#note to the person commenting somewhere how no way people would act this badly as yi joos family...

[would-this-pokemon-be-a-friend]

Evolution Line Spotlight: Zorua & Zoroark (570-571)

For our first evolution line spotlight, we’ve got a pretty severe rank gap. It’s interesting, because zoruas and zoroarks have pretty similar personalities. A lot of it comes down to size: zoruas are a much more manageable size, so this evolution line’s move set is a lot less formidable coming from them. They also don’t have quite as formidable claws as their evolution.

As I talked about in each of the two’s personal posts [linked below], they both have some pretty powerful illusion abilities, but they use them in different ways. In the wild, when these two evolution stages are found living together, zoroarks act like the protectors, so their illusions are a lot more in-your-face. They like to disguise their lairs, where the more vulnerable zoruas hide, with scary illusions, while the little guys mostly just disguise themselves to avoid attention. Both of these things are gonna be kinda awkward for a pet, but I reckon that having a pet disguise your entire home is gonna really annoy your neighbors. And good luck getting mailmen to drop off packages near your home, if they can even find it. They’d be great to have around at Halloween time, though.

This is a bit of a random side-note but I wonder how badly this species sheds. I know someone with a dog with black fur that gets absolutely everywhere to a really bothersome extent. Both evolutions of the species have a lot of fur, but again I’ve got to look to zoroark as the potentially worse offender. I could imagine that mane shedding a lot. I mean, when you think about it, they have like five feet of hair. People with fur allergies might have a big issue with that. I’d also like to reference a comment left on the original zoroark post by @shrimpmandan: zoruas and zoroarks are foxes, and foxes are STINKY! I wouldn’t be surprised if their illusions can cover their smell for survival purposes, but when you’re at home they’re probably not always going to be in illusion-mode. Bathing them, especially zoroarks, if going to be a whole ordeal.

If I had to recommend one stage of this pokémon as a pet, I’d definitely go with zorua. If you live somewhere with a strict landlord, HOA, or something like that, it’s probably going to be a lot easier to convince them to let you have one for a lot of reasons. I mean, let’s be honest, there’s probably a prejudice against dark-type pokémon as pets in a lot of places since they’re often associated with “evil”: your better chance at getting permission to have one is the cuter, less dangerous kind. I definitely don’t think zoroarks would be a terrible pet or anything, but they’re a particularly tough one to get social acceptance of. If you’re already an owner of a zorua, I wouldn’t recommend evolving them unless you have the space (of course) and are confident that the people you live around won’t be too put off by it. That being said, so long as you don’t get kicked out or anything, you don’t always have to worry about what other people think.

Would I personally have a zorua or a zoroark as a pet? Probably not. I think they’re really neat, but I think I’d have a hard time dealing with their illusions. I have a lot of sensory issues that I think could be aggravated by being constantly confronted with stimuli that I know is false. Also the shedding and the smell. All respect to the prospective zorua or zoroark owners out there! ❤️

Zorua Post: https://www.tumblr.com/would-this-pokemon-be-a-friend/734002549347287040/can-zorua-and-zoroark-being-good-pet-they-maybe-a?source=share

Zoroark Post: https://www.tumblr.com/would-this-pokemon-be-a-friend/730103133132455936/i-wonder-would-a-zoroark-either-the-unovan-or?source=share

[blayresmuses]

hii 💕💞💕💞 I really love your work, and the scenario format is turning out amazing!! I'd love to request how the hotd characters act when they're jealous, perhaps?

HOW THEY ACT WHEN JEALOUS

summary: how the hotd characters act when they’re jealous / do they get jealous etc

includes: aemond, aegon, alicent, rhaenyra, daemon, jace & harwin

authors note: hi sweet anon! thank you for being so kind i hope you enjoy these <3

aemond likes to think he’s above such silly feelings but in reality he isn’t. he adores the time he gets with you and as immature as it is he gets easily aggravated if you pass him over for something or even worse, someone else. he hates to see you smile or laugh at someone else, they’re things that are his, you should be doing that for him. usually he’ll find some random excuse to take your attention away and he’ll whisk you away somewhere private where he’ll kiss you until you can’t breathe, until all you can remember is his name. he’s got no problem with threats though or even physical violence if it goes that far but he’d keep it civil enough for your sake and by that he means he won’t have their tongues.

aegon doesn’t bother with jealousy much but when he does it can be horrible for everyone involved, even you. he’s definitely one for retaliation so if someone is flirting with you or dancing with you he’ll find some random woman and position himself right in front of your eye line so you have to watch. he doesn’t know how to deal with the emotion and it only ends badly with you refusing you talk to him as a result of his rash actions.

as she gets older, alicent has a lot of people at her disposal so if you were upto something she knows she would have heard about it the second it started, so no she doesn’t get particularly jealous especially if you reassure her after. of course if someone oversteps she’ll step in, usually excusing the two of you with a hand on your back and a steely glare at whoever is trying to get close to you.

when rhaenyra is younger she’d probably act out and all you can do is sit back and wonder what you’ve done. she’d avoid you and make subtle, snarky comments when you do finally run into her. once you catch on and talk her down she realises her mistake and apologises. it’s something she gets better at with age, if she feels paranoid about something she’ll come to you straight away, it often coming out in blunt questions and short answers. nothing usually happens in front of her, she is a princess and the heir to the throne and no one who’s smart wants to disrespect her openly.

daemon is probably the most arrogant man you’ve ever met and the idea of him being jealous makes you chuckle. it’s definitely a rare thing for him, most men with common sense know to steer clear of you or at least keep a respectful distance but of course you get the stupid ones. he can definitely be possessive because he sees you as completely his, an extension of himself and if a man steps a toe out of line he has no problem drawing blood. often his way of dealing with it is being overly affectionate in front of the person who’s made him jealous, feeling you up, kissing you, whispering dirty things to you - that’s how he deals with it, by showing that you’re his and his only.

as much as jacerys hates it he can be a little insecure. he is aware how young he is and when older lords come sniffing around you it makes him uncomfortable because he would never hold you to vows if you were unhappy with him and what if you want someone with more experience and maturity? he’s definitely stew on it for a while and it would come out in a jumble of words when he’s finally ready to ask you about it. apart from that he’s protective and quick to defend you if anything happens that he deems disrespectful or too far, especially if it’s his uncles.

harwin is more overprotective than jealous, at least according to him. he’s very secure in himself, he hasn’t earned his name for nothing. before you’re even betrothed when he’s just admired you from afar, any man that even considers asking you harwin invites to watch him at his morning practice, the ones closest to asking for your hand he asks to be his sparring partner. he’s not making it overtly obvious that the idea of you with another man makes him furious but he definitely shows who the better man is.

[uzuitengensfourthwife]

Roommate (Suguru Daishou x fem!Reader) College AU

Warnings: some teasing, my bad writing but other than that none

Word count: 2371

Authors note: and this too was written back in October LKADNHDJF Im so sorry but this just had to be posted here at some point, so why not now? *proceeds to lip bite* Anyways lmao skdnnf I think suguru is so damn underrated and he isnt even as bad as people might think he is so yeah, here is my oh so badly written suguru fanfic. Enjoy!!

(2 months ago)

It was Friday evening, a day you and your roommate usually binge-watched movies and series, but not today. The sudden change in plans was a change you didn't want. After all, the change of plans meant helping your roommate to pack his stuff and help him bring it into his new Unit. A Unit that was far away from his previous one and it made you feel dejected. You wouldn't be able to see him that often anymore and for once you grew close to someone outside of Japan.

