#just in the opposite way mister capitalism is thinking of

[giantchasm]

Peepaw comments on his daughter’s taste in (wo)men

[thnxforknowingme]

In Orbit (38/40)

Pairing: Klaine

Rating: T

Fic Summary: Blaine starts attending NYU, and he and Kurt weave in and out of each other’s lives - as friends, exes, friends with benefits, and harder-to-define labels - while they navigate college, relationships, and adulthood in New York.

Notes: Writing this chapter made me wish that AO3 and Tumblr used serif fonts. Just keep in mind that capital 'i' and lowercase 'l' look very similar. It might be relevant.

Read on AO3 | All chapters

NYADA’s graduation ceremony took place on a Friday afternoon in Radio City Music Hall. Kurt joined all of his fellow graduates on the stage, sitting on folding chairs and facing the audience full of their family and friends. As he settled into his seat, draping his dark gown around his lap carefully and looking out to the lavish performance space in front of him, he thought - as he knew all of his classmates were also thinking - oh my god I’m on stage at Radio City and oh my god I hope this isn’t the last time I’m on stage at Radio City.

The ceremony began. There were speeches by faculty and esteemed guests, all titans in the performing arts industry in some way or another, giving encouragement and congratulations. All too quickly it was time for the graduates to stand and line up, and names were being called, diplomas handed over. It was such a simple thing, really, to walk across a stage - Kurt had done it innumerable times before. But somehow, with the silly gowns and the reverent atmosphere and the knowledge that this was a once-in-a-lifetime event, it felt like a lot more than that.

“Kurt Hummel,” the professor at the podium said, and then Kurt was walking across the stage, heartbeat echoing in his ears, to receive a ribbon-tied roll of paper and share a firm handshake with Carmen Tibideaux.

He had to return to his seat while they moved the rest of the way through the alphabet. Rachel caught his eye as he passed, giving him a wide, manic smile, which he tried to return. He blinked dumbly out at the darkened audience as he heard other names being called, tried not to fidget too much with his fake diploma - his actual one would be mailed to him in the coming weeks - and marveled at the wonderful absurdity of human rituals.

When the last student had walked across the stage and returned to their seat, the whole class stood, moved their tassels to the opposite side of their mortarboards, and then bowed to thunderous applause.

After the ceremony, the graduates all spilled into the audience, the music hall filled with cacophonous chaos as everyone reunited with their loved ones. Kurt quickly caught up with Rachel, and together they pushed through the crowd to locate their party. As soon as they found their families, Kurt was pulled into a bone-crushing hug by his father.

It was a flurry then of familial hugs and congratulatory back-patting, Rachel being fussed over by her dads, Blaine looking on with a fond smile. They went out to the lobby and took photos in various arrangements and combinations, Malcolm acting as a gracious photographer and promising to send out copies to everyone right away. Kurt smiled until his cheeks hurt, and even when they weren’t posing for photos anymore, he found it hard to stop. He was surrounded by his favorite people in the world, here to celebrate what he - and Rachel - had accomplished. He was so happy he thought he might burst.

After a too-crowded cab ride, Kurt crushed between Finn and Blaine in the back seat, they arrived at the Italian restaurant on 33rd Street where the Hummel-Hudson-Berry party had a reservation. They were seated at a long table draped in white cloth and gave their orders to the waiter. Kurt sat between Finn and Rachel - a necessary buffer, but perhaps an unenviable position - across from his dad. The Misters Berry ordered celebratory wine for everyone, and they all enjoyed it while they chatted over the votive candles casting a warm glow across the table.

Kurt listened as Rachel updated her dads on a callback she got, but wasn’t sure if she should pursue, in case her Funny Girl audition went well. Carole was asking Malcolm to explain what his job as a theater technician entailed. On his other side, Blaine was asking Finn about school, and Finn was describing how he’d started student teaching in Columbus.

And as Kurt listened to the cheerful, engaged conversation of his friends and family, he felt - unexpected, but steady as an oncoming train - claustrophobia and panic start to choke his breath and seize his chest.

His dad caught his eye as Kurt stood up and set his cloth napkin down on the table. “I’m gonna go find the restroom,” Kurt said, trying not to let his voice waver. He turned away and began weaving through the maze of other tables.

He didn’t make any effort to find a bathroom, instead retracing his steps and exiting the restaurant. Outside the air was warm and damp. The sun hadn’t fully set, but it was low enough in the sky that the surrounding buildings cast everything in shadow, the street only just light enough for the streetlamps to still be off. Kurt took a few steps away from the restaurant’s entrance and leaned against the brick exterior of the building, trying to catch his breath.

He suddenly felt like he’d been pushed out of a plane with no parachute. For so long, his life had been focused around getting out of Lima, which eventually meant getting to New York, and ultimately came to mean going to NYADA. So he’d fought tooth and nail, worked long shifts as a waiter to pay rent, stayed in New York over breaks to take extra classes and catch up in school, poured his heart and soul and blood and sweat into working towards this one goal. And now, he’d achieved it.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t happy, too - he was exceedingly proud of himself for accomplishing it, for having proof that he had been chosen for his talent and had persevered through every challenge NYADA had thrown at him. He had done this, himself, every step of the way, and he felt both relieved and gratified to have gotten here.

It was the realization of what came next that so thoroughly terrified him, the open-mouthed void of the future, the deep uncertainty of what he was supposed to do now that he’d achieved the thing he’d dedicated years of his life to. How did he move from his present - naive little Kurt Hummel, no extracurricular performing experience to speak of - to the star-studded career he’d always dreamed of?

“Kurt?” he heard someone say. Not just someone, he knew before he looked up that it was Blaine standing next to him. He’d recognize that voice anywhere.

“Blaine,” Kurt said, his voice a little strangled as he met Blaine’s concerned eyes. “What - what are you doing here?”

“You seemed - upset,” Blaine replied gently, “when you left. I saw you walk this way, and when you didn’t come back...I just wanted to check if you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” Kurt insisted.

Blaine nodded, but the crease between his eyebrows didn’t smooth. He leaned against the wall next to Kurt and looked out over the street. After a moment, he said, “it’s a nice night.”

Kurt exhaled. He knew Blaine couldn’t actually fix any of his problems, but - the lovely thing about Blaine was that he was still always happy to be there, to listen, to support. Kurt knew that it was his own talent and hard work that had gotten him through college, but would he even be here now, if Blaine hadn’t supported him when applying to and auditioning for NYADA? If Blaine hadn’t encouraged him to go to New York even when he was rejected? Without Blaine’s steady love and belief in him, where would he be today?

Kurt swallowed. “It’s just that...I feel like I’ve spent my whole life trying to do this thing, and now I’ve done it, and...I don’t know what happens next. I don’t know what to do next.”

“Mm,” Blaine hummed thoughtfully. “Well, I’m sure that is - intimidating. Facing the future. I’m still a year away from graduation and already the idea seems somewhat existentially horrifying.”

Kurt couldn’t help but smile, despite the anxiety still clawing at his throat. “Yeah, that’s - exactly how it feels. If I’m not a NYADA student anymore, who am I?”

Blaine stared at him, the gold evening light reflecting in his eyes, expression open and earnest. “You’re Kurt Hummel,” he said, “and you’re amazing.” He blinked. “And - right now, you have a steady income, you have an apartment. Even if nothing changes, it’s not the end of the world. But if you do want things to change - you have options. You know people like Rachel and Malcolm who might have valuable career advice, not to mention connections through your job. And I’m sure NYADA’s impressive alumni network could help you out.” Blaine gave a small, sincere smile. “If you put your mind to something, I have absolute faith that you’ll pull it off eventually. I wouldn’t bet against you.”

With each of Blaine’s words, Kurt felt the tightness in his chest subside, replaced with an unexpected warmth. “Thank you, Blaine,” he said, his voice still shaky with emotion.

“It’s nothing,” Blaine said easily - as though saying these incredibly kind things didn’t cost him anything, as though complimenting and reassuring Kurt came as naturally to him as breathing. “No matter what you do, you’re gonna have a lot of people who - who care about you, and want you to succeed, and love you.”

Kurt could feel tears welling up in the corners of his eyes, but no longer from the hysterical panic he’d been struck with inside the restaurant - now he felt overwhelmed with Blaine’s compassion, so grateful and flattered he didn’t know what to say. So instead of speaking, he reached forward and pulled Blaine into his arms, hugging him tightly.

After a moment’s hesitation, Blaine embraced him back, arms wrapping securely around his ribcage, chin settling against the crook of Kurt’s neck.

Kurt couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this close to Blaine - not since November, probably. They’d barely touched over the past few months, carefully avoiding any physical contact as they navigated the loft together. Now it felt nearly overpowering - the warmth and solidity of Blaine against him, the familiar smell of him, the way their bodies slotted together with such practiced, comfortable ease. Without thinking, all instinct, Kurt breathed out “I l-”

He caught himself just in time, cold realization stalling his tongue pressed hard against the roof of his mouth, before he could finish his intended words: -ove you.

Those three words that he’d said to Blaine countless times over the past five years. Three words that were a promise, a spell, a confession. He’d loved Blaine more fiercely and deeply and all-encompassingly than anyone else. Of course he loved Blaine - he’d been his first love, and his best friend. He couldn’t say that though, not now, the way their relationship stood, not if he didn’t mean it in a certain way. It would be cruel.

“I - really appreciate it,” he managed to say instead.

Blaine rubbed his back soothingly. “Of course,” he said.

Kurt pulled back, not disentangling entirely, so he could see Blaine’s face. His kind eyes, the familiar curves of his nose and jawline, the lips that he’d kissed so many times and been kissed by so often in return -

- oh, there you are, Kurt thought. I’ve been looking for you forever.

The thought - the realization - the feeling - overtook him like a wave. He loved Blaine. He didn’t just value his friendship and familiarity, he didn’t just lust for him, he didn’t just enjoy his company. He loved Blaine in every sense, as a friend and a lover, as his family and his home.

He wanted everything with Blaine. He’d been hurt and he’d been confused and they’d had their highs and lows, but - he knew now, in this moment where he’d been falling apart and Blaine had been the one to remind him who he was and what he was capable of, Blaine had been able to reassure him as no one else could, that he loved Blaine deeply, truly, entirely.

It wasn’t, he realized, turning this revelation over in his mind, that his old love lingered, that he’d never quite be able to get over what they’d had in high school. This love had a different shape, a different texture. He didn’t love Blaine now the way that seventeen-year-old Kurt had loved sixteen-year-old Blaine. They had both grown and changed over the years, maturing into new versions of themselves. This Kurt, now, loved this Blaine, now. The feeling was buoyed, enhanced by their history, but he felt suddenly confident that if he’d never snuck into Dalton that day, if they’d never crossed paths, but he met this Blaine today - he would fall in love with him anyway.

Blaine tilted his head slightly, his hands still resting at Kurt’s sides. “Are you ready to go back in?”

I love you, Kurt thought. But he realized with dismay that he still couldn’t say it aloud. Even though he knew now that he meant it, that he loved Blaine in that way, in every way - it would still be cruel to spring that on Blaine in this moment.

Oh, god, he’d messed things up so badly. He’d broken Blaine’s heart and insisted they couldn’t ever get back together. He’d nearly lost Blaine, and had only begun to build their connection again by carefully respecting his boundaries. He couldn’t tell him now that he loved him, that he’d changed his mind, that he wanted nothing more in life than to be together again. How had he let things get so complicated?

He reluctantly removed his arms from around Blaine’s neck, stepping back to allow the warm evening air to flow back in between their bodies. He took a deep breath, dizzy from the emotional whiplash he’d gone through in the past fifteen minutes. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m ready.”

He followed Blaine back into the restaurant, rejoining his family and friends to eat dinner. He tried to act normal, to be engaged in conversation, to enjoy his meal. He tried not to let on that somehow, his whole world had changed, and he had to figure out if he could ever make things right.

[secret-rendezvous1d]

“you have no idea what you do to me.”

hi, hello!

this is a part two to my spencer reid imagine ‘you owe me’, which is linked here, which hit well with a lot of people and this part was requested by a few of you who wanted to see where the next part would go. smut isn’t necessarily my strong suit and i deeply apologise for the horrific scenes you are about to read; i’m working on it, i promise. i guess we’ll still have to see where it goes. i tried to make it as good as possible, it probably seems like a fail (which i’d completely agree with), because smut is not my strong suit when it comes to writing and i do try my best but i can’t reassure it’ll always be good but i wanted to get a part out that people wanted and it felt like a good time to post it.

like, reblog and send in some feedback, please. it’s greatly appreciated and it helps me work out what you want to see and what you are after. if you want something specific then do let me know! i’d love to try and write something for you.

thank you. enjoy.

-

“you have no idea what you do to me” spencer reid x female reader (reader insert imagine) word count; 3.0k

summary; after they were interrupted, yn’s still horny and spencer enjoys teasing her after they arrive in another state for a new case.

-

As soon as YN stepped foot on the jet, ready for take off that took them off to the next kind of case they were investigating, nerves always managed to fill her stomach.

She wasn’t a nervous flyer; absolutely not, given the number of times the team had to fly to and from state capitals in a month to get to murder scenes and towns hit with sudden attacks from killers where the police chiefs had called with a need for their behavioural analytical help. The nerves that appeared and fluttered round her stomach in the form of butterflies came from the unexpected and the feeling of the unknown. In a meeting before they board the jet, which was held by a brightly spirited Garcia who had no reason to be as energeticas she was so early in the mornings, they were only given small snippets about a crime scene - the typical information like the victims names and whether they were in cahoots with another victim or unrelated to, say the least - and images of the victim in such horrific situations that you really didn't need to imagine anything because it was all there in print, and the name of a potential unsub they were asked to check out by higher authority. That was all. There was no expectations as to what they would see upon their first viewing nor were there any expectations about how they would feel upon arriving at a dump site or the ground someone had died upon.

This time around, she was full of all kinds of emotions. The typical amount of butterfly flutters that she was used to, the strange feeling of excitement for working on a new case that got them chaotically running around and using their brains for the good, a feeling of anticipation because she wanted to be there as quickly as possible so they could solve it as soon as they gathered all of the correct information but, deep down, there was some kind of frustration sitting deep in the bottom of her belly, that had been sat there ever since they stepped foot out of their front door just hours ago, because she couldn’t finish what she had started with Reid before they were called in.

As soon as the pilot had them at cruising level, hitting an altitude where they were then allowed to move about the aircraft, YN had moved from her place opposite Spencer, who had chosen to seat himself at the other end of the plane with his book and his case file set on the table before him, and found her way to the soft comfort of his lap. The blanket, that came with the jet (which she was sure Garcia had knitted because it was such a Penelope thing to do for her colleagues) and have been folded on her lap for the duration of take-off, was know draped over their legs and keeping them warm from the chilly atmosphere of the jet. His leather bag tucked under his chair and out of the way of tripping anyone up, her bag left behind on her seat but she didn’t care who moved it if they wanted to sit down because it wasn’t there to occupy it as hers, his phone was sat on the table beside the brown envelope whilst hers stayed in her bag because she had no reason to be contacted, and they felt like they were in their own world.

“I know we interrupted whatever you two were doing back home but,” Morgan sat opposite the two of them, moving YN’s bag to the floor beneath the table so he could perch down comfortable and lean back, looking at how they were all cosy and cuddled up in the singular chair toward the back end of the private jet with the woven blanket covering their laps, “you reckon you could pop the bubble you’re both in and, you know, include yourselves in the conversation we’re about to have on the case?”

“I didn’t know you were the jealous type, Derek,” YN teased, a laugh leaving her mouth when she saw him roll his eyes and fold his arms over his chest in disbelief, a grin on his face. Her body shuddering and jostling Spencer’s body beneath her as she let out a bellowing laugh, “alright, fine, mister Morgan. I’m going to go and catch up.”

She squeezed Spencer’s knee before she moved and stood to her feet, a little uneasy with the flight path being a rather bumpy one this time around, taking the woven blanket with her and taking the comfort from Spencer. Wrapping it tight around her shoulders, like she was wearing a cape, and letting it drag across the floor behind her as she took scuffed steps down the alley and perched down on the sofa beside Emily.

“You don’t hide it well, you know? Neither of you,” Morgan said, a hint of amusement in his voice as he stayed focused on Spencer’s face whose eyes were locked on the woman who had just left the warmth of his lap, the corners of his lips twitching a smile that he didn’t want anyone to see, adjusting his seated position so he could reach forward and grab the brown envelope holding the case information. Trying to ignore having the conversation, that seemed to hint and fish for details in his personal life that he didn’t wish to share, that Morgan seemingly wanted to have and hold in such a tight confinement. “YN never wears scarves because we’re usually going somewhere warm. And she’d have taken it off by now, and she definitely wouldn’t wear one with a blanket because she gots warm so easily, so she’s definitely hiding something from us. And you, Reid, anyone who isn’t a profiler can see that something happened before we all got called in and we all know what that something was.”

“What?”

Spencer tried to fix his face into a look of curiosity but… he just couldn’t. What was the point in hiding the truth when his friends knew him inside and out?

“You were about to hit home base and Hotch just had to be the cockblock,” he snorted, Spencer’s eyes never lifting from the page he was reading; and, for someone that could read 20,000 words a minute, he sure took a look time to read whatever was written on the page between his fingers. And, as much as he tried to hide the burning in his cheeks by ducking his head down to his chest and using the paper to cover half of his face, Derek could still see the pink hot-flush taking over his face. “I think that blush says I’m right. Play on, playa. Am I right?”

“I didn’t come to work to be profiled, Morgan,” Spencer stated, a stern voice dripping from his tongue but, to Derek, he could hear Spencer’s well hidden sense of humour begging to make an appearance; he’d been sussed so dodging the conversation was all he could try and do and Morgan wasn’t about to let that happen, “I advise you not to profile me because I can profile you ten times better. Now, are you going to fill me in on the case? Where who is going after we land, etcetera, etcetera?”

Derek smirked in accomplishment and pushed himself up from his seat, turning his back on Spencer as he carried on reading over the case file, walking towards the back of the plane to grab himself a bottle of water to quench his thirst and to click the coffee-maker on so everyone could have a coffee to wake themselves up. He squeezed YN’s shoulder on his way passed her and made her shyly look at him and smile; it wasn’t like the chat he had with Spencer was quiet enough not to be heard..

“Hotch is keeping you two separated,” JJ spoke from her seat amongst the seat of four near the middle of the plane, much to Hotch’s dismay because all eyes were now on him as they awaited why he had chosen to separate the two people who worked fairly well together when they were ordered to, surprisingly for them because of the distractions that could possibly keep them from , “you have a hotel room though. You can do all the catching up there, if you get what I mean.”

She wiggled her eyebrows at YN and YN just wanted the floor of the plane to swallow her whole so she could escape the embarrassment.

“We’ll all head to the hotel tonight, we’ll get some sleep, hopefully wake up with fresh heads and then we’ll head to the station before we assign roles on what we do,” Hotch said, reassurance in his voice, and YN was thankful he spoke up before the conversation went down a route she hadn’t planned to be involved with. She glanced at Spencer, who tried to suffice the smirk that was begging to show on his face, and she swore she could have taken strides down the alley of the plane to swipe him across the back of the head. “Phones on though. Anything can happen through the night and we might get called in.”

+

YN had never felt happier to be between the four walls of a hotel room.

There was something about being on a plane, sitting and sweating in the same seat and barely moving for hours, that made her always want to freshen up at any given chance. And any given chance she would take. Even if it was a tiny airport cubicle, which was one of four in a row and smelt appallingly like they had been cleaned for days, and she had nothing but toilet paper and wipes and sanitiser and a little spritz of deodorant from her handbag to work with, it was still a chance she would take it.

As soon as they’d said their goodbyes to the team and found that they had drawn the short straw on sharing an adjoining room with someone from the team, aggravatingly, they settled in for the night and went about their business like they normally would when staying overnight on a case. Trying to forget that they could be walked in on, at any point, from Rossi who had politely offered to take the room because the looks on everyone’s faces told him they were skeptical after catching hints from the gossiping mouth of Derek Morgan. Spencer disappeared for a quick shower whilst YN hung her blouses up in the wardrobe and paired her flared trousers with the correct top, the same pair of shoes she always wore - white and incredibly tattered Converse boots - left by the door so they were easily found and easy to slip on in a rush.

“Do you reckon Hotch will call to wake us up in the morning or-”

“I assume he’ll want us in the reception lobby by eight so we should probably sleep now,” Spencer claimed, patting the empty side of the bed beside him once she walked out of the en-suite bathroom, after she had finished freshening up and brushing her teeth and had turned the light off behind her. It wasn’t the biggest bed in the world that they had been given, and it made their double bed at home look like a queen-sized bed with the size of it, and YN was sure it was classed as a single room for one person just by the size of the mattress Hotch had expected the two of them to sleep comfortably on. It wouldn’t surprise her, in all honesty, that someone had given a tip to the bossman to give them the smallest room because they need not worry about being cuddled up so tightly together. “Come on. Stop flaunting your naked body around, please. Rossi is next door and I really don’t need him making tomorrow awkward if he walks in and sees breasts pushed in his face.”

