#it would depend entirely on if they’re spying for the same side or not

[wasabi-gumdrop]

as far as anime crossovers with dunmeshi go, i’ve seen some pretty silly comparisons with Kabru. let’s be serious here, he’d only need a few seconds in a room with Reigen before realizing the guy’s a conman. if we’re talking a matchup of comparable skills, Loid Forger is the one who’d actually be a real challenge for Kabru.

[etoilebinaire]

I've been meaning to ask for your thoughts about Rasha and Alistair but I somehow wrote it down as "Rasha and Zevran" and now I'm curious your thoughts about both variants. at first glance, Rasha/Zevran are a clear nOTP since Rasha is so paranoid and Zevran could very well be an assassin sent after her a la DA:O scenario... but would they be so incompatible? if Rasha knew that Zevran is an assassin from the start, wouldn't there be something... comforting in that knowledge?

You mean the Rasha that ended up with the Iron “nice to meet you im a qunari spy btw” Bull?

(this is the perfect ask thank you so much, a lot of rambling under the cut!)

Just kidding Rasha and Bull were outright hostile towards each other until they were convinced the other wouldn’t kill them on sight anymore and even then they wouldn’t be friendly until months later and they wouldn’t even start to trust the other a little bit until after a big yelling match after the entire demands of the qun nightmare. They got themselves caught in an enemies to colleagues to friends to lovers pipeline, even if the start was a bit one-sided. And I think it would be very similar for Zevran and Rasha. How to put these thoughts on paper. Zevran and Bull are essentially the same person. Listen. They are. The only real differences is different spy training (crows vs. ben hassrath) and that Zevran is younger. I’ll try to describe Rasha’s thought processes a bit because it’s important to get an understanding, but please know that I don’t think they’re healthy etc it’s just that Rasha is not dealing with things well </3. Ok so, three points about Rasha that need to be mentioned: First of all. Saying you’re an assassin/spy/whatever does NOT help. It only means that if you’re upfront about that you’re hiding something much worse. Rasha will find out if you’re an assassin/spy/whatever either way, you don’t have to tell her, you don’t get brownie points for telling her, she will not trust you more, she would have found out either way. She sees through that attempt at gaining her trust immediately. Second of all. Rasha is probably too morally and dutifully bound to kill or send away help if it offers itself. Would she kill Zevran if he was unconscious at her feet after a failed assassination attempt? Only if she didn’t allow herself a chance to think about it. Would she recruit someone from an order trained to assassinate people in her position if she knew that person would be an asset for the inquisition? Yes, if she was confident she could keep an eye on them, even if she would sleep worse for it. If anything, Rasha hates bad resource allocation and management and the inquisition needs all the help it can get. (also.. divine intervention because I as a player would never send a character away) Third of all. Rasha has incurable “I can fix them” disease. She’s an ass and it will take her forever to get over herself and not be mean to someone she doesn’t trust, but once she does.. She applies all the therapy that she doesn’t get to other people god bles. It’s all Shokrakars fault anyway. SHE was the one who got the ragtag group of tal-vashoth together (the Valo-Kas, Rasha’s old mercenary group from before she got dragged along in the inquisition, Rasha didn’t exactly join that group voluntarily but she somehow got stuck there) and THEY all needed therapy and Rasha was somehow the one person most equipped to deliver said therapy. Something about deflecting and being an outsider but still having somewhat of an understanding because of her parents also being tal-vashoth. You don’t need to trust people to still want to help them.

So all of that combined. With Zevran. Spoilers: I do think they make a great match but how it would happen truly depends on how and when and in what context they meet. - If they just happen to be near each other but not interact, Rasha would probably sniff him out as someone who’s a bit too keen on their surroundings, assume he’s an assassin sent to kill her and destroy the inquisition, and leave. This is her thought process with most strangers.   - Do they meet à la DAO after a failed assassination attempt and Rasha was a target? Zevran is dead, she would cut his throat, end of that. UNLESS her brain caught up with her instincts and she thought about it for a second. Then she would interrogate him, find that he’s very willing to give up whoever hired him, be annoyed at his flirtation attempts, and then accept his request to let him live and join their group. She’d absolutely 24/7 keep an eye on him and not eat food that was in his vicinity and have a constant guard on him and generally be awful. It wouldn’t be fun for any of them, but at least Rasha would have a focus for her paranoia, Zev would live, and their group would have another person to fight alongside them. Resource allocation. Zevran is pretty honest about most of his experience as a crow, and one would think there’s some comfort in that for Rasha. However, him being honest could also be a lie and then it’d just be a manipulation technique to get closer to her and let her get her guard down and she will not fall for that!!!! So her paranoia would get in the way there. The real comforting thing about Zev is that his go-to technique does not work on Rasha. She isn’t moved by flirtation and it’s pretty clear that that’s Zevs usual manipulation/deflection/distraction. I don’t think Rasha would lower her guard around him for a second.

Eventually, I do think they’d exchange assassin techniques and Rasha would be intrigued (and disgusted) by how the crows work. They would bond over being dual wielding bisexual assassins who deeply regret some of their kills. Remember, nr. 3, Rasha does have incurable “I can fix them” disease and she’s all for leaving oppressive regimes so she would absolutely encourage Zevran to leave the crows. It wouldn’t be until she can smell Taliesens blood that she actually entertains the thought of trusting Zevran, but you know, small steps. (I’m assuming, btw, that Zev wouldn’t try to assassinate Rasha unless he was still with the crows no matter the timeline here. This isn’t necessarily DAO with Rasha as warden but what a thought that is. Sten would still be in that cage. Rasha and Shale would be unstoppable together. Rasha would be like “we don’t have time for this there’s a blight to stop” every other mission while still trying to help everyone.) All Rasha’s friends are people who left the qun and are dealing with trauma from that so Zevran would fit right in. Again, they would bond over regretting past kills and I think in convincing Zev that he will have to live with that, Rasha would convince herself that she can live with it as well. Rasha’s true personality really shines through when she tries to help people, and it becomes apparent that she’s actually a kind person. I think that if you look at the bigger picture and her decisions, it already is apparent she’s quite compassionate but she surely doesn’t see it that way and on a small scale she’s usually not very nice, which is what people typically see. Anyway, I think Zevran is a good judge of character and would probably see through that all pretty quickly. Rasha wouldn’t trust him until after him leaving the crows, and even then it’d take some time, but I think they would get along very well after that. As I said, bisexual dual wielding assassins with a past they’re trying to not be traumatized from. Rasha still wouldn’t respond to flirtation because that’s just not her thing. But it very much is Zevrans thing and once Rasha realizes he’s maybe serious and he maybe IS offering she’d be like aight . And then she’d fall like a fucking avalanche. Listen. It takes her a LONG time to warm up to people, like a LONG time, but then it’s down in the deep and there’s no return. It’s like a switch in her brain and it is melted to the metal frame once it flips over. And then eventually Zevran would realize he caught feelings and freak out about it, around the same time Rasha would realize she caught feelings and freak out about it, and maker help the people around them. Zevran’s coping mechanism with being scared is becoming distant but Rasha straight up gets angry when she’s scared. Eventually she would see that Zevran’s scared, realize that she’s scared, and then be like “wait if YOURE scared and IM scared then who’s driving the bus”. She’d sit them both down and be like “there’s no use in us being scared of each other like this we should either be scared together or not be scared at all” and she’d be SO pragmatic about it that it would probably break any potential objection Zevran could think of and then they’d get together.

And they would be amazing together. They would be so annoying. They would call their weapons sexy all the time and do lockpick challenges that Rasha always wins and be SO loud and then deny all plausibility in the morning with a straight face. Rasha would suffer through Antivan poetry if Zevran suffers through Rasha’s spells where she overanalyses the seating arrangements in bars and accuses 5 seemingly random patrons of being shady (she’s right about 4 of them). They have at least 10 knives between the both of them at all times. They would be absolute menaces to their friends with PDA cause Zevran thinks that’s hilarious and Rasha would go along with it to see him smile. Also, Rasha would absolutely love destroying the crows from inside out and she’d excel at it too. No way she’s leaving that all to Zev. Rasha would do well in Antiva. Zevran would not do well in the Frostbacks. Rasha would obviously still get bouts of paranoia about everything including herself and Zevran and their relationship and I don’t think Zevran would know how to handle that and he’d just laugh it off, but if Rasha has any semblance of a support network she’d be fine eventually. Otherwise, they would work extremely well together.

- Do they meet during DAI where Zevran is an ex-crow and wants to help the inquisition? Then he’d be like any other companion and Rasha would be on his ass all the time and distrust him and take a long time to warm up to him (see point 1, Zev saying he’s an (ex) assassin doesn’t help). I think she’d test him a lot, see if he actually does just want to help without any agenda, see if she could sneak up on him without him noticing, see just how observant he is, see how much she could poke before she gets met with the sharp end of a knife. Again, flirting doesn’t work on Rasha so there go 80% of Zevs manipulation/deflection techniques. And again, they’ll eventually bond over being dual wielding bisexual assassins who are trying very hard to not let their past define them. Considering everything, Zevran is pretty well-adjusted so he would “pass” most of Rasha’s inane tests, then they’d hesitantly become friends and eventually they could grow close just like in the scenario above. TLDR: Rasha and Zevran are an OTP disguised as a NOTP just like Rasha and Bull. Rasha would be extremely standoffish to Zevran until he ‘proves’ himself in her eyes and she feels she can trust him somewhat, and then she’d immediately fall in love. Rasha is actually very compatible with the very people she mistrusts the most. -----

That was most of it I promise. Rasha and Alistair is a lot shorter. They definitely wouldn’t match as well as Rasha and Zev. - In a DAI scenario, where Alistair is either king or warden, I don’t think they’d really talk a lot. Rasha would be impressed with his achievements during the blight/his reign as king, but that’s about it. In most scenarios I don’t think they’d catch each others eye either. - In a DAO-ish scenario, where they’re forced to work together and Alistair is around that point in his life.. Rasha would be somewhat empathetic to Alistair struggling with his family, and him missing Duncan, and him not wanting to be king etc. I don’t think Alistair would trigger her paranoia in any significant way. I mean, look at him. He’s kind and overly genuine and even if he does turn out to be dangerous, Rasha could easily kill him before he would even realize what is going on. I don’t think Rasha would be drawn to him aside from her “I can fix them” disease where she’ll try to make him deal with his family/Duncan situation better. They don’t really share a sense of humor and she’d think he was a coward rather than endearing (I am so sorry Alistair I hate to say it). I also genuinely don’t know if Alistair would like Rasha. If they had to work together Rasha would try to be nice. But Rasha can be a little scary with how easily she kills and how violent she is. Plus if he ever stops to think, he’d realize she never shares anything about her own family or past, which is kinda weird? And then he’d ask and then she’d make sure he never asks again by subtly but firmly threatening him. HOWEVER. Alistair has that great thing where he does fall for anyone being kinda nice to him. At least in case of the warden (it’s always a surprise for me when I accidentally trigger his romance please send help). So potentially he could develop a crush on Rasha? Now that wouldn’t go over well. She wouldn’t reciprocate, mostly cause Alistair is just not her type, but also because she wouldn’t believe his affection to be genuine. This is where her paranoia would play up again. Rasha would absolutely think she manipulated him into liking her (she didn’t) and overcompensate by showing him how much of a bad person she is (she isn’t). Like the rose scene in DAO. If he would’ve given a rose to Rasha with a spiel about beauty in darkness and how nobody is grateful enough for all her work she’d question his sanity. THEN she’d be like ‘oh no I manipulated this poor chantry boy into thinking I’m a love interest’, then she’d show him why she isn’t a love interest. Thing #4 about Rasha I realized while typing this: she genuinely believes she’s a bad person (even though all her actions tell differently, it’s her paranoia) and knows that she’s capable of manipulating people, and I think she’d be really scared of manipulating her friends and allies? Which is why she generally prefers to be friends with headstrong people who aren’t that susceptible to manipulation. Which is also why while her paranoia gets triggered around spies, she actually gets along with them very well because they have inside knowledge of manipulation so they have a one-up on her. Like, she might not trust them but she might trust herself more around them, if that makes sense. It probably doesn’t, Rasha’s way of thinking isn’t sensible anyway and I’m bad at explaining it. Anyway, I’m not saying Alistair has a malleable mind, but Rasha sure would think he does, and that would be enough to make her kind of steer clear of him.

[wigglygiggler]

Don't write this, write this, don't write-- oops I already wrote it, in that case don't post this, post this, don't post-- AAAH FUCK IT, YOLO

A Sneaky One

Reader-insert/SFW tickle fic Fandom: Team Fortress 2 lee!Sniper Ships: Sniper x gender-neutral reader Tags/CW: Mentions of gore played for laughs, dirty humour, crass language, SFW tickles, fluff Summary: "I ain't ticklish", he claims, huh? Even though your little game of trying to make each other laugh had a specific rule that forbids tickling, nothing would prevent you from testing this claim afterwards... A/N: Don’t look at me like that, I’m not a total Sneeps simp. You are. … Okay, let’s settle on that we both are.

Just for clarification, this fic is written with the idea that each merc is always the same person, no matter what side they’re on. I know many people headcanon the BLUs being their own separate persons from the REDs but I do not see it that way, I think the team colours are pretty much just for game mechanics, not to mention the official material mixes things up all the time (e.g. RED Spy being RED Scout’s father even though he was initially established to have an affair with BLU Scout’s mum, RED Spy, Scout and Solly recalling the Australian Christmas incident even though happened to their BLU counterparts etc.). The team colours only matter because of the Payload offense-defense roles, anyway. :D If you want a sensible in-universe explanation I’d settle on the theory the mercs play for both sides, switching teams every other day pretty much just depending on who pays better.

The reader character is kept as vague as possible aside from being of driving & drinking age (duh, obviously, considering Snipes is an adult). No Y/N or other abbreviations: I know some don’t mind them but I personally am very put off by them.

The neverending piles of corpses scattered all around Badwater Basin were starting to get on your aching back. Today’s Payload match had ended a couple of hours ago in RED team’s narrow victory: that is, the timer had turned to zero when BLU had been merely a short distance away from the final checkpoint.

Ever since you were hired a couple of months ago you understood better day by day why the Administrator had wanted another assistant alongside Miss Pauling: as competent as she was, this amount of aftermatch body disposal and cleanup simply was too much for only one person. She was a little further away from you hacking corpses into smaller pieces for easier burial.

“How can there be so many of them? Aren’t the bodies supposed to, you know, despawn?” And most of all, how the heck were you still surprised about this everytime?

“Well, they are indeed supposed to”, Pauling answered while dumping a pile of Medics into a grave. “But the system tends to have quite frequent bugs.”

“Indeed it tends to”, you scoffed. You had watched most of the fight through monitors and at one point you had seen Demoman die, respawn and 30 seconds later run over his own corpse.

“At least be grateful the despawn system works on some level. Otherwise we’d have even more of these bastards to bury”, Pauling remarked. You chuckled. She was right, and today’s match seemed to have been even bloodier than usual. In front of one no-access garage door you found an entire team of RED Spies, each one with a panicked expression stuck on the face and a neat hole in the skull. Whatever these idiots had been doing, BLU Sniper had apparently had a field day. Not too far lay literally a spineless Scout body: he had skin, muscles, internal organs intact, his whole body sans the skeleton. A while later you found what you assumed to be the skeleton in question from the other end of the map. How?

Eventually you managed to get the whole fighting zone emptied from dead mercenaries and returned to the control room.

“I still have one more task for you today”, the Administrator spoke to you. “A new order of gun equipment for the BLU team arrived today. Deliver it to the mercenaries.”

“Yes, ma’am”, you replied. You walked outside and stepped into the delivery car standing on the parking lot, already feeling a flurry of butterflies in your stomach.

The BLU base wasn’t too far away. You drove backwards to the cargo door, stepped out of the van and into the base. “Hey guys! I brought you new gear!”

“Ayyy, good evening, new assistant!”

“Scout, you do know I have a name”, you said in mock offense. Scout chuckled and gently hit you on the upper arm. After him the other mercs came to greet you as well and fetch their personal supply boxes. Soldier… Demo (who, despite the evening still being young, already had a half-empty bottle in hand and a lampshade on his head)… Medic… Heavy… Engie… Pyro (they mumbled excitedly upon seeing you and ran all the way across the corridor to glomp you)… and finally, Spy.

Truth to be told, you felt a bit disappointed.

“I watched your match today”, you conversed with the guys. “You all did well. Engineer, that sentry placement—it was pure genious.”

“Thank you, darlin’”, Engineer replied with a small smile. “Too bad it didn’t carry us all the way to the end.”

“Absolute bollocks, that’s what today’s match was!” Demoman shouted, shoving his box into the locker quite aggressively. “We got to the first two checkpoints without any of us dyin’ and slaughtered half o’ those RED wallopers in the first minute! We ne’er let the cart move back, not an inch! In what backwerds logic are those fuckers supposed to be the winners when we handed ‘em their arses three out of four times?”

“You then didn’t hear this from me, but I can’t help but agree with you guys”, you replied. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the RED team bribed that old hag with, ahem, another kind of payload if you know what I mean”, you continued, earning an agreeing chortle from the mercs around you. Encouraged by the positive feedback, you put on your most convincing Admin imitation, trying to recreate an exaggerated raspy chain-smoker voice: “Fantastic work, BLU team… But RED has scored one point with me so you all are total waste of space, please go to hell and learn how to give proper cunnilingus”, making the men around you burst in boisterous laughter.

“The Administrator can, as you younger generation say, suck my dick”, Spy said from the corner of the room.

“No offense Spy but are you sure you want her in that position?” you said, and Demo and Scout absolutely lost it. The hysterical atmosphere was broken by Heavy’s voice.

“Um… Here is still one equipment kit left.”

“Seems to be Sniper’s”, Medic chimed in, checking the box tag. “He retreated to his camper quite early today.”

You perked up. “Ah, sure. I’ll go take this to him.” You tried to lift the box; you could carry it alright, but the combination of its cumbersome shape and weight made it a bit challenging.

“It’s not necessary. He’ll be here tomorrow morning anyway, he can pick it up from here.”

“Medic, I was given the order to deliver the supplies to all of you, and I will fulfil my duty.”

“Then at least let me help. That weighs a lot”, Heavy said.

“Heavy, I appreciate your offer but I am not a frail helpless little flower”, you emphasized the latter part of the sentence. “I can do this alone so just drop it, okay?”

Medic examined your facial expression keenly, then broke into a sly smile. “Ooooh, I see… Well, I bid you good night now in case you end up spending the rest of the night in his van”, he strolled off chuckling. Your cheeks felt burning. “Shut your mouth!”

Heavy had caught on what Medic had implied and smiled as well. “Ah… ‘To love all ages yield surrender; but to the young its raptures bring a blessing bountiful and tender’*.” You remained silent, avoiding his eyes while trying not to show how flustered you were. “Have fun, solnyshko,” he bid you farewell.

Not willing to take any more teasing from anyone you grabbed the supply kit clumsily and headed outside. The butterflies returned to your stomach and you smiled to yourself: in just a few moments you would have an excuse to spend some time alone with—

“ASSISTANT! I command you so STOP!” Soldier trotted beside you and took the box from you. “Our team would be in peril if you or Miss Pauling became incapacitated because of a broken arm. So! I will share this burden with you.”

N’aww, shit.

You and Soldier walked around the corner of the building. The van came into view.

Sniper was outside, sharpening his kukri.

Without realising it you adjusted your collar a little bit straighter.

Sniper noticed you both approaching and glanced first at you, then at Soldier with a questioning look.

“Private! Our assistant has brought us a secret weapon that will lead us to triumph in the next battle!”

“It’s just regular gun supplies”, you muttered.

Without even asking a permission to enter, Soldier marched straight into Sniper’s van and dropped the supply box onto the floor with a loud crash. Both you and Sniper winced.

Soldier turned to face Sniper. “Now that I happen to have come here, I might just as well give you feedback of today’s performance!” You couldn’t help but stifle a snicker at how Sniper rolled his eyes and frowned, even if this situation was indeed genuinely frustrating: if Soldier truly got himself going it would likely be him who’d stay here all night.

“You did land many crucial headshots today on the first half, I give you that. BUT! A true mercenary never gets overconfident and even more importantly, never lets his emotions cloud their judgement! Son, you let yourself become sloppy during the second half and let your frustration weaken your aim even further! Not to mention you became too attached to your one nest to notice our team would have needed your help tremendously to shoot down an enemy sentry near the final checkpoint—”

“Oh yeah Soldier, I almost forgot!” you interrupted. “Medic asked me to tell you go see him as soon as possible. For an extra checkup or something. Remind him that I sent you.”

Soldier nodded and made a salute. “In that case I will leave the equipment in your care. Good night!” He exited the van and headed back to the base. Now you just hoped a) Medic would understand why you had chased Soldier off and b) he was in the mood to do you a favour of this kind.

The camper suddenly fell very silent. You could have sworn the air inside was electric as you felt your skin get goosebumps, and you only hoped your heartbeat wasn’t as loud in reality as you imagined. After a moment that felt awkwardly long, Sniper was the first one to speak. “Uh… So, gun supplies?”

“Oh, yeah.” You opened the lid and handed him the paper receipt on top of the items. “Just go through this and see if everything checks.”

Sniper kneeled down next to the box and one by one checked if its containments matched the list. There seemed to be mostly cartridges, gun oil, submachine gun magazines and other similar items.

Soon enough he stood up. “Yup, all’s good.”

“Ah. Great.” Another silence fell between you, this one even more pressuring than the first. Your job here was done, so would you have to leave now or...?

“… What kind of serious injuries Soldier got on the battlefield today that he needed an extra checkup?” he asked.

You couldn’t help smiling at your own cunningness. “Nothing, as far as I know.”

Sniper grinned. “You’re a sneaky one. Thanks for savin’ me from him.” You let out a small laugh. “You’re welcome. Thought you might not want to listen to his ramblings at this hour.” Okay, you admittedly had a vested interest here but you didn’t need to admit that.

“Nah. Besides I’m well aware of where I fucked up today, don’t need ‘im to roast me about it.” He opened the fridge. “Want a drink?” he asked, offering you one.

The Admin probably wouldn’t have liked you slacking off like this while on duty… but delivering the supplies had been your final task today and you just had done it, right?

So you smiled and grabbed the can. “Sure.”

One drink wasn’t enough to make either of you drunk or even tipsy per se, but it did help ease the tension. You had initially sat quite far away from Sniper but as time passed and conversation flowed, you noticed yourself inching closer and closer to him. By this point you were sitting right next to him, so close your legs were almost touching, so close his arm was just half an inch away from yours…

“So that’s what the RED Spy chaos was about!” you giggled. “I knew it would have some really side-splitting story behind it—"

“’Side-splitting’? So that ya barely snicker?” Sniper asked with obvious amusement. “C’mon, I’ve never heard you give a proper boff.”

“Well…” It was not that you never did that; you just tended to get more reserved whenever, well, he was present. “That doesn’t mean I never—I mean, I don’t ‘barely snicker’ and besides you never belly laugh either, what’s up with that I’ve only seen you be all quiet and stoic—”

Sniper seemed to be caught a little off-guard by the accusation: avoiding your eyes, he was quiet for a moment and took a sip from his beer. “I just rarely find anything that funny.” Had his cheekbones turned a bit redder?

You sat up a bit straighter. “Challenge accepted.” Sniper gave you a confused look.

“I bet I can make you totally crack up”, you explained. “And you’re welcome to try it on me as well, if you’re man enough”, you threw a cheeky smirk. “No tickling though, that’s cheating.”

Sniper returned the smirk. “Fair go. Besides that wouldn’t work on me anyways ‘cause I ain’t ticklish.”

“Oh ho ho, now I must check that after I’ve won”, you said wiggling your fingers at him.

Sniper quickly looked away and seemed to press his arms a little closer to his body. “Ooh. Confident, are we”, he muttered. Soon enough he looked at you again with a mischievous glint in his eye. “If you promise not to tell this to the Administrator, would you like to know what we’d do to sheilas like her back in the bush?”

You forced your expression into a poker face and braced yourself. “Go on…”

You started to calm down enough to catch your breath between bouts of laughter. Now this was embarrassing: you had been sure you would last at least one or two attempts before giving him the satisfaction of victory.

“Oh god… Hehehe… How can I look at her tomorrow with a serious face…”

“It’s simple, ya just think of dromedaries.”

“You’re not helping!” you guffawed again, somehow managing to wheeze out some comprehensible words. When you started to get a hold of yourself again, you realized how loudly you’d just been laughing and embarrassment washed over you. You turned away from Sniper.

“Uggh… I sound so stupid when I’m in hysterics like that…”

“No ya don’t. You sound very free, t’was delightful to listen to”, he said.

His words awakened a flutter in your belly. He had said your voice sounded delightful…

You regained your composure and turned to look at him again. “Okay, now it’s my turn.” You thought you might just as well continue tonight’s apparent theme of Admin-bashing, and if Demo and Scout’s earlier reactions were anything to go by, you had some killer material.

“So you know how the Administrator deemed RED the winners because they managed to defend that one last checkpoint? So unfair. Sometimes I wonder if the RED team bribes her with an… entirely different payload if you know what I mean”, you stretched out the last bit expecting a reaction. Sniper’s smile grew slightly wider, but nothing more than that. Okay, carry on, there were still plenty of good punchlines incoming, no need to lose your cool. “Well done, BLU team… but RED has scored one point with me, so fuck you in hell and learn to give some head”, you repeated your earlier chainsmoker Admin imitation. Nothing but a small huff through his nose. You started growing a little desperate. “Spy even said the Administrator can suck his dick… But honestly, do you even want to imagine that?”

“You’re tryin’ too hard, it’s clear from your tone of voice and pacing”, Sniper said smugly. “That stuff is funny only when it’s spontaneous and in the moment.”

“I’m so going to break you, just you wait”, you said trying to hide your frustration under a sassy tone. Okay, time to gather your arsenal: so dirty one-liners apparently wouldn’t work. Puns? Would those work on him? Did you remember any jokes about Australians, and would he even find them funny? Or maybe—maybe anti-jokes, those that were set up as proper jokes only to ultimately be hilariously anti-climactic? You decided to try them: Sniper could be surprisingly snarky at times, so those might actually have some potential.

“A man walks into a bar. Ouch.”

Sniper raised one eyebrow. “And what? Did some handsome rogue headshot him at the door, or--?”

“Nooo! That’s the joke, the joke is that there is no real punchline and it cuts off absurdly—”

“Way to go explainin’ it, that’ll always make a joke funnier”, he chuckled. At this rate you would probably make him laugh more at your epic fails than your actual attempts at cracking a good joke.

“Okay, okay, okay. Listen. So there’s this nightclub and in walks a saxophonist. He is dressed in a very fancy suit, his instrument is shiny and beautiful and well-kept and he plays the best jazz solo that’s ever been heard. The next night there will be a new guy playing…”

The story went on quite long, but you remembered being in stitches the first time you had heard it; maybe this could be your ultimate trump card.

“… and finally, on the last night, in comes yet again another saxophonist. His suit is teared and smelly, his saxophone looks like it’s been…

So, he comes in looking like a hobo, and his sax…

So this last guy and his sax both look like…”

Shit. Your mind was completely empty.

“Oh crap, I forgot how it ends.”

The way Sniper cracked up completely almost startled you, then left you in bewilderment as he doubled down in raspy and at times even wheezy laughter. You were a bit annoyed this didn’t feel like a proper victory, as it had come by an unintentional screw-up… But didn’t the end justify the means? And this end was more than justified: the way he tried to recompose himself from the hysterics was so cute.

Besides the best part was still just about to happen… You grinned in excitement and giggled under your breath, casually repositioning yourself behind Sniper and hovering your hands over his both sides, waiting for the right time to strike.

“Ya got me… Told ya, you’re funnier when you don’t push it too mu-Huch!” Sniper flinched as you grabbed his waist. “What’re ya--?”

“Don’t you remember? I promised to check if you’re not ticklish like you claimed”, you chirped, barely being able to conceal how much you were enjoying this.

Sniper blushed, his lips forming into a nervous smile. “Ya—ya don’t need to do that, I spoke the truth—”

You leaned closer to him, almost whispering in his ear. “Look. If you really want me to stop, just say it. Say ‘stop’ and I will.”

He didn’t say anything, his blush just deepened and he turned his face away from you. This was like a Smissmas morning. “I take that as a permission to proceed”, you cooed and softly pressed your both index fingers into his sides.

Sniper froze, his breathing becoming more tense and he obviously concentrated his all willpower on not squirming. This was golden. You just held your fingers in one place and he already was reacting like this! Wrecking him was going to be a blast.

“Hm. Looks like you told the truth after all. Not the least bit ticklish”, you teased. “Will you ever forgive me for doubting you?” you mockingly asked, starting to draw small circles on his sides. Sniper grunted and forced himself to stay still, fighting back a smile.

Little by little you started making the circles bigger so your fingers kept creeping both higher and lower on his body. To his credit Sniper succeeded rather well in keeping his reactions in – but even so he couldn’t stop himself flinching every time you grazed right under his ribcage. A devilish idea came into your mind.

“But one thing I want to say. You really shouldn’t live by nothing but coffee on those long days you spend sniping in one spot. You’re so thin your bones are sticking out”, you emphasized your point by gently scritching his lowest ribs.

“Hnggh!” Sniper jerked rather violently and tried to push your hands away with his elbows. A wide grin flashed on his face for a moment before he regained his stoic façade. You became determined to see that grin again and for much longer time.

You kept tracing long slow trails up and down his sides, making him twitch as he constantly tried to avoid your touch only to be soon attacked from the other side. You reckoned you could break him immediately if you just went in for the kill… But where would be the fun in that? This game was meant to be played slowly.

You got a new evil idea. It made you feel a bit bashful, but you pushed yourself past that inhibition. “Oh dear, I forgot to take one thing into account”, you feigned shock. Using two fingers in each hand you started walking your fingers down Sniper’s body from the upper ribs to his hipbone. Using each individual rib as its own stepping stone made him squirm against you and whimper.

“W-what do ya m-mean?” he asked, trying his best to control his breathing.

Your fingers scratched lightly his hips and lower abdomen as you tried to pull up his tucked-in shirt, making him tremble. “So let’s assume you’re not ticklish at all with your shirt on…” You heard Sniper gulp: he seemed to have understood what was coming for him. You managed to pull out the shirt hem. “… but we still have to check your sensitivity without it”, you finished with glee, diving your hands in under his shirt and making contact with his bare skin.

Sniper forced his mouth shut to muffle an amusingly high-pitched squawk. He wasn’t even trying to hide his squirming anymore and grabbed your wrists in attempt to shoo your hands off.

“Nu-uh-uh! No fighting back allowed!” you scolded giving his sides a squeeze which elicited another strained grunt from him. He stopped pushing at your hands; whether it was out of fear of more side-squeezing or simply being weakened by the tickles, both were good options.