, Ow c'mon Y/N. Don't be sad. I bet your new roommate will be nice as well.'' You let out a grown as you let yourself fall down on your bed. , Yeah but he's not you and you're like my only friend here in the Unit.'' Christian let out a chuckle and then suddenly got up from his kneeling position, getting his backpack and suitcase. , Well, you'll be alright, '' he threw some of his last stuff in his backpack. ,,After all my new Unit isn't even that far away.'' - ,,Christian, what is 'not far away' about 30 fucking minutes?'' you huffed in annoyance, sitting up again death glaring your 'ex' roommate. His laugh filled up the room as he threw his backpack over his shoulder, it was time for him to go, and then again you felt miserable. You wanted him to stay, but it was his decision after all. After two full years with Christian you knew you weren't the reason why he left, he left for other plausible reasons.

,, Alright let me help you then.'' You announced, grabbing one of his bags opening the door for him. A smile was plastered across his face as he walked past you with all his belongings. Letting out a last sigh you followed him, hoping your future roommate would be as subtle as Christian...

//

After helping Christian carrying and unpacking his stuff in his new Unit, you just made it back to your Unit. You were tired and felt like a piece of shit. Christian was one of the only people you interacted with on campus and the only one in your unit. The rest of your friends attended Universities in Japan, mostly in Tokyo or Osaka, just the minimum was somewhere outside of Japan, including you. Moreover, it was hard for you to find friends since you lacked in social skills. And having a new roommate would totally throw you off, you didn't even know how you wanted to welcome him, you were just too socially awkward for this.

So when you finally opened the door to your little 'apartment' and discovered a new pair of shoes next to all of your shoes, you freaked out. He was already here and you literally had nothing to offer him. Not even goddamn chewing gum. This would most definitely turn into some second hand embarrasment, you were sure about it. You closed the door when you suddenly heard footsteps slowly coming your way. ,,I'm really sorry that I just barged in but you weren't here so I let myself in.'' There he was, standing in front of you. You recognised him right away. Suguru Daisho, the high school rival of a friend of yours. ,,Well well, if that isn't our Miss Nekoma Manager, Y/N it is, right?'' he leaned onto to wall, giving you one of his smug smirks.

,,Of all people, it really just had to be you, huh?'' you spat out ironically, slipping out of your shoes as you walked up to him. ,,Ouch Y/N, you hurt my heart.'' Letting out a fake sob, he touched his chest and tried to look as hurt as possible which made you sigh out in annoyance, so you walk past him showing no reaction. ,,Jesus, you're no fun.'' - ,, Never intended to be fun, especially when it comes to you.'' As you replied to his complaint, you just plopped down on the little couch, already missing Christian. You really were so close to just change units as well. It hadn't even been 5 minutes yet, but here you are already considering to move out. What an awful day you had. And your next years in Uni would get even worse with him as your roommate.

But things turned out quite differently.

You imagined living with Suguru must be the most annoying thing ever, but you were so wrong. First, you really thought he was just trying to get on your sweet side and then act like an asshole again, but you started to reconsider when he brought home some chocolates for you. It wasn't just that, no he did so much more for you, and all of that in just two months.

He cooked for you, whenever he had time. When you woke up every morning, there was breakfast on the table. He helped you with studying and kept his distance whenever he knew you needed some time for yourself. And most importantly, he never invited friends over, since it didn't take him long to find out you just couldn't interact with people. Of course his teasing side would come out sometimes, leaving some comments here and there, but he changed and not only by a bit no, he changed a lot and even for the better.

Living with him was easier than you thought.

And yet, yet the old things would obviously come back because today you wanted to tell Kuroo, who was and still is one of your best friends from high school, that Suguru was your roommate. God, you were nervous. You knew Kuroo has always hated him and he will most definitely not stop hating him, even despite the fact that you grew quite close to him.

So when you pressed the 'call' button on your laptop, you really just didn't want to tell him, but you had to. Even if you wouldn't tell him now, he would find out somehow. You really wanted to tell him in person, rather than him finding out and then getting mad at you as well.

Once his faced showed up on your screen you smiled and waved, shoving away the nervousness you just had. ,,Hey Hey Tets!'' - ,,Hey! How're you doing over there?'' he smiled, taking a sip from the cup wich was located right next to him. ,,Well Im doing pretty good! How're you and the boys doing?'' Kuroo's face turned dark, making you worry, but once you've heard his answers you couldn't have expected less from such an idiot as him. ,,Well we're all doing pretty good.... and yet I feel broken, Kenma's ignoring me once again.'' He sobbed ironically, making you smile in an instant. You had to admit it, you missed the old times. The time you guys were still in Highschool, enjoying life and just having fun. But over all you just missed your friends, you always see them hanging out with each other, going on trips together while you were stuck with boredom and nothing but schoolwork. Of course your friends were part of the University life as well, however it seemed like they had much more time than you. Less worries than you.

,,You know Tets... I miss you guys a lot.'' You whispered as you nervously played with a stuffed animal, that was standing right next to your laptop. Showing affection wasn't really your thing, yet you missed your group of friends way too much to just ignore it like that. ,,Awe Y/N, we miss you too! Once you're back we're definitely going out somewhere! Oh and you should bring Christian as well!! Come to think of it.... where is Christian?''

You chocked on your saliva. ,,Oh god are you okay?'' Kuroo worriedly stated as you coughed. Why now, you had nearly forgotten about it, and yet all of the good had to come to an end. So when you finally stopped coughing you assured your friend that you were okay, but you most definitely weren't okay, you didn't even know where to start. You couldn't possibly just go ,,Ah yeah forgot to tell you, but Christian changed units. Suguru and I are now roommates.'.There was no way you could tell him. Literally no way.

But while you were overthinking this whole situation, suddenly Suguru made his entry.

,,Eyo Y/N can you-'' - ,, What is he doing here?'' Kuroo frantically yelled as he regocnised Suguru, pointing at him through your screen. Great, you thought. This could've gone better if you had the guts to bring it up earlier, but of course your friend had to find out like this. Luck was definetily not on your side today. ,,Oi roosterhead, still lying about your height huh?'' Suguru smirked as he placed himself right behind you, moving closer to the laptop. ,,Get lost.''Kuroo scoffed and now looked at you while still pointing at Suguru. ,,Why's he here?'' he repeated himself, not leaving you out of his sight once. Yet you looked away, trying to avoid his gaze as much as possible, you would even prefer hiding behind Suguru than sitting here. ,,He's my new roommate... Christian changed units.'' You whispered slowly looking back to see if he was still watching you.

Suguru took his chance and moved closer to you as he purred. ,,Wait, you didn't tell him babe?'' Oh god you forgot the petnames he had for you and you hated him for using them on you now. After he moved in and you finally got along pretty well, he started with all these ridiculous pet names, just like honey. And oh god...this was definitely not going to end well.

,,Can you tell him to fucking leave?'' Kuroo asked, seemingly annoyed of your roommates presence. ,,Alright alright I'll leave, just don't forget our business later.'' and with that he left your room.

The sudden awkward silence that was between you and your best friend was more than just uncomfortable for you. In fact, you hated it, you just wanted to disappear. ,,How long?'' He was the first one to finally break the silence and you knew he was upset, after all Suguru just walked in and you didn't tell him at all. ,,Two months..'' you whispered, full of regret. Kuroo then sighed, hand on his forehead as he leaned back to process what he has just heard. ,,Two months? God.... why didn't you tell me?'' - ,, Listen I was scared.... I know you don't like him but we got along so well..'' you stuttered, trying to avoid his gaze again. Honestly you were scared. All this time you were scared that you might lose your friend, although this might be a stupid reason to end a friendship, you were still terrified.

,,Hey that's fine Y/N, liking each other and having a relationship is fine! Im not even mad I promise!'' You looked at him as he smiled, to let you know that it was fine. All you could do was smile back and be thankful that he wasn't mad at you. ,,Oh and we're not really in a relationship..'' You stated and let out a nervous giggle. Kuroo on the other hand leaned in closer and then whispered. ,,Yeah right hon.'' - ,,Kuroo.'' You warned, holding up your finger just as you were about to scold him. ,,Anyways, seems like you have some unfinished business with the snake, so go for it.'' You huffed, ready to protest that there was no business to finish, but before you could tell him otherwise he disappeared from you screen.