“I’m wearing a towel, you goob. And I definitely wouldn’t push my tits in his face,” YN scoffed, hands running up and down the soft material of the towel given with the room, the white cotton bringing out the deep purple bruises around her neck and the red bite marks that still littered around her collarbone from earlier that evening. Something which Spencer felt pretty proud about when he let his eyes linger. “Besides, Rossi’s probably asleep so we can do whatever we want.”

“We can not,” he warned, shaking his head and slipping his glasses from his nose, folding them up and placing them on the bedside table, just like he’d do during his routine at home. Switching the lamp on, which barely added more light to the room, and using the switch adjacent to turn off the main lighting of the room so save having to move when they were comfortably tucked up under the covers. “We can wait till we get home. More privacy.”

YN grinned to herself and used the opportunity to strut across the floor with a swing to her hip movements, the carpet rough beneath the soles of her feet, her mind focused on walking to his side of the bed so he could gain some kind of understanding of what she wanted to happen. Being as seductive and as sexy as possible in an attempt to try anything to get him feeling horny for her. One leg lifted to straddle him, her other coming up and set the other side of his legs, feeling the cotton of his boxers against the insides of her thighs. His hands came to sit on her hips, fingers circling the cotton covering her body, a curious look on his face.

“They never said we couldn’t do it when we were alone,” she reminded him, forearms resting on his shoulders and her fingers sat in the damp hair at the back of his head. He smelt like his soap - a beautiful pinewood smell that always lingered on his skin and left the bathroom with a delicious aroma - and his shampoo and looked so fresh and soft and the curls atop of his head hadn’t quite curled into their typical wisps yet and they hung lowly around the sculpt of his face. “Can we? Since we didn’t get to do it back in Virginia?”

He pulled her closer, lips puckering as he pressed a litter of kisses to her forehead then the bridge of her nose then her left cheek before her right cheek until he landed on her lips, where he lingered and left behind a tingling sensation that had her reeling and begging on the inside for something more than that.

“Don’t,” she whined, eyes closing in frustration and her thighs tensing and holding him in one positon on the bed to keep him from going anywhere, her head rolling back on the ball of her neck with a frown on her face that soon dissipated when she felt his lips graze the base of her neck. Just below her collarbone, where she could feel his warmth breath escape his nose, yet just above her the blossoming curves of her breasts where she wished for his hands to sit. Dry lips dragging across her soft skin, hands holding her hips down upon his own, leaving a string of gentle kisses across her chest. “Spence-”

“Like that?” He hummed, his damp hair tickling at the underside of her chin, his head nestling into the space at the base of her neck, pecking and nibbling at the skin below her ear, “tell me you like that.”

“I like it,” she whispered, gently holding fistfuls of his hair in her hands and pulling his head away from her neck so she was able to look him in the eyes, a dark look behind his coloured orbs that had her tingling between the legs, “I love it, Spence.”

He smirked.

“That’s enough then,” she heard him say, her mind spinning, “come on, early start tomorrow.”

“No..”

“Yeah,” he grabbed her by the waist and rolled them onto their sides, her body colliding with the mattress and the springs coiled up before re-coiling loudly, a gentle ‘oof’ escaping her as she hit the bed and came free from his body which had now switched positions. Arms bracing his weight and hands pushed into the pillow behind her head, legs straddling her own as she laid flat beneath him, eyes focused on her. “Bedtime, now.”

“You can’t have me feeling like this and then end it,” she pouted, hands snaking up his chest and back to his shoulders, palms flat against the back of his head as she pulled his face a little closer to hers, “baby, please.”

“Think I might save it, go all out with you when we get back home,” he pondered, more to himself than for her to actually hear him but her heart skipped a beat, “yeah, I think I might just warm you up, get you ready, till we get home.”

“You wouldn’t,” she whispered, a hint of seduction in her words, lips touching his with every word she enunciated, “you would.”

He laughed maniacally and nudged his nose against hers; “you have no idea what you do to me.”

“You have no idea what you do to me,” she retorted, bringing a bent knee up to knee him up the bum in annoyance, “I hate you sometimes.”

“Rubbish. You love me so damn much,” he said, pressing one last kiss to her lips before he rolled back to his side of the bed and stretched out beside her, face turned in her direction, “besides, I’d much rather have our own room and not an adjoining one and I’d rather have the neighbours hear us rather than Rossi. Less awkwardness at work, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled, rolling her eyes playfully, “goodnight, you annoying human being.”

“Goodnight, you equally annoying human being.”

[jincherie]

florescence | iv

❀ — pairing: taehyung x reader x seokjin ❀ — genre: hybrid au, hybrid tae, hybrid jin, poly au, fluff, smut (future), angst ❀ — words: 5.1k+ ❀ — rating: sfw ❀ — warnings: a pinch of angst... oops ❀ — notes: fiddling and editing, i felt that i needed to expand this bit more so i added some context and cut the end scene off to make the feature of the next chapter

Okay, so maybe you’re lonely, and maybe there is something missing in your life, a void that you maybe want to fill with a companion that may or may not be of human origin… You’re perfectly content not doing anything about it though, until your best friend calls you in desperate need for your help and you suddenly end up coming home with not one, but two hybrids that may or may not have been on the way to the chopping block had you not taken them in. They’re more than a little rough around the edges, and the situation is less than ideal but… maybe the best things don’t always come in perfect, shiny packages. Maybe they just need a little time to bloom.

— posted; 16.11.2019 // masterlist || prev. | next.

"You're not going to be returning to a happy audience, y/n."

Startled from your position where you are crouched tying your shoe, you look up and take in the sight of Changkyun's feline form leaning against the wall beside you, white-tipped tail flicking idly behind him. Somewhat amused yet chagrined since you know exactly what he's talking about, you let out a sigh and finish tying your shoes before rising to a stand, dusting your hands against your jeans.

"I know," you respond, somewhat dryly. The cat hybrid is a little too smug for your liking, having been privy to the problem that's been making itself known in your life this week. "I can't help it though. If they want to keep eating pancakes and meat dishes then they gotta put up with me leaving the house for work. I need food tokens because that's capitalism, babey."

The hybrid snorts, rolling the ring over his lip with his tongue before deciding to deign you with a response. "I don't think I've ever heard anyone else refer to cash money as food tokens, but you know what it has a nice ring to it, so I'll let you have that one."

"Thanks for the charity," you laugh, slinging your bag over your shoulder. The kids that had been under your care for the evening are fast asleep in their beds, so you don't have to worry about them catching you leaving and throwing a tantrum. Their mother, a lovely woman who works as a secretary to the CEO of one of your local well-established businesses, has already returned home to thank you and pay you. Staff meetings that run late into the night are particularly gruelling for her, and you made her promise she was going to get some good rest before she retired. Changkyun, the household hybrid who has too strong of a personality to ever be anything but the only hybrid in the house, has followed you out to the front door, and is making the most of his remaining time to bother you to the best of his ability.

"Have they told you why, yet?" Changkyun seems unwilling to let the previous topic go, persistent in his efforts to pull the latest information from you. Begrudgingly, you play along and give the nosy cat what he wants. He's awfully invested in your current affairs for some reason, probably because he'd been nagging you to get hybrids of your own for so long and now you'd finally ended up with some, to his glee.

"No," you huff. Your eyes slide away from his form, falling upon one of the lovely paintings displayed on the walls as you pout. "They haven't said a word, but they're still acting the same."

You don't like the look that enters the hybrid's sly eyes. "I can help, you know." He takes a step closer, leaning forward with a shit-eating grin. "I know what's bothering them. Just let me--"

"Rude cat, if you know then why don't you tell me!" you protest, poking his chest in a manner more playful than anything. "And stop trying to rub on me, I know what you're doing. They were really grumpy with me after you did it the first time so don't think I don't see you trying to stir the pot, cheeky cat."

Changkyun grins, eyes closing in his mirth as he steps back with his hands up in surrender and lets out a laugh. "Ok, fine! Take all the fun out of it! Live without ever knowing the truth, see if I care..."

You roll your eyes, knowing he's still playing with you. "Right, well, I'm going to go before you somehow manage to indirectly upset my hybrids even more. I'm watching you, Changkyunnie."

At the appearance of the nickname you've given him, the hybrid can't help but let out a purr as he laughs and bids you farewell. "Bye! See you next week! I wonder if you will have sorted out your little problem by then."

It's very tempting to flip him the bird, very tempting, but somehow you manage to restrain yourself and you think it really is a testament to your willpower. You bid him farewell and make a quick escape, mind a little hung on his words as you make your way from the house and down the path to where you parked your car.

Will you have resolved this "little problem", as he so blasély put it, by this time next week? You aren't sure, but to be honest you are a little doubtful. Why? Well...

You’re unsure if anyone ever took the time to try and explain the concept of working and jobs to your two hybrids.

You say this because you kind of assumed that they’d know what you mean when, barely three weeks after you brought them home, you told them you were going off to work and wouldn't be back until later—except it quickly became clear that was not the case and they did not, in fact, know what you meant. You’ve been growing closer and closer each day that passed and despite what their guidebooks said, they aren't continuing to act as withdrawn as they had been and aren't refusing to let you close. You’re overjoyed, of course, at the development, but you had no idea it would mean they would get so clingy.

Somewhat disgruntled at the turn of your thoughts as you climb into your car, you recall how it had all gone down that first day you'd returned to work. “What?” Seokjin’s voice climbed in pitch as he looked to you in alarm, attention torn from the pancake batter he’d been stirring. You showed him how to make it without help the other day and ever since he’s been trying to perfect it on his own. He blinked like he couldn’t believe what you just said, and you swore you could hear a hint of fear riding in his tone. “You’re what? You’re leaving? Why are you leaving?”

“I have to go to work,” you explained clearly, a little amused and endeared at the fact he’d evidently thought you’d be at home with them all the time. “I need to make money to pay the bills so we can keep living here and making pancakes, you know.”

When you brought the hybrids home, you’d immediately taken some time off work—you know how critical the first few weeks are in establishing comfort and an environment and dynamic where they feel safe. You suppose you never paused and thought about whether they realised you’d have a job that you would have to return to at some point. Perhaps this was your fault.

“Wh—do you have to? Do you have to go?” He was still holding the wooden spoon he was stirring with, looking at you with wide eyes. “Please don’t go.”

“I have to,” you affirmed, sending him an apologetic look. You almost forgot Taehyung was in the kitchen with you until you felt a tugging on your shirt and looked to the stool where he was perched and—oh, no, he was giving you the puppy eyes, the most potent pair of them you’d ever seen in your life.

“Hey, don’t give me those eyes, mister puppy.” You reached and booped his nose; his cheeks flushed and his ears lowered. “I won’t be gone long, you’ll survive.”

To your complete and utter surprise, Taehyung pulled away and angled his body in the opposite direction, effectively turning his back to you and rolling his eyes. You were left gaping at the uncharacteristic show of attitude. He… just rolled his eyes? At you? What…

Seokjin decided to pursue a different avenue in the hopes of persuading you to shirk your responsibility and stay. He droped the spoon into the bowl and rounded the counter in a few large steps, moving quick and taking your hands into his hold. He whimpered sadly, already making a very strong argument. “y/n, please don’t go.”

You were weak-willed when it comes to these two hybrids, as you quickly found out, but it is because of how much you care for them that you were able to resist. It wasn’t without another half hour of whining and clinging that you were able to leave the house, though. You work as a nanny for a select few affluent families, so its not like you’re working fulltime office hours, and most importantly you’re always going to come back. You have no idea why they’re so opposed to the idea of you leaving at all when they’ve shown they understand your reasoning…

The previous days you’ve come home after work, you’ve received a fair spread of responses. At first, they clung to you. When you came home after that first day of work (mind you, you were gone barely five hours that time) from the second you walked through the door, your two hybrids all but tackled you and stayed firmly attached to your side for the entire night after that. If they could, you were sure they’d shackle you to them.

The night after that, the reception was a little different. They were upset that you’d left again, and proceeded to let you know—for about the half hour that they could last without cuddling on the couch, that is. All you had to do was pull pudding out of the oven and your treason was forgotten, hybrids by your side and pressed against you once more. This, understandably, lulled you into a false sense of security of sorts. Perhaps they’d get over it soon?

Nope. The days after that, they switched it up in favour of something they seemed to think would be more effective. You’re no stranger to the cold shoulder, and usually quite sensitive to it, but to be honest… their attempt humoured you more than anything. The visible conflict in their expressions every time they attempted to brush you off is probably what was funniest. Every time they ignored you, or didn’t respond, it went against their nature and their usual urges. They’re soft, cuddly boys, you’ve found. And they might be grumpy, but even as they’re trying to make a statement, they can’t help but long for the way things usually are. Their cold shoulder usually lasts about an hour, and then they break. Nowhere near long enough to really have an effect.

But by today, when you arrive home from the job with Changkyun, you think it’s beginning to wear on you a little bit. When you ease the front door open, banging your toe on the frame and letting out a curse in the process, no one comes to greet you. The house isn’t empty (you can hear them scuffling about in their room) and the lights are on, but still, it feels… a little lonely. You huff, slightly grumpy that they’re still throwing a tantrum over this. As much as you try not to let it show, it is frustrating. You have to work! It’s not something you can simply stop doing because you want to, or your hybrids want you to.

You halt in the hallway to the kitchen, making yourself pause and take a breath. You’re frustrated and a little grumpy, yes, but you don’t want them to pick it up. They’re sensitive to these things, you’ve found. You watched a video on Facebook about kittens that made you cry the other day and barely a second after the first tear touched your cheek had Seokjin almost broke down your door, worried to high hell and back because he smelt it and thought something was wrong. You’ve been very careful since then, not wanting them to feel upset or uncomfortable as a result of your own emotions.  

Once you’re sure you’ve collected yourself enough, you continue into the kitchen, placing your bag on the table as you walk past. Humming and knowing that the quickest way to get them out of their mood is food, you open the fridge to stare inside, hoping an idea for dinner will come to you like a vision from above. Your fridge may be many things, but it’s not prophetic, and currently it’s not stocked with much food either. Huffing, you close the door with a little more force than necessary and turn away, wincing at the following bang. Hopefully the eggs are ok.

You’re not much in the mood to make a big meal tonight, so you make the executive decision to pull the tortellini you’ve been craving from the freezer and set it on the bench. Begrudgingly, after a moment of consideration, you pull out a few vegetables to add to the sauce mix. You suppose you better put some effort in, since you’ve already chosen the lazy meal.

True to character, as soon as the tortellini begins to cook in the pot and the smell begins to permeate the air, you hear the sound of light footsteps creeping down the stairs, attempting to go unnoticed. You wonder if they underestimate the extent of your human hearing, or if they’re just really bad at being sneaky.

They don’t go into the kitchen straight away, but they go to the living room, as close as they can get to the source of the smell without giving in and talking to you. You roll your eyes, partly amused and partly miffed. You suppose this is how it’s gonna be.

Considering how easy of a dish it is, it doesn’t take you long to cook and serve it. Instead of calling them to the kitchen to grab it, you slip out of the room and make you way to where they’ve started watching Netflix, next to each other on the couch.

Whether they don’t hear you coming or are still hell bent on ignoring you, you’re able to sneak right up behind them, the back of their heads peeking just over the back of the couch. Your hands slip forward, fingers weaving through the silky locks atop their head and ruffling them. Both hybrids jerk, Seokjin letting out a surprised yelp as he turns partly in his seat to shoot you an alarmed look.

The tension in their forms melts away in the next second as the tips of your fingers and your nails lightly drag across their scalps, brushing just barely the bottom of their ears. You think you hear a sharp intake of breath, surprisingly from Taehyung’s direction, but can’t verify it before your hands leave the top of their heads and your smiling at them as they turn to face you.

“Dinner is ready, bubs,” you say, somewhat humoured by the visible conflict on their faces—they manage to settle on remaining disgruntled, though, much to your disappointment.

They rise from the couch, pouting, and follow you to the dining table. They seat themselves without another word, and as soon as they see you reaching for your fork and taking your first bite, they follow suit. You think they plan to stay silent throughout the entirety of dinner, but you manage to wear them down enough that Seokjin lets slip a few sentences of how their day went and what they got up to. Aside from that, dinner passes quickly and somewhat tensely. It’s an odd tension, though, as though it’s not yet fully formed and kind of incomplete. Like there’s a lack of conviction and commitment to it.

As soon as they’re done eating, like the sweet boys they are they take their dishes to the kitchen, rinse them off and load them into the dishwasher along with the other containers and utensils used for dinner. You rinse your own bowl as well once done and pop it in with theirs; without even a glance in your direction, Taehyung adjusts it so the fan won’t hit it and then slides the full drawers in, placing a dishwashing tablet in and turning it on. Efficient; he certainly wastes no time about it.

Already even before this point, you knew that they were going to try and bolt the second they could—and it seems your predictions come true, as the second they hear the dishwasher turn on and begin its cycle, the two of them are inching towards the edge of the kitchen, barely an ounce of sneakiness to their name. Fighting a sigh, you dry your hands before taking a few steps and using them to definitively grasp their own. As you lace your fingers together, the two hybrids freeze, Taehyung shooting you a wide-eyed look and Seokjin faltering in his stride.

"Will you two stay, if you're not too tired?" You ask, a shred of vulnerability more than planned making itself known in your voice. "They added some movies I really like to Netflix, and I really wanted to show you. I thought we could watch them together...?"

You can tell the second you look at Taehyung's face, his features softened and eyes shining, that he's given up giving you the cold shoulder for the night. Seokjin's slumped shoulders, tension having fled at your words, also tell you that he's on the same page as his brother. You brush your thumb over his hand and feel his grip tighten as he turns to you, smiling slightly.

"Of course we're not tired yet, what did you want to watch?"

You spend the rest of the night curled with them on the couch, tension long gone and only warm affection drawing the three of you together, and can't help but think maybe this was the last of their protests. They're sweet, these boys, and you know part of the reason they're upset is that you're leaving when they want you to be here, spending time with them.

But alas, it is not to be, and your optimism is quickly shot down.

Their reaction to your continued absence during the work days persists. Each morning you wake and get ready for work, your two hybrids are there almost every step of the way pleading with you to stay, offering any bribe they can think of onto the table to aid their bid—cuddles on the couch, snacks, movies, naps. Admittedly, each day it gets a little harder to steel your resolve and actually go to work, but you try not to let them see that they’re gradually wearing you down. They’re too endearing for their own good—it probably isn’t healthy for them to have you as wrapped around their fingers as they currently do.

At this point, you get the sense that it’s not just one, but a number of reasons at play that make them so averse to you leaving for work. It occurs to you that they’re probably still a bit insecure, given their background and the fact they haven’t actually been here that long. But at the same time, it feels like it’s also more than that.

You work as a nanny and babysit children, but since you work for families who are usually perched on the upper echelon, it’s not uncommon for you to be spending a lot of time in proximity to other hybrids as well. Ever since they were first created, hybrids have been a symbol of wealth and affluence. Despite much more of the middle and working class having them as companions these days, in a sense that earlier attitude still stands. A few of the families you work for have hybrids, two of them having more than one. Thankfully, none of them mistreat their hybrids, in actuality you were surprised upon first working for them to find that they’re treated almost as well as the children are. It makes you happy to see such a shift from the common attitude, and the hybrids themselves are all so lovely that even when the kids have crummy days and want nothing more than to throw tantrums, you have no complaints.

Despite just over a week and a half of avoidance about why they’re so grumpy, it seems today is the day you’re finally going to gain an insight into the cause of their behaviour and push your hybrids over a line you didn’t even know was there until they cross it.

It’s a Friday where you’ve just arrived home after working with one of those families with multiple hybrids, that you seem to push your own over a line of sorts. You’re a little tired as you come through the door, eagerly slipping your boots off and hanging your bag and jacket up. Neither of the hybrids come running to greet you, as they might have done before you ‘betrayed’ them and started leaving the house for work. You’re less amused than you might have been in days prior, and more pouty—ever since they started cuddling you you’ve grown addicted, and you miss the warmth and affection when you’re away.

Well, you suppose today you’ll either have to go find them or let them gradually come to you.

Humming to yourself, you bring the take-away boxes of stir fry the family had been so kind to share with you into the living room, plopping them on the coffee table with some cutlery. They tinkle and clank together obnoxiously, as most metal items do, and you open a box and sit back, waiting for the sound and the smell of meat to rouse the hybrids from wherever they’re hiding.

You don’t have to wait long—Taehyung is the first to appear, his eyes lighting up on instinct the second he sees you, before he catches himself and smooths his expression, averting his eyes to the food on the table and taking one of the boxes and some cutlery. Even when he’s pouting, he can’t stand being too far away from you; he perches on the cushion next to you, but as far away as the armrest will allow him so that he can still let you know he’s not happy you left this morning. He’s so cute, sitting there and pouting as he shoves stirfry in his mouth, you can’t even find it in yourself to be annoyed at his childlike behaviour. The two of you eat in silence until Seokjin comes, the male’s soft footfalls announcing his presence before the sound of his inquisitive sniffing does.