You let your hands wander all over his sides and stomach with the lightest, softest possible touch, so light the pads of your fingertips barely skimmed over his skin, which made him twitch. Sniper had given up trying not to smile a good while ago, so throughout this his face was stuck into a desperate grin. Now he seemed to put all his remaining determination into not laughing out loud, even though that effort showed signs of faltering too when you moved to spidering his belly.

“You don’t like my hands here, do you?”

It was admirable how Sniper still refused to give up, but you could clearly hear his groan was just an attempt to conceal the first faint giggles. In other words, it was time to break out the big guns.

“Would you like them even less if they… had sharp nails on them?”

“Ahyaah!” The moment you started skittering your nails on Sniper’s stomach he started struggling violently in your grip and all kinds of funny noises escaped his throat: uncharacteristically shrilly squeals, almost whiny sounds of protest and, most importantly, a stream of giggles he couldn’t hide anymore. You made a pleasant discovery that scratching along his happy trail elicited particularly frantic squawks and made him double down in effort to protect himself.

This was adorable. But you still wanted to see him crumble completely, and you knew exactly where to strike for that.

Never stopping tickling him, you asked: “Hey Snipes, which bones didn’t grow back again?”

“No! You cahan’t mean— no no no NO—”

Yes you did. Triumphantly you claimed your victory by digging your nails into his ribcage.

“GYAAAAAHAHAHA!” Sniper lost all control of his volume as he pleaded for mercy whenever he could form words amidst his laughter, thrashing wildly under your touch the whole time.

“So do you admit you’re ticklish?” you asked while scribbling at his upper ribs.

“Okahay! I do!”

“And do you admit to being a dirty little liar about it?” In a particularly nefarious move you tasered in between the ribs. Sniper shrieked in response, almost knocking himself off his seat.

“YEHEHES! STOP! I give!”

You obeyed. You drew one last tiny heart around his navel, earning the last giggly yelp, then pulled your hands from underneath his shirt and soothed out the ghost tickles. Sniper jumped as he felt your hands on his sides again but soon relaxed when it was obvious you weren’t going to tickle him anymore. He was still weary and giggly from the playful torment.

“You’re a sneaky one… And evil at that…”

You had become awfully giggly as well. “Never said I wasn’t.” You snaked your arms around him and pulled him into a hug from behind, resting your head on his shoulder.

You stayed like this for a while in silence. Neither of you talked, neither of you pulled away. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. Feeling his warmth, feeling his shoulders rise and lower along his calm breathing were the only things that had any living space in your mind at the moment.

You gathered up your courage and said it. “I… I really like you a lot.”

A beat. Then you heard a happy sigh from him and very quiet, almost whispery words: “… I like ya too.”

A tiny laugh escaped your lips. You moved next to him, bumping your head affectionately against Sniper’s shoulder and leaning onto him. Hesitatingly he wrapped his arm around you, which you took as a green light to cuddle him even closer. Jesus Christ, had you ever been this close to him, had your faces ever been this near each other…?

The tension became unbearable. You couldn’t take it anymore, you just went for it and kissed his cheek.

Sniper’s eyes widened and a pink blush rushed to his face. “Oh. Thanks”, he chuckled with the brightest smile you probably had ever seen from him. You hummed in euphoria, snuggling into his chest.

Your hand found his and you absentmindedly caressed the rough back of it, your fingers tracing his bony knuckles and fingers.

“I was serious about eating properly, though. Your bones are sticking out.”

*Eugene Onegin, Alexander Pushkin (1799 – 1837)

[adorerdraco]

It’s Only Quidditch ✧ Draco x Slytherin!Reader

Request: can i please request you and draco being in slytherin and dating for a while and you two are on the quidditch team with him so maybe you two are in a match together but you get hurt and he gets worried and has to win the game and visits you after and maybe even wrecks the person who hurt you hehe just fluff and angst

AU AROUND 6TH YEAR NO VOLDY

Warnings: angry!draco, vengeful!draco, VIOLENCE, kinda graphic details like blood and injuries, lil bit of angst

Words: 3.9K (love making these long for no reason)

A/N: ANGRY DRACO IS SO HOT IM SORRY WOW BUT I HOPE THIS IS GOOOOD PLEASE ENJOY MY MADE UP CHARACTER AND MY SUPER LONG QUIDDITCH GAME THAT CONFUSED ME AFTER A WHILE OF TRYING TO WRITE LMAO and i made gif :)

November had begun and with it came the new season of quidditch at Hogwarts along with very poor weather and over-bundling nerves. Tensions had always gotten high around this time of the year amongst the teams and all animosity between the house’s respective players was on the forefront as the competition was building. It was like clockwork every year; captain’s starting strenuous training schedules, begging Snape to help book the stadium even if it was already occupied, spying on other teams to figure out their strengths and weaknesses. Not to mention the arguments that would happen regularly in between the first couple of games when you and your teammates would be accused of cheating or using dangerous and illegal moves. Which did happen to be true most of the time.

It was safe to say that it was the most eventful time of the year, and as suffocating as it sometimes got - you looked forward to it every time the new term started. It was in quidditch that you found yourself feeling the freest in, zipping around the stadium in a flash of green with the wind blowing through your hair and crisp autumn air biting at your cheeks. But most notably, it was in quidditch that you met Draco Malfoy and had quickly evolved from teammates to friends, to him now being your boyfriend.

You made Slytherin’s team your second year as a Chaser, a shiny new broom being given to you on the first day of scheduled training when Lucius Malfoy had made a generous donation that came along with a new platinum blond seeker. With the two of you being the latest additions to the teams, your captain, Marcus Flint, had decided to leave the dirty work for the two of you to do in the downtime every one else was able to enjoy. Marcus never changed that as the years went on.

So you and Draco would be sent off to other teams’ practices nearly every other day or week, depending on how secure Flint was feeling, both of you huddling closely together for sometimes hours behind the thick wooden benches as you watched and studied tactics with conversations in between. You would joke around a lot and call him your partner in crime which he would always roll his eyes to and make a snide and playful comment about even if he secretly loved hearing it. And the two of you stayed partners in crime for a while, neither of you ever making any move towards the other besides lingering touches and longing looks, and very rarely, a shy compliment.

It wasn’t until last year when you were hiding behind the bleachers, bored out of your mind watching Ravenclaw have a flawless run through around the stadium when you were graced with the dumbest idea.

“They’re playing good today,” you drawled out, “too good that it’s boring.”

“You reckon they studied so hard and found the key to quidditch?” He snickered as he played around with a pebble on the ground with his wand.

“We should help them out,” you suggested as Draco turned to raise a puzzled eyebrow at you. “Prepare them for the unexpected, nothing too crazy.”

You took out your wand from your pocket and pointed it towards one of their Beaters that was sitting idly by on their broom, a faint “confundus” leaving your lips that caused the broom to jerk swiftly to the side and nearly topple over its rider.

“You’re a genius,” Draco laughed quietly, repositioning himself so that he was right beside you with his wand directed out into the field. He spotted one of the bludgers flying towards the same Beater and instead of colliding with the bat, he used a charm to direct it into the back of their broom and then doubled it back around to try and hit one of the passing by Chaser’s that moved at the very last minute. 

You were a giggling mess, gripping tightly onto Draco’s arm as you watched everyone begin to look around wildly for the wild bludger with panicked expressions. What either of you didn’t realize in the middle of your joyed hysterics and Draco’s smugness for causing the angelic sounds, was that the bludger was flying idly still in front of the bleacher’s as his wand was still trained on it without moving it around anymore, his focus completely gone and concentrated on you.

It wasn’t until you heard someone yell out a, “Is that Malfoy and Y/L/N back there again?!” That made you get up with a sudden jolt, grabbing onto your accomplice’s hand as you ran towards the set of stairs that descended out of the stands. All you heard was distant angry insults and threats quickly fading out of ear-shot while you ran, laughing uncontrollably alongside Draco with his hand still tightly gripped in yours. 

When you finally reached the entrance of the empty courtyard of the castle with flustered cheeks and wheezing chuckles, you looked down at your joined hands at the same time he did and after a few seconds of realization and lingering adrenaline, you quickly moved into each other with a yearning kiss that changed everything from that day forward.

Draco stood beside you while you sat on a bench outside the locker room, your head resting lazily on the side of his leg while his fingers carded soothingly through your hair. Marcus was pacing in front of you, using his broom as a walking and pointing stick whenever he wanted to add any calculated words to his very hostile pep-talks that left everyone feeling more irritated and stressed.

Today was the last game of the season and the most important, it was the game that ended the season with a shimmering Inter-House Quidditch Cup and it just so happened to be against Gryffindor, making the stakes much higher than they already were. The matches against Gryffindor were by far, the most dangerous as they weren't afraid to play roughly either if push came to shove. The determination to beat each other and to win was critical on both sides and the day always ended with some sort of injuries.

“I don’t care how dirty we have to play today,” Flint fumed to the team, “I don’t care how many fouls we get, as long as we win.”

“Relax, Flint,” you sighed deeply. “We have the best players on our team and we’ve been working our arses off all season, we’ll be fine.”

“Still, I want to see blood out there,” he muttered back, walking towards the entrance of the field as Madam Hooch started calling your team out to start.

You stood up with a huff, Draco frowning when he noticed how tense you looked when your eyes worriedly met his.

“All right, love?”

“I'm just nervous,” you shrug, “I don’t want to mess up.”

The silver-haired boy moved to stand in front of you, placing two strong hands on either side of your arms to stand you in place so that he would be the only thing your wandering eyes were able to focus on.

“You are the best Chaser that Slytherin has ever had, no, that Hogwarts has ever had and I know for a fact you’re going to do amazing out there,” he cups your face with care, brushing a few stray hairs out of your face as he spoke. “You’ve got this.”

He pressed an encouraging kiss onto your forehead and then your lips, smiling at you supportively before taking your hand and hurriedly walking the two of you out into the field where the match was about to start.

Almost the whole school had shown up in an overcrowded sea of red and gold for Gryffindor. There were red sparks and small fireworks of lions that were charmed to roar when the animal would open its mouth. On one end of the stands, however, was the entire student body of Slytherin that was throwing green and silver ribbons and sparklers from their wands, yelling loudly in support as if their life depended on it. Over the rails, they had thrown down a large poster of a snake that moved around sleekly over large green words that read, “SLYTHERIN FOR THE WIN.”

Rain was lightly drizzling from the grayed dense clouds above, a sharp chill in the air from an approaching winter that always seemed to give the worst weather during the last couple of games of the year. You didn’t mind it since the cold had always felt nice against your sweaty skin during the game and it served like a small revitalizing shock that gave you a surge of energy to push forward with. 

Madam Hooch quickly went over the rules, set free the bludgers, and the snitch, forced the two captains, Wood and Flint, to shake hands and by the time she had counted down from three to one - brooms were soared into the sky with such speed it looked like a tornado had formed as she threw the quaffle up into the air.

A roar of cheers erupted from beside you as you got ahold of the quaffle, dashing past your House while you headed straight towards the Gryffindor’s goal post and managed to make the first shot in within the first five minutes of the game putting you at 10-0. You spotted Draco flying around above, smiling down brightly at you with triumph that only fueled your confidence as you darted forward to catch the ball again. You were, just as Draco had said, the best Chaser on the team and in all of the school. You were fast, agile, and smart when it came down to it and you were the reason why your team had easily wracked up 40 points with thirty minutes down in the match. Marcus was always trailing behind you with focus, shoving anyone who tried to get to you or pulling them back by their robes that landed Slytherin a couple of fouls throughout. 

You didn’t like to play dirty, but when Katie Bell had rammed into your side either accidentally or on purpose, it knocked the quaffle out of your hands and into one of their other Chaser’s, Rowan Rees, a muscular and tall seventh-year boy that had made the team that same year. With Katie still closely trying to cut you off, you veered sharply into her with your shoulder before breaking away from her and heading towards your goal post where they were trying to shoot. 

“ILLEGAL PUSHING FROM Y/L/N, FOUL AGAINST SLYTHERIN!” 

You rolled your eyes at the announcer, completely ignoring the boo’s that had filled the air as you whizzed past the other houses even though it was you who got hit first. Just as Rees had raised his arm to score, you flew over him, swooping your arm underneath your broom until you felt the quaffle back in your palm and ripped it from his grasp. The match was becoming more intense by the second, Gryffindor was promptly catching up in points because of the penalties they were awarded from the illegal moves your team was making and it left you feeling more pressured that it was nearly a tie now, Flint reminded you of that every chance he zoomed past you.

Unbeknownst to you, Draco was watching you cautiously from across the field most of the game when he noticed how close everyone was trying to get to you. You didn’t see the way you were almost tugged back multiple times or were missed by inches when someone was about to push you. Or how the Beaters were deliberately directing the bludgers in your direction. You also didn’t see how irked you had made Rees with your constant scoring and with the sporadic few times you had cut him off or almost bumped into him - but your boyfriend did, and he was much more focused on your safety now than the Golden Snitch he or Potter hasn’t spotted yet. Instead of searching for it, he was purposefully maneuvering himself around in front of the other Chasers to throw them off their focal point towards you so that you would have a clearer path to fly through.

He watched as you pulled your broom upwards to try and twist away from the area but Rees had reached out and pulled at your ankle, sending you out of your seat as the quaffle fell while you tried to rebalance yourself. That was all the encouragement the blond needed when he hurtled down into the mess, kicking at the back of Rees’ broom and sending him quickly spinning on a dive before he could try and move any further. 

“FOUL AGAINST REES AND MALFOY FOR KICKING AND TUGGING!”

“MALFOY!” Flint roared as he flew past, “Potter’s spotted the snitch! This isn’t your place, get out of here, NOW!”

And when he looked up, sure enough, Harry was going around desperately with an arm outstretched towards the small glint of gold that was moving too fast. 

“Go, I’m fine!” You shouted out to him when you flew back up with the ball back in your arms.

It was like slow motion when he forced himself to leave your surroundings, everything around him was moving fast and intensely with everyone screaming wildly that he couldn’t think straight. In a daze, he haphazardly sped towards Harry but noticed the panicked look on the seeker’s face when he had lost sight of it again which directed his attention right back to you. You were right in front of the Gryffindor goal post, arm stretched over your head and releasing the quaffle with a harsh throw.

“Y/L/N MAKES THE GOAL, TEAMS ARE AT A TIE-”

It wasn’t until the very last minute that everyone, including you, had realized the flash of red that came hurtling into your side at full speed, Rees colliding so loudly with you that it echoed around the stadium in a powerful clang and crack.

Draco watched in horror as you were thrown off your broom, your now unconscious body falling like a rag doll with a speed that sent his stress levels into overdrive. He had never pushed down on his broom so fast, immediately abandoning his spot to bolt towards you even as Marcus was screaming at him to not go. 

A few feet above the ground and before you met it, he managed to loop his arm around your waist and heave you onto the front of his broom with a slight struggle as it was now raining hard and clouding his vision. He saw Madam Pomfrey and Mcgonagall rushing into the field, hands holding tightly onto their hats as they worriedly rushed towards the area where your broom had fallen and where Draco was hovering over with you. 

“TEAMS ARE TAKING A 10 MINUTE TIME OUT!”

Marcus had flown down towards him, face twisted in fury and annoyance as he approached. 

“Is there a reason you’re not being a seeker, today?” He spits, “because I’ve been seeing you do everything but your job.”

“My bloody girlfriend just got knocked out!” Draco seethed at him. “I’m not going back into the game, I’m going with her to the hospital wing.”

���Like hell you are,” Flint scowled, “if you leave, you'll forfeit us the game. If you stay and let Potter catch that Snitch so it’ll be over quicker, I will personally make sure that this is your last year on the team. You’re going to win this for us.”

“Mr. Malfoy!” McGonagall called up to him, waving her arms hastily. “She needs to go to the infirmary, immediately!”

The two Slytherins were staring each other down aggressively as Draco contemplated the threat he was just given. There was nothing more he wanted to do than to throw a hex at Flint and leave with you, but he just swallowed thickly and nodded at him before descending towards the ground and letting you off carefully into the hands of Madam Pomfrey. A surge of fear ran through his body when he finally saw you clearly; a harsh red mark was making its way up to your neck, the corner of your bottom lip had split and doubled in size, there was a small scratch on your cheekbone. It made him feel queasy, but he tore his eyes away from you and hopped back onto his broom while glaring angrily at Marcus and the distant group of huddled Gryffindor’s. 

He was blinded in rage when the match resumed and even more enraged when Flint had cheered loudly when the announcer granted Slytherin a penalty for the injury Rees gave you, allowing them basically to get a free score in against Gryffindor. Draco let his eyes wander around for the snitch for the first time that day and he could hear his heart thundering in his eardrums in distress as the rain continued to make his search worse. All he wanted was to get out of the game to check up on you, and then he'd come back to the stadium to throw his fists into Rees’ face with maybe a few hits in on Marcus.

Just as he was losing hope, he saw a flash of gold whiz past him with a loud buzzing that shocked him into alertness. He didn’t care that catching the snitch would win the game, or the cup, or give him all the glory, no - this was his ticket out. He dived towards it with his arm outstretched, hand thrashing around in the wind as he tried to eagerly catch it. In seconds, Harry was right beside him, bumping him with his shoulder to try and throw him off the path but Draco only pushed back harder. There was a flurry of shouting as everyone watched, the announcer was yelling into the mic about the seekers going head-to-head, bludgers were flying past him. 

It was pure chaos and urgency, Draco could feel the fluttering of its wings beneath his palm and when Harry pushed into him one more time, he felt the coldness of the Snitch get trapped into his enclosed hand, the vibration of its wings sending a current of relief up his arm that spread throughout his whole body as he soared up into the sky while brandishing it to the schools’ painfully watchful eyes.

“MALFOY HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH, WINNING SLYTHERIN THIS YEAR’S INTER-HOUSE QUIDDITCH CUP!”

Draco hurriedly made his way down to the field where the rest of his house was pooling into, celebrating proudly and calling out for him to praise, but when he landed on the ground and was met with half of the Gryffindor team including Rowan Rees - all his wrath came flooding back into him. 

Angelina, another Gryffindor Chaser, had nudged Rowan with her shoulder, pointing towards the Slytherin Prince that was stalking towards them.

“Malfoy,” Rees started bitterly, “sorry about the girlfriend, I was only trying to knock the quaffle out her hands.”

“After she had already thrown it?” He glowered, walking closer up to the boy that was beginning to straighten himself out and flex. “Looked a little personal seeing how she was dragging you through the dust the whole game.”

“Accidents happen, mate,” Rees shrugged, “it’s only quidditch, you won didn’t you? Maybe you should be thanking me for giving you that extra push to win the game.”

A clear line had been crossed and everyone who was listening knew it. But before Rowan could say anything to try and drag himself out of the hole he had just dug himself into, he was being tackled into the ground with Draco above him throwing punches wherever he could land them. There was loud hooting and laughing coming from the Slytherins that gathered around the fight, cheering loudly for their House superior.

Rees was thrashing around on the ground, trying frantically to throw off the extremely infuriated boy that was repeatedly pounding into his face with bloodied and bruised fists. Oliver Wood ran up to the sudden brawl, Fred and George following closely behind him as they all started trying to rip the fighting boy’s apart from each other. Oliver had gotten Draco off briefly, allowing Rees to try and get a hit in but it was dodged at the last second as the blond quickly leaped up to his feet. The fight immediately ended when a muddy shoe had collided with Rowan’s jaw and Draco stepped back satisfied with the damage he had done, roughly shrugging off the grip Oliver still had on his arm.

“It’s only quidditch, right?” He spat venomously from above the Gryffindor who was holding his now battered face in pain. “That’ll teach you from putting your hands on a woman too.”

“Mr. Malfoy!” Madam Hooch bellowed as she broke through the crowd in a frenzy. “50 points from Slytherin, go wait outside Professor Snape’s office for further punishment, go right now!”

Draco did go, and instantly, but he didn’t go down to the dungeons to hear about the lengthy detention that he knew he was going to get and the scolding for being reckless and stupid. His feet carried his sore body up the many stairs that led to the hospital wing, his pace picking up swiftly when he saw the large double doors of the infirmary ajar and he was able to hear a faint and familiar voice speaking indistinctly. 

He threw open the doors, walking straight in as if he owned the place and ignored Pomfrey’s requests for him to leave as he made a beeline towards your hunched figure that was facing away from him. 

“I need to see her,” he said to the nurse quickly when she stopped in front of him. “I’ll leave soon, please.”

At the sound of his voice, you hastily turned around in your spot to face him, a yelp escaping your lips for moving too quickly through your injuries. Pomfrey stepped out of the way with a sigh allowing Draco to jog over to you.

“I’m going to kill him,” he scowled when he reached you. You were wearing a sling, a deep purple and yellowed bruise quickly set itself over the side of your arm and the same cuts he saw from earlier were still scattered over your features. His fingers ghosted over your skin and he let out a deep shaky exhale of anxiousness before moving his thumb up to graze your cheek tenderly.

“What happened to you?” You asked quietly in shock when you noticed his mud-splattered clothes and tattered fists. 

“Long story,” he drawled. “Don’t worry about me, are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” you muttered with a slight shrug that made you whimper lightly. “Did we win?”

He nodded quietly, his eyes still scanning sadly over your face with a frown. “I swear, I’m going to kill him.”

“Only if I can help,” you sniggered faintly, trying to make light of the situation and succeeding in doing so when you saw he had cracked a small smile. With his hand still on your cheek, he bent down to press a firm kiss on the top of your hair and then warmly on the side of your mouth that wasn’t bleeding.

“I’ll just let you finish him off then,” he mulled amusingly when he pulled away.

“Finish him off?”

The doors of the hospital wing were thrown open again, a sea of red flowing inside as they carried in a pummeled Rowan with a busted lip, bloodied nose, black eye, and deeply bruised jaw. You looked briskly between Rees and Draco, both of them staring daggers at each other and it rapidly clicked in your mind why your boyfriend had looked like he just walked through a battlefield in your absence.

“Oh.”

[sylverstorms]

Cassandra x Maiden----Anonymity Ch.3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Your quiet days in castle Dimitrescu met their end the moment Cassandra took an interest in you.

You should have known. Perhaps you did know and just didn’t want to admit it.

The woman –vampire, mutant, what even are they— is a bipolar sadist.

One night she may be walking down the halls sending you a sexy wink under her hood as she passes you by, the next she could show up out of nowhere and cut you ‘hello’ with her sickle, scoop up the blood with her thumb to taste, then disappear again. The evening after that, she may not even give a damn about you, may not spare you a single fleeting glance, like even the notion you could be worth her time is laughable.

And it is, isn’t it.

Humans are nothing to them. Your significance is below that of a pet. You may as well be livestock. It doesn’t matter, though, so long as you continue to breathe and remain intact. They’re the two essential factors to escaping. All else is secondary.

It doesn’t matter how Cassandra views you.

You don’t even like her.

What is there to even be drawn to? She’s covered in blood more often than not. The scent of iron usually drowns out her perfume. She’s capricious and cruel and the living personification of an unsheathed knife. You prefer your routes safer. Playful, creative pretty girls that are good for you and most importantly, sane.

Whatever weird tricks your brain and hormones are playing where she stars –you hate it, what is wrong with you— they’re just delusions, you reason, born from her questionable flirting and your time in captivity. It’s just a really bothersome case of Stockholm Syndrome you’re developing. And it has to stop.

Another week passes. You don’t see her.

You are on another night shift when you hear the telltale buzzing of insects down the corridor. Hervoice reaches your ear afterwards;

“Ugh, Bela, you never complain about anything. It’s so annoying.” Two pairs of heels steadily tap towards you.

“I leave it to you and Dani to cover for me, since you complain about everything.” The quieter sister drawls. You can easily picture her roll her eyes as she says it.

“You know, you really should sound more thankful I came with you in this unearthly cold.”

“I gave you the option not to—”

“Just to have you rummage through that bookshop for what was definitely the most boring twenty minutes of my life.” Cassandra continues.

From the fleeting glance you steal at them, the entirety of her attention is on Bela. You don’t think she’ll notice you as you continue polishing the corridor’s decorations. It’s just another one of these nights where you don’t exist and you’re deeply glad for it. Not just for yourself, but also the other maids.

“I thought I was going to die of frostbite.” she growls, shaking the elder sister’s arm.

“Technically, you can’t.” Bela shakes hers back.

It would be… cute, if they were any normal family. But you are quick to remind yourself of what they really are. Devils in human form. Monsters that took you from your home and trapped you here, to clean after their mess, with the threat of death looming over your head every second.

Their steps pass you by. You can almost breathe normally again, when—

Cassandra stops.

“Not even going to tell me hello?” The hurt in her voice can’t be genuine, you tell yourself as you turn around to face her. She’s closer than you thought, enough for you to be able to make out the tiny melting snowflakes caught in her long lashes.

“Um—hello.” you say, awkwardly.

“Cassandra.” Bela lets out a soft sigh.

“Bye, Bela.” The brunette pointedly speaks over her shoulder.

And to your horror… “Just keep in mind what mother said about the maids.” the eldest sister leaves you alone with her.

Each further step until the blonde disappears from view fills you with dread. Cassandra has that spark in her eye that you’ve learned to not associate with anything good. She’s completely still until she’s sure the two of you won’t be overheard or interrupted.

Then, she moves.

Her hands all too easily shove you against the wall. It’s more startling than painful, you realize, when your back doesn’t protest much at the collision.

Cassandra maintains eye contact with you as she tugs at the fingers of her gloves. You cannot fathom why it looks that sexy, the way she pulls them off, whether it is intentional or not.

“Plaything.” she says. Another new nickname for you. Not that you ever expected her to care to know your name. “I’m terribly cold.” she doesn’t seem to be lying, though the soft pout that curves her mouth is surely for effect.

It’s a test and your wellbeing depends on it.

Only, you have no idea what you’re supposed to do. Ruling your nerves under control, you decide to start slow. “Shall I light the fireplace in your room, my lady?”

“Maybe I want something more… immediate.” she replies, raising her hand to your neck.

The second her freezing skin touches your flesh, you cannot help but flinch. It feels like a slightly softer block of ice. Cassandra’s eyes creak at the corners. Of course, the sadist is enjoying your torment. Slowly, her fingers move under the collar of your black button-up shirt, which only makes it worse. The cold spreads, a peculiar tingle at your stomach with it.

“Well?” she asks. You get the memo that just sitting back and letting her have her way isn’t going to work, this time. You call upon all the willpower you possess and act.

Carefully, your hands rise to meet her own. You aren’t looking at her in the eyes –you don’t think you could— as your fingers wrap around hers and bring them in front of you, close to your body, warmed from hours of work. Instead, your gaze locks on the golden jewel decorating the chocker at her throat, before falling down, to your point of contact.

It is not the first time you see her hands without gloves on, but it only now hits you just how dainty they look. Her nails, filed round, are dyed a darker shade of crimson, stark against the white of her skin. There isn’t a single blemish or uneven spot you can feel on her palm. It is a princess’ hand you seem to be holding, not a killer’s.

But appearances can be deceiving.

The very corner of Cassandra’s lip curls up, amused or pleased or both. She then reaches forward, at the lowest clasped button of your shirt… and frees it open. You’re sure you aren’t breathing. Two more buttons are released. Her fingers, at least now considerably warmer, splay against your stomach. Something inside you quivers like a flickering candlefire.

You don’t want her touch.

But a traitorous, weak part of you has already decided that it does.

“You work out?” it is merely a whisper between you. She presses a little closer, entirely unashamed to be feeling the contours of your middle up while you’re burning with embarrassment.

“…probably the days of working in the fields.” you say, voice low because it cannot be trusted any higher. She’s doing a little thing with her thumb over your skin that you desperately want to deny turns you on.

Thanks to her you’re now freezing and burning at the same time.

Cassandra just stays like that for a few more seconds.

“Draw me a hot bath.” she eventually orders and extracts herself from you as if she’s not remotely happy with her own decision.

-

-

You don’t really know how she likes her bath and she doesn’t tell you.

All you can do as you test the water on your hand is pray. Your mind isn’t really working right after the touching at the hallway, but your survival instincts are strong still. Strong enough to remind you that Cassandra likes to be treated like royalty above all, so bubbles are your best friend in this. The more, the merrier.

The Dimitrescu daughter does not ask if the bath is ready when she comes in. You aren’t used to her being so silent, so you turn to see if something is wrong –but immediately regret it when the heavy robe clinging to her body drops down. The only glimpse you catch is of the fabric pooling at her feet like a shadow.

Your eyes stay glued on the queen-sized bathtub, even when she approaches. They turn to the side as she enters it.

You want to ask if the water is fine, but you can’t find your voice. You lose even your train of thought when she lets out a small hiss as she sinks in, replaced by a moan once she’s completely settled back, neck tilted and eyes closed in bliss. The polite thing is to let her bathe in peace, so you move to do just that.

Cassandra has other plans.

Her hand shoots out of the tub to wrap around your wrist, inescapable as an iron shackle. Those intense yellowish eyes are on you again and they seem to be glowing under the dim lights.

“No.” she says. “Massage. Now.”

Ah, great. You think. You’ve spoiled her. But if giving Cassandra massages is what is going to keep your hands attached to your body, you won’t complain. It’s just that… you can’t really focus right now. None of your thoughts are right or remotely what they should be. You need time off from her, rather than touching her.

Thankfully, the moans are kept to a minimum and there is no teasing. She is utterly relaxed, only giving the occasional command for higher or lower. It does kind of kill you when at one point she whispers “Right there.” but you are able to move past it.

You leave fresh towels beside her when you’re finally allowed to leave. Back in her bedroom, you light the fireplace in a way that you make sure will last through the day, while she’ll be asleep. The plan is to leave before she returns, but she’s already there by the time you’re finished with the preparations.

And –you’re trapped.

Because, again, she’s changing and you have to look away to preserve your sanity and probably your eyes. “No peeping, now.” she calls over her shoulder. You know better than to dare.

You keep your hands busy arranging bottles and boxes at her vanity until she’s done. Cassandra does that ‘flashing’ thing where she’s on one side of the room one moment and right behind you the next. You only then notice a little insect flying back into her form. It was spying on you.

“You didn’t even look near me, huh.” she says it like ‘congratulations, you passed’, but there’s a bitter undertone of disappointment in her voice.

She’s only feeling down that you didn’t give her an excuse to slice at your face, you think. Then again, does she really need one?

“I wouldn’t, my lady.” you assure. “If I may be excused—”

“Did I say you can go?” she turns you around, none-too-gently, her hands on your biceps tight. You’re effectively pinned against her and the vanity, but you have much bigger problems to worry about, when you take in what she’s wearing.

Cassandra is clad in a flimsy nightrobe that leaves little to the imagination, the fabric nearly see-through. You can see the edges of her lacy underwear underneath it, how nicely it sits against her perfect curves. To make matters even worse, the robe ends at about mid-thigh and your eye catches the expanse of creamy skin on display.

Your brain nearly melts.

