sky”

You flick his forehead. “Pretty words, for a pretty boy”. 

“Hey!” He scowls indignantly before he perks up. “Wait - did you see that? There’s a star!” 

The sky clears just enough for a pale light to peer through a gauzy cloud. You do see it, and it is indeed beautiful, but your attention has already been captured by the boy beside you. And Tooru being Tooru, naturally notices. 

“Why’re you staring at me instead of the sky?” 

Perhaps you’re drunk on the magic of midnight skies, perhaps you want to uncover the mystery of his smile yourself. Perhaps that explains why your eyes soften and why your words fall short of a whisper. 

“Because you are my sun, my moon and all my stars”, you say. “I like you better than anything in the sky.”

His mouth slackens and for a moment, his eyes are tender before his laugh breaks your flight of whimsy, and you bury your face in your hands, hot with embarrassment. 

“Forget I ever said that”, you plead. 

“Never!” he cries. “I’m going to remind you how cheesy you can be for the rest of your life!”

You end up having to kiss him to shut him up. 

In his second year, Sakusa Kiyoomi joins his team. Tooru finally meets someone who meets his impossibly high standards to fill Iwaizumi’s place as his ace. 

He’s literally bouncing on balls of his feet when he comes home after the first practice. 

“He’s so prickly and unfriendly but his receiving his top notch, and his game sense is fantastic, and best of all the spin he gives to each spike makes me drool - especially when I see the look on the other side’s faces when they try receiving his ball for the first time - ha ha! ”, he talks at you at breakneck speed as you both prepare dinner, side by side at the cramped kitchen counter. 

“Mmhm”, you reply, head thinking of the multiple lectures you attended today, the homework and readings you must do tonight to stay abreast. 

“-it’s his wrists, they’re so flexible it nearly made me puke when I first saw him stretch them”, he continues for the rest of the night, heedless of your wavering attention. 

You meet Sakusa at one of the few team parties you actually attend. You nearly stumble over him when you try to hide in your usual corner with a plate of food in your hand, watching as Tooru flutters around like the social butterfly he is. His nose and mouth are hidden behind a face mask, but even you can tell he’s uncomfortable to be around so many people, so you tug at his jacket sleeve gently to lead him away from the crowd to a seat at the top of the stairs. 

You don’t expect him to speak much to you, if at all, but to your surprise, he initiates the conversation. 

“He doesn’t take good care of himself”, Sakusa mutters. You nearly miss his words over the pulsing beat of the music. 

“Who doesn’t?” you ask - though you already know who he’s referring to. 

“It’s unhealthy, the way you push yourself”, you tell Tooru, hands on hips, standing at the door to Aoba Johsai’s sports hall. You hardly intrude here onto Tooru’s sacred space, choosing instead to stay in the library to study until he’s done with practice and you can both walk home together. But practice has long ended, and your patience has run short - not to mention Iwaizumi popped his head into the library to shoot you a worried expression, dark eyebrows pinched into a pained frown. 

You are aware of Tooru’s predilection for working himself to the bone. Or to the shredded remnants of the tendon of his knee, to be more accurate. So you tap your feet, looking pointedly at said injury. 

“I’m fine”, he tries to dismiss you without even looking your way. 

You refuse to let him. 

“You’re not fine”, you tell him coolly, taking another step towards the inner sanctum, the volleyball courts. White lines, painted into brown wood. A single ball, six per side, each jostling for their pride and god.   

“Tooru -” 

“I need to practice so I can win”, he snarls, handsome face mangled by an angry scowl. “Don’t be like one of those whiny girlfriends, you know I can’t stand that.” 

You are not so easily hurt by the barbs in his words. “You can’t win if you’re injured”, you attempt to appeal to his reason. “You know and I know and your coach knows that that knee of yours is going to cause you problems if you don’t rest it properly. So you better listen to me, because so help me - I can tell you that you’re not going to be able to come for practice if you keep pushing yourself tonight”. 

His anger simmers into a sulk. “You’re not a doctor”, he replies, a petulant whine at the tail end of his words. 

“Not yet”, you respond, and at that, he laughs, surprised that your arrogance matches his own. 

Your attention snaps back to the present when Sakusa calls your name. “Sorry”, you breathe. “Couldn’t quite hear you - who were you referring to again?”  

“Oikawa”, Sakusa says, confirming your suspicions. “Practises even though I know his knee hurts sometimes”. 

You thank him for telling you before carefully diverting the conversation to something a little more innocuous, buying yourself time to turn this new information over in your mind. 

You hear him hiss as you open the front door- “Iwa-chan, don’t be stupid, I can’t tell her yet!” 

It’s not an uncommon sight to come home at night to find Tooru cradling his phone to his ear whilst juggling a book in his other hand. It is the only time slot that he and Iwaizumi have to catch up. 

Still, it is uncommon for him to bolt into the toilet the minute he catches sight of you. 

“Is everything alright?” you ask him over dinner. 

“Peachy”, he replies between spoonfuls of rice. “Never been better”. 

He promptly changes the topic after that. 

“Not staying home for dinner?” you ask, arms wrapped around yourself as he lets the chilly air into your apartment, sitting by the open door lacing his training shoes up. 

“Wanna work in some more practice tonight”, he murmurs, gaze still locked on his shoes. “Serves and all that. Don’t wait for me, yeah?” 

“Right. Just...promise me you’ll take care of yourself, Tooru”, you answer, unable to keep the disappointment from leaking into your voice. 

He stands up, turns to face you with a cheery smile. “Of course I will. Anyway, don’t pout, princess”, he sing songs gaily. “We’ll spend some time together after the season is over, I promise.”

“Alright”, you say, unconvinced, reluctantly tipping your chin up to let him kiss your cheek goodbye. 

“Tooru?” 

You feel the mattress dip. “Go back to sleep, princess”, he whispers, pulling the sheets back up to your chin. 

“Where are you going?” You mumble, squinting your eyes at the clock by the side of the bed. “It’s four in the morning. The earliest you wake up for practice is five.”

“I just wanted to practice my serves a little more.” You hear him rustle in the bathroom. Sakusa’s words echo in your ears, and you sit up, bleary eyed. 

“Tooru?” 

“Mm?”

“Are you taking care of your knee? And getting enough sleep?”

He stiffens. “Of course”, he replies with the tight, plastic smile he only ever gives you when he’s trying to lie. “Why’re you asking me this? Who put ideas in your pretty little head?”

For the first time in your relationship with Tooru, you take care not to accidentally tread on the faultlines of his heart.

“I worry about you”, you say, gripping your sheets as he frowns. “I don’t think you’re sleeping enough - judging from the bags under your eyes, and you shouldn’t be over practising because your knee could very act up - “

“Look - I don’t have time to deal with this” he interjects with a snap. “Just leave me alone and go back to sleep.” 

“I’m only saying this because I love you, Tooru.” You automatically tack on - “More than life itself.” 

He pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing out a sigh. “I love you too ok? Stop worrying your pretty head about my health and my knee - we agreed you only get to nag me when you’re a full fledged doctor, remember?”, he adds, with a cheeky smile that does not reach his hooded eyes. 

You let him walk out of the house without another word, cotton sheets crumpling in your clenched fists. 

You don’t get to talk about it that night because he chatters at you about Sakusa’s tantrum during practice because someone hid his towel, and you can barely get a word in before he slips off to shower and sleep. 

He starts to disappear for days at a time, even after the season ends with him not only taking home his second trophy at Nationals, but crowned the best setter in the collegiate volleyball league. 

He tells you that there are overnight practice matches and camps. That he’s staying over at his teammates’ flats. You believe him at first. There is, after all, no reason for him to lie. 

Still, it is a little funny he refuses to allow you to do his laundry from those trips. You brush away your friends’ concerns that he’s cheating on you -  Tooru wouldn’t do that, you assure them with a wide smile that hurts your cheeks. 

Tooru would never lie to you. 

Then you bump into Sakusa Kiyoomi on campus when Tooru is away again. 

It’s night time. Shadows bleed into concrete roads. You’re on your way back home from hiding up in the library all day, reluctant to return to a home without Tooru when you bump into the reticent spiker. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be away at practice camp?” you ask innocently, worried that an injury might keep him from playing, though from a quick scan he seems to be fine. 

“Practice camp?” He echoes blankly, his face an open book of confusion. 

“Tooru mentioned that he’d be away from some practice camp for a few days...” 

Your words trail off. Your heart flutters, refuses to accept the truth staring you in the face. 

Sakusa frowns. His answer is brutal, direct. “There’s no training camp - hasn’t been in a while”. 

“Oh”, you murmur. 

Realization needles its way into the space beside your beating heart, drills its way into the marrows of your bones. 

“Are you ok?” You faintly hear Sakusa say. It’s your turn to lie. 

Tooru comes home the next day, a quarter past two. You’re sitting on the threadbare couch cross legged, a textbook balanced on your lap. 

“Where have you been?” 

“Practice camp. Didn’t I tell you that?” 

You scoff. The page held between your fingers starts to crumple. Your composure frays. 

“Really?” Your voice starts to veer into hysterics, straight across the highway into your emotional stratosphere. “Sakusa Kiyoomi told me that there’s no such practice camp, Oikawa. How about you try again with the truth this time.”

He reels back. You can see him trying to formulate yet another lie. 

“Princess”, he begins pleadingly, but your temper runs hot and you short circuit at the sound of your nickname from his lips.  

You stalk towards him, grabbing the bag in his hand. Like a woman possessed, you wrench the zip open, holding the bag open above your head, emptying its contents out. Dirty clothes, a deflated volleyball, toiletries spill onto the floor. You comb through each and every item in search of a telltale sign - a lipstick mark, a woman’s floral scent, something, anything for you to confirm his infidelity. 

What you find, however, is not what you expect. 

A red jersey, lying limp in your hands. A contrast to the university’s colours of navy and white.  

You flip it around. 

The words EJP Raijin are emblazoned across the jersey in stark white. 

You look up at him. He stares back. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?’ 

He has the decency to look away. 

“Tooru”, you repeat, voice trembling. “Why didn’t you tell me?!” 

“I was afraid of what it meant. For us”, he answers, dropping to his knees in front of you. “You know I’ve always wanted to go pro - and when the Div 1 teams started holding try-outs, I had to go. I tried out for them all except the Adlers, and EJP decided to give me a shot, which was like a dream come true… But I didn’t know if you would be happy if I did take it up.”

“Take what up?” you echo. Your mind is not keeping up with this turn of events. 

“Move to Hiroshima to join the team.” He answers warily, ready to flee at the first sign of danger. “You know I’d have to, right?” 

You look at him with fresh eyes, this boy you profess to love more than life itself. Wings spread from his shoulder blades, moulded by madness and greed from fire and wax. The reflection of the sun gleams in his eyes. He has left you permanently for the skies. 

“What about me?” Your breath stuck in your throat even as you refuse to relinquish the last hold you have on him.  

“If you love me”, he begins, reaching out to cup your cheeks and it’s your turn to reel back because you know he’s about to throw back your own words in your face. 

If you love me more than life itself - won’t you do this for me?  

But you are no longer eighteen. You are twenty one, on the cusp of adulthood. You know a little more about life than you did at eighteen.  

You know that your life is here - in Tokyo, among dusty books and lectures and tutorials on anatomy and diseases and germs, and you cannot upend your life and uproot yourself to Hiroshima just to follow someone else’s dreams. You love Tooru, but you do not share his dreams of glory and gold medals, of fleeting victory, of Olympian greatness. 

“I can’t”, you say, with a firmness that surprises even yourself. 

Again, he does not meet your eyes. 

“Then what shall we do?” He asks, lips pressed into a straight line. 

For a brief and terrible moment, you are tempted to throw your dignity to the wind, to fall on your knees and ask him to stay in Tokyo with you. But you can no longer turn a blind eye to what’s been staring you in the face for the entire length of your relationship, so you bite the insides of your cheek and grit your teeth. 

“We will do what we must”, you tell him, your head held high. 

You do not know what hurts more. The lack of pause in his acceptance to your suggestion that you break up, or the painfully obvious relief in his eyes. 

He goes to sleep in your shared bed, oblivious to your pain. You do not join him, choosing instead to spend hours seeking privacy in your toilet, knees aching from the cold floor. 

You are clinical, even in your anguish.  

Wring the liquid grief from your lungs, lay it on the floor to dry. Filter the water from your windpipe, the salt from your eyes. Your organs are scattered on the floor, battered, broken, torn. Save for your heart - you will need to retrieve it, whatever’s left of it at least. You last recall seeing it beneath Tooru’s feet, dashed to pieces as he spreads his wings and takes flight. 

You will put yourself back together with steady hands tomorrow, fill the cavity in your chest with the remnants of your organs, secure them in place with stitches and staples. Given time, you think your prognosis is good. 

You are young. You will heal. 

But now, you are allowed an hour or two to grieve at the very least. To mourn the loss of a relationship you still hold dear, a relationship that you only realise has an expiry date in the short span of a night. 

You are a fool for not realising it sooner. 

Perhaps he cares for you, but you must now confront the fact that you’ve been wilfully blind to. He could never give you his heart when he’s already given his heart up to someone else - to volleyball, a far more demanding mistress. 

You cannot compete with her. You should not have tried. 

Tooru files the paperwork to drop out of university. You find another flat, this time for one. 

In the weeks before he leaves, you watch him flit about the flat, buzzing with excitement like an overgrown child. His wings nearly suffocate you with its ever increasing breadth and length, but you do not begrudge his happiness. You still love him desperately. You still want what’s best for him.  

You write him meal plans, scribble reminders on the proper care for his knee. You help him label his boxes, arrange for them to be sent to Hiroshima via post. You do not tell him how tempted you are to slip yourself whole into one of them. But you start to build a cage for the remnants of your heart, turning a deaf ear even as it pounds against the bars of your ribs. 

The time finally comes for him to get on a train bound for Hiroshima. The time finally comes for you to leave the flat. 

“Princess”, he says softly, catching your elbow as you stand on the threshold, pulling you flush against his broad chest. You do not trust yourself to speak as he gently tilts your face up to his.

“Thank you”, he breathes against your lips. There is a lingering taste of regret in his kiss.

“For what?” you manage to ask. 

 His eyes pool with affection, swirl with sadness. 

“For everything.” He takes your hands in his, presses a final kiss to your forehead. Your traitorous heart screeches at you to beg him to say. You smother it beneath reinforced walls of steel and bone. 

Icarus, Icarus. This is goodbye. 

You make him leave before you, watching as he turns his back on you. Then you steal a minute to potter through each room in the little flat that was your home. The bedroom, barely large enough for two. The bathroom, with a propensity for leaking, the shower where Tooru insists on serenading the neighbours, much to their discontent. The kitchen, full of memories of shared dinners, and quiet conversations. 

You bid farewell to two full years of happiness, press your forehead against the front door to whisper goodbye to your home. 

The lock clicks. You close the door. 

[gr-ogu]

Hello! As requested, here is a tutorial on how I make my gifs. I would like to preface this by saying there are many ways to make gifs, and there’s no right or wrong answer imo. This is just how I personally go about doing so!

I will be using PS CC 2017, but as long as you have the video timeline option, it shouldn’t matter too much; on any version of PS, you should be able to adapt anything I mention here! You will also need some kind of screen recording software. I’ll talk a little more about that under the cut.

To start, you need the source material you will be making the gifs from! I get mine from snahp(.)it (avoiding links so tumblr hopefully doesn’t banish this from the tags lmao) and I always opt for either 1080p or 2160p. Not all laptops will support 2160p as it’s 4K, but either works great! You just want your gifs to be the best quality possible.

Next is where the screen recording comes in. I don’t use the screencapping method to make my gifs (where you use a program to cap a clip and then load those caps into a stack in PS). This isn’t for any particular reason… it’s just how my friends, (who very kindly taught me to gif), had always done it, so it’s now how I do it too. Personally, I find the quality to be just as good as the screencapping method, and have never noticed a difference between the two.

As I have a PC, I use the software built into it for screen-recording. If you go here: theverge(.)com/2020/4/21/21222533/record-screen-pc-windows-laptop-xbox-game-bar-how-to – you can see how to use the XBOX screenrecorder to record from files you have d*wnloaded. This also works on some streaming sites, but I think it depends on what browser you use. Personally, I recommend Firefox, as that seems to bypass a lot of the blocking and ads that occur when trying to do this sort of thing.

For MAC users, I have been told handbrake works well, as it converts MKV files to MP4, which can then be used to make gifs. You only need to convert part of the file to MP4 depending on how much you want to gif, and this also bypasses the screenrecording stage, as you can edit MP4 clips on Quicktime. I am told you can split them into smaller clips by going to edit > trim and it saves the new clip!

I have also used anyvideoconverter for small clips, but I can’t say what it does to the quality of your video, or how big of a file it lets you put in! With the XBOX screenrecorder, it doesn’t matter what type of video files you get, as the recording will save to MP4 anyway.

LOADING YOUR FRAMES

Now, go ahead and record whatever clips you want to gif. Make sure you have the video timeline open, by going to window > timeline. Then, go to file > import > video frames to layers.

Next, select and open your clip from where it has saved (with the XBOX recorder, it saves in video > captures). You should see a little window pop up, where you can move the sliders back and forth to clip your recording to whichever part(s) you specifically want to gif. I recommend trying not to load a lot of frames into photoshop at once, but I would be a hypocrite to say that, since I do it a lot lmao. Just be patient if you do!

Once you have chosen the length, click okay. Never, EVER, I repeat NEVER click the button that says “limit to every __ frames”. This really ruins the flow and quality of your gif—it’s better to have shorter, but smoother gifs, I promise. And with tumblr’s new 10 MB limit, it shouldn’t be a problem anyway!

Then, your frames should open up. What we want to do is make them into a smart object, so we can edit all the layers at the same time. To do this, click the small button in the left-hand corner. ALWAYS click this first. If you don’t, it will only convert the first frame to a smart object and the gif won’t work.

Give it a second to sort itself out, then, on the right-hand side, select all your frames at once using the shift key.

Then, go to filter > convert for smart filters. This might take a minute. Don’t click anything else in case PS gets angry lmao, just leave it for a second and it’ll do its thing. The more frames you have, the longer it takes! Now we have our gif, but it needs to be cropped, sharpened and coloured!

CROPPING

You want to start by selecting the rectangular marquee tool on the left-hand side, then drag it across by clicking and highlighting the area you would like to crop your gif to, like so:

What I tend to do is select everything inside the black lines you sometimes get around your gif (this depends on what file you d*wnload), and also the tiniest bit inside the sides. This is because I’ve found if you crop it right up to the edge, you get a tiny bit of transparency on the sides of your gifs, which I’d rather avoid.

Once you have your desired selection, go to image > crop. Now, the dimensions for tumblr are 540px width, so all your gifs have to be that width. However, the length is up to you. I really like big gifs, so sometimes I even make a full square, or even longer. It’s entirely up to you, and what kind of set you want to make.

For the purposes of this gif, I will stick to what I usually go for, 540px by 350 px. This will mean you’ll have to crop some width off, but that’s okay, since Marisa isn’t central anyway. The cropping is always trial and error for me, as sometimes people move out of the frame within in the gif. The best thing to do is just try it, and then move the slider in the timeline window at the bottom to see if the person stays inside the gif, and if not, adjust accordingly.

Next, go to image > image size:

In this box, if I put the width as 540, the gif is a smaller height than I want, as it keeps to the dimensions of the gif when you load it into PS. That’s okay, just put the height you want instead, and we’ll crop off the excess.

Then click OK. Using the rectangular marquee tool again, we need to remove the excess width. Part of the reason I like this version of PS is that it tells you the width of your selection as you do it, but you can always use the ruler as a guide, and check the size of your image by going to image > image size again.

Again, use image > crop, and your gif should now be the correct size!

You can also use the crop tool in the timeline window to crop the length of your gif:

However, I tend to wait until later on to do this (which will be explained further down!)

SHARPENING

Next you want to go to filter > sharpen > smart sharpen.

These are my settings. However, 0.4px is very sharp, too much so, but that’s easily fixed.

Go to filter > blur > Gaussian blur and then set it to 1.0.

Now on the right-hand side, we need to reduce the blur, so double click the little adjustment button, and change the opacity of the blur. I usually go for 20-30%!

Then click OK, and that’s your sharpening done!

COLOURING

I picked this scene on purpose as it’s dark, so good for showing how to colour a gif. I have a base psd which consists of some very basic adjustments, but it mostly exists so I don’t forget what adjustment layers I like to use. I adjust them every time I make a gif, essentially colouring each gif from scratch.

In this case, the psd actually makes it darker. So, what I will do is turn each layer off, and adjust as I go. A lot of people say using lots of adjustment layers ruins the quality of your gif… I have never found this to be true, as long as you are gentle with them. If you whack the brightness right up to the top, it’s going to ruin your gif no matter if you use 1 adjustment layer or 100. I would just say use your common sense, and adjust a little at a time!

I start with a simple black to white gradient map set to soft light, because I think it helps you see depth once you add some brightness to it. I usually do this on about 10%, or more if needed. It’s probably unnecessary, I just like how it looks!

Then, I move onto using curves and levels. This is where things can diverge depending on who you’re colouring. If this person is white, it doesn’t matter too much. If they’re not white, you don’t want to white wash them. My best advice is to play around with it. By adding vibrance and other (usually the red) selective colour settings later, you can ensure you don’t change the person’s skin tone from what it originally was. You can also use layer masks at varying opacities (various shades of grey), on your curves and levels, to remove some brightening so that you’re not changing anyone’s skin colour. Just brighten slowly and check in with yourself honestly about how your gif looks.