Sighing out in annoyance, you got up from your chair to go scold your roommate for his bold words he has spoken during your videocall. So when you saw him doing some schoolwork you seated yourself in front of him, death glaring him. ,,Just what exactly were you thinking?''you hissed in such a sharp tone, that even suguru backed off for a second. But he quickly collected himself and leaned in closer just to smirk at you. ,,What do you mean babe?" he asked, his voice soft and unbothered. You groaned again, leaning in closer as well. ,,He thinks we have a thing." - ,,So?" his reply was bold, just like as if he didn't care about your current situation at all, which was weird to you since he usually never acted or talked to you this way.

You answered him, voice quiet. ,,So you're just going to leave it there?''

The confusion was plastered all over his face. You didn't really know what left him so confused, but you needed answers and as for that you waited for an answer. ,,Wait wait wait.'' he said, holding up both his hands. ,,Is that disappointment I hear?'' - ,,Never.'' You leaned back, looking away and thinking how to continue this conversation, which obviously seemed pointless to your roommate. But it wasn't pointless to you, your friend literally just hung up on you just because of this stupid statement the guy in front of you had made. ,,Why did you say these things? What did you even mean by unfinished business? That's not appropri-'' you got cut off midsentence. ,,We still haven't decided what we wanted to cook this weekend. That's what I meant babe.'' he stated, as he held up a paper with an amused expression.

,Oh' you mouthed, sitting there in embarrassment as you tried to avoid his gaze. The embarrassment just grew bigger as you realised what you were actually thinking about.

,,Well well, it's okay to have these thoughts about me. But next time you might as well share them with me.'' His grin grew bigger, putting down the paper he just lifted up a second ago. That's it, you thought, he has crossed the line. You then suddenly stood up, cheeks flushing red as you huffed out in annoyance once again. ,,You're the worst.'' you muttered, stomping away to your room in an instant, shutting your door. But something was odd. No, you... you felt something odd happening to you.

You then realised your fastened heartbeat, your hot cheeks, still flushed in a light pink shade,you...you were confused.

Just.... what... what was this feeling?

[babypandawrites]

Allies, Pt. 9

The Northern Air Temple 

Pairing: Sokka x F Reader Warnings: None Word Count: 3,813 Summary: You thought that the chance of there being Airbenders other than Aang was too good to be true, sadly you were right. 

Note: How I completely forgot about this until now I'm not sure but! Another piece of this series I’ve done for the fun of it is outfit designs- If that kind of things in fics isn’t your cup of tea then feel free to act like these don't exist! But for those who are interested or who might just wanna see; here you go.  This is just what I personally envisioned while writing, again feel free to ignore it if you want, but I figured I might as well share :)  I was also going to wait until tomorrow to post this bc Wednesdays is my upload day for it on Ao3 but I’m also a chapter ahead there and wanted to get my tumblr uploads caught up- so back to back post today and tomorrow :) Yay 

-Navigation- | -Atla Masterlist-  -Last Part- | -Allies Masterlist- | -Next Part- 

Taglist: @boomeraangin​ | @brokennerdalert​​​

“So, travelers, the next time you think you hear a strange large bird talking, take a closer look, it might not be a giant parrot, but a flying man! A member of a secret group of air walkers who laugh at gravity and laugh at those bound to the earth by it!”  Aang smiled. “Aren’t airbender stories the best?” “Was it realistic? Was that how it was back then?” Katara questioned.  “I laugh at gravity all the time. Haha! Gravity.”  A pair of hands holding a hat suddenly appeared in the space inbetween Sokka and Y/n. The storyteller shook the hat, the jingling of coins being heard.  “Jingle, jingle.”  The two searched their pockets for any money. Y/n didn’t have anything, and the only thing Sokka pulled from his coat pocket was a small ball of lint and a bug.  Y/n offered the storyteller a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”  “Aww. Cheapskates!” The man left them, going to ask other audience members for donations.  She turned to look at Sokka, a disgusted expression apparent on her face at the bug that wiggled around in his hand. “Why… was there a bug in your coat?”  “Hey! Don’t question a man and his bug.” The bug rolled over, and started to crawl up his hand. Sokka yelped and shook it off.  Her expression twisted into amusement. “A man and his bug, huh?”  “It’s not my fault we can’t afford to keep him fed.” 

The next morning, the group found themselves on the way to the Northern Air Temple. Apparently, the airbenders in the story they heard were seen the previous week. It seemed a little too good to be true, that there might be airbenders other than Aang still out there, but Y/n wasn’t going to be the one to crush the kids' hope.  That was Sokka’s job, not hers.  “Hey, we’re almost at the Northern Air Temple! This is where they had the championships for sky bison polo.”  Y/n looked at Aang with a smile. “Sky bison polo? That sounds fun.”  “It is fun! So much fun!”  Katara moved to sit next to her brother. “Do you think we’ll really find airbenders?”  “You want me to be like you, or totally honest?” Sokka asked, focusing on whittling a piece of wood.  “Are you saying I’m a liar?” Katara crossed her arms over her chest.  “I’m saying you’re an optimist. Same thing basically.”  “They’re not the same thing at all.” Y/n commented. The boy just shrugged his shoulders.  “Hey guys, look at this!”  Appa was starting to approach the Northern Air Temple. It sat up on a sheer peak, several people flew around it, and smoke rose from a few pillars.   “Huh! They really are airbenders!” Aang leaned, crossing his arms unhappily. “No, they’re not.”  Sokka pointed up at the people flying around. “What do you mean they’re not? Those guys are flying!”  “Gliding maybe, but not flying. You can tell by the way they move. They’re not airbending. Those people have no spirit.”  Y/n tipped her head to the side, watching the gliders. “I mean, they look like they're flying to me, but you would know best.”  As she finished speaking, a glider passed over the group's heads, nearly taking them off. The glider’s pilot laughed, turning to pass by Appa again. Getting a closer look at the kid, it could be noted that his glider was built out of the wheelchair he sat in.  Katara pointed in the glider’s direction. “I don’t know, Aang. That kid seems pretty spirited!”  The glider made another pass, and soon Aang was standing up glider in hand, before taking off. Another glider flew in front of Appa, startling him and causing Katara and Y/n to fall backwards into Sokka. The three grunted at the impact.  “We better find some solid ground before it finds us!”  Appa made a landing on one of the temple’s outer terraces, the trio getting off him and watching as Aang and the boy in the wheelchair glided through the sky. Aang eventually came down and landed next to them, the other boy also coming to a landing. A few kids came other and detached the glider from his wheelchair, before he wheeled over to the group.  “Hey! You’re a real airbender! You must be the Avatar! That’s amazing! I- I- I’ve heard stories about you.”  Aang rubbed at the back of his neck, embarrassed. “Thanks.”  “Wow! This glider chair is incredible!” Sokka rushed over to the kids who had the glider setup, inspecting it.  “If you think this is good, wait until you see the other stuff my Dad designed.”  He began to wheel away, the group following. They were led through the huge main gate of the temple, into the main chamber. The room was dominated by steam-powered machinery with many wheels, gears and pipes.  “Wow!” Sokka ran forward, looking around the room excitedly.  “Yeah, my dad is the mastermind behind this whole place! Everything’s powered by hot air. It even pumps hot air currents outside to give us a lift when we’re gliding.”  Aang took a look around. “This place is unbelievable.”  The boy in the wheelchair smiled. “Yeah, it’s great isn’t it?”  “No, just unbelievable.”  Y/n tried to hold back a laugh, clearing her throat to force down her laughter.  “Aang used to come here a long time ago. I think he’s a little shocked it’s so… different.” Katara said, before following after Aang when he walked off.  “So better!”  Rolling her eyes, Y/n elbowed Sokka in the shoulder. He gave her a look.  “Come on, you don’t think this is cool at all?”  “Not really.” 