“I don’t know what it is about you, plaything, but you’re working up my appetite.” she confesses, pressing into you, pressing you harder into the furniture. You try to think of literally anything else than how well her thigh is slotted between your legs.

If you’re supposed to look away from her lidded eyes, however, you can’t. And if you’re not supposed to feel the echo of her nails on your arm all the way down to your center, you can’t. You are definitely not supposed to be so achingly curious about her bow-shaped lips. But you just can’t.

“You’re working me up.” she breathes, so close you can feel the ghost of her lower lip on yours.

And then –her mouth is on you and you forget how to breathe. Your eyes close and just feel, instead. If this is how you die, maybe it isn’t such a bad way to go. It’s been too long since you kissed anyone, seems like ages ago now, but you gradually remember how to move once you allow your muscles to unlock.

Not looking at her makes it easier. Her lips are balmy and smooth and slide so good on your own you can’t think at all, much less of what she’s capable of. You would have guessed her to be aggressive, but Cassandra is oddly hesitant, the only thing hard about her being her grip.

You’re not sure what you’re doing or how you get so bold, but your hands trail up to her waist and pull her in. The little hitch in her breath threatens to break you. It provides the perfect opening to part her lips with your tongue. As soon as it touches hers, she moans low in her throat and slowly drags her hips against your thigh.

Oh. God.

There’s a hollow ache in your stomach. You’re shamefully wet for her. The voice of reason is mute in your head, until you’re forced to break your liplock to breathe and it only then hits you what you’ve just done.

Cassandra’s lips are insistent on your jawline, on the vulnerable spot under your ear. Her open-mouthed kisses are just hard enough, at first, but then start to border on painful. Your heart skips a beat when you feel the press of teeth, yet she rips herself off of you before she bites down.

“Ugh. I’m… so thirsty.” she says it lightly, but her voice is hoarse and something about her body language gives you the impression she’s hurting. “You should leave. Fast.”

You almost make the mistake of reaching for her. Almost.

Cassandra turns away from the temptation of your veins.

For both your sakes –mostly for yours— you hurry out of her room and never stop to look back.

[writethelifeyouwant]

Everything's Bigger In Texas

Summary: You decide to drive up to Dallas to surprise your old high school buddy, Jared, while he’s there for a convention.

Pairing: Jared x Reader Rating: 18+ Tags: J2 convention hilarity, dick jokes, only one bed, high school friends, spooning, size kink Word Count: 3,504 Bingo Squares: @spnkinkbingo - Size Kink

A/N: Not set around any particular season. For the purpose of this story, Jared and Jensen are both single, non-fathers.

Commissioned by: @jbbarnesgirl She had a great prompt that this has now spawned a sequel (which will be a member exclusive on my website)! Thanks for letting my mind run wild on this one babe ❤️

You pull into the parking space the valet wrote on your ticket and park with a dramatic exhale of relief. You’ve actually gone through with it and made the three hour drive up to Dallas to surprise Jared at his convention this weekend.

It had been years since your last high school reunion in Austin when you’d run into each other and wound up drunk in a Waffle House at three in the morning, stuffing your faces with bacon and french fries. You and he were the kind of friends that were awful at keeping in touch but time traveled straight back to junior year anytime you ran into each other. You’ve always been able to talk and laugh like only a weekend had passed between visits instead of years.

You hope Jared’s happy to see you, because you’ve been bursting at the seams with excitement since you came up with your ‘surprise’ plan.

The hotel lobby is swarming with fans and you wonder how on earth you’re going to find Jared in all the bustle. Your plan is to find someone who looks like they’re working the convention and ask for directions to Jared and Jensen’s bodyguard, Clif, who you hope to God remembers dropping your drunk ass off at your apartment after the Waffle House incident. It’s not a very elegant plan but it’s all you’ve got. You spot someone with a lanyard and a walkie-talkie and beeline toward them, fingers crossed in your pocket.

Twenty minutes and several tiers up the convention staff hierarchy later you’re finally led to a service hallway and ushered towards a door, Clif standing guard stoically outside it. The employee escorting you speaks quietly to Clif while you stand there awkwardly, rocking back and forth, toes to heel, in an effort to contain your nervous energy. A look of recognition slowly dawns across the bodyguard’s face as he takes another look at you.

“Austin, a couple years ago?” he asks to confirm.

“High school reunion,” you nod in affirmation, relieved he actually does remember you.

“No getting Jared drunk until after the panel,” Clif admonishes, aiming a thick finger menacingly at your face, and you nod gravely before his face cracks into a grin and he swings the door behind him back on its hinges.

“Y/N?!” Jared’s facing the door and spots you immediately, his face breaking into a wide smile. The anxiety that had solidified in your chest with each passing mile on your way here disintegrates, carrying the tension out of your body as it melts away.

“Hey there, Hot Shot.”

Jared bounds forward and wraps you tightly in a hug, the muscles in his arms visibly bulging the sleeves of his t-shirt as he squeezes you against him, which you can’t help but notice because your eye level is at his bicep. You hug him back as tightly as you can manage, pressing your cheek into his chest.

“How ya doin’, squirt?” Jared grabs your shoulders and manhandles you away from him so he can get a better look at you, his eyes racing up and down your figure. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, Dallas is only a three hour drive,” you shrug. It’s no big deal really, you’d just wanted to see him. “Plus my mom cancelled our girls’ weekend, so I had nothing better to do,” you grin, your eyes twinkling up at him wryly. Behind you, you hear Jensen snort with laughter. Jared turns to his friend, giving him a withering look and Jensen chokes back another laugh, unable to hide his amusement.

“Dude, you were her back-up plan after her mom?”

“Shut up,” Jared rolls his eyes but you join in Jensen’s giggles.

“I’m Jensen, by the way,” the man in question raises a hand in greeting, and you smile back.

“Y/N,” you wave. “Went to high school with this nut case,” you jerk your thumb towards Jared.

“Feels like I do too,” Jensen laughs. “He still acts like he’s fourteen most of the time.”

“Hey!” Jared points an accusing finger at Jensen, “at least fifteen, thank you very much.”

“And what exactly is the distinction between fourteen and fifteen here, Jay?” he asks.

“He doesn’t pop a boner every time he talks to a girl anymore?” you offer, snickering. Jensen bursts out laughing, a full bellied, joyous sound that fills out every corner of the room. Jared is rolling his eyes again, but you spy the faint blush that’s started to creep up his neck, and based on the smirk Jensen’s wearing, you think he’s spotted it too.

“So,” Jared draws out the syllable, trying to change the topic. “Are you staying for the convention then?”

“Got my ticket and everything,” you wave your pass in the air. “But mainly I just wanted to see you, it’s been way too long.”

“Yeah, it has,” Jared squeezes your arm affectionately. “Where’s your seat? I think we’re getting called out soon.”

“Oh I’m with the plebs at the back, standing room. Seeing your ass is only worth so much money,” you tease.

“You’re standing?” Jared’s brow shoots up. “You won’t be able to see a damn thing,” he laughs.

“You’re tall enough to see from space, Bigfoot,” you try to hit him on the head but he easily stretches his neck so you can’t reach, illustrating your point.

“She’s gotcha there, J-Rod,” Jensen agrees, strolling forwards and smacking Jared on the back of the head for you, since your attempt was foiled. “But you don’t have to stand all the way back there, sweetheart,” Jensen adds. “Come out with us, we’ll have someone put you at the side of the stage.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine. I really don’t mind standing,” you protest. You didn’t want to take space away from the fans who had paid for the close seats. You’re only a casual watcher of the show anyways, ghosts and monsters aren’t so much your thing, you just watch it because of Jared.

“Nah, c’mon,” Jared ignores your protest, striding back towards the door and popping his head out to talk to Clif. “Can you have them slap an extra chair on the side of the stage? Y/N’s gonna stick around for the panel.”

“Sure thing,” Clif nods, and radioes a volunteer to get it done.

“Jared,” you roll your eyes at your friend.

“Too late,” he taunts. “You’re stuck with the fangirls now.”

“Just keep in mind all the shit I could tell them,” you threaten jokingly.

“Nah, you won’t do that.” Jared’s entirely unconcerned.

“Why not?”

“Because then I won’t pay for our drinks tab later,” he smirks.

You mime turning a lock and throwing away the key. “My lips are sealed.”

“You better tell me later though, sweetheart,” Jensen ducks his head to whisper in your ear as they usher you out the door.

“Buy me a couple cosmos, you can know anything you want,” you smirk, and let Jensen and Jared guide you out to the convention hall for their panel.

“I will definitely take you up on that,” Jensen’s breath ghosts ticklishly over your ear. He shoots you a wink as he ducks behind a dividing curtain and you wave back giggling, and make your way to the seat Clif is pointing you towards.

The panel is a whole lot of fun, and you have to admit it’s definitely better sitting up front than it would have been fighting to stay standing in the sea of hormones jostling at the back. This close up, you can see Jared and Jensen’s reactions much more clearly, too; every secretive grin between them, every twitching laugh line, every aborted glance back in your direction. Laughter rings through the crowd and you refocus your attention on the questions.

“Which one of us is the biggest what?” Jensen speaks into his mic, asking the girl on the opposite side of the stage to you to repeat her question.

“Well I’m the biggest,” Jared cuts in smirking, and the audience cheers and giggles. Jared flashes them a bright, goofy smile.

“Well, that depends on what she’s asking,” Jensen smacks Jared on the arm. The girl tries to ask her question again but she’s laughing through it and the words come out garbled again.

“Which one of us has the biggest pants?” Jared’s brow raises as he incorrectly repeats the question again. You know there’s no way that’s what the girl asked. “That’s still me darlin’.” He turns to your side of the stage goddamn winks, and you flush just as deeply as the girl asking her question. You roll your eyes at him, glad that he probably can’t see you very clearly due to the stage lights shining in his eyes.

“That topic is still up for debate, actually,” Jensen protests seriously.

“No it’s not,” Jared scoffs.

“Uh, yeah, it is.” Jensen’s not backing down. “Costume department compared our measurements bro, they’re the same.”

“You and I both know that didn’t include the measurement they’re talking about,” Jared glares jokingly out at the audience.

There’s wolf whistles and shrieks of delight from the crowd and Jensen bursts out laughing. “You’re gonna give them all aneurysms, man.”

You certainly feel like you might be having an aneurysm. Your blood is pumping hot and hard through your veins. You can actually hear it swirling around your body, leaking out into your capillaries, carrying burning embarrassment and desire to the tips of each vessel.

It’s a running joke, the size difference between you and Jared. He towers over most of the people he meets, so it’s not unsurprising that he towers over you as well. He’s called you ‘squirt’ as long as you can remember knowing him, and you’ve called him every name you can dream up, from ‘sasquatch’ to ‘jolly green giant’.

As you both grew older, and Jared’s physique caught up to his height, and your mind started to take up a more permanent residence in…ahem… lower places than it had inhabited in your youth, you began to wonder just how big Jared would be if you ever… You imagine big. Proportional, at the very least. Though, Jared has always been an overachiever, you imagine it might extend to this measurement as well. You secretly hope, anyway.

You gulp nervously. There’s a reason you and Jared had gotten so trashed the last time you’d hung out, and that was so you could drown your burgeoning crush in some socially acceptable poison and hope it didn’t break its head through the surface. Jared looks back at you and flashes you a smile, probably in relation to whatever he’d just said but you hadn’t been listening, mind too preoccupied thinking about the size of your friend’s dick. You let out a sigh of resignation – you were going to have to get smashed tonight, too.

“Oh,” Jensen’s voice rings through the auditorium as he finally understands the question. “Which one of us did the biggest prank?”

“Uh, Jensen,” Jared answers after a moment of dramatised consideration, “just now when he told you all he has a bigger dick than me.”

There’s an echoing thud as Jensen smacks Jared’s head with his microphone and Jared and Jensen both double up laughing, covering their mics so it doesn’t reverberate around the room. When things settle down after a minute you see Jensen lean towards Jared to say something privately. The mics don’t pick it up, but you’re close enough that you think you hear him say, “later tonight, we’re getting out the ruler.”

The hotel bar is basically empty, but you and Jared are still in a private room at the back so he doesn’t get mobbed by fans if they do happen to wander in. Jensen had joined you for a drink earlier, but he had to leave to perform at the Saturday night concert for the convention.

-

“Do you ever perform on Saturdays?” you poked at Jared, and both he and Jensen laughed wildly.

“Never in a million years,” Jared shook his head. “I just watch this guy give everyone in the room phantom orgasms all night.”

“Gross, dude,” Jensen shuddered as Jared guffawed but you had to agree, Jensen’s voice was orgasmic.

“Have fun with your ménage a several hundreds,” you waved Jensen off with a giggle.

“You’ll have to join in sometime,” Jensen backed out of the room with a wicked grin, wiggling his eyebrows ridiculously and leaving you and Jared laughing behind him.

-

“You want another one?” Jared asks, pointing at your nearly empty glass.

“If I have any more I’ll have to crawl back to Austin,” you hiccup, the alcohol making you giggle-y and unsteady despite your seated state.

“You’re not goin’ back to Austin, squirt,” Jared protests, drowning the remainder of his own glass.

“Am I being kidnapped?”

“Damn straight. You’re not driving anywhere tonight, don’t be stupid.”

“I was gonna dry out a little first,” you defend yourself. Of course you weren’t planning to drive home drunk.

“By the time you sober up it will be way too late to go back. Just stay the night here,” Jared shrugs, indicating it’s no big deal for you to crash. You think about it for a moment and then agree that staying over is a better plan. Besides, Jared will have a big fancy room since the convention is paying for them to stay here – he’ll have plenty of space for you.

“Fine,” you sigh dramatically but you aren’t all that perturbed, and Jared knows it too. “Thank you.”

“What are friends for?” Jared grins. “C’mon, I’ll grab a bottle from the bar and let’s go upstairs. I don’t want to get caught in the crowd after the concert finishes.” You also don’t want to be mobbed by hundreds of concert goers, so you happily follow Jared out of the bar and up to his hotel room.

Jared flops dramatically onto his bed when you get inside, but you stand by the door, taking in your surroundings. As you’d imagined, the room is lavish. Every piece of furniture is accented with metallics, and every soft surface is heaped with pillows, including the bed Jared is now snuggling back onto. But, you note with a bit of surprise, there is only one bed.

Apparently fancy doesn’t automatically come with multiple beds – and why should it? Jared hadn’t expected anybody to stay the night, he’d only needed the one bed. Had he known there was only one bed when he offered you a place to crash for the night? Or had someone else brought up the luggage that you could see piled at the foot of the bed, meaning he wouldn’t have known what the exact sleeping situation would turn out to be? You’re jolted out of your frenzied contemplation when Jared throws a pillow at your head, though it narrowly misses and hits the door behind you.

“Are you just gonna stand there all night?” he laughs, eyes crinkling.

“Uh, no, course not,” you scoff, hoping Jared assumes the flush creeping over your skin is from alcohol, and not embarrassment. Jared scoots over to one side of the bed and pats the empty space he’s just created. The bottle of whiskey he’d brought from the bar downstairs is propped next to him on the pillows and it bounces as you settle yourself on top of the covers. You reach for it and peel back the foil cap, pulling the cork free with a pop.

“Wanna watch something?” Jared rifles on the side of the bed, digging for his laptop in the bag on the floor.

“Whatever you want,” you shrug.

You inwardly hope watching something might help you control your drunk chatter. Your mind has been wandering to one specific place since the panel this afternoon and you’re hyper aware that when you get tipsy, your filter becomes non existent. You do not want to give Jared an unsolicited insight into your horribly inappropriate mind.

Your eyes shift from the bottle in your hands to Jared’s laptop, now open and sitting on his thighs while he surfs through movie options online. His hands overwhelm the breadth of the keyboard, the pads of each long finger almost bigger than the letter keys they’re hovering over. How far could those fingers reach if they were… No. You curtail that course of thought with a swig of whiskey straight from the bottle and flick your eyes away from his hands.

Jared’s legs are pressed together, gangly limbs and knees scrunched up and pushing the fabric at his hips into ripples. An unmissable bulge sits at the apex of his thighs, distending the denim so it’s stretched tightly across his cock while it’s bunched and wrinkled everywhere else. You swallow hard and tear your gaze away, forcing yourself to look back at Jared’s laptop. He’s stopped scrolling now, and after a moment you realise he’s asking you if the movie he’s hovering over is an okay choice. You nod mutely and take another drink.

“Woah there darlin’, save some for the rest of us,” he laughs, grabbing the bottle from your hands, fingertips brushing over yours as he wraps them around the green glass. You wonder if Jared feels the same pang of electricity that you do when you touch. He’s evidently curious as to why you recoiled so quickly, because he’s now carefully studying your hand and the fingers that had just brushed against his.

Your moment of thick silence is interrupted by the fanfare of opening credits as the movie begins to play, startling you. Jared smooshes himself further back into the feather pillows on the unfairly comfy bed and stretches his arms wide, patting the pillow he’s using as an armrest to summon you to him.

Nervous and giddy all at once, you tuck yourself into the crook of his arm, curling up against his side. Even laying down he feels so much bigger than you. Your eyes drop again, unbidden, to his lap and you rip your gaze away quickly. The whiskey must be settling in now, because you start to feel sleepy and because, for just a second, you think that the bulge in Jared’s crotch looks even larger than it had a few minutes earlier.

Jared pulls you close against him, offering you the whiskey bottle again, and you take it happily. The two of you lazily glug more booze and laugh along with whatever comedy is on the laptop, and you’re utterly content. At some point in time your neck loses its ability to support your head and you topple it sideways onto Jared’s shoulder.

“You comfy there, Y/N?”

“Mm-hmm,” you hum sleepily, snuggling even deeper into Jared’s chest, your arm winding itself around his waist of its own accord, and Jared squeezes you against him, laughing softly into your hair.

You aren’t sure when you fell asleep – you don’t remember the end of the movie at all. You don’t even remember how you’d wound up under the covers, cradled snugly in the bend of Jared’s body. Wiggling a little to reintroduce feeling into your left arm, you shift backwards into his chest, secretly hoping the arm currently resting on top of the covers might drop around your waist as you continue to sleep.

Arching out to stretch your legs a little, you wind up nudging your hips back into Jared’s and you freeze in shock. Here, pressed close beneath the confines of cotton-swaddled feathers, you feel it… and you can tell – Jared hadn’t been kidding at the panel earlier. He must be bigger than Jensen, because there’s no way anyone could be physically larger than what you feel pressing into the curve of your ass right now.

Your whole body flushes, but you’re too scared to move away lest you wake Jared, so you stay. You try to breathe, systematically unclenching the muscles in your body from head to toe and allowing yourself to relax against your bed companion. Darkness settles around you when your eyes drift shut again but the light from Jared’s laptop still casts a faint blue tint against your eyelids.

That comforting blue morphs into a shocking orange, and your eyes squint against the unexpected source of light now coming from the open door. Seconds later it’s even brighter as the lights in the room are switched on to reveal Jensen leaning casually against the back of the door, smirking in the direction of the bed. Behind you, Jared has jolted awake, sitting up and pitching you forward into the mattress with the force of his disturbance.

“Jay?” he asks blearily, yawning through the word.

“Why did I have a feeling this is what I’d be walking into tonight?” Jensen answers with a laugh and a kind roll of his eyes. You look sleepily between both of the men, confused as all hell.

Finally, it occurs to you why Jensen must be in the room – and why there had only been one bed.

Part 2 now up as an exclusive commission on my website!

We’re All Mads Here: @vulgar-library @tintentrinkerin @negans-lucille-tblr @fandomfic-galore @petitgateau911 @schaefchenherde @kickingitwithkirk @little-diable @laxe-chester67 @kassyscarlett @austin-winchester67 @flamencodiva @katbratsupernaturalwhore

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[everythingsinred]

Let's Talk About NatsuMikan: Natsume (pt. 18)

Hiya! I'm posting late, on account of my job. Editing these takes about an hour depending on the post and inserting the images takes a little more, but I didn't have a solid block of time to work on it, so I worked on it in pieces and I only just now finished.

This arc highlights Natsume's powerlessness. He's distancing himself from Mikan to protect her, but by doing this, he leaves her defenseless at times. He wants to be there for her but can't because of the corner he's been pushed into, and in his desperation he turns to anonymity.

Chapter Eighty-One

Hotaru, Natsume, and Ruka are running after them, but are caught by Tsubasa, who asks them what their plan is, exactly. Ruka turns to Natsume, who turns to Hotaru, who pretends she was just practicing her running for the Festival and then the boys started following her for no reason. This comic relief is a badly-needed break from all the bullying and blackmail of the arc so far.

This arc is full of fun comic relief, but the main plot is so depressing and frustrating that sometimes the comic relief is not enough.

In any case, all three of them know that the others are all working to take care of Mikan, even if she doesn't know it. They're all looking out for her in their own ways, even Natsume who seems to have publicly turned against her. At least Hotaru and Ruka can see the truth: he's still quite concerned about it, but he's in something of a bind now.

The next we see of Natsume, he’s walking with Tsubasa, being spied on by both Hotaru and Ruka. It’s here that we discover that Tsubasa has been transferred to the DA class, but is keeping this secret from Mikan. Moreover, he and Natsume are on a mission to locate Yuka, and they’re both aware that Mikan is her daughter. It’s interesting to know just how much information the DA class has on the other students that the other kids have no clue about. Hotaru and Ruka are shocked by this information, but for us as readers, it also demonstrates just how much work Natsume--and Tsubasa--are putting into protecting Mikan.

All this information is stuff they have to consider on their missions. They want to protect Yuka, because she’s Mikan’s mother, but they have no choice but to pursue and chase after her with raids and attacks. On top of that, Tsubasa is keeping his new ability class a secret, and Natsume has to hurt her with this Luna farce. It’s a lot to put on two kids, not that the ESP or Persona have much issue putting pressure on kids.

For Natsume in particular, it was fun while it lasted, being close to Mikan. He had relished and enjoyed it, and now he has to change pace. He’s willing to, because that’s how he can keep her smiling and having fun, even if he’s not on her team and can’t even be in her inner circle anymore. He’s willing to sacrifice anything for her, but we can see that it’s not any fun for him. Mikan is suffering in sadness, yes, but so is Natsume.

The next thing he has to do only makes things worse.

He confronts Mikan about the rumor Luna made up, about Mikan showing her underwear to the Fuukitai to avoid punishment. It’s obviously bogus: Mikan would never even think to do that, let alone actually do it. He knows that too, because Natsume knows her very well. He asks because he has to.

Mikan avoids answering, brushing it off as none of Natsume’s business, because she is also under Luna’s watchful gaze. So they end up having an argument in front of everyone, both not saying what they really mean, and instead doing as Luna commands, to keep everyone safe. Mikan points out that she isn’t his partner--or anything--anymore, so he should mind his business. Natsume then asks if that means his concern is a bother, and she confirms: yes. It’s a big fat pain.

It's heartbreaking and frustrating in equal spades.

It’s almost as if Natsume was testing something. Now he knows that Luna must have threatened Mikan in the storeroom. Something sinister happened there, and now Mikan is different, dishonest, mean. That’s not what she’s actually like, and now he’s concerned. Luna’s shadow is spreading and it’s threatening to encroach on Mikan’s light.

Chapter Eighty-Two

Natsume walks off, having heard all he needs to hear.

Luna is causing mayhem and strife to punish Mikan and Natsume specifically for their misbehavior on New Year’s. She wants Mikan to be isolated from Natsume in particular because he’s her number one protector. If there’s a wedge between them, Mikan is easier to target. After all, Mikan’s purpose at the academy is to lure in Yuka, and the more danger she is in, the more likely Yuka is to try and save her daughter. If Natsume is around, threatening Mikan becomes tricky. He’d never allow anything bad to happen to her, hence his desperation and sacrifice in this arc. In order to fulfill their goals regarding Yuka, they need Natsume out of Mikan’s picture.

Of course, despite Natsume’s secret intel being superior to Ruka or Hotaru’s (and definitely to Mikan’s), he’s still not entirely in the know. Yuka being the main target, for example, is information Natsume is not privy to, and couldn’t even imagine. This is a game Natsume is unaware that he cannot win. If he doesn’t distance himself from Mikan, she’ll be threatened, but if he does, she’ll be threatened. In reality, there's no way he can win this round.

Chapter Eighty-Three

Anyway, the Sports Fest doesn’t slow down for the kids’ drama. The athletic meets have begun, and now there is a relay race.

Ruka and Natsume are on different teams for the relay, and this has inspired Ruka to beat his best friend, so he can be number one in Mikan’s eyes for once.

I will talk way more about the “love triangle” aspect of NatsuMikan and the question of choice, autonomy, and agency in Mikan’s essay, because when it comes to Natsume's side of things, he's very much resigned to losing every romantic game, every relay race, every competition. It's no contest. He's not competing. He's withdrawn from the race, now more than ever. He will not participate. He is destined to lose, after all, so why even bother?

And so Ruka wins the actual relay, and Natsume watches as everyone has fun without him, something that he’s been accustomed to before. It hurts more now, undoubtedly, because for a time, he was actually a part of the group. Knowing what it feels like to fit in and have fun with everyone makes it even worse when it’s gone again. He used to separate himself from the rest and suffer all on his own, but now he’s returned to that state.

He hasn’t quite let go, either. His effort and commitment to the Sports Fest, despite all the drama with Mikan and Luna, demonstrate just how much he actually wants to participate. It’s not about having his friends around him. He actually likes being able to have fun, and be allowed to take part in an event with everyone else, even if he isn’t technically by his friends’ sides.

His bad feelings are only exacerbated by Luna, who shows up to taunt him. He shouldn’t worry about Mikan and Ruka, because they’ll be torn apart eventually. Whatever happiness they find right now is temporary. It won’t last, and Luna will make sure of it.

But Natsume loves both Mikan and Ruka, and that does not reassure him at all. He’s selfless, would rather they be together anyway. In a perfect world, maybe she could pick him, and it makes him sad that the world isn’t perfect and he can’t have what he wants, but he’s always at peace with losing. So he’s not at all comforted by the idea that the happiness his loved ones have found will dissipate in no time.

Chapter Eighty-Four

Luna then giggles, because whether or not Ruka and Mikan’s being split apart will result in Natsume’s happiness is another question entirely. She wants to rub it in that even if Ruka is out of the picture, he can never be with Mikan. Joke’s on her though, because Natsume has already come to terms with this the moment he fell in love with Mikan. He hasn’t been humoring ideas of love confessions and weddings and living happily ever after. It’s outside the realm of possibility, because his circumstances do not allow him much happiness at all.

The future seems bleaker than ever, and knowing that Ruka and Mikan are being kept under watch by the school, Natsume keeps an eye on them too. He’s feeling sad and heart-broken too, of course. He’s not perfect. He can’t erase feelings of jealousy or the ache of unrequited love just because he feels it’s his duty to make peace with them. It hurts, but he’ll carry through. That’s what he’s always done.

But people are gossiping about his presence, putting his position in jeopardy. Luna can’t know he’s still hanging around Mikan, even if Mikan herself is clueless to this. Before he can be discovered, he steals someone’s mask, the mask of a boy named Kusami whose hairstyle looks an awful lot like Natsume’s.

If only he could be allowed to just steal people's identities and not have to face any consequences for it. Alas.

Unfortunately for Natsume, the Borrowing Race is about to begin, and Kusami was arranged to be a participant. He put the mask on to avoid responsibility for his spying, but it’s bit him in the butt now.

Kusami benefits from this, indirectly, since kids who call him moron get the cold shoulder from Natsume, who doesn’t have the same easy-going personality.

It seems nobody actually wants to participate in the Borrowing Race. It’s very personal and vulnerable: you have to borrow a person or item you’d least want to borrow, as dictated on a small piece of paper assigned to you. It’s then judged by some mind-reading alices to test the validity of the borrowed items. The concept of the race functions around embarrassing and humiliating people, so naturally nobody would want to participate.

Natsume has gotten himself into trouble here. He can’t even make a run for it, though he really wants to, because for some reason people are hell-bent on Kusami competing. He’s in the second round, and starts running as he--or Kusami--is supposed to. He gets his paper and although we don’t see what’s written on it quite yet, we can see a focus on Mikan in one of the panels, so we can tell his first thought is to borrow her.

To confess anonymously in front of the whole school or to not confess anonymously in front of the whole school--that is the question.

And then in a few pages, emboldened by the mask he’s wearing, Natsume runs toward Mikan and grabs her wrist. He’s decided he will borrow her, because maybe she’ll never find out his true identity, and he can be selfish just this once. This could be his only chance ever to be honest about how he feels. He's had to lie and hide it for so long that it makes sense he'd take the first opportunity available to go for it. This is quite possibly the most selfish thing he’s done. If he gets caught, he’ll be entirely exposed.

Unlike Ruka, Natsume can't really win this race. He won't be number one in Mikan's eyes, ever. He can't ever tell her it's all for her. The very best he can do is compete with a mask on. Ruka can try his hardest and impress Mikan and Natsume feels he never will. It's not much of a competition when one person cannot and will not compete.

He runs, despite her confusion and obliviousness, or perhaps because of it.

And just as the fireworks displaying his prompt start going off in the sky, he lets her go and walks away resolutely. There. He’s participated.

“The person you love.”

Mikan is chasing after Natsume, but he can’t be caught. Being caught would ruin everything, and would make his selfish act even more selfish. He shoves the mask back into Kusami’s face, and takes off.

You'd think he'd be a bit happier to have finally confessed his feelings but he just looks miserable.

Natsume has been very selfish now. He didn’t have to grab Mikan. He could’ve borrowed anybody and lost. Does it matter if he wins? He’s not Kusami. He could’ve just gotten the race over with and run away, but instead he played along, because he wanted to confess. He’s never been so honest in his life. He wants her to know he loves her, even if she doesn’t know who “he” is. And if he gets caught, then Mikan will know for a fact that Natsume Hyuuga loves her, and everything he’s done so far--hyping up Ruka, distancing himself, being cruel to protect her, allowing Luna to cling to him--will have been for nothing. She’ll know it was all a ruse, and then she’ll be open to all sorts of dangers. But he risks it, because he just can’t hide it anymore. He always has to hide, always has to pretend, always has to sacrifice his own feelings for the sake of others. This time, he’ll say exactly what he means, made all the more easier by the fact that there’s a mask on his face.

He’s done something like this before, particularly when he kissed Mikan on Christmas.

And the Christmas kiss is nothing compared to this: an actual love confession. The kiss was just that, and he had plenty of excuses for why he’d kiss her. It wasn’t because he loved her, no way! It was because she kept saying the other one didn’t count. Or maybe he just wanted to know what it felt like. That’s all. The excuses were just another mask to hide behind.

What excuse could he possibly give for a love confession that a panel of mind-reading judges corroborated? If he’s caught, she will know.

