#it’s never anything i could identify in advance

[prettyboysdontlookatexplosions]

reading zadie smith’s swing time and it’s soooo good but i do find it a little reassuring that every now and then when an american character is talking i have a moment where i’m like, perhaps an american should have read this

[unproduciblesmackdown]

what if we held on to whatever we get the idea of as Normal as unquestionable & think all you can do to this normal is apply some veneers overtop it to be more polite & also resent that. maybe we could project that everyone who seems to be Annoyingly Disruptively doing more than this must be putting on a performance to look good &/or humor others b/c that's all we ever believe we're doing, & again, we resent even that much....maybe we could use our show of More Polite language to make the same points blaming everyone who our Normal mistreats for their own mistreatment

[mellomadness]

sometimes I wonder if I should take a gender studies class just so I can bitch every day about how an imaginary boyfriend is often seen as a requirement for a woman to feel safe enough to have fun at a club, or the idea that an imaginary person with a fake “claim” over me has more influence over predatory men than my own voice saying “No, I’m not interested, get lost”

[beekeeperspicnic]

Advanced warning that this made me cry when I thought about it, and then I shared it with friends and it made them cry too, but I think it's ultimately a nice thought so I want to share it. Sorry if it gives you the sniffles.

I'm always cautious when it comes to parasocial relationships - with actors I don't actually want to know the ins and outs of their lives, they are strangers to me and that's how it should be.

But like a lot of Sherlock Holmes fans I've ended up becoming a Jeremy Brett fan to some extent, because first you love his performance, then you find out the sheer dedication he put into that role, and then you find out how he did so while coping with significant mental and physical health problems, and then you hear story after story which suggests he was a lovely man whose mind seemed to put barrier after barrier in the way of him getting to experience the full extent of the joy he put out into the world. And I think a lot of us identify with that.

There's a quote from "The Jeremy Brett - Linda Pritchard story" floating around on Tumblr where Pritchard describes how one thing which really bothered him at the end of his life was that he couldn't give any more performances for his fans. Apparently hearing that the Sherlock Holmes series was on video (something he hadn't considered because he didn't own a video player), and his fans could watch him over and over again, made him happy.

And of course, my first thought when I heard that is I think he'd be so happy to know we're still watching them and dissecting his every movement and expression.

But it also hit me because during Beekeeper's Picnic recording sessions, Jeremy Brett is mentioned so often. Ok we've got at least one actor who worked with him (and indeed reports unsurprisingly that he was "lovely"!) but also people my age who were kids or not born yet when that series aired - they're professional actors, for whom Jeremy Brett remains 'their' Holmes, their point of reference for the character.

I can't wait for all of you to get to hear our amazing Holmes actor James Quinn, but it wouldn't be feasible to get him in every recording, and so often our actors have to just read his lines and respond. Once, one of them said "I'll just imagine Jeremy Brett," and I love that so much. Somewhere baked into my little game, is an Imaginary Jeremy Brett, called forth by an actor needing a Holmes to bounce off.

Jeremy Brett's performance isn't locked in amber, a thing of the past. It's fresh for each new generation that sees it, and it inspires new performances and new art. He'd adore that, I'm sure.

And to get even more philosophical, I think that goes for all creative work - and anything else you do in life. No matter how big or small the action, you never know how big your ripples you leave behind are. It's worth remembering.

[fallingfavourites]

the fisher king - cm fanfic

summary: Everyone on the team had gotten 2 weeks off. Elle and Derek decided to not waste a second of it and flew away to Jamaica. Hotchner went to spend time with his family. Gideon would most likely be birdwatching in his cabin if you had to guess, he doesn’t like sharing much about his personal life. Neither does Reid who is heading back home to Las Vegas. You stayed at home to relax. no one had expected the terrifying turn this vacation would take.

pairing: bau team x reader (platonic), hints/alludes at spencer reid x reader and elle greenaway x reader

cw/tw: typical cm violence, shooting, blood

word count: 8,568

a/n: basically just follows the fisher king episodes plot, english isn't my first language and im dyslexic so sorry in advance, tried to edit as best as i could! i hope this fic makes sense i dont even know anymore, enjoy!! feedback is always appreciated just dont be mean about it pls

main masterlist - cm masterlist

Everyone on the team had gotten 2 weeks off. Elle and Derek decided to not waste a second of it and flew away to Jamaica. Hotchner went to spend time with his family. Gideon would most likely be birdwatching in his cabin if you had to guess, he doesn’t like sharing much about his personal life. Neither does Reid who is heading back home to Las Vegas. You had just ended up on your couch with a cozy blanket and a movie you had been meaning to watch. A sudden loud ringing made you jump up. Rubbing your eyes so they can refocus.

You had fallen asleep. You would’ve laughed at yourself if it wasn’t for the constant loud ringing. Finally, finding your phone between the blanket you picked up without looking at the caller ID.  “Y/n? Y/n?” It took a second for you to register JJ’s voice as she repeated your name.

“Yeah, Yeah, I’m here is everything okay?” you asked, running a hand through your hair. “You need to get to the office. Now.” She sounded serious.

“What happened?” You asked as you vaguely heard someone talk to JJ. It kind of sounded like Gideon. If he came to the office, it must be serious.

“Tell me when I get there, I’m on my way.” You said, not even waiting for her to respond to your question and you hung up. A million thoughts race through your head as you put on a work-appropriate outfit. As soon as you were ready you got in your car and drove to the bau as quickly as you could.

When you arrive JJ immediately walks up to you and starts filling you in. Elle got arrested, Gideon received a head in the mail, Hotch had a strange phone call, and she had just gotten a framed butterfly. “So, someone is targeting the team?” Crossing your arms over your body. You’ve worked for the bau a few years now and have never experienced anything like this.

“You didn’t get anything?” JJ questioned. It was strange. “No, I haven’t.” You replied.

“Huh, that’s strange.” She said what you were just thinking. JJ frowned, clearly trying to think of a reason why you didn’t. “I’ll keep my eye out for anything strange.” You nodded as you told her.

After about 30 minutes of looking over all the evidence the team had gathered so far, Elle, Morgan, and Hotch stepped out of the elevator. JJ walked up to them, so you got up and made your way over.

“Virginia? You mean that son of a bitch is from here?” This is the first thing you hear Elle say as you open the glass doors. Talking about Frank Giles.

“I don’t know if he’s from here, but this is where he flew to. Arlington.” JJ started explaining as you stepped up next to her and Morgan. He gave you a nod as he acknowledged you.

“He’s got a long criminal record. Manslaughter, robbery, rape.” She continued as she read from the file.

“What about the victim?” You asked crossing your arms, “Marty Harris.” Derek filled in.

“Uh, he’s a two-time convicted fetish burglar, registered child sex offender…” JJ read from the other file. “And we have his head.” Gideon interrupted her. “CSU just positively identified the one delivered to my cabin.”

“Don’t waste time on the first victims. They were unrepentant, bad men. They only got what they deserved.” Hotch spoke up. “What is that?” Morgan asked him.

“I got a phone call last night before you called from Jamaica.” He said looking over at Derek.

“Any mention of a ‘her’?” Elle asks Hotch. “You must help him save her.”  he replies.

“Oh, so there’s a ‘him’ now, too?” Elle responds, clearly annoyed. Which is totally reasonable after getting arrested for murder and barely having any sleep.

“I think he means Reid.” You look over at Gideon. “Reid?” You and JJ both say at the same time. “We need to regroup.” Hotch says as last, and you all walk into the office.

You, JJ, Morgan, and Gideon are sitting at the round table. Hotch stood behind you and Elle stood near the tv screen. “So, clearly we have a psychopath intent on drawing us into his game.” Hotch said with his arms crossed. “Playing with us.” Gideon looked at his hands on the table. “Then let’s return the favor.” Elle says.

“He kept telling us repeatedly to save her. What ‘her’?” Derek questions.

“Items he’s sent must be some kind of clues.” You nod at what Gideon says. “Let’s get them up on the board.” Hotch nods towards the board as he says that.

“I got a Nellie Fox baseball card from 1963, and I got a head in a box.” Gideon starts as JJ gets up walking up to the board. “I got a rare butterfly in a shadow box.” She says as she starts writing it down on the whiteboard. “And repeated messages to ‘save her.’” Hotch adds.

“I got the decapitated body.” Elle says smiling sarcastically. “And a nice visit to the Jamaican Police Headquarters.”

Hotch looks over to you to say what you got. “I didn’t get anything.” You shrug.

“Not even a phone call?” He questions, raising an eyebrow. You shake your head. It looked as if Hotch was going to say something, but Gideon changed the subject. “Reid called from Nevada. He's on the way back here with a skeleton key and a note he got, too.”.

“And the guys who called me said, ‘the youngest holds the key’” Hotch adds on. “That’s Reid.” Elle says as she keeps pacing.

“Okay but wait a minute.” You look over at Derek. “Unsubs, they don’t contact us this way. I mean they might taunt us, dare us to catch them, but they don’t drag us into their fantasy.”

“Why not?” JJ asks Morgan when he finishes.

“Because their fantasies are sexual fantasies.” You answer before he can. “Right, taunting us is a show of power, but making us the object is…” He tries to search for the right words, “I don’t know what the hell that is.”

“There’s something else about the baseball card.” You look back to Gideon as he starts a new theory. “Nellie Fox was one of the stars of the 1959 White Sox. I went to almost every game with my father that year. Fox was my hero.” He says as he leans back in the chair. “So, is it a coincidence that he sends this to me, or does he know how I feel about him?” He questions looking over at Hotch. This makes JJ turn around.

“I collected butterflies when I was a little girl.” You all look over at her. “That’s how I knew what butterfly was in the box.”

“So, he knows us?” You question. “I got an anonymous message.” Hotch slightly shrugs. “I got a police raid.” Elle adds on. “But he knew exactly where we were.” Morgan says, supporting your theory. “Hotel in Jamaica Gideon at the cabin, Reid in Vegas, you at your home.” He lists off.

“He got that from the Bureau computers.” Penelope's voice makes you turn around in your chair; she looks nervous and has a file in her hand. “Your locations are always in there so they can find you if they need you. And I checked the log. The hacker was definitely in the personnel folders” She explains. Your brows furrow, how could this happen. “There were room numbers to the hotel in Jamaica, the address of Gideon’s cabin… There’s a lot of information in those databases.” She finished. Something about the way she’s talking is putting you off. There is something she isn’t telling you.

“Have you figured out how he was able to get into the Bureau’s computers?” Hotch asks her. She is silent. Just for a second. “I’m still working on that.” Lying to a room full of profilers probably isn’t the smartest thing to do. “Garcia, if you know something…” Hotch asks, clearly also picking up some things off.

“No, it’s, um…” Penelope's voice breaks slightly. “It’s just… I…” She’s clearly trying to find the right words, scared of upsetting the team. You give her a supportive smile. You’ve known her for years and know she would never do a bad thing on purpose. “I was playing a game yesterday.” She is silent for a second.

You look back to the team and catch JJ’s reaction. She clearly knows what Penelope is talking about. “An online game.” You look back over at the blonde with glasses. Tears shined in her eyes under the LED lights.

“A game?” Gideon asks. “Not on the Bureau computers, sir.” She quickly clarifies. “On my own personal laptop.”

“No, Garcia. No, no, no.” Derek says shaking his head. You close your eyes and lean your head on your hand. “I don’t understand.” Hotch looks for clarification.

“Wireless Internet.” You simply say. “By wirelessly hooking into the Net here to get online, the hacker could have gotten into my computer first, and… I have far less protection on my own laptop.” Penelope stoically explains it to him.

“And he could have gotten into the entire Bureau computer system this way?” You can’t see Hotch’s face as he says it but by the tone of his voice, you have some idea. “Yeah, it’s possible.” Penelope nods.

“Playing a game?” Gideon says as he gets up. “How could you be that stupid?” Seeing the look on Penelope's face, you have to resist the urge to defend her. Yes, she did do something stupid, but Gideon didn’t have to talk to her like that. “Information, files. You have a responsibility.”

“I know, sir. I’m so sorry.” Penelope replies to him. Gideon doesn’t reply. He just turns around. There is an awkward silence that hangs in the air. “But I found him.” Penelope eventually says. Almost full-on crying by now.

“You did?” You ask hopefully. “I know who he is, the hacker. His name is Giles. Frank Giles.” You all look at each other hearing this information. “He lives in Arlington, Virginia, four miles from here. I have his address” She continues as she hands the file she was holding to Hotch.

“Garcia, you said Giles?” Morgan asks her, wanting to confirm he heard it right. She nods quickly. “Let’s go.” Hotch only has to say those two words, and everyone is up and walking out of the office.

The team and you put on your bulletproof vests and got into the black SUVs. Sirens blared as you raced through the streets to get to Frank Giles as quickly as you could. The adrenaline is already pumping through your veins. Finally getting answers about why this is happening. You entered the building with the swat team. Derek kicked the door in, as usual. Everybody walks in with their guns raised. You hear some yell out that it’s clear. You, Derek, and Elle stand for a closed door.

“Frank Giles. FBI.” Derek yells out.

“Come out Giles.” Elle yells. They look at each other and both give a small nod. Then open the doors. As you enter you lower your gun immediately. You see Frank Giles’s lifeless body, only wearing underwear, laying on a dirty old mattress. A sword stuck in him.

“You got to be kidding me.” Elle’s the first one to speak.

“Hotch! Gideon! I think you’re gonna want to see this.” Derek calls out to them. You tear your eyes away from the gruesome scene to look at Elle. But she’s looking at the wall in front of you. So you look up to see ‘here thy quest doth truly begin’ written on the wall in blood.

All of you start taking in the crime scene. Vests already taken off. “He’s definitely playing with us.” Hotch speaks up. “His identification checks out.” Elle says handing his wallet to Hotch. “That’s Frank Giles.”

“There’s a big ol’bag of money sitting right here on the dresser.” Morgan says as he walks over to the bright blue bag. “So, Giles took Harris to Jamaica to kill him.”

“And then the unsub killed Giles.” You finished Hotch’s sentence.

“Yeah, but he paid him first.” Morgan says, confused about it.

“And left the cash?” Elle questions. “He must be well off.” You say, putting your hands on your hips.

“He said these were ‘unrepentant, bad men.’ Are we looking for some kind of vigilante?” Hotch asks, looking over at Gideon.

“No. The bodies are nothing but a way to get us interested. They’re game pieces. The killings are secondary.” Gideon explains nonchalantly.

“Well, this guy likes to write things in blood on the walls.” Elle says as she inspects the bloody walls.

Suddenly your phone starts ringing. All eyes are on you, but you look to Hotch. Silently asking for permission to step out for a bit. He gives you a nod and you step out to the hallway of the apartment building.

When you're alone you answer your phone.

“L/n.” You say but it stays silent on the other end. Pulling the phone away from your ear to check if you hadn’t accidentally declined the call. “Hello?” You ask as you put the phone back to your ear but it’s silent again.

About to hang up suddenly a voice comes through your phone.

“Agent Y/n L/n.” The voice sounds hoarse, you don’t recognize it. “Who is this?” You ask confused. Putting your right hand on your hip.

“It is your task to make sure they hear, and they listen.” The person ignores your question. You release this is the Unsub. “Do not let them stray.” He’s talking about the team.

He has to be. You’re about to respond as he hangs up.

“Damn it.” You let out a frustrated sigh. What could he have possibly meant by that? You keep staring at your phone.

“Hey,” a comforting voice takes you out of your thoughts, “You okay?” You look up to see Spencer walking up to you.

“What?” You look at him confused. Putting your phone back into your pocket. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m alright.” You smile, somewhat awkwardly.

Reid nods and sends a just as awkward smile back. It’s good to see him again. He looks around the empty hallway, hands in his pockets, hair slicked back behind his ears.

“Why are you out here?” He asks you.

“Oh, uh, no reason.” You shrug and let out a laugh. Why did you just lie to him? You honestly don’t know. It just slipped out. He also clearly doesn’t believe you, but before he can question you, you speak up.

“Let’s go, we can use you in there, genius.” You say as you nod towards the room the team is in. This time the smile you give each other isn’t awkward. They both are genuine smiles. Reid always gets a slight blush when someone calls him genius.

You never say it to embarrass him though. You say it full of affection. When you joined the bau, in your first case you got paired up with Spencer. He had been working at the bau for about a year. The two of you hit it off very well.

Walking back into the room you hear Hotch and Derek, “Midnight wouldn’t cast a shadow.” “‘Hour be none.’”