Some people don’t like using levels, or curves. It’s completely up to you. I tend to use both because levels are good for bringing depth, even if not brightening (though I like to use them for that as well). 

One thing you can do is use the white point of the gif to make PS adjust the curves itself, however I like to drag the sliders myself and see what it looks like. Just make sure it’s not too bright, as we will be using further layers to brighten more, after.

Next is levels. The slider on the left controls the black point, the one in the middle controls the midtones, and the one on the right controls the white points. The black brings depth, the midtones adjust the overall brightness, and the white points produce stronger highlights. Again, you’ll get a feel for how this works as you practice. Just don’t use the white point excessively, especially if your characters are not white.

Then I add vibrance (+20!), because we’ve removed a lot of it when lightening the gif. Next is exposure, which I find brings out the highlight and shadow areas more effectively:

Then colour balance! This helps with scenes that might be a certain colour, i.e. too blue, too green, too red, etc. Moving the sliders in the opposite direction of the colour your gif is will counteract it. The best thing to do when accounting for different colours, is to make a new layer every time you change colour, so that you don’t get confused. I always add a new layer for colour balance and selective colour if I want to change more than one thing. So one for red, one for yellow, one for pink, etc. 

A layer of brightness just to make the gif pop, and because the scene is extra dark, I added a very gentle extra curves layer:

SAVING YOUR GIF

Time to save the gif. You can go ahead and file > export > save for web (legacy) now, but then you’ll have to reopen the gif to reset the frame rate from 0.07, to 0.05. Instead of doing that, I use a modified action. The original was made by the very talented @elenafisher! So I do not take credit for that at all. You can find the original here: elenafisher(.)tumblr(.)com/post/190817437374/gif-sharpening-action-2-preview-download and in my resources tag. Please reblog it if you’re going to use this!

To use an action, first make sure you have actions turned on in window > actions. To load in your action, go to the little lines circled, and then load the action from your downloads:

Obviously if you don’t want to sharpen your gifs yourself, you can use the action as it is, and it will give you a beautiful glowing effect. If you’d just like to use it to flatten your gif into frames like I do, make sure to take out all the items I have highlighted:

Until it looks like this!

Make sure you have the layer under the file name highlighted, and then click the play button at the bottom! (If you get a screen saying select all frames cannot be found, don’t worry, just click continue!) You can delete the layer that does that if you want, I just keep it in case I realise I’ve forgotten to do something, because you can click cancel and edit your gif before you flatten it. Of course you can undo the steps to get back to the smart object version of your gif, it just takes longer!

And now your gif is in frames and set to 0.05 already, so you don’t have to change the speed! All you need to do now before saving is change the gif cycle to “forever” in the bottom left-hand corner:

Then to save the gif go to file > export > save for web (legacy). Sometimes, the gif is bigger than the tumblr 10MB limit. You’ll be able to see this in the bottom left-hand corner of the gif save settings. If this is the case, I like to preview the gif, to see whether it would be best to cut frames off of the beginning or the end, or both. When you’ve decided, you can select the frames at the bottom, and in the right-hand side panel, and delete them both using the little bins/trash icons.

I keep checking and deleting frames until I get the gif under 10 MB! Just don’t delete frames from the middle, as then you’ll have the same issue as if you selected “every other frame” when making the gif: it won’t flow!

Lastly, these are my save settings:

So that’s it! That’s how I make all my gifs. Blending I do when the gifs are in the grouped, smart filter stage, whereas text I add on during the framing section above! Really hope this is helpful, please feel free to ask any questions you may have! 💖

[lizamango]

Finding You (Bucky Barnes x Reader) 3/?

 A/N: Hey everyone, sorry this took so long!! This chapter was kinda hard to write, I felt like there wasn’t much that I could add but I did my best! I wanna get to Bucky as much as you all do! 😭😩

Summary: You’ve been one of SHIELD’s top spies for years but what happens when the organisation you’ve put your trust in crumbles and Captain America gives you a mission to help him find his best friend? The last thing you expected to happen was to fall in love with your assignment and become best friends with a witch.

Taglist ~ just comment if you wanna be added

@buckylokisimp​​, @white-wolf-buckaroo​​, @austynparksandpizza, @markandlexies​

Word Count: 2098

​Masterlist

Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 2 ~

Warnings: none

Chapter Summary: You and Steve run from HYDRA

Chapter 3: TOMORROW ISN’T PROMISED TO ANYBODY

I enter a shopping mall where I buy a hoodie for myself and a jacket, glasses and a hat for Rogers using cash. I pass by JD sports and see some Supra Vaders I know the Captain will just love so I go in and grab a pair, and get a pair of Nike Dunk Sky His for myself. I leave and meet him where he waits, away from any crowds and we put on our simple yet effective disguises.

“First rule of going on the run, is don’t run. Walk,” I say, recalling my operations training.

“If I run in these shoes they’re gonna fall off.”

I smirk. “Sorry, thought you’d be bigger.”

Ignoring my innuendo, Steve huffs. “They’re ridiculous, why can’t I lace them up?”

“It’s a fashion statement.” I glance at a map as we pass by. “Apple store’s upstairs.” We ride the escalator and enter the store.

Finding an empty laptop, I get to work. “The drive has a Level 6 homing program so as soon as we boot up, SHIELD will know exactly where we are.”

“How much time will we have?” he asks, surveying the area not so subtly.

“About 9 minutes from…” I insert the drive. “now.” I enter the coding commands to unlock the intel but something inverts each one… now comes in my training from the Academy of Science and Technology. “Fury was right about that ship. Somebody’s trying to hide something.” As I look through the coding script my inputs are rewritten to counter the commands. “This drive is protected by some sort of AI.”

“Like Stark’s robot voice? Can you override it?”

I raise a brow as I type away. “The person who developed this is slightly smarter than me. Slightly. I’m gonna try running a tracer. This is a program that SHIELD developed to track hostile malware, so if we can’t read the file, maybe we can find out its origin.” The map tracks a location and pinpoints it as we are approached by a store employee.

“Can I help you guys with anything?”

I react quickly and give him my best charming smile. “Oh, no. My fiancé was just helping me with some honeymoon destinations,” I giggle, placing my hands on Rogers’ shoulders.

“Right,” he adds awkwardly. “We’re gettin’ married.”

“Congratulations! Where are you guys thinkin’ about goin’?”

I go back to the laptop and the state has been pinpointed.

“New Jersey,” the Captain reads aloud.

“Huh,” the employee lets out, surprised. “I have the exact same glasses,” he says after a pause.

“Wow, you two are practically twins,” I remark as I type away.

“Yeah, I wish!” he chuckles. “Specimen. Uh, if you guys need anything… I’ve been Aaron.”

“Thank you,” Rogers rushes out. “You said 9 minutes,” he checks his watch. “Come on.”

I shush him. “Relax… I’m working.” The screen reads Wheaton, New Jersey. “Done.” I look up at him and he has a frown on his face. “You know it?”

“I used to. Let’s go.” He pulls the hard drive out of the laptop and we walk out of the store. “Standard tac team. Two behind, two across,” he turns to face forward. “two comin’ straight at us. If they make us, I’ll engage, you hit the south escalator to the metro.”

As he speaks I roll my eyes, this guy was definitely not meant for the spy world. “Put your arm around me and laugh at something I said,” I say.

“What?” he sounds utterly confused.

“Do it.” I feel his arm rest on my shoulder and he gives the most awkward laugh I have ever heard come from a person. “See, Captain? No need to make such a scene.” We work our way to the escalator and I spot Rumlow on the escalator coming up. I turn to look up at Rogers. “Kiss me.”

“What?” he says again, flustered.

“Public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable.”

“Yes they do!” he whispers.

I put my hand to the back of his neck and push him towards me so our lips meet and I feel his hand fall on my waist. I open my eyes and pull away slowly after enough time has passed.

“You still uncomfortable?” I ask turning and walking down the escalator.

“That’s not exactly a word I would use,” he murmurs and quiets down as we get to the parking lot.

“We could get bus tickets to New Jersey, think I’ve got enough cash for the trip,” I suggest.

“Keep a look out,” he says approaching a truck as I frown but do as he says. In no time I hear the start of an engine and whirl to look at him. “Come on, we don’t have all day,” he says smugly.

I get into the passenger’s side and he starts to drive to the Garden State.

“Can’t believe Captain America can steal cars…” I say striking up a conversation.

He chuckles. “Kind of a necessary skill when you’re fighting a World War and you’re in enemy territory.”

I hum and he glances at me. “And it’s not stealing if we give it back so get your feet off the dash.”

“Bossy,” I remark but do as he says. “I like that,”

There’s a pink tint to his cheeks and his jaw clenches but he doesn’t say anything.

“So I have a question for you…” I start with a raised brow. “But you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, although no answer is an answer in itself so-“

“Get to it, L/N,” he interrupts authoritatively.

“Was that your first kiss since 1945?” I smirk.

“That bad, huh?”

“I didn’t say that!” I laugh.

“Well it kinda sounds like that’s what you’re saying.”

“I was just… wondering if you’ve had practice… since going… into the ice,” for a super secret agent, that answer lacked finesse. “It’s just, I don’t know how you did it in 1945 but guys normally move their mouths for a long kiss like that,” I shrug.

“I don’t need practice.”

“Everyone needs practice.”

“It was not my first kiss since 1945. I’m 95, not dead.”

“Oh?” I say, curiosity piqued. “Who’s been kissing Captain America then?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Someone special?”

He chuckles. “It might come as a surprise to you but it’s hard to find someone with shared life experience,” he says sarcastically.

“That’s okay, you just make stuff up.”

“What, like you?” I know he doesn’t intend for it to sound mean so I shrug it off.

“Not everyone can handle the truth, can they? I wouldn’t mind a few white lies to keep something good going… and you don’t need shared life experience, right? Not really… there’s that whole opposites attract notion, after all.”

“But it’s good to have someone who understands what you’re going through, right?”

I shrug… sometimes not knowing is better. Safer. “Maybe. But in this occupation…” I sigh. “Well I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been in love.”

“You’ve – you never had someone?” Looks like I threw him for a loop.

Shaking my head I turn to look out my window at the trees we pass by. “I don’t hate love or anything… it’s just dangerous to love someone like… us. Isn’t it? They’d either get hurt by people we go after or… ya know, if we don’t come back… it hurts them too.”

“But tomorrow isn’t promised to anybody,” he reasons. “So why deprive yourself of something as great as love on the off chance you die?”

“Because it’s easier.”

“For who?”

“Why the interest Rogers? You wanna fill that spot? Play a little house? Imagine we don’t have to save the world from domestic terrorists?”

He hums at my decision to not answer the question. “No, that’s not what I need right now.”

“And what do you need?”

“Just…” he sighs. “a friend.”

Of course. “Well, there’s a chance you might be in the wrong business, Rogers…”

“Maybe we could start with not calling each other our last names?” he offers.

I smile. “Maybe.”

We arrive at the location the tracer indicated as the sun is setting.

Camp Lehigh is on a sign but it seems to be long abandoned.

“The file came from these coordinates,” I say as I pick the lock on the chained fence.

“So did I…” Steve says looking up at the sign in nostalgia. “This camp is where I was trained.”

“Change much?”

“A little…”

I wonder around, scanning the area for any thing to indicate a power source. “This is a dead end. Zero heat signatures, zero waves. Not even radio. Whoever created the file must have used a router to throw people off.” I tuck the scanner in my back pocket and the Captain looks up at me then shifts his gaze to behind me, frowning. “What is it?”

He starts walking and I follow. “Army regulations forbid storing munitions within 500 yards of the barracks. This building’s in the wrong place.” He breaks the lock with his shield and we enter as it leads us underground.

I turn on the lights and it reveals the insignia painted on the wall. “This was SHIELD. The early days, after it evolved from the Strategic Scientific Reserve,” I say, recognizing the outdated logo.

We wander around, finding a wall of three portraits. “The three founders.” He looks at me. “What? The history is one of the things they teach at the academies. Colonel Philips, Howard Stark and Margaret Carter.”

“There are academies?”

“Three. Very tough admission.”

Rogers spots something and looks closer. “If you’re already working in a secret office…” he pushes the shelves apart. “Why do you need to hide the elevator?”

Using my SHIELD issued code breaking device I type in the code for the elevator which takes us down even further to a room of computers, monitors and servers.

“This can’t be right… this equipment is ancient how could it be used to make the files?”

There was one place that looked like it came from this century and I decide to take a risk and plug in the usb drive. The servers whir and more lights come on.

“Initiate system?” a computerized voice says.

Yes, I type. “Creepy.” As we wait for the system to boot up I smirk. “Shall we play a game?” I laugh at myself. “It’s from a movie that was really pop-“

“I know,” he interrupts. “I saw it.”

A camera moves to Rogers and a voice recites his name and year of birth. Then it turns to me and does the same.

“Is this the AI that was blocking my commands back at the mall?” I say looking closer.

“I may not be the man I was back when the Captain took me in 1945 but I am.” A photo appears on one of the other screens.

“You know this… thing?”

“Arnim Zola was a German Scientist who worked for the Red Skull.”

“He’s been dead for years,” I add, remember something of the history lessons.

“First correction, I am Swiss. Second, look around you. I have never been more alive.” The robot voice recounts his end of life story and how he uploaded his consciousness into databanks.

“How did you get here?”

“By invitation.”

“It was Operation Paperclip after World War II. SHIELD recruited German scientists with strategic value. Always thought they shoulda just locked them all up… we probably wouldn’t be in this mess if they did.”

“HYDRA would have died with the Red Skull.”

“Cut off one head… two more shall take its place,” I recite their mantra aloud.

“When history did not cooperate… history was changed.” A flurry of photos of the Winter Soldier in the back ground of significant political events appear on the screens.

“That’s impossible, SHIELD would have stopped you,” I say, moving closer.

“Accidents would happen.” News of Howard and Maria Stark’s car accident shows up next.

Rogers punches the screen as Zola provokes him.

Does that mean…? I don’t finish the thought as the mad scientist explains what the drive contains.

“What kind of algorithm? What does it do?” I ask.

The doors begin to close as Steve is too late to throw his shield. A beeping comes from my communicator, detecting something. “Steve, we got a bogey. Short range ballistic 30 seconds tops.”

“Who fired it?”

“SHIELD.” I pull out the drive and Steve pulls a grate from the floor. I jump in and he follows, putting the shield up above us as rubble rains down on us. He strains against the weight of it all and the debris settles.

💖💖

Thank you for reading!

I'll be gone until Monday again but I'll try to write on my phone!! I have literally never been so busy throughout this summer until now!

Chapter 4

[smol-and-grumpy]

Good Morning - Chapter 2

Coffee shop!AU

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester, owner of Dean’s Beans is living a humble and quiet life. Roasting beans and selling coffee in his little shop is what makes him happy. When she walked into his shop four months ago, his life changed, but is it for better or worse?

Chapter Warnings: None. Just Dean being adorable and flustered.

WC: 1804

Beta’d by: @deanwanddamons​ <3

Series Masterlist ~ SPN Masterlist

Become a Patron ~ Buy me a coffee

Tuesday, September 1st

 Dean’s working the front again like he always does in the mornings. Mainly, because he lives just above the shop and secondly, he wants to spare Benny the travel time. If someone would ask Benny why Dean never lets him work the early shift, the dude would say that the arguments Dean’s bringing up are all lies. Benny would say that it was because Dean doesn’t want to share preparing coffee for her with anyone else. 

He thinks his friend is exaggerating. But maybe, yeah, there’s some truth to it. She never comes in during the day. Not at night either. They’re open till eight, but he’s never seen her coming in apart from the mornings.

While Dean works the machine, his phone starts to vibrate in his pants. With one free hand, he fishes it out.

Liz.

He’s got no patience for the woman, at least not when he’s working, but maybe it’s about Ben. It usually is about Ben when she calls. 

Dean picks up, wedges his phone between his shoulder and head to be able to still work with both hands. 

“Liz,” He breathes out.

“Dean, you’ve got to talk to him,” Liz says meekly.

He knows exactly who she means by him.

“What about?”

“He’s not happy. He’s closed up and we have a fight every morning before he has to go to school. It’s draining my energy!”

“Why can’t Gordon talk to him?” Dean asks, and he thinks it isn’t too much of him to ask to get Gordon to talk to Ben. Gordon is Ben’s stepdad after all and he and Liz have been married for quite some time now. The dude has spent more time in the house with Ben than Dean ever had. 

“It will only make it worse.” 

Dean’s putting the lid on the cup and hands it out, taking the money in exchange, and letting it slip into the register. He only nods at the customer, but the man understands, nodding back at him.

“You know that you’re the only one he listens to,” Liz continues and adds, “We had a fight this morning. Every morning actually since the school year started.”

The bell chimes and Dean’s still trying to find a polite way to talk to Liz. It’s hard to form words sometimes without sounding too rude. While he’s still thinking about what to say, he looks up and sees her walking in. 

“‘K, Liz, have him call me, alright? I got work to do, bye.” He hangs up before Liz could say anything and lets the phone slip back into his pant pocket before taking another order, “Good Morning, what can I get you?”

While Dean prepares the order for the man in the front, he can’t help but take quick glances at her every now and then. 

She has a backpack strapped around her shoulder instead of the usual laptop bag. He shouldn’t notice these little things, yet here he is and it’s weird, isn’t it? The way he already knows her habits, the way he knows that when it’s warm enough, she wears a shirt or a blouse, combines it with some kind of a jacket when the mornings are cool. Sometimes, leather, which makes his head spin. Sometimes it’s a jeans jacket, which is really cute and it suits her. Sometimes, she’d wear a cardigan that makes her look so innocent and pure, it almost gets his heart to explode from all the clenching that it does.

There were times when she would wear a long-sleeved shirt for three or four days in a row and Dean kept wondering why. It was not exactly cold out. 

Now, when the mornings start to get cooler, he notices that she wears a thick jumper that’s way too big for her. It makes her look more fragile. Makes her look like someone that needs protection. Maybe she does? Dean doesn’t know. Didn’t allow himself to go there and question it. All he knows is that it makes him want to protect her.

What he also knows is that when she’s running late to his shop, she’d show up bare-faced and her hair’s usually in knots or a ponytail because she probably overslept. There’s no make up on her face whatsoever, but there’s always a glint of lip gloss on her lips. Which is not really fucking fair to him because he’d like to kiss those glistening lips. 

Right now, Dean’s serving the customer before her, but he feels her eyes on him. It doesn’t make him work on the order any faster, though. Almost spilling hot milk over his own goddamn clumsy hands as he does. Finally, he manages to put the lid on the cup and hands it over, “Thank you, and have a good day!”

With a grin, she steps closer to the counter and he turns into a stupid teen again. His face is tilted down a little, his cheeks are flushed because they feel like they are burning up big time, and there’s a smirk on his stupid face, can’t really help it.

“Good morning,” He mumbles, can’t really bring it out louder, “The same as usual?” He manages to ask, is a little proud of himself to push the word over his lips without a stutter.

She nods with a smile, “Hi, Dean. Please,” 

Oh, she’s greeting him by name now. That’s progress, right? He absolutely loves how his name sounds rolling off her tongue. Smooth like fucking honey, and he absolutely wouldn’t mind to hear it more often.

“Double?” Dean asks, just to make sure. 

Double is her go-to when she needs to wake up. A One-shot is normally only reserved for a couple of days a month, he guesses that it’s when she’s on her period. It’s absolutely stalker-ish of him to know these facts, and Dean knows that he shouldn’t even notice but he does.

“Uh, do you do triple?”

He chuckles, “I don’t think that would do you any good if you have to work, you might be shaking the whole morning and your eyes are going to cross.”

“Good thing I’m not working in the office today, then.”

He lifts his eyebrows, wants to ask more, but he knows that it’s not his fucking place, “Right,” He says, “Just this one time, okay?”

Smiling, she nods, “Thank you.”

As Dean prepares the three shots of espresso, he risks a glance, sees her watching him with a small smile.

“So, no office today?” He blurts out and he feels absolutely stupid. She’d think he’s weird for asking about her personal life, won’t she?

“Nope, my office has maxed out on capacity and I’m working mostly from home unless I do have to go in for meetings.”

He lifts one eyebrow, “And why aren’t you home now when you don’t have to be anywhere?”

Dean can feel her change in demeanor. Her shoulders are tensing and she bites on her bottom lip. It’s just really quick and she probably thinks that he didn’t notice, but he did. 

He pours the three shots into a big cup, proceeds to pour some milk into the jug and he doesn’t look at her, because he’s afraid that she’ll close up to him now that he has gotten her to talk some more. 

“I don’t really have good wifi at home.” She says simply and Dean believes her, although he has the feeling that there’s something else she doesn’t tell him. But he takes that explanation because it’s a valid one. 

He knows himself how wifis can be a pain in the ass in the city. The wifi in his apartment above the shop does the same sometimes and he should really buy a new router, but he just doesn’t seem to spend enough time in there and the wifi in the shop is good enough for him to do his administrative work. 

Dean is warming up the milk, the sound is noisy and he can’t concentrate on her because he has to be careful not to make too much foam and spill it over his own hands again. 

When he pours the milk into the cup, he has a sudden lightbulb moment. And he looks up, sees her staring. 