All his tiny instances of selfishness are smaller examples of the same idea: he lets himself be affectionate for once. He can say he prefers her with her hair down, or hug her during the SA class labyrinth, or cuddle with her when he’s having a nightmare, just this one time, and then he’ll give up for good. She won’t notice. It won’t have an effect. It won’t have consequences. He’ll give up for good after; he’ll just do this one selfish thing and then never again. But he can’t give it up, and eventually Christmas happens. He kisses her, unloading so much affection into one action, as if he’s trying to just get it over with. He’ll just get all his love out with one kiss and then he’ll be okay to watch her fall in love with anybody else but him.

But he can’t. He can’t stop doing these little selfish things. He can’t suffocate his love and leave it to die, hidden and smothered like a skeleton in a closet. Despite his every attempt to kill it, to hide it, to pretend like it’s not important, it has only grown stronger. He loves her more and more everyday, and the more he loves her, the harder it is to pretend like he doesn’t care if he never gets what he wants.

He wants to be with her. He wants to kiss her and protect her openly. He wants to sit next to her in class and smile with her. He wants to spend time with her and be on her team for school events. He wants to hold her hand and tell her he loves her.

He doesn’t want to give it all up and wreck his own chances.

The longer he’s loved Mikan, the harder it’s been to be selfless like this. The yearning has only gotten stronger, and now it takes all his power to be cruel to her. What used to come naturally, like being cold and distant and insulting her, has become difficult. What comes naturally to him now is to confess his love or hold her hand or be around her.

Despite the fact that Natsume was the only person who seems to have borrowed the correct person for the race, the White team still loses, on account of him not actually being Kusami.

At the end of the chapter, he sits alone, brooding in a tree.

He hasn’t been caught, so his actions have no consequences for now. He can sit there and mourn what could have been. He can’t be with Mikan, let alone confess his feelings. This was just an excuse to live out a fantasy. He wants to be loud about his feelings, not muffle them. But this is Natsume we’re talking about. He never gets what he wants. And in his opinion, he shouldn’t because Ruka deserves a happy ending way more. And Mikan would never love him back anyway. Ruka would be better for her.

This is just another instance of Natsume promising himself that he’ll do one more selfish thing before he gives up forever. But we know he’s bad at keeping his word, and this is no exception.

Chapter Eighty-Five

Before Mikan can confront Natsume about the borrowing race, Luna steps in, covering for him, claiming she was watching with him from the bleachers during the race. She clings to his arm and drags him off, spurring even more rumors that he and Luna are an item.

She's so violent with him for really no reason.

He tells her to get off, but she reminds him that she’s just done him a favor (though it’s really just a favor to herself). She grabs his hand and holds it tight, and again people get the wrong idea. It’s interesting how such physically painful things come across as romantic to the people around them, who think that Luna is simply holding his hand. Natsume’s persistent look of misery and apathy doesn’t deter people at all from rumors that he’s dating her. After all, Luna is clinging to him with a smile on her face and he’s not doing anything to peel her off, so it must mean they have feelings for each other. Natsume has been so good at hiding his feelings, that nobody--not even the girl he really loves--knows what it looks like when he’s loving and affectionate to somebody. They think he's into Luna, and can't see that what he really needs is help.

Chapter Eighty-Six

Luna has just arranged a terrifying fall for Mikan, knowing she’d use her alice as a knee-jerk reaction to save herself, thus causing others to think she did it for the attention. Mikan could’ve been seriously injured, or worse, and is definitely in trouble now, so Natsume is furious.

He confronts Luna, and the only thing stopping him from hurting her is that he could put Mikan in even more danger by doing so. But Luna is remorseless, giggling that she had no choice but to threaten Mikan. After all, she’s just doing what the principal said they’d do. Mikan should have been put in Persona’s custody in the DA class immediately following the Hana Hime party incident, but Natsume’s sacrifices have allowed her to skate by. Luna is there to observe and punish what she perceives as bad behavior, and anything less than abject misery from Mikan is bad behavior to her.

She warns Natsume: if he really wants to protect Mikan, then he’ll make sure she’s hated. That way, she won’t be in danger.

Powerlessness.

Natsume can’t go around confessing his love to her with a mask on anymore. He needs to sacrifice their relationship entirely in order to keep her safe. And so he does.

He’s sitting on a bench, surrounded by his classmates. Permy is adamantly defending Mikan. These rumors that Mikan fell on purpose for the attention are obviously stemming from Luna, who has the whole class wrapped around her finger. She turns to Natsume, looking for back-up, but Natsume has been told clearly what to do in order to really protect Mikan, and it has nothing to do with standing up for her against these rumors.

Instead, he says that it’s best not to be involved with Mikan anymore. He doesn’t want to see her or hear about her anymore, and he doesn’t want to associate with anyone who associates with her. He tries to give off the impression that he hates her, that he’s disgusted by her.

Then he sees that she’s been there all along, listening.

This is almost like the scene where he tells her he hates everything about her. He’s doing the hard thing to protect her. He’s lying, willing to hurt her, willing to be the villain, if it means she’s in the light and out of the dark.

But this is different.

Mikan could take it before. She yelled back that she hated him too, just as much, and even though that was a lie, it was still something she was able to say. She could argue and fight. This time she crumbles and runs away.

And he’s different too. Before, he could walk away, resolute and determined. Knowing that she’ll be better off this way was enough for him. He didn’t even look back. This time, he can’t leave things like that.

After all, last time was easier. He didn’t think she actually liked him back then. It would really only hurt him. He knows better now. Mikan cares about him, and it doesn’t matter what shape that care takes. It only matters that hearing Natsume call her worthless brings her to tears now, and that’s enough for him to feel way more conflicted.

This time, he apologizes.

He doesn't say he's sorry, but he's saying he's sorry.

He finds Kusami, steals his mask once again, never saying one word to a kid who has been generously keeping his secret for him. He runs after Mikan, and when he finally catches up to her, he hugs her.

Wearing the mask while hugging her is like wearing a raincoat in a hurricane. It won’t change anything or protect him at all. In fact, all he’s doing is giving her confirmation that it’s him, but he doesn’t care.

He doesn’t want her to think he hates her. He can’t stand it anymore. He’s sorry and he didn’t mean it.

He hugs her and this is different from his selfish hugs during the RPG or when he was having a nightmare. Those were little stolen moments for him to remember. He could take them from Mikan and cherish them as precious memories, even if she never thought of them again. This one is different. This one is for her, to comfort her, to apologize.

It’s all the things he can’t say. I didn’t mean it. Sorry. I have to do this. I really do care about you, I promise. It’s not real. Luna’s making me do this.

But before she can turn around to look at him, he leaves again.

He knows, because of Luna’s warning, that Mikan’s life will only get harder. He wants to help her, but by helping her, he’s placing himself further from her, making it harder for him to protect her in the future. If he’s distant from her to keep Luna at bay, then he’s not around to protect her from Luna in the storeroom, or during the cheerleading competition.

It’s what one might call a Catch-22. No matter what he chooses, he loses. And the worst part is that so does Mikan.

Conclusion

Natsume isn't an active participant in the last few chapters of this arc, so this is how I'll wrap the meta here. In the next arc there will be much to say about him. The Sports Fest went deep into Natsume's love for Mikan. It's not surprising that his love inspires selflessness. Natsume will always put others in front of himself and the more he loves someone, the more fervent he is about self-sacrifice. The truly beautiful thing about Natsume's love for Mikan is that it inspires selfishness too. And I never mean selfish as bad when I'm talking about Natsume. His love for Mikan is special in that it makes him want things for himself too.

I'm having doubts about being able to post tomorrow, so I apologize for only two posts this week. Expect normal posting next week at the very least! This essay is probably more than halfway through already, though I can't say for sure how much is left. Where I am now in terms of essay-writing is already deep in the Time-Travel Arc and as a result there's entire chapters I've skipped. Like. Seven in a row at times. Yikes. So basically we're pretty far in!

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[wtfevenismypage]

Observer, Not Profiler

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!reader

Summary: You’re similar to a profiler, but you can tell almost anything about a person just from a single glance. What they had for dinner, if they took a bath or shower, their name, favorite color, if they lie, even if they’re good in bed. You’ve been running from the government ever since you got caught hacking into their systems and since then you have been diagnosed with Extreme anxiety, anxious tics, and paranoia. But now the BAU need you’re help in Identifying killers.

Warnings: panic attacks, Strong language, mentions of murder and rape.4

A/N: I have no fucking clue what I’m talking about when it comes to the fake profiling, if it’s possible, or if trauma is how it’s caused, plus I’m exhausted so just roll with it please

“We have less than two days to find this guy before he kills again. What the hell are wee gonna do?”

Everyone sat in silence, contemplating and thinking about Derek Morgan’s words.

Sighs are heard all around before A youthful genius speaks.

“What if we brought someone else in? A-another profiler? Hotch, what about that girl from a few years ago, her friends said she could tell anything about anyone from a single glance? What if we brought her in?”

Aaron Hotchner rushes to his computer, frantically typing things into the screen and looks at the rest of his team.

“That should fish her out.”

Running from the government was difficult. You couldn't be in one place for more than a year, Never make friends, stay quiet, change your numbers and any personal information every six months, and if you see the police... Run.

You’ve lived like this for six years, ever since you were fifteen.

The reason you’re running is simple, yet hilarious.

Your best friend told you to hack into the governments to see if birds really do spy on us for the government. Of course you never found an answer because they already kicked you out before getting to it.

Then they came for you, at least ten swat cops raided your house, held a gun to your head as they searched the rooms.

When a group of profilers came in, and watched as you told them what they ate for lunch the day before, when they showered last, when the last time they had sex was, and shocked faces spread all around as you did the same with the swat cops, even though they were covered.

You’re currently watching you’re small T.V in horror, watching the news come unraveled.

“This woman has brutally murdered thirteen people, please, if you know anything, don’t hesitate to call us.”

Your face was plastered all over the news, every channel had your face on it.

You’ve never killed a single person. The closest you ever got was kicking a CIA agent in the groin and banging his head against your knee, but that hurt you more than it hurt him.

The woman speaking was a blonde woman with blue eyes, she has a petite stature that tells a lot more than any normal human would think.

Jennifer.

That had to be her name. She was an interrogator when you were originally taken in. 

Her face as you told everyone about the last time she had sex was hilarious. 

It was even better when it was confirmed to be true.

You frantically run around, grabbing a bag of runaway essentials and an apple before rushing out of your apartment and running as fast as possible, trying to get as far away as possible from this old life.

The street was littered with cops, they were practically on every street corner, talking to everyone they can see.

Panic and stress fill your senses quickly, causing you to break into a run down an alley way.

Yet of course, a few cops see you and chase you, because they’re cops and they see everything apparently.

You keep running, even when you feel like you can’t run anymore you keep running because if you get caught you’ll see them again, you know you will.

You’ll see those profilers.

They’re still chasing, but you start to slow down, unable to speed your slow jog to a run.

One of the cops tackle you to the ground, pinning your arms behind your back before shouting a slur of words.

But you can’t hear anything over the ringing in your ears.

you were caught. They think you murdered someone. Multiple people even.

A single tear rolls down your face as they cuff you, lifting you to your feet and dragging you away.

The team stared at you from behind the two-way mirror, watching as you twiddle your thumbs and stare confused as your head jerks to the side quickly.

“What’s up with her head?”

“Anxious Ticking, she was diagnosed with extreme anxiety and minor Paranoia soon after being caught. Anxious ticking is a system of these. she’s been looking over her shoulders for six years, so it’s no wonder she has these symptoms.”

Spencer answer’s Morgan’s question while looking at the young girl.

He was so intrigued by you. Another child genius like himself, hacking into the government at 15, and you could tell anything about anyone just by looking at them, yet you didn't like being called a profiler.

He was truly puzzled by you.

Your head tics to the side again, and you feel a red heat smack itself on your cheeks.

You knew they were watching you from behind the mirror, you just didn't know who they were. And ticking was always your biggest insecurity. You hated doing it in front of other people.

The door clicks open and you jump in your seat. You look up to see who it is.

A dark man with thick black eyebrows, he has a little beard and mustache, just covering his chin and upper lip, his build is lean and muscly, but not super muscly.

“Derek. Y-Your name is Derek.”

He nods with a kind smile, sitting down in front of you.

“Your name is Y/n.”

You nod and look down at your wrists, which are chained together with handcuffs.

“I didn’t... I didn’t hurt anyone...”

You whisper out with a shaky breath and tears in your eyes.

He nods knowingly, leaning back on the chair he’s in.

“We know you didn’t. We had to get you out of hiding somehow. This was the only way.”

You stare at him for a long time, shock moving in with the fear in your stomach.

“W-why? So th-that you could a-arrest me for hacking into the- the gov-government?” 

He looked at you, concern shielded by confusion as he stands, walking around you to the coffee machine. Your head swivels around, following his every move  with your eyes, making sure he doesn't hurt you.

The rest of the team watches as Morgan speaks, asking you about your age.

“tw-twenty one. I’m... I’m twenty one.”

They were in awe as they watched your eyes study Morgan, you travel all over his body.

“Y-you’re thirty three...You’re name is D-Derek and you’re thirty... three.”

“How the hell does she do that?”

Everyone looked at Reid, hoping for an explanation.

“It could be an effect of a traumatic childhood, often times children learn to just pick up behaviors but there have been a few very rare cases where they learn to pick up more than that. It’s dependent on their intelligence and education though. I’ve never seen a case like this though. It isn’t just looking and getting their name magically, it’s studying everything and narrowing it down.”

“Cool party trick. But shouldn't we be asking about how she hacked into the government at 15?”

“Well for one, she’s terrified right now, she wouldn’t tell us if we asked her. Morgan’s trying to get her to calm down right now. And two, if she was skilled enough, she could hack into the government. The techies of the government should have caught her as soon as she made her first attempt. I don’t understand how she made it through all of the firewalls and blocks.”

The team continued to watch as your wrists painfully slam together twice, causing the coffee cup in your hand to splash onto your lap. An embarrassed blush crawls up your neck as you apologize three times.

 Reid writes this down under your tics. So far he had head-jerking and wrist bumping.

“She doesn’t like when people watch her ticking. To her it’s embarrassing. Reassure her that it’s alright, chances are someone or multiple people have put her down about this.”

Spencer informs Morgan through the ear piece while you rub at the now warm spots on your legs.

“It’s alright, don’t apologize for it, it’s a natural instinct, we’ve seen it before.”

You turn to the two way mirror, once again made aware of the other people watching you.

“I... Ho-how many people are... Wa-watching?”

You ask, voice shaking in a low whisper that you only wanted him to hear.

“There’s six people out there, the rest of my team. You saw three of us six years ago, but two people since then have resigned.”

You nod at his words, feeling tiny again as your wrists slam together again.

There was Jason, he seemed scary, a serious look was on his face but his words were kind, he tried to calm you down.

Next was Derek, He was emotionally charged, he yelled at you every time you moved, but it was only in fear that you were going to hurt anyone else.

Then Elle. She was so kind despite carrying a gun, she held a normal conversation with you as if you were a scared girl, and not a criminal like everyone else treated you.

Next was Aaron, He scared you the most. he held a gun to you the entire time and spoke to you like you were scum, he treated you with confusion and sent tears to your eyes.

Lastly was the nameless genius. You never were able to figure out his name, you knew that he was a genius as you were, but you couldn’t tell a single thing about him.

“Is Elle there? can I talk to her?”

You speak, a small smile creeping onto your face. He chuckles and smiles, leaning forward in his chair.

“Unfortunately Agent Greenaway has resigned.”

The smile falls as you begin twiddling your thumbs again.

“W... What about the long haired man? He was very t-tall, and skinn-skinny... He-he’s smart... very smart... Am I... Am I able to talk to him?”

Derek thinks for a moment before standing up.

“let me check with the team.”

He walks away, through the door and leaving you alone in the room.

“She wants to talk with Reid.”

Morgan states as he walks into the room with the rest of his team, looking at Reid who looks pretty terrified.

“She doesn’t know his name.”

“Well it has been six years.”

“She has an eidetic memory. And it would be difficult for anyone to forget any little detail from the day she started running.”

“So should we send Reid in?”

“It’s up to you Reid. She doesn’t prove to be a threat.”

Reid stands up and looks at the girl with tears in her eyes one last time before slowly stepping into the room.

You jump at least three feat when the door clicks open, staring at the new man with wide eyes. He apologizes and sits down in front of you.

“Yo-your name is... It’s... I can’t... I can’t read you. I can’t ev-even tell how old you are...”

His eyes widen as he smiles a little bit, trying to calm your nerves.

“I’m Dr. Spencer Reid.”

You smile a little at finally discovering his name, you’ve been thinking about it ever since you got away.

“Dr. Spencer Reid.”

The tears that cloud your vision finally fall, dripping onto the table.

“I’m sorry. I-I don’t know why I’m cry-crying...”

You stutter out, looking down to wipe your tears away.

“No need to apologize, it’s understandable considering the amount of stress you’re receiving right now.”

“Um... Am I... Am I going to jail?”

He doesn’t answer for a moment, thinking about what to say before scratching his head.”

“No I don’t believe so, There was no big harm done with the hacking, so The worst you’ll have to deal with is quite a bit of questioning. No, what we brought you in for is help. We understand you have the ability to profile people with a single loo-”

“No.”

You speak in a loud tone which causes Reid to jump a little, and the rest of the team is put on edge at your sudden tone.

“I’m not... I’m not a pro- a profi... I’m not one of you.”

You curse yourself in your head for yelling, you really didn’t want any of this attention.

“I understand that. I’m sorry, You are able to identify anything about a person by just looking at them, and we need your help with that.”

You look at the mirror, staring at your own reflection for a while before asking a question.

“I don’t have a choice do I?”

His lips stretch into a thin line, his cheeks puffing out where his lips end, and he shakes his head.

“Of course you have a choice. You can say no, and you’ll be free to live your life, or you can help us, we’ll pay you a respectable amount, make sure you have a place to stay for a few months, and make sure you can see your friends again.”

Tears flowed down your face freely when he said you could see your friends. Your friends were your entire life before this. After your parents kicked you out for being an athiest, you lived with your best friend since the age of 13.

“I... I’ll help... I’ll help.”

He genuinely smiles, holding his hand out with a small item in his hands.

“Go ahead and unchain yourself, when you’re ready the rest of the team and I are right outside and we’ll brief you.”

He drops the key in front of you before standing, awkwardly waving, and then he walks out leaving you alone in the room.

You try to pick the key up, but seeing as both hands are chained underneath the table, so you sit awkwardly, your gaze switching between your hands, the key and the door, but you can’t call out for Spencer, the panic in your lungs are taking all the air, not letting you speak. 

“Should someone help her?”

“No. I would like to see how she gets out of this.”

Hotch tells Morgan before watching you kick the other end of the table, bouncing the key towards you.

It slides into your lap, which you quickly thrust your hips up to get to your hands, and you get yourself out of the cuffs.

Your fist quickly comes into contact with your forehead, another new tic.

You look at the mirror again before walking to the door and grabbing the knob, twisting it open and looking inside.

Your eyes flashed over the six people multiple times, identifying their names and ages. Some from memory, and others from your knowledge.

“Thank you for agreeing to help us. If you’ll follow us please. Dave, I want you and Morgan at the crime scene again. JJ, set up a press conference. Reid And Prentiss, You two and I are working on victimology with Miss Y/n.”

[heliads]

Thinker, Traitor, Soldier, Spy

You are a soldier hired on as a bodyguard for John Walker, the latest Captain America. However, Sam Wilson may help you realize that there’s more to life than just following orders.

masterlist

What does a soldier do? They fight. They follow orders. What does a spy do? They listen. They report.

What do you do now? You are a soldier and a spy. You listen and do as you’re told. You sit with perfect stature at the desk. There are four guns on your person, three knives, and a smoke grenade, just in case. Two men sit opposite you, one clad in garish red and blue and the other in an army uniform. This is your new assignment, they say. You start today.

You did not die after Thanos snapped, although you were fighting to stop it. You were forced to live instead in the five long years, watching countless friends die. There is no stop to the bloodshed, there never is. When the fighting at last cleared and everyone was brought back, you knew there would be trouble. They’ve tried to call forth a hero, someone everyone can depend upon. A new Captain America, the one sitting before you.

John Walker troubles you. You have seen many men in your line of work, men whose tongues only serve to twist and lie or whose hands reach to their guns before they extend in peace. There is a glint in Walker’s eyes that doesn’t seem quite right, a yearning for power that doesn’t seem to fit in with his new role as Captain America. If you knew any better, you’d say that giving him this position is the last thing you should do to a man who craves power in the way that Walker does.

But you were not here to place judgement or call him out. You are a soldier, and that’s why they want you on their side. Your employers, that half-formed shell between the fallen S.H.I.E.L.D. and the rising S.W.O.R.D., have sent you to defend him and his partner, Battlestar. It’s just another role, a bodyguard to the latest celebrity of the military world. Nothing more.

Yet, when you rise from your seat and shake their hands, you can’t seem to lose the feeling that something is going to end up very, very badly. You’ve seen men like Walker before, men who like to think of themselves as above all others. You have no doubt that he’s already hating you for being here at all, despising everyone for thinking that he needs protection. If this job of bodyguard fell to anyone else, you’d tell them to watch their backs. Luckily for you, you never stop doing that yourself.

They place a gun in your hands before too long. They know you have enough weapons to fend off an entire army, but they do it anyway. It’s less a check than a charity, like saying here, we have your back. Trust us, fight for us. You’ve seen it done many times before. You board the same vehicles and planes as them, ready for your first fight against the Flag Smashers. You approach the trucks rattling down the roads, Walker and Hoskins by your side. You can see two figures already fighting the masked figures and recognize them from a legion of surveillance tapes, news reports, and case files: Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes. If they’re here, fighting the same enemy, you can at least try to delude yourself into thinking that you might be on the same side.

You join the fight as soon as directed, firing weapons with expert precision. This isn’t the first time you’ve fought super soldiers and it certainly won’t be the last. You notice a group of super soldiers targeting Sam Wilson and drop towards them, knocking them back again and again. You’re about to head after them, pursuing them when they run down the length of the trucks, but then a hand closes around your arm. You rear around, hands already rising to pistols and knives, but relax slightly when you notice the confused face connected to it.

Sam Wilson stares at you, releasing his light touch on your arm when he notices your reaction. “Sorry about that. Who are you?” It occurs to you then that they have no idea who you are. You’re a gun, nothing more. A hired weapon used to keep out of public scrutiny. Sam Wilson is a good man, so of course he would not know you. You just shake your head slightly. “I’m with Walker.” It will tell him all he needs to know.

Sam’s brow furrows, and you take this momentary lapse in focus to dive off the side of the truck, reaching for a side mirror with perfect timing to swing between the trucks. Sam watches you go, but he doesn’t follow. He pauses for a second longer, then continues the fight, as do you. Something raises the hairs on the back of your neck and you throw yourself to your knees; seconds later, Walker’s shield streaks through the air to collide with a Flag Smasher’s shoulder.

You glance back at him, but still remain silent. He cocks his head to the side, evidently expecting a bigger reaction to him almost decapitating you. You refuse to give in to any emotions. You’ve walked through many tests from many more people. What is one more to you? At a brief moment of respite from the fight, Walker and Hoskins address Sam, stating their names along with a casual salute from the latest Captain America.

Sam takes this in with a tilt of his head, then turns to face you. You remain silent, refusing to divulge any more information than necessary. Seconds later, you’re granted a reprieve from his expectations when the Flag Smashers rally again, this time with more force. You’re ready to go to your last, even when Sam and Bucky and then Lemar and Walker are knocked from the truck. You’re ready to keep going, to finish the job, but then you see Walker shake his head at you even as the truck rattles past him. If he cannot complete the job, then no one can- the fame and glory must fall to him alone. You jerk your head once in a nod, understanding, and leap from the truck yourself. If the impact scars your knees in a jolt, you’ve conditioned yourself to ignore it.

Walker and Hoskins grab a truck on the walk back. You sit next to the driver, gun obvious in your palm. They attempt to pick up Sam and Bucky, although the pair seem more than hesitant to get in. Eventually, they give up and climb in, accepting Walker’s constant questions with barely more than a restrained eyebrow raise. Sam turns towards you, unintentionally or perhaps purposefully ignoring Walker’s latest offer at a partnership. “So, what’s your story?” You remain stoic and silent. Walker answers for you. “She’s an agent. You can trust her.”

Sam directs a confused glance Walker’s way. “I didn’t ask you.” Walker rolls his eyes. “You might as well have, she doesn’t talk much. Honestly, she’s no better than your buddy with the staring problem.” Sam gives Walker an irritated look. “She’s right there. She can hear you.” You raise an eyebrow. “I can hear you too.” Walker turns to you, feigning incredulity. “Look at that! She speaks!”

You can hear the warning in his voice, so you bite your tongue and stop speaking, even when Sam tries to talk to you again. You can still feel Sam’s gaze on you, although you say no more, even when Sam and Bucky give up on Walker’s constant attempts at friendship and jump off the car entirely. You can’t say you entirely blame them- if you could jump after them, you would be long gone.

You continue to work by Walker’s side, just as your orders demand. As the days pass by, however, you feel a permanent crease beginning to form itself along your brow. There is something wrong with Walker, a kind of insanity you’ve only seen a few times. It won’t be long now until he snaps, you just don’t know when it’s going to happen. Then again, it’s not your place to place judgement, not yet. You can watch, wait, and follow orders. Nothing more.

You’re sent to patrol an area where the Flag Smashers are rumored to hide, walking alone through twisting cobblestoned streets in search of the familiar logo of a red handprint. Although you search for a while, you sense that the person following you is not a Flag Smasher. No, it’s someone altogether different. You allow them to pursue you down a couple of streets then turn around unexpectedly, startling your follower. You come to face Sam Wilson, and the man chuckles softly when he sees that his attempt at following you undetected hasn’t exactly worked out.

“And here I thought I was sneaking up on you. Your reflexes are great.” Your face remains decidedly neutral. “I appreciate the compliment.” Sam allows himself a smile, then his face returns to the urgency that has pierced him for a while. “I need your help. You know as well as I do that Walker is getting in over his head. He’s going after the Flag Smashers in completely the wrong way. People are going to end up hurt. I think I can get to Karli Morgenthau, but I need your help in convincing Walker to stand down.”

You shake your head once. “I have my orders. I can’t break them.” Sam sighs once. “I don’t know much about you, Agent L/N, but I know enough. I know that you don’t want to see innocents hurt if you could help it.” You fold your arms across your chest. “You looked me up? If you did your research, Sam, then you’d know that I’ve never once disobeyed direct orders. I have been told to fight by Walker’s side, it’s what I’ll do.”

Sam stares at you. “You agree with him? You think this is the right thing to do?” You feel a bitter laugh crossing your lips. It makes Sam look at you in a different way, like he’s truly seeing you for the first time. Not just a hired gun or soldier, but a person in need of saving. For some reason, it makes you feel uneasy. “Sam, I have never had a choice in this. Do you think I’m going to sleep at night with a clear heart because of what I’ve done? I have never had a choice. Not once. It won’t start now.”

Sam’s gaze falls, not in disappointment but a mutual understanding. He is a soldier too, you remember, he knows what this feels like. “Not all orders are pleasant.” He agrees, then meets your gaze again. “If you have the option, though, I would be grateful if you reconsidered. It doesn’t have to be much. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t heading down his path.” You fight the urge to laugh again. “I don’t think I could if I tried.” A faint smile appears on Sam’s lips. “I didn’t think so either.”

You have gone through many difficult interrogations and communication sessions, places where you’ve lied and been lied to for the sake of a mission. This conversation with Sam, though, throws a stumbling block under your feet. You’ve always been able to move on from your job, to pack away the memories of screams and blood stuck under your fingernails until you don’t think of them at all. For some reason, you can’t get Sam’s words out of your head. What does he want of you? He doesn’t seem to have an ulterior motive, some want to have your knives and fists on his side. No, if you didn’t know better you’d say that he’s truly looking out for you. It’s a foreign concept, but for some reason it feels right coming from him.

Walker ends up teaming up with Sam and Bucky again. They’ve tracked down Karli Morgenthau to a church, the funeral service of a Donya Madani. Sam has gone inside to speak to Karli, hoping to persuade her to lay down her weapons and search for her peace and equity in a different way. If his words are anywhere near as effective as his talk with you, you have no doubt that she’ll listen to him.

Walker, however, is growing antsy with every second away from a battle. Eventually, he gives in to his gnawing need to fight and charges into the fray. Shots ring out, punches are thrown. When you look up, your stomach clenches with horror. Lemar Hoskins lies dead on the ground, neck broken, blood welling up. Walker goes silent, a maddening rage rattling through him. He sprints out of the room, after a perceived killer of his friend. You exchange a silent look with Sam, then the two of you run out after him.

You end up splitting up, Sam flying out and you going a different back route to avoid the cameras already recording. When you see the horrors of the scene before you, you feel acid creeping up the back of your throat. Walker raises the infamous shield, smashing it into the head and throat of a pleading Flag Smasher until the blood and gore stains everything within the surrounding distance. A primal scream echoes from the man’s throat, fitting for this act of barbarity.

You’re not sure how long you stay there, only that you can’t seem to move your feet until the square is cleared of horrified viewers. Only then do you force yourself to start walking. You don’t stop until you’ve found Sam, until you’re standing before him and he’s reaching out an arm to steady you. You’ve seen bloodshed before, enough death to drown out the world. For some reason, this seems different. Maybe it’s because you were fighting on Walker’s side before, and you’re still expected to do so now. Maybe it’s because you’re still locked away behind the rules, the orders.

Sam is speaking now, asking you if you’re alright. You look up at him, incredulous. “You saw what he did. Walker has to be stopped.” Sam looks hesitant. “I would appreciate your support, but I know what this means to you. Are you sure about this?” You nod harshly. “He’ll be waiting in a warehouse near here. I saw him go. If you arrive alone, maybe with Bucky, and try to speak to him first, you’ll have the best chance at getting the shield. It’s the only way.”

You expect Sam to go now, but instead he stays, making sure you’re alright. “And what happens after that? Where do you go?” You shrug. “I don’t know. They might reassign me. They’ll definitely order a hearing for Walker, I might be included in that too. I’ll see what happens from there.” Sam’s jaw clenches in worry. “If you need help, I’ll be there. I’ll speak for you.” You glance up at him. “Why? I fought against you, with Walker. I’m not one of your allies.”

Sam chuckles softly. “Not all things are alliances and sides. I trust you, you came to me. That’s all this has to be.” You nod at him slowly. “Thank you, Sam. Honestly.” You set off with him towards the warehouse, where Walker waits alone. Gore still stains the shield. Sam begins his negotiations, but everything falls apart when he mentions the shield. Walker looks at you, raw rage coloring his gaze. “You told him how to find me. You’re a traitor to your cause.”

Sam steps forward before the words can take hold. “She is a soldier making the right choice. Don’t involve her in this.” You glance back at him. Who would defend a toy soldier? Only the man who never saw you as one in the first place. When the fighting begins, it feels strangely liberating, like you finally have a cause instead of just a direction. This is truly a fight that matters, not just another job.