You look up as he enters the room, curious to see if the fox hybrid will continue giving you a weak attempt at the cold shoulder as he has been for the first hour or so after you get home every night. He does, but when you give him a pleasant greeting with a bright smile you can see his resolve waver. He grabs his food and cutlery and sets up on the couch adjacent to this one, pointedly avoiding your eyes lest his resolve completely shatter. There is a small amount of tension in the air but you decide to let them finish their meals before you address it. Enough is enough but you’re all also hungry.

The second both of them are done and sitting back in content, you stack the boxes and push them further into the middle of the table so they don’t tip. Your movement brings you closer to Seokjin, and he sniffs subtly before his nose wrinkles and his brows draw down harshly. He doesn’t say anything, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip instead, but you catch it nonetheless.

Curious at the reaction and knowing (hoping) you don’t smell bad, you turn to Taehyung and lean closer experimentally to see if he will give a similar response. He does, still not looking at you—surprise filters through you when you see his features twist into a scowl. Wow, this past week you’re really seeing a new side to the shy baby, huh?

“Alright, what is it?” you ask, throwing the question into the tense air before either of them can bolt and fester with whatever mood they’re in. “Why are the two of you so upset and why do you pull that face when I get close? Do I stink?”

To his credit, Seokjin appears a little sheepish at being called out, cheeks flushing with brief embarrassment—Taehyung on the other hand remains steadfast and petulant, crossing his arms. His ears are lowered and still, he refuses to look at you.

“…No,” Seokjin answers you, eyes flicking away. He’s pouting, tone bordering on a grumble. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

You blink, surprised at the sass and distance he’s suddenly putting between you. It didn’t take you long after they arrived to realise that Seokjin preferred open communication and honesty, but had a little trouble working up the nerve to say things sometimes and hence stayed quiet instead. But this time he’s fibbing to you, brushing it under the rug and attempting to dismiss it when you can see something is up. You can’t help but wonder what brought that about.

“Oh?” you say, turning your gaze to Taehyung—the action makes you catch him while glimpsing at you and he rips his gaze away, cheeks flushing as he scowls more. “It’s ‘nothing’ that has the two of you so grumpy?”

Seokjin’s brows drew together, lips tugging down into a frown. Your words seem to set him off a bit, as he’s suddenly on the defensive. “No.  Maybe. What do you care? You’re never here anymore and you—you probably don’t even care about us anymore. You’re too busy caring about—about other h-people. Whatever.”

Your brows shoot up as he stands suddenly, Taehyung following suit—you can tell that Seokjin wants to stomp off and keep being dramatic by ignoring you, but he can’t seem to make himself skip saying goodnight to you. So he says it, but makes sure to imbue it with as much sass and attitude as possible. “Goodnight.”

Completely taken aback, you watch as they file out of the living room and no doubt go to make their way upstairs to their room. You’re not angry, but you’re definitely a bit confused and feel a little guilty, among other feelings that quickly begin to make themselves known. The two of them know that you look after children for your job, and when you told them it didn’t seem to make them bitter or envious—it seems more than a little out of character for them to be upset that you leave them to babysit kids now.

You’re actually a little hurt, if only because you’re also confused and have no idea why they’re acting this way. You have no idea, and they won’t tell you—you could probe further, press harder, but will that make them tell you, or will it push them further away? You don’t want to risk upsetting them more, and if that’s a possibility you don’t think you could make yourself follow through with it.

Sitting there on the couch, completely alone and very aware of the absence of their warmth, your chest aches a little. You’re new to this, you don’t know all the things a new hybrid owner probably should, and it shows. Your first instinct is to focus on them—what is their problem?—but now that you sit here and ruminate a little, you realise that this is more than a little bit your fault. If you were a more knowledgeable owner, then surely you’d have at least an inkling as to what is wrong. But you don’t, you’re so painfully in the dark it’s shameful enough to make a fresh wave of guilt course through you.

You need to find out more, research a little, but you’re not sure where to start. You have no clue what is bothering them in the first place, and even less idea as to how to solve it. Deep in your thoughts, you rise and begin tidying up after dinner in a bit of a haze. You almost drop the cutlery on the way to the kitchen, but manage to catch it just at the last second. After cleaning what you needed to, you made your way to your bedroom and curled into the bed, a frown tugging your lips of its own accord. It takes you a while to settle down and fall asleep as your mind races and leaves you in its wake. You really hope this whole thing doesn't go on for too long, because it's only been a single night that they've ignored you like this and it sucks.

The next day after you work-- a different house to yesterday, one with two male hybrids of the labrador variety-- the reaction is much the same, if not worse. They don't even come out when you call them for dinner, having arrived home early enough to actually make it today. At some point, they come out and take their plates of food, but you miss it, which you're quite upset at yourself for. The first and only time you see them that evening, is by chance as you emerge from your room after a shower and catch a glimpse of them scuttling back to their own. Their dishes are on the kitchen bench when you go to fetch some water, and it makes your heart twinge a little. They're really not going to talk to you at all? You don't think you're doing anything that bad! You have no choice but to leave for work, you need income so you can support yourself and now them. It's not something you can just drop and never deal with, and you have a feeling they know that and yet... something is upsetting them. You just want them to tell you, so that you can try and fix it however you can.

That night, you contemplate knocking on their door and seeking them out, and even get all the way to the closed door of their room before you halt, hand in the air. Ultimately, you can't make yourself do it. Perhaps, if they want to be alone, then leaving them alone is best. Heart hanging heavy in your chest, you turn on your heel and silently make your way to your room, but not before you utter a soft "Goodnight, boys." knowing that no matter how quietly you say it, they'd still hear it.

Your mood is looking like it's about to quickly spiral, so in an effort to prevent it you find yourself in the middle of a self-consolation session. Tomorrow you don't have any work, a day off you've been looking forward to, so surely that will cheer them up and make them emerge from their shells? You miss them, and as you curl into your bed once more without the lingering warmth of their usual cuddles that you seem to have grown accustomed to, you feel lonelier than ever.

You really hope that tomorrow, things will turn around a little.

a/n: i hope u enjoy it n please let me know what u think! the next part is already partially done so it shouldn’t be too long before the next part is out! hurray for the academic year ending here !!

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[thanksjro]

More Than Meets the Eye #22- If You Don’t Love Thunderclash, Get Better Soon I Guess

One last issue before we reach Comic Event Hell.

Time to use a dead man to set up the rest of the nonsense that’s got to happen, because apparently 14 issues of setup, including six issues of literal prelude, wasn’t enough.

The first bit of information we’re presented with is the fact that Chromedome and Swerve are on the opposite sides of the camera-shy scale. I guess that’s bound to happen when your spouse has had his video-cam literally connected to his brain for at least several thousand years.

The art may look really gritty and hardcore here, but this is actually due to a filter Rewind has over all his footage that he’s neglected to take off, because it made all the wartime propaganda he would stuff into people’s heads all the more brutal-looking.

No, this is the style of our artist for this issue, James Raiz, who we’ll be seeing a fair bit of over the next several issues. Raiz has worked on the Transformers franchise over the course of multiple license-holders, as well as contributed to both Marvel and DC comics. He also works in special effects, including matte painting and VFX. That’s just neat.

Anyway, the reason Swerve’s completely frozen in place isn’t because Rewind  switched out his head-mounted camera for a gun that goes off if it hears you make a self-deprecating joke, but rather because he’s conducting interviews with everyone in the main cast. We get all their introductions, Cyclonus makes a statement about his political stances, Drift sounds like he’s high as a kite, First Aid strikes a sassy pose while not being bitter in the slightest, and Ultra Magnus makes a move that would get him murdered on any given film set in the universe.

You do NOT use your bare fucking hand to clean a camera lens, mister. Go get a microfiber cloth and try the fuck again, you complete and utter duffel bag of a creature.

We get a quick cut of the speech Rodimus made back in issue #1, with an angle that implies that Rewind was in the front row of the front row, then cut over to Rodimus asking Rewind to document their Capital-Q Quest. This is where we establish that this film doesn’t only contain footage from Rewind’s personal camera, but also that of the Lost Light’s security system.

Which feels like the sort of access you maybe wouldn’t want to give some nosy little film buff, especially when you have a secret giant serial killing sadist living in your basement like a disappointing adult child.

See? He was given the job to record the adventures of the Lost Light not five minutes ago, and he’s already using his powers for evil. Eavesdropping evil. Absolute power corrupts absolutely, Rodimus, and you just handed it to the guy with a massive Dominus Ambus-shaped chip on his shoulder.

So Rewind’s got permission to film just about whatever he wants, and Rodimus figures it’ll be nonstop action from here to the finish line! Fights! Intrigue! Mild hijinks and peril! Explosions aplomb! Oh man, I can’t wait to see what kinds of crazy shit will happen on this absolute roller coaster of a Quest!

Smashcut to Swerve literally falling asleep in the middle of a conversation. Yeah, as it turns out, no quest, capital Q or not, is nonstop action. Which is good, honestly, because that kind of seems like it would be exhausting after the first week or so.

Swerve, Tailgate, and Rewind are discussing cool alt-modes, which seems like an odd topic, seeing as Tailgate and Swerve have basically the same situation going on there, leaving Rewind alone in the camp of “does not have wheels”.

I worry about you sometimes, Rewind. Internalized Functionism is a very real problem. Uh, well, in your universe anyway. Us humans have to deal with regular ol’ classism and racism.

Rung gets brought up, and it’s revealed that the wheel on his back is almost purely cosmetic; it doesn’t even actually attach to his body. The lads decide that they’ve got nothing better to do, and set up a gentlemen’s wager- first one to figure out Rung’s whole deal gets 100 space-dollars.

Throwing shit at people’s heads will be a major plot point in the climax of this comic series.

Swerve’s go at trying to win the bet involved tossing a grenade at Rung to hit him in the neural cluster, which is rumored to be able to force an involuntary mode change if done correctly. Obviously, it didn’t work this go around. Then our narrative focus switches over to the crew’s hobbies.

You were listening to Prince, weren’t you, Magnus? Not even deep space is safe from the Cease and Desist.

Skids’ hobby is meeting new people, because he suffers from the terrible curse of being so fucking good at everything he tries, he always ends up dropping whatever he picked up, because what’s the point? This acts as a segue into another flashback, to even MORE bullshit that the fellas got roped into on Hedonia.

These are the Stentarians. They’re like the Cybertronians, if they were better in every way.

And by “better”, I, of course, mean “more bloodthirsty, warmongering, and driven enough to make their civil war last about as long as the Jurassic Period”. Also, they’re all combiners by default, and Whirl seems a little TOO into their whole situation. So much so, in fact, that when the Imperial Guard of their race show up to kill them, he decides to do them a solid by single-handedly ending their entire war.

You know, in most cases you’re supposed to show and not tell for visual media. This is way funnier, though, so it can be excused.

We jump back into the interviews, and Rewind’s just asked everyone if they’re happy. This might seem like an odd question, until you remember that everyone on-board this ship has crippling depression and PTSD, and Rewind’s married to one of the saddest motherfuckers to ever exist, so he probably has this question loaded into the proverbial chamber at any given moment. We won’t cover all of the answers here, because they’ll be more poignant to reflect back on later in the comic run, but let’s take a gander at the characters who’ve completed the first leg of their character arcs this season.

Drift, is that perhaps… an honest expression of your inner thought processes happening right there? Has Rewind broken through your carefully crafted persona, if even for just a moment, with his question? Perish the thought!

Because Tailgate outed himself as being baby in issue #21, I have zero doubt he’s not exaggerating here. He was a janitor, then he fell in a hole and became Dirt-Nap Supreme for six million years; even the most boring day on the Lost Light’s got to be better than that.

And it’s nice to see Chromedome on a good day for once. Hopefully he reveled in it while he had the chance, because this interview takes place maybe a couple weeks before he fucks everything up big time and has to blow up his husband with a missile strike.

Getting back to the Mystery of the Rungian Alt-Mode plotline, we see Rung using his backpack as a wheelbarrow- no idea what he’s actually pushing in the damned thing- and wearing the most disgruntled face I’ve seen him pull in a hot minute. Someone yells for him to come down the eerily unlit and sinister-looking hallway, which he does. Rung would not do well in a horror film.

He winds up at Swerve’s, where Tailgate, Swerve, Brainstorm, and someone who is most likely Trailcutter, given the colors, are hanging out in their alt-modes. Tailgate’s ploy to find out Rung’s deal is to do what he does best- lie! They’re having an alt-mode party, and wouldn’t Rung like to join in? There are, of course, logistical issues with being a car in a bar, especially when your drink is on the table and your head is tucked up somewhere in your torso, but never mind all that! Let’s get crazy!

This doesn’t work either. Maybe we should cut out the middle man here and just get Rung drunk enough to agree to a wet alt-mode contest.

No, I don’t have any idea how that would work.

In our next vignette, Rodimus comes into the comms room, Rewind trailing behind him like a grim shadow of death, to see what the hell Blaster wants, other than just the hugest glass of water.

Raiz’s work is very detailed, and you really feel the weight of these giant metal space robots, but everyone looks like they’ve been put through a food dehydrator.

We get a lot of build up to the character who’s about to be introduced, with a common opinion being shared amongst everyone- even Tailgate, who hates successful people like his life depends on it.

Lovely readers, put your hands together for the ideal male partner for Autobots, Decepticons, and Neutrals alike:

A man with so much charisma and charm that only Rodimus could hate him, Thuderclash brings to IDW what everyone wishes Optimus Prime would, making our disappointing space dad even more mediocre by comparison. He fights for justice, and freedom, and the good of the universe- and he does it all while having a chronic medical condition that forces him to stay within a certain distance of his ship that is also a life-support machine, otherwise he will die. Despite his handicaps, Thunderclash seemingly brings to others what they need most, even if they don’t even realize that they needed it in the first place.

He also, in this one scene, appeals to Drift’s religious sensibilities, does a secret best-friend dance with Ratchet (who he helped to pass his medical exams- yes, Ratchet), and congratulates Rodimus on his questing so far.

Thunderclash is one of those characters that everyone in-universe is supposed to love, and I completely buy it- because he’s completely genuine and humble about all of this the entire time.

Compare this to the last time Roberts wrote Thunderclash, in Eugenesis.

Where he was an ex-Decepticon.

And kind of an abrasive asshole.

And then he died.

Y’know, now that I think of it, Eugenesis Thunderclash and MTMTE Ambulon being basically the same character makes a whole lot of sense, even without the horrors of Roberts’ Twitter getting involved.

Thunderclash reveals that he, too, is on a quest to find the Knights of Cybertron, much to Rodimus’ chagrin. But first he needs the Lost Light to break out the jumper cables, and then for his second in command to stop threatening his life.

Turns out, not everyone is as obvious as the Cybertronians with their naming conventions. Whirl assassinated the wrong folks; I’m sure the Galactic Council is utterly thrilled. Paddox wants to steal the quantum engine technology for the good of his people, so they can kick the ass of the up-and-coming Terradore leader.

Completely unaware of the situation unfolding here in the lab, Swerve is directing Rung towards the warm, loving aura of Thunderclash for another go at winning the gentlemen’s wager- through the power of lying about having friends, Swerve’s “agreed” to get Rung Thunderclash’s autograph, in exchange for getting to check that Rung’s transformation cog is still working. Then they bump into the nightmare currently unfolding. My, whoever will save us from this dreaded menace, who holds a gun to the head of the Autobots’ greatest warrior, confidant, friend, and perhaps even lover?

How about a bartender and a giant vape pen?

Okay, so Rung doesn’t actually turn into a vape. It turns out that the Mystery of the Rungian Alt-Mode is also a mystery to the man himself. Because Rung is old as shit, the Functionists got to see this bullshit for themselves, and ended up testing him over and over and over trying to figure it out, lest he prove to be a flaw in their fascist ideologies. Fun fact: fascists HATE it when people they’re trying to oppress don’t play to their expectations.

The Functionists were the ones who gave Rung his little wheelie backpack, to make him at least appear useful. This sort of treatment tends to warp one’s head a bit, which would explain why he’s bothered to keep it for so long- internalized functionism’s a real bitch.

At least he’s not giving teenagers nicotine addictions under the guise of being somewhat better than cigarettes.

Back with Rodimus and Cybertron’s Autobot of the Year for 40,000 consecutive years, we get the unfortunate news that jump-starting Thunderclash’s ship is going to make the Quest go a bit slower for the Lost Light, much to Rodimus’ horror, though he does his best to put on a brave face; after all, that’s what heroes do, isn’t it?

It’s at this point that it’s revealed that “Little Victories” was being screened to all the Circle of Light members who didn’t get murdered or turned into Legislators on Luna 1, and man are these guys pissy. What was meant to be a recruitment video turned out to do just the opposite, because none of these guys want anything to do with what the Lost Light’s got going on.

Too bad Rewind didn’t have time for a cleaner cut for showing. Maybe they could have at least snagged a couple of these guys to tag along.

As all of the Circle of Light leave the theatre to go call everyone’s favorite Autobot to see if he needs a more crew members, the film plays on behind Skids, back to the interviews, as everyone promises more adventures just waiting on the horizon.

You’re not even on this trip anymore, you dork.

Chromedome gives us the title drop for the movie and issue, and we cut to Rewind organizing a group photo of all the interviewees.

And then Rewind died horribly like a week later. Thus ends season one of More Than Meets the Eye!

While I’m here, I’d like to take the time to cover a little bit of cut content from this issue, a scene between Drift and Ratchet.

Drift, during his interview, recalls the time that Ratchet called him into his office for a very serious discussion about his/Pharma’s hands.

Yeah, turns out they’re haunted.

Well, no, not really, because this is a prank. But Drift doesn’t know that yet.

Ratchet demonstrates this hand-haunting by punching Drift in the face, as he screams damnation at Pharma’s ghost. Drift, because he is a spiritual man, knows exactly what to do to deal with this possession; he draws his sword and chops Ratchet’s hands off, then throws them out the airlock.

This, too, is a prank, not that Ratchet knows it right away, yelling at Drift that he’s crippled him.

Clearly, these two belong together.

This bit of cut script was lucky enough to have gotten drawn by the colorist for MTMTE Season 1, Josh Burcham. Burcham’s line art is iconic- you won’t mistake him for anyone else. It’s rough and angular, and honestly just very charming. I’m a sucker for this sort of style. If you want to see his adaptation of this chunk of script- and trust me, you do- the link’s right here:

https://dcjosh.tumblr.com/post/107665292031/its-done-the-mtmte-22-deleted-scene-in-all-its

[queerchoicesblog]

An Unexpected Turn of Events

Hiya, folks! So, as previously announced, the wlw writing project continues after a break with a miniseries set back in Vienna, one of the iconic capitals of opera at the time of Mozart. An emerging singer gets the chance to be an understudy in the latest Mozart’s discussed opera Le Nozze di Figaro (The Marriage of Figaro), that  premiered at the Burgtheater in Vienna on 1 May 1786, w and play the pants role of the page Cherubino. Preparing for the role doesn’t quite go as planned… .

Tagging: @scottishqueer​

Previous chapter: The Understudy

Hope you enjoy it: if you do, please consider spreading the word!

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A couple of days later I go back to Melchiorri for another session as planned. He is inflexible that I allow my voice to rest at least one day before practising again not to damage it. As I observe the streets of Vienna passing by from my carriage, I wonder if the little fugitive will visit us today too and a tiny smile crosses my lips. I should be bothered by such unprofessionalism but surprisingly I enjoyed the interruption. A private comedic enteract. It also reminded me the maestro is human: I stole a glance of the domestic, family life people like me is generally unfamiliar with. I don't plan to marry anytime soon honestly if I can avoid it, despite what my Aunt claims. I owe her and my uncle, the wealthy side of my family, everything. She brought me away from the small town by the Alps I lived with Mom, Dad and Hans, my little brother in a wooden cottage by a stream. We weren't indigents, we owned a small typography in town that mainly served the local journal of the valley and well, the church crafting the prayer books you would find on the bench every day at mass. We weren't rich with either: you don't exactly became high socialite with so little. Hans is now running the typography as my father's eyes are not the ones he used to have since he got sick. I don't envy my poor brother; I am glad I got my way out of that life. I am eternally grateful to Auntie Helga for insisting to drag me to Graz and deciding to turn me into a star of the opera after hearing me perform a solo in the church choir during one of her - not so frequent, actually - visits.