Soon they followed the boy, Teo, to another part of the temple. This time it was a courtyard of sorts, it was untouched, and there were statues of airbenders.  Aang was much happier about this, than he had been about the other room. “It’s nice to see even one part of the temple that isn’t ruined.” He spoke, as him, Y/n and Katara looked at a huge statue of an airbender monk.  “Look out!” A voice shouted out, shortly before a wrecking ball crashed through the statue. The three flew backwards with the debris, and everyone started to cough from the dust. As the dust settled, several people could be seen through the hole that’d been created. One of the people walked forward, a middle aged man with a mostly bald head who wore a monocle, a green tunic and an apron.  “What the doodle! Don’t you know enough to stay away from construction sites? We have to make room for the bathhouse!”  “Do you know what you just did? You just destroyed something sacred! For a stupid bathhouse!” Aang, clearly upset with the man, took on an airbending stance.  The man waved a hand in front of his nose. “Well, people around here are starting to stink.”  Aang pointed at him. “This whole place stinks!” He slammed his staff against the ground, sending a strong gust of wind through the hole in the wall, knocking the wrecking ball and it’s rig off the building's foundation. “This is a sacred temple! You can’t treat it this way. I’ve seen it when the monks were here. I know what it’s supposed to be like.”  “The monks? But you’re twelve!”  Teo wheeled over. “Dad, he’s the Avatar. He used to come here a hundred years ago.”  Aang walked closer to the man. “What are you doing? Who said you could be here?”  “Hmmm… doing here… A long time ago, but not a hundred years, my people became refugees after a terrible flood.” He gestured his arms for effect, before moving to stand behind his son. “My infant son, Teo, was badly hurt and lost his mother.” Sniffling, he held back tears. “I needed somewhere to rebuild and I stumbled across this place. Couldn’t believe it! Everywhere pictures of flying people. But empty! Nobody home! Then I came across these fan like contraptions!”  He held his arms out as if they were wings, making flying motions with them as he walked about the courtyard for a short moment. He stopped in front of Aang, who was clearly still upset.  “Our gliders.”  “Yes, little light flying machines. They gave me an idea. Build a new life for my son, in the air! Then everyone would be on equal ground, so to speak! We’re just in the process of improving upon what’s already here and after all, isn’t that what nature does?” Aang was still upset, while Sokka and Katara stood behind him, teary eyed from the story. Y/n rolled her eyes at the siblings, before moving to stand next to Aang, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. Sure, the story was sad, but to her the boy’s feelings were more important.  The Mechanist turned to look through the hole in the wall he’d created. “I suppose that’s true. Unfortunately, progress has a way of getting away from us.” He looked down in a bout of sadness, before his head snapped up to look at an odd candle device..? A bit aways from them. “Look at the time!” Three candles burned brightly on a stone pedestal, each separated into their own sections. Next to the pedestal, a large mallet rests, sitting head down. The Mechanist turned to one of the scribes behind him. “Come the pulley system must be oiled before dark.”  Sokka approached the candles, observing them. “Wait, how can you tell the time from that thing? The notches all look the same.”  “The candle will tell us. Watch.”  The candle’s flame snapped four times in a row.  “You put spark powder in the candle!” “Four flashes, so it’s exactly four hours past midday, or, as I call it, four o’candle!”  Sokka let out a laugh, as The Mechanist looked at him, seemingly pleased he was interested. “If you like that, wait till you see my finger safe knife sharpener!” Y/n’s attention moved to the man at the mention of that, watching as he held up his left hand, where three of his fingers were made of wood. He detached them from his hand, before tossing them to Sokka. “Only took me three tries to get it right!” Sokka let out a scream, as he caught the wooden fingers. “Follow me!”  The Mechanist turned to leave, the men who were with him and Sokka quickly followed. As the boy passed by Y/n, he grabbed onto her wrist and dragged her along with him. She offered a quick goodbye wave to Aang, Katara and Teo as she was dragged away. 

Quiet steps echoed through the narrow hallway, as Y/n, Sokka and The Mechanist descending a narrow staircase. Each of them held a lantern, glowing with sparse blue light.  “These lanterns are terrible! I can’t see.”  Y/n ran into Sokka’s back, as he abruptly stopped to open the jar to his lantern. She flicked the back of his head, as he continued to speak. “Why would you want to use fireflies for light- Hey!”  She snickered, watching the firefly that escaped from his lantern.  The Mechanist turned to look at them. “Hey, close that up! They’ll get loose. Fireflies are a non-flammable light source.”  “Are you meaning to say that something down here is flammable?” Y/n asked, as they all continued walking.  “Well, why else would I need a non-flammable light source?” The Mechanist offered a chuckle, as they approached a door. The edges of it were blocked by some sort of sealant, which he felt around, probably to check for leaks.  After checking he turned back to them. “Cover your nose and hold your breath.”  Once they’d done so, The Mechanist slid open a panel in the door, which they all looked through. It just showed a dark and empty room. “Okay, so you brought us all the way down here to see an empty room.” Sokka spoke with a somewhat confused tone.  “Wrong.”  Eyebrows furrowing together, Y/n watched as the panel was slid shut again. “You brought us all the way down here to see a room full of flammable explosive gas?”  “Correct! It’s filled to the brim with natural gas. Came across it my first time here. Unfortunately, I was carrying a torch at the time. Nearly blew myself and the whole place even more sky high. Thought my eyebrows would never grow back! Anyway, there’s a vital problem that needs solving. From time to time we have gas leaks and they’re nearly impossible to find.”  Y/n took a few steps back, as Sokka helped check the door for leaks. “So this place is an explosion waiting to happen?”  “Yes, until I figure out how to locate something I can’t see, hear, smell or touch.”  “Right, is it safe for us to be around this gas? Should we be wearing masks or something, in case we come across a leak so we don’t, you know, inhale it?”  “Oh don’t worry, we should be fine.” The Mechanist paused for a moment, straightening up after finishing checking for leaks. “Well, as long as you aren’t a firebender or something- hah!” He let out a laugh, which Sokka quickly shared.  Sokka nudged her in the arm, as they started walking back. “Oh come on, that was funny. You know that was funny.”  “Yeah, hilarious.”  He threw an arm over her shoulders. “Come on, loosen up. We’re gonna be fine, even if we do come across a leak.”  She put her hands up in defense. “Okay, okay.” 

The Mechanist led the pair to his workshop, and very clearly told them not to touch anything, before going to look over some papers on his desk. Sokka, of course, did not listen to that and started poking through things the moment the man's attention wasn’t on them.  “Sokka, he said not to touch anything.” Y/n whispered, smacking his hand away from something he was about to mess with.  He gently pushed her away a bit, before going right back to poking around. “Calm down, it’s fine. It’s not like I’m going to break an-” Sokka cut himself off, as he knocked some stuff over. Grimacing, he tried to keep it from falling to the ground.  “I said don’t touch anything!”  When The Mechanist spoke up, Sokka dropped the things to the ground. Y/n crossed her arms over her chest. “Not gonna break anything, huh?”  The Mechanist came over, to help Sokka pick the things up. “Oh, don’t worry, that experiment is old and that egg was just part of last week’s lunch.”  Y/n kneeled down to help them too, as Sokka sniffed the air. “Ugh! Week old egg smell!”   “Quick! Find that egg!”  The three started to crawl around, looking for the egg, but none of them were having much luck.  “How could something that’s so small you can’t even see it make such a big stink!?” Sokka complained as they looked. The Mechanist perked up at the comment. “That’s the solution to our problem!”  “Yeah!” Y/n looked at the two, confused, as they faced each other with excitement. “What?”  “If we put a whole mess of rotten eggs in the cellar where the gas seeps up..” Sokka started the thought, which The Mechanist continued.  “The gas will mix with the smell of rotten eggs…”  “Then, if there’s a leak…”  “You smell rotten eggs! Then you just follow your nose to the place where the smell is coming from..”  “And plug up the hole where the gas is escaping!”  “You’re a genius!” The two spoke in unison.  Still, Y/n looked between the two with a confused expression. “ What? ”  Suddenly, a large bell started to ring, and The Mechanist was quick to get up and rush from the room. “Something’s wrong I’ve got to go.”  “Wonder what that’s about.” Sokka said, getting up himself. He helped Y/n up, grinning. “We should follow him.”  “Always a snoop, huh?” Laughing softly, she shook her head. “Alright.”  Grasping onto her wrist, he dragged her out of the room to follow after The Mechanist. They’d followed him to another room, one that was filled to the brim with different war machines branded with the Fire Nation’s insignia. 