When it’s all over and Sam stands with the shield, you begin to walk out into the sunlight, leaving the dark cool of the warehouse behind. Someone joins you after a short while, someone with a new shield who nods at you with a smile when you wait for him. Your feet crunch on the gravel outside. “So, it’s over now.” Sam shrugs. “There are still the Flag Smashers. Some battles never truly end.”

You glance over at him, for once not stopping the smile hesitating on your lips. “I’ll be there.” Sam smiles back at you. “I’ll be glad of it. You’re a good person, Y/N, even if you don’t believe it.” You laugh at that. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Sam doesn���t respond right away. Instead, he’s still looking at you with that same thoughtful expression, like he’s just seen a masterpiece come to life and it happens to be you. “I think I like your laugh.” It’s then you know that you would follow him anywhere.

marvel tag list: @mycosmicparadise​

[luvknow]

anything for you | lee felix

genre: rich kid!felix x reader | rich kid au ; friends-to-lovers au ; food ; swearing warning ; alcohol warning ; drinking and driving warning ; abuse warning summary: felix’s family owns the largest restaurant franchise in the country and your family works under them. you two have spent your entire lives together and somehow you’ve turned into mini versions of your parents with a boss and secretary type relationship. it wasn’t until last year on his birthday when he tells you he loves you while drunk that your friendship dynamic dramatically changes, and it’s not for the better when he pretends it never happened. wc: 11.2k

You and Felix were two peas in a pod.

From the moment you two were born until your last months at university, you were tied in this relationship for life. Were you two dating? No, of course not! Were you two friends? Well…

Your friendship with Felix was complicated because it was kind of… bought. There was no way to put it lightly, that was simply the origin of your relationship. It all started when Felix’s rich ass CEO of a Dad hired your Dad to be his right hand man in all decision-making aspects of the company he ran. You thought of your Dad as a Chancellor to the King, which I mean was still a high position in the company, but your peers around you thought otherwise.

You attended all the same schools as Felix (thanks to his Dad’s connections), attended the same after school activities (also thanks to his Dad), and even attended the same overseas summer camps (thanks to his Dad who owned the plane that flew everyone). Even then, after being on the same level as Felix for over twenty years, everyone saw you as Felix’s Secretary who waited on his every word. As a kid, your Dad was transparent about how all the privileges you had were all because of Felix and his family and that you should always treat them with respect. And as an impressionable kid, of course you took that a little too literal.

Your Secretary title started in Pre-School when Felix was crying because he forgot his toy to take a nap with at home, so you offered yours. Those small, kind gestures turned into getting him drinks and snacks whenever he wanted, to tutoring him in subjects he had trouble with, to completing essays he didn’t want to complete, and you did it all without ever complaining.

So despite receiving all the same opportunities as all the other inheritance-dependent kids, you were the bottom-feeder of your entire grade.

“_____ ~” Felix whined while entering your apartment. “I’m hungry.”

You exited your bedroom fixing the last couple buttons on your dress shirt. You’re not surprised to see him in the least, as you’re used to him coming in whenever he pleased since he owned the other copy of the apartment keys. “I have food in the fridge.”

“I don’t want a huge meal before the shareholders meeting.”

“You know where the snacks are, what are you waiting for?”

“I just wanted to ask just in case.”

The excited boy wasted no time invading your pantry and grabbing a handful of fruit snack packets, some he stuffed in his dress pants pockets and some he immediately tore open. He made himself home by flopping on your couch, also known as his second bed, and scrolled through his rotation of dating apps while waiting for his dear friend to finish getting ready.

“Don’t lie down like that!” you nagged. “Your pants are going to get all wrinkly!”

Rolling his eyes, Felix sat up straight, to which you immediately fixed random strands of hair  that strayed away from the rest of his slick-back style.

“What are you, my mom?” he mumbled, swatting away your hands.

“Don’t you know how important this meeting is? We could land our internships today.”

“Do you really think I need to worry about that?”

“I guess not… You don’t even want to try out another company for a semester? Scope out your partners?”

“That’s exactly why I shouldn’t be doing that. I’ll look so shady! You probably shouldn’t be thinking about doing that either.”

A small pout emerges from your lips. As much as you owe the Lees and their company your life, you’d like to think the possibility of freeing yourself from their financial shackles was high, even if it was for just one semester. But Felix was right - in order to avoid any spying controversies, it was probably best to not even think about another company. Basically, you were trapped with this company for life.

“Ready to go?” Felix broke the silence. He was the first to leave your couch and head for the door without even bothering to wait for you to catch up.

When you finished locking your front door, you caught Felix looking at your business casual outfit a little too closely. If you weren’t so quick with your reflexes, you would have bumped right into his oddly bulging chest (has he been working out lately?). Still, his foxy eyes scanned you up and down, slowly and intimately.

“Wh-What are you doing…?” you asked nervously. “Is my outfit too bland? It’s ugly, isn’t it? I can’t really glam up for a business meeting, you know.”

“Chill, why are you being hella defensive right now?” he teased. “No, you look good. Honest. Good enough to stand next to me, at least. I wouldn’t stand next to Father if I were you.”

“Thanks, I think.”

“You kind of fit that secretary stereotype you like so much. Especially since you’ll be following me around all day.”

“I do not!”

“Yeah, ok,” Felix tossed you the keys to his expensive black sports car, to which you were also covered as a driver by his insurance. For someone who owns several expensive cars, he sure hates driving them. “Shotty.”

“There’s only two of us…”

The car ride was mostly silent other than the deafening rap music that blared through the subwoofers. Felix could tell you were nervous depending on how talkative you were. If you were blabbering on about how you looked or something arbitrary for at least fifteen minutes, you were probably nervous about a date or maybe a quiz that was coming up in class. If you were silent, he knew that the matter was much more serious. Silence meant that you believed no matter what you did to change yourself or improve upon past mistakes, there was no hope and that whatever was coming was absolute.

“Don’t worry about today,” he reassured after reading your mind. “It’s not like you’re talking in front of hundreds of people at the meeting.”

“Easy for you to say, you’re used to this type of crowd.”

“Are you not? We have class with those good-for-nothing kids of theirs, it’s like the same thing!”

“It is definitely not the same thing! These people have power and they’re smart! The uni is full of idiots who got in with bribes!”

“And you don’t think our shareholders do their fair share of bribing?”

“Of course they do, and that’s what makes them even more terrifying, Felix! They have that kind of power to either buy my entire life or buy out and make sure I never see anyone’s faces again!”

“You say it like you haven’t been shackled to me for over twenty years.”

“That’s different ok, I was a commodity, I couldn’t change anything as a fetus.”

“And now you think you can?”

“I mean, I’d like to think so. Am I crazy?”

“No, not at all.” Gingerly, Felix patted your head like a little kid. “You’ll be just fine ~ I can even introduce you to the ones you want to talk to if you’d like.”

“That’s ok. I’d like to try on my own.”

He understood completely. How he wished he could have that little bit of freedom… To even think about leaving the company behind to work for someone else was blasphemous.

The shareholders meeting was a social event like no other - like, it might as well be a ball with all the people attending and all the press surrounding and being in the building. You pulled up to the normal valet guy who only chuckled at your shocked expression. Felix, on the other hand, wasn’t all that surprised and was rather annoyed at how something as simple as a meeting was getting this much attention.

After dodging all of the press and making it through several thresholds to reach the conference room, you helped Felix prepare for his opening speech.

“You seem more nervous than me,” Felix teased while you quickly smoothed out the wrinkles in his jacket.

“I'm nervous all the damn time.”

“Well, can you quit it before I start sweating? This outfit was expensive. Do you have my speech?”

Searching through your trusty bottomless bag that held everything from tips from your part-time at the cafe to snacks in case Felix got whiny, you pulled out a medium-sized notepad with his opening speech written on it.

“Really, _____? Hand written?”

“My sentences sound better when I write them down instead of typing it!”

“At least it’s legible.” Felix’s Dad announced over the microphone on stage that the meeting will begin shortly. He saw the both of you standing off to the side and waved happily, to which you both could only wave back. The boy in front of you sighed, and it’s the first time today he seemed only slightly nervous. He turned to you. “How do I look?”

How did the most handsome boy you’ve come to know look this morning? Dressed in navy with a white button-down, ears bejeweled and shining in the bright lights, his eyes and his smile sly and foxy, so of course to you he was the only one in the room who you had your eyes on because no one else could ever compare. That’s how it’s always been. 

Gentle fingers startled Felix, only for him to realize you were fixing his monogrammed silver tie clip. “You look just fine.”

“‘Just fine’? Not the sexiest man in the entire world?”

“I’d hardly call you a man…”

“Welcome to the YONGBOK Inc. Shareholders Meeting,” greeted your Father while on stage. Felix noticeably cringed at the sound of his birth name slash company name. “We will begin this meeting with an opening remark from Mr. Lee’s son, Felix.”

“Go get ‘em, Tiger,” you whispered with two thumbs up.

A loud round of applause erupted from the audience filled with press and shareholders. Lee Felix was named one of the most influential people under twenty-five this year and has consistently landed spots on Forbes’ 30 Under 30 list so yes, Felix was always highly anticipated as a guest to fashion shows and charity balls and even more so as a speaker for his future company. Though it was only less than a minute ago he was jittery with nerves, the second he stepped on stage in front of the podium, it was as if he was born to be a public speaker.

“Good morning, honored guests,” he began in his deep voice that startled unfamiliar guests..

His speech - your speech - wasn’t that long, since it was a simple welcome to all the rich people who gave the Lee’s their money. Regardless of its length, Felix somehow drifted his gaze towards the right where you stood. You, who always stood by him and was his friend through everything, stood at the sidelines giving him your unwavering support, even through this minor milestone. Despite this huge corporate building being the last place you want to be, still, you were here by his side.

In your eyes though, it looked like maybe his stage fright was worse than you expected, so you gave him two thumbs up again for reassurance. You couldn’t really tell what he was thinking because he seemed totally fine, in fact his execution was quite flawless, it was just… Why wouldn’t he look into the cameras? The stage lights that shined on him showcased the bright grin he gave when he saw how confused you looked.

“We will continue to work hard together so that YONGBOK will continue being the best restaurant franchise in the country,” was the motto of the company and how Felix ended the speech. With a deep bow and a wink for fan service, he exited the stage.

He fell into your arms clutching his heart. “Ugh, that was so scary!”

“You did fine,” you mumbled, quickly pushing him off before any cameras caught you. Still, he swung an arm around your shoulders unapologetically.

“All right, let’s ditch this popsicle stand.”

“You know we can’t do that or our Fathers will kill us.”

“You think I haven’t died and resurrected like a rising phoenix dozens of times?”

“Leave if you want, it’s your suicide.”

“You won’t come with me?” the handsome boy pouted.

“I’m not actually your secretary, you know.”

“I know, but I’ll be so lonely… Did you at least bring a snack?”

Felix decided to stay when he realized you weren’t kidding about wanting to sit through the entire meeting. Your right ear was focused on all the questions shareholders and the press had while your left ear focused on the child you were babysitting playing with the chocolate bar wrapper. Eventually the conflicting sounds merged into one when the lack of caffeine in your veins made it hard to concentrate for long hours.

“Bet you wished you left with me a couple hours ago, huh?” Felix teased once everything was over.

“Whatever. The important thing is that it’s over now.”

“Are you going to go talk with some of the shareholders?”

That was the original plan - to land an internship at a different company and slowly but surely escape the bubble that is the Lees’ world, but what was the use of making life harder on yourself if you’ll just be seen as a spy? What was the use in anything anymore when your life was determined the moment you came out of the womb?

You shook your head tiredly. “Nah, I think I’ll save that for another time.”

Felix linked his arm with yours like you were the gentleman and he was the lady. The warmth of another body so close to yours was only familiar when it was his, and you wished your body was unbiased and rejected anything within a five feet radius. “You wanna hang out with me that much?”

“Who said I’m hanging out with you? I’m driving you home.”

“No come on, let’s hang out today! Neither of us have class and when was the last time it was just the two of us?”

By ‘just the two of you’, he meant when was the last time you and him hung out without any business involved? When was the last time you and him had pizza together after a long week of midterms and studying, or the last time he picked you up from your part time at the cafe to have a cup of coffee, or the last time you talked about anything other than being ordered around by the Prince himself?

The answer to that question was last year on his birthday when he got too wasted and you didn’t have the strength to carry him up his multi-story mansion, so instead you carried him up to your humble apartment and let him crash on your bed the whole weekend (insisted upon staying the whole weekend because all the puking made him ‘weak’ and ‘dehydrated’).

Truth be told, you loved Felix’s company, whether it was business or personal. The hesitation was because you wondered if he truly felt the same way, especially since he never spoke about that night on his birthday. That night, a lot was said, but nothing was ever confirmed, so you were left in limbo while Felix managed to live in ignorant bliss.

It was better this way.

“I guess it’s been a while…” you trailed off.

“It’s been forever, love. Can we go to your cafe? I’m really craving the strawberry milk latte thing.”

“Anything for you, Felix ~”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

“Felix,” the haunting voice of his father echoed from behind. “Come here for a second -”

“That’s our cue!” The wild blond took you by the hand and sprinted out the conference room doors before his dad could catch him.

As if already predicting the time of events for the shareholders meeting, the valet already had the sports call pulled up and tossed you the keys for maximum efficiency.

“Hey, you’re hand-eye coordination is getting better!” Felix teased while hopping in the front seat.

“And your fear for your dad is not.”

“It’s not fear, it’s pure distaste. Completely different.”

The short ride to your cafe was anything but quiet as Felix filled you in on his most recent Tinder match. The story was something along the lines of ‘she was hot, but kind of stupid’, and you weren’t exactly sure what came after that because, well, you didn’t care. Hearing about the guy you were in love with slash your childhood friend slash the guy whose family bought out your family’s current dating app situation wasn’t exactly the most ideal setting, but hey, it beats sitting in that conference room for any longer.

The cafe was surprisingly not as busy around lunch time, even though it was Friday. Other than a few customers, the only other person in the cafe was your coworker Wooyoung who was busy dramatically singing to whatever drama OST was playing over the intercom.

“Are you making it?” Felix asked, referring to his strawberry latte.

“I wasn’t planning on it since I’m not working.”

“... Can you?”

“Are you serious!?”

“The last time someone other than you made my drinks, they tasted watery!”

He wasn’t wrong - a lot of the baristas here were a bit lazy with the job. You and Wooyoung were among the very few who genuinely cared for the cafe, the menu, and its customers. You supposed you could take a moment to step away from Felix - you sort of missed the barista behind the counter, anyways.

“Sit tight,” you told Felix, who obeyed happily at his favorite table.

Wooyoung with his cutesy cheeky grin chucked one of the ugly brown work aprons right at your face, to which you only whipped right back.

“I’m not working and you know that!”

“Can’t a guy dream to have the same shift with his favorite coworker? What are you doing here then?”

“Making a strawberry latte.”

“For yourself or for His Highness over there?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

Wooyoung knew all too well what your relationship was like with Felix and that was because he was also one of the elite, also known as a trust fund son. Wooyoung and Felix were from the same side of a coin, reigning from families whose net worth could buy out entire towns. The circle of the elite had a lot of members, but it was tight-knit, so everyone knew everything about everyone else. You were included in Felix’s dossier.

“You know, _____, you are your own person,” Wooyoung tisked as he hovered over you making the fruity drink. It was as simple as pouring milk over some strawberry compote (Felix liked it when there was extra compote) and shaking vigorously.

“You telling me that whenever I come in with him totally makes it more valid than the last time.”

“You know I’m just looking out for you.” His soft fingers gently pinched your cheeks. “You’re so sour today, I kind of like it.”

“Aren’t you known for liking people who have zero interest in you?”

“Exactly, so you better watch your attitude or I’ll steal you away from Mr. Lee Felix ~”

“You’re so weird!” Even so, Wooyoung stole a kiss on your bruised cheek before helping the customer at the counter. The aftermath left your face burning up, even though you were used to his flirtatiousness by now.

Of course Felix saw the entire interaction. Though he tried to hide behind his phone, he made sure to still have a view of whatever you and that spoiled ‘I-own-a-yacht’ Wooyoung were doing. You were much different around him than you were with that cheeky bastard behind the counter. With Felix, you were strict, quiet, and pouty, but with Wooyoung you were able to smile more and joke around and even laugh when you flicked whipped cream in his hair. In those short five minutes, that was a type of you he hasn’t been able to see since high school.

But now? You were so cold and distant. He could barely hang out with you without it seeming like it was some business meeting. What changed?

Felix watched you walk back to him holding his pink drink with your cheeks to match its color.

“I didn’t know you two were so close,” he said bitterly after you both exited the cafe.

“We work together, of course we’re close. You’re welcome, by the way.”

You’ll take his happy humming as he inhaled the latte as a thank you. “You talk about how much you hate some of your coworkers all the time!”

“I guess I do… but he’s different.”

“Of course he is…”

The handsome and pouty boy beside you did his best to ignore your accusing glare. “Do you have some beef with him, or something.”

“No,” he said simply in between gulps. “I just don’t like him.”

“You don’t like any boy I talk to.”

“Exactly.”

“So what happens when I really like someone? Do they need your ‘Lee Seal of Approval’?”

“Yup.”

You sighed heavily. “Why do you enjoy making my life so hard?”

“Because I love you, that’s why!”

You couldn’t count on all your fingers and toes how many times Felix has said ‘I love you’ since his birthday party. With his special day coming up again, the words hit harder than usual, even when you knew he was joking, but no ‘I love you’ hurt more than the first time he said it last year before he passed out on your bed.

Speaking of which, “Sooo ~ Guess what next week is ~?” Felix sang cheekily after hopping in the car.

“Uh, midterms week?”

“No ~”

“Buy one get one free soju at the karaoke place?”

“No…”

“Oh wait, isn’t it Han’s birthday next week?” He knew you were trying to push his buttons, but it clearly worked by the way he was glaring at you. “Yeah, that must be it.”

“So mean…”

“Are you two throwing a joint party again?”

“Yeah, but I think we’re skipping the club scene and throwing it at his house instead.”

“Wow, the Lee Felix is tired of the club scene?” you scoffed. “Never thought I would see the day.”

“Maybe it’s just my eyesight getting worse - I’d like to see who I’m hitting on for once.” One sharp stab in your heart. “Will you help me plan?”

Did you really have any other choice? “Of course.”

“Yes ~ This’ll totally top last year’s party!”

You sure hoped so, and you hoped you wouldn’t remember a single moment of it.

--

Planning for the party didn’t start until a couple days before the big date. Since Jisung was hosting, it was Felix’s responsibility to come up with all the decor and the theme and literally all the smaller bits and pieces of the party.

“Honey, I’m home ~” Felix sang as he walked into your apartment. An aroma of fresh spices and cooked meat and roasted vegetables hit his nose upon entering. “Whoa, are you cooking!?”

“We can’t plan on an empty stomach,” you stated the obvious. Immediately, a bowl of rice and the fixings was handed to the grinning boy.

“I love it when you cook. I haven’t eaten your cooking in a while.”

“I didn’t know you liked my cooking,” you blushed. “I haven’t cooked for you that often.”

“It’s because we’re both always so busy or we just eat the restaurant’s food when we’re lazy.” A happy hum came from his lips. “You have a mad talent for this, you know.”

“Do I?”

“Of course! The Boy with the God Tongue himself said so!” Being the future heir of the country’s largest restaurant franchise meant ridiculous chef-related nicknames, to which Felix enjoyed whole-heartedly. “You know this means I’m never going to let you leave YONGBOK.”

“Can you stop, you’re so embarrassing, it’s not that amazing!”

“You stop! Quit undermining your talents.”

“If it’s so good, what do you like about it?”

“For one, there’s tons of balance between the flavors. It’s also not as salty, which is what some of the chefs in some locations are having trouble with lately. But the best part is that it feels like home when I eat your cooking.”

“Like home? Like… as if your in-house chef was cooking it?”

Felix chuckled cutely. “No, I mean it feels like someone who loves me very much made this with lots of care.”

You’re too stunned to say anything right away. It felt as if Felix caught you in his trap and was forcing you to admit something that he knew from the very start. But now was not the time nor was it the place. As a response, you turned away and chugged the rest of your glass of water.

“Right,” you cleared your throat awkwardly. “G-Glad you liked it.”

Felix wondered why you wouldn’t look at him. “S-So, let’s get started?”

You took a bowl of food for yourself and refilled Felix’s before settling down at the table. “Do you have an idea for a theme?”

“Ok, hear me out - casino themed?”

“Isn't that underage gambling? Sounds super illegal to me.”

“Right, right… Ok, how about, uh, a masquerade?”

“Not bad, but a little cliche, no?”

“But it’s so sexy! Classy clothes, bejeweled masks -”

“Choreographed waltzing?”

“Yes! For the first half of course, then we’ll probably bump the real shit after a couple of drinks.”

“Hm, I actually like that.” You entered the theme into your notes. “Cool, we have a theme down. Now for all the decoration…”

That itself took about an hour. Imagine, talking about banners and balloon arches, and personalized masks for a whole hour with the most indecisive human being alive. How he’s expected to make major decisions for a multi-million dollar company one day, you’ll never know.

“Ugh,” you were over it, at least for another hour. You couldn’t take comparing different shades of gold and different grades of champagne anymore. Your couch was supposed to be your safe space away from Felix, but he followed you like a puppy and laid his head on your lap.

“This weekend is going to be so much fun! Did you get me a gift yet ~?”

“Uh, maybe…”

“What is it?”

“It’s a surprise, silly.”

“Can I at least get a hint?”

“Probably the cheapest gift you’ll get.”

“Hey.” Felix silenced any doubt you had about your gift by taking one of your hands in his and holding it over his chest. He closed his eyes, tired from the day, tired by your constant doubts, tired of it all. “You know I don’t care about that kind of stuff when it comes to you.”

“I know, but I do.”

“Well, don’t. My favorite gifts have always been from you.”

“Even more than the diamond chain from Chan?”

“... Your gifts are my favorite after that one.” Your free hand poked his freckled cheek, causing him to laugh and smile brighter than the sun. Lying here with you made him happy. “I miss hanging out with you like this.”

“We hang out all the time!”

“Not like this. We never just chill out together and not worry about anything. We’re always worrying about something, especially since we started uni.”

“Uni sort of defines our future, so of course there’s tons to worry about.”

“Not for me. My life has been predetermined. If you think about it, uni doesn’t define your future, either.”

“I wish you didn’t tell me that,” you groaned. “You’re so right. What’s the point when the two of us are just going to take over our Father’s positions, anyways!?”

“Does our future together sound that miserable to you?” he teased. You wished he didn’t word it that way.

“Not miserable, but doesn’t it suck that we don’t have that sort of freedom? You and I have had our lives predetermined since birth!”

“Perhaps it was fate that you would be my Chancellor and I would be your King,” Felix snickered.

“Call it whatever you want, but where’s the joy we could get from spontaneity and disorder?”

“Good point. But I think you and I will find that joy just fine.”

“You think so?”

“Mhm. Life will always be a joy if I’m with you.” A tired smile spread across his lips. “You and I make a disorderly pair.”

You and him were definitely a disorderly pair. It was like you two were in a modern-day forbidden friendship that was only seen in royal fairy tales. Felix was the Prince, the apple of everyone’s eye, the boy with the highest ranking just below the King. You were the lowly common person who devoted their life to the castle and serving the royal family. Somehow, even with the drastic gap between your social classes, you both found each other and became inseparable. 

Through childhood, adolescence, and young adulthood, the time spent together naturally formed your feelings for Felix to nothing less than love. You were the number one witness of seeing him laugh, smile, cry, and scream through all his happiness, sadness, and anger. You were the only one who knew the exact number of freckles that dusted his cheeks. You knew what specific snacks he wanted for certain craving occasions, his favorite orders at every restaurant, how he liked his instant ramen (with egg, American cheese, and green onions), and especially his cafe drink orders. When they say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, you supposed that was especially true for Felix.

After over twenty whole years together, how the fuck were you supposed to avoid falling in love? How were you supposed to look at Felix and feel with your whole chest that you were not madly in love with his beautiful face and his kind heart? When Felix told you he loved you with slurred words on his birthday last year, how were you supposed to let that go and live on like you didn’t cry in the shower for a whole month afterwards?

You put the blame for the disorder in this messed-up friendship all on Felix, but you couldn’t help but clean it up and do your best to keep it together. So when he forgot he said those magic words, you did your best to forget them, too, but the best you could do was bury the memory away and cover it up with work and school. It wasn’t the most ideal way to deal with the issue, you knew that, but the important part was that it was working even if it was just a little bit.

Felix was the first to wake up the next morning. You didn’t move a single muscle and ended up sleeping upright since he used you as a pillow. Still, your hand was in his and the other tangled in his messy blond hair and truly, being here with you was the only place that felt like home.

--

The day of the party was filled with chaos on your end, as you had to wake up at 6:00 am just to make it to Jisung’s pool house in time to set up the decorations for the joint birthday party. You ended up directing all the crews to where the cocktail tables needed to be set up, where the instagram photobooth should go, and where the Michelin-star chefs were going to set up for dinner. The most important part was the dance floor, which would be clean with nothing but some shoe scuffs for the first couple of hours and probably stained with different colors of liquor by the end of the night.

By noon you were totally wiped out having a stomach full of only coffee and a granola bar. The worst part was that you didn’t get a chance to buy a mask yet and would probably have to settle for some cheap recycled paper with sequins and feathers glued on it from the birthday party store down the block.

But as if the Gods’ translated your feelings telepathically to Felix, your Prince in shining armor came to the rescue with a sandwich, more coffee, and something in a matte black gift bag. The gesture, though small, made your cheeks burn the brightest of pinks. It was your first time seeing and talking with Felix since he left the comfort of your lap a couple of nights ago. Although you were unsure of yourself (as with any situation, am I right?), the Prince didn’t seem so phased.

“I figured you could use a pick-me-up,” he grinned brightly, handing you all the goods.

“You are a blessing,” you sighed, chugging the iced coffee. “What’s in the black bag?”

“It’s a surprise. Open it.”

“I thought today was your birthday?”

“It’s nothing big, I promise!”

You shot him a skeptical look, but opened up the gift regardless. Inside was an intricately bejeweled mask for tonight, colored perfectly to match your outfit.

“I went to your apartment because I thought you’d be there,” Felix began shyly. “I went to your room and saw your entire outfit laid out, but no mask, so I figured you didn’t have one yet. I bought one to match your outfit and to match mine! Mine looks exactly like that, but black.”

“You really didn’t have to,” you pouted, though staring at the shiny jewels adoringly. It was gorgeous and you never thought in your lifetime you could own anything so glamorous. The gesture lifted an extremely loaded weight off your shoulders and you couldn’t help but hug the birthday boy as a thank you. “You’re the best, thank you.”

“Anything for you, love.”

“Also, please stop going into my bedroom.”

“What, afraid I’m going to raid your panties?”

“Yes.”

“That’s fair.”

Felix spent the rest of the day helping you make the pool house perfect since it was also technically his job as the co-host. Holding the ladder while you hung up crystal decor was reminiscent of past Christmas parties that his family hosted. Your two families would come together and prepare the cookies, the eggnog, and the presents for the whole morning before the big party that started around dinner time, and you and Felix were in charge of the Christmas tree. He’s not too big on heights, so he always made you hang the ornaments on the top layer. It was a very adult networking and old people gambling games type of party, so you and Felix would always sneak off into his basement and play video games or watch corny movies with a stolen tray of sugar cookies.

The Christmas before uni was probably the last one where you two felt like kids and didn’t have to worry about what kinds of feelings would get in the way of your beautiful friendship.

“Ugh, my calves are burning,” you whined on your way down from the ladder. Your legs gave out on the second step down and the weight of your tired body pulled you down, causing you to drop to your death from a mere five feet above.

Luckily, your Prince had quick reflexes and caught you bridal style. As kids, it was surprising when Felix could carry anything even half his weight with his twiggy arms, but the fact that he could hold you without struggling or even breaking a sweat was the closest you’ve ever experienced a miracle.

A gentle, handsome smile came from his lips. “You ok?” he asked in his deep voice.

No, you’re definitely not, but lying was ok in this situation. “F-F-Fine! I am fine!”

“Are you sure?”

“Y-Yes! Uh, you can put me down now…!”

“Hm, but I kind of like holding you like this.” You hit his rock-hard chest lightly, to which he recoiled dramatically before placing you down gently. “Is that how you thank your hero!?”

“Thank you, My Hero.”

“That’s more like it.”

It wasn’t until around dinner time when you left Felix alone to be in charge of guiding all the caterers to their cooking spots while you sped home to get ready as fast as you could. You didn’t want to leave Felix in charge for more than an hour, otherwise there would be more room for error.

You must have had such little faith in him because he did as was told without any issues and was done well before the party was going to start. He took the down time to put on his satin black suit and fix his blond hair before putting on the matching mask. While looking in the floor-to-ceiling mirror, of course he admitted to himself that he would be the sexiest one at the party, but something about the view didn’t seem right. He didn’t have you beside him hyping him up like always. The view in the mirror was lonely without you.

“Good job with the chefs!” you called into the dressing room unannounced.

Felix could see you jogging in wearing the full outfit he saw on your bed this morning, now complete with the mask he gifted you in the reflection of the mirror. The view of you was stunning, so much to the point that the Prince himself was too afraid to turn around and look at you with his own eyes. You reminded him of the story of Medusa, who would turn men into stone if they dared to look at you, and Felix thought that he was well past that point, already frozen in place with his jaw dropped and hands fixated on his crooked tie.

Luckily, you didn’t seem to notice as you stepped in between him and the mirror. The feel of your knuckles brushing up against his chest broke him free of his frozen state, causing him to hitch his breath in his throat. It was very un-Felix-like to be this nervous, especially before an event that circled around him, but perhaps it was his sobriety that made him jittery.

“You good?” you reciprocated after a long moment of silence.

Prince Felix cleared his throat before speaking. “Yeah.”

“Nervous?”

“I guess so.”

“What do you have to be nervous about other than being the center of attention in front of hundreds of people?” you teased lightly.

“It’s not like I know everyone, though.”

“What do you mean? You and Han invited all the people you normally party with.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like I’m friends with all of them. I don’t hang out with them before 10:00 pm.”

Even behind the mask, you could tell his nerves were sincere. “Are you having regrets about this party?”

“I wouldn’t say regrets… I don’t know. I’m sorry, I know you put a lot of work into this.”

“Do you not want to go -”

“No! No, I want to go.” To ditch a party you worked on for forty-eight hours would be like slapping you in the face and he knew that. But he also knew if he said yes, you would follow him wherever he’d go in a heartbeat because that’s how much you loved him. He cleared his throat once more. “Will you stay with me?”

You raised a brow, unsure if you heard correctly. “Stay with you?”

“As in, will you stay by my side tonight?”

“You want me by your side the whole night?” Oh, how the tables have turned, in which Felix with his blushing cheeks couldn’t look you in the eyes as he nodded shyly. It was hard to believe what you were seeing with your own eyes and you wondered if you were dreaming. “Ok.”