Dean grins.

“What?” She asks with clear irritation on her face. 

“I was just thinking,” He says, as he picks up the cocoa powder and sprinkles it over the foam of milk, “You can work in here. We have a pretty good wifi connection and you’re right at the coffee source.” He shrugs nonchalantly, doesn’t want her to see that he’s excited about the prospect of her doing her work in his shop. At least he doesn’t want to seem like he’s more excited than he should be.

“Oh, I can’t,” She says and pauses, “Or can I?” 

Dean raises an eyebrow as he finishes putting the lid onto her triple espresso beverage, “Yeah, you can. There are a couple of people coming in to work from here, some stay a couple of hours, some the whole day.” He shrugs and it’s not even a full lie. He really has people working out of his shop, he doesn’t have people who stay the whole day, though. The most that someone stays is about three hours, so it’s not really a lie. He’s just twisting the truth a little. 

“Okay, I might take you up on that. But this week I’ve rented out an office desk space downtown already, so maybe I’ll be here next week?”

“Sounds great,” Dean smiles, couldn’t not smile because there’s a sudden feeling of joy logged in his chest. 

She hands him a five-dollar bill this time and Dean actually doesn’t want to take it. She notices the irritation on his face.

“For the muffin last time, Dean.”

“I can’t take it.” 

“Do it.” 

“Fine, but here,” He grabs the little paper bag packed with a muffin and holds it out for her, “Another one.” He hopes she doesn’t see how much he’s blushing. 

She grins, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Dean answers with a sincere smile, “Oh, and do I get to know your name?” 

His heart is thumping fast in his chest and his throat feels dry. God, he definitely feels like a teen again. 

“My name?” She asks, her grin grows cocky, he likes that a lot.

“Yeah,” Dean huffs out a breath, “You know mine. It’s only fair.”

She actually laughs, god what a nice sound. It’s indeed a good morning.

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s only fair. I’m Y/N.” She’s still chuckling. 

“Alright, Y/N, have a nice day and thank you,” He holds up the five-dollar bill. 

“I’ll see you, Dean.” She nods before she leaves and hell, yeah, he hopes that he’ll see her soon.

Chapter 3

Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

[its-bound-to-get-loud]

Speculating about sexuality

It’s time to get a little controversial on this blog. Or at least talk about a controversial subject. I’ve recently seen some fandom discourse about this subject from multiple sources. A lot of people have the opinion that discussing a celebrity’s sexuality is a bad thing, something you shouldn’t do. I strongly disagree.

Full disclosure, I’m a Larrie. I’m a 1D fan who believes Harry and Louis are a couple. I’m also a 5SOS fan. Now I know many 5SOS fans seem to be wary of Larries in particular. I know some people have taken it too far sometimes. But also, it’s hard to compare Larry/1D to 5SOS in many ways, because Larry and 1D themselves have done a lot of things to encourage fans looking into things they normally might not. It feels to me as if 5SOS fans saw the things that happened in the 1D fandom, turned around and decided to do the exact opposite. This is a good thing in some ways, but it also leaves no room for critical thinking.

Now back to 5SOS. I’ve had a few conversations about this topic and what it comes down to is this. 5SOS are famous, they live a life that’s (partially) being seen by the public and the media. Now this will sound cold, but it’s a fact: 5SOS are a product. When we interact with them on social media, we interact with a product. In the end they want to keep selling their music to us. In order to do so, engaging with fans is part of their job. It doesn’t mean they don’t enjoy it, it doesn’t mean they’re not genuine. If you work in a supermarket part of your job may be stocking shelves. You have to do it because it’s your job, but that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy it as well.

Part of the product that is 5SOS is their relationships. We see their girlfriends plastered over their social media, they mention them in interviews, etc. That’s not something they HAVE to do generally speaking. If we are to assume that (for argument’s sake) all 3 current 5SOS relationships are genuine, then they don’t have to show us their girlfriends if they don’t want to. This means they either choose to do so, because that’s what they want, or these girlfriends are being presented to us for a reason (PR, bearding, etc.). Which of these it is, is for you to decide. Both options make them become part of the product. We are allowed to question that product, since we are the ones consuming it. If the person in question has made comments that can be regarded as them hinting at not being straight they open the door even further. You cannot tell someone to come over and then slam the door in their face because they get too close.

If 5SOS want to they can keep their relationships private. Their social media profiles are not the same as ours. They are a representation of the product they are. A representation of their image. That’s why celebrities often have private profiles as well, where they can share private things that they don’t want to share with the public.

The 5SOS girlfriends themselves are a product as well. They all have careers that involve being in the public eye, they are just as well selling us a version of themselves. 2 public people dating does not mean we automatically HAVE to see that they are dating. Celebrities can keep things a secret or low-key if they want to. In fact, I’d dare to argue they have more tools to do so than you and I.  

You can look at it like this, if I’m buying a laptop I’m doing research online, I’ll check out reviews. I’ll ask questions at the store. I question the product before I buy it. That’s not that different from what we do as fans. Before we buy their music we question if this is a product we want to buy. Most of the time that’s an unconscious decision we make. Sometimes a product can becomes unsatisfactory after a while and we choose to move on from it. I know it sounds cold, but it’s not that different with celebrities. If 5SOS keep showing me their public girlfriends on their public social media, I get to question that. If I come to the conclusion that I think that what they are telling me is false. I get to discuss that. Being a fan does not equal always taking things at face value.

There’s also a double standard in this fandom. Some people are more than willing to yell about how problematic and toxic the girlfriends are in their opinion. Which means they are allowed to poke into (what they think is) a real relationship between 2 people. When Luke says Teeth is about Sierra, they question his words and don’t hesitate to say their relationship is toxic. But when it comes to sexuality suddenly that’s a no go. I am absolutely not a fan of the way some of the way girlfriends behave. As long as this happens in a fandom environment I am also fine with talking about that. But if you disapprove of one thing and then do something similar, maybe it’s time you start practicing what you preach or leave people to have their own opinions.

This doesn’t mean you should tell the guys directly that you think their relationship is not real or that you think they are not straight. You don’t harass their friends, their crew, and their family about this. Discussing a celebrity’s sexuality/relationship should stay limited to fandom spaces. With social media it’s a lot easier for celebrities to see what we say about them. Therefor I always suggest being mindful of what you say (they may be a product, but they are still people). Personally it’s why I enjoy Tumblr, because most celebrities don’t go on here and (most of the time) we can safely discuss things that are more difficult to discuss in a place like Twitter. I will say, just because we are questioning a product, it doesn’t mean we get to be rude in the process. You generally don’t go to the store and start yelling at the salesperson if you don’t agree with what they tell you.

People seem to think it’s disrespectful to say someone is gay. Why? Is there anything wrong with being gay? Absolutely not. We live in a society that’s very heteronormative, being straight is seen as the “default” sexuality. It should not be. If you’re going to argue that it’s disrespectful to say someone is gay, then please also don’t assume they are straight. You can have personal thoughts, sure. I have personal thoughts on the specific sexuality of the guys in 5SOS as well. But I keep in mind that my personal thoughts aren’t a fact. I could be wrong. So unless someone has specifically stated their sexuality it’s best to not assume anything and keep an open mind.

Then finally I want to briefly touch on a topic that goes hand in hand with what I’ve talked about: shipping. Some people have a problem with shipping when it comes to real people. For some people shipping is just enjoying the idea of 2 people together even if you think they aren’t. While other people truly believe in that relationship. There’s nothing wrong with any of that as long as it doesn’t become invasive. It all comes back to what I’ve said before. We are consuming a product. The relationships between the 5SOS guys are a huge part of that product. The chemistry between them is part of why we love them. I’m not saying they are pretending to like each other. I fully believe their chemistry is genuine, but it does help sell the product. It also means that sometimes the guys/their team plays into that chemistry to sell the product.

They guys should not have a problem with fans shipping them together, because it’s not up to them to decide that. They sell us their relationships, so we get to form opinions about that. If we stay in our own fandom space and do not become invasive by showing them or people around them fandom content (fics, headcanons, manips, etc.). Then they should not come into our spaces and invade stuff we enjoy in that space. I get super uncomfortable whenever I see celebrities reading fanfiction or being read fanfiction. Fanfiction about them is not for them. It’s made for fans to enjoy and they should stay away from that. I want to encourage you to go and read this answer* about shipping real people. Because sometimes other people’s words say it better than my own words ever could.

With that we have reached the end of this post. As usual I am always open to discuss this in an adult manner. If you feel like you have anything to add to this discussion, feel free to send me an ask/dm. Or reply to this post. If you like/agree with what I write I would love it if you reblogged this post. That’s the only way more people can see it. My blog is small, so reblogs are very much needed to keep the discussion going. Don’t think of coming in my inbox and yelling at me how everything I said is wrong and bad and awful, because it is only going to get you blocked. If you don’t agree, that’s fine, but I’m not going to tolerate any hate.

Finally, just because you are allowed to speculate and question whatever 5SOS or any other celebrity/influencer tells you, doesn’t mean you have to. If that’s not your cup of tea, then that is more than fine. The reason I wrote this post is because we need to stop making people who think critically about the things they are being told, feel guilty about what they do.

* Please note that the author of this post does not have anything to do with what has been written in this post. If you have a problem with anything in this post, please direct it to me and not them.

[whump-it]

Rory’s Audit; Part 1

@haro-whumps @grizzlie70   @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @iaminamoodymoodtoday @burtlederp @my-whumpy-little-heart @moose-teeth @pepperonyscience @faewhump @crowned-avery @whump-tr0pes @spookyboywhump @finder-of-rings @liliability @whumpfigure @girlwithacoolcat @tears-and-lilies @inpainandsuffering @whumpfigure @whumppsychology @ashintheairlikesnow

The Collection Box had been quiet again just recently.  The usual ebb and flow of the seasons.  It was normal.  It happened ever year without fail.  But Rory still felt a little nervous about the impending visit from his boss.  They hadn’t had much cause to interact often since Rory had started working for the Programme.  Mr Newman spent most of his time at the Locality Facility, only rarely stopping by to clap Rory on the shoulder and tell him that he “ran a tight ship”.  And then he was gone again for months on end.  It was partly why Rory had become so organised in the first place; there was no one there to help him or tell him what to do so he kept rigorous notes, took excellent care of the Locality Box, and kept the equipment in top notch condition, always replacing it before it really needed it.

Rory loved his job and he felt as sure as he could that he was good at it.  His BP were always calm and content.  His Selectors often sent thank you cards or photos of themselves with their BP over the years.  Not all of them did but a good enough amount did to reassure him that the system was helping a huge amount of people.  And it paid for him to be able to keep a roof over his head.  Bills paid on time.  Food bought.  A little to go aside into savings every few months. 

All in all, a visit from his boss, especially one preceded by a gruff sounding and very short phone call was a concern.   He both loved, and needed his job.

So in the few hours prior to the visit he had spent time cleaning everything.  Making his Collection Box into the best damn box that the world had ever seen.  He vacuumed.  He dusted.  He damp dusted.  He swept.  He had one BP in who was taking the chance to have a midday sleep after Rory had checked that they were comfortable and full, not needing the toilet or not feeling unwell.  He apologised for all of the noise that he was making and tried to keep it down now that they were sleeping. 

“Boss man coming in or something?” they’d joked at him.

“Actually yes,”  Rory had said.  The BP had frowned.

“Don’t look so nervous,” they had said.  “I’ll tell them how good it is here.”

The memory of the little exchange had kept the edge off Rory’s panic for most of the morning, until the knock at his door came and caused an uncomfortable leap up in his heart, thudding in his chest.  He rubbed his palms down the legs of his trousers in an attempt at not having sweaty palms in time to shake his boss’s hand.  It certainly made turning the doorknob to his office door into an easier task.

“Mr Newman,” Rory said, a smile on his lips that didn’t quite meet his eyes as he tried to inject a light hearted tone to his voice.  “Good to see you again.”  He shifted back out of the way of the door before remembering that he had meant to shake hands.  He stuck his hand out as Mr Newman walked through the door, effectively slapping his boss in the stomach as he did so.  Mr Newman stopped at the slap of Rory’s hand and looked down at the offending appendage.  Rory winced and slowly brought his hand back to his own side. 

“Sorry,”  he said.  “Awkward.”  He could feel his face heating up as Mr Newman stood and regarded him with one eyebrow raised as he sighed.  “Ok, come on in!”  Mr Newman walked past him, and Rory shut the door, wincing and muttering to himself to stop being such an idiot before straightening up, tugging his hand through his hair, fixing his smile back on his face and going to sit at his desk.

"Look," Mr Newman said, sitting down and waving a hand impatiently at Rory, hurrying him up. "I'll keep this simple. We need to run an audit; you need to run an audit. State ordered. No wiggle room."

"Ok?" Rory said, leaning back then sitting forward. Awkward. Uncertain.

"Don't play the idiot," Mr Newman snapped. "The rumour mill's been working up to this and there's no way that even you, isolated as you've made yourself out here, there's no way that you haven't heard anything." Rory held his nerve. Held his silence. He wanted more certainty from his boss.  Mr Newman sighed and crossed one leg over the other, ankle to knee.  “The young BP, Rory.  Some girl has come out saying that she was kept and abused by some drug lord, drug baron.  Whatever.  Look, they should’ve sent her down with him but somehow she got off all the charges.  It was her money he was using.”

“Well,” Rory said, the tiniest hint of a shake to his voice.  A fraction of nerves amongst the knowledge that what he was about to say was going to be right.  “It was his money once she was Selected so, technically, she had no control over what he did.”

“So you have heard,”

“Well....”

“Stop saying ‘well’ all the time,”

“I’ve heard,”  Rory said.  His inner monologue had been aching over the rumours.  Pining.  The scabbed-over wound that Callum Morrow’s appearance and subsequent Selection had left was fresh and bleeding again.  But with only a rumour to go on, he had set it to one side. And burned and ached.  But he had put it to the back of his mind, stamped it down.  Callum was fine.  Callum was happy.  His Selector checked out.  It was one rumour. 

“We, apparently, can’t “go on turning a blind eye” anymore.  Or so the Givernment are saying.  Some internet forum or some other rubbish.  I don’t know.  But people are starting to kick up trouble.  Not the BP I may add.  The girl has gone quiet.  No other BP are whining.  But the powers that be don’t like how it looks.  We’ll come out of it fine.  But I need you to do that audit.  And I want to see the results first.  Got it?”

“Got it,” Rory muttered.  The voice in his head kept getting louder.  Callum Callum Callum.  A scar that had suddenly stopped healing.  Sutures tearing out.  Mr Newman glared at him.

“You better have “got it”,” he said, as he stood and turned his back on Rory, walked to the door.  “How long is this likely to take?”

“Um,” Rory mentally shook himself.  Callum Callum Callum.  Be ok.  Be ok.  “Not long.  I only have one under twenty five ever come through here.  Don’t ever get any under about forty actually.”

“So...?”  Mr Newman flapped one hand at him, the other already turning the doorknob.

“Give me a week,” Rory said.  “I keep good records.”  His attention was already wandering further and further from his boss and drifting to his laptop and his filing cabinet.  His data sticks and his photographs.  He heard Mr Newman’s terse goodbye but not the words.  The banging shut of the door jolted his attention to the buzzing silence of the room around him.  “Fuck.”  He hissed the word out into the room, pulling at his hair, rubbing at his face.  Dashing away at tears that he had not realised were even beginning to gather.  He felt pulled in too many different directions.  There was too much to do and too many places to start.  He snatched up a piece of paper and started to write.  He needed a list.  A plan.  A way to channel his thoughts so that they wouldn’t get away from him.  He needed to produce an audit.  Please his boss.  Keep the only source of money that he had. 

He needed Callum to be ok.  More than all of those things, he needed Callum to be ok.

The list grew.  It flowed out from his pen.  He forced himself to write alowly and neatly.  Mistakes could not be a part of this.  And rushing wouldn’t achieve anything.  The very first thing on his list read ’look after current BP’.  He took a deep breath in and out, and carried on.  ‘Laptop’, ‘data stick 3ii’, ‘file copy Callum Morrow’, ‘file copy Hayden Reeve’.  He wrote down the websites and databases that would hold the answers to the questions that he was forming and solidifying in his mind.  ‘Postal Service’, ‘GIS’, ‘MapReader’. 

At the very bottom he wrote ‘You’ve got one week to get him’.

[xxsovereignsarayaxx]

Fifty Shades of Mikaelson: Shade 2

Authors Note: Ok so my original plan was to release Shade 2 and Shade 3 after Shade 1 but then I realised that there bits in Shade 2 and 3 that could add to the upcoming chapters for the trilogy. Everything in this AU is connected so you’ll get even more of a story.  Word Count: 1877 Warnings: None. Yet. Pairing: Kol X Reader

Fifty Shades Tag List: @xxwritemeastoryxx​ @tomarisela​ @akshi8278​

Missed Shade 1? Catch up from the beginning chapters for all Shades will be updated in the upcoming weeks/months. 

Richmond Virginia is the home to Mikaelson Enterprises, one of the largest companies in the US to date, with countless connections across the country and the world. After receiving the company from the untimely death of their parents and younger brother Henrik the six remaining siblings all took a share and equal role within the company. 

The loss of their parents and younger brother was hard on the remaining family and became so tough on Freya and Finn that they ultimately took a step back from public eye of the company and became silent partners, this allowed Elijah, Niklaus, Kol and Rebekah to have a free rein on the company so to speak.

What made Mikaelson Enterprises different to all the others was the fact that it didn’t have one sole purpose. The company originally thrived at investing low market sales. Rather than take the risk and invest in the higher term stock markets each sibling took to different sectors and reaped the rewards of their own doing which allowed them to endeavour into other opportunities.

Each sibling was different, Rebekah stuck to fashion. Her aim was that she wanted people to look great whilst not breaking the bank and so she worked with a large team of designers to manufacture a line of clothing that was stylish while being at affordable prices. Kol and Niklaus went into business together to create the bourbon of bourbons, wanting to create a new brand and enjoying the odd glass or two led them to a likely partnership. Elijah was different compared to his other siblings rather than go out into the world and create a new product he used his studies and degree and built a highly respectable law firm. And each separate business venture was all under the same roof in the tallest building in the city.

Richmond was the also the home to Salvatore Industries and happened to be one of the biggest competitors to Mikaelson Enterprises and being the savvy independent business woman I was I often used their constant feud to my advantages, whilst they were always trying to outdo one another it often allowed me to swoop in and close whatever deal or buy out other small businesses they had been competing for, so I could add them to my small arsenal and ever growing empire. And for the majority of the time it worked. Much to the dismay of my rivals. But with me plucking opportunities from the sky showed both the Mikaelson’s and the Salvatore’s that I was not a woman to be messed with.

I ran my own distillery and bottling company, a much smaller one at that. But it was still able to compete with the high demand of the other much larger companies and I was able to keep up with distributing to bars in and around the city. I was always around alcohol as a child but that was because my parents ran their own bar and when I was old enough I worked part time to help pay for my studies at business school. By the young ripe age of twenty five I created my own brand of vodka, with its smoother taste and lighter afterburn it was an instant hit and by twenty six I bought my first distillery and opened up my office later in that year. Here I was months later enjoying the views from my office building. I often loved taking a step back and just observing others. There was just something about people-watching that was so satisfying and calming, and the best place to do that was from the large windows in the meeting room. As I took a sip of the ice cold water in my hand I heard the intercom buzz through.

“Y/N, your three o’clock is here.” Gia, my secretary informed me from the intercom.

Taking a step back from the window I turned and reached over and pressed the button to speak. “Thank you, Gia. Why don’t you finish early for the day? I can wrap things up here.” 

“Are you sure? I don’t mind staying?” 

“No, no. Go home early today Gia, you’ve earned it. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I replied to her in a sincere voice. 

The glass doors to the meeting room opened and my eyes looked upwards at the man walking into the room.  

“Kol.” I say playfully, as the door slowly closes shut.

“Now I thought you and your brother were coming to this meeting, I wanted to finally meet both of the brains behind Hybrid in person. But I must say I’m impressed, your burst onto the liquor scene seems to have lasted. Now what can I do for you?” I added, raising an eyebrow as I gestured for him to take a seat at the large table. 

“Nik’s sources tell me that you recently purchased ‘The Compound Distillery’ from under our noses.” Kol starts as he takes a seat at the table.

“By Nik’s sources? You must mean Elijah. But it’s nice to see you too Kol. Regarding ‘The Compound’ you and your lawyers were taking far too long with the negotiations. I just so happened to arrive just in time to help speed the proceedings up.” I interrupted with a sly smile, fluttering my eyelashes I took another sip from my glass.

“Drinking on the job are we?” He asked, trying to change the subject teasing me as I walked around the room.

“Just water. I like to have a clear head especially when I have my business rivals enter through my door.”

“What did you offer them?” He asked, propping up his elbows.

“You’ve always been a curious one. Alright I’ll tell you. They wanted a quick sale but didn't get the asking price they wanted however, so in return for the lower price I just kept all of their employees so the lucky souls now all work for me.” I replied, taking a seat at the opposite end of the table.

“I don’t mean to pry but what are you here for Kol? If you're here to ask questions then we could've easily had this meeting on the phone.”

“I’ve come to buy you out.” He stated. 

“My my aren’t we feeling bold?” I replied with a laugh, eyeing him up and down. “But I’ll give you a simple answer. No.” 