“3 P.M.,” Reid says as you walk in side by side. “Hey, guys. Garcia told me where to find you.” Hotch crouched near the body glances past Reid to look at you with a questioning gaze, silently asking about the phone call. You shake your head telling him it wasn’t important. And again, you don’t know why you are lying to your team about this. You tell yourself it’s because there are more important things right now and that phone call didn’t even make sense.

“3 P.M?” Gideon asks disrupting your thoughts.

“It’s medieval. The days used to be broken into hourly intervals, the canonical hours of the breviary.” Spencer begins to explain, “Prime, 6 A.M”., terce, 9 A.M., sext, 12 noon, none, 3 P.M., and vespers 6 P.M.”

Elle smiles at him fondly and points her finger at him, “Reid, do not ever go away again.” He smiles at her as Gideon starts talking. “Medieval. That’s why the language changed. ‘doth’”

“Everything this guy does is a clue.” Hotch says looking at the team.

 “Okay, but, guys, it’s 4:35. What do we do? Leave to the blade in till 3 P.M. tomorrow?” Derek asked.

“What if we block that window out?” You asked, pointing towards the window. Reid nodded at what you said and turned to one of the crime scene investigators. “Do you have any spotlights in your car?” He asked Gina.

“Sure.” She says as she's getting up, Elle thanks her.

When she came back with a flashlight she gave it to Reid. He crouched down next to where you were standing and pointed the light to the sword.

“See, this sun is right here at 5 P.M., Morgan, follow the shadow as I move the light higher.” Derek starts to move a small table out of the way to get closer to the wall. “Okay, and do what?” He asks when he’s finished.

“Tap.” Hotch instructs him. Derek starts tapping on the wall. He stops when he finds a hollow spot. “It’s hollow.” He says as he looks back at Hotch.

“Definitely an Indiana Jones movie.” Elle says looking over at you when you laugh at her joke.

“Feels like the wallpaper’s been replaced.” Morgan says to Hotch. “Tear it open.” He replies. Derek takes a knife out of his pocket and starts cutting open the wallpaper. Pulling back the wall.

“It’s a box.” He states looking back at the team. “Pull it out.” Hotch instructs him again. “Wait, are we sure that’s safe?” Spencer asks as he stands up. You look over at him. “You think it’s a bomb?” You ask him questionably.

“It isn’t. You think he’d be playing this game just to blow us up?” Hotch retorts. “He’d have already done that as long as we’ve been standing here.” Derek agrees with him and pulls out the box from the hole. He placed it on the table from earlier.

Hotch crouches next to Gideon to get a better look at it. You make your way over to see what it is, while Spencer doesn’t move. Morgan tries to open it, but it seems like it won’t budge.

“It’s locked.” He confirms, “You want me to break it?”

“No, we should process it first.” Hotch answers his question.

“The youngest holds the key.” Gideon suddenly speaks up. And you, Hotch, and Morgan all look at Reid. Spencer searches his pants pockets for the key. Only to realize he put it in the pocket of his button-up.

He does a little jog up to the box and goes to open it. Putting the key in and backing up slightly as he turns it. Music starts to come from the box.

It takes a second for you to recognize it. Turns out all those failed piano lessons are good for something. “Schubert.” Gideon says but before he can say which piece you beat him to it.

“The Trout Quintet.” He looks over at you confused, clearly, he didn’t expect you to know it. You just shrug in reply as you focus on the note that Spencer pulled out of the box. “Five people fishing.” Hotch says, giving context to the song.

“Never would it be night, but always clear day to any man’s sight.” Reid starts reading off the paper. “Well, that was worth it.” Elle says as she turns away.

“The lid.” Gideon points at the box, “Little tab right under the lock.” Morgan leans over Reid to open the lid.

As he opens it there’s a dvd in it, but also a blonde lock of hair tied with a pink bow.

“Jesus.” Slips out of you. “Oh, god.” Elle says at the same time.

Morgan pulls both out as Gideon lets out a tired sigh. Derek gives Elle the lock of hair. “Do you have that evidence bag?” She asks one of the CSI’s. “Here you go.” He replies as he holds out a bag for her to put the hair in.

“Thy quest.” Morgan says standing up and holding out the dvd so you all can see it. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Gideon putting his head in his hand. After everything is mostly wrapped up at the crime scene you all make your way back to the office.

Everyone is clearly tired and wants to catch this guy.

On the car ride back all you can think about is that phone call. It keeps repeating in your head. “Agent Y/n L/n.”  “Who is this?”  “It is your task to make sure they hear, and they listen. Do not let them stray.” You just can’t seem to make sense of it. What is it that you need to make sure they listen to? Maybe this dvd?

Without even releasing you’re back, sitting at the round table. The dvd is playing.

You see a barely lit office. A man stumbles into the frame and sits down at the chair, you can’t make out a face though.

“He moves funny.” Hotch noted. Derek looks back at Hotch to reply, “It’s like he’s injured or something.”

The man in the video starts talking. “I assure you, you will all understand in the end why it must be this way.” It’s the same voice of the man who called you at Frank Giles’s place. You shift in your seat as he continues. “You might even thank me.”

“Don’t hold your breath, scumbag.” You see Hotch glance over at Elle as she says this.

“You know now you’re on a quest. A young girl’s life depends on the successful completion of it.” The video shows a blonde girl being held captive. She’s throwing things at the camera and hitting the bars of the cage. “As you can see, she is quite beautiful and in distress.” The way he talks about her along with the footage makes your skin crawl.

“Now please listen closely for there is one rule and this rule must be followed.” You sit up straighter in your chair. The things he said on the phone call must be about this.

“The one rule is, only the members of your team may participate in the quest: Jason Gideon, Aaron Hotchner, Derek Morgan, Elle Greenaway, Y/n L/n, Spencer Reid, Jennifer Jareau, Penelope Garcia.” As he said, all your names and pictures of everyone on the team showed on the screen.

“A quest must be completed in the proper way, or it isn’t a quest, is it? That’s it. One rule. Simple. Now, you will be receiving an item soon that will hold the final clue you will need to finish the quest. You will find you will also need a book which has inspired many adventures like mine. Believe me, when I tell you I truly hope to see you all soon. It will mean a successful end to this adventure for all of us.” The video stopped playing. You look at everyone on the team.

“This guy’s got pictures of us?” Elle is the first one to speak up.

“What do we do now?” Reid asks Hotch.

“Well, the lock of hair’s being analyzed for DNA. There might be something on file.” He answers Reid.

“I’ll get Video to enhance the shots of the girl.” JJ says as she gets up to leave.

“Let's get the clues up on the board. Maybe we can make some sense of something.” Hotch instructs.

“Wait, we’re going to play this guy’s game?” Elle asks him, frustrated.

“Do we have a choice?” Spencer replies. But you’re not focusing on their conversation anymore, you’re focused on Gideon. You can’t figure out what he’s up to as he’s about to leave the room.

Everyone else turns around when they hear the click of the door opening.

“Be right back. You guys keep working.” Hotch says as he gets up to talk to Gideon. However, you don’t listen. The rest of the team looks at you as you follow him.

You’re following him out of the room for two reasons. Wanting to know what’s going on, everyone has always told you you’re too curious for your own good. And thinking now might be a good time to also mention to Hotch that you got a call from the Unsub.

“Jason?” Hotch calls out as he follows Gideon, “Jason!” He calls out again when the older man doesn’t stop. Gideon walks into his office and lets the door slam closed behind him. Before Hotch follows Gideon into his office, he gives you a disapproving look for following him. “We’ll talk about this later.” He says dismissively and walks into Gideon's office.

You let out a sigh. Why did you think this would work. You turn back around to have your walk of shame back to the rest of the group.

Morgan lets out a small laugh as he sees you walking back into the room. Reid gives you a questioning look, but you just shrug it off.

Not long after Hotch handed a paper over to Reid and said Haley received it. You, Morgan, Elle, and Reid had been staring at these numbers for a while now.

“My eyes are so heavy I can barely see it.” Elle says with a sigh.

“It has to be some kind of code, right?” You question, leaning against the table next to Reid. “The Unsub said we needed a book, didn’t he?” Reid brings up. You look over at him, curious about where he’s going with this.

“Yeah. ‘a book that inspired many an adventure.’” Morgan quotes from the video.

“It’s a book code. Each one of these sets of numbers represents a particular word.” Spencer explains and points at one of the codes on the paper, “For instance, page 118, line 30, word three. We need to figure out what the words are and fill in the blanks.”

“Right, but we don’t know what book.” You respond, another dead end.

“And the trouble is, it has to be the exact same edition of the exact same book that he used.” Reid adds on.

“Just got a DNA hit on the lock of hair.” JJ says as she walks into the room, “Rebecca Bryant.” She hands Elle a picture after showing it to you, “She’s been missing out of Boston for two years.”

You look over at her shocked, “Two years?” She nods as she looks at you.

“Guys, how are we supposed to figure out which book this code was copied out of?” Derek brings the conversation back after being handed the picture from Elle. “I have no idea.” Spencer replies. JJ walks up to the whiteboard and sticks the picture of Rebecca on it.

Reid was standing in front of the whiteboard, “He said we have everything needed to complete the quest.” he said as he turned around to look at you, Elle, and Derek. Derek was sitting on the chair backward, Elle practically laying in the leather chair, you were leaning against the table and JJ was sitting normally at the table looking over the evidence.

“The answer’s got to be up there somewhere.” Elle mumbles, very clearly tired.

“JJ, get some reporters here as soon as you can.” You quickly turn around as you hear Gideon say this. Alarm bells going off in your head.

Once again, the things the Unsub said on your phone call repeating themselves. It is your task to make sure they hear and they listen. Do not let them stray. Gideon’s not listening. “For what?” JJ asks him. “Just say we need help on a new case.” Is all he gives in response before he walks away.

You get up to follow him, again. You have to stop him from doing this. Gideon is always surprisingly fast for his age. You just barely catch up to him when he reaches Hotch again. “Sirs, you can’t do this.” You say, well it more sounds like you're begging.

Gideon and Hotch, both give you confused looks.

You take a deep breath. “He called me.” You say looking at them.

Their reactions are exactly what you expected. Gideon stays silent, he’s profiling you. “What? What do you mean he called you L/n?  When did this happen?” Hotch asks you with a stern look on his face as he crosses his arms. You feel ashamed. You should’ve told them. You know that. You just hoped you had figured out what he meant earlier so you could’ve given the team helpful evidence and not more questions. “Back at the apartment.” You say, placing your hands behind your back so they don’t notice how nervous you are.

Gideon just shakes his head and walks away. Obviously thinking he has better things to do than deal with you.

“Why didn’t you say something before?” Hotch asks you.

“I… I don’t know,” The unsatisfied look Hotch gives you makes rethink your answer, “I wanted to figure out what he meant.”

“So, you could show off?” Hotch fills it in for himself. You quickly shake your head. That’s not why you did it. “No, no I didn’t want to add more unanswered questions for the team.” It sounds stupid and you realize that.

Hotch sighs and rubs his forehead, “What did he say to you?”

“He told me to make sure they hear, and they listen and to not let them stray. I think he was talking about the video.” You reply to him, “I think the press conference is a mistake, Hotch.”

“Gideon knows what he’s doing L/n, I trust him. You should’ve told us sooner.” He says before walking away. You couldn’t shake the nervous feeling. You went to get some coffee. Not ready to face your team yet.

On your third cup, you see Hotch walking back into the office. The press conference is over, there’s nothing you can do about it now. You see Elle walking out with Hotch.

“Anderson, take Greenaway home.” He says, looking over at him. “Yes, sir.” Anderson immediately replies.

“No, I’m fine.” Elle protests. “I’ll have your car brought over later.” Hotch tells her. “Alright, come on, Anderson.”

Do not let them stray. It repeats in your head.

“Sir, is it okay if I go with them? I can come back whenever you need me.” You ask Hotch. He hesitates for a moment, thinking it over. Elle smiles over at you, she appreciates it.

“Alright but keep your phone on and close L/n.” Hotch tells you.

Elle was struggling to stay awake the whole drive back to her house. Anderson dropped you both off and went back to the office. Elle let you into the house. You’ve been here before, many times, you and her occasionally have a drink after a case when neither of you wants to be alone.

Elle tosses her keys on the coffee table and drops her bag next to the couch and flops down on it. You can’t help but let out a laugh. She doesn’t even have the energy to glare at you, shifting on the couch to get into a more comfortable position.

You put down your own bag next to hers and take off your gun and gun holster placing them next to her keys on the table. You walked into her kitchen, you hadn’t eaten yet and doubted she had.

Opening the fridge just to find it practically empty. There are some leftovers, but they don’t look edible anymore. You grab them to throw them away, the smell hits you and you pull a face.

“Gross.” You mutter under your breath and throw it in the trash can. “Hey, I'm going to get some food, you want any?” You ask her as you walk back into her living room.

She lets out a noise that’s something between a hum and a groan.

“Alright, I’ll take that as a yes.” You say with a smile on your face, “I’m taking your keys, I’ll be right back.” Reaching for her keys on the table.

She gives you a thumbs-up while trying to stifle a yawn.

So, you lock the door behind you as you leave for the small supermarket near her house. It’s about a 10 minute walk away.

You grab some iced coffees and some simple heat-up meals. You’re done in about 5 minutes, pay for everything and walk back. The plastic bag is heavier than you expected it to be, it leaves imprints on your fingers.

You reach Elle’s front door and reach for the keys in your jacket. You try to open the lock as quietly as you can, not wanting to wake her up.

As you open the door you freeze. The plastic bag somehow becomes ten times heavier, and it drops to the floor. The ice coffee starts to leak but it’s the least of your concern.

Elle is laying on the floor covered in her own blood.

“Oh my god…” You whisper. You rush forward to her somehow without falling over your own feet. You fall to your knees. Hands reach up to her face. She isn’t conscious. You give her a few taps on her cheek and her eyes flutter slightly.

“Shit, Elle. You gotta stay awake, okay?” You look around helplessly. Her phone is on the floor next to her. Did she call 911?  You place one hand on the wound to try and stop the bleeding, knowing it isn’t doing much as you feel the red hot liquid slip right past your fingers.

You reach over her to check her phone. Luckily you know her password.

You check her out going call and see 911. A sigh of relief escapes you.

Help is on the way. You just have to do everything you can to keep her alive until then.

Blood is staining your hands as you try to stop the bleeding. Her eyes closed.

“No, no, no, no, Elle, stay with me. Come on, you gotta keep your eyes open. Keep them open for me. Fuck. Elle. Come on. Please… I… I can’t lose you. Please.” A million things ran through your head. If you had been here, you could’ve stopped him.

If you hadn’t left, Elle would be okay. God, why did they have that press conference. Why hadn’t you been more demanding with Hotch that it was a bad idea.

Vague sirens interrupted your train of thought. Taking one hand to check Elle’s pulse. Time stopped. You couldn’t feel a heartbeat.

“Fuck.” Panicking. What would cpr do if she was bleeding out? Not like you had any other choice. You started compressions.

No thoughts run through your head anymore. Just pure focus on the task. Not even noticing the sirens getting louder and louder.

A paramedic pulls you away from Elle. Only now realizing they had arrived. Their mouths were moving but you couldn’t make out any of the words.

You stepped back. Letting them do their job.

Everything is hazy, you blink rapidly. Tears fall on your cheeks.

Have you been crying this whole time? You didn’t even realize it. They place Elle on a stretcher and make their way back to the ambulance. You follow them without saying a word. You don’t think about the fact that your phone is still in your bag.

Getting ready to step into the ambulance you noticed a car arriving. Anderson. He stumbled out of the SUV.

“L/n, what happened?” He tried not to show his fear but the tremble in his voice gave him away. “Call Hotch. Meet me at the hospital. I- I’ll explain there.” You spoke hurriedly while getting into the ambulance.

The paramedics are rushing the stretcher into the ER. You’re having a hard time keeping up with them. The doctors take Elle over.

“I’m sorry, we are taking her into surgery. You aren’t allowed any further.” One of the nurses is holding you back. You have no fight left in you, so you just nod and make your way to the waiting room.

Anderson is already there. His eyes are red. Had he been crying? He looked like a mess. You didn’t even want to think about what you looked like right now. The way Anderson’s eyes widened when he saw you back at the house told you enough. You definitely looked worse than him.

“I called Hotchner. Him and Agent Gideon are on their way now.” Wringing his hands as he spoke. He’s nervous. “Do you... um, do you know anything yet?” He barely could get the question out without tears threatening to spill.