“You make weapons for the Fire Nation!?” Sokka was clearly angry with his words, rightfully so. Y/n was pretty mad about this development as well. She pointed a finger at The Mechanist.  “You! You're terrible. Horrible terrible!”  The Mechanist looked at the ground in humiliation and shame.  Teo looked at his father angrily. “Explain all this! Now!”  “It was about a year after we moved here. Fire Nation soldiers found our settlement. You were too young to remember this tale. They were going to destroy everything, burn it to the ground. I pleaded with them, begged them to spare us. They asked what I had to offer. I offered… my services. You must understand, I did this for you!” Teo turned his wheelchair away, clearly upset. The Mechanist turned on his heel, and walked back down the hall, leaving the five kids in the room.   Teo shook his head. “I can’t believe this…. This is terrible.”  “I know..” Aang looked at the weapons with disdain. “There’s so much here.”  Y/n crossed her arms over her chest. “The Fire Nation could be coming for this soon…”  Aang breathed out a sigh. “Your right… I’m going to go figure it out.”  “I’ll come with.” Teo said, as Aang started to leave the room, before following the boy.  With Aang and Teo’s return, they found out that the Fire Nation was coming soon. And they were intending to burn this place to the ground. They were all outside on one of the walkways, trying to figure out a plan.  “This is bad! Very bad!”  Katara looked over to Aang. “Aang, what are we gonna do? How can we possibly keep them all away?”  “I’ll tell you how.” He pointed to the sky. “We have something they don’t. Air power! We control the sky. That’s something the Fire Nation can’t do. We can win!”  “I want to help.” The Mechanist approached the group, as he spoke up.  Aang offered the man a smile. “Good, we’ll need it.” 

“We finally got the war balloon working, thanks to Sokka. This boy’s a genius!”  “Thank you. You’re a genius!” “Thank you!” Y/n rolled her eyes at the exchange. “Can we get on with this?”  Sokka cleared his throat. “Right. See, the problem with the old war balloon was you could get it airborne, but once you did, it just kept going.” He demonstrated with a model that flew up and hit the ceiling. “You could put a hole in the top, but then all the hot air would escape. So the question became, how do you keep a lid on hot air?”  “Ugh, if only we knew.” Katara commented. Y/n, Aang, Teo and Katara herself all laughed at the remark.  Ignoring them, Sokka pulled the model down from the ceiling, now showing off the mechanism to open and close a lid on the top. “A lid is actually the answer. If you control the hot air, you control the war balloon.” He demonstrated again, but this time the model didn’t fly up to the ceiling, thanks to the lid that could be pulled open with a string.  Katara crossed her arms. “Hmm. That’s actually pretty smart.”  “Okay, we’ve got four kinds of bombs. Smoke, smile, fire and-”  The Mechanist cut Sokka off. “Stink. Never underestimate the power of stink!” 

“We’re going to have to modify this to the new design, and fast.” The Mechanist said, as him, Sokka and Y/n worked on bringing the War Balloon he’d already constructed outside. “With both of you helping we should be able to get it up and running pretty quickly though!”  “Yeah! And I’m pretty sure Aang and Katara will be able to hold off the Fire Nation with everyone’s help.”  Y/n furrowed her eyebrows. “They’ll be able to hold them off, but we can’t count on them too for too long, even if we have the skies. The Fire Nation’s army is huge, who knows how many soldiers will show up.”  They got the balloon set up to do the necessary modifications. “Oh she’s right, time is not something we have on our side right now.”  Sokka nodded in understanding. “Right. It’s only one modification though, so it can’t take terribly long, right?”  “Let’s hope not.”  Getting to work on the War Balloon, they probably could have gotten things done a little faster. But nonetheless, they got it done, and just in time too apparently. While Sokka and The Mechanist got ready to take off in the war balloon, Y/n went to find the others to see how they were holding up.  “How are things going out here?” She asked, once she found Katara, Aang and Teo. The three looked at her with slight concern.  “Not well.” Katara started. “Please tell us Sokka is coming with that war balloon soon.”  Before she could give an answer, the war balloon rose up from behind them all, and started moving towards the battle field. From where they all stood, they could see Sokka and The Mechanist dropping giant slime bombs onto the Fire Nation soldiers. The bombs that they had didn’t stop the soldiers, however, and they were starting to advance closer to the Temple.  Katara put a hand on Y/n’s shoulder, to get her attention. “What are they doing..?”  She squinted in the direction of the war balloon, trying to see what was going on. “I’m not sur-” She cut herself off, watching as something fell from the basket of the war balloon. Was that the balloons fuel source? “Did they just push out their fuel source..?!” “What?!”  A sudden explosion set off, a really really big one. The entire Temple got clouded in a ginormous wall of grey smoke. When the smoke dissipated, it was revealed that the Fire Nation was retreating.  Aang pointed to where the army was leaving. “Look! They’re retreating!” Everyone started to cheer at the success, but the joy was cut short, as the war balloon started heading downwards quickly. Thankfully though, Aang was able to get Sokka and The Mechanist before the balloon crashed below.  Currently, they all stood outside on the main terrace of the Air Temple.  “You know what? I’m really glad you guys all live here now. It’s like the hermit crab.” Aang spoke, as he carefully picked up one of the hermit crabs near them all. “Maybe you weren’t born here, but you found this empty shell and made it your home. And now you protect each other.”  Teo offered a smile to the boy. “That means a lot coming from you.”  “Aang you were right about air power.” Sokka pointed to the sky. “As long as we’ve got the skies we’ll have the Fire Nation on the run!”

[mjvnivsbrvtvs]

2000 words of (checks notes) hbo rome, but Antony captures Brutus alive and no one is quite sure what to do with that. mostly unedited, sort of heading in a direction for sure.

Cassius is dead.

And,  

well.

Brutus is alive.

For whatever reason, Antony had decided to drag him back to his camp, and he sits in Antony’s tent like a child waiting to find out what punishment is going to get doled out while listening to Antony and Octavian shout at each other from some other place in the encampment.

Cassius is dead, and Brutus feels like he was cheated out of being able to take the honorable way out. Instead, he was ignobly marched back across a never-ending field of bodies, a prisoner, maybe something worse. To step between bodies of the men he commanded to their deaths felt like the worst kind of cowardice.

Cassius is dead, Brutus has the blood of his brother-in-law under his nails, and he feels inexplicably jealous.

The yelling stops, and after a moment, Antony steps back inside.

‘Great news!’ he says cheerfully. ‘You won’t be dying today!’

Brutus stares at him. Antony looks back expectantly.

In the back of his throat, the decorum that dictates social niceties threatens to claw its way out of his mouth, to show the appropriate gratefulness.  

Cassius is dead, and Brutus wishes that was his fate as well, so he swallows hard and says nothing.

When it becomes clear that Brutus won’t say anything, Antony pulls a seat over and sits across from Brutus, uncharacteristically serious. ‘I know that this isn’t really ideal for anyone,’ he says, looking Brutus in the eye. ‘But it is better to survive. Think of your mother, how much better it will be for her to get a letter from you than to receive one from me announcing your death.’

It feels like Antony is attempting something like reassurance, like he’s worried Brutus might take the stylus off the desk and shove it through his own neck (he had thought about it, and immediately discarded the idea) but all Brutus can concentrate on is how much he doesn’t want to think of his mother.  