Flashing me a smile. “I thought you would say that.”

“Then why ask?”

“Simple psychology darling, because I now have a better chance of getting a yes with my next question.” 

“Oh? And what would that be?” I asked tilting my head ever so slightly. 

“Join me for dinner.” 

“Why on earth would I say yes to that?” I asked, licking my bottom lip.

“I enjoy your company darling. And perhaps we could get better acquainted to strike up a deal for the future.” Kol replied, shifting in his seat. 

“Don’t they teach you at business school to not mix business with pleasure?” I purred with a seductive tone. 

“Whilst you were in that lecture I must have missed that one, so darling what do you say?” 

“Alright you’ve convinced me. But it’s strictly business.”

“Course darling.” 

Kol left the my meeting room shortly after but made sure to slide his business card over the desk his way of giving me his mobile number in the most subtle way possible, however Kol Mikaelson and subtle don’t go together one bit. Running a hand through my Y/H/C tugging on a few of the strands that had gotten knotted during the day. Whenever Kol called me ‘darling’ it did things to me that I would never admit to. 

“He’s not changed since the day we met as business school.” I said to myself with a smile.

Leaving the meeting room and walking back to my office, I turned the phone to face me and picked up the receiver holding it in my hand whilst I used the other to dial a number. 

“Hello, Salvatore Industries Elena speaking how can I help you?” 

“Hi Elena it’s Y/N is it possible to speak with Damon please?” I asked.

“Of course I’ll put you through.”

“Eternal stud speaking.” Damon said as I was transferred to his line.

 “It is really a good thing that you pay a whole lot more than to what Mason Lockwood offered me.” 

“You love me really.” He teased.

“Sure it’s that and not the stacks of cash I get put into my account each month. Just checking you wanted double the amount sent over to the bar tomorrow.” 

“It's the main thing I sell on student nights so I gotta keep up with the demand, any chance you’ll be doing different flavours in the future?” Damon asked.

“You’ll be the first person to know when I do, you can even be my taste tester.” 

“Speaking of the delivery Bob-Bon will be signing for it tomorrow. Me and Elena have a OBGYN appointment.”

“I’ll be sure to let Ric know. But between working with your brother and owning a bar on the side I’m surprised how you even had the time to get Elena pregnant.” I replied with a giggle.

“I always find the time for those special business meetings, if you catch my drift.” 

“And now I’m disgusted by you.” I said faking a gagging sound.

“C’mon Y/NN, thought you would have gotten used to my good looks, my style, my charm and my unflinching ability to listen to Taylor Swift.”

“Goodbye Damon.” I shouted and put the phone down and back in the base. 

I moved the phone back in its usual spot on my desk and started to pack away my laptop and other bits I wanted to do at home, as I was looking for a marketing plan in my desk drawer I heard my office door open.

“What is the point of owning a phone if I can never reach you on it?”

I smiled as I saw my best friend in the doorway.

“Bekah...You know I have an empire to run.” I teased, grinning at her.

“And causing mayhem to where my brothers are concerned no less. You have no idea what I have to listen to especially when we have dinner each and every night.” She replied, crossing her arms.

“Well if they’re talking about me then I really must be making a name for myself, you should understand that being a woman in business isn’t as easy as it looks.” I told her, walking to her and bringing her into a hug. 

As the two of us embraced in our hug, she pulled away. “Speaking of business. I have some exciting news.” She said excitedly.

“Your new line is ready?” I asked, sounding hopeful.

“Almost. But I wanted to get some promo shoots out for the public and I wanted you to be the model!”

I looked at her shocked. “Shut. Up.” 

“I’m serious. You’re a strong woman in ever growing business, you earned everything you have today and what better person to have showcasing my line is you. We need to have a dinner date to celebrate!” 

“Oh speaking of dinner. I have gossip, how about we take this to the nearest bar?” 

Feedback makes me a better writer and encourages me to write more and often! 

[kisekinodrabbles]

helloo! i'd like to request something for the prompt game please :D kasamatsu + band!au + strangers to lovers + dialogue number 14 if that's okay? thanks, sam! and welcome back~

ofc!!! i tried to keep it shorter but im a bit rusty w my kasamatsu hehe hope u enjoy! wc: 2.3k

Kasamatsu admits that balancing his band and college work isn’t exactly an easy task. Between late evenings spent at gigs and all nights at the library, he is on the brink of his sanity, standing right at the tipping point. He yawns as he enters his nine am mandatory calculus class, another mistake made in his overconfidence that he would somehow be able to get his shit together.

You, on the other hand, are a closeted fan of his band, sitting three rows behind him in class. Every Tuesday and Thursday, you watch him drag his feet in and his hand lifting to his mouth in a yawn. Quickly, you duck behind your book as if Kasamatsu would ever give you the time of day. The brunette is well-known on campus with his successful group and good looks, not to mention he also dabbles a little in basketball while also maintaining a decent grade point average across all his classes. Triple threat, they call him.

When you first came into class and saw him there, shocked is an understatement. You’ve been following his band his high school from across the country. To see him in the flesh, so real and so human with his tired eyes, it almost feels like a dream. One you hope nobody would ever pinch you awake from. Thus, you made it your goal to be there before him every morning, which is a feat in itself. Kasamatsu may be grinding through the night and falling asleep in lectures, but he’ll be damned if he shows up late to class.

Throughout several weeks, you’ve seen girls come up to him left and right, shot down almost immediately by his intention to focus on the professor’s words. He lets them down easy and makes it clear that he pays thousands of dollars to study, not play IRL Tinder. This man gets sexier everyday.

You take your time packing your things when class is over, mainly because you’re too distracted watching Kasamatsu do the same. He is blind, or chooses to ignore, the whispers and shy glances thrown his way. Perhaps this is why you haven’t approached him yourself. You’re just one of his many admirers, a stroke in the massive painting of his life. Sighing, you pick up your pitiful self and make your way to the dining hall where you’re supposed to meet your friend for breakfast.

When the two of you settle on a table, you begin your weekly rambling about how beautiful Kasamatsu looks in the morning. Moriyama, being the good friend that he is, nods and listens intently.

Moriyama is an intriguing character. The two of you met because he had tried a line on you. In your perpetual state of flustered embarrassment, you had stupidly confessed to him: “Sorry, my heart belongs to Kasamatsu Yukio.”

In another twist of fate, he revealed that he had actually gone to high school with the guy and knew him pretty well.

“You know I can introduce you to him, right? No need for all this pining and drooling from three feet away.”

“It’s not the same,” you argue, “he’s practically a living legend on campus. I’m too intimidated to even breathe in the same air as him.” Your obsession has perhaps taken you too far, but if you expect to continue being his fan, the last thing you want is to scare him away.

“You’re so overdramatic,” Moriyama rolls his eyes. Coming from him, this sentence means a lot.

“What? It’s not my fault Kasamatsu’s so hot. He could bang me so hard backstage then pretend I don’t exist and I would still pay to watch his next show,” you groan, spooning yogurt into your mouth.

In that moment, several things happen. Moriyama’s eyes widen and fly behind you. Footsteps sounding at that same spot suddenly cease completely. You, realizing what possibly just happened, feel the heat flare up your cheeks.

Kasamatsu, in his sleep deprived state and probably completely delirious, had stopped in his tracks. His head whipped around to the source of the comment, finding Moriyama sitting with someone who looks distinctly familiar, but he can’t quite put his finger on it.

“Kasamatsu—”

Before Moriyama can even finish his sentence, Kasamatsu is already blurting out. “Okay, maybe I’m crazy but did I just hear you say that out loud?”

You want to crawl into your hole six feet underground and never see the light of day again. Ducking your head, you don’t even want to chance a glance up. The utter mortification is chewing away at your bones and you wish you could just evaporate into thin air.

Moriyama quickly interjects with a quick laugh, “Hear what? Also how have you been, man? I haven’t seen you in forever. Come join us for breakfast.”

Kasamatsu’s brows pucker. Maybe he really is going insane. And horny. Which is a very bad combination. Nevertheless, he slides into the empty seat next to Moriyama. He stares at you for a few seconds, squinting, before snapping his fingers. “Oh, I remember now. You’re in my calculus class.”

He knows you? “How do you know me?” you squeak, cursing your fangirl self for losing your voice. You never speak up in class, always choosing to come up to your professor for questions at the end of lecture. You’re quiet and tucked away behind him, so you never expected him to recognize you.

The smile he sends you is blinding. Even with shadows under his eyes, he still looks gorgeous. “You’re always first to arrive and last to leave. Figured you’re a hard worker in class and probably acing it.”

Your mouth dries. Kasamatsu noticed you. He actually noticed you. “Oh, um, I’m okay. I’m okay in class, I mean.”

“The question you should be asking is her name, Kasamatsu,” Moriyama scolds, smacking his back.

Kasamatsu pinks sheepishly. “Sorry, yeah. I’m Kasamatsu Yukio, by the way.”

Idiotically, you blurt out “I know” before your name. When you finally introduce yourself, you also clarify, “I’m a huge fan of Blue Devils. I mean, I’ve been following you guys since like high school. Absolutely love your music.”

The man actually reddens even further, but still he beams proudly. “Thank you! That’s crazy. Have you been to our shows?”

Almost all of them. “A couple, yeah.”

“We have one tonight in an actual venue. Are you coming?”

“Ah, it was sold out before I could get a ticket, actually.”

Kasamatsu blinks, “Oh, you’re more than welcome to come. I can get you a pass. Both of you—if Moriyama’s interested.”

“That would be amazing!” You grin, “Is there anything I can get you in return? I don’t want to just accept a gift from you for free.”

“Well, if you are good at calc, I wouldn’t mind some extra tutoring,” he suggests with a teasing grin.

Moriyama rolls his eyes, “Just ask her out instead of using tutoring as an excuse.” The two of you sputter, face colored a dark shade of red. You’ll kick his ass when you get the chance.

—

That one mistake turned out to be the greatest opportunity of your life. In addition to attending his show that night and meeting all of his bandmates, each one more good looking up close than then other, you manage to have weekly study sessions (you’re holding off on calling it dates) with Kasamatsu. The two of you take turns booking rooms at the library to cram, which mainly consists of you reexplaining concepts to the man. Although he isn’t a bad student, he’s also still struggling a bit to keep up.

“Hey” is what you hear before you feel a warm surface press against your cheek. You look up to find Kasamatsu with a steaming cup in hand. Gratefully accepting it, you catch a whiff of freshly brewed tea. You take a sip and smile. Black tea, no sugar. “Just the way I like it.”

“Noticed you never add anything to your tea,” Kasamatsu says almost proudly.

You raise the cup to him in thanks. Both of you go through your usual routine—you focusing on reviewing material for next week while Kasamatsu pores over his notes from this week, occasionally poking you to ask questions.

Honestly, a big part of you still wonders if this is all a dream. This guy you’ve been crushing on for years is sitting in the flesh right across from you. You peek at him from time to time, watching the way he frowns at his book. His blue, almost grey, eyes shine underneath the flickering lights. Even the way his lips curl unhappily is cute.

When he catches you staring, you quickly drop your gaze back to your laptop, missing the way he smiles quietly.

“Will you come to our show this weekend?” He asks as the two of you pack up.

“Ah, I have a shift at my part-time job.”

He looks surprised, “That late?”

You shrug, “Food never sleeps, I guess. It’s at the burger diner by campus.”

“Oh, are you guys open late?”

“Close at one.”

He nods, “Maybe I’ll see you there after then. The guys usually get really hungry after a gig so we can drive some business your way. I’ll make sure they tip well too.”

Your heart warms at the thought. It’s a thoughtful gesture but you’re even more thrilled at the prospect of seeing him. “Sounds good.”

True to his word, Kasamatsu brings the guys to your workplace at midnight after their show ended. They order quite a spread, practically everything on the menu. Kasamatsu goes as far as to help you carry orders to their table. You shoot him an appreciative smile.

Over the time your friendship has bloomed, Kasamatsu has been nothing but a gentleman. He walks you home to your dorm if you’re studying late into the night. He meets you in class with a muffin or a cookie from his early Starbucks runs. Surprisingly, he begins placing himself next to you each session. “This is better anyway,” he mutters. “Two birds, one stone.”

His vague words had you tilting your head in question.

“I don’t have random people coming up to me to sit with me and, well, I get to enjoy your company.” It’s a nice thought—him enjoying your company, that is. He had blushed a little when he realized what you said, but chose to direct his attention to the slides pulled up before him, missing the way you hide your smile behind your sleeve.

Now, you hear the rowdy boys chattering on as they devour their meal as if it’s their last. They speak through mouthfuls of burgers and fries, but you find the sight endearing, mainly because you’ve never seen Kasamatsu so relaxed. It’s quite refreshing really. Your attention is piqued when you hear one of them ask: “So doing it tonight huh?”

Kasamatsu retorts with a “shut the fuck up” and flings a fry his way. The way the other guy wiggles his brows suggestively has you freezing. What if he was meeting up with someone tonight? What if he was going to do the deed?

Somewhere in the distance, you hear the faint cracking of your heart. Of course, Kasamatsu is popular. It’s no surprise he’s got his nights covered as well. You sigh dejectedly, feeling the hope inside you crumble into dust. The rest of your shift goes by rather uneventfully, but you try to avoid going to their table too much, lest you hear more details about Kasamatsu’s planned tryst. The man himself steals glances your way, wondering if you’ll be checking on them anytime soon.

“Your check,” you smile as you set the bill on the table, “I got the owner to give you a discount since you guys ordered a good amount.”

All of their eyes seem to sparkle as they thank you in unison, their synchrony almost puzzling. As you move to pick up the bill and change, Kasamatsu catches your hand before you move away. “What time does your shift end?”

“Half an hour. Why?”

The other guys are already packing up their things and giving you little waves as they exit the restaurant, leaving the two of you alone. “I’ll walk you home, it’s late,” he murmurs, fingers still wrapped around your wrist.

“Oh, you don’t have to! I usually take the bus back anyway so it’s no big deal.” You want to confirm whether he had plans that night anyway. You’d hate to be in the way of that.

He shakes his head, “I insist. Also, um, are you doing anything tomorrow?”

“Catching up on studying most likely.”

“Oh,” he pauses, “if you have time tomorrow night, do you want to catch a movie with me? Maybe dinner after?”

You blink at him in surprise. Now that you’re looking at him properly, you notice that his cheeks are several shades darker than the red neon glow of the diner sign. He’s shifting on his feet and his other hand finds purchase on the strap of his bag, fidgeting with the material. “Um, like a date?”

“Y-yeah,” he stutters slightly, his throat moving as he swallows. “Sorry, I probably should’ve made that clear,” he coughs, “b-but if you don’t want it to be the we can also go as friends.” Perhaps you’ve tortured the boy long enough but you can’t help but relish in his awkward chuckle as his hand lifts to rub the back of his neck nervously.

Biting back a huge grin, you nod. “It’s a date.”

Kasamatsu’s eyes light up and a pleased grin spread across his face. “It’s a date.”

The hollering outside the building has the two of you whipping to face the window where his bandmates have their faces pressed up against the surface, laughing and smiling to congratulate and embarrass their friend. Kasamatsu flushes, “I’ll see you later to pick you up.”

You nod but he’s already out the door, leaping to kick his friends away. “You stupid idiots!”

Laughing, you watch as the group makes kissy faces at Kasamatsu all the while the man fruitlessly attempts to shut them up. He really is cute.

[hoodedwing]

Sleep, Red Bucket

Summary: Tim and Jason work together on a case. Just that, Jason had a hard week and maybe just 3-4 hours of sleep. 

Characters: Jason, Tim, Alfred (mentions), Avalanche (no, not from X-men. It’s an original enemy for a man named Snow here)

Warnings: Child drug rings, Drugs, Wild night terrors, Unconscious self-harm, Vomiting, Blood, Injuries, Swearing,

Additional Notes: I used way too much references from The Crown and this is a sickfic

Word Count: 2,233 words

***

Tim stretches a little from where he's sitting on the couch, running his hand through ebony locks as he tapped away on his laptop. He was secretly glad that he managed to sneak out of the Manor, after being ratted out by Jason for not sleeping. He had barely escaped after being coddled by Dick (that man in spandex sure can hug) and hovered over by Alfred. Sighing contently, he closed the webpage he was on and gave a quick glance at the clock.

It was still eleven, nearing towards twelve actually. He knit his eyebrows in slight annoyance, Red Hood and him had arranged to meet at twelve and he wasn't here yet. Tim assumed Jason probably had a run in with some bitch of a gang or seeing the  kids or whatever he does at Crime Alley. He had long learnt not to touch that area, last time saw him with a batarang held against his throat.

Ironic for someone proclaiming to hate Batman. Tim snorted.

He was well into his thought loop when he heard the sound of metal against his window. Tim's head shot up and he hastily grabbed his bo-staff laying on the couch opposite him. Silently, he crept towards the curtains and laid to wait. The sound grew louder and he heard irritated whispers or the wind, he couldn't exactly pinpoint.

The window opened and Tim nearly smashed the intruder's head from behind when he heard a panicked yell.

"The fuck?!"

Tim breathed a little before yelling back. Oh thank fuck, its Jason only.

"And you couldn't use the damn door like any other human?"

Jason allowed a snort to escape before walking resolutely  to the couch where he sat down rather heavily and let out a small sigh.

"I died, I'm technically not human or I mean does that count?"

Tim rolls his eyes and settles back on the couch where Jason was laying stretched rather lazily and flipping through the case files, with his hood still on.

"So, as far as I know. Snow has multiple bases in Bludhaven. Wonder how Dickface hasn't run into him yet."

"Dick knows him as Avalanche. That's what he calls himself. Different street names."

"He'll fall eventually."

Tim almost laughs but he cannot exactly tell if Jason was joking or just plaintively didn't give two fucks. It also sounded a tad more tired.

"Mhm. Anyways, his largest base is pretty near your territory. I think you know it like the back of your hand."

He offers tentatively, trying to rebalance the edge of tension in the room.

"Yeah. Got it."

"Do you need-"

"No. He's on my turf. I get to take him out."

Jason takes slightly longer than he does to get up.  Tim sees it but doesn't call him out on it. He really doesn't want another stab mark. he watches Jason climb out of the window.

"Oh and Jason?"

Jason turns, in zero mood right now because the small throbbing in his head has grown a little.

"What?!"

"Get some shut-eye."

He scoffs and leaves.

—

Some hours in, Tim decided he wanted coffee so he gets up to go make himself.

He hears a faint rustle and pin drop silence. He quietly grabs the dang bo-staff again. As he creeps along the rooms, he hears the sound getting louder. It sounded like someone was having trouble.

He almost shits himself when he sees Red Hood asleep. In his apartment.

Tim narrows his eyes and does a quick surveillance of Jason's things. He sees empty cartridges and shell casings lying at his feet

The only physical response was Jason's head tilting at an angle and soft snores filtered by the Hood.

Huh, he's back and asleep. Already?

"Jason?"

Tim raised an eyebrow at Jason.

"Mm?"

"Oh good. Just checking if you're alive."

Jason turned on himself, curling his legs under himself.

"Al'wys am, Replac'ment. F'k off. Lemme sleep."

Tim frowned slightly as he inched his hands towards the hood but a gloved hand comes out of nowhere and squeezes Tim's wrist tightly who now lets out a yelp.

-

Tim pours the coffee but the thoughts of Jason doesn't leave his mind. Something wasn't so right about Jason. But then, nothing was ever right with Jason.

Was he bleeding? He did return late from whatever he was up to. He did slur his dreaded nickname. He refused to take off his hood. Was he sick? Did he eat?

He hears a loud scream that interrupts his second thought loop of the night. Tim almost spills the coffee on himself and half stumbles-half runs to the source.

Jason.

"J..Jason?"

Erratic breathing greeted him. Tim steels himself as he nimbly types the correct combination and takes the hood off against Jason's order. He isn't about to let someone die in his apartment.

Why does everything have to end up so damn difficult?

Tim barely glances at Jason as he shakes him.

"Jason. Shh. Jason?"

Jason doesn't comply, the thrashing increases in intensity as he yells his throat raw. He claws his forearms, scratching the scarred skin in nightmare-delirium. He manages to draw blood which gently falls onto the white couch, turning the area into a crime scene wildly in contrast to the source of blood. His eyes were tightly shut, thick black lashes glued to his sweat covered cheeks

Tim restrains Jason, tries to grab his hands but he manages to fucking fling Tim across the table. He crashes at the bookshelf, wincing when his arm whacks against a particularly thick encyclopedia.

Ah, he thought, the pain of knowledge.

He quickly gathers himself and sees Jason thrashing on the couch, whimpering like a wounded animal.

"What the fuck. Jason? Can..can you hear me?"

The whimpers alternate into raw screaming, it leaves Tim's heart cold and skin prickled. He doesn't have to know what Jason is thinking. He needs to snap the nightmare loop before he decided his throat was next and he-

Focus, Tim.

Tim rummages everywhere in the apartment, heartbeat loud in his ears. He knows it was best to wait it out but it was almost like it was a loop. He spots a whistle, one from the Charity Games Bruce hosted. Yeah, he remembered that one pretty well. Grayson won the race and he blew the whistle right in his face. Jason laughed and Barbara poked fun at him later on it.

He quickly blows the whistle at Jason who shot up with a frightening velocity. Tim literally held Jason down, stunned into silence.

"Jason?"

He only pinched his nose-bridge, other hand clenching the couch tightly.