Auntie built her fortune over a good marriage with a promising young lawyer who couldn't resist her charm and eventually allowed her to live in sober luxury and even be invited to court. But that seemed to be her sole aspiration in life: she left the small town and never looked back. I am an opera singer, I want more. My career comes first and I have yet to meet a worthy match honestly. And no, I don't want to be a puppet, a doll to a man who will eventually ask me to leave the stage and my beloved arias to look after a child or be a proper wife, whatever it means. So, no, thanks, I chuckle in my head while taking the hand the driver offer me to get off the carriage. When I knock at the door, I am considering that maybe Herr Giorgio is not that bad, even if I didn't like the way he addressed the maid and the poor naughty boy. Nor the lusty looks he throws me. The maid welcomes me with a smile and a little reverence. Good girl, probably she expects me to chastise her too. As if I had any intention to do so! She takes my fur and quickly disappear into the wardrobe room before walking back towardsme. I thank her for her zeal but I know the way to the music room, the maestro is surely waiting for me, I say. I start walking but what she says next makes me freeze, confused. "Actually, Miss...the master is not here today. I'm very sorry. His wife is waiting for you in the tea room". What? That...that must be a joke. The maestro hired to prepare me last minute disappears before the official rehearsals. I turn and throw a bad look at the poor maid, who doesn't deserve it in the least. She's just a messenger, her eyes beg before lowering them to her feet. She's right, my anger is all for Mister Melchiorri. What do I do now? "Whatever, lead the way then" I exclaim, following her. "I can't wait to hear what the fair lady has to say about this". My voice is cold, sardonic; the girl doesn't say a single word while we walk in the opposite direction than my usual route in the house. She's certainly too afraid to dare say a thing. When we finally arrive to the right room, she knocks politely at the door and steps in when a female voice comes from the inside. She bows her head and announces my presence before disappearing back down the corridor. She stops only to let the door open for me. I let out an annoyed sigh and enter. The room is significantly different from the maestro's studio. No instruments, only paintings at the walls and fresh flowers on the little tables around the room. The perfume is delicate and inebriating: are they orchids, I wonder? A neat wooden library holds the place of honour on the main wall, opposite the fireplace and framed by windows that fills the whole room by natural light, even if the sun doesn't shine today: it will probably rain soon. Letting my eyes wonder outside I spot green and a carousel: I didn't realise we were so close to a park! Unlike the music room, here even if the furniture, the velvet armchairs, the Persian rugs, every decor are certainly expensive, the atmosphere is surprisingly...cozy, an adjective I would have never thought of associated with Melchiorri's place. It's almost inviting, calming? "Miss Bauer, I am so incredibly sorry for the the latest developments and all the trouble they must bring on you...but please, take a seat! Franziska will be back soon with fresh tea". I turn to see a woman gesturing me to join her by the fireplace. Her German has a thick Italian accent which gives her "a bit of exotic" as they say at court. She doesn't wear a wig, her long raven hair are done up in an elaborate grateful chignon and two curly strands frame her visage. She reminds me one of those shepherdesses portrayed in bucolic frescos at the Emperor's Palace. Her dress is not in character though: a plain, cerulean dress which is not necessarily cheap but does nothing to enhance her figure. Poor taste probably: even money can do little about it sometimes. She must be in her early thirties or so I wager and thinner than most ladies I know in her standing...I wonder why Melchiorri chose her if he's so clearly fond of female curves. Maybe it's another arranged loveless marriage. I wouldn't be surprised. I oblige and thank her politely, forgetting my anger for a moment. It surprises me, it must be a reflex, a natural response the soothing silky voice of the lady. Like the feral beasts tamed by the gentle melody of Orpheus' song, I think trying to shake away such thought. I suddenly realise that I don't know her name. Melchiorri never talked about her. But I don't want to tell her: it's not a nice thing to say to a wife, right? As if reading my thoughts, she shakes her head slightly embarassed. "I forgot my manners, didn't I?" she sighs. "You must forgive me, Miss, I do not receive many visitors lately and I've never been introduced to famous opera singers...nor any of my husband's pupils. My name is Cecilia, Cecilia Melchiorri". I feel a pang of sadness for this lady excluded from the theatre world his husband works in. I don't get why she has to be cast out like that. I've met other illustrious wives at social gatherings around Vienna or at court. I offer her my hand, gesturing no apologies are needed, and repeat her name. "Cecilia...". Sadly, I completely butcher it: I studied Italian for the opera but my Austrian tongue is still incapable to recreate the sweet sounds that comes so natural to her. It must not be the first time because her lips curl in a quick understanding smile. "You can call me Lia, if it's easier for you. My family used to call me so". Lia...what a pretty little name. I smile, grateful. "I will then, if you don't mind...Lia. You can call me Constanze: it seems only fair". "As you wish, Miss Bauer!" she says before realising her mistake. We share an amused look, even if hers is a bit more bashful. In that moment, after another polite knock, Franziska returns with the tea and some butter biscuits. They're different from the ones Mister Melchiorri usually offers me in his studio. She's serving the tea when a familiar figure materialises on the threshold of the room at my peripheral. Lia is giving him the shoulders so she can't see him. I turn in his direction with a smirk. "I believe we've already met, right, Sir?" The two women turn at unison too and the kid childishly hides his face but doesn't move. After a moment he spies us through his fingers and retrieves his hands, smiling. Franziska puts the tray underneath her arm and tells Lia that she will bring him to his room, making the boy pout. He's quite the character. "Maybe he followed you because he just wants a biscuit" I say, my eyes wandering between them to check if I'm overstepping. "Maybe you're right...but only if he doesn't bother you" Melchiorri's wife concedes with a tired smile. I shake my head and take the decorated plate in my hands. "Would you like one?" I ask in Italian to her son, not sure if he speaks proper German. His face brightens up and he nods enthusiastically. We share a soft laugh, even the maid joins. He gets ready to speed across the room when he stops, considering. He searches his mother for approval. Lia nods, asking to behave like a good boy though. So he approaches slower than he wanted, with great effort to refrain himself, and grabs a biscuit from the plate. Before taking a generous bite, he mutters a quick thank you. "Mystery solved" I comment, placing the plate back on the table. "You must excuse him, Miss Ba- Constanze" Lia say, gently pulling him closer. "Nino is not a bad kid, just a bit of a rascal at times". "A rascal with a sweet tooth" Franziska adds and we share another laughter. "I'm so sorry he interrupted your private session the other day. Franziska had quite a fair share of work to do and I was indisposed in my room, I couldn't look after him as I usually do". I dismiss her apologies, taking a sip of tea. "But it was fun, wasn't it?" I wink at Nino who chuckles. "Yes and she sings very well, Ma" he says, turning to his mother. "Of course, I heard her too from my room" she smiles. "She's a promise of the opera, it's written on the newspapers". "Sing again?" the little boy begs, expectantly. His childish enthusiasm amuses me. "I cannot do those trills now, I need to warm up my voice first" I apologise, before winking. "Another time, I promise". Lia whispers something into his ear and he thanks me, concealing his disappointment. Crumbs are stuck on his lips and make the smile that follows a bit funnier than it was supposed to be. "Now, sweetheart, why don't you follow Franziska back to the kitchen?" She says, stroking his curls. "Take another biscuit and she will give you a glass of milk, just as you like it, huh?". She doesn't have to say it twice: while the maid gently places and arm around his shoulders, guiding him away, he takes not one but two biscuits in his hands. He throws me a conspiratorial look before chuckling. Then he turns towards Lia and stretches his neck to kiss her cheek. She caresses his face and tells him to be good with Franziska. When the two of them are out of the room, she meets my gaze again, shaking hear head. "Apologies, Miss...I sent Franziska to buy these for you this morning and he managed to put his eyes on them. He became obsessed". "Kids" I shrug, unbothered. I am pleasantly impressed that she had such a kind gesture towards me. I mean it could be a way to get on my good side because of the news she has to give me...but after all, this situation is not her fault. Her husband left her to deal with this and me all alone. She turns serious and sighs. "Anyway, have you heard of the flooding near Salzburg?". "What?". "Torrential rain lead to conspicuous floodings in the area surrounding Salzburg. I don't know if Giorgio mentioned it to you but he head there after your session for a family emergency....his brother lives there". "I'm afraid he didn't say a thing about his little journey" I say, trying my hardest not to look angered, even if I am: I would have rather be informed sooner of such details. By the look on her face I can tell she expected such an answer. "He surely thought he would be back in time today, he didn't mention staying for long. But during the night the weather deteriorated and the roads are pretty much impracticable, so to speak. We've just received a note saying he will be back as soon as travelling conditions are restored and the emergency solved. Probably a couple of days...maybe more? He must have sent you a similar one, you just missed it because you were on your way here already". "A couple of days? Maybe more?" I exclaim. That's not promising... "The rehearsals start in a week" I frown. "I still need to practise...". "You are free to do it here if you wish, Miss" she suggests, apologetic yet encouraging. "I am perfectly aware this is a hideous setback for you with such a tight schedule. You must believe me when I say I wish we never put you in this situation...if there's anything I can do, Miss, ask away. I'm not my husband but...". I consider her words for a moment. My mind runs wild to find a solution for this unexpected unfavourable circumstance. I could find another maestro maybe but how, within such a short notice and little time before official rehearsals begin? I could do it on my own but another sudden foolish idea crosses my mind. "Do you play the cello, Mrs. Lia?" I must have taken her by surprise by the look on her face. She tries to conceal it, refilling her cup. "Why, yes. My father was a musician, I took cello classes in my youth but I don't see how this-". "Excellent! Then you can take your husband's place until the he’s back" I exclaim, cutting her short. My words must come as a shock: she almost spits her tea. "Beg pardon, Miss?". "You will be my maestro, well understudy maestro for the time being" I smile, explaining. "You said yourself that you can play the cello, you can assist me as I practice". "But...but I don't have my husband expertise" she objects, at loss of words. "You heard me practicing with your husband, right? So you must know how it should sound. And that aside, you can even tell yourself if my performance is good or not: you have ears too, if I am not mistaken". She opens her mouth to say something, anything to make me change my mind and spare her such thing...but nothing comes. Her lips presses together for a moment before she places her cup back on the table. "Very well, then...if you think it would work" she smiles weakly. "Just be patient with me: I do not usually play opera arias".

[lonelyreputation]

C’est Toi (coffee shop au) • CHAPTER TWO, wc: 4.9k

previous chapter | let’s chat! | C’est Toi Index

Thursday - January 10, 2019 - 12:31

I went back to the coffee shop yesterday.  I decided that I was going to be more brave.  Put myself out there more.  So I went back in between class to do some studying.  I pushed the door open and softly closed it.  When I turned around I saw the Irish guy and him.  His eyes were already on mine.

—

“McLane!”  He shouted my name and waved both hands above his head.

I stopped closing the door and whipped my head around to stare at him.  He remembered my name.  And he seemed so happy––relieved.  A small smile tugged at the corner of my lips as I felt the bundle of nerves making me feel more nauseous with every step I took toward the counter.  He had on a black shirt again, but this time it was short sleeved.  And he had more a few more tattoos scattered across his skin.

He grabbed a yellow cup and was already writing my name, “Another latte?”  He was looking at me as I nodded in response.  His eyes held a certain depth to them,  they were welcoming, like a warm cup of coffee on a rainy day.  Whenever we held eye contact I felt like I could spill any secret to him and there would be no judgement.  But like his smile, they held a bit of mystery to them.

“More studying to do?”  He walked to the other end of the coffee bar to the espresso machine.  I followed him as he bent down to get the milk from the fridge and then measured the amount of milk in the silver frothing pitcher.

I took notice of an empty table right next to the espresso machine and set my bag down.  There was a loud grinding sound of a machine, and when I looked back, I saw that his back was facing me as he tamped down the espresso in the puck.  Through his black shirt, I could see the outline of his back muscles.  

Breathe.

He then walked over and locked the puck into the machine, but not yet pressing the button to make the espresso.  He grabbed a clean cloth and wiped the steam wand a few times before he turned the lever handle that controlled the wand on and off a few times, getting rid of any old residue, before sliding the wand into the silver frothing pitcher.  Once the wand made contact with the milk, it made a loud screech that had both of us cringing, before he adjusted the steam handle until there was just a low hum.

He made espresso drinks for hours on end each day, so these movements came naturally with ease to him, but I was captivated by every move of his muscle.

“A bit yeah.”  

Say something else, I scolded myself, keep the conversation going.

“How––How has it been today–Here?”  With every word the pitch of my voice got higher.  If he noticed it, he didn’t make any mention of it.

He shrugged before tilting his head toward the ceiling, squinting an eye trying to recall today’s events, “Uneventful.  Bit slow actually.”

“That’s not very fun,” I stammered out.

He took his free hand and quickly touched the side of the tin pitcher with his fingertips.  His touch was fast, as he didn’t want to burn himself, but the touch was still delicate.  He seemed satisfied with the temperature the milk was at and took down a shot glass and touched a button.  With the button being pressed, the espresso beans were pressed into a hot liquid that silently fell into the glass beneath it.

Chuckling, he turned the lever a few times to the opposite side and the low hum faded away.

“So seeing you walk in has been the highlight,” He had said it so nonchalantly, an offhand comment, that made my heart stop but simultaneously spiked its rate.

“Oh––That’s nice.”

He peered up as he poured the milk in the cup and let out a single laugh, “Yeah, it is nice.”  He turned his attention back to the coffee cup with his tongue poking out the side of his mouth.  His eyes were set and eyebrows drawn together in concentration.  He set the coffee down and I looked down at what he had been concentrating so hard on; creating latte art.

And it was terrible.  

“Wow––that’s some good latte art.”  I was drawn back to his eyes.  His eyes that already held a soft gaze on mine.

“You really think so?”  

“Yeah,” I gulped, “It’s––Intricate.”

He shrugged as he turned around and washed out the frothing pitcher, “It’s just a simple heart.”

A heart.

It looked like a leaf.

The water shut off and I tore my gaze away from the artwork.  He took the white towel off his shoulder and started drying the pitcher, “No one’s ever complimented my work––Niall always tells me it’s shit.”

“Well, don’t listen to him,” I smiled brightly.  There was something about uplifting his confidence in his terrible latte art that made my heart flutter, “It’s great––really.”

With a sheepish smile, he put the pitcher on top of the espresso machine and threw the towel back over his shoulder.  Like the first time we talked, he leaned his elbows on the counter and rested his chin on his hands, “So, you from America?”

I shook my head, “No, I’m just really good at impersonating the accent.”  His eyes shot open wide and his eyebrows pulled together.  He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.  “Ha––Kidding––Ha.”  I bit my bottom lip in nervousness––Oh, God I probably sounded like a complete––

My inner-monologue was cut off by a musical laugh and a sight that I wanted ingrained into my memory for eternity.  Head tilted back, eyes screwed shut, and a laugh so loud that a few people in the coffee shop turned their heads.  One of his hands curled around his stomach and his other palm hit the counter.  

I couldn’t help but admire the sight.

“You––“  His laughter was still present and he pinched his thumb and index finger in the corner of his eyes to wipe away the tears that collected there.  His eyes were lively as he pointed an accusatory finger my way, “You almost had me for a second.”

I had to bite the inside of my cheek to contain my smile, “I’m from Maryland.”

“I have no idea where that is.”

It was my turn to laugh.  His bluntness about being clueless on American geography had been the highlight of my hectic day.  Once my laughter subsided, he was back to leaning his chin on hands looking at me with a glint of something in his eyes.  

“I’m not too far from Washington D.C.”

He snapped his fingers, “That’s the capital.”

“Smart boy.”

He had an all too prideful look on his face.  He makes me nervous.  But I pushed down the nerves and asked him where he was from, since he lacked the English accent.  Canada, he answered, but his family moved to London when he was ten because his mother was from here.  He still occasionally went back to Toronto to visit his grandparents, but that was the only thing that still tied him down to the city across the ocean.

We stood there for a minute more, not talking, just appreciating each other’s presence.  While all I wanted to was stand with him and get to know him more, I did have to do some work before my next class.  I fished out a five from my wallet and handed it to him, “For the coffee.”

Almost like he had forgotten I hadn’t paid, he slowly took the money from my hand, “Yeah––I––Just let me get you your change––Just––One second.”  It was amusing to not be the person stammering for once.  

He rung up the coffee and got the two pounds out.  He had the coins in his hand, expecting me to take the change from him.  Instead, I took his hand and curled his fingers back to envelope the coins in his hand, “Keep it.”

“But––“

I patted his hand with a smile, “It’s a tip for––for––being good company.”

“You think I’m good company?”  The smugness in his voice was clear as day.

Now, it was my turn to be a stammering mess, “I––Well, like––Yeah––It’s fun talking––“

I was cut off by a yelp and a jump from the boy in front of me.  He turned around and glared a the Irish boy who tried looking as innocent as possible as he twirled a towel.

“Did you just rat-tail me?!”’

“Back to work, Mendes.”

“Niall, you can’t tell me––“

“Work,” Niall pointed at the register before he turned to me and smiled, “Sorry for mister flirtatious over here,” he jabbed his thumb over to Mendes, “Works his magic too hard for a pretty little tip.”

A breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding in passed through my lips more audible than I thought.  And while I had nothing to really be upset over, part of me thought that he enjoyed my company as much as I enjoyed his––even though it’s only been two days.  

Mendes broke his glare and whipped his head around to face me with panic, “That’s not––No––McLane, He doesn’t––“

“I should probably start studying,”  I took my coffee from the counter and flashed Mendes a smile, “Thanks…again.”

I rounded the table and took a seat on the cushioned bench and pulled out my notebook to review my notes for my next class.  I had planned to do some actual work, but my mind was too much of a cluttered place to retain any information on the subject.  I flipped through pages mindlessly while taking a peak at the coffee cup.  I found myself studying the the chicken scratch writing of my name with a smiley face next to it more than my notes.

I went to take a sip of my latte, but when my lips were met with cool air instead of a hot caffeine, I frowned.  I looked inside the cup and noticed that nothing was left.  My frown deepened considering I still had half an hour before I had to leave to make it to class.  And I didn’t want to buy another coffee.  While leaving the coffee shop would’ve been the smart choice, there was something anchoring me down.  And I only had to look to my left to figure out who that anchor was.

Busy at the espresso machine making drink after drink, I could still feel him glance over every once in a while.  

And while I didn’t want to listen to what Niall had said, part of me knew that it could be the absolute truth.  He was charming, very attractive, and didn’t miss a beat in keeping the conversation flowing.  I’m near positive that there had to be other girls––or guys––who swooned over him just like I was doing just now and would come back just because he remembered their order.  He probably roped a lot of them in with his eyes.

“McLane?”

I turned my head to where my name was being called.  And I saw a head of curly brown hair pop up from the espresso machine.  I couldn’t control the smile that was creeping up, “Hm?”

He offered a smile back, “You just seemed lost in your head for a second,” observant, “Can I get you anything?”

I was thinking of declining the offer, saying that I had to get to class, but I couldn’t find it in myself to leave.

“Could I get a water?”  I lifted my cup up and shook it to show it was empty, “Tap is fine––“

“Yeah, I got you.”  He disappeared for a moment before popping right back up with a water bottle.  He reached around the side of the espresso machine and held it out for me.  I took it with a small thanks and unscrewed the top.

“So…” He turned his head around to check the line of customers, there were none, and Niall was off restocking supplies, “Working hard or hardly working?”

I closed my notebook with a breathy laugh, “Neither.”

He returned the laugh, “Same.”  It was silent between us and I debated on either reopening my notebook or leaving to get to class early.  But he cleared his throat, “I want to apologize,” I quirked an eyebrow his way, “about what Niall said––“ ah “––I––I’m not mister flirtatious, I don’t…always talk to everyone.”

“But you talk to me?”

“You’re special.”

He chose to say those words while I was in the middle of drinking water and I subsequently started coughing uncontrollably.  Special.  I brought a hand up to my chest to steady my coughing and to make sure that my heart was still beating.  I wished I hadn’t looked up, but I did, and I was met with concerned eyes that held a hint of amusement because he knew what he had said.

“You alright, McLane?”

I nodded and wiped my eyes, that stung from coughing so hard, with the sleeve of my sweater, “Water––It like––Down–––It went down the wrong pipe.”

He was trying his hardest to conceal the smirk as he took the towel off his shoulder and started to wipe the counter, “Sure?”

“Positive.”

“Alright.”

It was then that I saw the time on the clock behind the his head.  I should have left five minutes ago.  I would now have to speed walk back over to campus so I wasn’t late.  I started gathering my stuff and shoving them haphazardly in my bag.  Once I made sure I had everything, I stood up and almost made it past those brown eyes undetected as he was making a caffeinated drink for himself.

“Leaving so soon?”  His tone was playful, but his eyes held disappointment.

I nodded, “I have class soon and I’ll be late if I don’t leave,” I raised my phone to check the time, “now.”  I waved farewell and was about to spin on my heel out the door, but I heard him call out my name.

“See you soon?”

This time I didn’t hide the growing smile, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”  And with a smile from him being the last thing I saw, I hurried out the door and down the street.

Wednesday - January 16, 2019 

“And what are you drawing, Picasso?”

I slammed the pocket sized sketchbook closed, “Christ, don’t sneak up on me.” I glared at Ella as she took a seat in the chair next to mine and Jack took the seat across.  “How’d you know I was here?”

Jack tore open the bag his sandwich came in, “Because you’re always in Somerset.”

“And if you’re not here then you’re at Brightside.”  Ella chimed in.  

Brightside.  The name of the familiar coffee shop brought a smile to my face.  I had been there a handful of times in the past week, save for the weekend because I didn’t want to come off as a nuisance.  I had quite a few cordial conversations with Mendes as he worked behind the counter while I ordered coffee.  I wish we were able to talk more, but I had more work than anticipated so we just chatted whenever I went to the counter to order.

“Is that that coffee shop that’s like a fifteen minute walk from campus?”  Jack didn’t care that he spoke with his mouth full, I nodded, and he shrugged, “Never been, but I hear a lot of students like it there.”