Every personal betrayal, every manipulation at the hands of his own mother comes to the forefront of his mind and he can feel his expression twist into something bitter. ‘I’d consider it a personal favor if you would tell her that anyway,’ Brutus finds himself saying, and Antony laughs, sharp and surprised.

‘I didn’t think you had it in you to be cruel,’ he says, leaning forward.

‘You know, I never really wanted this?’ Brutus says, because now the words won’t stop spilling out of his mouth, ‘but she used my name, and Caesar couldn’t trust me after that.’

There is some emotion that Brutus can’t identify in Antony’s gaze, something quiet and calculating, not unlike a predator considering how to cast judgement.

‘You helped kill him,’ says Antony, tone neutral.

Brutus looks away, and back own at his hands. They aren’t shaking anymore, but on that day, he wasn’t sure they would ever stop. Cassius might have put the blade back into his hands, but he was the one who grasped it and drove it into the body of a man he had once considered to be like a father.  

Abruptly, he wonders if Octavian is somewhere on the other side of the material of the tent, eavesdropping on them like some kind of ghost.

‘I did,’ agrees Brutus, because there’s no sense in denying it or trying to claim some kind of innocence to the act. It runs in the family, even if he tried to deny that legacy before. He won’t try to pass blame for the action now. ‘You should let Octavian do whatever it is he wants to do.’ He sits up a little straighter and narrows his eyes. ‘What do you gain from this anyway? What benefit am I to you?’

Antony leans back, posture open and lazy. It’s not sincere, Brutus knows. It’s the false nonchalance that Antony presents the world when he wants people to look a little less closely, to take him a little less seriously, all the while planning out a series of strategies in the back of his mind.

‘Do I have to have an ulterior motive?’ asks Antony. ‘Maybe I just want to ruin Octavian’s day for a bit.’

He stands up before Brutus can reply, and begins to walk back towards the tent flap. ‘You’ll be staying here,’ Antony informs Brutus. ‘There are soldiers on guard duty, so don’t think about trying to escape.’ He looks at his desk, to the stylus, and after a brief pause of consideration, crosses the space in two easy steps to grab it. ‘Remember!’ he says, grinning. ‘Tomorrow’s a new day!’

Then he’s gone.

And Brutus is once again left with his hands, and Cassius’s blood.

•

At some point in the night, Brutus falls asleep.

When he wakes up, he is in Antony’s bed, with absolutely no recollection of how he got there. His hands, Brutus notices as he sits upright and pushes the blankets off of him, are clean.

‘And he lives!’ says Antony. He’s sitting behind his desk, watching Brutus from over top the paper in his hand. His tone is jovial, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. ‘If you wanted to go back to sleep for another hour, I won’t tell: it might be the last time you’ll get the chance to sleep in.’

The entire exchange is baffling.

The expression on Brutus’ face must convey as much, because Antony laughs. ‘Just because you are my prisoner doesn’t mean it has to be painful for us both.’

Brutus arches an eyebrow at the use of the possessive and makes a note to eventually find out the specifics of what Antony and Octavian had been fighting about. ‘I think you'll find that sentiment goes against almost every expectation someone might have if they found themselves held captive by a political rival,’ points out Brutus.

‘I like to think of us as people who could have been political allies under different circumstances,’ counters Antony. ‘We did work together for some time.’

‘I think’ says Brutus slowly, ‘that you have some ulterior motive you’ve been angling towards for some time.’

Silence, except for the general ambience of a military encampment the day after a resounding victory. Conversation, men looking forward to returning home, the sharp crackle of an early morning fire. Life goes on. When the sun comes up in full, the bodies left on the battlefield will begin to stink and decay under the full force of the heat.

The fight in Brutus, the revulsion that he will be used for another person’s end goals again, fades out of him, replaced with a quiet grief at the thought of the men he led to their death.

Antony snaps his fingers.

‘You look like you’re thinking unhappy thoughts,’ says Antony. ‘Do not. It’s always better to live. If you must spiral into melancholia, wait until I’m gone.’

‘Besides!’ continues Antony. ‘Soon we will be back in Rome!’

Brutus can’t think of anything he’s looking forward to less.

•

Brutus wishes more than anything that Antony had just given him a sword so he could fall on it.

Currently, the feeling is driven less by a sense of duty (what kind of man begs for mercy? comes the voice of his mother. I didn’t beg this time, mother, he would say in reply) or the open wound of loss, but instead by an intense awareness that he does not belong in this place anymore but more importantly 

annoyance.

If he thought he would have to wait around to see what Octavian and Antony were arguing about back in Philippi, he was wrong. The second Antony had set foot in Rome, with Brutus half a step behind him, Octavian immediately launched into an impassioned speech that started with, ‘You should be grateful to Antony, if it were up to me, I would have taken your head displayed it for all to see,’ (poetic in a grim sort of way, thinks Brutus) and ended with:

‘Don’t get too comfortable. You belong to Antony now, and he’ll do with you whatever he wants.’

It’s clearly meant to be some threat, but it’s laughable because Brutus knows this, everyone who’s heard about the outcome at Philippi knows this, there’s probably creative graffiti about it already going up on the walls of the city, and Octavian says it like Brutus hasn’t spent the last week trying to puzzle together why Antony wanted him alive so badly.

The facts of the world are as follow: the sun rises in the east, it sets in the west, Octavian has only become more insufferable over the years, and Brutus belongs to Antony now.

The only person who doesn’t seem to be aware of this is Antony, who continues to act as though Brutus is more of a peer that he had a minor disagreement and has subsequently forgiven.

‘It’s been nice catching up with you, Octavian,’ says Antony with a smile that conveys that the entire exchange has been anything but nice. ‘But I have things to do, matters to attend to.’  

Brutus says nothing.

Octavian levels him with one last bitter look before turning around and leaving the room.

‘Well!’ says Antony after a moment. ‘That went as well as to be expected. I have a feeling he thought I’d have you executed somewhere along the way back.’

‘He’s not the only one,’ comments Brutus dryly, and Antony punches him in the shoulder good naturedly.

‘I love that grim sense of humor you have,’ he says. ‘Come on, let us go home. I’m fucking exhausted.’  

•

Home, it turns out, is Pompey’s villa.

Or more accurately: it’s Antony’s now.

Brutus can see it on the walls, in the décor, in the choices of fabrics and design. It’s alive, it’s vibrant, it’s a complete antithesis of everything Pompey stood for.  

He likes it.

‘So-’ Antony starts to say, at the exact moment Brutus says:

‘What’s your endgame here, Antony?’

It’s a recreation of the morning in Philippi: the open, if somewhat confusing, amicability that doesn’t quite meet the eyes. The sense that Antony is thinking of things in stratagem, planning for some kind of outcome no one has even thought to imagine, much less prepare for.

The villa is nice. Brutus likes what Antony’s done with the place.

He also feels very much like he’s walked into the open mouth of something with very sharp teeth, and if he must be assigned a role in whatever Antony is gearing up for, he would at least like an idea of what’s to come.

Whatever Antony is searching for in Brutus’ eyes, he must have found, because the tension in his jaw disappears.

‘Some other time,’ he says finally. ‘Not today.’

There’s a promise in between the words.

Brutus tries to feel grateful for that, at least. It’s hard, because once, before all of this, he used to be--

•

--a person.

Antony shows him to one of the rooms, makes some remark about not leaving the villa, with a side glance at Posca, who does his best not to meet Brutus’ eyes, which is understandable. Antony takes off, and in the absence of anything else to do, Brutus decides to try and reinvent himself.

He can no longer be Brutus, descendant of a king killers. He is no longer a reluctant, albeit talented, politician, following in the footsteps of all the other politicians that came before him. He’s not even entirely sure what his status as a citizen of Rome is. In lieu of death, Octavian might push for exile.

The only concrete fact about himself now is that Antony wanted him alive, and so he belongs to Antony.