"Do you want water?"

"No"

He barely croaked, turning on himself like a wounded animal.

Tim fetches a glass anyway. He also brought some bandages to wrap his forearms. Quietly, he does so, rubbing alcohol into it alternated with small flinches. When the procedure was done, Tim stepped back a little.

Jason turned on himself again, shaking. His eyebrows were drawn in pain, breaths almost wheezing. His face was now alarmingly pale and eyebags almost like bruises cover below his tired eyes

Tim didn't know what to say to him. Jason might shoot down all chances to talk about it.

"I'm going to take your temperature, is that okay?"

No answer.

Tim awkwardly fumbles around, he needed distraction to come up with a way to talk about it. There was no way he was leaving Jason in that terrifying loop he saw.

He knew he had the latest state-of-the-art thermometer that took temperatures in seconds but he chose the mercury one to buy time he needed to calm himself. He returns back to Jason who sat up again, hand resting under his chin.

"I'm not sick."

A whisper barely above the rattling of the heater.

"I still need to check, I haven't ruled out fever dream. You look like shit."

"Course."

Jason lets Tim do it as he quietly counts to the 180th second. Tim removes it and sees it at 96.

"That's cold."

"Anemic."

"Oh, that wasn't in your files. I'll add that in later."

Jason lies down again and his eyes flutter closed. Tim properly gives Jason a onceover, he looked almost vulnerable underneath the glinting armor.

"You haven't eaten, have you?"

His eyes open slightly again, eyes squinting at Tim's undisguised worry.

"Won't stay down."

Tim bit his lip. This was bad.

"Can you handle some soup?"

"Try to, can't promise."

Tim gets up to reheat the soup Alfred left for him two nights ago but something in him nags to not leave Jason alone with his thoughts. He puts on The Crown and unpaused at where Queen Elizabeth hears about Jackie Kennedy's unflattering comments about her.

Tim quickly takes the soup out and shoves it in the microwave. His work could wait another day or two. He had checked the camera feeds momentarily and saw zero sign of the target.

The microwave beeped and he takes it out, carefully pouring into two bowls and bringing it to the living room where he now sees Elizabeth doing the foxtrot.

Tim places the soup at the table and gives one to Jason who cradles one in his arms, eyes unseeing at the television. Tim carefully watches Jason's face. His cheekbones had hollowed slightly and were clenched. Probably an aftereffect defense mechanism. Tim thinks.

"Do you feel like throwing up again?"

An imperceptible shake as his eyes glue at Philip yell at Charles while dangerously maneuvering the plane with tears streaking down Charles' face. Tim sees something momentarily shift in Jason at dad yelling at son.

Oh shit, trigger, trigger, trigger.

Tim abruptly switches off the television. This time, Jason properly turns at Tim.

"Why?"

Tim narrowed his eyes.

"Its..nothing, Jason. Not letting you go through that hell I saw."

"Funny you say that, been happening for two weeks straight."

Jason spits it with vitriol. Tim physically feels the force of the words. Biting, cold, hard. He moves back, as if the force displaced him. How the hell did Jason still have enough strength to do that? a half of Tim wondered.

He tried to open his mouth but settled to stretching his lips into a thin line.

"I said don't-"

"I'm not about to fucking ask or clarify anything remotely related to what just transpired. Listen to me carefully, all I want to know is whether you're sleeping enough. Yes or no?"

Tim hissed, chin dipping down with practiced ease. Jason seemingly curls onto himself more before grumbling, this time lacking the usual bite.

"Three in four days. Fuckers won't stop fucking recruiting kids on my territory to sell drugs. The hell am I supposed to do? Sleep while the kids get roped in a sick fuck of a game?"

Tim nods in understanding, clearly regretting his outburst. He watches Jason sag heavily against the couch and tip his head back. His eyes were pinched shut this time with his jaw tightening with more of the earlier tension Tim noted. He laid a hand on Jason's temple and carefully, he inched his hand throughout his head, warm fingers making their way through. He hears small sighs of relief when he reaches the sides. Tim slowly maneuvers Jason onto his lap and continues to stroke his sweaty bangs. Jason only winces again at the bright, florescent lights

"Headache?"

"Mhm."

He turns on himself, groaning quietly. he places an arm over his eyes. Tim continues to massage his temples, rubbing reassuring circles.

"How bad?"

"..."

"Want painkillers?"

Jason shakes his head, lights glaring in his eyes and everything spinning.

"Hate..meds. You know..that."

Tim seemed to consider that but got off the couch.

"Be right back, I'll dim the lights."

Jason almost whimpers again at the lack of heat of Tim's fingers as the dull throbbing increased and pounded behind his eyes. Jason wished he could will the damn thing to stop, if he could only sleep it away without the fucking nightmares. He curled on himself for the umpteenth time that night, wishing he was dead again.

He feels a dip in the couch and then firm fingers return, pressing hard. Jason gasped out.

"T..Tim."

"Sorry. Is this better?"

Tim apologetically whispers as he decreases the pressure against the wild throbbing. Jason silently hummed in agreement and leaned into the touches.

"Sorry, I overstayed.. I should go."

"You would, if you slept enough. How many hours did you get just yesterday alone?"

"Got here right after the run-in with Snow and be'fre was the druggists."

Tim narrowed his eyes while Jason closes his, worn out by the small conversation.

“What about you?”

He smiles a little at that, always caring about someone else before himself.

"Alfred made me sleep two nights ago at the Manor. I hid out here to find that intel."

"T'hts n'ce."

Tim places his hand on Jason's shoulder and watches as Jason's breathing evens out into soft snores. He threw on a blanket and quietly took his laptop to begin work, the soft blue glow illuminating the room.

“Tim?”

Jason sleepily opens one eye to where Tim settled down with his laptop. He motions Tim to join him who hesitates before lying down beside him. He presses a quick kiss on Jason’s forehead before adjusting himself under Jason’s neck. Jason only let a small hum of approval before encircling Tim with a soft hug.

“G’night.”

[rantingwriter]

Body Guard (Levi x Reader)

Day 1

I still don’t fully understand what happened...I was at work at the behavioral hospital, some big dark GMC type car pulls up, and now I’m riding in the backseat getting told I’m actually related to some big shot that’s being threatened and everyone she holds dear is in danger. “Can you please elaborate how someone I’ve never met...holds me dear…?” 

“Your dad was her secret lover when he was working at her company. She has kept tabs on you for years and even sent him money for child support. There, all caught up.” The stoic man with sharp, narrow blue eyes, who also looks really tired, sighs in exasperation. He cards his fingers through his straight black hair and looks at me through the rearview mirror. I am still reeling, I have a mom and dad who are happily married, but now I’ve got a mom who I’ve never met? “Geez, what’s so complicated about this for you?” 

“My current mom is not my mom, my real mom is some bigshot that pissed somebody off that’s more violent than my psychosis patients, and I’m in the back of a fucking car that should only be used for this scenario in movies!” I’m starting to freak out when a voice comes over the radio. 

“Captain, you lack delicacy…” It sounds like a woman, “don’t worry [f/n], you are safe with us.” 

“W-Who are you?” I try to sit forward and look around, a hand pulling me back into my seat. “WhO?!” 

“Please stay seated, that’s just Petra.” Another woman with glasses and her hair up in a ponytail is looming over me. “We’ve got a team ready to protect you and we’ve already taken care of your job since you won’t be able to leave once we get you to our safe house.” 

“Safe house? What about my parents? M-My cats?!” 

“They have been picked up by our second team and taken to a separate location.” The driver sharply turns down a backroad. “We’ll fill you in on everything at the safe house. Just sit still and shut up.” I tried to relax in the backseat, but it was impossible to relax with all this new information careening around in my brain. Before long we roll up to a townhouse and I am led inside. It’s nicer on the inside than it looks on the outside, my stuff is already here too. The driver starts barking orders to the other members of his team, soon enough it was just the two of us standing in the living room. “I sent for dinner, you go wash up.” 

“C-Can I at least get your name?”  

“Levi, I’ll be staying with you in the house. The others will man the outside.” 

“Okay, nice to meet you.” He simply nods and goes to do what I can only assume is his bodyguard duties. I go to get showered up and process my thoughts. It’s way too much to handle all at once. 

Day 3

It’s been a couple of days. I’m still reeling, been crying myself to sleep from fear at night, but overall...I guess I’m okay? “Hey, you look like shit.” 

I jolted at Levi’s sudden comment, “gee thanks…” I wipe at my eyes, they feel puffy and dry. 

He stares at me a long moment, before extending me a cup of coffee. “I know it’s rough the first couple of nights, you’ll adjust.” 

I take the cup and inhale the aroma of coffee, “If you say so…” I take a sip and make a face at how bitter it is. I grab the creamer from the fridge and add some more to the little cup. Levi says nothing, he just watches me as he leans against the counter. I don’t understand why he insists on watching my every move, it’s like he’s studying me or something. I eat some breakfast and go to the living room to play on my laptop. Before I can do anything online, the muscular guy snatches the device. “Hey!” 

“Do not sign into anything, they’ll be able to track you if you do.” He goes through and logs me out of everything I usually use. 

“B-But-”

“No buts, nothing that can be tracked.” He finally hands it back to me and sits in the nearby armchair. I simply sigh and try to enjoy some me time with the stoic statue in the room. 

Day 7

I’m starting to wonder if Levi’s constant staring at me is simply his way of learning about me. He has been making my coffee exactly how I like it without me saying anything. He has been paying attention to what I like to eat. If we weren’t basically living together, I would be super creeped out by his attention to details. It’s honestly really sweet and I think he is growing on me a little. “Hey, [f/n], want to go somewhere?” 

“I thought I couldn’t leave the safe house,” I was putting away my laundry when he came into the room. 

“We can go somewhere so long as it’s visible for the team and not super crowded.” 

“What’s even in this area?” 

“Some restaurants, a park, we might be able to swing a movie theater, and one of those animal cafes.” He doesn’t sound very excited about any of the options. 

“I’d like to go to the movies and m-maybe the café afterwards?” 

He does his signature stare at me, “we’ll see. We’ll start with the movie at least.” I smile and hurry to get my shoes on, we go to the local movie theater and Levi keeps me close to his side the whole time. Once we are seated, he drapes an arm over my shoulders and whispers. “Best to look like we are dating while we are out of the house.” 

“O-Okay…” I’ve never heard of this kind of tactic in all of those movies and games involving bodyguards. Or maybe I just never found those specific ones. He idly moves his fingers along my upper arm. His touch is giving me goosebumps. The movie goes by without a hitch and we are able to visit the animal café. I didn’t realize how much I missed home until a cat curled up in my lap while I tried to eat a slice of cake. I also try to make small talk with the quiet bodyguard, but he has his guard up constantly. It’s hard to get any information about him personally or otherwise. I’m almost finished with my cake when he suddenly pulls me out of my seat and throws the table up as protection. My ears are ringing from the sudden downpour of bullets that destroy the little café. Animals and people alike scatter trying to find safety. Levi yells into his earpiece for his team to engage. I can only tremble in fear as the man shields me. When the gunfire finally stops, he leads me out the back and we are forced to relocate to a new safehouse. 

Day 10

I’m struggling with sleep again, I think Levi is starting to take notice. “Do you need me to start sitting in the room at night?” 

“How would that help?” I’m a little snappy, I don’t mean to be.

“It’s just a suggestion,” he seems unfazed by my words. 

I sigh and sip my coffee, “it’s worth a shot, I’m not sure what else to do at this point.” 

He sets his cup down and grabs my wrist, half dragging me to the couch where he sits down and pulls me down to join him. “Lay down.” 

“I’m not napping, if I can’t sleep how can I-” He cuts my protests off by guiding my head into his lap, I feel my face turn red hot at the realization of my position. 

“Just shut up and try.” I couldn’t see it, but he was hiding his face in his hand. Sure enough his little experiment works and I finally get a little sleep. 

Day 15

Levi’s been staying in my room for nearly a week now and I’m surprised to say it’s helping a lot. His presence lately has brought a great source of comfort and also been generating some...feelings...I don’t know what to do about it. He is my bodyguard, he is just doing a job. “Hey…” I can’t believe I’m about to ask him this. “Have you ever...caught feelings for a client?” 

“No, never.” His stoic stare is unwavering. “Why?” 

“Just curious…” I need to just do what I usually do, bury these feelings deep down inside until it festers and then slowly rots away over the course of a few years...or until he does something that just kills the feelings all together. 

“Do you feel like trying to go out in public again?” 

“Not really, getting shot at once was enough.” I turn to take care of something when next thing I know I’m on the ground with Levi hovering over me. Jesus, this is not helping! 

“Damn it, we are under fire!” Despite the fact he is yelling, my ears are ringing enough I can barely hear him. How did these guys find us again? We haven’t been out of the safe house at all! Levi leads me to a secret exit and he drops his ear piece and has me ditch basically every electronic. We take the car we’ve been using and ditch it in the middle of town before getting set up in a motel. He pays in cash and uses a fake name, I’m pretty sure the receptionist thinks I’m a mistress or something. We get in the room and he starts frisking me. 

“Whoa, what are you doing? What what what are you doing?” I feel my whole body goes warm at his touch. 

“I’m checking for anything that might have been placed on you to track us. I’ve purposefully gone dark in case it’s a mole in the ranks.” He stops frisking me and suddenly starts stripping his clothes off. 

“Whoa! A warning would’ve been nice!” My heart can’t handle all of this. He says nothing as he inspects all of his clothes. 

“Okay, looks like we are safe, I’ll sweep the room for bugs and then go get us some new clothes. Will you be alright alone for a couple of hours?” 

“I-I think so?” I feel anxious at the thought after being shot at again mere hours ago. 

“Lock the door, do not open it until you hear this knock.” He completes a little sequence on the coffee table. “Can you remember that?” 

“Y-Yeah, okay, got it.” He goes around the room to check for any secret cameras or microphones or anything out of the ordinary before running off to resupply everything we left behind. I’m ready for this madness to stop.

Day 20

There is tension, I can feel it! Ever since we were downgraded to this motel and basically forced to stay in the same room day and night it’s been harder and harder to ignore my budding feelings for the bodyguard. He just stares at me half the time, the other half we are sleeping. On top of that there is only one bed and I’m starting to feel bad that I’m the only one using it. He swears he is fine in the chair, but I don’t believe him. “I’m going to take a shower, are you getting hungry?” 

“Yeah, a bit.” I can feel his eyes on me as I go into the tiny bathroom. I shower up and try to relax under the hot water. It’s only after I turn the shower off I realize I didn’t grab clothes to change into. I tightly wrap my towel around me and venture cautiously out into the room. Levi hasn’t moved. 

“I...forgot to grab my clothes…” I try to break the awkward silence, but it only proves to make things more awkward for me. “C-Could you look away for a moment?” He doesn’t move his head, only his eyes as he looks off to the side. I turn so my back is to him as I pull my clothes on to get ready for bed. I’m not used to wearing half the stuff he bought the other day, but at least they fit. I turn and run straight into him, when did he get behind me?! “S-Sorry, do you need something?” 

His face is harder to read than usual, I can’t tell if he is pissed about something or what, but it’s starting to scare me. Before I can try to awkwardly fill the silence void, he simply replies “you.” 

“W-What?!” 

He leans closer to my face, “I need you.” He closes the distance and presses his lips to mine. I instantly melt into the kiss and drop my towel on the floor. He backs me up to the bed and we both fall back onto it. The rest of the night is a hot and steamy blur as we made love. He was surprisingly gentle at first, but that didn’t last once he was sure I was okay. In the morning I’m surprised to find him still in bed with me, his arm draped over my side. 

Day 30

They finally located us and gave us the all clear, they caught the guys and I can return to my life as it was. But...I don’t want to. They are already trying to assign Levi elsewhere and I can’t imagine being apart from him now. I can’t exactly go with him on jobs and I doubt they have local work. Is this really going to be goodbye forever? “[F/n]?” I am startled out of my thoughts by a tall blond man with one arm. 

“Yes?” I have to crane my neck a little to see his face. 

“Your biological mother has extended an invitation for you to go live with her.” 

“Really? I...wow, I’m not sure how to respond to that.” 

“She also requested that the one who kept you safe joins her new permanent security detail.” This catches my attention. “He said he would gladly take it, but he requested that you be there too. He didn’t specify why.” I feel my cheeks turn red as I consider the offer. 

“S-Sure, I’d like to get to know my mom and I’d hate for her to not get such a well trained bodyguard on her team.” I try really hard to cover up my excitement. 

“Alright, that settles the matter, I will make arrangements to have your belongings transported over there. Levi will give you a ride.” I see him pull up behind the blond man as if on cue. I thank the mystery man and rush to see Levi. He gives me an emotionally charged kiss as soon as the door shuts behind me. 

“You didn’t think you could get rid of me did you?” He smirks as he backs up to look me in the eyes. 

“No, I figured you wouldn’t be gone that easily.” He gives me one more kiss before driving off towards my soon to be new home. I honestly can’t believe how much happened in the span of a month.

Day ???

“What’s this scar from?” I point to one on his forearm as we snuggle in my bed. 

“That was from a knife fight I got into as a kid.” He holds the scarred arm up while his other holds me to him. 

“Why were you in a knife fight?” I rest my cheek against his bare chest. 

“I had an uncle that figured I would be better off learning the ways of knife fighting instead of going to actual school. Oddly enough it worked out.” He puts his arm down and tucks some stray hair behind my ear. 

“Would you teach me knife fighting?” 

“Hell no, I’ve got a track record of unscathed clients to upkeep.”

“But I’m not a client anymore.” 

“Still no, I will teach you some self defense if you want to learn to defend yourself.” 

“Deal!” He gives a rare chuckle as he shifts to get more comfortable. “Aren’t you supposed to be on rounds this morning?” 

He shrugs, “I’m sleeping with the boss's daughter, I think I have some immunity.”

“Are you sure about that? Think about what you just said.” He takes a moment then moves to get out of bed. 

“Fair point, I’ll see you after work.” He pulls his pants on then turns to give me one last kiss. Gotta admit, despite the chaos that prompted our meeting, I’m glad it happened.

[adapembroke]

Reading Tarot Like The High Priestess

My first exposure to the High Priestess in the movie The Mists of Avalon, a retelling of the myth of Arthur from the perspective of the women in the story. The character who most embodies the High Priestess in the first part of the film is the high priestess Vivian. She is powerful, mysterious, and magical. Like the Magician, the High Priestess is a master of all the elements, but, while the Magician’s magic comes from tools, Viviane and her priestesses use none. If they want to light a pile of sticks on fire, they uses their mind. If they want to lower the mists, their only tools are their hands. The source of the Magician’s power is external. Even if the Magician works with metaphors, the metaphors he uses are ones that have meaning in the outside world. Viviane and her priestesses find the source of their power internally. When a young priestess fails to light a pile of sticks on fire because she is distracted by visions of her brother, Viviane doesn’t tell her to get better at using her wand. She tells her to concentrate, to control her mind.

The power of the mind and intuition, this is the power of the High Priestess.

The High Priestess’s Magic is Intuition

How do you talk about intuition? It’s so different for everyone. Some people have a very physical experience of intuition. When they’re about to do something wrong, they literally feel it in their gut. Other people see colors or hear a skeptical grumbling noise from a guide. Some people just know things and have learned to trust that, even if they can’t give a reason. Some people are particularly adept at noticing signs and omens. Some people need tools to help them hear their intuition. They practice automatic writing or morning pages every morning, or they start their day with a Tarot reading, or are very particular about knowing what all of the astrological transits are and how they effect them. 

All of these diverse ways of hearing from inner wisdom is beautiful, if you know what your style of intuition is, but it can be a nightmare for someone who is just starting to figure out how to work with intuition. You need intuition in order to know what your style of intuition is, and with so many options, it can be really difficult to figure out where and how to listen.

The dictionary is no help with this whatsoever. The word “intuition” comes from the Latin word intuit which means “contemplate,” which is a compound word of “to look” and “upon.” So, intuition is the thing you look at, but what are you looking at, exactly? Definitionally, intuition is like an onion. You try to get to the center of it and find nothing but air. The dictionary isn’t wrong. The messages of intuition may (or may not) be dramatic for the person experiencing them, but intuition is private, subjective. There is really nothing for anyone else to see. 

Intuition relies on what the political theorist Hannah Arendt called “a silent dialogue between me and myself.” It is in this idea that we begin to get some insight into what intuition really is. It is a way of communicating with yourself. Arendt called this silent dialog “thinking,” but intuition is more than thinking. Thinking is communicating with your rational self. Intuition communicates with parts of yourself that have nothing to do with rationality at all, the sides of yourself that are a little closer to the animals and a little closer to the gods.

The first type of intuition, the animal side, is often called your “gut.” I call it the “animal side” because it’s the kind of intuition animals have. It’s the part of you that has an animal sense of people and places. It’s highly attuned to danger and safety, friend and foe. It’s the part of you that will not shut up about avoiding that stupid stairwell at work, even though you never run into anyone there, and taking it shaves five minutes off your walk to your bus. It’s the part of you that looks at someone you’ve never met and says, “That person is bad news.” Or it’s the part of you that’s kind of like a golden retriever, who meets someone for the first time and desperately, happily wants that person to be your friend. 