“She’s in surgery.” Was all you could manage to get out as you spoke. Wanting to run your hand over your face but as you reached you noticed the deep maroon stains and how much it was shaking so you put your hand back down.

“If you want to, I can wait here, so you can get cleaned up.” He offered. You gave him a thankful but tired smile.

Making your way over to the bathroom. The door handle stuck to your hand slightly, leaving a slight red imprint on it.

You let out a heavy sigh, resting your head against the door as you closed it behind you. Walking up to the sink you didn’t dare to look into the mirror.

You turned on the faucet and put your shaky hands under the ice cold water. The water colored red instantly. You tried not to think about the fact it was Elle’s blood you were washing off.

Keeping your hands under the water until it turned clear again made them start to tingle from the freezing water. Turning the faucet off, you placed your hands on the sides of the sink. Not daring to look at your own reflection.

Involuntarily you let out a shaky breath. Trying to recollect yourself.

Hotch and Gideon would arrive any moment. They would have questions for you. Questions that would force you to think back to what happened not even an hour ago, while all you’ve been trying this whole time is to forget about it. You couldn’t bear to try and remember.

You dried your hands and walked out of the bathroom, scanning the waiting room for Anderson. He was talking to two men in suits. Two men you could recognize anywhere. How did they get here so soon? How long had you been in the bathroom? You looked at your wrist. The face of your watch is stained with blood. You quickly pulled the sleeve of your jacket back over it.

“It appears she dialed 911 herself before she passed out.” You hear Anderson say as you get closer to them. Hotch and Gideon turned around when they noticed Anderson's gaze shifting to you.

The pity and maybe even guilt that Anderson feels when he makes eye contact with you is clear on his face. Or maybe it’s clear to you since profiling is your job, but then how come you couldn’t prevent Elle from dying. No. She isn’t dead. Not anymore. The paramedics shocked her back to life. She’s alive. She’ll be okay. She has to be. You would never be able to live with yourself if she wouldn’t be. Hotch keeps his eyes on you for a minute while Gideon turns back around.

“Why weren’t we notified?” He asks Anderson.

“The offender apparently took her ID and gun. The uniform I talked to didn’t even know she was in the Bureau until I arrived on scene.” He replies to Gideon quickly.

“Get back over there.” Hotch says turning back to look at Anderson. “This is a federal crime scene. Nobody touches anything. We process it.” He instructs the younger agent. “Go.”

“Yes, sir.” Anderson replies as he leaves to go and do exactly what Hotch told him to.

The two agents turn back around to observe you. You are staring into space; your mind is clouded. Nothing feels clear anymore. Hotch and Gideon glance at each other. Both concerned with the state you’re in currently. Gideon takes out his phone and walks a few steps away, going to call the office.

“L/n? Hey L/n?” An authoritative, yet comforting voice made you reorientate. Hotch squinted his eyes and ever so slightly tilted his head. He was profiling you. And you would’ve noticed if you weren’t so tired.

“Sorry, what were you saying sir?” Crossing your arms over each other.

“You’re lucky you weren’t there as well.” He said touching your shoulder. But you didn’t feel lucky. All you felt was guilt, but you simply nodded. “Is there anything you remember?” He crosses his arms just like you did.

“I-” You choke on your words. You close your eyes and shake your head trying to get your thoughts in order. “I wasn’t even gone for 30 minutes. If I had just… If I hadn’t left, she would be okay.”

“If you had been there, he most likely would’ve shot you as well L/n.” Hotch tells you. Before you can say anything, else Gideon walks back over to the two of you.

“Trap and trace got nothing.” He says leaning against the wall and putting his phone away. “Unsub used a disposable cell.” You look confused at that. Hotch notices.

“The unsub, he called us. Taunting us about Elle.” He explains to you. You let out an exhausted sigh. It’s as if this case never ends.

“We got our best CSU team. If he left anything, a print, a hair, sweat, anything…” “They’ll find it.” Gideon cuts Hotch off. You look down at your hands, they are still shaking.

“I’m going to grab a coffee.” You mutter out and leave the two agents.

After grabbing your coffee, you go and sit in the waiting room. It is completely empty. Would you rather have it be busy? You’re not sure which would be worse. Because now you must sit here in this hurt. This constant tight feeling in your chest, as if you’re not getting enough air.

A few minutes later Gideon walks in. He nods at you as you look at him. He sits down a few chairs away from where you’re sitting, giving you some space. You sit in silence, it’s not uncomfortable but it also isn’t exactly comfortable. “Hotch is calling JJ and Morgan.” He says, explaining where the other agent is. You just nod, not having the energy to reply. You look down at the coffee in your hands, you haven’t taken a single sip. It’s pretty much cold now. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Gideon scrabbling things down on the magazines that lay down on the table. You don’t ask him about it.

After a while, Hotch walks in and you look up from your drink. He’s gotten rid of his suit jacket. “Any word?” He asks Gideon.

“Nope.” Gideon replies simply.

“I called JJ. I told her we’d call them if anything changed.” Hotch tells the two of you as he leans on the two chairs in front of him. Gideon and you simply nod at what he says.

“What’s all that?” Hotch asks as he notices the writing on the magazines.

“This unsub’s extremely organized.” Gideon explains instead of answering his question, “He sounded truly shocked that we didn’t follow the rules. He honestly believed we would simply listen to his directions.”

“He’s delusional. He thinks he’s a mythological king.” Hotch says, his eyebrows furrow slightly.

“But delusion and this level of organization are almost mutually exclusive.” Gideon corrects Hotch, “You don’t meticulously plan contacts in the real world if you’re suffering psychotic breaks from reality.” Before Hotch can reply to Anderson walks back in. “How is she?” he quietly asks. You stare back down at your coffee again.

“No word yet.” Hotch replies to him, “Is the scene processed?”

“They’re finished. We still have it locked up tight, though.” Anderson explains.

“They find anything?” Hotch asks, he sounds exhausted.

“CSU found a partial print.” You look up as Anderson says this. “The shooter wrote a message on the wall in blood and,” He did? How did you not notice that? Hotch and Gideon glance at you just for a second, probably thinking the same. “In one of the smudges, they found a whorl pattern.” Anderson hands over the file to Hotch. “They made a lift. They aren’t sure whether it’s enough to get a hit, but they are processing it now.” Anderson continues as Hotch hands the file over to Gideon. You get up from your seat, still holding your coffee, you walk closer to Gideon to look at the file.

He grabs the top picture of a bloody fingerprint to reveal what the unsub wrote on the wall. RULES. Dripping down the wall. You try to think back as hard as you can but don’t remember seeing it. You should’ve seen it. Gideon reads what’s on the picture and looks up at Hotch. He places the file back down on the table in front of him.

Hotch leaves to get coffee. Leaving you and Gideon alone again. You go to sit back down in the chair but stop.

You can’t help the words that slip out of your mouth. “You shouldn’t have done the press conference.” You turn around to face him. “I tried to warn you.”

Gideon doesn’t say anything. He just stares down at the file. You want to yell at him. Scream that it’s his fault. But you bite the inside of your cheek.

“I was just doing my job.” He says quietly, so quiet it’s barely a whisper. You can’t help but let out a scoff and stare at him. If looks could kill Gideon would be six feet under by now. You respect him, you truly do, but he made a bad call and can’t own up to it.

The reasonable part of your brain tells you, you are projecting your own feelings of guilt and anger on him, but you don’t have it in you to be reasonable right now. So, you storm out of the waiting room. You throw your coffee in a trash can as you walk past it. Hotchner passes by you with two coffees in his hand, he’s put his jacket back on, he raises an eyebrow when you don’t acknowledge him. He looks back at you but keeps walking back to the waiting room.

You let out a frustrated sigh. You notice one of Elle’s doctors and go to ask if they have any new information.

She just tells you the same thing, “No, I’m sorry.” And she walks away.

You just wish someone could tell you something, anything. You’re tired, exhausted, angry, sad, terrified, guilty. Your eyes start to sting as you try and hold back your tears. You look around and walk into the nearest bathroom.

When the door closes the damn breaks and tears fall down your face. A sob escapes you and you place your hand over your mouth. You try to focus on your breathing to try and calm down. It works a little bit.

You decide washing your face might help you get grounded again, so you walk over to the sink. Turning it on and putting your hands under the water. Somehow the water of this sink is even colder than the one from before. You cup your hands under it and splash the water on your face.

You reach to grab a towel to dry your hands and face but catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You look even worse than you imagined. Your mascara is all over the place and so is your hair. There even is some dried blood on your face, you quickly scrub it off with a damp paper towel.

So many thoughts and feelings have been racing through your head over the past few hours, you can barely keep up with them. Did you overstep with Gideon just now? Possibly. You just couldn’t handle bearing all the guilt you were feeling anymore.

Before you leave you check yourself in the mirror again. You look… less chaotic to put it nicely. You smooth over your hair and clothes and walk out of the bathroom.

You start looking for Hotch and Gideon but only find the latter. He’s staring into space, the thing you’ve seen him do all day. You look around before approaching him, hoping to find Hotch instead.

“Hey…” You clear your throat as you stand next to the chair he’s sitting in. He takes a second to look up to his left and gives you a nod of acknowledgment. A certain awkwardness flows between you two. Neither saying a word.

His fingers are interlaced, resting on his lap. He’s trying to appear calm and collected, but his shaking knee is giving him away.

There’s a free chair next to him. You debate with yourself whether you should sit down or not. Gideon nods over to the chair as if he was reading your mind. “Just sit down, kid.”

A quick nod is all you give him in response as you go and sit down.

After sitting in this silence for a few minutes, you speak up. “She’s going to be okay right?” You rub your palms over your thighs, trying to shake the nervous feeling.

“Greenaway is strong, she’s a fighter.” He doesn’t know if she’ll be okay. He is probably as terrified as you are right now. Once again, you just nod. You wring your fingers. Letting out a sigh, you look over at Gideon.

“Sir, I’m sorry if I overstepped…” He looks over at you with a raised eyebrow, “Earlier, in the waiting room.” You remind him.

Gideon nods, he hadn’t expected you to bring it up again. He wasn’t mad at you; he was mad at himself. He should’ve listened. And he would regret the choice he made, along with all the other choices over his career. Gideon waved his hand at you, telling you that what happened didn’t matter.

You and Gideon sat in the hallway for another half hour before a doctor finally approached both of you. Hearing the news a sigh left you. Relief flooded your body.

Elle is okay. Elle is alive.

Gideon went to call the team as you followed the doctor. Elle was laying in the hospital bed. She looked peaceful. You can’t remember the last time you saw her this relaxed. You approach her bed and sit down in the chair next to it. All the memories of today wash over you again, the thought that you could’ve lost your friend. You wipe away a single tear that falls.  

Gideon walks up next to you after a few minutes. Laying his hand on your shoulder.

“They caught him, he’s dead.” You turn around to look at him, “They saved Rebecca.” You look back to Elle as you nod at what he says. Part of you wished you could’ve been there with the team. Gotten some justice for Elle. But you were where you needed to be. Right here. In the hospital, sitting next to Elle as she wakes up.

[dycefic]

Tom Saves The World

Everyone knows that it’s super-heroes who save the world. They fight the aliens, or the monsters, or the bad guys. And mostly, that’s true.

But not always.

I’m a psychic. The thing is, my range isn’t that great. I don’t have much detail more than about 36 hours out, 48 for something really big. I’d had a nebulous sort of bad feeling for about a week before this one finally hit, and it was big. Something very tough and very supernatural was going to come up out of the harbor of Nova Roma, and the death-toll was going to be high. Crazy high.

I did all I could. I told the Unaligned Supers Job Placement Agency, and they put the word out to everyone on both sides of the Line. The Henchman’s Union don’t like natural disasters any more than anyone else, and they’re often quite helpful against eldritch horrors and stuff like that. Things that don’t hire henchmen and ruin the property values.

The trouble was, nobody big was around. The only really big team of heavy hitters on the West Coast were away dealing with some sort of doomsday cult - I never was clear on what that was about - and Guarde and Dog Fox were out of touch and even Mx Frantique was out of town at someone’s wedding. It was going to happen in less than two days and we couldn’t find anyone to help and I was seriously considering calling in some kind of bomb threat or something to get people away from the docks, at least.

And then, about eighteen hours out, it just… went away.

Which never, ever happens.

My powers might be short range, but they’re reliable. I don’t get stuff wrong, and I hadn’t been able to find any way to prevent what was going to happen, or even been able to identify anyone who could. But someone did. Someone had done something to stop the threat, something that happened literally while I was opening my car door. When I reached for the handle, thousands of people were going to die. By the time the door was open, there was no threat at all.

At first I thought it must have been a ranged thing. Like, whatever I’d been seeing (all those teeth, I saw them in nightmares for months after) had been distracted by something tasty on its way here and gotten off track, that it’d come up somewhere up or down the coast. My range isn’t that big, either. Anything outside about thirty miles might as well be on Mars for all I know about it. So we kept a watch out, and warned the chapters of the Union and the Agency in other cities.

But nothing happened. Nothing at all. I couldn’t explain it, and I was really unpopular for a while. Supers do NOT like people who cry wolf. There’s enough freaky shit we have to deal with without someone panicking everyone with a dire prophecy that fizzles out.

Thank all the gods that Tunny showed up. Nobody’s really sure what Tunny actually is - sentient fish creature, some kind of really mutated human, an alien, or what. She changes her story a lot. But she’s pretty friendly, especially for a twenty-foot-long horror-movie-mermaid-thing with four arms, so when she came into harbor to pick up some supplies a guy from the Agency went out to tell her what I’d seen. I’d gotten a wharf and dock number, so she went down to check.

I don’t think anyone had ever seen Tunny scared before. Her English wasn’t good enough to really explain what she’d found hibernating down there, but it was something very old and very powerful and very dangerous, and if it’d been woken up my vision would just have been the start of the crisis.

She rounded up a bunch of whales to help her move it, once she was sure it hadn’t been agitated and wasn’t likely to rouse if moved carefully. They towed it out before dawn, not wanting to scare the civilians, and when I saw the footage from the helicopter the Union sent up, when I saw how big the swell was, how many whales were pulling, I swear I nearly crapped myself. No wonder I’d been getting hints a week in advance. Somehow we dumbass humans had built a whole fucking city almost on top of some kind of Ancient Old… THING, and eroded the sea-bottom until it was exposed, and if someone hadn’t done whatever it was we’d all have been dead long before Tunny arrived. And not just all as in ‘all of Nova Roma’, it could have taken out half of the continent... or all of it.

It took me years to find out what happened. YEARS. It turned into a kind of hobby, tracking everything that might possibly have come into contact with Wharf 38 on that particular day.  

And what I found, eventually, was a city employee named Thomas Briggs.

I’d found out early on that 38 wasn’t in good repair. Not that bad, but not great. It was old, things were getting a bit saggy in a few places, but there’d been no sign that anything was likely to fall off on the day. It had sat there for a couple of years after the crisis that never happened,, doing its job without problems then been rebuilt without any drama at all.

Entirely, completely, and totally because of Thomas Briggs.

The story, when I finally pieced it together, went like this.

There’d been some project or other to build some sort of high-budget science project over on the other side of the harbor, hanging it off’ve Pier 8, the furthest out on that side. Something about tracking sea-life or ships or something. My conversational English is near perfect, I’ve been here for years, but I don’t speak science nerd in ANY language. It’d all been approved, some university was covering most of the cost, it was all gonna be fine. And it was gonna be over on 8 because that side of the harbor is the shallow end. It’s where the sailboats go. All the big stuff that would block visual sensors and deafen the thing with engine noise was over in the thirties, in the real deep water.

They were almost ready to install the thing when a bunch of rich dudes suddenly got their panties in a bunch over having a big sciency tower thing ruining the view from their yachts, and tried to get it moved.

To, and I’m sure you guessed this, Wharf 38.

Which was completely insane. It wouldn’t be able to do its job over there, it’d be way more in the way, and (although they couldn’t have known it) the installation would definitely have woken up the Thing sleeping by the wharf and we all would have died. But rich dudes with yachts don’t care about that stuff. They’d bitched out and bribed up their friends on the city council, and those friends had done their thing, and the scientists had been left in the dark, and it’d almost gone through. They’d figured to install it right away, so that when the science guys found out it’d be too late and they’d either have to pay a lot to move it or just use it where it was.

Enter Thomas Briggs.