The lack of solid ground to stand on makes exile a tempting thought.

At some point in the afternoon (no further along in the process of reinvention than when he started) a young woman stops by: Cynthia, if Brutus recalls correctly. One of Antony’s slaves. She asks if he’s hungry, if he’d like an apple and--

--for a moment, Brutus feels like he’s returned to Philippi, standing defeated, surrounded by bodies. The dead don’t eat, they need coins for the afterlife, not food, the dead don’t eat, and he’s not a person anymore--

--Brutus says yes and follows her.

•

Antony is exhausted.

Octavian, he knows, is planning something. There is something ugly and spiteful inside of that youth, Antony can’t stand to be around him, no matter how much Atia dotes on him.  

When Antony returns back home late in the evening, he’s greeted with the sight of Brutus sitting on one of the couches, peeling an apple, while Cynthia stands nearby, slicing up a pear. He pulls the heavy fabric of the toga off his body and casts it across a chair, making his way towards the two.

Draping himself along the couch next to Brutus, he leans over and says, ‘Slice off a piece for me.’

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Posca watching the scene unfold from the quiet shadows of the evening.

Brutus cuts off a part of the apple so that the slice is stuck on the side of the blade, and holds it out to Antony, like this is an everyday occurrence, like Brutus isn’t pointing a knife at the person who owns his life.

He realizes it, a moment later, and freezes, but before he can course correct, pull back, apologize, Antony leans forward and bites the apple slice right off the sharp edge of the knife.

Brutus stares at him.

Or, more specifically, Antony is delighted to note, he stares at the line of Antony’s throat, his gaze lingering for just a second too long.

[something-fanfiction-ie]

Rough Drafts

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: Explicit descriptions of a murder scene, argument, angst, and cursing.

A/N: Okay, so I know I said I was gonna publish this yesterday but I got Cassandra Clare’s newest book and I couldn’t put it down. I seriously love that lady. Omg. Anyways, it’s here now! And it’s angsty! And there’s gonna be a fourth part soon I promise! For real. Don’t forget to reblog, comment, send me an ask or a message and overall just adore me so that I may continue to feel good about myself. As always thank you for supporting me and I hope you enjoy!!!

[ Part One | Part Two ]

___

An incredulous laugh bursts from your lips, your nails cutting crescent moons into the palms of your hands as you try and convince yourself that this isn’t actually happening.

“Do you have alibis for your whereabouts on Monday, June eighth, Saturday, June thirteenth, and Thursday, June eighteenth?” Spencer can see your leg bouncing rapidly under the table, your eyes flying over the pictures and the expression of Emily Prentiss. You seem genuine, but he can’t trust himself to get an accurate read of you anymore.

“I, uhm, I- I wouldn’t know off the top of my head. I keep a planner, I’ll forget things otherwise.” The burst of iron in your mouth is not something you’re unused to, having chewed your cheek so badly that the skin there has broken under your teeth.

“We’ll need to see that.” Emily isn’t sure whether or not she believes that you’re guilty, watching the way you seem to unravel before her. When you look at the crime scene photos, it isn't with any pleasure, but with disgust. Your nose wrinkles a little at the bridge and you keep looking away as the blood from your face starts to drain. 

Either you’re a really good actress or you aren’t the unsub.

Emily says as much as she flips through the small teal planner that you’d willingly given them. Due dates for chapters, publishing events, book signings and days for book tours fill most of the pages in your most neat handwriting. Dates you plan to go visit your mother, grocery shop, doctor’s appointments, even plans to go somewhere and write.

Everything is explicitly stated, that way you’re never unsure of what you meant to tell yourself. That is, until around three weeks ago when a handful of days are notated with an ‘S,’ followed by a random doodle. Sometimes it’s a tiny heart drawn absentmindedly while you discuss the plans over the phone, other times it’s a cartoon bunny or a top hat.

Garcia is the first to take notice of it, her fingers faltering in their constant thrum against the keyboard in front of her. She glances out of the side of her glasses, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

“Looks like lonely girl found herself a boo.” 

“That makes sense,” JJ says from the chair she’s pulled into Penelope’s office from the bullpen. A pen is stretched between her hands, her posture relaxed into the curve of the stiff, government-issued rolly chair.

All the girls have gathered into the tech analyst’s room while the men take turns interrogating you. Well, all except Spencer. He just stands behind that window watching your every move with eyes like a hawk. “What doesn’t make sense is why she keeps it secret even in her personal planner.”

“Maybe she has a stalker? That could be who is doing all this?” 

“Then she wouldn’t keep careful notation of everything else going on in her life. A stalker would follow her every move, not just her romantic interests. Even if he is in love with her.”

“A partner, maybe? Like the days they planned the murders or days they were acted out?”

“None of the days line up with the crimes, save for this one,” Emily leans the book toward the two women with her finger just underneath June fifth, the day Alison Crane was abducted from outside her campus dorm room. It’s the third ‘S’ scribbled into the corner of a day in the entire book.

“And there is nothing else written in relation to this ‘S’ character?” JJ shakes her head, looking for any clues that could be nestled among the loops and curls of your writing. Reid would be better at this, he was the graphology expert among them. So why wasn’t he back here helping?

“Then I guess we better try and get her to talk about it. Meanwhile Garcia, we’ll get Rossi and Reid to head over to her apartment and you can hack into her computer?” Penelope spins the chair, a flash of bright colors and blond hair. She clicks her tongue in response, throwing up a fingers gun and winking.

“Whatever you need me to do, I’m on it like sexy on Derek Morgan stepping out of the shower in a towel.”

After some arguing, and maybe just a little bit of pleading, they manage to convince Reid to join Rossi on a trip to your apartment. He can’t help but feel a little uncomfortable, standing in your living room. Not because he’d been here before, but because he’d never been here before.

The empty mugs that litter every surface, smelling of old coffee and your favorite coffee creamer (he only knows it’s your favorite because you explicitly ask for that creamer at every coffee shop the two of you have ever gone to), is unfamiliar to him. He’s invited you to his apartment at least three times. How come he had never been to yours?

Small pages and notebooks of scribbled ideas and dialogues cover just as many areas as the coffee cups do, your handwriting messy and cramped in every note. It’s almost like you couldn’t get the idea out of your head fast enough.

The bed in your room is meticulously made without a wrinkle in sight, but that could be because of the obvious bed you’ve made yourself along the salmon pink couch that stretches out in front of your TV. A multicolored crochet blanket is thrown haphazardly over the back, a pillow still slightly squished against the arm.

On the coffee table is a half opened laptop, a notebook with red and black ink scribbled in the lines, and a still full cup of coffee. Rossi makes quick work of calling Garcia and helping her get patched into your computer. It’s strange, watching her move the mouse on your screen from miles away.

Reid never stops moving, walking the length of your studio apartment with his eyes peeled for any kind of information he could find. It’s obvious that you spend most of your time in the main room, which houses the kitchen, a small dining area, and the living room. A door leading into your room branches off to a small bathroom which is just as disorganized as everything else in your house.

Hair products, skin washes, and all kinds of makeup are scattered across the sink and back of your toilet. It’s funny because every time he’s ever met up with you, you’re bare faced and your hair is still drying from the shower you took before leaving your house. The tube of lipstick he picks up makes him think he doesn’t really know you at all.

On the nightstand in your room is a bottle of water with the label ripped off and the two Rossi books you’d bought that fateful day in the bookstore. The label from the water bottle is stuck between the middle pages of one of the books. The passages in question don’t lend anything to connecting you as a homicidal maniac, let alone a serial killer.

Back in the living room, Garcia is snooping through every aspect of your computer.

“I don’t know whether or not the be freaked out by her web history. There’s a lot of murder-y questions here. ‘Signs of a post mortem amputation,’ ‘How much blood can you lose and still live?,’ ‘Most brutal ways to be killed.’ It’s creepy.” Rossi is flicking through the notebook from the table, his eyes squinted as he tried to make sense of the abbreviations and scribblings of another writer.