“Really?”

Softly, you straightened his mask. “Anything for you, birthday boy.”

The anxiety from the claustrophobia of the party was replaced with the thought of being with you the whole night, but this is how he’d rather be. No longer did he want to stay in this room he filled with bad energy, so he took you by the hand and led you back to the main room where guests quickly filled in. Anxiety filled his chest again and you felt it through his hand squeezing yours tightly, as if afraid you would let go and slip away into the crowd where he’d never see you for the rest of the night. You’re not sure what’s gotten into him and you didn’t want to make it worse, so you led him to the tables of food hoping he could fill the emptiness in hopes of loosening up a little.

Even while eating food, Felix refused to let go of your hand, so you had to act as his free hand and feed him gourmet finger foods.

“You’re even more of a baby on your birthday,” you scoffed.

“But you love babying me, right?” he teased.

“I don’t know if ‘love’ is the right answer…”

The beginning of the night was nothing short of energy-draining as every single guest came up to greet Felix on his birthday and greeted you second. It was crazy that even in a room full of hundreds of peers, the crowd was still able to distinguish the birthday boys from everyone else, but you supposed it was easy because who else was blond and this handsome? The same way you looked at Felix, everyone else also had their eyes on him because he was truly that stunning in a crowded room.

It was occasions like these when you felt most out of place. You only ‘belonged’ here because Felix was your ticket in, but you would never become one of the elite. You didn’t have all the luxury of buying a new outfit or new jewels for every occasion like everyone else here. You were a simple person in your humble apartment living your predetermined life and getting by without any conflict, all thanks to him. That was what made you believe for twenty years that you had no right to fall for Felix the way you did - you were nothing more than the King’s hired Chancellor.

Even so, when the whole room was looking at him, he only looked at you.

The next song was a common waltz song that was played at every masquerade party on the planet. With a hop in his step, you found the birthday boy in front of you bowing with his hand still in yours.

“Will you dance with me?” he asked dramatically like he was playing a character.

“Why, of course, Your Highness.”

Waltz dancing was definitely not the first talent you’d think of while wondering what Felix was good at, but to your surprise, it was like he’d been taking classes for years. You knew little-to-nothing about it yourself, but it was easier when your date took the lead and you didn’t have to think, just follow. It was a ride, honestly, and you couldn’t stop yourself from giggling, even when the dance finished with Felix dipping you, faces close and noses barely touching.

You hardly noticed his eyes shift to your lips in the midst of all the giggles. “When did you learn to do that!?”

“Last night,” he admitted sheepishly. “Are you impressed?”

“Very.”

“Then those three hours of Youtube tutorials were worth it.”

Your predicted cycle of food, dancing, alcohol, and back to food was correct. Several rounds lasted several hours to the point where you were at the perfect amount of tipsy, but still able to navigate, although if any more rounds of alcohol were going to happen, you might be in trouble. Keeping up with the birthday boy was so hard!

But you didn’t mind, because the poison made you forget about how much you didn’t belong there and swept any overreaction to Felix’s affection under the rug, though it was getting harder to do the latter, as each shot meant closing the distance between you and him. Somehow, you went from holding his hand to his hand never leaving your waste, with your bodies keeping close contact, a feeling you’ve always been familiar with even when sober, but this time was different.

“So,” he began in the middle of the dance floor. “When do I get my gift?”

“How about after your birthday cake?”

“Birthday cake?”

On cue, the lights dimmed and the music stopped. Jisung found his way next to Felix and all the chefs rolled out a giant tiered cake with candles on it, cueing all the guests to sing happy birthday. You made sure to keep the design simple, but the flavors immaculate and matching the boys’ palates because that was the most important part. Even from afar, you could smell the chocolate.

You tried to step away from him so that he and Jisung could have the spotlight together, but even then he didn’t want you to leave. He squeezed your side a little tighter, a silent gesture that said, ‘please don’t go.’

By now, you were starting to sober up a bit and that was a bad sign because now you were realizing that this whole night would be forgotten tomorrow, just like last year. Still, you stayed by his side because that’s what he wanted.

Why it had to be you, you’ll never know, but the feeling was too right to question it.

At the end of the song, the birthday boys blew out the candles and the cheers deafened your ear drums. What shocked you next was the feeling of soft lips on your cheek.

“Thank you,” Felix whispered with so much adoration. “For everything.”

You’ll never be able to recover from tonight. “Why are you like this all of a sudden? Have you had too much to drink?”

A cute giggle escaped his lips. “No, I’m fine. This day feels extra special, that’s all. You’re the reason.”

Felix was such a smooth honey talker when there was a little something swimming in his bloodstream. You should know better not to take these words to heart, but you can’t help it when they’ve all you’ve ever wanted to hear. A repeat of last year was bound to happen any second.

You did your best to avoid the compliment. “Do you want your gift now?”

“Ooh, yes!”

The gift was hidden in the room you find him in earlier today. You were too embarrassed to set it up next to the gift table that was dressed in bags with brands like Cartier and Gucci, so you stashed it away from the rest. The bouncy and excited boy had the widest grin on his face, impatiently waiting for you to present him with what you had.

“Close your eyes,” you demanded.

Felix held out his hands with his eyes closed and expected something small, like a watch or a cupcake or some plush toy that he could strap on his keychain, but instead nearly stumbled forward holding something as heavy as a textbook.

“Ok, open your eyes.”

He wasn’t too far off, actually. In his hands was a thick, heavy book titled “Felix & _____” that you printed out on an embossed label maker. Inside were infinite pages of pictures, stamps, receipts, travel brochures, foreign currency, movie tickets, anything and everything from most if not all the memories you spent together over the past twenty years. The first few pages were filled with old film pictures and polaroids you had to steal from your parents and the later pages progressively got more crowded with trinkets and things when you two were old enough to hang out on your own.

For a while, Felix was silent as he flipped through all the memories. There wasn’t a smile on his face, no tears streaming down his cheeks, in fact he was emotionless and now you were confused. He told you he didn’t care about money or the cost of gifts when it came to you, but…

“You hate it,” you stated rather than asking.

Felix looked up at you, completely sobered up, with the most incredulous expression. “Of course not,” he reassured softly. “I love it. So much. You saved all of this…?”

“I saved every receipt that wasn’t smudged with barbecue sauce or oil and every movie ticket since the start. I had boxes full of it and I didn’t know what to do, but I knew I didn’t have the heart to throw it away, so I made you a scrapbook. It took forever, but luckily your family’s historian captured a lot of the earlier stuff.” Felix was listening, but his eyes were fixated on the last page, where you pasted a single picture of a selfie you two took just a couple days ago. “Happy birthday, Felix.”

Flipping through the scrapbook made him realize that yes, so much has changed between the two of you. There’s so much growth and care and love in between the pages and the fine lines that isn’t seen unless you look for it. As he looked at you, with your cheeks dusted scarlet and wearing your heart on your sleeve, perhaps him pretending he didn’t tell you he loved you last year was what was slowly drifting you away from him, because how were you going to deny to his face that you didn’t love him, too?

Perhaps it was best you would admit it to him on your own time. For now, he hoped a gentle kiss on your forehead would push you a little bit.

His rose petal lips left your forehead tingling. “You’re the best. Thank you.”

When Felix tried to close the gap in between, you took a large step back. You couldn’t look him in his eyes and now he’s confused and his heart hurts.

“Why do you keep doing that?” you asked.

“Doing what?”

“Holding my hand, holding me, kissing me…”

“Oh, I thought you were ok with all of that.”

You take a deep breath. You can’t let last year repeat itself. “You’re wrong.”

“I’m wrong?”

“You can’t just do that whenever you feel like it.”

“Do what!?”

“Play with my feelings!” You took another breath to calm you down and prevent anymore tears that were about to pool. “I have feelings, Felix. You can’t just use me whenever you feel like it and take it all back like it never happened the next morning!”

“I have feelings, too. How the fuck else was I supposed to deal with the night I told you I love you and you didn’t say it back?”

You’re left stunned and speechless. Felix just admitted to you that he once told you he loved you. He didn’t have to say when for you to know that he was talking about the inebriated self on your bed mumbling those three words as you tucked him in on his birthday last year.

“You didn’t say it back and I thought you didn’t feel the same, so I pretended to forget all about it. But now I know you feel the same,” he begged desperately. “I just know. Tell me I’m wrong, _____. Tell me I’m wrong to think that after all these years together, I think you fell in love with me the same way I fell in love with you.”

You couldn’t say anything. You couldn’t admit that he was right because he was drunk then and he’s still a little intoxicated now. But even if he’s right, even though you both knew how much you loved every cell of Felix, what if all this sweet talk was brewed by the mix of drinks that settled in his core? What if he forgets again tomorrow and you’re left in a worse state than you were last year? What if the alcohol just jogged last year’s memory that was stored deep in his cortex that only tequila was able to unlock?

The more you tried to make an excuse for it, the more ridiculous it sounded...

When you didn’t say anything right away, Felix was sure if he had his ribs broken that it would hurt less than the pain he felt in his chest right now. But that wasn’t your fault - nothing was ever your fault. This was all his doing because that’s what Felix did best - screw everything up.

The blond’s once hurt expression turned to stone before he dropped the scrapbook onto the cushioned chair next to his belongings.

“My mistake then,” he muttered before leaving you alone in the room.

“Felix, wait -” but it was too late, he was already out of the room to do something stupid to forget what just happened.

You ran after him, but the party room was so loud and dark and filled to the brim with guests that you couldn’t find him. In a room full of people, you were always able to find Felix no matter what, but it’s like he changed the makeup of the atmosphere to make sure that wouldn’t happen again for the rest of the night. You tried looking for blond locks from high ground, you tried snaking your way on the dance floor, you even checked the private rooms and men’s bathrooms in the whole house and none of them worked. You were afraid that after all the heartbreak, you wouldn’t see him again for a long while.

You bumped into Jisung in an empty hallway, who seemed out of breath like he was running a marathon just now.

“You have to come with me,” he gasped in urgency.

“What happened?”

“It’s Felix. He’s about to race Wooyoung.”

Those five words sounded like a terrible ad-lib in the newspaper, but when you followed Jisung to the front of the pool house, lo and behold half of the guests were gathered around the two boys who looked like they were about to get into a fist fight. In Felix’s hand, you could see that he was holding the keys to his sports car that was already parked out front.

Wooyoung’s the first to see you run to them from the crowd, with Jisung following behind you. “Hey, _____. Can you tell Prince Charming here that I’m not about to race him and go to jail?”

“That’s because you’re a pus -”

Jisung held Wooyoung back before he could get a swing in and you stepped in between. This was the first time you got a good look at his face, which was tear-stained and flushed red, all because of you.

“What are you doing!?” you muttered harshly.

“Trying to understand what you see in this guy. It’s not his looks, or his brains. Can’t be his car either, but I just wanted to prove my prediction just in case.”

His breath smelled like freshly poured alcohol. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Am I ridiculous, though? I think I might be onto something when I said there’s something that you see in him.”

“There’s nothing, so can you please give me your keys so we can talk inside?”

“I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”

Ouch. “Ok, we won’t talk. Let’s do something else -”

“I don’t want to do something else with you. I want to race and kick his ass.”

“You want to crash and burn that badly?” Wooyoung screamed over Jisung’s shoulders. “Fine, let’s drive!”

The crowd cheering only boosted Felix’s ego more, so he broke free from your wall and walked towards his car.

“Felix, don’t do this!” you cried out desperately, and for a second you could see the hesitation, but it was easily overcome.

“If you don’t want to be here, then go home. I don’t need you.”

The crowd oohed in unison and your left in the middle of the circle humiliated, watching the boy you loved the most get into his car and prepare to race your coworker. There’s a myriad of scenarios that fly through your mind of what could go wrong and you’re not sure if you should stay for the mess of the aftermath. But Felix said it himself that he didn’t need you, so maybe you should follow his advice and go home.

If something were to happen to him and you weren’t there to pick up the pieces and mend them back together, you would never forgive yourself. Your life’s purpose had always been to help Felix mend his pieces together whenever he needed it. But maybe this was his way of telling you that you were no longer needed for that - that you were free of all your duties as his personal fake secretary and since he thought you didn’t love him back that you served no purpose to him anymore.

When Felix said he didn’t need you, he meant that he didn’t need you to be the person you always were. He didn’t need you to be his babysitter trying to stop him from doing something stupid, he needed you as someone who wanted to stop him because you loved him and was afraid that he’d get hurt. And perhaps it was his mistake for saying it so harshly because you didn’t bother to stop him after that. But it hurt him to his core that you believed him when he said he didn’t need you anymore, that after twenty years you so easily believed that he could cut you out of his life, just like that. How many stupid mistakes could Felix make tonight? He was too far into this that he couldn’t back out, so all he had to do was race and make it out alive to see you again.

From the rear view mirror, he saw your distant figure fade away with the night.

--

It has been a long sixty-eight hours and twenty-four minutes since you arrived home from the birthday party. Hermit crabbing for the first twelves hours was stressful - you couldn’t sleep until 6:00 am, you only slept for a couple hours, you sent mass text messages to multiple people, including Felix, curious about his whereabouts and no one got back to you until twelve hours after that.

han solo [8:43 pm]: sorry darling, i like just woke up. he’s fine i guess.

you [8:44 pm]: what do you mean you ‘guess’!?

han solo [8:44 pm]: i mean they both came out unscathed and his dumbass won so physically he’s fine! but he didn’t seem too happy that he won. i think he’s back home with his parents atm.

That settled your racing heart only a little, but at least you knew he was fine physically, at least. Still, your hundreds of texts sent to him were all left on read, meaning he saw all your desperation and worry and didn’t bother to ease any of it.

You couldn’t eat for those long hours, but now it was getting unbearable and you needed to eat something. You had all the ingredients for Felix’s favorite soup, and as much as you didn’t want to constantly remind yourself of him, you couldn’t help yourself. The process was nice and slow, where you took extra care into washing the vegetables and bringing the broth to a gentle boil before dropping everything in. You could imagine the look on his face if he smelled what you made with your own hands.

Cooking for Felix was a very rare occasion because you were still self conscious about your abilities, especially as someone who was going to work for the country’s largest restaurant franchise. But the times he’s tasted your creations, his reaction was nothing but sincere bliss, cleaning his plate or bowl or several every time. He was the only one who truly believed in your talents and far-off dream when your parents wanted you to follow your Dad’s footsteps. You always cared about what Felix thought about you and your actions and nearly everything, but what he thought about your cooking was one of the most important things and his constant support for your craft was what made you fall for him so much harder than you already did.

The aromas of the soup made you miss him even more. If you didn’t hear back from him today, you were going to take drastic measures and find him yourself.

A quiet, eerie knock came at your door. You hesitated, wondering if you should just pretend you weren’t home, but then a voice spoke up.

“I know you’re home,” Felix said. “I can smell you cooking my favorite soup.”

You dropped your wooden spoon and hurried to open the front door. Behind the door revealed a tired Felix with one bruised up eye and cut up lip. Though the tears quickly fell from your eyes and you covered your gaping mouth, he still gave you a weak smile in hopes of easing any worry you now had.

“I kind of need you,” he admitted softly. “I really need you.”

Speechless, you took Felix by the hand and sat him on your couch before grabbing your massive first aid kit. He’s not surprised that you took him in with open arms without any hesitation because that was the kind of person you were. He loved that about you, but there’s guilt in his heart because he’s the last person who deserves this treatment. He knew you didn’t exactly forgive him yet because you still haven’t said a word, even as you were wetting a cotton swab with isopropyl alcohol.

“Is it going to sting?” he asked. You didn’t bother answering and let him feel the pain for himself. “Motherfucker!”

Through all the cleaning and wincing, though your facial expression didn’t move much, a waterfall of tears fell from your eyes at a constant speed. Since you were kids, Felix’s Dad was big on spanking and physical discipline, but this was a whole different level than you’ve ever seen before - this wasn’t discipline, this was intentional. Even so, Felix still smiled, even through all the stinging.

“Stay still,” you whispered, voice shaking. Your free hand held his face in place by pressing your palm into his nonbruised cheek. The wound still stung, but the wincing at least lessened. When the cotton swab dried up and you weren’t sure what to do, Felix calmed your racing thoughts by placing a hand on top of the one you had on your cheek.

He liked the way your thumb gently brushed across his cheek. Your touch always left tingles in its absence.

“What happened?” you finally asked.

“Dad found out about the racing because it was in the tabloids as ‘Future YONBOK CEO Caught Racing Under the Influence. Is the Future of YONGBOK in Good Hands?’ and, well, you know how that turned out.”

You said nothing while shaking your head. You took your hand back and stood up to get something and the fear of you leaving him again left Felix sweating and tears of his own pooling in his eyes. But you came back with a bag of frozen peas to press against his bruises and swollen lip.

“Are you hungry?” Felix nodded silently. “I made your favorite soup.”

“I know. Did you know that I was coming?”

“No. I guess I’m lucky.”

One of his hands is on top of yours holding the frozen peas and the other grabs hold of your other free hand. Felix wanted to hold you in every way possible, but for now this would have to do until you accepted him.

“You know I love you,” he told you. “And you know I will always need you. I’m sorry I pretended to forget about telling you last year and I’m sorry if that made you think I was insincere the second time. But now you know for sure that I love you. Was I really that wrong to think you felt the same?”

“It seems like you already know my answer.”

“I need to hear you say it.”

You sighed heavily. By now the tears had stopped, but you wouldn’t be surprised if they started up again. This was the first time you would admit aloud that you loved the stupid boy who tried to hide his smile sitting in front of you.

“I love you, Lee Felix. I always have.”

“Knew it ~” he sang. “Tell me when you fell for my handsome looks.”

“Remember Prom night?”

“Prom night!? Seriously?”

“My date standing me up and you offering to dance with me the whole night sounds like the perfect formula to fall in love with you, does it not?”

“I guess! I just thought it’d be longer than that!”

“I’m sure it has been longer than that.”

“Really?”

“Prom night was just the point of no return - that no matter what I did, my feelings were absolute and I couldn’t be in denial anymore. But I didn’t feel any different… And that’s when I assumed I just always loved you.”

“Even when I do stupid shit like this, you still loved me that much, huh?”

“Even with a busted lip, I still think you’re the most handsome.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” he chuckled. “Do you know when I knew?”

“Uh, last year?”

“Nope. On your tenth birthday.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not. When you shared your birthday cake and gave me the corner slice with the most icing flowers on it, I knew you were the one for me.”

“Can you be serious for once!?”

“Baby, I am dead serious! Look me in the eyes - well, my good eye.”

“I hate you.”

“I know.” Felix pressed a long kiss to your forehead and then rested his own up against it. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“And being an ass.”

“Yes, and being the biggest ass.”

You dared to kiss his lips, but just enough for them to touch, too worried about hurting his bruise. Felix didn’t care - this was the only time you’d have your first kiss and he wanted it to be long and slow, putting his all into your very first kiss even if it hurt a little. His lips were hungry for yours and so were his hands, making you drop the frozen peas on the floor so he could pull you into his lap to deepen the kiss. Wandering hands traveled your waist and your own in his hair and all your worries about wondering if love was truly real melted away with every second. Even when you broke free to come up for air, Felix refused to loosen his grip on your waist, holding you so close that he buried his face in the nape of your neck. He short breaths tickled your skin and when you giggled, he peppered kisses all over. Your laugh was music to his ears.

“Do you forgive me?” he said in between kisses.

“Mm,” you hummed. “Just don’t leave my side again.”

“Never again. I promise you.”

“Well… Where do we go from here?”

“Hm… I get to eat my favorite soup with the love of my life?”

“I like the sound of that.”

“And then straight to bed.”

“But it’s only 9:00 pm?” A playful, naughty smirk spread across Felix’s lips. “Lee Felix!”

“What!? I won the race, can’t I get a prize!?”

“Stop.”

Soup was always better with your love and a cup of frozen peas.

[seerofmike]

The Writing In Apex Kinda Sucks And Also They Use Ship Bait As A Plot Device I Hate It Here

a stupid essay/rant encouraged by @zombiegloss that originally started as a youtube video script so if its like. weird at points. this was intended to be a verbal rant SNZISKSIA

basically i'm gonna talk abt the caustic-wattson-crypto relationship drama and how i think it was mishandled and how much the writers kind of Suck because i Can

you are free to disagree with me on any of my points and think that this aspect of the story was handled well, this is just my opinion, and i'd love to hear your thoughts and counterpoints !

first, addressing some things:

i know this is a battle royale and not necessarily a story-based game, so i can’t expect it to have masterful witcher-style writing.

but with the direction the game seems to be going; putting quests, evolving interactions, and comics in the game, plus coming out with a lore book and hinting at something bigger in the future, i think it’s fair to criticize it for lackluster writing, especially since what i’m criticizing has been something present since Apex’s story technically began.

secondly, i am not a professional writer. i’m a high schooler who writes as a hobby. i don’t have the decades of experience that some of the apex writers do, and i can’t claim to be a better writer than they are--but i also don’t have to be a five-star chef to realize that something tastes bad. when i critique something and give suggestions, i am not saying i could’ve done it better. i’m just bringing up what i think could have worked.

third, before i upset anyone , when i say a relationship is badly written, i’m not telling you that you can’t ship it or that your ship sucks. i’ll briefly touch on the shipping aspect of this and how it’s a detriment to the story but Ye

okay, so with that out of the way, let us Begin

relationships are often the emotional core of a story, and how strong your reaction is to conflict in these relationships depends on how the story sets them up. if you want the audience to care about these characters and what they go through, you need to develop them and establish the type of relationship they have well. it’s why so many people cried in the last episode of telltale’s the walking dead. you’ve spent roughly 12 hours bonding with clementine and protecting her, and your relationship with her is part of several story beats as well as character beats for lee. 

when these two characters’ relationship reaches its peak at the end of the game, it’s powerful, and it’s emotional. you care. you feel something, and the fact that you have to choose what to do to lee only makes it more gut-wrenching. 

now, the walking dead is entirely story-based and especially character-driven, so it may be unfair to compare it to apex, but i just wanted to lay the groundwork down for what i think is a strong relationship that makes you feel something when conflict arrives, in this case the conflict being lee getting bit and clementine having to decide his fate.

the broken ghost in general is kind of not-good sometimes, tom casiello previously wrote for soap operas and you can really, REALLY tell sometimes.

this story feels like it should’ve taken place a little later, and that we should’ve had a season to actually set up the characters and their relationships, but that’s a story for another day.

to put it bluntly, the set-up for the crypto, wattson, and caustic conflict is done poorly. for caustic and wattson's relationship it’s a little better, but not by much. 

wattson and caustic having a relationship was hinted at in season 2, when her lore indicated that caustic was among one of the Legends who comforted her after her father died. In season four lore materials posted on Twitter, an email from Jacob Young states that Caustic is acting paternal towards Wattson. In season five, interactions get added to the Game, and this is the first time we actually see their relationship in action, as they have unique revive voice lines for each other. in the quests, when wattson is injured, caustic lashes out at loba and attacks her out of what seems to be anger at wattson’s current state.

Side Note this plot point was really stupid and done for cheap drama because she literally wakes up like two chapters later and they don’t even give her anything to say it’s just suddenly oh yeah crypto and wattson are working together. the same exact injury thing happens to octane later but nobody gIVES A SHIT because again, it’s just cheap soap opera drama.

their relationship might seem a little bit sudden for anyone who wasn’t on top of twitter lore drops, but like, it’s okay, i guess. i’ll give it the slightest credit for at least establishing something between the two in terms of voice lines and stuff, even if for some it might seem like it came out of nowhere.

what did come out of nowhere, though, was crypto and wattson’s friendship. in the quests, crypto and wattson are tasked with rebuilding the broken ghost because of their respective skills, and they’re seen talking in chapter six while they work on it. we’re not really given a clear timeline on how long the story in the broken ghost is, but i think it takes about a week, maybe.

unlike wattson and caustic, their relationship has been given absolutely zero material to work with before now, not even a passing glance in the trailers--which is a little weird considering crypto took down the repulsor tower and destroyed wattson’s home, but. Whatever.

tl dr of the chapter: crypto and wattson talk to each other while doing nerd shit, crypto laughs at wattson’s bad pun, and then suddenly they’re BESTIEEEES, until a couple dozen lines later in the same chapter. then they’re Not.

crypto’s drone gets hacked by revenant while everyone was kind of on edge after the reveal of a spy in their midst, he gets framed as the spy by caustic, anddddd wattson gets upset.

before i get into how dumb this storyline is, i’m gonna talk about the set-up to this conflict.

we have been given no reason to believe that these characters have ever talked to each other, and quite frankly, their friendship doesn’t really make sense.

ignoring the fact that crypto destroyed wattson’s home--which she probably doesn’t know about, so that’s forgiven for now--crypto is a paranoid guy. in the lore book he makes people stand on fucking footprints in his house so he can scan them for weapons and listening devices, and he apparently doesn’t stick around much after the games and nobody knows anything about him because he doesn’t talk to them.

a key part of crypto’s story is the fact that he is undercover and afraid of anyone finding out anything about him ever. him becoming friends with wattson kind of comes out of the blue, and we’re not even given a reason as to why they supposedly became close in the first place. i would kind of understand if like, maybe he draws parallels with her and mila in his mind and it makes him open up a little more, but that doesn’t happen. he just laughs at her joke and suddenly they’re friends.

maybe they’re trying to go for this ‘wattson can become friends with anybody’ angle, kind of hinted at with caustic but not really we’ll get into that, but that also? kind of doesn’t make sense since so many of her voice lines straight-up say she doesn’t understand people and electricity is more her thing, but honestly, she also does have those really friendly elements in her voice lines too, so its not as egregious as what they did with crypto.

their sudden out-of-the-blue friendship would’ve been fine if they spent a little more time fleshing it out, and giving us something to work with, but instead, the story immediately tries to rip it apart and frame it as this grand conflict where crypto is framed as the mole, crypto then accuses caustic, and wattson feels betrayed.

except it doesn’t really work, because we don’t give a shit. for several reasons. 

one: crypto and wattson became friends and then ended their friendship in the same exact chapter. they did not speak to each other onscreen until this chapter began, you can read the entire quest on the wiki and see for yourself that their interactions up until that point were nonexistent aside from mentions in the narration that they were building something together.

the reason wattson feels betrayed is kind of stupid too. why does she really care that much if one of them betrayed loba? nobody else really cared about the fact that one of them was a spy, in fact, nobody even seems to like loba that much, and they just found out that loba’s been lying to them this whole time, and wattson was conscious for that conversation and had a speaking line, so she’s fully aware of the situation. 

maybe it’s just like, the idea that one of them lied, but that’s still kind of a weak reason. 

this entire betrayal thing is just dumb, and it gets even worse when you realize that there could have been an actual legitimate reason for wattson to feel betrayed by crypto--even if it still would’ve come across as weak conflict because of their newly established friendship, it would’ve made more sense than this. 

Crypto destroyed Wattson’s home. He took down the tower and then all the flyers and stuff invaded Kings Canyon and made it their bitch. Not only that, but Wattson considers the Syndicate her family. The Syndicate are the very people who framed Crypto for murder and he’s trying to take them down. 

They could’ve set up actual conflict with these things, and it almost seemed like they would, because Caustic briefly brings up that Crypto could be working with Revenant because he has something against the Syndicate but then that doesn’t really go anywhere and we’re just back to Wattson feeling betrayed because either Crypto or Caustic was a spy and she doesn’t know who.

Weak conflict could’ve been made better by a strong relationship and a weak relationship could’ve still been interesting with strong conflict, but both the relationship between Crypto and Wattson and the conflict that drives them splitting up as friends were really weak and didn’t make much sense. 

It would’ve been ten times more interesting if Wattson found out Crypto ruined her home, the arena she grew up in, and was now participating in the Games to take out the people she regards as her family. That’s where her distrust could’ve manifested and conflict could’ve began, but instead it was the stupid betraying loba thing. why do you care. you just started talking to this guy like 2 hours ago.

also caustic’s whole reason for framing crypto feels stupid as fuck. he didn’t just frame crypto randomly, he framed him specifically because he doesn't want him to influence wattsob because he likes her Big Brain, but this is the FIRST time we have seen those two interact. 

what influence is he talking about? wraith and wattson have been shown to be friendly with each other in the trailers, according to tom’s tweets, and in the story too so why doesn’t he frame her? at this point the audience had slightly more build-up for those two’s relationship than crypto and wattson and a betrayal storyline would’ve felt a little more deserved if still weak.

this is the point where i briefly want to touch upon shipping, and the fact that part of this conflict feels driven by shipbait. 

aside from their relationship coming out of nowhere and the writers trying to make the stakes seem high and deeply emotional to the characters involved (despite this essentially being the first time they’ve ever interacted) tom casiello literally addresses shippers in a tweet regarding chapter seven, and as the story between these characters progresses, it becomes clear to me, at least that the crypto-wattson thing is just bait for shippers, and it’s lazy. 

it’s easy to get away with giving your characters little to no relationship development if you’re just counting on shippers to do the heavy mental lifting for you

why should i put any effort into making this relationship seem believable? people are going to see a young guy and a young girl having bare minimum interaction and assume there’s romantic interest! then i don’t have to do any work, see look, it’s a ready-made relationship wrapped in a bow for me! all that’s left for me to do is give them conflict so i can keep teasing shippers with lines like ‘you never deserved her’!

i think it’s reasonable for me to suspect shipbait, since tom casiello likes doing darksparks shipbait on twitter, and i’m like, eighty percent sure mirage and bloodhound suddenly being childhood friends in the book is shipbait too, because these characters were the number one ship in apex for a long time despite little to no interaction, and then all of a sudden in the lore book they’re childhood friends despite this literally never being mentioned before?

like bloodhound is set up to be mysterious and nobody knows what they look like, or where they’re from, or who their family is--except for mirage Apparently, who played with them when he was a kid on their home planet, and has seen them with their mask off, because bloodhound did not wear a mask when their parents were still alive.

its weird.

i’m pretty sure they’ve said somewhere they were working on this book before apex even came out, so i could just be completely wrong and they always planned for mirage and bloodhound to know each other, but if that’s the case, why did they never mention it like they did octane and lifeline?

i refuse to believe MIRAGE never brought it up either like ‘heeeeyy bloodhound remember when we used to throw eggs at our parents lab haha wanna go do to that to bangalore’s room’ 

[silence]

‘good talk buddy’

ANYWAYS I GOT OFF TOPIC. POINT IS, shipping is a detriment to the story because the writers don’t feel like they actually have to put any work into establishing or developing the relationship between characters when they know the community’s just going to do it for them anyways, and that they can put in shipbait and it’s fine and it makes sense when it really doesn’t.

imagine watching captain america civil war after not seeing a single other marvel movie.

why would you care about the avengers splitting up or tony and steve butting heads or steve’s commitment to bucky? you wouldn’t care, at least not as much as someone who’s seen all the movies and knows the relationship between the characters and why the sokovia accords exist in the first place. you don’t have context and you don’t have any reason to be emotionally invested in these characters’ relationship.

 this feels like that. the writers tried to squeeze this relationship and stuff into a single chapter and we don’t fucking care unless we were already invested in the idea of their relationship (shippers) because we barely spent any time with it.

so to summarize this little section, the set-up of this storyline Kinda Sucks! crypto and wattson barely seem to know each other, because we the audience barely saw them together and the writers are relying on shipbait in place of a relationship.

wattson and caustic are a little better but not great, but the conflict is stupid and it only gets stupider.

moving onto summarizing the rest of the broken ghost, gibraltar and caustic talk, caustic LITERALLY confesses to being the mole and says he framed crypto so he couldn’t corrupt wattson and to appear innocent because his identity was suspected, then that wraps up the season storyline.

season six begins with new voice lines, where wattson has had enough of crypto and caustic’s shit and is all passive-aggressive and going ‘this doesn’t change anything’. she has to decide who to trust, and how to figure out The Truth for herself because she’s not a little girl anymore. crypto and caustic are both trying to convince her they’re innocent and it creates some interesting conflict.

just kidding. it’s terrible conflict. you want to know why?