Mr Briggs, Tom to his friends, didn’t give a crap about the yachts or the science. He was a senior money guy for the commercial wharfs, the one who figured out things like how much money they’d take in in a quarter, and what the repair budget should be, stuff like that. He found out about this thing two days before the disaster would have happened, and sat down and did the math.

Then he sent out an email to the guys trying to push this through, and he ripped into them like they’d threatened to knife his mother. I got my hands on that email, and I didn’t understand a lot of it any more than the council guys would have. It was ALL numbers. But at the top he wrote it out in plain English. Pier 8 was new, and rated to handle the weight of the thingy. Wharf 38 was going to be scrapped in a few years, and it was NOT rated for that kind of structure. Pier 8 had plenty of room around it. Wharf 38 was already a tight fit for the big commercial ships, and adding a structure sticking out on one side would block off at least half of the wharf to those ships completely.

Bottom line, putting the thing on Wharf 38 would cost the city hundreds of thousands of dollars more per year than putting it on 8, AND the city would have to eat the cost if 38 collapsed under it which it could easily do, AND the city would have to pay to move it in a couple of years anyway when 38 was due to be rebuilt.

And he cc-ed every important person he had an email address for, including the mayor, the anti-corruption people, and several reporters.

He must have sent that email right when I was opening my car door.

The whole plan collapsed right there, and some people got fired. There was no news story because the whole plan got killed before the reporters even got to the right office. The installation was started on Wharf 8 a few weeks later and I never connected it to a commercial wharf on the other side of the harbor.

One email, and a man who I never could have located in time, a man who had no powers at all, a man who was just conscientiously doing his job looking after the city’s money saved the city, and the continent, and maybe even the world.

Who could have predicted that? Not me, that’s for damn sure.

I can’t deny that I went home and got drunk off my ass that night. Just thinking about how close that had been made my hands shake. One man. One honest man who’d done the math.

I put the word out, once the hangover wore off. What had happened. That Thomas Briggs was the reason we were all alive and everyone better make his life real nice from now on, because he’d done what none of us could do and nobody but the supers would ever even know it.

He’s got a lot of luck coming to him, I can tell you. We don’t forget debts like that.

And I knew that’d freak him out, because honest men don’t like it when people start doing them a lot of favors for no apparent reason, so I tracked him down at the little bar where he likes to have a quiet beer on Friday nights before he goes home. Hell, I was the one who’d gone through it all, back then. I should get to tell him.

I sat down beside him at the bar and looked at him. I saw a thin, small, balding man who looked like he worried too much and didn’t get enough sleep, with lines around his eyes. Yeah, he looked like a man who’d do the math. “Thomas Briggs?”

He blinked at me through his glasses. “Yes? Do I know you?”

“No, you don’t. My name’s Barkhado Omar, and I’ve been looking for you for a long time.” I offered him my hand and he shook it, still looking confused. Which was fair, ‘cause I doubt a lot of seven foot tall Somali women came up to him in bars even when he was young. He’s got to be close to retirement now.

He frowned. “Looking for me? Why?”

I smiled at him. “Tom, let me buy you a drink and tell you about the day you saved the world.”

It’s usually us who save the city, or the world. We have all the intel, all the advantages, all the powers.

But sometimes it’s not. Sometimes it’s someone like Tom Briggs, doing the right thing at the right time and never knowing that he changed the course of history.

Wild, huh?

--

This story is a direct result of me and my ex chatting about how different the entire Marvel Universe would have been if Jean’s first ‘resurrection’ - being found in a life pod under a wharf, IIRC - had happened at like... any other time. Earlier. Later. It would have changed SO MUCH.

And we speculated about how it could happen, how someone just puttering around in middle management might have unknowingly saved countless lives, prevented Madelyne’s corruption, the legacy virus, all of it, just by postponing that particular set of repairs a bit longer.... and I couldn’t resist writing a version of the story in which Tom does, in fact, save the world.

[yooglefics]

hii! its been a few days since i found u and i love ur writing and stories!! could i request a fic where yoongi and (possibly) female reader have a fight over jealousy (its either her or him or both even idk) and its a little angsty idk but then they make up and its all fluffy 🤓🤓 thank u in advance luv

Hellooo. Thank you so much for your kind words and for requesting this! I really enjoyed writing this pair and some angst, I did a hint of both being jealousy, but is mostly him haha. Sorry it took me a while to finally post it, but I wanted it to be good, and I hope you like it!

Jealous, jealousy

Pairing: Min Yoongi x fem!reader  Wordcount: 2,467 words Genre: AU. Established relationship. Angst and comfort / fluff.  Summary: Jealousy has never been a problem in your relationship, not until a comment can't leave Yoongi's mind and interactions at your office’s party just make it worse. Content warnings under read more.

Includes: Jealous Yoongi. People thinking there's something between Jin and Reader… even Yoongi. Miscommunication. They argue. And then they're cute.

It all starts with the perilla leave question between Yoongi's friends one night out and a few rounds of soju in. As a self-identified non-jealous person, his answer was that it didn't mean anything, and even told the story about how it happened a few days ago when your coworker joined you two for lunch.

Jungkook, the non-identified most jealous person of the group, had obviously called him stupid. Questioned him about that guy and told him to be careful. “If I were you, Yoongi, I'd keep my eye on him.”

Little rascal; didn't even bother to use honorifics with him anymore.

But the worst thing is that the idea is now on his head and not even Yoongi knows how bad it is about to get as he steps into your office party a few weeks later. Now having the opportunity to see his girlfriend and her favorite coworker interact more in a familiar environment.

Even the ones who don't know Yoongi a lot, know he can be pretty reserved around new people, that's why you continue to make your polite round of interactions after saying hi and leaving him at a table with a whiskey and snacks. Promising to come back as soon as possible.

He looks at you across the room, all professional and sweet, the queen of small talk and polite smiles, and one forms on his own lips without realizing. Only doing so when it's erased as someone greets him, sitting down beside him and he tries to follow your steps at looking, at least, a bit cordial. 

“I don't think I've seen you before. Are you here with ( y / n ) or Seokjin?”

“Yes, with ( y / n ).”

“Really?” She sounds genuinely surprised, “I didn't know she was inviting someone.” 

“Well, I like supporting her, don't really need the invitation” he chuckles a bit awkwardly, “I'm her boyfriend.”

“Oh, so she is dating someone?” Again, the surprise in her tone makes Yoongi believe is a true emotion, and that confuses him.

“For a few years now, yes.”

“And here I was thinking that those two were going to be the next office romance,” she says sounding disappointed before realizing, “oh my— not that it's bad they don't, just… they are both attractive and you know…”

«Is that supposed to make it better?», he wants to ask, but instead he laughs, trying to dismiss everything as her hand lays on his forearm that is resting on the table, trying to reassure him as she goes on about him being handsome too and whatnot.

He stopped listening now. Because after that interaction, one hour seems long enough when half of that you have spent besides that guy, and Jungkook's words keep growing in his head as if he were watering them with the sweet alcohol. The one he has to switch hands to sip from now, because your coworker keeps the other prisoner of her hand. 

Not even the excuse ( that is actually not really an excuse because he needs it ) to get a refill works and she only stops rambling his ear off when someone arrives at the place and she finally leaves the table to greet them.

“I saw you made a friend,” your sweet smile is almost enough to make him forget his thoughts when he is joined by you at the bar while ordering another whiskey.

“Well, figure I should while you had fun with yours.” he shrugs in an effort to dismiss negative feelings.

“Wait, did you actually make friends with her?” is your turn to sound surprised, corners of your mouth falling a little.

“Is a problem if I did?”

“I… I mean, I was joking but I don't like her very much. You can make friends with other people, though.”

“Ah, thanks for the clear up.” He walks back to the table to sit down, and even he can acknowledge it was a weird response, so, your next question doesn’t shock him.

“Are you okay?”

“What if I made friends with your best friend, what's his name?” he asks instead. Comments from others blurring his psyche, making him act without much thinking.

“Jin?”

“Is that his name? She called him Seokjin”

“Well, Seokjin, Jin for short. What's the big deal?”

“Nothing. Just… that's what she said when she asked who I was here with,” he explains before taking a sip.

“Of course she asked you that,” and eye roll accompanies your words. 

“Yeah, because apparently you didn't say you invited your boyfriend.” but he thinks there is more important matters than you not liking your coworker. “As a matter of fact she didn't know you had a boyfriend.”

“Because is none of her business. She doesn't need to know about my relationship.”

“She does when she is talking about you and Seokjin having a romance.”

“What?!”

“Sorry. You and Jin.”

“Shut up, you know that's not what I meant. Can't believe she said that.” You steal a sip from his whiskey before continuing, “No actually, I can.”

He buffs. “You can?”

“Yeah, I told you, she is… not likable.”

“Just that? Not because it would be believable for you two to be together?” He asks, his annoyance clearer as seconds go by.

“Jin and I? Please, that's ridiculous.”

“Okay.”

“Why? Are you jealous?” You inquire, playfully. As if it would be impossible to be true.

“Yes.”

“Wait. Really?! But you have never been jealous.”

“Maybe I am now.” 

“Because of Jin?” you’re confused at how serious he is being, but before you can question more about it, you’re interrupted by said guy.

“Oh, I was summoned. Hi.” he greets your partner, so casually since he doesn’t realize Yoongi is mad with him too. “Can you come back? I don't want to interact with those people alone.”

You look at your co-worker and friend for a few seconds, and then to your boyfriend, trying to understand what is happening and if he is actually jealous. Him, Min Yoongi, the less jealous person you’ve ever met.

“Go, have fun.” Your boyfriend encourages you, managing a smile that only confuses you more because is clear to you that it’s not genuine.

What the hell is happening?

You’re surrounded with interactions the rest of the night, from your co-workers to their partners, people seem interested in Jin and you, after all, it’s the first big party since the both of you joined the company. Even when you go back to sit with Yoongi people get close to make conversation, one person actually asks about wedding planing and tells you she can get you in contact with someone. You know she means well so, with your best smile, you thank her and change the subject.

You hate those conversations. 

Having spent your childhood between your parents’ fights because «staying together for their kids» was a priority, when in reality it only made it worse for everyone involved, you grew up hating the idea of getting married. You understand it is for love, but you don't need a paper or a big party to announce that you love Yoongi. You don't need a ring on your finger to promise you'll do it forever. You don't need him to propose, let alone ask your parents permission to do so. 

Is your life, your decisions. The only opinion that matters other than yours is Yoongi's and he has always understood, never pressured you. He is the love of your life, after all.

In the car on the way home, the silence is filled with music from the stereo and you try to take Yoongi’s hand on the gear lever as always, but only a couple of seconds pass before he pulls away, both hands on the wheel now. 

Trying to figure out if it was on purpose, you ask, “What are you thinking about?” 

“You spend a lot of time with him,” he says without a beat.

“You told me to go.”

“I mean in general.”

“We work together, can't really do much about that.”

“You weren't working tonight and still it was like you were joined at the hip.” he hasn’t looked at you and you can’t decide if it hurts or bothers you more.

“Again, you told me to go at the end,” you argue. “ If you wanted me to stay with you, you could have said so.”

“Now I have to ask you to spend time with me?”

“Well, I can’t read your mind, honey.” you poke his cheek, softly. An attempt to lighten the mood a little.

“That’s not the point.” His tone is just as serious. And then you know that, whatever this is, it’s deeper than you thought.

“What is it then?” you genuinely ask, annoyance starting to build up inside you, but trying to stay calm. Surely he can tell, you think. “You’re clearly upset, but why?”

“Shouldn't I be? When my girlfriend keeps hanging out with this good-looking dude and everyone thinks they could be a thing?” 

“Really?” How can he even entertain those thoughts? You with another man? Doesn’t he hear how ridiculous it sounds? “Shouldn't I be upset because you let her touch your arm for like five minutes straight?”

“She was trying to console me.”

“Yeah, that actually makes it worse, Yoongi.” 

“Yoongi?” 

“That's your name.” He finally looks your way, but you’re looking at the road ahead of you and he can’t tell it is just in order to calm down.

“Wait. Why are you turning things on me?”

“Because you're being irrational and I'm not having this conversation.”

Once again the music is the only sound filling the air, and you opt for folding your arms in front of your chest to stop you from reaching for his hand again.

Now both of you are mad. Great. 

Arriving home, he still gets out of the car first to open the door for you, and it helps soften the heartache a little. But still, the night repeats in your head, trying to understand what happened. 

Why suddenly spending time with Jin is a problem? Why is Yoongi so jealous about it? And why—

“You let her touch you after she said Jin and I had a thing?” you ask as both of you are finally in the bedroom, getting ready to end the night. 

“Thought we weren't having this conversation.”

“No. This one is different. This one is about you potentially doing things because you were upset with me.”

“That would be stupid.” He stops his movements, shirt unbuttoned just halfway through. “Why would I do that?”

“I don't know, you aren't exactly acting like yourself tonight.”

“Because I'm jealous?”

“Because we are fighting about you being jealous.” And trying to calm down once again, you continue taking your dress off, struggling with the zipper but too proud to ask him for help right now.

“Okay, let's not fight, then.” He sits down on his side of the bed. “Just answer this question: do you like him?” 

“Yoongi—” 

“Just answer. Please.” when you finally turn to him, the look on his face is different from what you expected. He doesn't seem angry, but hurt. Like your answer could break him.

“Of course not. Not like that.” You emphasize. Giving up on your clothes and kneeling in front of him, taking a breath before continuing. “You know we started at the same time and he is always nice and fun, I think he is my only friend at work because everyone else keeps asking me when I'm going to get married and leave. Like your friend.”

“What?”

“The lady you were talking to. Is always asking personal questions and I don't like it. Not because I don't like talking about you, I love you and I talk with Jin about you all the time, but is just…”

“Not her business. And you don't have to explain yourself to others.” he completes. Yoongi is the first to always remind you that after all.

“Exactly.” 

“Sorry.” he is quick to say, feeling like an asshole now, a hand running through his hair, messing it up, “I really don’t know what is up with me tonight, I’m sorry.”

“Were you actually jealous of Jin?” the disbelief in your voice is funny now, and he nods with a chuckle. “That’s surprising coming from you.”

“I know. Is dumb.”

“Hey, don’t say that,” you move closer to him, hands on his shoulders to make him look at you, “your feelings are not dumb, Yoongi.”

“Can you stop calling me by my name tonight?”

“Sorry,” both of you laugh softly, “but I mean it. Even if it’s irrational to be jealous of anyone because I love you so very much and wouldn’t even dream to be with someone else; your feelings are important, honey. Just… you know, we have to work on a better way of expressing them.”

He chuckles again, still feeling bad about it all but appreciating the reassurance. “I will, promise. I just never felt like this before, is… weird.”

Yoongi has always thought jealousy is stupid. He understands feeling insecure and all that, but acting like he did tonight has always been something he didn’t understand. Something he judged. He thought it was about bad communication, distrusting your partner, and things like that. And, if you don’t trust the person you love, does it make sense to be together? But maybe is not as simple as that.

He didn't care if you had your own friends and went out with them, like some of the people he knows do. He has his own opinion on marriage and engagement rings. But maybe he cares in other ways. Maybe he cares about people thinking you're with someone else because that's probably his biggest fear.

“I don’t like jealousy.” he speaks again, bringing his arms around your waist, hugging you close and resting his head against your torso.

“Good, that means you are not toxic.” A pause while your hand combs through his hair, putting black strains back in place, “and now you know how I feel when people hit on you.”

“People don’t do that.” 

“They do,” he looks up at you, but before he can argue anything, you cup his face and bend a little to peck his lips, softly. “I’m sorry for leaving you alone with her and without a warning.”

“I tried to get away but she wouldn't let go of my arm and I didn't want to be rude.” 

His bottom lip sticks out in a small pout and you kiss it away, “Yoonie, sometimes you’re too nice for your own good.”

“Maybe I should be just nice to you.”

“You're too nice for that,” he rolls his eyes, making you laugh even more, “that's why I love you.”

“I love you more, baby.”

Protect them 🥺  Let me know what you think. comment, reblog, send an ask, follow or whatnot. Thank you for reading <3 ♡ Tag list: @n33mesis , @sexytholland , @mggv97 , @wobblewobble822 , @bbou-doir , @m00njinnie , @itsmina29 , @take-u-2-an0ther-w0r1d , @nariee02 , @ktownshizzle , @kimtaehussy . 

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[sluttycinderella]

Razorgate: an empirical, peer reviewed study*

*there is nothing genuinely scientific about this, it is merely a result of mental illness and unemployment.