“And our little Mick is one of them,”  Ella patted my head, “She’s fallen in love with the barista.  And he’s quite smitten with her.”  Jack tried to conceal his interest in the subject, but I had noticed he started to take his time eating his sandwich.

“That’s a lie––“

“Who is he?” Jack interjected.

Ella didn’t let me get a word in before she continued on with her rant, “Oh he’s so fit––I think he’s a figment of our imagination because he’s too beautiful––But when we ducked in from the rain he was all smiley at Mick and he remembered her name when she went to get a refill when he didn’t even remember mine!”  Ella threw her hands up, “How do you forget Ella but remember McLane.”  I shrugged and Ella continued, “It’s cute though because he says her name any chance he can––what can I get you McLane, how was your day McLane, another latte McLane––cute, but a little try hard.”

“He calls you McLane?”  Jack had never been this interested in the conversations Ella and I usually held at Somerset.  He would normally mindlessly scroll on his phone while he took a break for lunch. Even though we had only been in session for a few weeks, all three of us always seemed to find one another here so it had become an unofficial meeting spot.

“Yeah,” I offered an explanation, “I usually use my first name whenever I place an order so that way it doesn’t get messed up––I always get Nick instead of Mick and so I made it less complicated.”  I shrugged and stuck my hand into my salt and vinegar chips bag.

“What’s his name?”  Jack asked.

I avoided both of their looks as I picked up the bag of chips and read the back of the packaging.  I felt the embarrassment trickle in slowly––starting with my cheeks. I had only been there a few times and I kept telling myself that it wasn’t odd that I didn’t know his name.  Sure he knew mine, but that’s because they needed to keep track of the orders.

The silence was a good enough indication for their answer.

“Mick!”  Ella whisper-yelled, “How do you not know his name?! He’s all you talk about!”

“You talk about him?”  Jack’s comment was left for the wind to pick up.

“I know his last name!”  I whisper-yelled back, “And he’s not all I talk about.” I gave her a pointed glare.

Ella rolled her eyes, “His last name means nothing!”

I picked up the pencil I was drawing with earlier and twirled it between my fingers, “Well how do I get his name?  Just go up and ask him?”

Jack let out a snort and I threw a chip at him.

“Just…” Ella scratched her chin as she went further into her scheming mind, “Play it cool.”

“You do realize who you’re talking to.”

I kicked Jack’s shin under the table for his comment and he winced.

Ella also hit Jack on the backside of his head before fully facing me with a smile, “Next time he gives you a coffee, be like,” she cleared her throat and spoke with an American accent, “you know my name from all the times I’ve ordered coffee, it’s only fair if I know your name.”

“That was a horrific accent,” Jack caught Ella’s wrist before she could hit him again, “And Mick,” his eyes softened, as he smiled, I could see that his smile didn’t  quite reach his eyes, “Just be yourself and ask him, there’s no harm in that.”

I chewed the bottom of my lip, not believing Jack that being myself was the best option, “You really think?”

Jack nodded and this time when he smiled, it reached his eyes, “You’re special.”

I caught the large door right before it tumbled me back into the lecture building.  With two hands, I had to use all of my strength to push it open, which was draining since I felt like I had exhausted all of it sitting and taking notes for the last two hours.  I could have easily hopped on the tube and went back to the residence hall and fallen into a hibernation, but I had a paper to finish before tomorrow’s class and was in desperate need for a coffee.

So I walked fifteen minutes out of my way, passing multiple coffee shops that would’ve gotten the job done right, and opened the door to Brightside before even registering that I had made it to my little safe haven.  I was only able to take a few steps in before I was met with a line.  I took the time waiting in line to take in the surroundings of Brightside and noticed that it was ungodly busy and every table was overflowing with people.

With all of the people in front of me, I couldn’t see behind the counter.  I found myself silently hoping that Mendes was there or else I had made this journey and waited in line for nothing.  I could’ve stopped by a different coffee shop, one closer to campus or my residence hall, and started on my paper sooner.  He also very well could have had the day off.

Every time a person got out of line and I stepped closer to the front counter, my stomach twisted in nerves.  This was a bad idea, I thought to myself, a very bad idea.  And before I knew it, I was up at the counter.  And with all of the anticipation building up to the moment to see if he was here, it all seemed for nothing because behind the register was a girl who I had never seen before.

Her smile was tight, “What can I get for you?”  Her green eyes weren’t as welcoming as the amber ones I had been accustomed to seeing.  I stood there for a moment, wallowing in my disappointment before the girl cleared her throat.

“Right,” I quickly turned my head to the left to see if he was at the espresso machine, but I only saw Niall. “A latte, please.”

She nodded and pushed buttons on the iPad, “Size?”

“Excuse me?”

She picked her head up from the iPad and looked at me like I had three heads.  I was probably looking at her the same way.  Never had I been asked for a size, Mendes had always just pulled a yellow cup off from the stack next to the iPad and began writing my name and order on the side before I even made my way up to the register.

I looked behind her to the menu board, but I couldn’t see where they listed their sizes, “The uh––the yellow cup,” I hastily spoke as I noticed her posture stiffen in annoyance.  

“Name?”

“McLane.”

At the sound of my name, she picked her head up from writing my name on the cup and raised her eyebrows.  It was the only time she had looked remotely interested in me.  I nodded my head and she put the cup to the side.

“McLane.”  She repeated my name carefully as if it was an ancient incantation, “That’ll be three pounds.”  She spoke, but her voice sounded far off.  I felt her icy stare on me as I pulled out a five pound note from my bag and handed it over to her.  She seemed skeptical to take it at first, but then the iPad dinged and a drawer under the counter opened and she took out my change.

“Just wait for your name to be called,” Her voice was sharp and she was onto helping the next customer.

I waited off to the side with a small group of people who were impatiently waiting for their coffees.  I pulled out my phone and shifted my weight onto my left leg as I started to scroll.  My fingers were scrolling, but I wasn’t paying any mind to what was on Twitter.  All I could think of was that I wasted precious time walking over to Brightside and getting a coffee when the person I wanted to see wasn’t even here.  With every name Niall called, my order was getting closer to being done and then I could get out of here.

“McLane?”

I snapped my head up because it wasn’t the voice I expected.  I was waiting for Niall’s frantic Irish accent to call out my name as he was already starting on the next order in the line up.  But the person who spoke my name had a clear Canadian accent, that slightly stretched out the vowels in my name.  He spoke in a delicate whisper, as if he was a child seeing Santa Claus actually come down the chimney with a red sack of toys.

The knuckles around my phone turned white as I gripped it, afraid it would drop as fast as my heart fell in my chest as I saw those familiar brown eyes.

“Hey––Hi.”  I breathed out a sigh of relief and softly smiled, “Didn’t think you were in.”

He shook his head, wringing the white towel in front of him, “Just doing a bit of inventory.  Did you order?”  I slowly nodded and his smile widened as he rounded the counter looking at the drinks in the line up.  When he found the yellow cup with my name on it, he picked it up and placed it down next to the espresso machine.

He took the second puck that was in the machine and brought it over to the grinder.  With sudden movements next to him, Niall peered over his shoulder, “Been nice if you were up here twenty minutes ago.”

When the espresso beans were finished grinding he took the puck out of bumped Niall’s shoulder, “Just doing my duties.”

With a heavy release in his shoulders, I could tell Niall had let out a deep breath.  He either was releasing his stress from all of the coffee orders or irritated with his co-worker who was now making a drink next to him on the other side of the espresso machine.

I couldn’t hear much of their conversation, but I heard bits and pieces on Niall’s end.

We have other drinks in the que––That drink was at least four orders behind––Oh, I see now.

Niall peered over his shoulder and shot me a wink.  I lifted my hand to greet him with a wave.  Niall mumbled something under his breath that caused a nose wrinkle and glare from Mendes.  Once the espresso was in my yellow cup, he was now pouring the milk in with concentration, I gave myself a pep talk.  I was going to ask for his name.  I was doing it.  I could do it.  Just say what Ella suggested.

You know my name from all the times I’ve ordered coffee, it’s only fair if I know your name.

I repeated the phrase like I was memorizing something for a life or death situation.  You can do this, I encouraged myself, you know my name…it’s only fair that I know yours––

“McLane?”

My coffee was still in his hands and my legs carried me over to the counter on their own regard.  I was still lost in my head, feeling the nausea hit me like a freight train as I prepared to ask for his name.  I opened my mouth but it wasn’t the intended question I had been practicing in my head.

I took a deep breath, “You––You know that––I––Do you have a lid?”

He nodded, a skeptical look crossing over his face, he knew that wasn’t the question I wanted to ask, but he didn’t say anything.  He didn’t even know I was going to ask for his name, but he didn’t press on the subject of my rambling.  He came back with a black lid, securing the lid on the cup, “You’re not staying?”

There was a hint of despair in his tone, but like how he didn’t mention my rambling, I didn’t mention his dejected tone of voice.  

I nodded and circled my hands around the yellow cup,“I have to finish up a paper––needed a pick me up after class or else I would just sleep.”

With a short nod, he smiled, “Good luck with it.”

“Thanks, it’s––I don’t think it’ll be too hard––There’s only––I’m almost done––“

“Romeo,”  Niall called over his shoulder, “Could use some help.”

Noticing that the line of cups only got longer, and the girl at the register was sending daggers our direction, I picked up my coffee and took a sip, all confidence leaving my system to ask his name.

“I’ll––I’ll see you,”  I took another sip of my coffee as I took two steps backward and then started walking toward the door.

“Tomorrow?”

I turned my head to see him standing behind the counter with a purple cup in his hand.  His brown eyes filled with hope.  When I first arrived here and didn’t see him, I had planned on skipping coffee tomorrow, too embarrassed to come back.  But with his confirmation that he would be here, I threw all of my undecided plans out the window and nodded.

“Tomorrow.”

a/n: And here we have chapter 2! Exciting stuff! More of Mick rambling and she finally knows his ~last name…Mendes. 😏 It’ll only get more embarrassing for Mick here on out! Get ready! I think the next chapter might be my favorite slkdjflskdf

I hope you all enjoyed it! What was your favorite part? What’s your go to coffee order? What do you think will happen next? Have you ever fallen in love with your barista? I have. If you have any A’s to these Q’s pop over to my inbox! You all make me smile so much, thanks a million for the nice words of encouragement!!

Have a wonderful rest of your day/afternoon/evening!! 🤗💞🌻

[jaxsteamblog]

Epilogue

Click here to read the full fic on AO3

Despite the travel and the time since she had left, Thuy and all of her belongings were still covered in the thin yellow dirt of the Earth Kingdom steppe. It had been an unexpected disaster trying to work with the two city-kingdoms that claimed to own the land, yet had no intention of actually assisting with the horrific drought. Even with her being the Avatar, it had taken a lot of work to get everything settled.

Plus, when Suzu found out about the human trafficking, that took everything from bad to worse.

“I can’t wait to go home.” Jae-hwan said loudly as Tashi landed his sky bison. Jae-hwan was a student at Toph’s metalbending academy and often hung around Avatar Island when Thuy was in residence.

“I’ll be happy if I never see home again.” Suzu muttered as she shifted the bag over her shoulder.

“You know you can always live here.” Thuy stated. Suzu looked at her, clearly unamused.

“You don’t even live here all the time.” She replied dryly. Her twin sister dropped suddenly on her elbow, smiling with the same face.

“She just doesn’t want to have to go back to teaching. She craves adventure now.” Zula added. Suzu groaned and shoved her sister off.

“You mean teaching the pampered ladies of the Fire Nation elite isn’t fun?” Aktuk asked.

“Why would it ever be?” Suzu remarked. Tashi created a literal air mattress and they all jumped down. Thuy hefted Mister Whiskers into her arms before making the leap.

As she set him down, Aktuk waited for her while the others continued on toward the main house. Mister Whiskers set off with a huff and Thuy took Aktuk’s hand.

“I really appreciated your help.” She said. Aktuk looked away, but she could see him smile.

“Yeah, yeah, the non-Bender proved useful.” He replied.

“I’m serious! We were all way too reliant on our bending to see what was happening.” Thuy said and then squeezed his hand. “And if you don’t lay off the self-deprecation I’m going to tell Sokka.”

Aktuk’s eyes widened and Thuy laughed.

“Now come on, I want to go put on clean clothes.” She said.

They all entered the main house and scattered about the rooms. Thuy, for all her desperation, took a moment before heading to her room.

She had been worried when she was a teenager that she’d never find her companions. It was a peaceful time, and having companions was only really useful to have in times of crisis. But Katara had told her not to worry and that peace brought its own problems.

When Thuy moved on from earthbending to firebending with Zuko, Toph decided to stay in Republic City and open a school. It took awhile for her to find proper students; many who wanted to join simply wanted to work with the Avatar’s sifu, but none of them were actual metalbenders. Jae-hwan was one of the last students to be accepted into the school and Thuy had met him during one of her visits back to the island.

Suzu and Zula lived in the capital and had gone to the palace as a way of showing Thuy the courtly side of things.

Aktuk lived in the North Pole and she literally ran into him during a festival.

And Rohan had been mentoring Tashi.

Now in her twenties, Thuy was a fully realized Avatar with her companions, and the world promptly decided to start giving her trouble. There was a weird storm growing over the South Pole oasis and the Earth Kingdom was being plagued by a drought. There were plenty of signs that something spiritual was happening and Thuy was having strange dreams about two spirits.

She needed to talk to Katara and Zuko, because the whole thing revolved around a conflict of opposites.

“EEEE!” Zula shrieked in glee, still giving Thuy a minor heart attack. “Look at my little princess!”

Coming into the living room where Thuy still stood, Zula carried a small child on her hip. Izumi’s long hair had been tied up into a topknot, making her look very serious.

Izumi beamed as Zula came marching over to Thuy, who bowed to the princess.

“Hi Izumi.” Thuy said and leaned in to kiss Izumi’s cheek. Izumi pushed Thuy’s face away with her pudgy little hands that were disturbingly sticky.

“Kya is here also.” Izumi announced and Zula gasped loudly.

Izumi insisted that Kya was her twin, as they had been born on the same day, yet were cousins. This meant the entire family was here.

Dread settled on Thuy for some unknowable reason.

“Who took my daughter?” Zuko called out from another room, sounding more confused than panicked.

“Excuse me, she is my princess.” Zula yelled back. Zuko popped into the living room from the kitchen and smiled.

“She is in fact both my daughter and my princess.” He replied.

Izumi wriggled in Zula’s grasp and flapped her arms.

“I want Kya.” She said evenly. Zula sighed but let her down.

Zuko watched Izumi totter off and then looked at Zula’s forlorn face.

“I think Katara would love it if you could watch Lu Ten.” He said. Halfway through his sentence, Zula ran past him and into the kitchen. Thuy could hear more squealing and Zuko shook his head. Katara emerged a moment after, pushing her hair back into place.

“I swear, if Lu Ten insists on grabbing my braids, I might have to cut them off.” She remarked.

Zuko said something that Thuy couldn’t hear, as she focused on the wide black stripes that streaked through Katara’s hair. There were more, which meant something else had happened with the spirits.

“Thuy?” Katara asked gently. Thuy shook herself and looked at Katara.

“Yes?”

“Come here, let’s sit.”

They all moved to the circle of couches in the center of the room. Zuko leaned back leisurely, his arm over the back of the couch and his hand resting on Katara’s shoulder. Katara leaned forward, sitting more toward Thuy on the opposite couch.

“How was your mission?” Katara asked.

“That’s not what we need to be talking about.” Thuy replied. Katara and Zuko glanced at each other, and Katara frowned. Turning back to Thuy, she sighed.

“We both know that Tui and La aren’t the talkative type of Spirit. Yet with everything that’s been going on, we need to get more information.” She said.

“I’ve gone into the Spirit World!” Thuy said quickly. “No one will talk to me.”

“Thuy, you know we understand.” Zuko started but Thuy interrupted him.

“But it’s my job! I’m the bridge between the humans and the spirits. I’m supposed to be able to talk to them.” She said.

“Yes, but you need to calm down. Because something else has happened.” Katara said. Thuy swallowed hard.

“What?” She asked.

“The volcano on Roku’s island is,” Zuko hesitated. “Smoking.”

“It’s going to erupt?” Thuy exclaimed.

“We don’t know.” Katara said. “And Iroh thought, thinks.” She corrected herself quickly and glanced at Zuko, who sighed.

“My uncle thinks that the spirits are causing natural disasters. He went to go talk to them.” Zuko said, still looking at Katara. Shaking his head, he sat forward and looked at Thuy. “Iroh is missing.”

“Iroh is in the Spirit World?” Thuy asked softly.

“Thuy, you may have the hardest challenge of any Avatar yet. This is bigger than war, bigger than the elements. If the spirits come out of balance with our world, it may lead to our destruction.” Katara said.

“No pressure then.” Suzu said dryly.

Katara and Zuko turned to see the companions standing in the doorway to the kitchen. Zula softly bounced the bundle in her arms, while the rest looked stoic.

Turning back, Katara smiled at Thuy.

“You’ll do fine. And between the Ocean and the Fire Lord, I think we can handle the physical plane.” She said.

“Oh right, because who needs friends?” Sokka interjected, coming down the stairs with Suki behind him.

“I guess it’s time to save the world.” Thuy said.

Katara held Zuko’s hand and patted it.

“Again.” She added.

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[eirian-houpe]

Disparate Pathways - Chapter 18

Read previous chapters on AO3

Chapter 18 - Storybrooke

There was a distinct chill in the air as Gold stepped out of the sheriff’s office and he pulled up the collar of his overcoat before turning his steps in the direction of the diner. He hadn’t intended to call in, meaning instead to go straight to his shop, but what he’d read on Sheriff Swan’s computer - and had forwarded to his own Email before disconnecting - gave him cause to change his plans.

It was entirely possible that one or other of them was hurt, possibly both, and while he was tempted just to let Milnor fend for himself in that department, if the help he needed was for the governor’s daughter, he couldn’t allow lingering harm to come to the fairer sex. He never had, and he never would. Not so long as he had breath in his body. He sighed. In that respect he and the FBI agent were the same. Gallant, protective… paternal

Gold frowned, wondering where the last thought had come from. He was aware that Milnor had a child. A daughter if he recalled correctly, and that he had lost the girl’s mother not long after the child was born. As such, through all the time that the agent had been undercover he had been separated from his daughter, and that, he knew, was a pure and living hell. Add to that the nature of Duneach’s organization and he wondered at the man’s sanity. Not for nothing had he called Jefferson Milnor, ‘Hatter.’  He pulled out his phone, typed and sent a swift text message, and then called in to Granny’s Diner for a coffee to go.

‘To go’ wasn’t his style either, but as the saying went, needs must when the devil drives, and he had to get to the hospital before Whale got wind of his coming and made a quick escape through the back door. He and the doctor had a tumultuous relationship at best, and like many people in Storybrooke, Victor Whale was beholden to him. So it was that he decided not to enter the hospital by the front door, but via the ambulance bay. It was closer to Whales office.

Gold was well aware he had no business being in that part of the hospital, neither did he care. Storybrooke, for him, was pretty much an open door. Hard to lock doors against people that held the keys. Gold did. After many years, and much capital, there were few places, or people, he didn’t own in some way - either because of their rent, or because something of theirs graced one of the shelves of his pawn shop.

“A moment, Victor,” he said, holding up a gloved hand one finger raised, as the doctor was too slow to escape his notice. The other man stopped and turned slowly.

“Mister Gold, is everything all right?”

As an opening gambit, Gold had to admit that while it wasn’t terribly original, it was at least a logical one. He nodded to the doctor, not to answer his question, but to let the man know that he had ‘scored a point’ in their little mental tete-a-tete. There was no love lost.

“For the moment,” he answered, then, “but it may be that I will need to collect on that debt that you owe me, some time in the near future.”

“Oh?” Whale quirked an eyebrow in query.

Gold shrugged, “A house call. Perhaps a prescription, no questions asked.”

“Now look, Gold,” Whale began, but Gold raised a hand, palm out in a placatory gesture.

“The truth is, Doctor, I do not yet know if, nor the extent to which, I may require your assistance,” Gold looked around him, and then glanced in the direction he knew the parking lot to be. “I was simply giving you the courtesy of a ‘heads up.’”

“Gold…”

“After all, I’d hate anything to happen that might come between you and the,” Gold poured on the sarcasm, “lovely, little, red sports car of yours…”

“Now see here…!” Whale rose to the bait. “I’m paid up to date on that loan, there’s nothing you can do abo—”

“…say, the terms and conditions of the repayment of interest.”

“You’re a piece of work, Gold,” Whale spat.

“So I’m told,” he answered, unperturbed by the doctor’s outburst. “But you will be ready, should I call on you.”

Without another word, or waiting for the doctor’s acknowledgment of the inescapable fact he had just spoken, Gold turned, and left the hospital for his next port of call.

**

It was rather like retracing his steps, as the person he needed to speak to was the diner’s proprietress’ granddaughter, but he could think of no one else he could ask, and trust to their discretion. He and Miss Lucas had history, after all, as he had gotten her out of trouble on a number of occasions. Not out of the goodness of his heart, but because of his absolute insistence on seeing justice served. She hadn’t deserved the charges that had been brought against her, and he was well enough acquainted with the law to be able to defend her more than admirably. Besides, having done so meant that she, too, owed him a few favors, and he was ready to collect.