The second type of intuition, the divine side, is what people usually mean when they say intuition. It’s a little bit ethereal and mysterious. It’s the part of you that knows this pendulum is for you and not that one. It’s the part of you that knows your friend really needs a hug, even though they haven’t said anything and everything about their body language says they’re fine. It’s not rational. There is no rational reason why the pendulum with the quartz stone and the moon handle is better for you than the amethyst stone with a quartz handle, but something in you knows, even before you try the pendulum, that one is for you, and the other one is not.

The more mystical expression of intuition has historically been associated with women. Some, even today, call this type of intuition “women’s intuition” and deny that people who aren’t women have access to this type of knowing at all. This is wrong. Intuition has nothing to do with estrogen or gender signaling. Everyone, regardless of their gender has intuition, but if you don’t identify as a woman, you may have a difficult time finding people in the media who use intuition to make decisions and look like you. Until this problem is fixed, sitting with the lack of representation can be, itself, a way of working with the high priestess.

The Dark Goddess

One of the High Priestess’s symbols is the moon. This marks her as a priestess of the Dark Goddesses. Dark Goddesses like Ceridwen, Hekate, and the Morrigan are comfortable with the darker side of human nature. Hekate is the goddess of witches who aren’t necessarily nice. Ceridwen is famous for her anger, and the Morrigan chooses those who are to be slain on the battlefield and eventually merged in the lore with the ban sidhe, the fairy monster who wails for the dead.

Why does the High Priestess come now in the Fool’s Journey? Why do we jump from the optimism of the Magician to a priestess of the goddesses of anger and death? 

To answer that question, I’ll add another chapter to the story about Silicon Valley from “Reading Tarot Like The Magician.” In the beginning of the life of a technology startup, things look shiny and wonderful. You’re the Magician. You have this wonderful idea, and you know that no one else in the world has ever thought of anything like it. You feel like a genius. All you need to do is raise your hand on the right street in Palo Alto, and you know that all of the bankers are going to come running with their checkbooks begging you for the privilege of giving you cash. 

You start to do the work. It goes well. You start to actually manifest some things in the world. 

Then disaster strikes. You find out about a rival who came up with your idea six months earlier than you did. You make some appointments with bankers, and you feel like you’re speaking a foreign language when you talk to them, and they can’t understand what is so genius about your work. You learn that your idea isn’t actually that easy to implement. It’s hard work, and you’ve already quit your job, and you don’t own anything but your laptop and a box of frozen burritos. Your apartment is a tiny corner of somebody’s garage the size of a cubicle that you share with fifteen other startups. 

You reach a dark night of the soul, and you come face to face with what kind of person you are when you’re miserable and under pressure. Ideally, you acknowledge your negative emotions. You figure out how you’re going to deal with being so angry, depressed, and jealous without causing anyone harm. At the very least,  if you are going to keep going, you have to turn inward and face yourself. You need to connect with the part of yourself that wants to continue doing something difficult when so many things in the outer world—including rationality itself—seem to be against you. The part of us that stands between us and the darkness, between our rationality and the things we know that transcend rationality, this is the High Priestess.

Many people first encounter the High Priestess archetype during dark times in their lives. Until they go through those times, their lives simply don’t give them a reason to turn inward, and they have no reason to do the kind of intense contemplation that making friends with this archetype—and developing intuition—requires. If they come out of it, they will be more powerful and more intuitive and in more control of themselves than they’ve ever been, but like the High Priestess, they must do this work without tools.All they have are their will and their hands and their eyes and their gut.

With one exception.

The High Priestess’s Book

The High Priestess’s only tool is a book. Why this exception? The reason for this comes back to the dictionary definition of intuition, which is so deeply connected with “contemplation.”

Contemplation in most usages is just another word for thinking, but it also has a deeper meaning. In Druidry and some branches of Christianity, contemplation is a meditative act that is often assisted by reading sacred texts. This practice is sometimes called lectio divina, which translates as “divine reading.”

Divine reading is another gateway to developing intuition, one that is not quite as soul-tearing as the dark night of the soul. Engaging in that “silent dialog between me and myself” is difficult when you’re first starting out, and it can help to start by having a silent dialog between yourself and a book. 

In divine reading, you turn your attention to a passage from a sacred text or poem, and after you’ve read it once, you go back and turn your attention to word or phrase or sentence that draws your attention. You don’t try to justify your decision rationally. You just go with the thing that stands out to you. And you think about the passage for a long time. If you think about it long enough, you find that you are, eventually, no longer dialoging with the book at all but dialoging with yourself. If you allow the dialog to go on long enough, you usually discover the reason why you chose that passage in the first place. Even if the reason for your choice remains mysterious, the decision to honor your intuition enough to act on it be an essential first step in learning to hear and work with your intuition. 

The High Priestess in Divination

Like the Magician, the High Priestess is a beginner. She stands at the door of intuition. She accesses the waters of intuition behind her—and their attendant goddess—remotely, through the moon on her head and the book in her hands. Some come to her and ask her mediate between them and the Dark Goddess, but she knows there is only so much help they can get from the outside, and so she directs them back to their own wisdom.

As diviners, it is essential that we have a working relationship with intuition. Intuition tells us which cards to read or stones to throw. It guides us to the most important areas of a birth chart to focus on, and it tells us that this interpretation of a card is right and not that one, but there are times when intuition itself is the answer. There are times when a reading refuses to give answers and redirects our clients—or ourselves—to that deep inner knowing. 

“Know yourself,” the High Priestess says. “Trust yourself.“

When you work with the High Priestess while doing divination, you are fundamentally alone. When you are learning her lessons, circumstances will conspire to make sure that you have a lot of alone time, or you may find yourself withdrawing into the darkness to commune with yourself. Don’t fight it. Darkness and quiet and solitude are necessary to begin to hear your own voice, and it is only after you have explored the dark corners of your soul that you can begin to hear the sides of yourself that rule your intuition and speak without words. 

This post was originally published on Aquarius Moon Journal on 21 February 2020.

[sincerelyreidburke]

won’t you lay me down

Hi, I wrote some CCU hurt/comfort fluff. I know that sounds like an oxymoron, but bear with me.

In which: Derek has a bad mental health day. Will has his back.

Also on ao3!

///

Will doesn’t see the text at first.

It’s not really his fault. Monday mornings are busy. After morning practice at 6:30 (Will likes that better than evening practice, and as captain he’s tried to keep the practice schedule relatively consistent), he has a meeting with Hall and Murray for thirty minutes while the rest of the team filters out to their respective morning activities and routines. It’s the last he sees of Derek until the afternoon, every Monday— because after Will’s meeting with the coaches, he’s straight off to his internship in Boston for the rest of the morning, then comes back to campus for his 2:30 CS 381 class.

So when the text comes in, he’s mid-transit from Boston to Samwell, sitting in traffic on 128. As a general rule, he doesn’t check his phone while driving. Also, why the fuck is there so much traffic in the middle of the day on a Monday.

He doesn’t understand Massachusetts drivers.

Anyway. It’s when he gets back to campus that he sees it, sitting in his lockscreen over the wallpaper of him and Derek.

18m ago

Derek: do u mind if i chill in the basement

Derek: can’t focus in my room, c is playing music

Oh. Will unlocks his phone, sitting in his student parking spot. He and Derek use each other’s rooms all the time, even outside of their constant sleeping-over in each other’s. Many a time has he returned from class, internship, or other obligation to find his boyfriend hanging out in the bungalow.

They have their own spaces in the Haus, but they do their fare share of, well. Sharing.

Sry just saw this , he sends back. Was drivung. Of cuorse you can use the basment

He looks at the text thread for a second, then sends a <3 after his message, and tucks his phone away again.

On to the next thing.

Class is sort of tedious today, but what’s worse than it is the actual trek back to the Haus from the compsci building, because it’s frigid outside, a chill that gets to his bones even in his winter jacket and the beanie he stole from Derek. In typical New England February fashion, it’s supposed to snow tonight, or at least that’s what he thinks he heard from someone at his internship this morning. He spent most of his shift working out a kink in his supervisor’s code, and he was lost in the numbers and symbols for hours.

He likes it. It’s satisfying to figure out a program.

When he reaches the Haus, finally , Whiskey and Ford are hanging out in the kitchen. He waves to them on his way by, then wonders if he should bake tonight. Maybe after his homework, he can make cookies. The pie he made this weekend is gone already, because all three of the freshmen were here yesterday, nothing he bakes lasts long in their presence.

Will heads straight downstairs, and the door to his room is closed; the lights inside look like they’re off. He eases it open, reaching for the light switch. Derek must have finished whatever he was doing.

Or— not.

Derek is here, and he can tell because he hears Dwayne Johnson singing. He freezes with his hand on the light-switch before he can turn it on, and steps all the way into the room instead, where he catches sight of him— or at least catches sight of what he knows is him, under several layers of cover.

Derek has burrowed himself into Will’s bed with his laptop, and he’s watching Moana , the light of the screen on his face the only source of any light in the room at all. He’s wearing Will’s Samwell hoodie, the good one with Poindexter and 24 and C on the sleeve, and its hood is pulled over his head, strings drawn to make his face look like a blue-lit mask poking out of it. He looks only half-invested in the movie, because he’s resting his face on his arm, scrunched up to the pillow.

Will’s stomach turns. Bedridden Derek in his stolen sweatshirt and Moana are a combination that can only mean one thing.

He closes the door, gently, behind himself. “Der?”

It appears that this is the first Derek actually notices that someone else has entered the room. Will hears the click of the space bar, and the Rock halts mid-chorus. “Oh,” comes Derek’s voice from his blanket cocoon, and it’s small and drawn, the opposite of his loud bravado. “Hey, babe.”

“Hi.” Will drops his backpack at the door, then goes directly to him, crouching on the steps that get him to the loft bed. “Hey,” he says, across the laptop. “Are you okay?”

Derek pauses. He purses his lips at his computer screen, then sighs and lowers it. “Ch’yeah,” he mumbles. “I’m alright.”

With the laptop closed, Will reaches for his face. He cups his stubbly cheek in one hand, runs his thumb across his cheekbone. Derek looks blank, drained. Will knows this demeanor well by now.

“No, you’re not,” he whispers. Without the light of the laptop, it’s nearly dark inside. The slivers of gray daylight from where Derek pulled the shade on the window are all that remain.

Derek breathes in like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out. He nuzzles his face into Will’s pillow a little more.

“Der,” Will whispers. He kneels on the steps, pauses his thumb by Derek’s ear. “Gray day?”

Derek whimpers a little, like it pains him to admit it, but nods. “Yeah.”

Will keeps gentle. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks. “This morning?”

Derek bites his lip. “Didn’t feel it this morning.”

“Oh.” Will pauses. “When did it hit you?”

He closes his eyes. “When I got back to the Haus.”

Will frowns. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

Derek’s eyes are still closed. He shakes his head. “You couldn’tve known, babe.”

For a moment, the room is quiet. Will pushes Derek’s laptop aside a little. “What can I do?”

Derek takes his time, answering. Will is patient. He knows how to do this. He slides his hand into his curls under the hood; they’re matted, and they’ll be worse if he just lays in bed for the rest of the day. “You want to tie your hair?”

Derek takes a long breath.

“You don’t have to,” Will adds. “But if it’ll help you for later…”

“My scarf’s upstairs,” Derek mumbles, weakly, like upstairs is a continent away.

“It’s okay,” Will tells him. “I can get it, baby.”

Derek’s face contorts a little, like he’s about to cry, but he doesn’t; he just opens his eyes. His eye contact is distant, like he’s staring more into space than back at Will, but he’s trying, and Will knows that. “I love you,” he whispers, and then, “I don’t feel well.”

“I know,” Will hushes. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m here.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek groans.

“Never be sorry,” Will says. “Ever.” He kisses his forehead, feather-light, and then tells him, “I love you too. And I’m gonna go get your scarf, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Derek winces again, like something hurts. He nods, though, slowly, and rests his cheek on the pillow again. Will pulls back to go, but God, it’s hard, because he knows how much Derek hates being alone when he feels like this, and he’s already been in here by himself for God knows how long—

Okay, he’ll only be gone a minute. But even so, he feels the need to fill that space. He climbs down to his bookshelf, reaches onto its center shelf between Derek’s poetry books, and grabs hold of his oldest friend.

“Here,” he whispers, bringing Cromwell up so Derek can see. “Do you want a friend?”

Derek eyes the plush lobster, and though he doesn’t look like he has an ounce of energy to smile, his eyes soften. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “Please.”

Will hands him over, and Derek engulfs the little red thing in his sea of blankets, resting him right under his nose. The visual would be cute, if Derek weren’t in such a bad spot. Will caresses his cheek again, then smooths the few curls that are poking out of the hood. “Be right back, baby,” he says. “Do you know where your scarf is?”

Derek pauses, then shakes his head.

“It’s alright,” Will assures him. “I’ll find it.”

This was hard, at first, being so new to this side of him, and not knowing how to help him. But they’ve been together for eight months, and Will knows Derek’s gray days by now, knows the tells for when he’s feeling down, knows a few remedies that help to ease the numbness.

He makes a beeline for Derek’s room upstairs as fast as his legs can carry him. The space itself is even evidence that Derek isn’t feeling himself; there are more clothes on the floor than usual, and the bed is unmade, and his desk looks like his notebook exploded. Will sifts through his dresser drawers, between Samwell shirts, pairs of gym shorts, random articles of Will’s own clothing that’ve been stolen, but there’s no sight of the green headscarf he wears sometimes to bed. He moves his search to the desk, and then to the actual bed, and he’s about to give up when he finds it tucked between the down comforter and the sheets.

Success. He heads back downstairs.

“Hey, Dex, is Nursey in your room?”

“Oh—” Will halts in the kitchen doorway. The question came from Ford; she’s still at the counter. “Yeah,” he replies, poking his head around the corner. Tango has now joined the kitchen gathering. “He’s just watching a movie.”

“Oh, cool.” Ford nods. “I just didn’t know if he was in the Haus. I thought I saw him go down there, like, two hours ago.”

“Yeah,” Will says, “he’s with me.”

Tango waves. “Hi, Dex!”

“Hey, Tango.” Will opens the basement stairs door.

Chowder knows this version of Derek as well as Will does, but the rest of the team doesn’t. It’s what’s buried under the chill, what he could never stand to let people know about himself.

Derek’s brain is awful to him sometimes.

Back in his room, he finally takes off his winter jacket and closes the door behind him, then climbs up the steps to his bed again. Derek is still snuggling with Cromwell, but his laptop has moved; he’s pushed it to the pouch adjacent to Will’s headboard where he keeps his phone, occasional book, and other random stuff while he sleeps.

Will unfolds the scarf. It’s silky smooth. “Gave up on Moana ?” he hums.

Derek rolls over and nods. Will kicks his sneakers off, then crawls onto the mattress, which squeaks a little under both their weight. He slides a hand under his back— Derek is very, very warm, but that’s the way he likes to be when he’s like this— and eases him up into a sitting position. “Sit up for me, babe?”

Derek moves with his touch, nice and easy, and when Will has him sitting up, he slots himself against his back, lets Derek lean on him. “You want me to talk?” he asks as he pulls the hood off his head. “Or do you like the quiet?”

Derek hums a little. “Talk. Please.”

“Okay.” Will combs through his curls, then pulls the scarf tight around them. He learned this on YouTube, after his third time hearing post-funk Derek lament that his depression was ruining his hair. “It’s supposed to snow,” he tells him. “Five inches.”

Derek groans. “Fuck that.”

“I know,” Will mumbles. “But if classes get cancelled, I’ll make cookies.”

“Mm.” Derek hums again, as Will pulls the knot at the back of his neck tight. “What kind?”

“Still deciding.” He hooks his arms around his neck, pulls him close, and kisses his cheek. “You can file a request, if you want.”

“Snickerdoodle.”

“Done.”

“Thank you.” Derek pauses. “For tying my hair.”

Will noses into his neck, drops a kiss there, and then moves back up to his face. “Of course, Der.” He turns him a little, cups his face in one hand. Derek still looks gray, and he looks, God, he looks so tired ; he always does when he’s like this, but it pains Will every time.

He wants to take every ounce of hurt away from him.

“What can I do?” he asks.

Derek takes a long breath while he thinks about it. His words, on these days, come slowly. “Um.” He nods to himself, like he’s thinking about it. “Do you have homework?”

Will shakes his head. “I have plenty of time to do it.”

“Okay.” Derek pauses, then, “Lay with me?”

“Yeah.” Will nods. “Ayuh. Of course.”

They wind up curled into the blanket pile, with Derek pressed tight against Will’s chest, a little further down the bed than him so he can tuck his face into his shoulder. Will presses a kiss to the top of his scarf, holds him as close as he can. He knows the pressure helps him, eases his brain a little. Cromwell rests on the pillow, somewhere near the both of them. He’s a little extra moral support.

“Thank you, Will,” Derek says, with an exhale, as he nuzzles into his chest.

“You’re welcome,” Will replies. “Always.”

“Mmf.” Derek wraps himself around him, arms and legs and all. His voice is muffled when he speaks again, but Will knows the words anywhere. “You and me.”

Will nods. “You and me.”

It’s a mantra and a promise. Hell or high water. Good days and gray ones.

“I’ve got you,” he tells him, and he’ll never let go.

[perfecttimeseleven]

https://open.spotify.com/episode/599XTxnDzzcJibnEaEjPdb?si=e9ce5c51fbdb474e

PERFECT TIMES ELEVEN EP. 7 TRANSCRIPT

ACT TWO SCENE ONE Lights rise on a table and two chairs in an otherwise empty-seeming room. THIEF #1 and THIEF #2 are seated at the table, examining a laptop. They’re both young; even younger than REMINGTON, JAY, and DAISY (think 13 or 14.) They’re unassuming — cute little kids, even — dressed in all black. THIEF #2 (bored) When you said “surprise job for our two-month anniversary”, I thought we’d like, I don’t know, kiss with tongue. THIEF #1 Yeah, but this is just as good. THIEF #2 Do you care about kissing with tongue at all? THIEF #1 Babe, of course I do. I just think -- THIEF #2 It’s just heist after heist all the time. The only thing you don’t seem to care about stealing is my heart. THIEF #1 Babe, it’s what we do. THIEF #2 Besides, it’s a crap job. Robbing a supermarket? A supermarket? That’s the most boring junk I’ve ever heard. THIEF #1 Don’t you trust me? THIEF 2 You’re a bank robber. THIEF 1 You’re a bank robber. THIEF 2 Okay, that’s fair. I just…will this be worth it at all? I know you have trouble grasping the fact that we’re now fricking loaded. We’re not little please-sir orphans snatching heads of lettuce from farmer’s markets anymore. We’ve stepped up our game. What’s so special about this supermarket? THIEF #1 Trust me. This will be an easy, fun night out. What’s not special about it? THIEF #2 Why are we wasting our time? We could be preparing for the Minecraft job. Or kissing with tongue. And…and, and, and…you’re not even taking the proper precautions. I don’t know about you, but I’m not going to get caught robbing a stupid supermarket, of all things. Like imagine it! You get cornered in the...I don’t know, produce aisle or something stupid like that and the headlines are all “two kids got caught stealing from the Shoprite off the highway” — who wants that? (THIEF #1 stands up. 11. Super Supermarket Heist.) THIEF #1 (pointing at the laptop screen) LOOK. ALL RIGHT, WE’VE GOT OUR TARGET HERE. THIS LOCAL SUPERMARKET. YOU KNOW YOUR JOB, YOUR INSTRUCTION — THIEF #2 (standing up) I THINK WE NEED SOME MORE DISCUSSION. THIEF #1 IT’S A QUAINT UNPOPULATED SPOT WE KNOW WHAT TO EXPECT, AND THAT’S NOT A LOT! THIEF #2 WHERE’S THE FUN? WHY NOT GO BIGGER AND PULL OUT ALL THE STOPS THIEF #1 AND PULL THE TRIGGER? THIEF #2 Fine. I guess you have a point. I’ll do it. But you better watch a sweet, romantic movie with me later. THIEF #1 Is it — THIEF #2 Cats 2019. I know you hate it. THIEF #1 Fine. THIEF #1 YEAH, WE’RE GONNA MAKE YOU STOP AND SHOP NOW PUT YOUR HANDS ON TOP OF YOUR HEAD OR YOU’RE DEAD OH YEAH, THAT’S WHAT WE SAID GRAB THE CASH, THEN DASH OUT THE BACK AROUND THE TRASH THIEF #2 WILL THAT WORK? THIEF #1 (exasperated) JESUS CHRIST! THIEF #1/THIEF #2 A SUPER SUPERMARKET HEIST! WE’RE GONNA MAKE YOU STOP AND SHOP NOW PUT YOUR HANDS ON TOP OF YOUR HEAD OR YOU’RE DEAD OH YEAH, THAT’S WHAT WE SAID! SIT TIGHT OR WE’LL FIGHT OH, THIS AIN’T THE NIGHT TO BE STUCK UNSUPERVISED IN A SUPER SUPERMARKET HEIST! THIEF #2 YOU KEEP ON SAYING THIS’LL BE A CAKEWALK. ALL OF THIS “NOTHING MUCH AT STAKE” TALK! HOW CAN YOU KNOW WHAT TO EXPECT? WE NEED TO PREPARE FOR ANY THREAT THIEF #1 I’VE GOT INSIDER INFO FROM MY SOURCE. I TRUST HER. SECURITY TONIGHT WILL BE LACKLUSTER. RIGHT NOW, WE WILL JUST SIT TIGHT. AT EIGHT O’CLOCK, WE’LL SHOP RITE! THIEF #1/THIEF #2 WE’RE GONNA MAKE YOU STOP AND SHOP THIEF #1 AND NOT A SINGLE COP WILL SEE, TRUST ME, THIEF #1/THIEF #2 IT’LL BE EASY! GRAB THE CASH, THEN DASH IN AND OUT IN A FLASH! CATCH THEM BY SURPRISE! A SUPER SUPERMARKET HEIST. WE’RE GONNA MAKE YOU STOP AND SHOP NOW PUT YOUR HANDS ON TOP OF YOUR HEAD OR YOU’RE DEAD OH YEAH, THAT’S WHAT WE SAID! SIT TIGHT OR WE’LL FIGHT OH, THIS AIN’T THE NIGHT TO BE STUCK UNSUPERVISED IN A SUPER SUPERMARKET HEIST! THIEF #2 I just…this is so out of nowhere. We usually plan these together. THIEF #1 I wanted to surprise you. You’ve been so stressed. I didn’t want to add the stress of planning a fun anniversary outing on top of that. THIEF #1 I KNOW

THINGS HAVE BEEN ROUGH — THIEF #2 YOU’RE NOT AN OPEN BOOK. THIEF #1 BUT THAT’S EXACTLY WHY WE CAN’T GIVE UP HOPE AND — THIEF #2 LOOK. WE’VE GONE DOWNHILL. ADMIT IT. IT SURE SHOWS! BANKS WERE OUR TRADE, NOT TRADER JOE’S! THIEF #1 SURE, WE’VE DONE MUCH COOLER JOBS WITHOUT MUCH  CONSEQUENCE BUT A SMALL VICTORY WILL BOOST OUR CONFIDENCE! THIEF #2 DOING IT TOGETHER IS WHAT MATTERS MOST TO ME ART MUSEUM OR BANK OR MALL OR…I GUESS GROCERY THIEF #1 Yeah? THIEF #2 Yeah! THIEF #1/THIEF #2 SUPER SUPERMARKET, SUPER SUPERMARKET, SUPER SUPERMARKET, SUPER SUPERMARKET, SUPER SUPERMARKET, SUPER SUPERMARKET, SUPERMARKET HEIST! YEAH, YOU’LL STOP AND SHOP NOW PUT YOUR HANDS ON TOP OF YOUR HEAD OR YOU’RE DEAD OH YEAH, THAT’S WHAT WE SAID! SIT TIGHT OR WE’LL FIGHT OH, THIS AIN’T THE NIGHT TO BE STUCK UNSUPERVISED IN A SUPER SUPERMARKET HEIST! WE’RE GONNA MAKE YOU STOP AND SHOP NOW PUT YOUR HANDS ON TOP OF YOUR HEAD OR YOU’RE DEAD OH YEAH, THAT’S WHAT WE SAID! SIT TIGHT OR WE’LL FIGHT OH, THIS AIN’T THE NIGHT TO BE STUCK UNSUPERVISED IN A SUPERMARKET WE’RE ARMED AND DISGUISED IT’S A SUPERMARKET GROSSLY OVERPRICED IT’S A SUPER SUPERMARKET HEIST! (THIEF #1 and THIEF #2 exit.)