So we all saw this right?

But after this bomb was dropped I began to get curious about the other slittenings. Did they use the same razor for all of them and no one had noticed? Do they actually own more than one razor? And if they don't, if this is truly the only phrazor, then I don't think I have to tell you that raises a lot of questions.

Firstly, I went back to where this all began, Phil's Birthday stream, to identify the razor that carved the very first slit and forever cemented itself as a part of herstory:

Now that is very clearly the Manscaped logo, no question about it. Here’s a high quality photo of the logo for comparison:

(You can also clearly see in the Twitter post that it says "Manscaped" across it but I like to double check my work and I also wanted to prove that they were both Manscaped)

And it's a good thing I did double check because OP made a CRITICAL ERROR in their post! They claim that the razor in question is the Lawn Mower 4.0 when in fact it's the Lawn Mower 5.0 Ultra! Unlike the PUNY, PATHETIC, UNMANLY 4.0, the Lawn Mower 5.0 Ultra comes with an interchangeable foil blade, a USB port, and a more advanced spotlight!

How could OP be so careless? Dan and Phil would never own an outdated razor! They require only the finest in ball shaving technology!

Also fun fact: The first appearance of the Lawn Mower 5.0 Ultra on the Manscaped YouTube channel falls right in between the dapg return announcement and their first video back so make of that what you will...I for one shall be sculpting my own hill out of the very earth itself, "Manscaped Sponsorship Hill", I encourage you all to join me.

So after spending far too long researching the intricacies of razors that shave an organ I don't even have, I now needed to check if it was the same razor being used in every slittening:

Here they are side by side for comparison, left is Phil’s birthday, middle is the We're All Doomed post-premiere, right is Dan’s birthday. Now it appears the WAD one is missing the logo but I'm going to go ahead and chalk that up to the poor quality of the clip I found (if anyone has a better version PLEASE hit me up so I can confirm my hypothesis). And considering the photo taken in the aftermath seems to show Phil holding the 5.0 Ultra:

I'm gonna go out on a limb and say it's the same thing.

“But,” I hear you shouting, “so what if Dan and Phil used the same razor for all the streams? They already said they only owned one razor so who cares?” Well this isn’t so much about proving that they’re the same razor as it is establishing a baseline. It’s hard to trust basically anything Dan and Phil say lately, what with piggate and the “pillow” bar and the fake view from the Phouse, knowing that they aren’t lying about only having one razor (to the best of our knowledge) is crucial in figuring out what exactly is going on. Remember, we’re doing science here.

And with that in mind: In my professional opinion, I can say that for all three slittenings, the Manscaped Lawn Mower 5.0 Ultra was the weapon of choice.

Sidenote: I went down a bit of a rabbit hole of Manscaped reviews during all of this and apparently Manscaped razors are kind of just a scam. This razor is $109 and they try to trick their customers into subscribing to their "Peak Hygiene Plan" which you don't actually need by offering a deceptive discount and hiding the terms where people aren't likely to see them. So yeah, fuck Manscaped and I for one think we should cancel Dan and Phil for not ethically consuming under capitalism.

But that's beside the point, we know that they indeed only have one razor and that that razor...is for balls. What does that tell us?

Conclusions

There are a multitude of conclusions one could jump to in the light of such a revelation, I shall display them in a convenient numbered list for your viewing pleasure:

One of them prefers to use straight (lol) razors to shave their...you know...I don't actually know if this is a thing people do or if it's even possible, people with balls please sound off in the comments, thank you

Only one of them actually shaves in which case I support them as an infamous pussy hair enthusiast (iykyk)

They share a razor (Please, God, no, that's actually disgusting)

Either way, this thing was on someone's balls and then it touched both their faces so I really hope they cleaned it properly!

Alright, so that whole exploration may have been a bit useless, it indeed only confirmed what we had already been told, but I spent literal hours comparing photos of ball hair trimmers and I'm not one to admit defeat. Consider yourselves peer reviewed, Dan and Phil, and maybe check out Beardscape instead! Apparently they have better, more comprehensive razors for the same price.

If anyone even more demon than me has any corroborating evidence (maybe of them using straight razors at any point or anything else razor related that they've said in the past) please let me know so I can take it into consideration! Thank you all for your time.

[peachdues]

STRESS RELIEF — TEASER

Anyways, Stress Relief (my Sanemi-gets-topped one-shot), is next up on my completion list — so have a sneak peek!

I love writing from Sanemi’s POV

CW: none really for this snippet • Sanemi trying to be a good malewife and Reader not having it • this fic will be highly NSFW though so MDNI

Sanemi had seen his girlfriend in various states of being, and he prided himself not only on being to identify what mood she was in, but how best to handle her when she was in said mood.

If she was sad, Sanemi knew she needed comfort, but enough space to not feel suffocated.

When she was angry, Sanemi knew she needed to vent, so he would put aside anything that could distract him in order to give her his full, undivided attention.

When she was sleepy, Sanemi had come to accept Y/N would never willingly put herself in bed, instead preferring to be babied. After several rounds of him telling her to go to bed and Y/N lazily insisting she was not sleepy, and was “one hundred percent awake,” she would invariably fall asleep wherever she had managed to park her ass. So Sanemi would gently gather her into his arms and carry her back to their shared bed, taking care to ensure her phone was plugged in so she wouldn’t miss her alarm come morning.

But when Y/N was stressed?

Sanemi knew to stay the fuck out of her way.

In stark contrast to himself, Sanemi’s girlfriend was not a hot-tempered person by default. Nor was she meek by any means; rather, she was quick to laugh, and an all-around easygoing woman.

However, all that calm rationality went right out the fucking window whenever she was under immense pressure, just as she was now.

Y/N was currently studying for her licensing exam. Apparently, seven years of schooling was still not enough for her to advance in her field if she didn’t pass some stupid national exam that re-tested her on everything she had already demonstrated competency in while at school. Personally, Sanemi thought it was just another excuse to make money off the poor saps who had the misfortune of pursuing her chosen career.

For the past three weeks, Y/N had lived, breathed, and (not) slept for the exam. Sanemi found himself having to constantly remind his girl to eat, stretch, take care of her basic necessities. If she wasn’t clacking away on her keyboard as she made color-coordinated outlines, she was watching review videos, and if she wasn’t watching review videos, she was handwriting flashcards until her body finally gave into its exhaustion and she slumped over at her desk.

Last week, she’d been up so late studying that Sanemi had fallen asleep before he could drag her ass to bed. When he had finally jerked himself awake well after midnight and realized that his girlfriend’s warm body was not cuddled up next to him in their bed, he had found his girlfriend in their tiny living room, still at her desk.

Y/N’s head had been resting on her upper arm and her eyes were closed, but still clutched in her hand was her pen, twitching against the paper of her open notebook. When Sanemi had moved to gently pluck the pen from her loose grip, he had peered down to see scratchy and disjointed inky lines on the paper, he had realized that her hand had continued to move even well after she had lost consciousness, as though taking notes had become mere muscle memory.

The sight had made Sanemi’s heart clench, and he felt an inexplicable urge to lock her in bed for a day just to let her rest. Sanemi knew she was doing this so they could have a better life, together, but he hated to see her put so much pressure on herself. He had thought himself smart for deliberately leaving Y/N’s phone — and thus, her alarm — in the living room, discarded between the cushions of the couch (“so it won’t bother me,” she had snapped when he’d raised his eyebrows in question at her earlier). He even thought she would be grateful to him for letting her sleep in.

What a stupid, naive fucking notion that had been.

Because when Y/N had shot up in bed the next morning, disoriented with her hair in a wild, tangled mess, and she saw sunlight streaming through the window, she promptly freaked the fuck out.

“Do you want me to fail?” She cried, storming around their room, digging frantically through a pile of her clothes as she hunted for a pair of leggings to pull over her bare legs.

“You’re not going to fail because you slept an extra fuckin’ hour,” Sanemi groaned from his place in bed, dragging a hand down his tired face. “You’re gonna run yourself ragged if you don’t take care of yourself. You need sleep, babe.”

She let out a derisive laugh, a slightly crazed look in her eye. “I’ll sleep when I pass this stupid test or when I’m dead. Whichever’s first.”

For the rest of the day, Y/N had been snippy, huffing at every slight noise Sanemi had dared to make. She’d only grown more and more irritated as the night went on, and when he had sighed at the prospect of cooking dinner, she lost it.

“Can you stop breathing so god damned loudly?” She snapped, throwing her pen down in annoyance as she whipped around in her chair to glare at him.

Sanemi stared at her in disbelief for a moment, but he’d never been one to keep calm and cool, so he bit right back.

“I’m sorry that I’m just here, existing, and tryin’ to fuckin take care of ya, Princess. My mistake.”

Her eyes narrowed into slits. “And I’m trying to make sure I get my damn license so I can take care of you,” she simpered right back at him, anger swimming in her eyes. “But I guess that doesn’t fucking matter, does it? No!”

A blush began to creep up Y/N’s neck, a telltale sign she was about to start yelling. “No! Because you think taking care of me means not letting me focus or hiding my phone so that i don’t hear my alarms so I can’t wake up on time, and if I can’t wake up on time, I can’t study for as long as I need to, and if I can’t study I. Won’t. Fucking. Pass!” Her voice had become shrill by the time she stopped for a breath, chest heaving.

Sanemi watched her for a long moment as she caught her breath. “Are you done?”

In the span of a nanosecond, Y/N went from an angry, possessed-looking harpy to a sniffling, teary mess. She slumped back down into her desk chair, lower lip trembling pathetically as she tried and failed to hold in a hopeless wail.

“Okay, okay.” Sanemi murmured, moving across the room to kneel next to his sobbing girlfriend, feeling a slight sting of guilt as he watched her shoulders curl in on themselves under the weight of the pressure she undoubtedly felt.

He had spent the night trying to console her, though without much success. She had alternated between despairing over “the impending doom of her failure” and hiccuping angrily at him for continuing to distract her.

Nonetheless, everything about their future was currently riding on Y/N passing her upcoming exam in a month’s time and his girlfriend was currently one belt-loop snag on a door handle from a full fucking meltdown.

So Sanemi knew the best thing he could do was to steer clear and leave her to her own devices. He could do that for her.

But god damn if the sight of her ass in those shorts wasn’t killing him.

banner credit @ cafekitsune

[embrosegraves]

ℕ𝕖𝕨 𝕋𝕠 𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕤

(request) Fernando Alonso x Fem!Reader x Carlos Sainz Jr "What are you doing?" "Giving you affection." "Disgusting...do it more"

Warnings: None I think?? I did most of the Spanish translations all by myself!

You lived with the goal of trying and experiencing as many new things as possible. Which is how you found yourself in a triad relationship with the only two Spanish drivers on the Formula One grid. You never thought that you’d ever get into a situation like this. At first when both drivers approached you and made their intentions known, admittedly you had taken a while to think about it. You had weighed the pros and cons, thought for hours on end and even questioned how you used to identify with relationships before eventually accepting their advancements. 

It was a new thing for you. You had only ever been in a monogamous relationship before meeting the two Spaniards. Thankfully, the relationship was also a new experience for Carlos and Fernando. You remember asking them if they were in this relationship as each other’s boyfriend or just as your boyfriend, which had made them think a fair bit about what they wanted. Eventually they figured out that there was no harm in being each other’s boyfriend as well.

Growing up, your parents showed you plenty of affection and love. However that had mostly been verbal praise or a high-five. The only time either of your parents had given you a hug was when you were upset. They usually didn’t give you hugs or kisses unless for special occasions and as you grew older those rare affections became even more sparse. So it startled you every time Carlos would come up and kiss you randomly or when Fernando would tuck you under his arm as you walked beside him. 

One night, early on in the relationship, you had been prepping some veggies for dinner when the front door had opened. You listened as two sets of footsteps entered the house and knew that both Carlos and Fernando had finally finished their duties for the day. Finishing the veggies you moved to put the kettle on so that you could make yourself a tea. 

“¿Té o café?” You called out to them, grateful for having learnt some Spanish in school. They both walked into the kitchen, Carlos grabbing two plastic cups while Fernando went to the fridge to grab the jug of cold water. [Tea or coffee?]

“Ninguno para mi gracias.” Carlos said. [None for me, thanks.]

“Fern? ¿Cualquier cosa por ti?” [Anything for you?]

“Un café sería estupendo.” Fernando replied as he set the jug of water in front of Carlos before going around and placing a kiss on your cheek. Your whole body froze the moment you felt Fernando’s lips make contact with your cheek. [A coffee would be great.]

Seeing you react that way made Fernando chuckle. In turn, his chuckles made Carlos look over to the both of you. He saw how you weren’t moving and how Fernando was now leaning on the counter next to you. It didn’t take him very long to figure out what had occurred. Carlos hesitated for barely a second before he convinced himself that it was the only logical thing to do. 

You could feel how close Fernando was leaning towards you. You could hear him chuckling. You were acutely aware of the skin on skin contact he was maintaining, his hand resting on the small of your back underneath the oversized shirt you were wearing. You almost jumped when you felt Carlos come and take the coffee mugs from your hands and place them on the counter. You knew he made damn sure that his hands brushed yours as he did so. 

Once Carlos had made sure the mugs were safely away from the counter edge, he grabbed your hips and turned you so that you were facing him. His hands made their way up your body, lovingly caressing every curve and dip in their path, until finally they came to rest on either side of your face. Fernando had caught on pretty quickly, if the way he pressed his body to your back said anything. With Carlos in front of you, gently caressing your face, and Fernando behind you rubbing soothing circles on your hips and love handles, you were absolutely sure that you were as red as the Ferrari that Carlos drove. 

You tried to open your mouth so that you could speak, but before you could even think of the words you wanted to say, Carlos had dipped his head and gently pressed his lips to yours. Apparently Fernando didn’t want to be left out of the kissing because no sooner had Carlos lent in, Fernando attached his own lips to the junction between your shoulder and neck. 

“Wha- What are you both doing?” You managed to breathe out between kisses. The onslaught of touch was almost overwhelming. 

“You looked like you needed some affection, Querida.” Carlos whispered, his hot breath danced across your ear. 

“Would you like us to stop?” Fernando had barely lifted his lips from your shoulder, but you heard him anyway. 

“Yes- No- I-” You were conflicted. On the one hand, you were nowhere near used to the amount of love they were showing. On the other hand, however, Fernando and Carlos made you feel like you were dreaming.

“It’s alright, Amor. We can slow down.” Fernando had finally lifted his head, only to rest his chin on the top of your head. “We go at your pace, Dulce Niña.” [Sweet Girl]

“I need a little space, please.” You managed to whisper. The moment they loosened their grip on you, you moved to the corner closest to where they were. You wanted to be in your own space but you didn’t want to be far from them, in case they felt offended or guilty. 

You took a few moments to yourself, thinking over how to explain to them just how unused to affection you were. It wasn’t their fault that they grew up in a culture where casual displays of affection between lovers was so common. Just like it wasn’t your fault that you grew up never witnessing or experiencing casual affection at all. Part of your mind was going insane, telling you that they would think differently of you for not having the same experience. No matter what you told yourself, you just couldn’t get rid of that nagging little voice. 

“Are you alright, Mi Amor?” Carlos looked at you with worry. He thought what they did was a harmless bit of fun. He wasn’t expecting you to act as you had. Fernando wasn’t any better. He looked just as worried, though slightly more concerned. 

“I’m okay.” You said, taking a deep breath. “I just- I need to get used to it.” 

“Used to what?” Fernando spoke softly, as if trying his best to not spook you. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at them. “The affection.” 

Your voice was so quiet you honestly didn’t expect for either of them to hear you. You almost wished they didn’t, but luck was not on your side. 

“What do you mean you’re not used to affection?” Again, Fernando spoke. Holding his arm out slightly as if to stop Carlos from moving towards you. You were thankful that he did so because you weren’t sure you could handle being surrounded by a pair of arms at the moment. 

“I never got a lot growing up and the only boyfriend I ever had didn’t last long enough to get more physically affectionate.” You whispered.

“Does it make you uncomfortable when we kiss you?” Carlos looked almost like a wounded puppy. He never ever wanted for you to be uncomfortable in this relationship. If you said the word, he would happily never kiss you again. Okay maybe not ‘happily’ but he would do it nonetheless. 

“It doesn’t make me uncomfortable, Carlitos. I’m just not used to getting kisses all the time. I think I just need to ease myself into it.” 