“What’s the matter, Gold,” Widow Lucas called out as he entered the diner. “Coffee not good enough for you this morning?”

Widow Lucas - Granny, as everyone in Storybrooke seemed to call her - had several bones of contention to pick with him, not the least of which was that she owed him a good deal of money for the rent on the Bed and Breakfast she ran in addition to the diner. He was inclined to be lenient with her in regards to her attitude, so long as she paid that rent on time. As such their relationship was very volatile.

“On the contrary, dearie,” he purred as he limped toward one of the booths toward the back of the diner. “It was so good that I felt I must come by for seconds.”

Widow Lucas snorted a huff, and turned up a white mug from the tray beside her and set about pouring steaming hot, black coffee into it, before setting it on the counter, and nodding at her granddaughter to bring it to him.

Ruby Lucas had a bright red extension tied into her hair, and judging from the amount of make-up that still lingered around her eyes, he ascertained that she had not gotten home from The Rabbit Hole with enough time to spare to change. He ignored the fact that her skirt was shorter than her apron, as this was quite usual for the rebellious young woman.

She managed to set his coffee down in front of him with only the faintest of thumps, and no spillage, for which he was grateful. He hated having to mop up the run before it spilled off of the uneven table and onto the pants of his suit.

“Anything to go with that?” Miss Lucas asked, folding her arms as she waited for his answer.

He offered a rare smile, rather akin to the kind a hyena gave before biting its prey’s throat. “Merely the pleasure of your company,” he said. “A moment of your time, if I may.”

“Can’t,” she snapped. “I’m working.”

“Oh, but I insist,” he said, just as smoothly, but with a slight edge to his voice, especially as he pointed at the bench opposite him and said, “Sit.”

She rolled her eyes in protest, but as instructed, slipped in to the booth’s other seat, and then once more crossed her arms over her chest.

“Well?” she asked, when Gold said nothing. He picked up his coffee cup and took a sip. “I haven’t got all day. I told you. I’m working.”

“So you did,” he said and sat back in his seat. “Forgive me, it’s a delicate matter, and I’m not sure how to approach the subject, to be honest.” He watched as Ruby frowned, giving her enough time to get lost in the intrigue of his words, before he said. “I need your assistance.”

She barked out a half laugh, until she evidently realized that he was serious, and then he saw her eyebrows shoot up toward her hair.

���Seriously?” she asked. “How can I possibly help you?”

“I’m expecting a visitor, a guest,” he began, adding with a dismissive wave of his hand, “a friend of a friend.”

“Okay?” she said slowly, and he could almost hear her wondering what that had to do with her.

“She’s coming here because she’s just walked out on a rather… difficult domestic situation,” he continued, watching the nuances of Ruby’s face as she put the pieces together. “Simply… walked away,” he finished.

It amused him, somewhat, to think of it in those terms, because he knew that there wasn’t so much ‘walking,’ in her get-away, as running and dodging bullets along the way. He knew the difference would irritate Jefferson immensely, and privately reveled in it.

“So, you’re saying she’s going to need stuff,” Ruby said.

“I’d rather like to have some things for her when she arrives, yes,” he said. “If you wouldn’t mind helping.”

“Well of course I don’t mind, but—”

Gold reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a thick envelope on the front of which he’d written all the information he’d managed to research about the governor’s daughter. It was bound not to be entirely accurate, but at least it would give Miss Lucas something to go on.

“I’ve taken the liberty of writing down her details, such as I have,” he interrupted, “And I think you’ll find there is sufficient money to cover whatever purchases you make.”

He slid the envelope across the table toward Ruby, and kept his face impassive as he watched her picked it up, her eyes widening slightly as she rifled through the contents with the flick of her thumb, before looking up at him.

“Whatever you don’t use,” he told her, “you may keep… to cover your expenses. In addition, I believe we can consider my fee for your last appearance in court… paid in full.”  He left barely a beat before adding. “Do we have a deal?”

“Wha— Yes, yes of course,” Ruby finally looked up from studying the envelope and its contents to tell him, “I can take care of it when I get off work today.”

“Excellent,” he nodded, and began to slide along the seat toward the exit of the booth.

“Should I bring it by the shop later?” she asked.

“I won’t be opening the shop today,” he said. “If it isn’t too much trouble, could you drop it by the house this evening?” He stood, steadying himself with his cane and preparing to go as she answered him in the affirmative. Then, as he took the first step he stopped, and looked back over his shoulder to catch Ruby’s eye. “And Miss Lucas? I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that discretion is of the utmost importance.”

**

Leroy could wait.

Gold spent some moments weighing up how his time would be better spent, and since Jefferson and his rescued hostage had been on the run for a over twelve hours, there was a matter more pressing to which Gold felt obliged to attend. It wasn’t that long of a drive to the cabin and regardless of the time that he arrived, Gold was sure that MacCalmain would be there waiting for him; no doubt putting in some handy-work around the place.

Before he left town, he checked in the glove compartment of the Cadillac for an essential item that he would need to give to his tall, loyal associate in case the inevitable happened sooner, rather than later. It was there. The whole deck was there, although he only needed the one card. That done, he picked up his dinner order from Marco’s and made his way out of town and onto the country road that led to the single track driveway to the cabin.

As he’d suspected, MacCalmain was there, with his truck, engaged in cutting back one of the nearby holly bushes that was encroaching on the windows at the side of the single storey structure. The man straightened as Gold drew to a halt, and replaced the secateurs into the tool roll that was resting on the lid of the nearby wood-box.

Gold offered him a smile as he approached the man. “Good of you to come,” he said.

In answer, MacCalmain pulled the cell phone from his pocket and pointed at it, and then at Gold.

“Yes, I sent you a text,” Gold confirmed. “I have… a job for you. Very important. Extremely delicate.”

“I’ll help,” MacCalmain signed. “What do you need.”

“There’s a family just outside of Boston,” Gold handed over a piece of paper, on it was printed an address, and the candid pictures of the family that didn’t even know they were being photographed. “This address,” he said as he handed them over. “I’m not really interested in the family, though I trust you’ll keep them safe if you can.”

MacCalmain shrugged, and Gold’s face hardened. Not in anger, but because he knew the other man’s shrug was not indifference, but practicality. If Gold was sending him out to watch over someone in the family then it likely meant that there was trouble, and the kind of trouble that followed Gold around was the kind of trouble that got people killed. MacCalmain knew that.

“The girl though,” Gold went on, remembering the babe in arms that had squalled all the way from Chicago O’hare to the mid-Atlantic where she finally fell asleep on he father’s chest, and remained asleep all through the landing in Glasgow. More though, he had remembered the haunted look in that father’s eyes, the way he desperately tried to give his daughter his all; his full attention. He had no doubt the man would give her his soul if he had to - and that was why Gold acted as he did. That father had freed his son, though had not necessarily saved him; a youth for whom Gold would, and almost had, given his own.

Bae, though unresponsive, still lived, and where there was life, there was hope.

“I want you to watch her, watch out for her,” Gold continued, pulling himself back from his introspection. “If anyone comes sniffing around; police, other law enforcement agencies,” he voice darkened, “anyone not law enforcement, don’t wait. She’s in danger, and you bring her to me.”

MacCalmain nodded, and picked up the tool roll, evidently meaning to set out right away, but then he frowned as Gold held out a single playing card in the man’s direction. Hesitantly he took it.

“I don’t want the girl terrified, or to think you mean her ill, so when you can - as soon as you can, you give her that card, do you understand? She’ll know what it means.”

MacCalmain nodded again, though shifted his doubt filled gaze down onto the playing card in his hand: the joker - The White Rabbit.

[lincolnonline]

a material world - self para

who?: lincoln clarington-smythe where?: wmhs / lima mall when?: monday, november 23rd about?: link completes his annual closet re-stock, just in time for gaga vs. madonna week. after all, he is a material girl.

Link had this day planned out for months. He had been counting down the days in his Lisa Frank calendar, waiting for the chance to march into the mall with his dads credit card in hand.

He had even gone as far as to ensure his outfit for the day was as lowkey as possible in order to gain more satisfaction from the new wardrobe, choosing an all-black ensemble and pairing it with a simple ( by Link’s standards ) belt with a few statement chains and some black boots.

The joy he felt that morning when his dad has offered to give Link his credit card and drop by the mall after class was unparalleled by anything save for the joy he felt when he was able to locate Swift the snake, going to down on a rat in the back of the school cafeteria. While Link knew his dads didn’t exactly get him, he had never felt judged by them either. They were aware that their son was a mix of their worst qualities and was a modern day homosexual Sharpay Evans and they had themselves to blame, there was no point in fighting or denying it.

Placing his books back into his locker following his last class of the day ( World Religions, total snooze-fest! ), Link couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face as the final bell of the day rung.

Quickly taking out his bag and closing the locker door behind him, Link felt a buzz from his back pocket. Fishing out his phone, he was greeted with a notification for a DM from some random sophomore at Dalton, reading; ‘u free tonite?? heard u were a good fuck lol’. With a displeased eye-roll, Link dug into his pocket once more, this time pulling out his headphones and pressing play on his ‘sex yeah!’ playlist. He was worth more than some one-off hook up with a guy who probably only heard about him through the Dalton Gay Grapevine.

Some boys kiss me, Some boys hug me, I think they're ok.

Making his way down the school hall, back-pack slung over his shoulder and the drum-machine  beats of his favorite Madonna song playing, Link walked passed the choir room, not even giving a look in the general direction of the Glee club. He had his mind focused on bigger things today, and sectionals took a big ole’ backseat. He had already given his amazing song-list suggestions, he had fulfilled his team-work quota for the week as far as Link was concerned.

If they don't give me proper credit I just walk away.

As he pushed open the front doors of the school, Link was greeted with the sight of his fire-red Audi, parked in its usual spot in the staff carpark that he had been able to finesse his way into getting via some nicely worded emails from his lawyer dads. Going to public school wasn’t a dream come true by any means, but he was enjoying the perks that being rich, sexy and talented gave him among a sea of people who were…not so rich, sexy or talented.

Clicking the button on his car keys, Link slid into the driver’s seat and pulled out his favorite pair of sunglasses from the glove compartment before putting the car into reverse and making his way to the.

They can beg and they can plead But they can't see the light.

Link marched up to the check-out, throwing down racks upon racks of clothes onto the counter, giving the woman working the register a smirk before flashing his credit card and handing it over. He was prepared to up the sales numbers for every store the Lima Mall had to offer, and he was doing it happily. Capitalism be damned.

'Cause the boy with the cold hard cash Is always Mister Right.

 As the woman scanned away and bagged up all the clothes, Link let his attention shift elsewhere, noting a group of teenage girls walking out of the change rooms at the back of the store, standing around and taking pictures. He recognized a few of the faces, they were from Crawford. Perfect.

“Hi, excuse me,” Link said with a faux warmth to the employee now attempting to fit a pair of shoes into a branded plastic shopping bag. “I was wondering if I could, ugh, how do I put this? Rent your change rooms for the next hour or so?”

The woman looked at Lincoln incredulously for a moment before Link cocked an eyebrow and looked back down at his credit card, making it clear he was more than happy to pay for her services.

“Hey ladies!” He called to the girls at the back, and they looked up, curious, before their eyes widening at the growing stack of bags in front of him. “Impromptu fashion show? What do you say?”

'Cause we are living in a material world And I am a material girl. You know that we are living in a material world And I am a material girl.

Dramatically whipping open the changing room curtain, revealing his first outfit, Link let himself fall into a few poses as a member of the group snapped a couple of photos per-his request.

“What next? Sexy teenage vampire or Bratz-Goes-Hollywood?” one of the girls enquired, holding up two hangers. He shrugged off the blazer and tossed it over to a girl in the group before pushing his sunglasses up onto his head and taking a hanger and turning back to the change rooms. “Ladies, the fangs are out tonight.”

Boys may come and boys may go And that's all right you see.

They went on like that for the allotted 45 minutes, taking pictures and blaring music from their phones in order to ‘feel the fantasy’ as Link put it. Looking at his phone gallery to check how a picture that had just been taken turned out, Link’s phone buzzed in his hand and he was greeted with a message from the boy who had DM’ed him earlier, reading; ‘u left me on read?? fuckin ugly ass bitch anyways u look like trash’.

Noticing Link’s sour expression, one of the girls looked up from her phone. “Who pissed in your Gucci? You okay?”

Shaking it off, Link gave a nod and tapped out of the message, picking up the last hanger. “I’m fine. The real question is will you be okay when I blow your fucking minds with this look?”

Experience has made me rich And now they're after me .

Link blew a kiss ( to the best his ability with how full his arms currently were ) towards the group of girls as they headed in opposite directions. “Snapchat me anytime babe!” He called out as they turned the corner and disappeared from view.

He headed down the escalator, feeling the eyes on him as he passed other customers. And how could he not? He looked and felt like a human disco ball, it was fucking fabulous.

As he headed out the doors and towards his awaiting car, Link froze and his smirk dropped, eyes wide. “Fuck, how am I gonna fit this shit in my car...”

'Cause everybody's living in a material world And I am a material girl!

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “John Wick” Part 3

Y/N left The Organization 3 years ago for the one reason strong enough to make her settle down: love. But after tragedy crushed her to pieces, she decided to leave The Joker and seek refuge with an old friend and mentor - John Wick. Needless to say The King of Gotham can’t accept his wife running away without a word, especially since he didn’t have a chance to tell her things she might want to hear.

Part 1��    Part 2

The Joker listens at the bedroom’s door, impatient to have a conversation with you. It seems you are engaged into a fervent phone call with Winston and figured he shouldn’t interrupt.

“Please, anything you can discover would be a great help! U-hum… U-hum… Thank you,” and you hang up, which queues your husband to walk into the room.

You completely ignore him, scrolling through the numerous text messages you sent to your connections; several are already answering back and hopefully you can get some news soon. The more people are involved into the project, the more chances to find Kase and untangle the mystery of what happened to him after he was removed from the car.

“You left me there,” The Joker sneaks in and closes the door behind him. “Luckily we had Wick with us so he gave me a ride.”

No reaction. He takes a deep breath, trying to get your awareness.

“I didn’t sleep with Evelyn; sex wasn’t the reason why I kept visiting her. I know how that asshole made it sound and he was totally out of line!”

You quickly glance at him, busy replying to Ares since you feel you’re going to explode soon.

“The only skill I was interested in is the fact that she is an excellent painter and a popular art smuggler, OK?” J raises his voice, sort of annoyed you neglect to participate into his monologue. “I did not cheat, alright?” he approaches his wife. “First of all: I’m VERY picky! Second of all: why would I want a woman everyone else had?! I don’t like used toys. Third: nobody’s been polishing my gun as you tastefully addressed the issue! I have one Queen and I married her!!”

A little bit of doubt in your eyes and he utilizes the opportunity.

“You said you saw me going to her house? I did! The Bowery King asked if it was for the last 6 months? Yeah, I did! You know why?!”

At least now The Joker got your attention: you play it cool but he guesses you’re torn apart by his confession.

Many unfortunate events crammed in lately and hating the man you love made life infinitely more unbearable.

“Why…?” you barely muster the strength to inquire and he sees it as a possibility to mend a few broken pieces; although you can hide your emotions well, J can still read between the lines.

Maybe that’s why he answers with another question:

“Do you realize there are just three Monet paintings in circulation on the black market in the entire world? You admire his work and it took a lot of effort and a substantial fortune to acquire The Water Lily Pond painting. Evelyn Black helped with the transaction, then I had her make some modifications to the original masterpiece.”

You keep staring at The King of Gotham, uncertain about the stuff being tossed your way: is he lying or telling the truth?... In your line of work translating feelings is a huge part of the job; ultimately you had the best mentor to teach you the ropes when you started with the organization: none other than the legendary Baba Yaga. Despite his reputation and to your own amazement, John was one of the few hitmen with integrity and perfectly mastered the aptitude of not being a jerk. Such a rare gem… And blissfully unaware of it himself.

On the opposite end, The Joker is a jerk and flawlessly acquainted with his own “captivating” personality that made you fall in love with him anyway.

Also, doesn’t appear to be deceitful for the moment.

And you despise yourself even more for wanting to believe him.

“What… modifications?...” you throw him a bone and J is definitely not going to pass on the alternative of explaining his actions.

“I wanted to surprise you so I took advantage of Miss Black’s capabilities in the art field; I had her add small images to the authentic canvas: an evolution of you being pregnant, the nine frames culminating with a tenth: the new mother holding our son. Similar to a timeline,” he emphasize and you look intrigued, which might be a positive sign. “Needless to say it was tedious, difficult work, especially because she had to apply special pigments you can’t find at every corner of the street. Apparently you can’t mix old paint with contemporary shades, thus I had to order aged, special colors from Italy, Spain and France. That’s why I went to her place so often: I had to supervise the long process and make sure it turns out astonishing. Then…” and The Joker pauses,”…Kase was gone and I didn’t know what to do with my gift: bring it home or not? Would you have loved it? Would it make you sadder? I continued to drive to Evelyn’s and glare at the stupid painting for hours, undecided on what to do…”

J watches you bite on your cheek, then straightens his shoulders as you utter the words:

“… … … You ruined a genuine Monet?”

Your spouse might be a smooth talker when needed, yet he’s not wasting his versatility on this statement:

“I didn’t ruin it; I made it better!”

Silence from both parties. A good or bad omen? Hard to decipher the riddle with two individuals tangled into a relationship that somehow worked despite countless peculiarities meant to keep them apart.

“I have to talk to Jonathan,” you finally mutter and The Joker steps in front of you.

“Talk to me!”

“Unless you know the exact location of the suitcase full of gold coins he’s been safekeeping for me, I really have to speak to him. Or do you want to hammer the whole basement searching for it?”

Y/N walks out of the bedroom and J lingers inside, evesdropping on the conversation happening downstairs. He can’t understand the chat, but you are probably notifying John about the details your husband left out.

Might as well join the party, therefore The Clown pops up in the living room with a plea impossible to refuse:

“Hey Wick, can I stay here? I don’t care if you say no, I’m not going to leave.”

Your friend crosses his arms on his chest, focusing on the random topic:

“How could I deny such a polite request? Of course you can stay Mister Joker; my house is your house.”

You’re watching the free show unamused; usually it would make you smile…now you lack the depth for such connotations.

“Don’t get smart with me, Wick!” J growls and Jonathan pushes for a tiny, unnecessary quarrel.

“I’m not; although generally speaking, I fancy considering myself a smart guy.”

The Joker opens his mouth and you’re not in the mood for whatever the heck they’re initiating:

“I’m going to pump, then after you dig out the suitcase I’ll take half to the Bowery King,” you announce your plans to them.

“You can do that and rest; I’ll deliver the coins,” John immediately offers. “I can stop by Aurelio’s car shop and ask for his collaboration: he has a lot of associates, doesn’t hurt to get him involved. You have plenty of gold.”

“I have two more suitcases in the Continental’s safe and two more at The Penthouse. It doesn’t matter if it’s all gone as long as I can find my son.”

“I know gold coins are preferred; don’t forget we have a lot of money too,” J reckons with spite.

Is he reminding you or Jonathan?...

*************

Your husband spent the last hour in the garden, talking and texting with a lot of people; needless to mention he’s capitalizing on his network also. Winston disclosed Stonneberg’s contract is still opened, meaning the son of a bitch is out there; you have to scoop him before anybody else does.

“Y/N…” The Joker tiptoes in your quarters. “I thought you were taking a nap,” he huffs when he sees you at the edge of the bed.

You glare at the vial on the nightstand, sharing your idea for a future you wish will come true:

“I didn’t have my medicine in two days; I won’t take it anymore because if we get Kase back… I will nurse him. It all goes in the milk and I want to be able to feed my baby… Do you think his little heart is still beating?...” you sniffle and J is currently debating on a clever response since his mind is blank; one could deduce messing up is encoded in his DNA, but on such a huge scale… well, it gives new interpretations to the term even for him.

The grieving woman seeking reassurance for their loss is trying to make sense of the pointless occurrences that lead to Kase being an innocent victim and The Joker can’t render clarification: he has no clue why he asked her to marry him and why she said yes, it’s not that he’s husband material or a family man. Perhaps Y/N thought he could be… just enough to get by, that’s why she accepted his proposal.

Most women would have cringed at the concept. Most women. Not Y/N.

Most women would have flinched at the notion of having his baby. Most women. Not his wife.

Above all, she trusted J with their son and he treated the three weeks old like a trinket: didn’t drive him home because he had an important meeting, didn’t bother to assign escorting cars nor extra security. The King of Gotham took his child’s safety lightly and it definitely had severe consequences. Too late now to fix past mistakes... but he can attempt.

“You’ll be able to nurse him, OK?” he sits by you and hands over his cell. “Can you enter your phone number in here? Or am I not allowed to have the present digits?”

You’re hesitant and he slides the screen while you hold the gadget.

“Lemme help you,” The Joker sarcastically mumbles. “It should be the first on my list, right where the old number you canceled was.”

You exhale and fulfill his demand out of pure frustration when he squeezes in a second innocent petition.

“Chose my avatar.”