BECAUSE GIBRALTAR TRIED TO TELL HER THE TRUTH, RIGHT AFTER THE SEASON 5 QUEST HAPPENED, AND SHE LITERALLY REFUSED TO HEAR IT.

LIKE THERE’S A SEASON 6 LOADING SCREEN WHERE HE’S TELLING EVERYONE THE TRUTH ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED, AND WHEN HE GETS TO WATTSON AND IS LIKE HEY I KNOW WHO THE MOLE WAS AND WHY THEY DID IT, SHE JUST GOES i dont wanna hear it. i need to think

IF YOU WANT THE TRUTH WHY ARE YOU REFUSING TO HEAR IT

SHE SPENDS ALMOST TWO ENTIRE SEASONS MAD AT CRYPTO FOR SOMETHING HE DIDN’T DO BECAUSE SHE TOLD GIBRALTAR TO FUCK OFF WHEN HE TRIED TO TELL HER WHAT HAPPENED

ITS SO DUMB

i think it was towards the end of season 6 or the beginning of season 7 where apex posted this picture of wattson asleep at her desk where she has a letter from gibraltar on it that looks like it tells her the truth, so she knows now, she knows what happened, but NOW her issue is the fact that she doesn’t know anything about crypto.

WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT IS YOUR GODDAMN DAMAGE. YOU DON’T KNOW SHIT ABOUT BLOODHOUND EITHER ARE YOU THIS UPSET WITH BLOODHOUND TOO?? HAVE YOU EVER TALKED TO PATHFINDER. DO YOU HATE PATHFINDER TOO

oh but she was friends with crypto and now she’s mad that he lied to her EXCEPT THEIR RELATIONSHIP WASN’T BUILT UP WELL SO IT JUST FEELS STUPID. THEY SPENT LONGER BEING NOT-FRIENDS THAN THEY SPENT BEING FRIENDS. THEY BECAME FRIENDS IN ONE CHAPTER AND THEN IMMEDIATELY AT THE END OF THAT CHAPTER THEIR FRIENDSHIP ENDED AND THEN WATTSON SPENT LIKE 2 SEASONS MAD AT HIM FOR SOMETHING HE DIDN’T DO . 

AND THE WRITERS TRIED TO RECTIFY THIS BY SAYING OH SHE’S NOT MAD ABOUT THE TRAITOR THING SHE’S MAD BECAUSE SHE DOESN’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT HIM AND IT’S LIKE WHY THE FUCK DID YOU NOT MAKE THAT CLEAR WHY DOES SHE SAY ‘IT DOESN’T CHANGE WHAT YOU DID’ IN HER VOICE LINES WHY DOES SHE CALL HIM A TRAITOR IF HER CONFLICT WAS HER NOT KNOWING MUCH ABOUT HIM . WHAT DID HE DO. 

HE JUST STOOD THERE AND LAUGHED AT HER JOKE AND THEN HE GOT FRAMED AND THEN THAT WAS THE END OF THE CHAPTER AND NOW SHES SUDDENLY LIKE IM ACTUALLY MAD BECAUSE YOURE A LIAR AND I CANT TRUST YOU EVEN THOUGH I NOW KNOW YOU WERE FRAMED I STILL DO NOT LIKE YOU AND HES LIKE YEAH THATS MY FAULT

The Caustic voicelines are stupid too, again his reason for framing Crypto was stupid and a lot of his voicelines just seem to be that shipbait thing again but like from the angle of overprotective dad who doesn’t like the new boyfriend. it’s stupid but not as egeregious as this next part which is

crypto telling wattson his identity.

CRYPTO was framed for MURDER and is paranoid and can’t trust anyone and doesn’t talk to anyone and the last time he did talk to someone he got framed for Another thing and the person he was talking to turned her back on him and actively refused to know the truth for like 2 seasons and then he went This Is Fine I Can Tell Her My Identity

the stupidest update to this storyline was crypto telling wattson the truth

why did they do it on the dropship where there are presumably syndicate members and other legends around.

why didn’t he scan wattson for listening devices like he did for pathfinder in the book.

why is he telling her his identity when he knows she has very close ties to the people that FRAMED HIM for MURDER. Does he trust her that much? WHY? They spoke to each other in a chapter and then spent two seasons not talking to each other beyond passive-aggressive BS. why are you so fucking stupid taejoon

their relationship was so poorly set-up that even if the writers maybe intended for them to come across as close friends who had spent weeks bonding, it really feels like they became friends in a single conversation, had a falling out, and now crypto suddenly trusts her with his identity after an undetermined amount of time because he wants to be friends again. 

that does not make SENSE this conflict feels contrived AS FUCK and the resolution feels even worse and unearned UGGGHHHH

it honestly comes across as crypto feeling desperate for friendship, and maybe this would’ve worked better if that’s the angle they played it as.

he’s been alone for roughly two years, and just wants a friend, and he’s honestly so lonely he just breaks down to the first person who’s really talked to him. it could’ve been an interesting little part of his character, and they could've gone into depth about how much this situation has affected him, but that’s not what they’re doing. he’s still paranoid and anxious and doesn’t trust anyone, except for wattson, because the plot needs him to or else there won’t be any stupid soap opera drama.

and to rub salt in the wound, wattson’s new voice lines with caustic have him telling her that she forgave crypto.

WHAT ARE YOU FORGIVING HIM FOR. ARE YOU FORGIVING HIM FOR BEING FRAMED? WHY DID HE HAVE TO APOLOGIZE TO YOU WHEN YOU WERE THE ONE WHO REFUSED TO HEAR THE TRUTH?

 did the conversation just go hey my real name is taejoon park and something bad happened to me and she went aight i forgive you WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT

Caustic’s new voice lines to Crypto where he’s like ‘what did you tell her’--YOU TOLD GIBRALTAR STRAIGHT-UP YOUR EVIL MASTER PLAN LIKE A SUPERVILLAIN AND NOW YOU’RE SURPRISED WATTSON AND CRYPTO ARE ON GOOD TERMS NOW?!

THAT’S LIKE TELLING SOMEONE YOUR SOCIAL SECURITY NUMBER AND THEN BEING SURPRISED WHEN YOU BECOME THE VICTIM OF IDENTITY FRAUD. YOU SET YOURSELF UP FOR THIS WHY ARE YOU ACTING LIKE CRYPTO DID SOMETHING SINISTER OR LIED OR WHATEVER. WHAT THE FUCK. WHY DO YOU HAVE LIKE 3 BRAINCELLS

this is at like ten pages already so i’m going to just try and wrap this up quickly. 

it’s frustrating seeing this storyline play out when there are actually good relationships and storylines written into apex. i’m kind of getting tired of the loba and revenant conflict, but we at least had set-up to it in the form of a few animated shorts and it doesn’t play out as stupidly as this story does. bangalore and loba’s friendship is actually developed well, even if the point between the end of season 5 and season 6 where they suddenly talk like each other feels like it could’ve used a little more. 

where crypto and wattson having an established friendship in the broken ghost failed, lifeline and octane’s established friendship works because we’ve been told since octane’s release they were childhood friends and given lore materials that indicate they’ve known each other for a very long time.

apex wants this storyline between crypto and wattson and caustic to feel dramatic and tense and ultimately rewarding when crypto and wattson did become friends for real and stuff, but instead it just comes across as hollow and empty. 

there’s nothing there. it’s a case of tell, don’t show, and it looks like this stupid conflict is gonna keep going for another couple of seasons at this rate. 

side note: this entire script was written before the new twitter comics

please tell me ur thoughts and feel free to respond with ur own lil essay

also believe it or not this is not the "shipping is a detriment to apex's story" essay i was gonna write this is a completely different essay that has some overlap SKXISOSOW

[isolemnlyswearpevensie]

Take Everything From Me | Caspian x Reader

Warnings: Arguments, Jealousy, Mention of battle, A few cuss words

Time/Era: Prince Caspian

Word Count: 2k

Summary: Caspian is jealous because of Y/N’s newfound love for high king Peter Pevensie

Request: hi!! first of all i love your writing and thank you so much for saving time to write for us💜 also can you please write a Caspian imagine where reader is his best friend since childhood and while they're having a heated fight about his fight with Peter in the second movie (the reader is trying to explain that they're both wrong), he angrily (because of jealousy maybe?) confesses his feelings and they end up kissing?? pretty please?? lots of love✨

A/N: Thank you for such a nice compliment and for acknowledging the time I spend on my fics! Each imagine usually takes me 1-4 hours (depending on the length) and it’s super fun! I hope you enjoy it! Thank you for requesting! If anyone would like me to write for them (Edmund, Caspian, Peter and some Harry Potter characters) send a request my way :)

masterlist | read on ao3

Prince Caspian was a stubborn, natural-born leader; he had to be. He was raised with harsh expectations and responsibilities due to his bloodline. Because of this, the young prince never had many friends, especially any outside of his bloodline. Y/N L/N was the only exception. She was the daughter of the highest knight in their army, so she was entrusted within a close proximity of the royal family. She was under the same care as Caspian since they were very young, and the two grew to be inseparable.

When the wife of Miraz, Prince Caspian’s uncle, gave birth to a boy and Caspian was threatened to be assassinated, their beloved professor awoke Y/N first. He was in a tizzy and insisted Y/N grab anything she needed in case she was to never return. Confused, but with haste, Y/N packed up her belongings and followed the plump man out of her chambers. She and Prince Caspian had barely made it out of the castle before arrows were being shot at their backs. 

“Hold on tightly,” Caspian directed Y/N’s arms to fall around his waist as they rode out of the castle. He sounded out of breath and panicked when he spoke, something Y/N had never heard from him. 

“My Prince, they’re gaining on us,” Y/N responded, her voice shrill and strained. Her hands gripped the stiff leather of his chest piece as the horse twisted every which way. Caspian didn’t respond, but instead took one of his hands and placed it over hers. 

~

“I’m not sure I’ll ever grow fond of them,” Caspian grunted, digging a small knife into a wooden stick. He wasn’t whittling anything, nor sharpening anything, but he needed something to keep his hands busy. He observed how the wood splintered into thin curls and how those curls fell onto the forest floor. 

“Who? The Kings and Queens of Old?” Trufflehunter responded. The two were sat a distance away from the rest of the group. They were all talking animatedly around a small fire and sharing stories from the past. King Peter seemed to be very invested in whatever tale Y/N was sharing. Caspian stabbed the wood in hand. 

“Yes, the Kings and Queens of Old. I thought he was supposed to be magnificent, I’ve heard so many stories.” Y/N reached out and pushed King Peter playfully. He grasps the girl’s wrists and pulls, making her fall forward. The entire camp laughs as she stumbles into Peter. A growing fire develops in Caspian’s stomach and with one flick of his knife, half of the stick falls to the floor. 

The badger watches the wood and looks up at Prince Caspian, “Are you disappointed in them? Or just in King Peter?” 

“They are much younger than I expected. Much more boastful than I expected.” 

“You are also quite young, your highness.” 

“Not within the mind, Trufflehunter.” Caspian glances back at the group. King Peter was acting out something using his sword. He had also taken off his armor, leaving him in a loose-fitting shirt and trousers. Y/N looked enthralled as the boy sliced the air with the sharp blade. Caspian’s jaw clenched and he looked back at Trufflehunter. 

“See what I am talking about? He is dueling when there is no one to duel! He’s showing off his skills when it is not necessary to use them. And I have to follow his commands.” Trufflehunter placed a paw on the thumb of Caspians right hand, stopping him from slicing his skin in place of the wood. 

“And you will be no better without a hand.”

~

The invasion of the Telmarines went awful. Caspian insisted Y/N stay behind with Lucy, but of course, High King Peter had spoken up. 

“No, she needs to come. She’s a valuable soldier. I know because we’ve sparred. We’d be wasting a valuable resource if she stayed behind.” A smile graced Y/N’s face as she made eye contact with Peter. Caspian let out a shaky breath and his grip on the hilt of his sword tightened. 

“She’s also close to the majority of the Telmarine Knights. They know her weaknesses. They know all of our weaknesses, this is a bad idea.”

“Which also means I know their’s. Cas, loosen up. I’m going.” Y/N still had a smile on her face. 

Peter took hold of her wrist and tugged it gently. “Can you cover my back? I know they’re going to try and overpower me.” 

Y/N’s cheeks heated up and she nods shyly. This made Caspian’s blood boil. Not knowing what to do, he makes eye contact with Edmund. The young king rolls his eyes. 

When they returned, there was a sorrow surrounding the surviving warriors. There was little speech and the only sound heard was the metal of their armor rubbing against itself as they walked. Y/N had experienced her own father ambush her new friends and kill multiple. She predicted sleepless nights for the following week. 

“What happened?” Lucy asked her older brother, a certain softness to her voice. It only made Y/N’s heart break more. 

“Ask him,” Peter responded. His voice was sharp, a contrast to the funny, caring guy Y/N had spoken to around the fire. Caspian stopped walking and his head shot up. 

“Me? You could have called it off. There was still time.” Caspian responded. How dare King Peter place the blame onto him. He strongly advised against the entire mission, which the High King ignored. This wasn’t Caspian’s fault. He wasn’t the bad guy. 

“No there wasn’t, thanks to you.” Peter took a few steps towards Caspian, his face twisting into a scowl. “If you stuck to the plan, those soldiers would be alive right now.” 

“And if you had stayed here like I suggested, they definitely would be.” Caspian could feel the hatred for Peter bubbling in his chest. No matter what Caspian did, Peter was always better. Peter was the King and there was nothing Prince Caspian could do about it. He glanced over at Y/N; her arms were crossed against her chest and her eyes were filled with flames. 

“You called us, remember?!” The vein in Peter’s forehead was starting to bulge. If Caspian was in any other situation, he would have found that amusing. 

“My first mistake.”

“No,” Peter’s voice wobbled and he began to walk away. “Your first mistake was believing that you could lead these people.”

This made something break deep within Prince Caspian’s soul. He had been preparing his entire life to rule and the second he is finally able to do so, some scrawny blonde child rips it away from him. 

“HEY!” Peter turns around at Caspian’s outburst, words begging to escape off his tongue. “I am not the one who abandoned Narnia.”

Peter stalked towards the Prince until they were near nose to nose. “You invaded Narnia. You have no more rights here than Miraz does; You, him, your father. Narnia’s better off without the lot of you.” 

Caspian ripped his sword out of his hilt and rushed towards Peter. 

“That is enough!” Y/N bellowed as if her voice was subdued thunder. “Both of you, get some air. Now.” 

“Y/N-” Peter began, placing his own sword in his hilt. She cut him off before he could finish his sentence. 

“I don’t want to hear it. Go.”

~

Caspian sat at the edge of the cliff, swinging his feet and watching Y/N speak with Peter. He observes how Y/N’s shoulders shake with laughter and how Peter swings an arm around Y/N fondly. They had been at it for almost an hour, chatting, laughing, and hugging, yet Caspian forced himself to watch. It’s what he deserved; he had driven Y/N away and now she was Peter’s. Peter was the perfect king with the perfect hair and perfect attitude. He had so much to offer. The only thing Caspian had was Y/N, and now High King Peter the Magnificent had that too. 

“Hey,” Y/N’s voice sounded from behind him. Caspian must have been staring off into the distance for longer than he thought. 

“Shouldn’t you be with Peter?” Caspian replied, not bothering to move his eyes when she sat next to him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that he is your new boyfriend and you should spend time with him. That’s what boyfriends and girlfriends do.” 

“What? He’s not- what are you on about, Cas?” She placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“Don’t call me that,” He shugged her hand off so she wasn’t touching him. “And yes he is, don’t lie to me. You were so fast to comfort him, after all.”

Y/N looked at him with a hurt expression. “What the fuck is your problem?”

Caspian looks over at his supposed best friend for the first time. She was already looking at him with a hurt expression. He turned his head away. 

“You were so fast to jump to his aid and you haven’t left his side since we met him. For the love of Aslan, Y/N, you practically drool over the guy.” “I didn’t jump to his aid, I was scolding him about what happened. And I’m sorry, he’s my friend and the only person who has actually spoken to me in the past month.” “Scolding him by hugging and laughing? Very effective, I should use that tactic in the next fight I’m in. ”

Y/N sputtered for a second. “Were you spying on me?!” 

Caspian let a single breath rush quickly out of his nose. “No, you just happened to ‘scold him’ in the middle of the courtyard.” He stood up. “You know what? I hope you two are very happy together. Just know he’s going to blame you for shit you didn’t do.”

Y/N quickly stood up as well. “Is that what this is about? Aslan, help me. You were both in the wrong.”

“I didn’t do anything. I advised against his plan, Y/N. This so-called Peter the Magnificent led the Narnian people to their deaths.”

“And yet you thought the best course of action was to disobey his plan? You were just as responsible as he was.” Y/N’s voice was picking up in aggression. 

“I had to save him, Y/N.” Caspian started to walk away. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Y/N instantly pulled his arm back. “Wouldn’t understand? May I remind you that you’re not the only one with Telemarine family?!” Caspian turned so he was looking directly into Y/N’s eyes. 

“I’ve had everything taken away from me, I was not about to have Doctor Cornelius taken from me too.” His eyebrows were furrowed and he pointed at the ground dramatically. 

“Everything? Caspian you still have me-”

“That’s the thing, Y/N! No, I don’t! What aren’t you getting? I have loved you since we were six years old and the second I think I have you, some shitty blonde king comes and takes you away from me. Just fucking go, Y/N. Go to your king and be happy.” Caspian shouted so loud he was sure all of Narnia could have heard. What had he done?

“Maybe if you just fucking listened to me, you would realize I love you too, you big dumbass!” Y/N didn’t miss a beat, staring at him with such intensity that he might explode right then and there. 

Caspian grabbed either side of Y/N’s face and kissed her. Hard. There was so much emotion wrapped into the simple action and it made both of their heads spin. Anger evaporated with each motion and soon, the two were softly running their hands over each other’s skin. Y/N could feel her angry tears trail down her cheeks but before she could do anything, Caspian brushed them away with his thumb. Her face was cradled delicately in Caspian’s rough hands. 

Years worth of unresolved feelings seemed to clear as Caspian worked on her. He kissed firmly, his mouth dominating hers easily, but his hands moved in delicate patterns. First, they were housed on her cheeks, rubbing small circles with his thumbs. Then, they traced her body until they landed on her hips. 

“You dork,” Y/N grinned when she pulled away. “I never liked Peter. Aslan, I never liked Peter. It’s always been you.”

Caspian flashed her a toothy smile in return. “I am so in love with you, Y/N. I am so sorry for yelling at you.” 

Y/N grinned mischievously and pulled away. “Don’t be, you’re extremely hot when you’re jealous.”

She winked, and Caspian pulled her to him once more. The newfound couple shared a second quick kiss before following the narrow trail for which they came. 

[arrow-guy]

Talk to Me

Original request from @scrawlingwithstyle: Here's a request I've been sitting on for a bit. ClintxReader; Clint is deaf and most people rely on his lipreading skills, but Reader knows some ASL from when her family thought her autistic younger sibling would never speak (they became vocal close to seven years old). They have secret conversations across the room, thinking no one else on the team understands. . . . They're wrong. Adjust however you like!

A/N: Okay, it’s taken probably close to a year to actually get around to this, but i kind of breezed through writing it? And it was a whole bunch of fun to finally put down in a document. I didn’t change much about your request, but I definitely added to it, and made it a little romantic? Idk if it’ll come off as romance, it’s kind of goofy (it’s Clint, there needs to be a goof somewhere.) I really hope you like it, though!!

Page dividers by @carryonmyswansong

Pairing: ClintxReader

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: None

“Are you sure about this, Bruce?” I ask. “Ross let me go as soon as you went AWOL. I haven’t worked with people like this in years.”

“Of course I’m sure! You were the best back in the day.”

“Back in the day,” I laugh. “You make it sound like we’re ancient.”

“We’re not as young as we used to be,” he says. “But that’s the point. You’ll bring some much needed experience to the table.”

“But I’m not a spy and I definitely don’t have any powers.”

“Trust me, (Y/N), superpowers are not all they’re cracked up to be, and both spies have long since ceased their spying activities.” I cock one eyebrow and he laughs. “For the most part.”

“Saying a spy stopped being a spy is like saying you misplaced the hulk.”

“Ah, very true.”

“I’ll do it, though.”

“You will?”

“Well I can’t very well leave you to fend for yourself, now can I? As it stands, I’m already a shitty friend, working together can’t hurt things.”

Bruce grins and grips my shoulder. “I’ll see you Monday, then.”

I roll my eyes, but can’t fight back my smile. “Do I need to pack a bag, or will I be allowed to go home at the end of the day?”

“Not sure yet. Might as well bring a change of clothes and a toothbrush just in case.”

“Alright, then. I’ll see you Monday.”

“I can’t believe you actually pulled it off, Banner,” Stark says. “You wrangled a counselor for the team?”

“What,” I say. “Like it was supposed to be hard?”

Bruce laughs and reaches out to place his hand on my shoulder. “I’ve known (Y/N) for just about as long as I can remember. I’m sure she’ll be a good fit.”

“As long as you can remember, huh?” I look past Captain Rogers and find a sandy haired man. He grins when I meet his eyes. “Just how long?”

I bob my head from side to side. “Somewhere between twenty years and most of our lives.”

He whistles. “Pretty long time, then.”

“Mhm.”

Bruce clears his throat. “I’m sure (Y/N) wants to see where she’ll be working, so I’ll just show her to her office.”

Everyone in the boardroom waves and Bruce leads me out of the room. As soon as we’re out in the hall I sigh and bow my head, finally able to let my shoulders relax.

“That was a lot.”

Bruce chuckles. “Trust me, it’ll either get worse or stay exactly the same as time goes on, depending on who you’re talking to.”

“The blond guy who spoke up, that’s Hawkeye, right?”

“Clint Barton, yeah.”

“Will I be seeing much of him?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t really know much about the guy. He seems pretty happy-go-lucky and stable most of the time, though.”

“Huh.” I shrug and hitch my bag a little higher on my shoulder. “You never know with some people.”

“True. I’m sure you’ll deal with him at least once more after this. He’s the curious type.”

“I guess I’ll have to look forward to that, then.”

Bruce hummed in agreement and leads me to the elevator bank and takes me down to what will eventually be my office. He gives me a basic rundown of the facilities and shows me which restroom is closest to my office. I ask for a baseline reading on everyone on the team and Bruce rattles off what he’s noticed about the main five.

“Steve will most likely drop by to make small talk, but it may take some time for him to open up in any way that counts. Tony will joke about therapy, but once he warms up to you it’ll be impossible to get him to leave.”

“Oof, that bad?”

“He’s long-winded.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to enforce appointments with him when he starts to take interest.”

“Probably wise.”

“And Natasha?”

“I doubt you’ll see much of her. She has her ways of working through her issues on her own.”

“Do they involve murder?”

“Don’t know, and I don’t care to.”

“Got it. None of our business. I’ll let her come to me if she needs anything.” I plop down behind my new desk. “What about Thor?”

“Who knows. He shows up when he wants and tends to be a pretty jovial guy.”

“Ah. Is there anyone else outside of the tower I can expect?”

“Wanda, Sam, and Rhodey will be around from time to time. If Steve has his way, Bucky will move in at some point, and Wanda is currently in the process of moving into the tower, so you may see her more after that. I’m not sure how often she’ll drop by. She’s fairly private due to her powers.”

“Energy manipulation, right?”

He nods. “That, and other mind tricks.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“But that just leaves Clint, and we’ve already gone over what you can expect from him.”

“It doesn’t just leave Clint, Bruce.” I fold my hands on the desktop. “I expect to see you in here at least once a week. Ideally twice.”

Bruce scowls. “(Y/N), you know how I feel about that.”

“Yeah, well, I listen to your opinions on that stuff when I’m just your friend. Now I’m your therapist, and you’re going to listen to me because I know what works for you. So I expect you to get your pasty ass in here when you’re scheduled.”

“You’re making appointments for me now?”

“Until I’m sure you’ll come to me on your own, yes.”

He rolls his eyes. “Fine. Send me the schedule. I’ll see you at my appointed time.”

“Wonderful.” I relax my shoulders, letting my professional mask slip. “Thanks for this, Bruce. I mean it.”

“I know you do.” He cracks a smile. “You’re the only person I trust to get to the root of our issues.”

“I appreciate that. I’ll try not to let you down.”

“Believe me, (Y/N), if anyone’s gonna let me down, it’ll be the team.” I laugh and he heads for the door. “I’ll see you later. Good luck with your first day.”

“Thanks, Bruce. I’ll see you later!”

“So, (Y/N),” Tony says, spreading out on the couch across from my chair. “What’s your deal?”

“My deal?”

“Yeah, what makes you tick? What motivates you to try and heal the fragile minds of the Avengers?”

“I’d say a decent paycheck is a pretty good motivator, Mr. Stark.”

He seems disappointed with my answer. “Is that it?”

“Well, that, and I want to make sure Bruce is doing alright. He’s struggled with therapy in the past, and I want to make sure he’s getting the kind of help that he needs.”

“I see.” He presses his lips together and folds his arms. “You’re not even curious about the rest of the team?”

“Of course I’m curious, but nothing discussed in this tower will be shared with anyone outside. I take my patients privacy very seriously.”

“You sure you don’t just fear for your life?”

“Living in New York, I fear for my life constantly. That doesn’t mean that I’m worried about getting merced if I get a little loose lipped outside of work.” I sigh and lean back in my chair. “That being said, I won’t be sharing your confidential information with anyone you haven’t specifically given authorized access to your records.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah. It’s almost like I’m a professional, right?”

He smiles. “I’m really starting to like you, (Y/N).”

“Then I guess I have a lot more of this to look forward to, then, don’t I?”

I laughs and hauls himself up from the couch. “We’ll see.”

I make a note of his response in my open document. “Sounds like a tentative yes to me, Mr. Stark, and I’ll be here so long as you deem my services necessary.”

He nods and exits my office. He leaves the door open.

“How are you liking it here so far, (Y/N)?”

“It’s been quiet, Captain Rogers. It’s a bit like pulling teeth trying to get anyone to make use of their resources.”

“I guess it would be. We’re a relatively private bunch.” He pauses a moment. “And, please, call me Steve.”

“Right, Steve. Is there anything that I can do for you today?” I ask. “It’s entirely alright if you just want to make small talk.”

“Oh, well, uh…” He awkwardly clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably on the couch. “I guess I just wanted to get a lay of the land.”

“I understand.” I glance around my office. “I should probably bring in some art and plants. Make it a little less sterile in here.”

Steve laughs. “That might help.”

I smile. “Maybe an area rug?”

He shrugs. “Whatever you think would be best.”

“I appreciate the creative freedom.” I close my laptop, set it to the side, and settle back in my chair. “Is there something on your mind, Steve?”

“No,” he says quickly. He immediately looks conflicted. “I… well, kind of.”

“Feel free to speak. Nothing you say will leave this office.”

“You hardly know me.”

I shrug. “I know how stressful this environment can be. And, while your team is very good at what they do, they’re also the ones who are causing your stress.”

“I don’t know if I’d say that.” I watch him chew the inside of his cheek. “I guess I’m just concerned that things might not get better, even when Bucky’s moved in.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t know. I’m worried that it might not be a good fit for him, or that the team won’t accept him, or that he might not even want to be around me.”

“Those are all valid concerns. Have you mentioned any of this to him?”

“God no. I don’t want to stress him out more than I already have with all of this moving business.”

“I might suggest bringing it up. He might be having similar worries himself, and, as helpful as it is to work towards what’s troubling you with me, I won’t be able to settle your nerves.”

“Maybe you’re right…”

“If nothing else, it might open up a new line of communication between the two of you, which couldn’t hurt.”

Steve stays for another hour, just talking. When he leaves, he asks if I want the door open or closed. I don’t give him a definite answer and he leaves it open, just a crack. I laugh and start on his profile.

Someone knocks on my door and I glance up from my paperwork to see Clint standing in the doorway.

“Mr. Barton,” I say. “I was wondering when I might see you.”

He shrugs. “Here I am.”

“After two weeks, I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

“If I was?”

“Then it’s none of my business.”

The corner of his mouth lifts in a smile. “I like that answer.”

I rise from my desk and gesture to the couch. He raises his eyebrows, but takes a seat anyway. I sit across from him and watch as he tries to decide just how he should sit. In the end, he leans heavily on his knees. Nothing about him is relaxed.

“I’m starting to think Bruce was wrong about you.”

“What’d the green bean tell you about me?”

“Nothing concrete,” I answer. “He just mentioned that you seem to have a positive outlook on things most of the time.”

He snorts. “Great.”

“Mmm, I see. It’s a facade, then?”

He frowns and presses a finger to his right ear. “Could you say that again?”

“I said, it’s a facade, then?”

“Sometimes.”

I nod. “Interesting.”

He barks out a laugh. “Yeah, interesting.”

I watch him look around the room, examining the art on the walls and the stacks of paper on my desk. When he turns his head to the left, I notice his purple earpiece and something suddenly clicks. He tilts his head to the side when he sees me staring.

“What?”

“Would it be easier if we signed?” I ask, signing along as I speak.

He looks surprised. “You sign?”

I laugh. “Yes. My little brother is on the Autism spectrum. When he was a kid, he was almost entirely nonverbal. Mom taught him sign, and the rest of the family learned along with him.”

“That must’ve been really nice for him.”

“It was nice to be able to communicate with him when he couldn’t vocalize what he wanted to say. He eventually started speaking when he was about seven, though.”

“And you still held onto the signing skills?”

“Of course! It’s not like he just, bam, started talking. It was a long process, and he still has nonverbal days sometimes.” Clint starts to actually smile and it warms my heart. “It’s come in handy in my particular line of work too. Deaf and hard of hearing folks need counsellors and therapists too.”

“Which brings the topic of conversation back to me.” He shakes his head and leans back against the couch and signs, “You’re a tricky one, (Y/N).”