By now you had moved to sit on the floor. It was always something you did when your feelings or thoughts got too overwhelming for you. Just sitting on the floor was already making you feel better. It didn’t take very long at all for both Fernando and Carlos to also sit down on the floor. They didn’t want to push you to talk about something that you were potentially very private about. If you wanted to tell them, then you would do it when you were ready. 

The three of you had sat on the floor for the rest of the night, quietly talking to each other about how to go forward. You told them as best you could about how the amount of romantic affection made you feel. Carlos had suggested dealing with it by pretending to be teenagers in their first relationship as a joke, but Fernando had decided that it was the best way to go about navigating the new influx of affection. 

As childish as the idea was, you were grateful that they wanted to help you overcome the unfamiliarity that you had receiving affection. You loved that they were determined to make sure you were comfortable in the relationship. 

You were broken out of your reminiscing when you felt kisses on both your cheeks. 

“Where is your mind today, Hermosa?” Carlos’ voice came from your left. 

“Must be somewhere special if she didn’t hear us walk into the kitchen.” To your right was Fernando, with a cheeky grin on his face. 

You turned around so that you could look at the two of them. “I was thinking about when we were sitting on the floor a few years ago. Talking about being teenagers in love.” 

Both of your boys were smiling at you. Carlos was holding your hand and Fernando had a hand on yours and Carlos’ waists. 

“We’ve come so far, no?” Carlos said softly. “We have grown in ourselves and our relationship. We’re no longer teenagers anymore.” 

Fernando pinched Carlos’ waist gently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m still a teenager, Corazón.” 

“Alright you two,” you laughed. “wash your hands. You’re gonna help me with dinner.”

They both saluted you and spoke in almost perfect unison. “¡Sí Señorita!”

I feel so bad for how long this took me to write lmao but at the same time, I'm glad I took as long as I did because I'm finally happy enough with it to post

likes, replies and reblogs are always appreciated <3

[showstopper35]

I do not know if you are taking requests, if you aren’t then feel free to ignore. But I was wondering, if you are of course, if I could have Con x Reader headcanons where the reader has really bad anxiety? But like tries to play it off as not that bad as they are visible freaking out?

I hope that is okay and thank-you in advance!

No problem! Sorry for the wait! And also sorry I didn't do all the cons!

Starscream

-He knows a thing or two about repressing emotions...he mostly just gives you a lot of space. If you want to talk about it, he will listen quietly. Maybe give you a few words about how its okay to not be okay, and that you can allow yourself to feel things in front of him, or just let it out when you feel safe alone. If you don't want to talk about it, he will pretend to believe your "I'm fine" routine until you come clean.

Megatron

-You're fine, you say? Good. All his soldiers must be fine. So what if your hands are shaking? Maybe you aren't fine after all. But you have to tell him that first, or otherwise let your anxiety so badly affect your performance in whatever your daily tasks are that he notices. Then he won't say anything, but he might let you take a break. Just until you can go back to serving him, of course.

Soundwave

-You don't even need to pretend to be okay. He knows. He's probably tracking your heartbeat or something. The shaky hands, the trembling voice...the anxiety is definitely bad. Well, when he gets nervous (which is never, because the security chief of the Nemesis could never be nervous, right?), he usually would play with his minicons. Don't be concerned when Laserbeak starts flying at you--he's just here to help. Laserbeak never leaves your side until Soundwave has decided you've calmed down enough.

Knockout

-Don't worry, darling, he is definitely the first one to know you're faking it. After all, he puts on his dramatic act every day. One glance at you and all his medic training kicks in and identifies the symptoms of an anxiety attack. Expect to be escorted into a quiet room while he orders everyone else away from you for "medical reasons". Once you are calmer, he sips energon with you and just does his best to distract you with all the random stuff he has to say, even if he mostly talks about himself.

Breakdown

-If we're being honest, he is not the smartest. It would probably take something as drastic as you breaking down into tears to realize that you're panicking. Even so, he does realize that something is off. He might be kinder to you, or offer to aid you in any of your assignments. He just keeps you company.

Shockwave

-Shockwave would notice that you aren't exactly acting as your usual self. After a while around you, he would come to the conclusion that you are highly anxious. He notices everything, yes, but he wouldn't say much. Maybe he just leaves you alone. He isn't sure if this is his problem. If you did voice your anxiety to him, he would probably recommend some weird medicine he cooked up. Maybe it's best to just avoid him about this issue.

[elfwreck]

Hello!

I'm not sure if this is a bit odd to ask, but I saw your post about living in rural arkansas as a teen- and the note at the end about gun rights, and how rifles are different than handguns in that legislation and all-

do you have any sources you could link so I can look into that more? I live in rural Kentucky so hunting is very ingrained into just how me and my family and our neighbors live. (also a poor county- I didn't actually know other cities had kids pay for their lunch because I was so used to everyone in my county getting a free lunch- it seems like such a basic thing).

I've never heard anyone mention not banning hunting rifles when they talk about banning guns-

The gun bans being asked for are assault rifles and semi-automatic pistols. Rapid-fire guns intended for military use against multiple human targets - not hunting rifles at all, and not the kinds of pistols that are good for self-defense. (...Not that pistols are good for self-defense in general. Shotguns are good for self-defense. Nobody's trying to ban shotguns.)

The NRA is invested in convincing hunting-rifle owners and pistol owners that the various proposed weapons bans are aimed at them, and not at the tiny number of people who want the ability to shoot up a whole bar or classroom in under a minute.

The NRA has also fought hard against any kind of gun safety requirements.

Bill from last year to ban/restrict assault rifles:

https://www.congress.gov/bill/118th-congress/senate-bill/25/text

The gun safety bill Biden recently signed:

Doesn't ban any weapons. Puts restrictions on who can get weapons - people convicted of most types of domestic partner violence will not be allowed to buy guns. It makes it harder for people under 21 to buy guns. It closes some loopholes about selling guns, so sellers will need to be registered and licensed. Sets up new funding for gun crisis intervention.

Doesn't do anything to restrict hunting, other than possibly adding to the bureaucracy for people under 21 getting new guns.

Most people in urban areas are oblivious to hunting as a Real Thing that People Actually Do For Good Reasons, rather than a kind of cruel sporting event. They are vaguely aware that hunting rifles are not assault rifles, are not semi-automatics, but only as an abstract concept. Might or might not be able to tell a hunting rifle apart from a semi-automatic if they saw them. (I am not sure I could; I am very much not a gun person.) (I have shot one gun, once in my life. It was loud and hurt my hand and I had no interest in doing it again.)

I don't know how much I think we need to ban or restrict certain weapons. I am absolutely certain we need to keep certain weapons out of the hands of certain people, because the current system of "I guess 10-year-olds should all get training on what to do if some teacher's ex-boyfriend decides to shoot up the school" is ridiculous.

Given how hard it is to identify the "certain people" who should damn well NOT have access to automatic weapons, I'm okay with "it gets harder for anyone to get them," because I don't see how heavy assault rifles are a "but I neeeeed it this weekend!" kind of thing. (Not sure I see that hunting rifles are a "need it now" kind of thing, either; seems like those are a hefty enough purchase that the buyer should be doing some planning in advance. So filing for it like you would for car registration - another expensive piece of tech that kills people if you use it wrong - shouldn't be too big a burden.)

The idiots who include hunting rifles in their talk about banning guns - I won't say there aren't any; all sorts of politics gets plenty of idiots - have no idea how those guns actually get used. And the people writing actual policies and trying to get the laws changed are not those idiots.

The "ban guns" movement has two main parts:

Remove general access to guns that can kill a dozen people in under a minute, and

Remove gun access from specific people who have a history of getting angry and violent, especially those who have a history of shooting other people when they're angry and violent.

Side note: Some of us want that second point to include cops. That faction is getting nowhere.

None of it is trying to remove access to hunting rifles or reduce the amount of hunting in places that need it. (Basically, all of the South; I am near San Francisco and nobody anywhere near me "needs" to hunt; I don't care what they do with hunting rights in the greater SF Bay Area).

The focus is on preventing gun violence, not preventing gun use. And that means restricting access to guns that have no purpose other than anti-human violence, and restricting access to all guns from people who are likely to use them as weapons instead of tools.

[sidswritingblog]

twst (undisclosed) au

jade leech x gn!reader

a/n: i have specific inspo for this au but i don't wanna give away the plot if i continue with it. i literally haven't even scratched the surface of my idea and i lowkey hate this but i'm tired and had to put something out there 🫠 there's barely any jade in this beginning part so i'm sorry in advance

tags: gn!reader (pronouns unspecified), sfw, little bit of pining, mushrooms written by someone who doesn't know mushrooms, kinda boring, sorry

regardless of shitty quality, DO NOT FEED THIS TO AI or i will hunt you down and be very angry at you

1,456 words

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Climbing a mountain is not one of your regular chores as a farmer.

Life’s just been so boring lately—not that you’re complaining; “bored” is leagues better than famished and starving—but you’ve been thirsting for a little more enrichment than feeding livestock and mucking stables can offer. So naturally, when you went into town a few days ago to sell some of your produce, you scanned Sam’s shop for anything that could spice up your life.

Funny-looking dolls, uniquely flavoured snacks, eye-catching accessories… Sam always had such interesting items in stock, but you couldn’t imagine being amused with any of them for more than a couple days, a week at most. You hummed to yourself before clearing your throat.

“Hey, Sam?” you peeked around the stacked shelves and racks to look for him at the front of the shop. He popped out from beneath the front counter like some sort of life-sized jack-in-the-box.

“Find anything that piques your interest, Imp?” he asked back while glancing at you, simultaneously working on pricing some new trinkets that came in. (The grind never stops, even when he’s serving a customer.)

“Well…” You hated to admit your dissatisfaction so bluntly, but Sam’s a thick-skinned friend of yours; he can take it. “No, actually. Do you have anything new?”

And of course Sam had something new in stock—something perfect. You should’ve never doubted his service. So that day, you left town having sold all your produce, with a pocketful of bronze coins, a skip in your step, and a small pocketbook in hand that you traded for two dozen eggs.

A Guide to Identifying and Foraging Wild Edible Mushrooms: Pocket Edition.

So here you are, hiking up the mountain by your farm that you never once explored in all your years living here. To be fair, you never really had much of a reason to, until now. Now, you have a wealth of information on edible and medicinal wonders of nature in the palm of your hand. Now, you’re aware of the wondrous, not-meat-yet-meaty chunks of yumminess within your reach.

You gasp. Literally. Within. Your. Reach. After verifying with your prized pocketguide, you pluck the stubby white growth from the side of a fallen log. Pleurotus ostreatus. An oyster mushroom. You have yourself an oyster mushroom, and now the world is your oyster.

In your mushroom-finding excitement, you fail to notice the heterochromatic eyes witnessing your discovery from behind a tree.

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Over the next week, you balance out the mundaneness of farm life with the joy of mushroom foraging. So far, you’ve harvested resinous polypore—Ischnoderma resinosum—and lion’s mane—Hericium erinaceus—on top of the oyster mushrooms you initially found. You’re thrilled!

But still, despite your newfound source of joy, you can’t help but wish you didn’t have to work so much on the farm. As you savour a bite of your breakfast omelette made with leftover lion’s mane mushrooms, you dare think to yourself: Sevens, you wished you could have a helping hand. Then you would only have to work half as much, and you’d have twice as much time to go look for mushrooms.

You turn your gaze beyond your open dutch door to the rich mountain nearby.

And then a demon pops out of fucking nowhere to block the view.

“AHHHH!!!” you shriek, before clapping a hand over your mouth. Oh, you realise. It’s not a demon. Just some freakishly tall guy trespassing on your farm. Dressed in a tattered linen tunic and breeches, his ratty clothing doesn’t seem to suit him. With hair the vivid colour of the clear sea, striking heterochromatic eyes, and a razor-sharp jawline, you can’t fathom what he’s doing here. Nor can you imagine why he’s dressed like he’d been washed up ashore. The only accessory that does suit his beauty is the teal earring dangling from his left ear.

“Hello,” the beautiful demon/trespasser man greets politely.

“Hi,” you reply awkwardly. “Can I help you?”

“Well, yes,” he replies, smiling without teeth as he brings his hand to his chest. “I would like to help you on your farm.”

You hum to hide your surprise. Not because his request is startling, though it is very bold, especially for only just having met each other. You’re instead shocked by how quickly your wish seemed to be granted. Maybe he is a demon. But you’ll nevertheless entertain his haphazard job application.

“Hmm. What’s your name?” you ask.

“Ah, right. My name is Jade,” the demon answers with his smooth-ass voice. “My apologies for neglecting to introduce myself sooner.”

You give him your name in return. Jade smiles again. It’s almost unsettling.

“I’ll warn you that it’s a lot of work, Jade. And I can’t give you much more than food and lodging in return. You still interested?”

“Yes.”

You rack your brain for any more upfront reasons that would dissuade Jade from working for you.

“And in terms of food…” you start, “You’re alright eating mushrooms?”

Jade stares at you, eyes wide. Is he blushing?

“You’d feed me your mushrooms?” he whispers.

Ah, so he’s not a fan. Disappointing. Still, you answer.

“Breakfast, lunch, and dinner,” you reply. “Not by themselves, of cour—“

“When may I start?” Jade cuts you off.

“Wha?”

“Working here, for you. When may I start?”

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Succinctly put, Jade isn’t a demon. In fact, you’d go as far to say that Jade is an angel. A gentlemanly, mushroom-loving angel. Two months in, he does more than his fair share of work on the farm and eats whatever you cook. Often, despite already having laboured in the burning hot sun, doing the heavy lifting that he insisted you shouldn’t do, Jade helps you in the kitchen.

Like he is now. Actually, this time, he’s doing most of the cooking as you wash the dishes and cooking utensils.

A few weeks ago, Jade practically begged you to bring him on one of your hikes. If it was anybody else who asked, you wouldn’t have agreed. But you had to admit: you’re fond of Jade.

From your countless conversations, you learned that Jade lost both his parents to vicious pirates when they were at sea, leaving behind Jade and his brother, Floyd. Jade also told you that he has a funny friend named Azul. The way Jade reminisces about Floyd and Azul is endearing (and also makes the latter seem really pathetic, to be honest), and you can tell he really loves them since he’d left his home to make a better life for the three.

Despite his rough past, he’s perfect. Hardworking, strong, smart, observant, dependable, beautiful, sweet… You could list hundreds if not thousands of things you love about him. The hard part is keeping your praises to yourself, keeping them from spewing out your mouth every time you’re in his presence.

Jade always does as you wish when you ask. But your one deepest wish is selfish, something you can’t ask of him.

You wish he’d never leave your side.

“Dinner’s ready,” Jade gently announces to you, disrupting your internal pining monologue. You can see his closed-eye smile directed at you from the corner of your eye, and you feel your heartbeat quicken.

You grab two bowls from the cupboard and pass them to Jade’s waiting hand. His fingers brush yours in the process, and you have to stop yourself from flinching away. Don’t be suspicious! Act normal! Stop being a pathetic sap!

“Oya, you’re quite red.” Ugh, dammit, blush! “Are you feeling unwell?”

Jade reaches his right hand toward your forehead, which you quickly bat away.

“Am I? I feel fine,” you assure, hoping you sound natural enough. You feel your face warm even more.

“Are you sure?” Jade scrutinizes your flushed face, mere inches between you. “You really are quite red.”

Now, as sweet as he is, Jade loves teasing. Even though he doesn’t like you back—not that he knows of your crush on him—he still plays with you. And your poor heart by association.

You turn away from Jade like a petty child refusing to eat their vegetables. The bastard follows your face with his own as you turn.

“Fufufu,” he chuckles, “you really are quite adorable, aren’t you?”

Your eyes bulge in surprise before you instinctively shield your probably-tomato-red face with your hand.

“Oh,” Jade sighs with a smile, retreating to his personal bubble of space. “How I wish to never leave your side.”

Those words promptly open the floodgates to your endless praises for Jade. Ultimately, in tears, you end up confessing your undying love. In response, Jade smiles at you, wider than you’ve ever seen, eyes half-lidded. He’s so beautiful.

So much for keeping your feelings under wraps.