You grunt at his rubbish, scrolling through his folders for a picture anyway; J hopes the largest file will get your attention and that’s the point. How could Y/N miss it?!

Entitled “Baby”, the humongous cluster of pics contains 5,723 items. You open it quite absorbed by its size; what’s more puzzling is the collection depicting Kase’s ultrasounds, hundreds of frames with you being pregnant taken without you knowing: there’s a few when your ankles were so swollen you had to sleep with your feet up on 4 pillows, others with you munching on strange food you craved, more with you in the shower focused on your bump, a decent amount of couple selfies when you were sleeping and J had to immortalize the moment without waking you up and approximately 1,500 images of the newborn.

“You didn’t gross me out when you were pregnant,” The Joker reminds a teary Y/N. “Not sure why you would believe such aberration...” he pulls you on his knees and yanks the phone away, tossing it on the nightstand. “I would also like to underline I didn’t have an affair with Miss Black, alright?”

J lifts your chin up, forcing to look at him.

“Let’s put it this way: why would I fuck around with another woman when I have a wife at home that wants to kill me on a regular basis, hm? Where would the fun be? I mean, she didn’t pull the trigger yet but it’s exciting to hope she might. You know me: I’m a sucker for thrills!”

“Do I?”

“Huh?” J steals a kiss and you frown at his sleekness.

“Know you?”

“Yeah,” the green haired Clown acts composed while in fact his feathers are ruffled. Before you catch onto it he has to ultimately admit: “I’m sorry I didn’t drive the car… I should have…”

The Joker holds in his breath when your arms go around his neck very tight.

“I’m suffocating…” he grumbles. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to hug me or choke me to death,” J keeps on caressing your hair, prepared to block your attack in case you’re actually in killing mode.

This is the excitement he was speaking about: with you, one could never know until it’s a done deal.

“I bumped into Magnus at the Continental,” you give him a bit of space to inhale much needed air and The Joker is surprised at your revelation. “I had no idea about his scheme, otherwise I would have skinned him alive right on the hotel grounds! I wouldn’t have cared about the consequences!”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” J cuts you off and he can tell you’re getting mad; maybe you think he doesn’t give a damn but the reason is simple. “You would’ve been declared excommunicado for murder on neutral ground and I don’t want my wife to be the target of such punishment from the company she so proudly retired from. I need my partner!”

The King of Gotham touches your forehead with his as you whisper:

“I hate you!”

“Mmm, regarding this true love affirmation, I’m gonna need you to take a break from detesting me until we have Kase, then you can despise me full throttle again. Deal?” he extends the palm of his hand and you reluctantly shake it, not realizing you’re reacting to his nonsense. “Is that a smile?” J returns the favor with one of his creepy silver grins.

“No.”

“Liar,” he pecks your lips and can’t explain the weird feeling in his heart when you kiss him back.

*************

Jonathan enters the house and becomes suspicious after a few minutes: too much silence.

Omg! Did you and The Joker engaged into a brawling that ended up badly? Did you end each other?!

John frantically runs to the garage, nervous to see your car and J’s are still parked inside. Shit!

“Y/N?” he shouts, concerned about your fate; The Joker’s… irrelevant. Nobody in the garden, patio is empty also. Downstairs is deserted thus he rushes upstairs to your room. The door is not completely shut and he slowly pushes it, knocking.

“Y/N? Can I come in?”

The first thing he notices are clothes scattered on the floor, then he halts his movement at the sight of Y/N and her husband dozing off on the bed sideways: the naked bodies are covered with a blanket, but he can tell you’re snuggled in J’s arms.

Jonathan steps backwards, guilty of invading his guests’ privacy; he certainly didn’t expect to intrude in such a manner and softly closes the door, grateful it’s not what he feared.  

You and The Joker are so worn out the sound of your phones vibrating on the nightstand doesn’t wake you from the deep sleep. Your numerous contacts keep replying back to the text messages, the most important one showing up on his cell: one of the people J reached to is Evelyn Black and the two sentence conversation lights up the screen.

“Let me know if you see Stonnenberg.”

“He’s here.”

 Also read: MASTERLIST

You can follow me on Ao3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho.

[makeste]

a BnHA playlist/fanmix thing

@psqqa so I finally put together a list of some of my BnHA playlist tracks! this is by no means comprehensive because I have literally half a dozen different playlists with different themes (e.g. “instrumentals”, “BakuDeku”, “songs that either remind me of Kacchan or that he would work out to”, “angsty apocalyptic final battle”, and so forth) and omg it’s a lot. but this is my most inclusive playlist, which consists of general character theme songs for most of class 1-A, the League of Villains, and a few others. my taste in music generally leans towards alternative/indie/rock/grunge, but it can kind of go all over the place. so the genres may vary here and there, especially since I opted to go with whichever song I felt fit the character best regardless of how well the tracks all blended together musically.

also I have a bakudeku bias but THAT’S NOT EXACTLY BREAKING NEWS what can I say. and this is actually me holding back lol but oh well.

Deku - Rise (Katy Perry) - “makeste did you really just kick off your BnHA playlist with a Katy Perry song” yeah I did! because!! I won’t just survive/oh you will see me thrive/can’t write my story/I’m beyond the archetype. like, this song was made for anime protagonists. oh ye of little faith/don’t doubt it, don’t doubt it/victory is in my veins/I know it, I know it. this kid just doesn’t give up. this is no mistake, no accident/when you think the final nail is in, think again/don’t be surprised/I will still rise.

bonus: Blood (Archis) - this song is fucking gorgeous both musically and lyrically. don’t let them win/don’t let them get/under your skin, into your head/they’re full of it/you’re full of life/you’ll prove them right if you’re giving up/so let’s go for blood. it really is fucked up how dismissive BnHA society is of anyone who’s quirkless. it’s so stupid too, because the majority of quirks aren’t even all that great. “look at me I can make DSLR lenses pop out of my body!” lol fucking great. so obviously superior to normal people who have to take pictures with actual cameras like fucking scrubs. anyway, so Deku was written off from a young age as helpless, defective, and deficient, all because he lacked a quirk. so it’s been so fucking great to watch him finally prove them all wrong. (...by getting a quirk. lol. but STILL.) well it sure took a while to turn it around/but I never gave up on me.

Bakugou - We Will Rock You (VonLichten mix) (Queen) - I like this version of the song because it adds a bit of an extra oomph and it’s a little bit fiercer. anyways, this has been my Bakugou theme song since day one, and what I love about it is that each verse works for a different stage of his ~journey~. buddy you’re a boy/make a big noise/playing in the street/gonna be a big man someday -- this is Katsuki as a fearless young child, with hints at the growing chip on his shoulder (kicking your can all over the place). and then the second verse is him a little older, starting out at UA -- buddy you’re a young man/hard man/shouting in the street/gonna take on the world someday -- and proclaiming to the world that he’ll be number one. and lastly we have the final verse, with its line gonna make you some peace someday, which I know is meant in a make-peace-with-things-before-the-end kind of way, but in a BnHA context you can totally tweak it to be a reference to the man he’s aspiring to be. gonna make you some peace, because he’s gonna be greater than the Symbol of Peace himself someday.

bonus: Defy You (The Offspring) - the wind blows/I’ll lean into the wind/my anger grows/I’ll use it to win/the more you say/the more I defy you/so get out of my way. perfect song for a boy who cannot and will not be stopped. you cannot stop us/you cannot bring us down/never give up/we’ll go on and on. or, in his words: “I will win... that’s what heroes do.”

All Might - Legends Never Die (League of Legends OST) - listen I have never played League of Legends lol, but ever since I heard this song in a Marvel edit, this has been the All Might song for me. you could probably just watch the Kamino battle on mute with this song in the background and everything would fit. legends never die/when the world is calling you/can you hear them screaming out your name?/legends never die/they become a part of you/every time you bleed for reaching greatness/relentless, you survive. the lyrics basically speak for themselves. we stan a champion.

Aizawa - I’ll Make a Man Out of You (Mulan OST) - y’all I went through so many songs looking for something that summarized Aizawa’s tiredness/doneness-with-life while also alluding to his mentor side, and then suddenly BAM, it hit me. anyways so yeah. you’re the saddest bunch I ever met/but you can bet before we’re through/mister I’ll make a man out of you. also just try to listen to the “say goodbye to those who knew me/boy was I a fool in school for cutting gym/THIS GUY’S GOT ‘EM SCARED TO DEATH” part without picturing 1-A bitching about their scruffy teacher overlord whom they secretly love.

bonus: I’m So Tired (Fugazi) - if you’re looking for something more musically cohesive with the rest of this playlist in general, as opposed to SUDDEN DISNEY SONG OUT OF NOWHERE, this may be a bit more up your alley lol. I’m so tired sheep are counting me/no more struggle, no more energy/no more patience/and you can write that down/it’s all too crazy and I’m not sticking round. anyways Aizawa needs a nap.

Todoroki - Alive (Sia) - I grew up overnight/I played alone, I played on my own/I survived/I wanted everything I never had/like the love that comes with life/I wore envy and I hated it/but I survived. guys this little candy cane boy has been through some shit. but he hung in there and now he is thriving. I’m still breathing/I’m alive.

Ochako - You Gotta Be (Des’ree) - because she’s a badass. you gotta be bad, you gotta be bold, you gotta be wiser/you gotta be hard, you gotta be tough, you gotta be stronger/you gotta be cool, you gotta be calm, you gotta stay together. anyways I sure would like Ochako to get the spotlight in an arc again one of these days. she’s the best.

Iida - Never Die (FNDTY) - it was actually pretty hard to find a song that fit Iida’s unique forty-year-old man personality since my musical tastes usually run towards moody shit and he’s pretty much the opposite of that lol. but I think the tempo of this song fits his quirk, at least, and it makes me smile, which he does also. you can run/you can fly/you can never die.

Kirishima - Guts Over Fear ft. Sia (Eminem)  - so this is a song all about overcoming your insecurities and finding the courage within yourself. I freaking love how the pre-chorus I was afraid to make a single sound/afraid I would never find a way out builds up and transitions into so here I am and I will not run/guts over fear. I’m so proud of Kiri you guys.

Momo - You Are Young (Keane) - another song about getting the better of your personal doubts and demons! hey now, don’t be scared, baby, don’t be scared at all/of all the things you don’t know/you’ve got time to realize. Momo has so much potential and she’s going to be such an incredible hero one day. now that she’s gaining more confidence the sky is pretty much the limit for her. you’ve got time/you’ve got to try/to bring some good into this world/cause you are young.

Mina - Safe and Sound (Capital Cities) - oh hey it’s the most upbeat song in the world, for the world’s most cheerful and optimistic and endlessly delightful person. I could fill your cup/you know my river won’t evaporate/this world we still appreciate/you could be my luck/even in a hurricane of frowns/I know that we’ll be safe and sound.

Kaminari - Thunderstruck (AC/DC) - okay yeah maybe I didn’t try too hard on this one lol. BUT IF THE SHOE FITS and honestly, it does. title aside, I think this song fits Kaminari musically too. it’s badass and it puts a smile on your face. went through to Texas/yeah Texas/and we had some fun/we met some girls/some dancers who gave a good time/broke all the rules/played all the fools. and then, of course, the chorus. you’ve been thunderstruck.

Jirou - Dream On (Aerosmith) - you know I had to go with a rock song for Jirou, so might as well go with a classic that’s all about (a) loving music (sing with me, sing for the year/sing for the laughter, sing for the tear) and (b) shooting for your dreams. dream on, dream on/dream until your dreams come true.

Tokoyami - Dark Necessities (Red Hot Chili Peppers) - I could have possibly gone with something a bit more goth for Toko as opposed to the Chilis, but the lyrics just fit so well though. you don’t know my mind/you don’t know my kind/dark necessities are part of my design/tell the world that I’m falling from the sky/dark necessities are part of my design/do you want this love of mine?/darkness helps us all to shine. Tokoyami doesn’t get enough respect for being a teenage edgelord without being a cringey mess. he’s setting such a good example for others.

so that’s pretty much it for my 1-A songs, but here are some bonus BakuDeku songs because I am obsessed

Muddy Waters (LP) - this is my theme for Deku VS Kacchan 2. goddamn Katsuki is such a hot fucking mess during this fight. and he’s hurting so much, and he’s reaching out to the only person he knows to reach out to in the only way he knows how. I will ask you for mercy/I will come to you blind/what you’ll see is the worst me/I’m not the last of my kind/in the muddy water we’re falling/in the muddy water we’re crawling. this song brings that good angst you guys. this is a relationship that has been through the wringer, and two boys who have basically no idea what they are doing, just kind of stumbling along. it is not clear why we choose the fire pathway/where we end is not the way that we had planned/all the spirits gathered round like it’s our last day/to get across you know we’ll have to raise the sand. anyways these kids chose the highest possible difficulty level for their path forward, but they’re doing it though. together, y’all.

Admiration (Incubus) - because Izuku is frankly infatuated and doesn’t even try to hide it. you’re an unfenced fire/over walls we’ve trampled/it’s you I admire/my living example. “an amazing person who was even closer to me than All Might.” he’s so open in his respect and awe for practically everything Kacchan does. just staring at him in starry-eyed wonder. and this part of their dynamic has always been so compelling to me -- how unconditional it is on Izuku’s part. that is some fiercely strong love there on his part that it can survive all the bullshit Kacchan heaps onto it, and all his best attempts to snuff it out. he just latched on and wouldn’t let go. anyways it resulted in something extremely unhealthy for quite a while, but it’s turning around now and being reciprocated, even if Kacchan’s version is prickly and tentative. don’t get ahead of me/could we just this once see eye to eye?

Ordinary Love (U2) - I can’t fight you anymore/it’s you I’m fighting for/the sea throws rocks together/but time leaves us polished stones. I fucking love that metaphor, though. yeah, just give them time. they’re gonna figure this all out one day.

and have a bonus theme song for class 1-A in general before we move on

Charlie Brown (Coldplay) - something about this song just embodies that restive, fidgety energy of youth to me. all the boys, all the girls/all that matters in the world/all the boys, all the girls/all the madness that occurs/all the highs, all the lows/as the room a-spinning goes/we’ll run riot/we’ll be glowing in the dark. there’s like a disorderly, disheveled beauty to this. say what you will about Coldplay, but some of their songs are like the musical equivalent of a rainbow.

anyways so now I’m gonna segue into some songs for a few of the season 4 characters. starting with...

Nighteye - While I’m Still Here (Nine Inch Nails) - ticking time is running out/yesterday I found out the world was ending. I still can’t get over how psychologically devastating Nighteye’s quirk is. it’s basically just Major Bummer: The Quirk. this season is really going to fuck me up emotionally isn’t it. a little more/every day/falls apart and/slips away/I don’t mind/I’m okay/wish it didn’t have to end this way. fucking hell. guess I better brace myself for some solid gut punches to the soul.

Eri - Rabbit Heart (Raise It Up) (Florence + the Machine) - nothing to see here, just a little girl being treated as nothing more than a human bloodbank, and told that her quirk is nothing but a curse even as her abuser hoards it and uses it to wage a war. this is a gift, it comes with a price/who is the lamb and who is the knife?/Midas is king and he holds me so tight/and turns me to gold in the sunlight. but I also picked this song for Eri because of the way the POV slowly gathers up their courage and tries to fight back. I wish that I could just be brave/I must become a lion-hearted girl/ready for a fight/before I make the final sacrifice. excuse me I need to go hug Eri.

Mirio - Carry On (fun.) - okay so it was kind of hard to pick a song for Mirio, I think maybe I was overthinking it. anyways I ended up going with something hopeful to try and embody his endless, determined optimism. this song has kind of a quiet courage that builds up as it goes on. my favorite part is the second bridge: cause we are/we are shining stars/we are invincible/we are who we are/on our darkest day/when we’re miles away/so we’ll come/we will find our way home.

bonus: Mirio and Tamaki - Kids (Acoustic) (OneRepublic) - back when we were kids/swore we would never die/you and me were kids/swear that we’ll never die. lol at least we have one healthy childhood friendship to stan in this series.

and now on to THE VILLAINS, yay. this is probably the most musically cohesive section of this playlist, since VILLAINS!! means I can go with an overall darker ambiance.

All for One - Sympathy for the Devil (Neptunes Remix) (Rolling Stones) - didn’t even have to think about this one. please allow me to introduce myself/I’m a man of wealth and taste/I’ve been around for a long, long year/stole many a man’s soul and faith. this is the gentleman villain song and a perfect fit IMO.

Tomura - Pet (A Perfect Circle) - or really, this is more “AFO and Tenko”, I guess. manipulating a traumatized child into hating the world and raising him to become a killer. pay no mind to what other voices say/they don’t care about you like I do/safe from pain and truth and choice and other poison devils/see, they don’t give a fuck about you like I do/just stay with me/safe and ignorant. this is one of those songs where literally the entire song fits both lyrically and musically. just perfect. I’ll be the one to protect you from your enemies and your choices, son/they’re one and the same/I must isolate you/isolate and save you from yourself. like it’s a struggle here not to quote the entire song. ...eh, one more. swinging to the rhythm of the new world order and/counting bodies like sheep to the rhythm of the war drums.

bonus: Flesh and Bone (Black Math) - Tenko angst. god that last arc was so fucking good. I walk alone, beside myself/nowhere to go/this bleeding heart that’s in my hands/I fell apart. stupid manga with its darkly compelling villain character arcs.

Dabi - Shadow on the Sun (Audioslave) - aaaangst lol. and I can tell you why/people go insane/I can show you how/you could do the same. p.s. Dabi you still owe me a flashback! also “shadow on the sun” is a pretty good metaphor for his relationship with Endeavor. fire quirks make for such great metaphor potential.

Toga - Bones (MS MR) - you know I really have no idea why this song pings me so hard for Toga lol. but whatever, it is what it is. marinate in misery/like a girl of only 17/man-made madness/and the romance of sadness.

Twice - Misfits (Third Eye Blind) - my people are the misfits/the ones that don’t fit in. this is another song that clicked pretty naturally without requiring much thought on my part. well those are the ones for me/yeah those are the ones for me/the misfits, the freaks, the enemy/you and me.

Spinner - Normal Person (Arcade Fire) - is anything as strange as a normal person?/is anyone as cruel as a normal person/waiting after school for you/they want to know if you/if you’re normal too/well are you? this song is such a burn on quirk society and all of its issues. I can’t tell if I’m a normal person, it’s true/I think I’m cool enough/but am I cruel enough? I especially love the ending -- if that’s what’s normal now/I don’t want to know.

and a bonus League of Villains song:

Everybody Wants to Rule the World (Tears for Fears cover) (Lorde) - just change “rule” to “destroy” I guess lol. help me make the most of freedom/and of pleasure/nothing ever lasts forever/everybody wants to rule the world. god I love this cover. this is one of those songs I’ll play over and over again anyway so it’s nice to have a good excuse what with the direction this new arc appears to be headed in.

and lastly, a couple of Hawks and Endeavor songs because they don’t really fit in any other section and I didn’t really plan out this post!

Hawks - Weapon (Matthew Good) - just a really nice, angsty theme for the man who goes too fast, off on his spy mission of doom. careful, you be careful/this is where the world drops off. plus some bonus angst about how he’s trapped in this role that he never wanted to be in. and you give in/and you give out for it/ain’t it so weird/how it makes you a weapon.

Endeavor - Find My Way (Nine Inch Nails) - lord my path has gone astray/I’m just trying to find my way/wandered here from far away/I’m just trying to find my way/you were never meant to see/all those things inside of me/now that you have gone away/I’m just trying to find my way. I don’t really need to comment more on this, do I? also, the part where Trent Reznor’s voice drops to a whisper and says please/I never meant for this, though. omg. Endeavor you’re such a bitch and you had all of this coming, but even so. oof.

and that’s pretty much it! she said, like this post wasn’t long af as it is lol. anyway so there are... 34 songs here, lol. I should probably try and put it all into a youtube playlist or something for convenience. I’ll edit once I’ve done that.

edit: playlist!

[hylocerea]

A Light in the Black

((This piece is not written from Hylo's perspective. This is intentional. The next will be.))

"Mister Keldronai?"

The false-human glanced up from his ledger, peering over the half-moon lenses he pretended to need. "Yes, Melinda? Is something wrong?"

The woman was more nervous than usual, a curious change of demeanour. Her sureness was rarely affected by anything she was familiar with, so this had to mean something new. And new meant exciting to a creature like him.

"Not… wrong, exactly, no. There's just… a new customer who we're not sure how to handle."

He raised an eyebrow.

"It's a… draenei. One of the, ah, shiny ones. With the gold."

A Lightforged? Oh ho ho! Exciting indeed! He stood, closing his accounts with a smile. "Please let them know I will be right out to discuss business personally."

"Of course, sir. Thank you."

As she relatched the door behind her, he laughed softly, removing the wire frames from his face and setting them stop the ledger. He felt a deep excitement at this; draenei were exceeding rare among his clientele already. One of their Lightforged paragons was completely unexpected.