ACT TWO

SCENE TWO

The lights rise on REMINGTON and HP. REMINGTON is sitting next to a Dumpster in the back alley behind a restaurant. HP is squatting beside her, picking at a piece of crumpled paper and tossing its remnants into a small trash can that he hugs with one arm. REMINGTON is wearing floral shorts and a tattered, half-tucked in Domino’s employee shirt. HP is still in his original outfit, although he’s ditched the rainbow scarf and his jacket. Those can be seen laying on the other side of the Dumpster, next to the wall in a pile of other fabrics that seem to comprise a makeshift bed. The two kids have a half-empty and surprisingly fresh-looking Domino’s pizza box in front of them. REMINGTON is snacking on one of the last pieces. REMINGTON Okay. I’ve been doin’ some big brain thinking. Superhero names. HP (turning his head sharply from the paper) Hm? REMINGTON Let’s do a little word association, okay? Test the power, the wow-factor that these names hold. Ready? HP Mmkay. I like to word associate. REMINGTON What comes to mind when you hear the word...Flambé? (HP pauses, looking up contemplatively, before turning his head back to REMINGTON.) HP Shrimp? REMINGTON Nooo, like…I don’t know. (takes a bite of the pizza) Doesn’t it sound fancy? Like ain’t it French or something? (receives no reaction from HP) Okay. Okay. How about...the Remedy? HP (squints a little in confusion) What? Like medicines? Medicines and pills and little maggots in bowls? REMINGTON Like, my name is Remington, but there’s not much you can do with Remy or Remington that isn’t Ratatouille — (sees HP’s blank face, gives up) I’ll think of more names. (takes another bite of her pizza) Mm. Domino’s could beat up Papa John in a fight. (HP finishes tearing up the piece of paper and jumps to his feet.) HP Your break is almost over. You need to get back to work. REMINGTON No. The voices hurt. I’m lazy! HP One fire by the end of the day. That is our rule. REMINGTON (reluctantly dropping his half-finished slice in the pizza box) One spark. HP No, one fire. You’ve passed the spark level. (HP offers REMINGTON his hands, which REMINGTON takes. HP effortlessly pulls REMINGTON to her feet.) HP C’mon! It’s easy! (REMINGTON reluctantly unclasps her bracelet and tosses it aside. 12. Perfect Times Eleven.) HP NOW DEEP DOWN, THERE’S A FIRE GROWING STRONG JUST LET THEM HELP YOU SET IT FREE, REMINGTON LONG! IMMERSE YOURSELF IN VOICES, AIM THEIR ENERGY AT ONE SPOT! CAN YOU FEEL YOUR INSIDES SORTA GETTING HOT? REMINGTON Yeah, but it doesn’t feel healthy... HP ONCE YOUR BRAIN WIDENS, GIVE IN TO PRIMAL DRIVES, YOU’LL GAIN ENERGY FROM ALL YOUR PAST LIVES NOT JUST THE ONES YOU HEAR SINGING! REMINGTON What do you mean? HP WHETHER ANIMAL OR HUMAN, THEY WILL BE BRINGING YOU ENERGY! AND THAT’S THE KEY! IT SWELLS UP IN YOUR BRAIN! LET IT PLUMMET DOWN LIKE RAIN ONTO YOUR GOAL HP/REMINGTON THIS ENERGY IN YOU AND ME, ALL OF IT COMES FROM THE MOMENT WE BECOME ONE WITH THE SOUL AND OUR SOULS HAVE BEEN PERFECT TIMES ELEVEN REMINGTON WHICH MAKES US NOW GODS AMONG MEN HP WE COULD BURN AWAY ALL LIFE AND CREATE THE WORLD AGAIN REMINGTON THAT’S A LITTLE EXTREME, BUT SURE, I SUPPOSE. AT LEAST ONCE I'M TRAINED, WE CAN LEAVE THIS TENT BEHIND A DOMINO’S! HP/REMINGTON PERFECT TIMES ELEVEN, A UNIVERSAL LOTTERY WIN! NATURALLY MORE DISPOSED TO FREE THE ENERGY WITHIN! TIME AND SPACE WILL JUMBLE AND CRUMBLE AT MY HAND I’M A GLITCH IN THE MATRIX WITH REALITY AT MY COMMAND! HP STARTING LITTLE FIRES IS THE EASIEST TO MASTER! AFTERWARDS, YOU’LL LEARN TELEKINESIS FASTER TO SET A FIRE, GIVE YOUR SOUL’S ENERGY A TOSS! SCOOP UP A BIT OF THAT TIME AND SPACEY SAUCE THROW IT OUT OF YOURSELF AND JUST LET IT ALL GO THE HUGE AMOUNT OF ENERGY WILL SET SHIT AGLOW AND AFTER YOU CAN GET FUN LITTLE FIRES TO START, MASTERING THE REST OF IT’S THE EASIER PART HP/REMINGTON ‘CAUSE ENERGY IS THE KEY! IT SWELLS UP IN YOUR BRAIN! LET IT PLUMMET DOWN LIKE RAIN ONTO YOUR GOAL THIS ENERGY IN YOU AND ME, ALL OF IT COMES FROM THE MOMENT WE

BECOME ONE WITH THE SOUL AND OUR SOULS HAVE BEEN PERFECT TIMES ELEVEN, THE LUCK OF THE DRAW REMINGTON IS BEING A REALLY GREAT TEACHER ONE OF YOUR POWERS? ‘CAUSE I AM IN AWE. HP WELL, TEACHING YOU’S AS FUN AS MAKING ANIMALS COMBUST! REMINGTON THANK YOU…THAT’S A COMPLIMENT, I TRUST? HP/REMINGTON PERFECT TIMES ELEVEN, A UNIVERSAL LOTTERY WIN! NATURALLY MORE DISPOSED TO FREE THE ENERGY WITHIN! TIME AND SPACE WILL JUMBLE AND CRUMBLE AT MY HAND I’M A GLITCH IN THE MATRIX WITH REALITY AT MY COMMAND! HP Now, concentrate! Feel it build up inside you until every cell of your body feels like it’s screaming! REMINGTON Ahhhh! This shit hurts! HP And let it go! (REMINGTON propels her hands forward in one strenuous motion. There’s a whooshing noise and the inside of the trash can is now impressively aflame.) HP That’s it! REMINGTON That was my best one so far! HP/REMINGTON WE’RE PERFECT TIMES ELEVEN! A ONCE-IN-A-BLUE-MOON CHANCE, WE'RE EXISTENT AND ALIVE AGAINST ALL CIRCUMSTANCE! HP IT’S GREAT TO BE BETTER THAN HUMAN! REMINGTON EH. IT’S OKAY. IT’S GREAT TO LIVE WITH YOU IN THIS ABANDONED ALLEYWAY! HP/REMINGTON PERFECT TIMES ELEVEN, A UNIVERSAL LOTTERY WIN! NATURALLY MORE DISPOSED TO FREE THE ENERGY WITHIN! TIME AND SPACE WILL JUMBLE AND CRUMBLE AT MY HAND I’M A GLITCH IN THE MATRIX WITH REALITY AT MY COMMAND! (REMINGTON, perhaps spurred by the vigor of the musical number, is ready to go apeshit with the fire. She concentrates on the pizza box.) REMINGTON’S VOICES AHH! (She manages to set the pizza box on fire.) HP Yes! Nice! REMINGTON’S VOICES AHH! (REMINGTON manages to start a fire from somewhere inside the Domino’s — we can see a faint flicker through the window.) HP You’re doing so good! REMINGTON’S VOICES AHH! (REMINGTON sets all of the nearby Dumpster’s contents on fire. Spectacular!) HP Fantastic! (REMINGTON victoriously embraces HP, who attempts to spin her around. REMINGTON then takes HP’s hand. They skip around a little/dance giddily amid the blaze.) HP/REMINGTON PERFECT TIMES ELEVEN, A UNIVERSAL LOTTERY WIN! NATURALLY MORE DISPOSED TO FREE THE ENERGY WITHIN! TIME AND SPACE WILL JUMBLE AND CRUMBLE AT MY HAND I’M A GLITCH IN THE MATRIX WITH THE WORLD AT MY COMMAND! (pausing in a triumphant pose center stage) PERFECT TIMES ELEVEN PERFECT TIMES ELEVEN PERFECT TIMES ELEVEN! (REMINGTON and HP freeze in their triumphant pose. Somewhere behind them, a burning piece of cardboard unceremoniously falls out of the Dumpster. Blackout.)

[handthigh]

Soooo I may or may not have gone crazy and gone stupid and wrote a whole ass one shot fanfic of Tianshan in the office AU

ETA: this is now also available at AO3! (ETA 2: This is now a multichapter fic!)

Big thanks to the people over at Tianshan discord for taking a read and giving me the feedback. The fic follows right after this paragraph, with notes at the end of the fic.

He Tian (Work):

Little Mo, pass me a stapler (6:35pm)

Frowning at the message notification, Mo Guan Shan wordlessly takes the stapler lying on his desk and wheels his chair out of his cubicle to pass to his next door neighbour who grins upon receiving the stationery from the redhead. The reciprocity is not returned however, as Guan Shan wheels back into his cubicle to complete a report the supervisor had dumped onto him 15 minutes before the time he ends work. It is already bad enough that he is working overtime on a Friday while being the only one stuck with He Tian, the last thing he needs is for the annoying colleague to interrupt his progress.

The report turns out even more taxing than expected, further souring Guan Shan’s mood. He glanced at the time displayed on the laptop, “6:55pm”. Great, the report’s barely done and closing time sale at the nearby sandwich shop is already over. So much for a “quick task”, he scoffs bitterly at his supervisor’s words.

As if He Tian can read his mind, comes another text:

He Tian (Work):

Little Mo, are you cursing out the boss in your head again? (6:57pm)

Damn it, not another interruption. Glancing at the new message, Guan Shan cringes at the accuracy of the guess. Guilt quickly turns into irritation however, as he glares at the cubicle separating him and the culprit of these messages. This has been going on for about 3 months now, ever since he was assigned to be seated with He Tian at the corner of the office. The reason? The supervisor claims that only the short tempered Guan Shan is immune to the raven haired’s hunky looks while workers of all genders in their department are too busy admiring He Tian to work productively. Guan Shan tries to suppress his gag upon the memory.

First of all, Guan Shan does not appreciate being called short tempered. He just has little patience and a lot of irritation for mindless small talks and forced formalities, that’s all. Second of all, seriously? Of all words, hunky? While Guan Shan admits that He Tian is a looker because after all, he has eyes; but that is certainly an exaggeration. Sure, He Tian has the physique and face for the magazine covers, but he’s not that good looking. Especially not when he assigns Guan Shan that stupid nickname and constantly texts him for no justifiable reasons despite already repeating many times that he only wants to reserve the texting to a minimum and keep it strictly to work matters.

Wait, what the fuck? Why is he thinking about him again? Ugh, this is why he emphasises on keeping social interactions to a minimum! The report and the constant texting must have really gotten to him, because the next thing he knew, Guan Shan picks up his phone and types at his source of annoyance.

Me:

Yes, genius. Since you’re so smart and volunteered to OT with me, why don’t you make yourself useful and help me out with the report then you chicken dick! (7:05pm)

Normally Guan Shan tries to keep his temper in check, wanting to believe he is no longer the moody middle school boy that he was. Besides, this is the first job he managed to get right after graduating university 6 months ago, just in time before the recession. Thus, he is not trying to screw up an opportunity just because he got involved in some petty office drama. However, the combination of working overtime, growing hunger and unnecessary buzzing of his phone followed by He Tian’s unnecessary messages is making Guan Shan throw both caution and formalities out the window. 

He is not the only one surprised by his own outburst however, as He Tian guffaws and rolls his chair out of the cubicle to meet the redhead, currently glaring at him and asking what���s so funny.

“Chicken dick? What kind of insult is that? Also, I dunno, I just thought you’d never asked me for help.” He Tian replies with a shrug and his signature grin.

He Tian is not wrong - Guan Shan seldom asks for help, believing that it’s better to be self-sufficient than to rely on someone else. Furthermore, it allows him to avoid having to keep up with forced interactions with others. But it’s getting late and the report doesn’t seem to be finishing soon, and there is someone in the office right now, might as well right?

“So are you going to help me or not?”

“Sure, anything for you Little Mo~”

“Stop calling me that! Give me your email, I’ll share the document with you on the cloud.”

So, here they are at 7:30pm, working in a shared online document together - cubicle to cubicle. Guan Shan mainly typing out the content of the report while He Tian formats, elaborates and adds any figures and charts where appropriate; explaining his rationale to the other while he works.

As Guan Shan sees the report transform before his very own eyes, he is now confronted with the thought he’s been trying to will away for 3 days, ever since he overheard the company executives discuss whether to promote He Tian. 

As much as he hates admitting it, He Tian is talented and hardworking when situations call for it. Not only is he able to easily handle the tedious formatting that is typically required of such reports, he also goes the extra mile of further perfecting any tasks assigned to him. It also helps that he has great social networking skills to accompany his equally great looks, not only charming the other coworkers around them, but also clients and other company staff alike in network events. 

Attempting to ignore the ache of admiration growing in his chest, Guan Shan wonders why is someone as good as He Tian working at an entry level job like him in a medium sized company when the latter can easily negotiate for a much higher salary in a conglomerate. What he heard about his raven haired coworker isn’t helping much with his curiosity either.

While Guan Shan prefers minding his own business, he also doesn’t live under a rock. He has heard the rumours - that He Tian had interned for various big names while he attended an Ivy League business school and graduated a valedictorian. He was also rumoured to be taking over his family’s multinational company branch in China while his older brother gets based overseas to look over their international branches. Yet somehow, here he is, working overtime in a too small cubicle with an aloof coworker who has nothing to boast for. After all, Guan Shan’s resume mainly consists of mediocre grades in a local university that is far from being a C9 League, one proper internship experience and multiple part time odd jobs to help him pay his student loans. 

He Tian has everything going for him, and yet, why? Guan Shan is so lost in his own thoughts that he does not notice an arm reaching out to his laptop and folding it down, clasping his fingers that are resting motionlessly on the keyboard.

“Ouch! What the fuck?!” Guan Shan stands up and yelps in shock, spinning around to glare at the culprit. This proves to be a mistake as he realises he is face to face with He Tian, barely an inch away. 

Suddenly, the room feels hot and all Guan Shan can hear is his heart rapidly beating in his ears as he sees a totally different expression from the latter: lips twitching up, high cheekbones raised making them even more pronounced, coupled with a pair of grey eyes sparkling and curving in childish amusement. Even though he knows that He Tian is laughing at his expense, somehow, Guan Shan could not bring himself to break eye contact, wanting to look as long as possible until he commits He Tian’s genuine smile to memory.

“Earth to Little Mo, I said I was done with the report and had emailed our supervisor, and was thinking of treating you to a sandwich as a thanks for your effort.” He Tian replies, amusement laced in his voice as he breaks the silence.

“...How do you know I like…” Guan Shan dumbly replies, still feeling overwhelmed by the close contact to even retort He Tian as he feels his face getting even hotter.

Breaking eye contact, He Tian steps to the side and fishes out his car key, hooking the key ring to his finger. As much as he finds his flustered colleague both amusing and endearing, he makes sure to give Guan Shan some space in case the other gets too stunned and passes out. “Well, who else in this office eats those except for you? So what do you say, it'll be my treat and I can drive us there.” He Tian says as he leans back on the cubicle wall, spinning the car key around.

“.... Uh… mm” Guan Shan nodded, feeling too light headed to speak properly.

“Let’s go then.” He Tian steps out of the cubicle, making his way out as he turns off the office lights.

Guan Shan’s mind is reeling as he follows He Tian from behind. Why is he suddenly reacting like this? Why did he agree to have dinner with him? Most importantly, WHY IS HE SUDDENLY HAVING SUCH THOUGHTS OF THAT ANNOYING CHICKEN DICK?

God, he hates working overtime.

Notes:

If you made it here, thanks for reading! I’ve been wanting to write a fluffier, slice of life office romance with Tianshan for quite awhile now - an AU with no mafia drama, no She Li being a creep, just coworkers dicking around and relatively normal problems here and there. I only committed after getting reminded of this official Tianshan art by Old Xian on the discord. Aside from 19 days, I also draw inspiration from a webcomic called Senpai ga Uzai, Kouhai no Hanashi. I’m a huge sucker of slow burn fluffy Tianshan where Guan Shan is initially annoyed at He Tian and slowly and reluctantly falls for him. Hehehehehehehehe *continues to laugh in fujoshi*

Not going to lie, I do feel nervous posting it. However, after seeing many Tianshan fics (they are good! don’t get me wrong) that doesn’t have a workplace AU, I thought I’d manifest it onto the internet space! Do let me know what you think, as I am considering expanding this into a multi-fic once I stop being lazy. 

[sopewriters]

Mιɳԃ Gαɱҽʂ | 02

Summary: With a murderer prowling the streets, and a charming villain on the loose, all bets are off.

Pairing: Jaehhyun X Reader; Hero x Villain AU

Word Count: 4.9K

Warning(s): None yet.

Previous: 01

“Joker.” His name leaves your parted lips in single breathless whisper.

He grins at you, having heard it anyway, and steps closer. At your side, Mark tenses up. “Right in one. Mind if we had ourselves a little chat?”

You frown, immediately suspicious. Everything in you screams at you not to take the man in front of you lightly, knowing just how tricky he can be; plus, the fact that he’s come to you is really rubbing you the wrong way. Why would a villain ever approach a hero? Or, well, a vigilante, in your case, but your point still stands.

“That depends.” Mark finally answers for you, seeing as how your eyes are still narrowed at Joker’s still form. “What makes you want to talk, all of a sudden?”

“Gravitas.” Joker’s smile grows a little sharper, less cheerful. “Don’t tell me you’re still hung up over what happened last time. You’re the one who ran into that billboard, you know; I really had nothing to do with that one.”

Mark’s body thrums with tension, muscles pulled taut, and despite your terse conversation, you reach out and lay a hand on his shoulder. Getting him strung up right now is a bad idea, especially because he’s usually the one calming you down and there’s nothing in the manual for it happening the other way around.

“Yeah, well, could you get to the point, maybe?” You pull away from Mark, crossing your arms threateningly. “Listening to you beat around the bush like this is really starting to tire me out.”