[northsoulss]

the media thinking reader is in a relationship w some popular male footballer but she's actually with elisa and they soft (or hard) launch their relationship 🤭🤭

mon amour - elisa de almeida

(a/n : here it is! hopefully this is what you had in mind lol. this is quite a long one. writing this hit home, so i quite like how it turned out! thanks for the request xoxo)

growing up in a relatively conservative town, you never had the chance to express your identity as a queer individual. it was a constant internal battle, thinking something was wrong with you for liking someone of the same gender. things became more complicated when you began liking football, it being seen as more of a boy-ish sport.

thankfully, your hometown had a small women’s youth football club, and you begged your parents to allow you to sign on, which they begrudgingly accepted. hoping to meet other queer women, you went into football hopeful, but your ideas were quickly shut down when you realised a lot of them were straight. you continuously struggled with your sexuality as you grew up, fear taking over whenever you had the opportunity to come out. so you never did, remaining closeted for all your teenage years.

as you began to advance and become better at football, you wanted to make it a career, to do it professionally. eventually when you signed with psg a year ago, it was undoubtedly the best decision of your life. after moving to france, you finally got to experience a proper queer community with supportive people. you still made no move to come out, for you realised that there was no need to put it out there; to let everyone know that you were queer. so long as you were contented with what you identified as, nothing else really mattered. or so you thought.

over time as you became more popular and well known, you began to see that there are many upsides and downsides to being a public figure. on one hand, you have formed close bonds with other footballers of both genders and experienced nothing like you could have ever imagined. on the other hand, every time you posted something vaguely couple-ly with one of your friends, especially the guys, your fans would go nuts.

“is she dating him?”, “i knew they were together!” were the very common comments you would get when posting pictures with you and another footballer, who happened to be one of your very good guy friends, _(insert male name)_ , whom you hung out with quite often. you decided that one day you were sick of the comments, and posted something for pride, saying that you were proud to be a queer woman. lo and behold, that did not stop the comments.

lady luck must have been on your side for your team has been nothing but incredibly supportive of you coming out. at the same time, one of your teammates took this chance to snag you, and surprise, surprise. you fell head over heels for the woman and have been dating ever since.

you have decided to lay low for the first few months, trying your hardest not to post anything that would make the fans suspicious. however, one day you decided had enough of the speculations.

it was a lazy saturday, you and elisa were out at a quaint neighbourhood cafe having brunch, just enjoying the warm summer weather. it had been a few days after your 6 month anniversary, and you just couldn’t get enough of her. so, as sneakily as you could, you snapped a picture of her looking off into the distance, watching the kids at the playground goofing around with a small smile. too bad your phone wasn’t silenced, so a loud shutter sound was made and caused elisa to whip her head around.

she locks eyes with you, and you must have had the guiltiest expression on your face, because she immediately broke out in laughter. “what are you doing baby?” she laughs harder as your face reddens, her taking your hand in hers and rubbing small circles with her thumb.

“you just looked really good okay!” you defend yourself defiantly, showing her the photo that you took. she gives you a knowing look, before turning away to continue looking at the scenery around, a small smirk on her lips. there was a comfortable silence amongst you two, but your mind started to wonder. for a while now, you’ve been meaning to ask elisa about announcing your relationship. you were sick and tired on hiding things and being so secretive, but you were scared. you enjoy the privacy, the intimate looks given to each other across the room, the subtle electrifying touches on the pitch when you’re standing next to each other. you just don’t want to ruin things-

“what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” elisa breaks you out of your thoughts, head tilted slightly to take a look at you. you were oddly silent for a while, and when elisa turned back around to see what you were doing, you were just staring into space, a dazed look on your face.

you swallow dryly, taking a deep breath. “i think i want to announce our relationship.” you say quickly, averting eye contact with her. you felt her hand tighten around yours, interlocking your fingers with hers. you look up at her timidly from your lap, and you see lines of worry etched onto her face. her brows furrowed slightly, her mouth in a taunt line.

“are you sure about this?” she questions, concern clear as day in her voice. she knew about your past, and you were the one who was more worried about the relationship compared to her. now that you were bringing this up, she had every right to be concerned.

“well, i’m just sick of people thinking i’m dating that meathead. i’m not. i’m dating you. you’re the one i love.” the moment the last sentence left your mouth, elisa swore her heart skipped a beat.

“a-are you very sure? there’s no going back after you announce this you know?” she looks into your eyes, searching for any signs of uncertainty or hesitation, but all she saw was determination.

“i’m sure, baby.” you smile at her, pressing a chaste kiss against the back of her hand. at that moment, elisa was so proud of you. you have come so far, and she knew how big of a step this was for you — to publicly announce that you were in a relationship with another woman.

“i’m proud of you, mon amour.” she wore a warm smile, eyes crinkled, the midday sunlight hitting her facial features just right. you pick up your phone to snap a picture, and this time you did not shy away from her, even asking her to give you her best smile.

before you left the cafe, you quickly posted it, tagging her and titling the caption as “the love of my life, @/elisadealmeida5. mon amour.🤍” of course, the fans were not impressed, but you didn’t care, for you were finally proud to be loud about your identity and your relationship, and the press and media are not going to get in the way of that.

later that night, as you lay in bed with your head on her chest, you get a phone call from your good guy friend. elisa raises a brow at you, and you shrug, picking it up and putting him on speaker.

“yo what’s up! you’re on speaker by the way.”

“you just had to do a hard launch huh?” he cuts to the chase, tone teasing, but proud. you groan, your hand coming up to cover your face.

“ugh c’mon! they were shipping me with you out of all people!” you tease back, looking at elisa who was staring at you, admiration in her eyes. you give her a soft smile, pressing a small kiss on her cheek.

“yeah, yeah, i know. proud of you, short stack. tell elisa i said hi!” and with that, he hung up. not long after, you received an instagram notification where he replied to your post. “i told you so.. what a man child.” you read his comment and smile knowingly, and put your phone away, turning around to face elisa again when she grabs your face and kisses you hard. you gasp into the kiss, melting into her lips. when she pulls away, she leans her forehead against yours, you panting slightly.

“i’ll say this again and again, and i know you’ll grow tired of it, but i’m so proud of you, mon amour, don’t forget that.” she finishes her sentence with another passionate kiss to your lips, smiling into the kiss.

[detachedminxsfics]

Punishment

Masterlist

Characters: Negan x Saviour F!Reader, Simon, The Saviours

Summary: Negan doesn't like sharing his stuff, so much so that you just earned yourself a place on your knees and a job to do, and he doesn't stop for anything, or anyone.

Word count: 3.2K

Warnings: NSFW - Oral (m recieving), exhibitionism elements, authority kink, comic accurate foul mouthed negan, negan referring to himself as daddy bc why not, praise, degradation, dirty talk, dom negan

A/N: Haven't managed to get any writing done for a while because my brain just wasn't working with me, but this slutty little idea popped into my brain the other night and I was asked to make this as dirty as possible, so here goes nothing. Also, I have never wrote m recieving oral before, so I apologise in advance.

One of his black leather boots tapped idly against the concrete flooring, his hands interlocked and his chin perched on top as he watched you, elbows propped on the table and his eyes burning holes into you. Lucille was carefully laid in front of him, his gloves however strewn on the table off to the side. It was like he was waiting for something, but he hadn't said a word since he had one of the saviours come to fetch you and muttered for you to take a seat. Better yet, considering Negan wasn't one for long uncomfortable silences, his mouth always running even at the wrongest times, you were in some deep, deep shit.

"Do you know why you're here, sweetheart?" The pet name did little to lessen the cold, warning hint to his tone, a word usually meant with such affection practically dripping with poison.

You opened your mouth to speak but he swiftly unlocked his hands and raised one to interrupt you.

"That shit was rhetorical. You know damn well why your pretty little ass is here, and you are well aware of the little stunt you pulled."

You had to physically restrain yourself from rolling your eyes at the realisation of what had frustrated him so much that he went out of his way to call you into the meeting room. You'd grown quite fond of one of the saviours you were often grouped up with, and having done a few supply runs together by now, you were pretty comfortable. Comfortable enough to place your hand on their arm whilst the two of you cracked jokes and took a smoke break in the courtyard, the walkers entrapped in the metal fence behind you making a racket all the while. And though faint, you immediately sensed it. Eyes on you, watching you, eyes fixed on your every movement. You glanced to identify the observer, and there he was. The man himself. He was at the top of the steps, the door behind him one of the entrances to the second level of the sanctuary, or more famously, his catwalk. He was leaning on the railings, his eyes filling with something dark as he shot you a glare before he practically tore them from you and headed back inside, his usual saunter replaced by a riled pace of heavy footing.

"God Negan, we were just talking."

You wanted to calm him down, truly, but you couldn't help yourself. The sense of ownership and possessiveness over you he exuded was intoxicating, and tempting. You wanted to see what would happen if you teased him, what buttons you could push to make him tick, and how far he would go. After all, you and Negan were amidst a rather dysfunctional state of affairs. You weren't married to him, weren't one of his kind of prized possessions that pranced around in a little black dress and gave him massages if he asked. No, you were a fling. The first time had happened in this very room when he asked you to hang back after one of the usual meetings to ensure operations were running smoothly. What started as mild, innocent flirting turned to your back pressed against the long wooden table taking up the centre of the room, your legs propped on his shoulders as he thrust into you so hard you forgot how to breathe. You weren't ashamed to admit that he had fucked you in a way you'd never even thought possible, thus, you kept coming back for more. And so did he. In the front of one of the loading vans, on his bed, his leather sofa, the coffee table across from it, hell even one of the cells in the hallway. You couldn't get enough of each other, but you weren't exclusive. Although, Negan seemed to think otherwise.

"Is that so? Cause I caught the way you had your hands all over that worthless sack of shit, and it kinda felt a lot like you were doin' it just to piss me off."

"So what if I was?"

Silence fell, your words thickening the air whilst you made the mistake of narrowing your eyes enough to the point where you were shooting him daggers. His jaw clenched for a moment or two before he kissed his teeth, slightly leaning in so that he could close some of the space between you.

"You know that bratty little mouth of yours was always bound to get you in the deepest of shit someday."

And then he smiled. It unnerved you, the sudden grin as he enthused about whatever it was he had in store for you, and then leaned back in his chair, his legs spreading a little further apart as he did.

"Lucky for me, and not so fortunately for you, today is that fine day. So, I'm gonna need you on your knees."

It was humiliating the way you complied so eagerly, sliding off of your chair and sinking to your knees the very second he had finished making his demand, eyes trained on him as you awaited his next order. Your ardour drew a small pleased chuckle from his throat, only encouraging him to continue.

"Crawl to me, baby. Right here." He beckoned in a strange mixture that amounted to a soft demand, but a command nonetheless.

He paired his words with a brief point to the space on the floor below him, under the table. You flattened your palms against the cool concrete floor and began to crawl, not slow enough to make him impatient, but taking enough time to leave him with heavy, bated breath. Your own breath got that much more unsteady when you reached the space between his legs, and his fingers started to fiddle with the buckle of his belt.

"Now you are gonna stuff that pretty little mouth of yours full of cock because you don't seem to understand who exactly it is that you belong to, and who the hell it is that you're damn well talking to. Got it, darlin'?"

God, you loved him like this. His hazel eyes swirling with all the dark, twisted shit he wanted to do to you, tongue momentarily darting out to wet his bottom lip as he looked you over like you were good enough to eat.

"Yes, sir." You replied knowing the total subservience would only turn him on that much more.

The way you addressed him made him screw his eyes shut for a moment, a small grunt erupting from his throat at the mere use of the word. His belt rested loosely on either side of his fly, and he was tugging down the zipper of his jeans and pulling himself free in an instant. You smoothed your hands up his knees and over his thighs ready to lean forward when the feel of his open palm cupping your jaw stopped you.

"Easy now," he cooed as the hand turned to fingers cupping your chin, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip and slightly dragging it downward, "c'mon, give daddy some sugar first."

The interjection for the sake of wanting to press his lips against yours made you giggle, your hands still resting against his thighs allowing you to lean up and do as he said, your lips crashing against one another's hungrily. The feel of his tongue slipping into your mouth made you moan, as did the hand that wrapped around your throat as he stole your air in more ways than one. With Negan so occupied with your mouth, the opportunity presented itself, your hand sneaking down to his crotch before closing around his shaft, the feel of your hand pressed over his cock making him groan into your open mouth and faintly tighten the grip on your throat. You started to move your hand up and down his shaft whilst you carefully took his bottom lip between your teeth, nipping it a little before you let it go, and then kissed over where you had bit. When you drew back he was gazing at you with half-lidded eyes, lips parted as he breathed almost as heavily as you were, and a devilish smile soon appearing on his frequented lips.

"Go on then, wrap those pretty lips 'round daddy's cock."

You bit down on your bottom lip and settled back down to the space between his legs, the hard surface below stinging your knees whilst you leaned in and ran your tongue over the swollen tip, beads of precum gathering along your tongue as you did. Then, you slipped him into your mouth, taking him further and further until you were swallowing every damned inch.

"Fuuuck." Negan drawled as he threw his head back slightly, the feel of your throat alone enough to have him reach under the table and slip his fingers into your hair, fingers combing through the strands while you moved your head up and down, your tongue flattened against the underside of his shaft as you practically choked on him.

Then like some cursed nightmare, the door to the meeting room swung open. You immediately rushed to move off of him, but the hand he'd been running through your hair gathered some of your hair in his hand and pushed your head back down. You gave his thigh a few pats to signal that you were no longer alone in case he hadn't noticed, but he simply tightened his grip on your hair and ignored you. His chair was tucked into the table rather tightly thank god, so you couldn't be seen, but you may still be heard. Much to your horror the room filled with the many footsteps of saviours and the sound of chairs scraping across the floor as they took their seats, the many shoes and legs appearing off to the side of you and behind you making you keep your arms tight to you and your legs close together with the fear of being spotted. Negan, however, was over the moon. Negan started speaking to the other saviours whilst you remained frozen underneath the table, trying to find some relief in the fact that you might just be able to remain still until this is all over, until he tugged your hair to make you move on him. Your scalp burned from his grasp, the pain motivating you to bob your head, repeatedly taking him until he was hitting the back of your throat, your eyes watering with the urge to choke. You could hear some of the noises Negan was making above you, small curses muttered under his breath and tiny grunts that sounded like a subtle clearing of the throat when someone was talking. There was a pause between the discussion, however, a pause that you awkwardly filled with an accidental gagging sound as you swallowed him. Negan was quick to disguise this, his leg kicking out underneath the table to serve as a warning, and the sound of him coughing followed.

"Shit, think I'm comin' down with something."

The facade Negan sprung into action with seemed believable enough, not that any of them were stupid enough to question Negan anyways. He didn't have to give you a sign to continue, didn't need to lift a damn finger, you just did. You ran your tongue over the veins lining his shaft and occasionally swirled your tongue over the tip until it got to the point where Negan was practically squirming. He'd adjust in his seat like that would do him any good, and run his hand over his face all the way down to his stubble as he tried to suppress the filthiest and lowest of groans, throaty sounds that he tried to pair with anything to make it appear more natural. To make matters worse a comment someone had made irritated Simon, enough to cause him to lean back in his seat and stretch his legs out, his boots hitting your side before he noticed the obstruction and brought his legs a little further inward. There was no hiding it now. The way one of Negan's arms moved as he ran his fingers through your hair, the way he occasionally screwed his eyes shut and bit his knuckles to stifle his moans, hardly able to form one word as you slid him into your mouth over and over, effortlessly taking him to the hilt. The knowing and amused stare that Simon shot Negan to let him know that he was well aware of the fact that his boss was getting his dick sucked underneath the table, and the slight tilt of Negan's head in response as he dared him to say a word. Simon knew better. From what you could gather when you managed to tune into the conversation over the slight pain running through your jaw, and the feel of your spit having coated him, your drool dribbling down his balls and undoubtedly dampening some of the denim surrounding the base of his cock, was that whatever the basis of the meeting it went without a hitch. With him growing more restless, his breath getting heavier by the minute, he raised his hand and waved it dismissively.

"That's all, you're dismissed."

The sound of a sea of footsteps as they sat up from their chairs and made way for the exit came as a great relief, though you weren't so opposed to the thrill it had provided. Negan carefully tilted your head back to remove himself from your mouth, something you took as what shred of mercy he had for you ever since you'd first walked in, until you realised it was for something else.

"How's it going down there?" Simon quipped, the outright acknowledgement of what you had been doing throughout the entire meeting leaving you flustered.

You knew Simon though, knew that if you clammed up and let him feel that rush of pride from humiliating you that you'd never live it down, so you owned it.

"I'm doing just great." You remarked as you stretched your arm out from one side of the table and gave him a thumbs up.