“I’m not tricky!”

“Then what?”

“I’m accommodating.” I speak again, but continue to sign along. “You don’t have to tell me everything, or anything, really. But I’m here to help, if you need me.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course, Clint. Any time.”

“Seems like you and Clint are getting close,” Bruce says.

“I don’t know what you mean, man.”

“He’s in here all the time, (Y/N). There’s no way Barton needs therapy five times a week.”

“It’s not always about therapy, Bruce. I strive to make my office a safe space where everyone knows that they can speak freely. He knows that he can come here and chill out without worrying about the rest of the team.”

“Barton doesn’t really worry about anything, though.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

Bruce stares at me, eyes narrowed, and snaps his fingers. "You like him."

I roll my eyes. "I do not like him, Bruce. And you're not even here to talk about Clint, you're here to work on yourself and managing your stress levels."

He rolls his eyes. "I'm sure there's something we could talk about aside from me."

I sigh and hold my head in my hands. "I've been here for two months. I haven't been around long enough to form anything more than tentative relationships with the rest of the team. I'm more concerned about whether or not they can open up to me than I am with my love life."

“Right,” Bruce clears his throat.

“Thank you.” He looks thoroughly ashamed and I have to laugh. “I appreciate the interest, but it’s just not something that you need to worry about.”

“No, I understand.” He smiles and shrugs. “I guess I just miss having that easy rapport with you.”

“I mean, we still have that, Bruce. It’s just not something that I want to talk about in the workplace. It’s one thing to shoot the shit over lunch on a Saturday, it’s another to discuss my patients with another patient, all of whom are my coworkers.”

“I didn’t think about it like that.”

I smile. “It’s fine. Did you want to pick up where we left off on Tuesday?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

“(Y/N)?”

I’m startled by the woman in the doorway. “Ms. Romanoff?”

She shakes her head and steps into my office. “As long as you’re not a government official, it’s just Natasha.”

“Ah, right.” I sit a little straighter in my chair. “What can I do for you, Natasha?”

“Clint’s said you’ve helped him a lot.”

“I don’t know about that. We just talk. He does all the helping.”

“I figured you’d say that.” She moves quickly across the room and takes a seat on the couch. “I’d like to talk to you, if you have the time.”

“Oh.” I scramble up from my desk to sit across from her. “What about?”

“I need help working through a recent case.”

“Are you sure I’m qualified for that?”

“Well, you said Clint does all the helping. Maybe what I need is a sounding board.”

“Fair enough. Where are you caught up?”

Natasha rattles off the details of a recent mission. I do my best to follow her, but she loses me when she starts explaining the intricacies of a piece of Hydra technology they discovered. Eventually, she perks up, almost looking like she wants to jump up from her seat and run from the room.

“I think I’ve got it.”

“That’s great!”

She calmly gets to her feet and walks to the door. “Thank you, (Y/N).”

I shake my head. “It was my pleasure.”

“Even so, you helped me.” She flashes me an unexpected smile. “I appreciate that.”

“It’s not a problem, Natasha. I hope that we can speak again at some point.”

She nods and heads for the door. “I’ll see you around.”

In the hall I hear, “Oh, hey, Nat.” and Clint pokes his head in soon after.

I smile. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He leans in the doorway and folds his arms. “What’d Nat dump on you?”

“Doctor patient confidentiality, Barton,” I say. “I can’t tell you.”

His arms fall to his side and he dramatically slumps into the room. “I thought you trusted me!”

I laugh. “I do trust you, Clint. But it’s not my information to give.” He drapes himself across the couch and grins at the sight of me fighting back my smile. “If it were, Bruce would have full access to what we talk about in our sessions.”

“That’s private information, (Y/N)!” He laughs. “I see your point.”

“Good.”

“Did you want to grab lunch later? That weird little cafe down the street started serving some kind of coffee burger.”

“Ugh, and you want to eat that?”

“(Y/N), it’s a coffee burger.”

“With all the heinous shit you put in your body, it’s a wonder you’re still alive.”

“If you think I’m bad, you should meet my dog.”

“Is that an offer?”

“Maybe.” He shrugs. “Guess you’ll have to stick around long enough to find out.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s been four months, Clint. If I haven’t run for the hills yet, I’m pretty sure it’s not gonna happen for a while yet.”

Something twinkles in his eyes. “That’s good to hear. I was worried I might scare you off.”

“If anyone were to scare me off, it’d be Tony.” I shake my head. “That man is a handful.”

“What happened to patient confidentiality?”

“Since when is Tony being a handful a secret?” He laughs and I relax in my seat. “But, yeah, I’ll get lunch with you.”

“Really?”

“Someone has to make sure you don’t keel over from physically eating coffee.”

“Oh come on! It’s not like they solidified the coffee and stuck it on a bun!”

“How do you know they didn’t? Maybe they turned the coffee into jello, passed it through a meat grinder, and threw it on a griddle.”

His face scrunches up in disgust. “Ugh, that’d just be burnt coffee.”

“I’ve watched you drink an entire pot of burnt coffee.”

“Desperate times, (Y/N). They call for desperate measures.”

I sigh and shake my head. ”I guess it’s fine, so long as you’re not addicted to caffeine pills.”

“Those don’t do anything for me.”

“That’s terrifying.”

He laughs, hauls himself up from the couch, and offers me a hand. “Shall we?”

“Shall we what?”

“Head out for lunch.”

“Now? I thought you said later.”

“It’s been like five minutes. It’s later now.”

I laugh. “I can’t just go now. I have an appointment with Steve in twenty minutes. We can leave after that.”

He pouts. “Fine.”

“Don’t give me that look, Clint!”

He sighs and trudges towards the door. “I guess I’ll just have to make a reservation for one thirty.”

“That’d be great.”

He flashes a brilliant smile before disappearing out into the hall. I shake my head and move back to my desk.

“That man is gonna get me in trouble.”

“I thought you said you weren’t involved with Clint?”

“I’m not, Bruce.”

“Then what’s this?” He places his phone on my keyboard.

I pick up the phone and find an article titled “Hawkeye’s New Flame, or Just a Fling?” pulled up. A picture of Clint and I at lunch the other day sits just below a paragraph speculating who I could be. I snort and hand him his phone.

“Clint and I went to lunch. That’s all.” I sit back and fold my arms. “What’s the problem, Bruce?”

“I don’t want you getting dragged into some kind of media storm because you work with us.”

“It’s one article!”

“There’s at least four more like it that I’ve seen.”

“I’m not worried about it, Bruce. Clint just went out for lunch and some pap caught us talking. That’s it. There’s nothing more to it, but I can’t stop people from talking.”

“You shouldn’t have to deal with it.”

“No one should have to deal with anyone plastering their personal life all over the internet, but you know what? I’d rather get caught out in public with Clint than Tony.” I laugh. “Can you imagine the shitstorm that’d kick up if that happened?”

Bruce tries not to laugh. “I guess you’re right.”

“It was bound to get out that the Avengers brought in a counsellor at some point. It’s better that it’s like this instead of some media outlet picking up a rumor and deciding that you’re all unstable.”

“Well…”

“I’m not saying you’re the most sane bunch, but that’s no one’s business but yours. Regardless, don’t worry about this. It’ll be fine.”

“Alright.” He pockets his phone. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”

“Of course I would, Bruce. If something comes up, I’ll let you know.”

I sit on the floor of the gym and lift the collar of my shirt to wipe the sweat from my face.

Clint plops down on the floor beside me and tips his head to the side.

“Definitely didn’t expect to find you in here,” he says.

“What, I can’t work out?” I groan and lay back. “Ugh.”

“You okay?”

“No. I knew I should’ve just stuck to the treadmill.”

“What’d you do to yourself?”

“Weights.”

He laughs. “Why did you do that?”

“I don’t know. Is wanting to be able to lift a very large dog a good reason?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s a bad reason.” He lays beside me and props himself up on his elbow. “I could help you, if you want.”

“I don’t know how I feel about being all sweaty gross around you.”

He pokes my stomach and I laugh and shift away. “I don’t know, (Y/N), sweaty’s the new sexy.”

“Aw, that’s sweet.” I laugh and scrunch my nose. “Also kind of gross.”

“Sweet and kind of gross, I think you’ve pretty much summed me up perfectly.” I laugh so hard that I snort and he grins. “So, do you want help working out?”

I press my fist to my mouth to quiet my giggling. “If you’re willing to, I really would appreciate it.”

“Then it’s a done deal.” I thank him and his smile softens. “Sorry about those articles last week, by the way.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

“I should’ve warned you, at least. I’m used to it, but you didn’t sign up for pap shots and gossip columns when you took this job.”

I scowl. “Honestly, Clint. If you’re not gonna read my lips, read my hands. It’s totally fine. I don’t care. I had a nice time at lunch. A few dumb articles won’t change that.”

“You mean that?”

“Well, yeah. I like spending time with you outside of all of this,” I say, gesturing to the tower in general. “With, y’know, no expectations of maintaining all of the professional bullshit.”

“Pretty sure you’re the most professional one here.”

“Thanks, I’m glad that comes across in the day to day, but do you understand what I’m saying? Like I genuinely do not care about what a shitty news outlet says. At the end of the day, the only opinions that matter are ours.” I sigh and settle on the floor. “Sorry.”

“Sounds like we’re not the only ones who need therapy.”

I hum. “Maybe I do.”

“No shame in it.”

I smile at him. “I know.” I sit up and get to my feet. “It’s getting late, I should head out.”

“You’re in tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll be around till noon. I’ve got a wedding later in the day.”

“Not yours, right?”

I laugh. “No, definitely not mine.”

“Cool,” He smiles up at me. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Since when do we have staff meetings?” Clint asks.

“Since we brought on a counselor,” Tony says.

I frown. “I’ve been here six months and I’ve never been to any kind of meeting.”

“I’m going to ignore the fact that you brought that up and just keep moving with the meeting.”

I snort and shoot Clint a look. He laughs and signs for me to stop. I wave him off and turn my attention back to the head of the table.

Tony rambles on for about half an hour before Steve cuts in and the two of them start going back and forth. They bicker for twenty minutes before Thor swans in, greeting everyone with his bright, booming voice. I was stuck in my office the last time he was on Earth, so our paths never had a chance to cross. Steve takes a moment to introduce the two of us and Thor vigorously shakes my hand, unintentionally jostling me around the whole time. He takes his seat on the other side of Bruce and the conversation picks up again.

I catch Clint’s eye twitching in my peripheral when Thor speaks a little too loudly. I gesture to get his attention and he raises his eyebrows when he meets my eyes.

“You good?” I sign.

He nods. “Can’t pay attention to save my life in these meetings.”

“I’ve never known anyone to compliment your attention span.”

He mouths, “Oh, ha ha,” and I laugh.

“You’re mean, (Y/N).”

“And here I thought you liked me.”

“Never said I didn’t.” He grins. “The way things are going, I’d say you’re probably just my type.”

I shake my head and hide my smile behind my hand. “Stop.”

“Aw, you're cute when you're embarrassed." I flip him off and he laughs. “That's a compliment!"

I snort. “Pay attention, Clint.”

We manage to make it through another hour and, by that time, someone has turned off the lights and started giving a presentation. I fold my arms on the table and rest my chin on top and beg myself to stay awake through this meeting. I’m sure it’ll only be a little while longer.

Clint’s hand creeps into my line of sight and he taps the table to get my attention. I shoot him a quizzical look and he lifts his eyebrows.

“You still with us?” he signs.

“No.”

“It’s going longer than I thought it would.”

“I’m honestly about to fall asleep.”

“Aw, (Y/N), no.”

“This is how I go out. Avenge me, Clint.”

“No!”

“It’s your job. You have to.”

“But who will help me through the trauma?”

I cover my mouth to muffle my laughter. “I’d be dead, that’s none of my concern.”

He shakes his head. “And you call yourself my friend.”

Natasha clears her throat, startling me away from the conversation. I try to pay attention to the presentation, but I just can't wrap my head around what they're talking about and Clint easily distracts me again.

"Quick question."

Surprised, I sign, "Shoot."

"Would you want to go out with me?"

My brain stops working for a second. "Wait, what?"

"I said, will you go out with me?"

My heart hammers in my chest. "Like as friends, or on a date?"

He sighs. "We've been hanging out as friends for months now. I'm asking you on a date, stupid."

My face heats and I sit back in my seat. “Oh.”

He laughs. “Did I break you?”

“A little.” I frown.

“Just say yes!”

Startled, I glance up the table, only to find Natasha glaring at Clint and I. Everyone is looking at us and I suddenly want to disappear.

“What’s the problem?” Steve asks.

“I’m sick of watching the two of them flirt with each other,” Natasha says. “You’ve been mooning over each other for months. Just say yes and be done with it.”

“Nat, they haven’t said a single thing since the beginning of the meeting.”

“They’ve been signing at each other the entire meeting.” She looks directly at me and signs, “I see everything.”

“Sorry.”

“Just say yes.” She looks very pointedly between Clint and I. “You’d be good together.”

“I thought you said you didn’t like him!” Bruce says.

“That was months ago, Bruce. Things change.”

“Don’t be hard on her,” Natasha says. “Clint’s an acquired taste.”

“I’m just gonna, um…” I gesture to the door. “I’m just gonna go.”

I see Tony and Steve nod and I shove my chair back from the table and make my escape. The door shuts behind me, and I’m free. I sigh, relieved to be free of the weight of everyone’s eyes on me, only for the embarrassment of having my crush exposed to my coworkers to settle deep in my stomach.

I press my fingertips to my temples and walk down the hallway. “I knew he was gonna get me in trouble.”

I make the decision to just go back to my office. Maybe I can at least get some work done or, at the very least calm down. I turn as the elevator doors close and catch a glimpse of the conference door opening at the end of the hall. I shift slightly so that it’s not in my line of sight.

The elevator ride feels like it’s too long and I immediately flop down on my couch as soon as I’m in my office. I can't get comfortable and shift around until I'm upside down with my legs over the back of the conch, staring at the ceiling. I press the heels of my hands over my eyes and groan out of frustration.

“I left without even answering him,” I mutter.

The door suddenly opens and I freeze, pulling my hands away from my face, waiting for whoever it is to announce themselves.

"(Y/N)?"

"Clint?" I try to sit up and smack my head on the edge of the coffee table. "Shit."

"Are you okay?" he asks.

I rub my forehead and sit up a little more carefully. "I'll live."

He takes a seat on the coffee table and watches intently as I sit upright on the couch and face him. He reaches out and gently touches my forehead, only to jerk his hand back when I wince.

"Sorry."

"Don't, it's fine."

"Okay." He sighs softly and shuffles awkwardly on the table. He stills when I touch his knee and takes my hand in his. "I'm sorry about the meeting. I shouldn't have put you on the spot like that."

"Honestly, Clint, you don't need to apologize," I murmur. "I got flustered and then embarrassed when everyone else got involved."

"I know. I probably like pushing your buttons a little too much."

"That's not it."

"But I do push your buttons."

"Yeah, but only 'cause I let you." He smiles and I squeeze his hand. "But I'm a deeply private person. To have Natasha butt in like that, no matter the good she meant by it, really set me on edge."

"I had no idea."

"I don't feel like I have to keep everything close to my chest when I’m with you. You tease me, but it’s never from a place of malice and you know me well enough that you never take it too far.”

“I mean, you give as good as you get.” He doesn’t meet my eyes as he runs his thumb over my knuckles. “But still. I should’ve just asked in private, but you know me.”

“Yeah. You’re sweet, but kind of stupid sometimes. More than a little impulsive. And way too fond of coffee.”

“Aw, I thought that was endearing!” He smiles when I laugh. “The invitation still stands, but you don’t have to say yes.”

“What’re you talking about?” He meets my eyes and I shake my head. “I’m not about to turn you down. You haven’t introduced me to your dog yet.”

“Oh, I get it, you only want me for Lucky.”

“Mhm.”

He shakes his head and kneels on the floor in front of me. “Shoulda known.”

“I know, I’m pure evil.” He grins and takes my face in his hands. “I should be fired, right?”

“Without a doubt.”

I hum softly and lean forward to bump my nose against his. After a moment’s hesitation, Clint closes the distance between us and gently kisses me. I place one hand on his forearm and tilt my head to the side to kiss him back. He smiles against my lips and pulls away, his eyes flitting over my face.

“So… about that dog.”

I have no idea what would happen to them after that, but I’d like to think they’re having a great time, petting dogs and continuing to mess with each other, all whilst falling in love.

I’d love to know what you guys thought of this little one shot. Did you love it, did you hate it? Did you breathe out through your nose a little bc you kind of laughed but also didn’t? Be sure to like, reblog, comment, or shoot me an ask and tell me all about it!

If you’d like to be tagged in future fics, please let me know!

Tag list:

@ghostlyhamlet, @claws-of-vibranium, @creaturefeatures101, @buckysendoftheline, @imagine-assembling-the-avengers, @ptprocrastination, @1950schick, @amayasymone23, @arfrona-and-marvel, @ek823, @fanaticfangirl001, @furrywerewolfcollector, @kissofvenom922, @dawn-phantomhive, @fangirlwithasweettooth, @mairhof1, @starryeyesbadguys, @trap-house-homiecide, @buckywhitewolfbarnes, @kaepm981, @howdoesoneadult, @pcdmesamidala, @thefandomplace, @sian22redux, @skeletoresinthebasement, @lady-thor-foster, @jazzcutie, @gaytonystark, @geeksareunique, @nyxveracity, @breezy1415, @feelmyroarrrr, @darling-loki​, @lemonadeorange73​, @princess-unicorn124​, @hermionie-is-my-queen​, @tofeartheunknown​, @queenoftheunderdark​, @avengerscompound​

[tf2workbench]

The unique balance of MvM

This Thursday, I released a post about upgrades in Mann vs. Machine. You all seemed to like it, despite the fact that I scrapped several of my ideas right then and there. So for today’s bonus post, I think it would be good to discuss why MvM is the way it is - unbalanced.

You can think of MvM using the rough framework of a Payload or Attack/Defend map. The Mann Co. team is, of course, defending against the robots.

When you’re defending, it’s important that you hold ground; you are almost never going to be pushing forwards to take new areas. This means you are entirely focused on keeping the enemy out. What’s the best way to keep the enemy out? Killing them, of course. (You can also push them away, but that’s less permanent.)

This means that, on defense, you are trying to inflict as much damage as possible on the attacking team in the shortest amount of time (measured in damage-per-second, or DPS). Failing that, you’re forcing them out of the way. If you’re not doing either of those, you’re enhancing your team’s capacity to do those.

On the flip side, attackers need to take an objective, and killing the enemy is secondary. It’s certainly helpful, since dead bodies can’t defend points, but it’s not the name of the game. And to take objectives, you have to be alive. So attackers tend to focus more on mobility and survivability.

You’ll notice that most Attack/Defend and Payload maps are fun to play and have room for each class. In fact, a hallmark of a bad map is where it turns into a damage race with no strategy involved.

Now, MvM is markedly different from those game modes because of a few factors. The first one is the huge number of attacking robots. You need to kill all of them, which means you have to deplete a lot more hit points than if you were facing a team of humans. They’re definitely easier to kill, but by sheer volume of HP, they outnumber you by at least a couple orders of magnitude.

Additionally, bots don’t think (yet), while human players do. These robots will almost always go straight toward the bomb hole. This means you can’t play mind-games against them, and the only lulls in gameplay are when they are dead. The scales are heavily weighted toward damage or something to disrupt the robots’ path - a longer travel time means more time to kill them, after all.

This causes significant class discrepancies, mostly cutting the Sniper and Spy out of the equation. Neither has high damage against multiple targets, and though they do have their uses, they struggle in many missions - they just don’t put out enough damage, and their abilities can be mimicked by other classes. For example, since robots don’t avoid stickybombs, a sticky trap will kill far more than an explosive headshot, and do so just as instantly.

Even in the more popular classes, there are clear hierarchies of weapons to use. As a rather stark example, consider Demoman vs Demoknight: the explosives can put out far more damage to many more targets, even if the shield charge can take out one or two smaller robots. Most of the classes have something like this; you can imagine that the Gunslinger is pretty rare because of the Mini-Sentry’s lack of damage.

Using upgrades to balance this out is quite tricky, because non-damage bonuses have to be very powerful to make up for their lack of DPS; not all upgrades are equal, even with price factored in. Additionally, not all missions have the same cash load, meaning that upgrades are to a certain extent mission-dependent. 

Changing stats for only MvM is also possible (in fact, the Phlogistinator and Your Eternal Reward already have numerical adjustments to keep them from being overpowered), but this makes weapons more difficult to parse. Upgrades are more intuitive and let the player make important choices.

So what upgrades am I going to change? You should scroll down, because one minute before I posted this, I posted some potential upgrades for a wide selection of weapons. Check ‘em out!

[princessozera]

The brothers with memes

Anon Request: How would the brothers react to “is this a butterfly snake in boot realestate” meme

Word Count: 753

Lucifer

This dude will have 0% idea what’s going on. Not a single clue.

You probably didn’t even show him this meme, because you knew he wouldn’t understand it. You showed it Diavolo and HE showed Lucifer.

My US kids, do you remember those state mandated exams in history that were like “UwU decode and explain this political cartoon from the 1800s”? 

That’s exactly what Lucifer is feeling. He’s in an exam, expected to know what these modern day hieroglyphics mean but he’s lost af.

Honestly, he might try to research what it means and end up in a horrible spiral jumping between social media platforms and meme sites trying figure it out. (ifunny, reddit, 4chan is not a good combo to binge in a day, esp if you fall onto the wrong sides)

It just leads to more questions.

Gives up on hour 32, now refusing to ask you or any of his brothers because of how deep he’s gotten into this mess. Will burn any documents he printed out about memes in his research attempts and triple check he wiped all of his internet history, this dramatic diva.

Depending on what other memes he saw, it might keep him up at night wondering what kind of cryptic messages you were sending.

Spy???

Mammon

Would get it but it would take a minute tbh

I feel like he’s a level 4-6 memer and this is a solid 10-11, so he’d have to play an actual puzzle game with this, remembering each meme separately before putting it all together.

Would groan and say its stupid, while silently berating himself because it took him a smidge too long to figure it out.

Would try to one up you but pulls out a meme from like 2017-18

“Dang Mammon, you still need WORDS? 😶 Weeeaaakkk”

 “Shut up MC”

Levi

He would get it instantly, but laugh you off, calling you a normie before pulling up his meme folder and giving you an entire presentation of up to date memes from both the human world and the Devildom.

Wait how was he up to date with human memes, who gave him google and human wifi

Give me the deets hoe

Almost throws his whole computer when you ask to see the folder outright labeled  “Sauce”

I feel like he’s probably really into deep fried memes for whatever reason

Was definitely on board with the Markiplier E meme and F in the chat joke

Satan

A weaker memer than Mammon, but he can pick up context clues so he figures it out faster

Mild regret showing him this because he starts devling into the evolution of memes and internet linguistics and while it is interesting it starts to feel like when you tell your parents a joke and they turn it into a life lesson

If you want to encourage him and make your own points on how using the internet has created its own sort of dialect and tells (i can’t remember what it’s all called, there is actually a very long and fascinating post on internet speech), FANTASTIC! You two will most likely be talking about this for hours

If he figures out that you’re getting bored or just not really following, he’ll offer to show you his own meme collection which is honestly just cats and that one drawing of Anubis using the sun as a dodgeball

Asmo

He vaguely knows what it’s trying to say, he thinks he’s seen something like this because of Levi but doesn’t care for memes

If you’re into memes, like, REALLY into memes, he’ll ask you to talk him through some and he might make his own, but they’re usually “but that’s none of my business” and evil kermit memes with RAD’s most recent drama

Beel

Not really into meme culture but will laugh when you do as you talk about them

“Why do snakes live in boots?”

“... I think its a toy story reference and that’s about the extent of what I know of snakes and boots”

Would probably enjoy vines and tiktoks more than memes to be honest

You know he’s a “Barbecue sauce on my titties, I almost dropped my croissant” boy

Belphie

Secretly a meme dork, about the same level as Mammon. But he’s not about to let you know that.

Let’s you explain the meme in detail and the different layers to it before asking dumb questions on purpose, trying to see how long he can get you to speak about a single meme 

[ladylynse]

So, I've seen you reblogging some random My Hero Academia fanart lately, and I was wondering how much of it you know? Why? Because I'm curious if you have any idea about a possible crossover with Danny Phantom. (it's surprising how well DP can be crossover-ed with basically EVERYTHING and still make sense...)

I have seen the show. I...think?...I’m caught up on the show. I have not read a word of the manga. 

For a crossover with DP, I like the idea of Danny falling into their world rather than the other way around; it’s just easier, even if you toss in a time travel/dimension kind of quirk thing gone wrong and rely on Clockwork to get them home again. Me, I’d do this one of two ways, depending on whether or not Danny ever has a chance of going home again. Or, perhaps more accurately, how slim that chance is, because he’d still have a chance.

Option 1: Danny’s stuck in their world. Forever. Or near enough. Because he was trapped in a thermos for years, longer than anyone would expect him to be alive, and his time doesn’t exist, it’s past, it’s gone, because it hasn’t just been a day, it hasn’t just been a month, not even a year, and every human he ever knew and loved is gone. He couldn’t even find his family if he tried. It’s been too long, the world’s changed, and there are these things called quirks now, and he just.... He holds onto the faint hope that Clockwork can get him back home, that Clockwork will agree to let him go back home, that this can just be a few extra days or weeks or whatever lived in his life but otherwise it’s fine and like he was never anywhere else, but the stable portals he knew are gone, he doesn’t know how to find and can’t create the natural ones, and ghosts like Wulf and Cujo wouldn’t even know he was back. 

He can’t remember very well how he got into this mess. Maybe Vlad caught him and buried him on the other side of the world; maybe Vlad tossed him into the Ghost Zone, never really expecting Danny to get out. Everything is muddled, confused, coming back in pieces, and not like a moment frozen in time where he gets out and immediately remembers everything. It’s not like it normally is. But maybe it’s because he wasn’t released like he normally is, since he didn’t get out until the thermos degraded to the point that there was a hole he could slip through. Maybe it’s just because he was in there too long. He...he doesn’t know.

Option 2: AKA my old standby for DP crossovers to worlds that aren’t enough like his own, a door or portal in the Ghost Zone. Maybe Danny meant to go through, whether he was exploring or running from something with five sets of teeth that was faster than it had any right to be, or maybe it popped up in front of him and he was through before he could change course. He doesn’t have more hope of getting home in this scenario, exactly, but he’d be more hopeful, because this obviously isn’t the same world, it can’t be, so he can get back and get home and it’ll all be fine. 

In both cases, you can ignore the language barrier--write it off as a ghostly ability Danny didn’t realize he had, though that logic fails a bit when Tucker understands Wulf the best, or maybe Danny hearing it for years while in the thermos and just sort of absorbing it--through osmosis, if you like. But if you acknowledge it. If you accept the fact that Danny suddenly finds himself in a world where he can’t speak the language, can’t read or understand or even be sure he recognizes the language--because what is that, Chinese, Japanese, Korean? He has no idea. It might not even be any of those if it’s been how many years since, what with evolution of language. He just knows he doesn’t know the alphabet at all--then you can easily force other characters to interact with him once he gets in trouble (as will happen; it’s Danny) and maybe bring in a convenient universal translator hero support prototype, initially designed to help heroes better communicate with victims who don’t speak the same tongue(s) with plans for further development outside of heroing if it’s successful. Such a device would also give Danny a convenient excuse for when he says something that receives blank stares, as he can pretend it glitched.

Now. Danny will be trying to get home. That might be his entire thing--that and potentially acceptance that he can’t go home, depending on how things pan out. If he came through a portal/doorway, then he might be keeping an ear to the ground to find out why if there’s some reason why he’s here, but if he was just stuck in a thermos, he’s going to assume he got out because of pure dumb luck/erosion and focus most of his energy on finding a way into the Ghost Zone, which may or may not come back to bite him later. Especially if he didn’t just get out by chance or is here for a reason and doesn’t know enough to understand what that reason is.

The obvious thing to consider is how quickly Danny realizes these guys only have one ‘quirk’, even if they can use it in multiple ways. If he gets any inkling at all from them that having more than one quirk is odd and potentially suspicious, you can bet he’d try to hide it. He’s used to that. He’s had to hide from so many people. He can hide from these people, too. Or at least try his best. Me and my penchant for misunderstandings would obviously choose to have him hide his multiple abilities and not just, y’know, tell or show them straight away.

I mean.

Say they saw Phantom before they ever saw Fenton. Flying. Phasing. Shooting ectoblasts. That’s not normal.

And if Danny saw something happen and jumped in to help without entirely understanding the situation? He might try to take down both heroes and bad guys because geez, those people almost got crushed when that building fell, and another bystander nearly got flambéed, and he knows he’s destructive when he’s trying to save people, but still. Giant Lady is a pretty good distraction if you need a distraction, and she could get away from the good guys fast enough, and that guy just walked through a brick wall, so there’s a good chance he’s overshadowed even if Danny’s too far away for his ghost sense to go off, and--

Point is, they (some) might mistakenly peg Phantom as a villain, at least until the next fight where they have time to talk. Danny, who very definitely Not Going Ghost until he figures out what the heck is going on, is found in the aftermath and assumed to be a victim--a tourist, probably, since they can’t understand him and he can’t understand them--and probably picks an ability to call a ‘quirk’ even if pretending to be quirkless would be smarter because he’s not convinced he might not do something almost on instinct, and then where would that get him?

Danny does not overhear the speculation that perhaps this Phantom is after him. He does not overhear the concern of the UA students who witnessed the fight. He does not know how many strings were pulled to get him released from the hospital--where he Very Obviously does Not want to be, but he can write off weird abnormalities as, say, part of his Ice Quirk powers; after all, sneaking away probably won’t do him any favours, even if he has to get out of there before they realize exactly how fast he’s healing--or how difficult it was to get him released into the protective custody of the good people at UA (or, more specifically, those who rallied for him to get the opportunity). Because he’s wary and spooked and confused but still ready to fight, and they can see that, and they want to help him. They’re not even sure how much training he’s had with his quirk, since even after extensive questioning and a subsequent exhaustive search, they can’t find any record of a hero named Frostbite.

They can’t even find a record of Daniel Fenton. Not someone with an Ice Quirk who matches his description, anyway.

Which makes some people wary, even when others are eagerly including him, because what if he’s a plant, a spy, otherwise not on their side even if he’s not working with any known villains, and--

Hogwash. Poppycock. Pick your old-fashioned word for it, but that’s pretty much how your thinking is going, someone else would say. Because the kid’s got a good heart, and anyone can see that. He wants to help people. He does, even when it hurts him. He’s got the heart of a hero.

With what they’ve seen of him, it’s enough to quiet the mutterings.

Until the day Danny forgets himself and displays another Quirk in a way that can’t be explained, especially in light of all the other incidents that were.

(related - Dani)