“Your guy started it first.” Joker says with an exaggerated shrug; mostly for your benefit. “But, if you insist, I’ll move on. You have always been extraordinarily straightforward.”

The muscles of your legs tense as he scrutinizes the two of you, prepared for every possibility if things went south. Joker must like what he sees, because a little smile quirks the corner of his lips, making him look, all too suddenly, very attractive.

You flush immediately at the thought, grateful for the darkness and your shadows for keeping the blush from being visible on your burning cheeks. Where the hell did that come from?

“I’ve been looking into the both of you.” He admits easily, and all thoughts of his appearance fly out the window. “Our last encounter was pretty interesting, even if it was laughably easy – maybe because stupid Gemini didn’t show up, for once.”

Under the feelings of offence that immediately sprout up, you register that he must be talking about Mark’s superhero idol. Based on the way Mark clenches his fists, this is most likely true.

“Yeah, it must be pretty difficult for you, what with him always foiling your plans.” Mark shrugs delicately, voice suddenly cool. It sends a ripple of shockwaves through you because wow, you’ve never heard this tone of voice from him. He’s always been too – too bubbly. Joker must really be pushing his buttons. “I can understand that.”

Joker finally frowns, for the first time tonight, stepping back. And while the sight should fill you with delight, it doesn’t. It makes you feel a little guilty, actually, and you have no idea why.

“I’m starting to see I should’ve thought this through.” He tilts his head slightly, meeting your eyes. Despite how penetrating it is, you do your best to meet his stare unwaveringly; though, admittedly, it’s a lot harder than you thought it’d be. “Maybe I should try and come by again some other time.”

His smirk is sharp enough to cut, but his eyes... they look sad. “For the only competent one of the two of you, obviously. Wouldn’t want to waste my time talking to a stick in the mud.”

With that, he vanishes – yet another illusion. Unlike last time, however, you’re expecting it and, so, don’t bat an eyelash at his sudden disappearance.

Instead, you turn to Mark, finding him clenching his jaw in obvious frustration. You shouldn’t be able to see that even through the mask, but it stands out prominently and, admittedly, has you a little concerned. Why is this bothering Mark so much? You’ve seen him take more serious ribbing with a smile.

At your questioning gaze, Mark’s posture eventually loosens up and he sighs, shaking his head. “I – I’m sorry. I should – I should probably go, huh?”

“Not when I’m the one giving us a lift back.” You raise a brow, perturbed by the sudden 180. “You want to talk about what that was, back there?”

“Not really, no.” Mark’s eyes are beginning to glaze over from the cold breeze. “I don’t know what came over me. It’s just… something about that guy really rubs me the wrong way. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t take anything seriously? It frustrates me that he has the nerve to badmouth J-Gemini when he’s a villain.”

“We’re not really the type to have warm, mushy feelings for the superheroes either,” you point out, though with a sigh you do admit, “I do see your point, though.”

You really only add that last bit for Mark’s benefit. Even though he’d never admit it to you, what he has for Gemini is nothing short of, well, hero worship. And it still doesn’t make sense to you that he’d get that offended over it, what with the constant debates over superheroes on the news. They’ve said worse about Gemini.

Letting his excuse slide for now, you decide to move onto the next most important thing. “What should we do about Joker, though?”

Mark just barely lifts up his mask to rub at his face. “I don’t know. He said he’s going to come to you, didn’t he?”

“He did.” You confirm, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. “I guess I’ll be fine; he didn’t seem like he was going to try to pull anything stupid.”

“He’s still dangerous.” Mark reminds you, beginning to look a little concerned himself. “Maybe we should ask for help? I know you don’t like involving actual superheroes, but—”

“Then you know my answer.” You say stiffly. “I’ll wait for Joker to contact with me whenever. For now, let’s go find some people to help.”

Your fingers twitch sporadically against their resting spot on your thighs as you force yourself not to think about it – about heroes and their stupid, unwavering morality.

And their mortality.

When Mark moves to say something, you hold up your hand. “You can’t change my mind, so don’t even try. Leave it alone.”

Mark pauses, blinking lightly.

“I was just going to say that I’m looking forward to, uh, beating some people up.” He’s probably smiling timidly at you from behind his mask. “Want to race to see who can stop more crimes tonight?”

Now this is more like it. It provides you with ample distraction – probably enough to last you the rest of the night.

“It won’t be much of a competition if we know who’s going to win.” You grin at him, bad mood almost entirely forgotten. “Meet you at the clock tower in an hour!”

“Oh, it’s on.”

When you slip back into your room, shadows melting away your suit and replacing it with the clothes you were wearing earlier – shorts and a comfortable t-shirt – you immediately chance a glance over your shoulder. There’s no way you could have been followed, what with traveling through the shadows, but you’d rather be safe than sorry.

Besides… ever since you’ve taken up vigilantism, it’s been getting harder and harder to fall asleep. The shadows are your allies, but they seem to creep in on you as you lie in bed, looming tall and making it difficult to breathe. They whisper at you, taunt you; they question everything you’ve done, every choice you’ve made.

Was it really for the best? They murmur into your ears, poison. You could’ve done better. You know you should’ve.

For that reason, you resolutely choose to crawl into bed and not sleep until you can no longer put it off; at least, then, you won’t have to listen to them.

You crack open your laptop, typing in your long, elaborate password – hello, paranoia – before biting your lip. Your cursor, the source of your conundrum, hovers uncertainly over your browser window as your eyes dart between it and the video file you’ve minimized for later.

Said video may or may not have been ripped from the police tape you had, uh, borrowed earlier. It’s not stealing if you’ve given it back.

But the point is… should you? It’s incredibly tempting, to be honest, to just do away with the tape for one night and spend time perusing Netflix instead. The more you think about it, the more you like the idea. Yeah, you should definitely do that.

Satisfied with your apt decision-making, you settle back into your pillows, pulling up Netflix and setting yourself up to marathon the second season of How to Get Away with Murder. It’s going to be a long night, sure – but at least it’s going to be an enjoyable one.

Somewhere through the season, you realize a little blearily that there’s some weird buzzing noise filling the air. Frowning, you reluctantly pause the episode and grope around your bed until you find your phone; funnily enough, it’s pretty much under your butt.

Blinking at the harsh light that comes from your screen, you quickly lower the brightness before actually reading the notification.

Jung Jaehyun, it reads. Regarding Open Lab Positions.

Your eyebrows fly up, and you quickly squash down the sudden excitement that flares up in you; there’s obviously no way he’s sent this email to just you, and you have no idea why you’re getting this worked up over it. You open the email anyway.

 Hello all!

As I’m sure you’re aware, Professor Kim has a couple of volunteer lab positions open starting next quarter, if any of you are interested. As she explained at the end of last class, you’ll be starting off with basic jobs – cleaning equipment, etc. – but will slowly work up to actually assisting other researchers – like myself! – with laboratory procedures. If you feel this is something that you could do, please send in your resumé to my email, in a separate thread.

Cheers,

Jaehyun

 Holding back a snort at his closing phrase, you evaluate your options.

You’ve worked at a couple of labs before, so you know for a fact that you can do this. It’s just… cleaning things up? You’ve been there and done that and, while you still have to do it even once you’ve worked your way up, that doesn’t mean you want it to be the only thing you do. But, well. Building experience is important, isn’t it?

You ignore the tiny voice in your head that (correctly) informs you that you’re doing this because of Jaehyun. That’s – psh – that’s absolutely ridiculous. Totally.

It’s for your work experience and nothing else, shut up.

You quickly pull up your resumé and give it a lazy once-over – something you would normally never do – because you’re honestly just too tired to give it a deeper glance. Waiting until tomorrow gives your rationality a great opportunity to kick in, which you’re not particularly keen on; plus, you’ll probably give in and ask F/N, who will definitely say no.

You quickly compose a short email saying you’re super interested and would love to join the team; you nearly forget to add the attachment but, thankfully, you end up remembering just as you’re about to send it.

There. You’ve done it. You’ll probably regret it in the morning, but… you’ve done it, and that’s what matters, obviously.

Sighing, you put away your laptop. You’re tired enough to fall asleep now, you think, and a cup of coffee in the morning will fix whatever lingering regrets this burning the night oil has left you with.

It turns out that not even a cup of coffee can help your mood this morning. And it’s not just because of the idiotic decision you made last night either.

“Did you hear?” F/N accosts you first thing, latching onto your arm as you take your first sip of salvation. “About what happened last night?”

You squint at her, taking in her pale face, trembling lips. “No, and I don’t particularly care. I have a 9am to go to, so if—”

“There was a murder.” The words die on your tongue, the bitterness of coffee all-too-suddenly exploding in your mouth when F/N meets your eyes, serious. “Last night, someone was murdered.”

You nearly drop your cup, setting it down faintly. “What?”

“Yeah.” F/N worries her bottom lip, glancing off to the side, looking decidedly pale. “There are pictures all over the internet. There were even some on our school’s SNS, but they’re being taken down as soon as they’re popping up.”

“And?” Your eyes are wide, but you’re giving this your full attention, headache be damned.

F/N exhales through her teeth. “It… it wasn’t pretty. They’re saying that the victim was dead after the first strike – but there are so many wounds on him… stab wounds, but not from a knife.”

She looks vaguely sick as she recalls this and you figure it has to be a really gruesome sight, if it’s unsettling her this much. You’re starting to feel a little nauseous yourself as you realize you were out for a good part of the night – and you didn’t see anything happen.

“Which sector was it in?” You ask hurriedly. “Did they say who did it?”

“Our sector.” She confirms your worst fears and fuck, fuck, fuck, you should’ve – you should’ve been there, should’ve been able to do something. “And, they think… well. Hold on.”

She hurriedly pulls out her phone, pulling up a news site as your heart thunders loudly in your ears, before showing you an image of the victim.

Your eyes grow wide, not at the smears of blood that stain the women’s skin – nor the angry, deep wounds littering her throat – but at the patch of burnt flesh right above her left breastbone. A vivid, elaborate J.

“Joker…” You breathe out horrified, head spinning at the implications. “What – but – no, that doesn’t make sense!”

“I thought so too, but it’s his mark and everything!” F/N looks just as anxious as you feel. “It’s exactly like the one on his calling card and, and – and—”

“And what?” You snap harshly when she flounders, before horror rushes through you. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you!”

“I know, it’s okay. This is pretty… disturbing.” It is, but not for the reasons she’s thinking. F/N swallows before adding, softly. “They think something must have pissed Joker off pretty bad that he – that he resorted to this.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense.” You stare in disbelief at her. You might not know Joker pretty well, but isn’t this just too much? “He’s – he’s just a thief! A mastermind criminal, to be fair, but he’s never murdered people before.”

“Well, people change, don’t they?” F/N says, matter-of-fact. “I’m not saying I believe he’s done this, but… what if he has?” She begins to look a little pale again at the implication, and shakes her head. “I think I’m going to take a breather. I’ll catch you after classes.”

You can’t find it in you to respond, mind whirling with the possibilities. What F/N said is stuck in your head, on a dizzying loop.

What if, what if, what if, what if he has, what if—

What if Joker’s the one who really did it? Your hands tremble as you realize that this happened last night; that too, after he came to see you and Mark. You tuck your fingers into fists as you desperately wrack your brain for any signs you could’ve noticed to prevent this. Was he shaky, pale in any way? Was he behaving erratically?

You bite the inside of your cheek in frustration when you realize there’s no way you could know; you’re not – you’re not acquainted enough with Joker for that. Fucking damn it, damn it, then why’d he come to see you? To ask for help… help doing what? Murdering someone?

That doesn’t sound—

“Hey, uh, could you maybe move? You’re kind of in the way.”

You blink at the sudden interruption, eyes growing wide as you register a weight on your shoulders – your backpack – and the chilliness of the breeze against your skin. You’re outside? Another glance tells you that you’re right outside your lecture hall and that, yes, you really are blocking the way.

You stumble aside, breaths stuttering in your chest as you realize you have no idea how the fuck you got here, but. Maybe you just zoned out? That’s got to be it. Yeah, that sounds about right.

Mentally shaking yourself, you start walking into class, wondering how on earth you managed to think so hard about the Joker problem that you didn’t even notice walking all the way to class. You wouldn’t put it past yourself; sometimes you get really lost in thought. Still, you shouldn’t be as preoccupied as you are about this. There’s just something… something about it that begs for your attention.

You snap yourself back to attention as your professor walks into the room.

“We’re going to be starting on the subject of Icarus – and his fall.” He claps his had together cheerfully, pulling up the appropriate slide on the projector. Finally. “Pay attention guys; you’re going to want to, trust me, because your paper on this is going to count for 15% of your grade.”

That certainly warrants some serious focus, and you adjust yourself in your seat, new document sat ready for you to type some pretty detailed notes into your laptop.

Your professor smirks at the rustling that fills the room, as everyone panics and hurries to do what he’s asked. “Great. So, as always, we aren’t going to read the whole thing out in class – that’s for your TA to do – but we’ll discuss the key ideas that crop up throughout…”

You try to pay attention, you really do, but it’s not your fault that your professor’s voice is so sleep-inducing (though it is your fault for also not getting a full eight hours in last night like you were supposed to).

Your eyes flutter weakly, finally drifting shut.

You dream of hands. The run up along your sides, gentle even as they caress you – before their grip tightens by a fraction. Something warm curls over the skin of your throat as teeth graze over your shoulder. Your own hands come up to cradle his head as he mouths at the juncture of your shoulder, hot and insistent – and you tilt your head back, encouraging him.

“You’ve always been so beautiful.” The reverence in his tone lights a fire under your skin, in between your legs. “My darling Nyx, so fucking gorgeous.”

You don’t get to answering him, because his fingers are slipping between your thighs to caress your clit gently, making you gasp and arch into the touch. He feels so good, familiar in the way his free hand rubs circles into your hip as he slowly takes you apart on his fingers.

“Please…” The words fall from your lips easily, and you cant your hips desperately, aching to have his fingers inside of you already.

“You’re so wet for me, sweetheart.” There’s a smirk in his voice – you could recognize it in your sleep. “Look at you, absolutely stunning. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were a slut for my cock.”

His fingers pull aside your underwear, finally dipping into your hole. Sweet, sweet relief courses through you as the heat in your veins grows unbearable, and you spread your legs wider, trying to encourage him to touch you more, take you – every part of you, anything he wants.

“Ah, I forgot.” He sounds smug, but he’s still so incredibly hot, even as he retracts his fingers, making a choked whine catch in your throat. “You are a slut for it, aren’t you? You’re even trying to ride my fingers, you’re so desperate.”

He’s right, he always is. You don’t care anymore for your pride or your dignity – you just need his hands on you, his mouth, his fingers, his cock. You need all of him.

“You make it so fucking hard to hold back.” He growls upon seeing your eyes dilate in pleasure, pinching your clit and allowing a strangled moan to escape your throat. “Shh now, darling; wouldn’t want to get caught, now, would we?”

“C-Caught?” You whimper as he catches your skin with his teeth, gently tugging at it, marking you – like you’re his, you think a little deliriously. “W-What?”

He pulls back then, though you fruitlessly try to pull him close again; as he does, his features are slowly illuminated by the light of the moon, highlighting his pink lips, strong jaw, piercing eyes and—

 You jolt up when the girl sitting next to you clears out her desk, letting it retract into her seat with a loud bang. Your breathing’s a little quick, sweat beginning to dot your neck, and you have an uncomfortable ache between your legs. If you were alone, you’d waste no time in touching yourself to get the edge off – you’re so close – but you can’t, and it is excruciating.

Discretely, you rub your thighs together, praying to whatever higher power is up there that you can actually stand on your feet without collapsing. You duck your head, hoping no one can see your flaming cheeks. You feel so dirty, dreaming something like – something like that in the middle of class. You really need to get out of here, maybe get some air.

You quickly shove your things into your bag, clambering to your feet and booking it out of the lecture hall; hey, you haven’t tripped even once. Your heart pounds in your chest as you try to figure out who the fuck it was in your dream, who took you apart so beautifully. Despite its inconvenient timing, your dream was actually really hot, and you’re lowkey regretting waking up.

It’s just… it all felt so real. And you really want to figure out who this mystery person is, so that you can at least gush to F/N about it. Maybe it’s one of your numerous celebrity crushes?

Your cheeks heat as you consider the thought in your head briefly, before shaking your head. No, something about that seems wrong. The familiarity in their movements, gestures, isn’t something you could just replicate in your head off a movie star or something. It’s someone you’ve at least met in real life, if not someone you know well.

The thought disturbs you a little, so you resolve to living in denial; you have no idea who this mystery man is, and that’s fine. Totally fine.

You have a discussion for one of your Gen Ed. classes now, but you don’t really plan on going. There’s no way you could possibly concentrate, with where you’re at and, quite honestly, you don’t feel like. It’s a really stupid class anyway, and you’re honestly taking it only for an easy A.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, making you jolt, and you fish it out, checking your home screen for the notification. And, oh, it’s Jaehyun.

A smile creeps onto your lips, entirely of its own volition.

Re: Open Lab Positions

Hey ______!

I was thrilled to receive your application despite a couple of typos I spotted in the actual email you sent me. Don’t panic! I saw your timestamp – you sent it around 3AM, I believe – and I have been where you are right now. I’m not judging you for it.

Unfortunately—

 Your throat closes up here, but you force yourself to keep reading. Might as well rip off the band aid, even if it makes you bleed worse.

 Unfortunately, I’m required to forward your email and resumé after I’ve accepted them to the professor, which is why I want to ask you to send in another email – this time after some proof-reading, of course. I’d love to have you on our team, and I’m sure the professor will agree once she sees your resumé. Does that work for you?

If it does, please make sure to do this by no later than 7pm today. I look forward to working with you!

- Jung Jaehyun

 “Oh my god.” You nearly walk into your apartment door as you shakily read over the email. You applied on a total off chance; you didn’t think it would actually work and land you the job! Honestly, the only thing that could make this better is if you’d get paid for it too, but that’s probably a bit of a stretch.

You hastily type in your entry code, swinging open the door with much gusto and speeding to your room. You don’t run into your other roommate, which is great, really; you probably wouldn’t have paid them much mind. Hell, you might not even have paid F/N much attention, and she’s the love of your life.

You quickly pull out your laptop, barely remembering to shrug off your backpack so you can type properly. You read over it a few times, to be sure, before sending it to Jaehyun with a happy little noise escaping the back of your throat. This is super exciting – you don’t think you’ve ever been this excited.

And okay, yeah, maybe you don’t have a chance to be with Jaehyun. Scratch that, there’s probably no way you could ever do that. Jaehyun’s pretty much a God among men, and no one can change your mind about that. Still, spending time near him would be fun and, well, educational, if nothing else.

Letting out a happy sigh, you settle in your bed, drawing the covers tightly around yourself. With that, you’re feeling pretty great about yourself, which is a welcome change, and nothing could possibly ruin the rest of your day. You don’t even have to patrol tonight – it’s Mark’s turn to slug the night away on his own.

Now that you have nothing in particular to do – and a whole three hours to kill before your next class – your mind wanders. Absently reaching out a hand, you twist the shadows falling in the corner of your room into intricate shapes, smiling wryly when you unconsciously replicate Joker’s mask. You’ve only met him once and he’s already made quite the impact on you, hasn’t he?

You remember, then, that Joker is a murder suspect. That the smiling, playful man you met only yesterday is a cold-blooded killer, one who’s taken innocent lives. It’s – it’s fucked up, is what it is. You’ve actually conversed with a murderer, and that’s a chilling thought.

A tremor wracks through you.

You click open the video file you were supposed to look at last night; the copy you took from the police. In it, Joker’s slinking quietly in the shadows cast by the house’s impressive figure, back pressed to the wall before he darts inside, lightning-quick. There’s no sound, but there doesn’t seem to be any sort of commotion either.

Joker darts back out again, just as quick, but you now know that’s just an illusion meant to throw everyone off his trail. The real Joker is still inside the house, possibly searching for some more items to steal… but you don’t know where he exits from. The camera that monitors the back of the house doesn’t catch anything of substance either; only a clumsy raccoon that knocks over a trashcan.

“Where the hell did you go…?” You wonder quietly to yourself, watching both the tapes again, still finding nothing. Maybe he used a blind spot? Or was it something else?

A little investigation into the matter wouldn’t hurt now, would it? Standing up, you figure: ah, why the hell not. To hell with your day off. While Mark’s keeping an eye out for people needing help, you can do the grunt work for this particular case. Something tells you Joker’s sudden inclination for murder isn’t actually all that sudden.

There must be more.

You shut your laptop, shoving it back into your backpack. You still have time for your next class, but you should probably make yourself a decent lunch; you aren’t sure whether dinner’s still in the cards, not when you have a (half-developed) plan in mind.

Starting your investigation from when he’s supposedly committed his last ‘normal’ crime is going to help you. Maybe you can track what he’s probably done since then, or, at the very least, figure out his method of operating. Whatever the case, you’re going to figure it out, no matter how terrified you are. He’s a known murderer, pretty much, and that means – regardless of the truth – you’ll have to treat him carefully.

Maybe, if you’re lucky – or not – you’ll even get to meet Joker himself. You aren’t sure if you really want to, at this point, but you’ll take whatever you can. You’re grasping at straws as it is; you can afford to do whatever you must to crack down on this.

Tonight, you vow to yourself. Tonight, I’m going to get to the bottom of this.

Next: 03