He took a moment to review his illusion in the mirror before exiting his office. Everything appeared in order, the pale skin of humanity draped over his form with practiced precision. He'd taken to streaking the black hair he'd been using for years with more grey, to better match his appearance as a man in the later stages of middle age. Everything seemed to be in order, though he had a moment of uncertainty. The Lightforged were special, he knew, theoretically imbued with some touch of the Light by way of a ritual involving the naaru. He wondered if this one would be able to see through him.

Keldronai knew how reckless it was to meet in a public space with someone potentially able to reveal him. That was part of the thrill. What may not have been apparent was how many backup plans he had in place or how easy it would be to explain such a thing away to the people being treated at his facility. The retreat catered to those suffering from nightmares and distorted perceptions; anyone declaring him a monster from beyond was clearly in the right place!

Still… perhaps some extra caution was in order. He kept himself on the razor's edge, assured by the immediate availability of his strength should it be required. The strain doing so placed on his mental faculties was not comfortable, but he could live with it for the next hour or so without too much trouble.

The "man" entered the resort's main lobby smiling, a picture of politely solicitous warmth. His pressed white shirt contrasted perfectly with the straight black of trousers, vest, and necktie. Those were the same shade as his glossy, shoulder-length hair, though without the same amount of grey streaking. "Welcome," he greeted the caprine woman. "I'm Keldronai -- Kel, if you like -- and I would be happy to talk to you about what you seek and what we can offer you."

The draenei eyed him with suspicion, though probably no more than she would anyone else. Her eyes were faintly glowing -- gold, of course -- and delicately angled in a face seemingly carved from living marble. She was beautiful in a distant, alien fashion, though the sternness showing through via posture and expression ensured one knew the beauty was purely aesthetic. There was no air of sensuality to be found.

"I am told," she said with little accent and no trace of uncertainty, "that you deal in dreams. That you are able to… affect… what one sees in their sleep. Or perhaps what one does not see. Is this true?"

He considered the implications before responding, trying to decide what she was asking. "It is true, depending on what you take that to mean. We offer an array of services, many of which can help resolve issues with poor sleep or troublesome dreams." He smiled a tiger's smile. "I would be happy to discuss your case in specific and draw up a recommended course of treatment."

Those glowing eyes narrowed slightly as she weighed his statement against some inscrutable metric. He wondered what he looked like through those eyes, even more curious if perhaps he could find out by stepping into her dreams. The taste of the unknown was so close, he was near to salivating.

"I would be willing to speak in confidence, yes. Privately, of course, and with assurances that it will remain so." There was a hesitation as she stopped herself from saying something more. He waited until her lips settled once again into a firm line so as not to interrupt.

With one nod to the horned woman and another to Melinda at the front desk, he gestured toward the door by which he'd entered. "Please join me in my office then," he entreated, perfectly tuned to a human image of kindly invitation.

Another hesitation preceded the acquiescent nod. Kel pondered the possibilities as he led the way through several short corridors. She is more afraid of being here than not. Her worry is about more than the content of her dreams. She has much to lose, though it is more personal than tangible. He opened the door to his office, allowing her to step inside first.

In the interests of efficiency and keeping up appearances, the space was the natural union of comfortable furnishings and a well-maintained library. The books on the shelves were all real, often treatises on Azerothian cultures and beliefs; the papers neatly arranged on the desk exactly what one would expect from a man administering a health and wellness retreat outside a capital city. He offered the draenei a seat in one of the leather armchairs opposite the desk, waiting for her to arrange herself before easing into the other.

"So," he began, "something has been bothering you lately. To start, please tell me as much as you are comfortable with revealing. The more complete a picture, the easier it is for me to suggest a path to where you wish to be."

He leaned back then, folding hands in his lap to wait. Patience was more than a virtue in this line of work, it was a necessity. Watching others struggle with where to begin their stories also offered the opportunity to observe them, build a better mental picture of the client. Keeping his excitement restrained was honestly the most difficult part.

"I… have had recurring dreams." The woman spoke slowly, frowning at the floor between them. "I am not often a dreamer, but I am even less often one who dreams of… bad things. Unpleasantness. Yet for some time now, I have had many instances of dark dreams, amongst which I have had the same one far too many times."

"I see," he said softly, watching the way the warm lamplight seemed magnified by proximity to her braided white-gold hair. A curious phenomenon, seemingly bereft of any active spellcraft on her part. "Repeated dreams -- or nightmares, the Common word for those dreams which are deeply unsettling or frightening -- are often believed to have special meaning. Sometimes it is a matter of great importance and worry, but there are many cases where there is a hint of prophecy to them."

He paused, shifting his posture to lean slightly forward. An expression of interest while also politely conspiratorial. "I have only a few experiences with the dreams of draenei, but those have suggested a certain gift for… potent imaginings. Perhaps a hint at how the great Velen came to be a prophet, even. As you are the first Lightforged to visit, I cannot say with certainty your experiences are the same, but I am inclined towards believing they are only more likely to have great importance given what I know of your people."

Her gaze slowly raised to meet his, the corners of her mouth straining to avoid pulling back into a frown. "That is not as comforting as you may think. I would much prefer the opposite."

Now that was interesting. Dreams of horror from a naaru-tainted creature? Dreams so unsettling she was willing to seek out help from beyond her people? What a delicious project this could be!

"In your position, I imagine I would feel much the same." He used one of his friendlier smiles, the sort reserved for frequent customers with whom he was on good terms. "However, discovering the nature of one's dreams is often the best way to determine how to handle them."

She sighed. His statement had obviously been expected, though she would have preferred otherwise. "What do you suggest then?"

"To start? A night or two on the premises. With your consent, I will monitor your dreams and sleep patterns for irregularities, outside influences, and similar issues."

"And if you find none of those or I do not dream?"

"Then I would recommend staying as long as it takes for the nightmares or recurring dreams to manifest again."

The skin around her eyes pulled tighter. A look of suspicion, no doubt, though he'd not encountered it before from a draenei. "That sounds like it would be greatly enriching to you."

It would, but not the way you're thinking. "If I were charging by the night, you would be correct. That is not how this place is structured, however. We are diagnosing an issue, and a difficult one. Until I can offer something beyond vague suggestion and what may be an inconvenience to your personal life, there will be no talk of payment."

She blinked, taken aback. "I am… surprised by that. You run contrary to many other human establishments."

Kel shrugged, leaning back once more and crossing one leg over the other. "For traditional services -- massages, guided meditations, simple dream warding -- there are set costs. Many of our customers know already what they want and seek it. We provide in exchange for a reasonable fee, enough to ensures our employees and caretakers are able to live well. But that is simply one aspect of what we do. Treating disordered dreaming is as much a health issue as many life-threatening diseases; requiring payment before even finding out what ails you would be… deeply unethical."

Their eyes locked for a long moment, the intensity of the stare making him more curious than ever what she saw when she looked at him. Eventually some conclusion was reached. She allowed herself to blink, nodded once, sharply. "As you say then. I presume my expectation of complete privacy in whatever room you provide is correct?"

"It is. Provided you agree to it -- and you will be asked every night -- the only time that would not be private is what you see in dreams. And even that would be restricted to a single other person who will not discuss the details with anyone but you."

"I see." She breathed deeply, her backswept horns describing a semicircle as she shook her head. "Then I suppose I am seeking… admittance… to your facility."

"Seeking is not necessary. Our space is yours as long as is needed." He stood slowly, giving her the opportunity to rise at whatever speed she chose. "If you please, let us return to the front desk. You can sign in there and we will go over what other services are included and which may cost extra."

"That is acceptable, yes."

"Very well." As they made their way back, he began a proper introduction. "Since you are now my guest, please know you can ask for me at any time. My name is Keldronai, and I am the founder of this retreat. Of the people here, I am the only one who handles cases that involve the viewing of others' dreams. The arcane techniques that allow me to do so appear to be unteachable, a fluke of circumstance rather than a more formal science, so you needn't worry about potential snooping from others. The rest of the staff handles more traditional things -- warding circles, managing the steam baths and saunas, and so on. If you have any questions while you are with us, simply ask."

She nodded, staring grimly ahead. "Very well, Master Keldronai."

"That all being said… how would you like to be addressed by me and the rest of the staff? Whatever makes you most comfortable is what I recommend, whether it is your real name or not."

She stopped midstride to give him an uninterpretable look. When he merely waited, she said, "I am… Hylocerea. That will do for me. If that is difficult for your tongue, however, 'Hylo' is an… acceptable… alternative."

"As you say, Hylocerea. Come, let us get you settled in properly."

[tumblunni]

Directator episode dub vs sub comparison! For no particular reason! Except i lov he!

First off we have the big obvious fact that his movie is clearly based on Journey To The West and the dub episode title still says that and their costumes are all clearly that, yet they still try and remove all references to it. Wtf! So yeah just a big overall change is that in the sub everyone is directly saying the name of the thing and Directator doesnt give everyone weird bootleg names. (And leaves nate as nate for some reason???)

There's also a bit of a voice change with all the new characters. Dub Directator has kind of a deep husky stereotypical western 'intellectual savant director' voice, while in japanese its not really anything special and just a similar goofy mildly nasally voice as most dorky villains get in the series. Think sub maddiman but younger and more hyperactive than cutesy, i guess? Or to picture it in dub form imagine a sort of coke bottle glasses cliche librarian stereotype + Screaming Very Loudly. So yeah both his voices are cute but i like the dub one better for how its a bit more specific to a hollywood character, and also a voice you dont tend to hear that often in a villainous role. And then the assistant yokai trio had a surprisingly big change! In the dub they have adorable squeaky komasan-esque mascot voices which fits their :3 faces but contrasts hilariously with how humanoid they are. In the sub they have the exact opposite and have very deep ordinary human voices that are hilarious being delivered while looking so cutesy! Theres also a bit more variation between them in the sub, one of them is just a norml deep voiced dude, one sounds shrill and screechy and one sounds ullllltra deep and perpetually grumpy. Yknow despite always smiling and all. The identical looking yokai in a dress during one of the later scenes also has a different voice here, so it seems she was meant to be a fourth assistant rather than one of them in costume.

Directator says a lot of Gratuitous English Words, all the bits of him yelling ACTIONNN and CUT CUT CUT were still there in japanese. So i suppose maybe he would be categorized as a Merican Yokai if he ever became playable?

Theres some dumb weird sexism in the Sudden Son Goku High School Au section in the sub. The various annoying students are all the same except the girls. In japanese their lines were "ohhhh nooo we cant carry all this stuff because we're girls, blablabla we have internalized sexism and think you boys are soooo much stronger" And then nate and whisper whine about how 'girls are always like that', always shirking work and being spoilt and lazy and reliant on men to do everything. Its dumb.

The bit where one of the annoying students embarasses nate by saying there's a hole in the back of his shorts is actually identical i.e there still is not any hole in the shorts and everyone acts like there is. Thats so odd! A similar continuity error in an earlier episode was actually the dub editing out a shot of underwear but nope they didnt do it again. The only dub edits at all in this episode seem to be translating text on the signs and stuff.

The inexplicable badass grandpa who is always everywhere being badass is surprisingly different in japanese! In the dub he's called the producer of Directator's compny, which is awesome and hilarious cos it seems totally in character for him to be off having random adventures with yokai offscreen and constantly defeating them at their own game. In the sub it doesnt have that element of accidental continuity with his first appearance defeating sproink, because instead he is...the journey to the west historical consultant!! Apparantly Directator hired a human to fact check this human story and he just ended up picking the worst possible candidate who enjoys trolling the fuck out of everyone. This gramps going 'yeah looks fine' to all this nonsense has a whole new context, and it also seems to imply Directator is more incompetant rather than intentionally changing the story. Either way though its still hilarious and this grandpa is the goddamn best!

And thats all the major changes, most of the rest is just a stray funny line being only in the dub or only in the sub. I'll try and screencap those later when i rewatch them on a bigger screen

Personally my opinion is that the voice changes in the dub ended up making the characters even more endearing, and most of the added jokes gave me a great laugh cos they referenced specific american filmmakers and stuff. But the japanese version has the advantage of not being this confusing inconsistant dumb attempt to censor the mythology it was based on. And their version of the grandpa gag made slightly more sense because of it. Though him being inexplicably the even more directory director bossman in the dub adds even more to his legend of badassery!

Also Directator as a name is a good pun but it feels like a bit of a bad change cos it doesnt have anything in common with his japanese name except also being related to movies. His sub name is Mister Movien which was like..its already english yo...?? And i just feel like 'hey he is mister something, this is his actual name' is a different vibe to 'The Directator With A Capital The'. Also its easier to search tags on tumblr for mister movien, for some reason directator gets you results for everything individually containing director and dictator also. Like wtf tumblr did you implement an anti punning filter??

ALSO more evidence for my theory that Directator is related to Hoaxy Coaxy: everyone wakes up at home after the film is over and thinks it was a dream, so that totally seems like Directator's powers work the same as Hoaxy Coaxy's. Also both of their sub names are two words both beginning with M. (Moso monmon and mister movien)

Anyway in summaary i am weirdly addicted to this random goofy hollywood dude who only had 1 and a half episodes and never returned. When u get so little screentime youre damn right im gonna keep rewatching it til i die!! HES JUST SO CUTE DAMMIT

[starcunning]

galaxy braining ; 007

so a week ago, EL James previewed a new canker set to blight the modern literary landscape, a novel called The Mister, and you can read that excerpt here. it’s a terrible way to preview a novel, but whatever.

for some reason my friends and i were possessed to try remixing this whole “step into a bedroom, see the love interest, whoops he’s awake, nope, back to sleep now” framework and i did uhhhh well a bunch of them so here they are i guess

X’shasi x Thancred

Brushing her sweat-damp hair from her brow, Shasi elbows open the door, pausing on the threshold.

Still here? she thinks, but does not say, about the sleeping figure.

He is sprawled face down, naked, across the large bed. She closes the door behind her quietly, looking him over with fascination. The sheets are twisted up around him, dark cotton wound around pale limbs. He faces her, his unbound white hair sleep-tousled and falling across his features. There is no scar on the left side of his face. This surprises her; given his penchant for wearing that blindfold, she had assumed there might be. One arm is tucked up under the pillow, the other extended toward her. His hand dangles over the edge of the bed; a thousand tiny cuts silver the skin of his fingers. His arms and shoulders are defined, but not brawny. Just beside his spine, halfway down his back, she can see the old stab wound, twin to the one on his front—and to the one she bears. He has other scars, though the twisting blue cloth of the bedsheet covers much of him below the waist.

One leg peeks out from the edge, though, bare calf exposed where it lays atop the bedcovers. His foot hooks over the hollow of the opposite knee. He stirs, fingers curling, extending, and his eyes open. He lifts his chin, his hair stirred with the motion so that she can glimpse the red tattoos upon his neck. His mismatched eyes focus, after a moment, fixed upon her face. She feels like she’s been caught at something illicit, takes a breath, readies an apology. Then he turns his head, shifting, settling. In a moment, he’s asleep again.

Cassilda x Nael

The door slides open. Cassilda steps through, freezing just across the threshold.

The White Raven is sleeping.

In the nude.

She sleeps facedown and, Cassilda cannot help but note to herself again, naked. She’s shocked and fascinated at once, feet rooted to the ceramite as she stares. She should be angry, Cassilda is distantly aware, that the Legatus has forgotten—slept through—their meeting. Instead she is transfixed by the way Nael is stretched across the length of the bed, tangled in her duvet. Nael faces the door, but her features are covered by unbound white hair. Her arms are extended before her, beneath the pillow, fingertips but a few inches shy of the headboard. Nael is broad-shouldered, pale as milk. A few faded scars upon her arms betray long practice with the sword. There are no scars upon the White Raven’s back. The rumpled bedcovers fall across the curve of her backside, just below the dimples of her hips. The crimson silk of the duvet winds between her legs; one dangles over the edge of the bed.

Nael stirs, the muscles of her back rippling. Her eyes open, pale blue and focusing swiftly on Cassilda. She goes still—as one must when a raptor fixes you with their gaze—and tries to muster an explanation. Before Cassilda can speak, Nael rolls to her side, away from the door, and settles back into sleep.

X’shasi x Zenos

Shasi pauses at the threshold of the nave.

Zenos is not yet awake.

Much less dressed.

He sprawls, too large, face down atop the cot. In the grey-gold light of dawn, she stands, staring. She’s seen him naked before; studied him, even, but this feels different somehow. He is fast asleep, tangled in the sheets, his unbound hair falling all around him. Through the golden strands, his features seem softer, somehow. One arm is beneath his head, the other slung over the edge of the cot, fingers dangling just inches from the floor. His broad shoulders and muscular back bear no scars; his pale skin seems almost to glow in the morning light.

The linen bedsheet preserves his modesty, barely; it winds from hip to taut backside, over and around one muscular thigh. One foot hangs over the side of the mattress, and the other off the end; he is too big, and the bed too small. He stirs,  lifting his head. His eyes are deep blue, his gaze startling. It settles but does not quite fix on Shasi, who only stares impudently back at him until he turns his face away. A moment later he is asleep again.

Nero x Timaeus x Julia

The door creaks a little as Nero opens it, and he freezes.

Timaeus and Julia are asleep already. Dim lamplight from the hall falls across their bodies, intertwined and nude beneath the blankets. Timaeus sleeps facing the door, so Nero sees first his broad shoulders, his bare chest, the way Julia’s hand molds to the curve of his hip. His dark hair has begun to work loose from his queue, and a few strands fall carelessly across classical features and a strong jaw shadowed with a day’s growth of stubble. One of Timaeus’s hands rests on Julia’s forearm—his skin is so much lighter than hers—and the other is stretched out before him, across the undisturbed white expanse of sheets.

Julia is nestled against his back, her face buried against his shoulder. The duvet covers them both to the waist, but she has slung a leg overtop so that her bare calf hooks over Timaeus’s. Most of her is lost in shadow, but two limbs is more than enough to get a sense of her deadly exactitude.

Nero stands there, his shadow falling over both of them, and wills himself halfway across the world—to Nagxia or Meracydia or the New World; anywhere but the capital, two fulms from the edge of the bed and malms displaced from anything he deserves. Adventurers can do it by reflex; he, alas, is Garlean, and remains fixed right where he stands.

Timaeus opens his eyes, golden as candleflame, and blinks against the light. Nero shifts to cast his face in shadow. I was just, he means to begin, but has no followup. “Nero,” Timaeus says, lifting his hand from the bed to wave him closer. “Come to bed.”

[livenudebigfoot]

stunt-muppet

replied to your post:

“I just realized I’m definitely going to see Slender Man because Kevin...”

:

Okay but I'm expecting a full report on how bad it is.

SO HERE’S THE THING

(right up at the top: Kevin Chapman spends like 90% of his screentime taking a lil’ Kevin Napman. At one point, he is mistaken for the Slender Man, which is hysterical because he’s like the opposite shape of the shape that mister mcslenderman is. None of this is really relevant to why the movie is bad, I just wanted to get it out of the way.)

but the other reason I watched this movie was because I was a huge fuckin dork about Marble Hornets in college (although I never got around to finishing the series). I watched EverymanHYBRID and TribeTwelve too. I was a Slenderman found footage web series aficionado, which is a deeply uncool thing to be, but idk. I like found footage horror movies conceptually (although frequently not in practice) and here were a bunch of free ones on the internet made by people my age who were doing cool things with Navidson Record-esque spatial fuckery. I liked that. And I was never going to like Slender Man, the theatrical film, because even in a best-case scenario, it was still going to be a big studio cherry-picking the labors of a thousand people in their early twenties who made creepy shit in Photoshop and wrote creepypastas and coded questionable games and shot movies in their backyards for no money at all. 

I wasn’t expecting a best-case scenario. I did not receive a best-case scenario. 

And this movie isn’t really taking cues from those labors at all (although I recognized some of those Photoshop jobs during the Mandatory Horror Movie Google Montage as being straight from Something Awful circa 2009). It’s taking cues from the Slender Man stabbing. You know, the very real, very upsetting incident where two very real, very troubled children stabbed their friend. The very real, very upsetting incident that happened four years ago. Those kids were sentenced in February of this year. They’re 16 years old. The victim isn’t out of high school yet.

It’s like the dictionary definition of Too Soon.

“Look at these troubled teen girls going into the woods to summon Slender Man,” says this dumbfuck movie, jabbing its elbow into the audience’s ribs. “What current event does this remind you of?” And like, it’s really just a generic horror movie and it doesn’t depict that incident so much as reference it with adjacent storytelling choices and casually capitalize off of the morbid interest that story generates, but also fuck off, movie.

Even aside from that, it’s VERY BORING. This is like the most basic bitch, IKEA horror movie imaginable. It brings absolutely nothing to the table. Every scare is telegraphed from thousands of miles away. Oh gosh, she looked around one side of the tree and he was gone! She thinks she’s safe for now! Oh wait no he’s right next to her! Very unexpected!! Fuck off, movie. Kudos to the majority-teen audience in my theater, who greeted everything this movie did - from jumpscares to comedy bits - with stony, unimpressed silence. The most successful scare of the night was the one at the end of the Halloween trailer. If I was watching this movie at home, I would have made it like thirty minutes in before either turning it off or just letting it run in the background, unacknowledged, while I made dinner or played with the cat or folded laundry or did literally anything else. 

Anyway, it’s bad, don’t watch it.