Negan chuckled and nodded off to the side to signal Simon to leave, and then you were alone again, finally. He scooted his chair back considering it had been tucked into the table so tightly, which now allowed you to crawl out from the table and take him in in all his glory. The beads of sweat that had gathered on his forehead, the singular curl of hair defiantly protruding from his hairline having escaped his signature slick style, and the smell of leather carrying through the air from the way he was always roasting in that jacket, though the sweat you made him break into largely contributed. He was ruined, and he wasn't even done yet.

"Goddamn, you are a little slut aren't you," Negan commented as he looked down at the damp spots of spit on his jeans, "look at the mess you made."

You laughed and moved closer towards him until you were resting your head on one of his thighs and looking up at him through your lashes.

"I thought you liked it messy." You teased, the playful retort making Negan bite down on his bottom lip and slightly turn his head to the side as a pleased sound rumbled from his throat.

"Course I do, sweetheart. But in this case," he gently lifted your head from his thigh and cupped the underside of your jaw to bring your head back to his cock until your lips were barely brushing against the tip, "I expect you to swallow."

"Yes, sir."

And you were filling your mouth with him again. It didn't take long to work him back up to the point of squirming, though this time he could be freely vocal.

"God, fuckity fuck. That's it, baby, just like that." He fell into a string of gravelly curses, the occasional compliment and words of approval mixed in.

Negan's groans got deeper, harsher, and his hand found its way to your hair in the midst of the impending release, his head tilting back and exposing his rather prominent adam's apple as he swore like a sailor. He moved his hips as he made a few small thrusts into your mouth before you felt him tense, and everything coming out of that man's mouth whether it be words or sounds, was through gritted teeth. Then, you felt it. Hot wet spurts splashed over your tongue and the back of your mouth, some escaping down your throat. Patiently, you waited for him to be done pouring every last droplet into your mouth and then carefully removed him; your slightly puffed cheeks and the small splotch of white liquid decorating the corner of your lips making him laugh, a low, hoarse laugh as he reached out and ran his hand down one side of your face, his thumb smoothing over your cheek.

"As sexy as you look with a mouthful of my cum, swallow it."

So you did. After clearing your mouth of his release you stuck your tongue out to show him your clean tongue, the sight bringing one of the dirtiest smiles you've ever seen to his lips as he tucked himself back into his pants.

"Good girl."

The praise did little to ease the heat pooling between your legs, but this was a punishment after all. Negan would leave you positively high and dry until you begged him in a few days to screw your brains out of course.

"C'mere." Negan beckoned as he patted his thigh, eyes a little softer than they had been when you first came in.

You moved off of your knees for the first time in at least twenty minutes, the sudden change of scenery for your kneecaps making you hiss from the pain as you unbent your knees and stood to your feet, knees bruised from the large amount of time you spent kneeling against the concrete floor; especially when you shifted weight onto them. Despite the dull ache you placed one hand on Negan's shoulder to support you whilst you swung your leg over him and lowered yourself down onto his lap, a grunt passing from his lips when you fully settled down onto his groin, your legs on either side of him.

"You know," Negan started as he brushed some of your hair out of your face and tucked it behind your ear, "you're the only woman in this whole place that could pull a stunt like what you pulled and get off that easy," he grinned as he spoke, his eyes dragging over you as he placed his hand on the small of your back and drew circles on your skin. Now it was your turn to smile paired with a small giggle and a slight tilt of your head.

"That was getting off easy?" You remarked.

"Course it was."

A beat passed, and then he let out a long, quiet chuckle and gestured towards his chest with a playful sigh.

"C'mon."

You tucked yourself against his chest, the leather of his jacket clinging and creaking against your skin as he held you tight to him. Then you buried your head into the crook of his neck, getting lost in his scent as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear, one standing out amongst all others.

"Shit. I love you, baby."

[rems-writing]

Not all fratboys are brainless

Pairing: frat boy!Yeosang × tutor gn!reader

Summary: Yeosang proves you wrong. Will he succeed?

Warning(s): lots of prejudice, Yeosang cries (Wooyoung would absolutely murder the reader if he could), the reader softens up, slight bullying

Genre: Angst with a fluffy ending

Nets: @blossomnet @mirohs-aurora-society @illusionnet

"Professor Kim, can I talk to you about my grade?" Yeosang asked his music theory professor. Hongjoong looked up at him and gave a small smile to the younger boy.

"Of course. But your grade is relatively good so far."

"I'm aware but I feel like I can do better you know. Music theory is hard and I want to excel in this class. I've tried studying the chords on piano and even tried looking for songs that I can listen to so I can identify the chords but so far, I've only been able to pinpoint what scale the song starts on."

Hongjoong listened carefully to Yeosang's explanation and nodded slowly as he thought of something.

"I could get you a tutor to help you get a better grip on the chords. They are an excellent student and is probably the topmost student in all of my music theory classes. They're currently studying for an exam in my level two advanced theory class but I'm sure they can help you out with something as simple as chord recognition."

"Thank you so much, professor!" Yeosang exclaimed gratefully and Hongjoong's heart swelled in adoration upon seeing his smile. As he watched his student gather his things and exit the classroom, he whipped out his phone and texted you.

Hongjoong sighed shakily as he sent her a heart as his message.

Joongie: Your prayers have been answered. You get to tutor a music theory student.

You: HELL YEAH, BOIIII! Which level are they at rn?

Joongie: Music Theory I

You: Easy peasy! What's their grade if I may ask? I know this class is hard >-<

Joongie: It's fairly decent but he feels he can do better.

You: Oof. Ik the feeling lol what does he need help with specifically?

Joongie: Chord recognition

You: Ahh! Ok got it. I can start tomorrow.

Joongie: Sounds good to me. Oh and Y/N? Please be nice...

You: Oh don't sweat it, Joongie! I got you

Yeosang had no idea what was in store for him......

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

Whatever excitement you felt the next day was flown out the window when you saw him. Your professor could've chosen anyone. But him? You only had three rules.

Never let anyone dictate your life.

Never give up no matter what

Never interact with frat boys or girls from sororities!

As you saw him set up his things, you felt a sense of dread wash over you. You thought of ways you could weasel your way out of this but Hongjoong would know immediately since you never weasel your way out of anything.

It's either you accept or deny. And you accepted.

With a heavy heart, you walked in, annoyance evident on your face. Yeosang was oblivious to it though. As soon as he saw you, his face lit up with excitement.

"Hi! You must be Y/N! I'm Kang -"

"Yeah yeah. Kang Yeosang. Yeah hi nice to meet you. Come on. Let's get this over with. I got an exam to study for."

The smile on Yeosang's face disappeared as you slammed your things on the table and opened up your music theory I textbook.

Throughout the entire study session, you did somewhat help him, but he didn't appreciate the fact that he was treated as if he were the dumbest person on the planet. You spoke purposefully slow, talked to him as if he were a child, and scolded him over useless shit. However, Yeosang remained patient.

After all, he knew of your intense hatred towards frat boys.

After the two hours were up, you didn't even bid him goodbye. You simply told him when the next session was and left immediately.

What did he do wrong...?

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

The rest of the study sessions persisted with the same old thing. You come in, treat him poorly, get angry when he messed up, and then leave as soon as the session was over. There were even times where you didn't even show up, claiming that you were busy. Maybe it was true most of the time, but there were times where it was complete and utter bullshit. Yeosang tried so hard to be patient with you, but even the kindest frat boy had his limits.

In the times that you didn't show up, he was studying on his own. His memorization may have been weak, but he was determined to get you to see beyond the boyish charms and stereotypes you had around him.

Today was another study session. Yeosang stood proud and tall as you walked in, grumpy as usual. You set your things down and looked at him.

"Come on. Let's get this over with." You sighed heavily and Yeosang shook his head.

"Quiz me."

"Um... come again?"

"You heard me. Quiz me!"

You sighed and nodded before taking your mini piano out of your bag and setting it down on top of the table. You turned it on and configured it so it was loud enough for him to hear yet quiet enough so you guys weren't kicked out of the library. You positioned your hands in the right playing position and looked up at him with a bored expression.

"Ok. Let's do it."

Yeosang was determined.

The first chord was played.

"That is a C Major triad."

The second chord was played.

"That's an e minor triad."

The third chord was played."

"That's an A Major traid."

The fourth chord was played.

"That's a first inversion g minor triad."

The fifth chord was played.

"That's a second inversion F Major triad."

Throughout the entire time, Yeosang was getting every single chord right. Deep down, you were thoroughly impressed with his knowledge and the way he recognized the chords immediately. As the final chord was played, Yeosang gave the correct answer. You lifted your hands from the piano and stood up before him.

"I have to say. I'm impressed. You certainly have studied your ass off."

Yeosang felt a sense of relief and accomplishment wash over him. However, that feeling went away when you said something ludicrous.

"Wait never mind. You're a frat boy. You probably cheated."

Yeosang was looking for any sign that you were joking. There wasn't. You just stood there with your arms crossed as you looked him up and down.

"You can admit it. It's fine. I can't necessarily say I'm surprised though since all you care about is partying, sleeping with every girl on campus, and -"

"How could you?"

You grew confused as you saw the raw emotion on Yeosang's face. His eyes were swimming in unshed tears, his fists were clenched, and his body was shaking a bit. You dropped your arms to the side as he scoffed harshly.

"For weeks, I have been studying and quizzing myself, pulling all nighters, and even isolated myself from my friends so I could impress you and change your views on me. It looks like I failed... and I'm sorry for failing you. I'm also sorry for wasting your time."

With that, he gathered his things and ran out of the library while you stood there, confusion being replaced with shock and guilt. You felt your chest tighten upon imagining him crying as he ran back to his dorm.

Why does seeing an angel cry feel like the biggest sin?

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

The next few weeks have been awkward to say the least. You were in Professor Kim's class, trying so hard to concentrate on his lectures, yet your mind was somewhere else. Ever since that day in the library, you've had occasional nightmares pop up in your head. It was of the same thing: you accuse him of cheating and you stand with an inflated ego while he runs out crying. You thought you were being a hero.

You were actually the villain. And you accepted that fact.

After class ended, you stayed behind so you could talk to Hongjoong. When the room was nearly empty, you approached him slowly.

"Um...professor?"

"Oh? On that professional status I see." Hongjoong joked with you but when he saw the worn out look on your face, he grew concerned. He pointed to the chair in front of him and you sat down.

"Tell me what's wrong."

"I think... I think I fucked up."

"You haven't even taken the exam yet -"

"I made my student cry."

Hongjoong was silent as you looked at him with your own eyes swimming in unshed tears. He gently took your hands in his and prompted you to look at him.

"What did you do?"

Despite the gentle tone in his voice, you could tell he was disappointed in you. He explicitly told you to be nice and you went against that.

"I accused Yeosang of cheating when I quizzed him and he got all the answers right."

Hongjoong dropped your hands and rubbed his face out of agitation.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"It was an accident! I let it slip out -"

"Yeosang is one of the kindest and most intelligent students out there. Your hatred towards frat boys needs to cease."

"Yes I understand that -"

"Do you?"

You flinched when he said that through gritted teeth. You hung your head in shame as he kept talking.

"To have you, my best student, accuse him of cheating... that's low. So fucking low."

"Hongjoong, I know -"

"You need to apologize to him."

"I am aware of that but -"

"But what? Hmm? Don't give me any excuse whatsoever. I know you're studying your ass off for my exam, your parents are out of town, and you don't have any pets or plants to take care of. So tell me. What's stopping you from apologizing to him?"

"I'm afraid!"

You hung your head in shame once more and let all the tears out.

"I'm afraid that he'll just spew so much hatred towards me. Not saying that I don't deserve it, but having someone like him be angry towards me feels like I'm going through hell. I saw his face that day. And I even have nightmares about it! Trust me. You think you're disappointed in me? Well the feeling is mutual in a sense."

Hongjoong listened to you despite feeling anger towards you.

"I already faced my punishment. Yunho stuffed fake spiders in my locker so my arachnophobia was triggered, Mingi towered over me and trashed all my papers for my other classes, San shoved me to the ground which explains my scraped knees, and Wooyoung... oh God."

Hongjoong had to hold you to stop yourself from shaking. His anger was slowly fading as you recounted everything that happened to you and felt his chest tighten when you just took it in stride rather than stand up for yourself.

"He was vile. He cussed me out, pulled my hair, and told me that maybe frat boys can be brainless, but they're not heartless monsters such as myself."

"Oh, Y/N..."

"He's right. He's definitely right. But it still hurts. And you want to know the worst part?"

"What is it?"

You drew in a shaky breath and exhaled before speaking.

"Yeosang was a witness to it all... and he still made sure they didn't do anything else drastic."

You started crying and Hongjoong held you close.

"I tried thanking him and even worked up an apology, but he held a hand up towards me and stared at me dead in the eyes before walking away."

Hongjoong held your face and wiped your tears away.

"What did I tell you? I told you he was the kindest person I've ever met."

"I know, Joongie... I know. I feel awful."

"I think... you should try again. If his friends try to stop you, stand your ground and make sure you keep on insisting until you are able to see Yeosang."

"What if he doesn't want to see me?"

"Trust me. If he was able to get his friends to back off of you, then he'd be willing to listen to your apology. Whether he accepts it or not, that's up to him. But just know that your apology is genuine and that you truly feel remorseful for your words."

You nodded as you listened to him and absorbed his words. Hugging him one last time, you gathered your things and sprinted out the classroom.

"Tell Seonghwa I said hi!"

Hongjoong chuckled lightly at your mention of his husband and looked down at his wedding ring.

"I hope Yeosang forgives them..."

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

You cringed at the way the ATZ frat house was littered with red solo cups, streamers, and random piles of puke. You almost fled the scene when a drunk guy landed on top of you and tried to hit on you yet you persevered. You finally spot the five guys and mentally gave yourself a pep talk before approaching them.

"Oh look! Here comes the witch!"

Wooyoung hissed at you and everyone cackled. Yeosang simply crossed his arms and stared at you. You winced at the insult.

Yeah you deserved that.

You composed yourself and tried so hard not to blow up on Wooyoung. You didn't need anymore bad blood with him or anyone else for that matter. You sighed shakily and stared right back at Yeosang.

"Yeosang, I'm aware that you don't want to talk to me and it's clear that your friends want me to go away as soon as I set foot in this place. However, I will only say this and then leave."

You looked up at the ceiling momentarily to blink away the tears that were about to spill from your eyes. You then looked back down at the boy who looked angelic even under the dimmest of lighting.

"I am so utterly fucking sorry for accusing you of cheating. It was wrong of me to do that. I never should've done that. Instead, I should've been proud of you for recognizing those chords right away. Music theory is a hard class and I admire your ambition to strive in being the best. I heard you passed one of your chapter exams and I just want to say congratulations. In addition, I also want to apologize for being so rude and brash with you from day one up until now. It's my own fault and I have already faced the consequences of my actions. If you're able to forgive me, I would be so happy! However, if you decide to join your friends in making me miserable... well that's fine. I deserve it after all."

You sniffled and looked at his friends momentarily since they were watching the exchange.

"I'll leave now. Um... enjoy your party on this fine Friday night. I'll probably head to the arcade to calm down. Yeah ok bye."

You scurried off before Yeosang had the chance to say anything, afraid he'll be worse than his friends.

Yeosang wished you stayed.

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

You went through every single game in the arcade, ate some takoyaki, and decompressed at the bar. You sipped on your moscow mule and sighed to yourself as you whipped out your phone to scroll through any memes your friends sent you.

"Excuse me? Is this seat taken?"

You whipped your head up to see Yeosang looking down at you with big curious brown eyes. You shook your head and Yeosang had a small grin on his face before sitting down next to you and ordering a glass of water.

"I could only chug so much beer in my life."

You giggled lightly at his response as you sipped on your drink some more.

"By the way, I forgive you."

Your eyes widened and your heart fluttered when he pulled you in for a hug. He was slightly taller than you so you felt his chin rest on your head.

"I was mad and debated on not forgiving you, but the moment that you congratulated me on passing my exam, it all washed away. I told my friends that I forgave you and being the simps they are, they send their apologies to you for doing all of that, especially Wooyoung."

"It's ok. I deserve it."

Yeosang pouted and shook his head before patting your own.

"Mind if I spend the rest of the night with you? I dig this arcade actually."

"Sure. I don't mind. But first."

You stuck out your hand.

"Hi. I'm Y/N. Pleased to meet you."

Yeosang took your hand in his and shook it.

"Pleased to meet you, Y/N! I'm Kang Yeosang."