“She writes crime novels so it isn’t entirely strange for her to be looking at those types of things.” Thankfully, the defense of your web search history comes from the older man who looks up as Garcia delves deeper and deeper. Spencer had thought it first, but hadn’t said anything to avoid suspicion. He’s smart enough to know that the truth has to come out eventually, but he wants to be sure of your innocence (or guilt, he reminds himself a bit glumly) before he reveals your link to him.

“I’m not seeing anything she could be using to contact a partner unless her partner is one of the publishing people she’s constantly messaging via email.” At this Spencer stops, leaning against the back of the couch with his weight resting on the heels of his hands. The stance appears relaxed. He is anything but.

“Why do we assume she has a partner?” Reid asks, impatiently pushing a stray curl away from his face. Rossi glances at him curiously, otherwise undistracted from the shake the movement gives the couch.

“Oh, Prentiss, JJ, and I were looking through her little teal book earlier and the only thing not explicitly stated was just the letter ‘S.’ It’s why they came back to interrogate and they sent you guys to her house. I thought they told you.”

Spencer wants to beat his head against the wall.

“That isn’t a lead, Garcia. You have to tell them that ‘S’ isn’t her partner.” The mouse on the computer screen falters, several saved documents for different rough drafts of books or drabbles are pulled up the way you might have papers scattered about in front of you.

“What is it? Do you know who ‘S’ is?” Rossi is turned sideways on the couch, looking over the back and up at the distressed man in front of him. It doesn’t take him long to connect the dots when they make eye contact. Penelope impatiently whines over the phone.

“I’m ‘S,’ I’ve been seeing her for the last three weeks. I’m sure if you tell me the dates then every single one of them will be days that we’ve had plans together.”

“I’m sorry, what?!” Before anyone has the chance to say anything else, the door to Garcia’s office opens and a second voice filters through Rossi’s phone speaker. It’s JJ.

“Let Reid and Rossi know there’s just been another murder.”

This time it’s a fifteen year old girl. Her hair is black and wet, her lips are as blue as the sky, and she’s naked. Water droplets from her skin have soaked into the sheet of paper that was layed over her chest. The bathtub she’s in is completely empty, but it doesn’t take a genius to know that she was drowned there. The bruises on her shoulders from the force the unsub used to pin her down are dark against the contrast of her already pale skin.

...The man leaned over the tub, his eyes squinted in thought and his lips skewed a little to the side. Ryder stayed focused on the crime scene, for the most part. But even detectives of her caliber, and higher, could easily get lost in the eyes that look up at her from beneath long golden-brown lashes.

“Detective?” She blinks the distraction away, looking back at the girl, her black hair wet and spiraling like the snakes on Medusa’s head against the ivory siding of the drained tub. Ryder can’t help but wish the girl had been lucky enough to turn her killer to stone. Maybe it would have saved her.

“Agent.” She crosses her arms, looking anywhere but at the man across from her, pretending to look for any useful clues. Ryder had gotten to the crime scene fourty-five minutes before the pair of FBI Agents had walked in. The man, who had introduced himself as Supervisory Special Agent Matthew Gray, had decided to join her in the second floor bathroom. His partner, a woman named Katherine Swift, had taken to looking for clues through the rest of the house.

Agent Gray is beautiful. It’s the only adjective that seems to stick to him with certainty, every other aspect of his personality just as elusive as the exact color of those eyes. Even as short as his hair is, the golden brown tendrils are unkempt and curl every which way. Ryder has to force her hand to stay at her side and not reach up to smooth an alfalfa that does nothing for the serious expression on his face.

She keeps imagining what it would feel like if he reached out to kiss her, curling his fingers into her hair and bringing her unworthy lips up to meet his. He’s tall so she would probably have to stretch a little, but she wouldn’t mind. Not when his hands are tangled in her hair and he’s giving her the kiss she’s been silently begging for since the moment he flashed that crooked grin at her.

The imagination is so vivid that she jumps when her own partner, Detective Russo, comes around the corner of the hallway and straight into the bathroom...

The paper crinkles in the evidence bag as Morgan places it on the table, trying to ignore the daggers being glared into him on the other side of the mirror.

Nobody on the team had been very happy with Spencer when they heard the news about your relationship, Hotch had nearly snatched him by the scruff of his neck when he made to go into the interrogation room. But after several minutes of thoroughly explaining himself, Hotch had sent Morgan in. To say Spencer was infuriated was an understatement.

“Do you know what this is, (Y/N)?” You look down at it, twisting the evidence bag so that you could read the Times New Roman font you always wrote in when writing in Microsoft Word. The words cover the front and back of the copy paper, but you don’t have to read it through all the way before you know what it is.

“It’s a page from my newest book.” The bag scratches against the tabletop as you push it away from you, crossing your arms over your chest. Your face is stoplight red with embarrassment at the thought of Spencer reading this page, mostly because you had pulled so heavily from your own thoughts when first meeting Spencer to write Ryder and Gray’s first meeting. You created Matthew Gray to write about Spencer Reid in a way that felt less ‘high school diary entry.’

“More specifically, it’s from the book you just started working on about a month ago. The one that only you and your agent have access to.” Finally, Morgan sits. Before, he’d just been pacing around you the way a lioness might stalk around her prey before she launches an attack. It made you uneasy, but that was the whole point, wasn’t it?

“Do you know where we found it, (Y/N)?” His muscles bulge against his shirtsleeves when he leans them up on the table. Derek Morgan is a very attractive man, you’ll give him that, but if making you uneasy and putting you in the room with a attractive man to fluster you was their strategy then they should have sent in Spencer.

“My computer.”

“We found it on the body of a dead girl.” Another picture joins the ones already shuffled around the table. You can barely look at it, nausea and tears building in your throat at the sight of another person dying the same way you’d written in a story. When you don’t respond, Morgan continues.

“‘She was found at the bottom of an empty bathtub, a pale leg hooked over the edge of the porcelain siding, and her arms pinned to her sides in death. Bruises discolored the skin at her shoulders, and Ryder knew at first glance that her cause of death would be asphyxiation by drowning.’” He drops the paper back to the table, having picked it up to read the passage from the end of the page.

“That’s wrong,” You say, leaning back over the table to look at the paper again. Derek looks down, like the words might have changed in the moment he looked away, but the text stays exactly the same as before.

“That’s exactly what is written here.” You shake your head, pulling the bag back to you and wrinkling your forehead in thought.

“I don’t doubt that is what you read, Agent Morgan,” Your eyes fly over the page, reading the end of the excerpt with overwhelming relief. The bag sticks a little to the pad of your index finger as you tap over the paragraph in question. “But I rewrote this scene only two nights ago. It’s on my computer, I’m sure your tech analyst can confirm my claim. This girl, Bella, she doesn’t die from drowning anymore. Her hands are tied above her head to the faucet and she’s strangled. I couldn’t decide if I wanted it to be by her sister or her girlfriend.”

JJ rushes back to Penelope’s office, on a mission to confirm your statement just as you had suggested. Meanwhile, Morgan’s mind is rushing to figure out the mess he is currently sat in. You lean back in your chair now, unsure if the dizziness you feel is from lack of food or the sudden realization that they couldn’t pin this to you anymore.

“I’m not your bad guy. If I was doing this to prove to my mother that my writing is good, that I chose the right career, as your profile says, I wouldn’t change the scene in my book and not change the murder.” In Morgan’s earpiece, Hotch tells him that you were telling the truth about editing the scene two nights ago.

“Unless you planned it to throw us off track. We know about your relationship with Spencer, you’ve probably found out all kinds of things to do to keep us from catching you.”

You clench your teeth, straightening into your chair and pinning Derek down with a look you’d learned from your mother. It makes him think of his mom, your eyes narrowed and your gaze so cold that it could cause frostbite. He watches curiosily as you tilt your chin up a little, trying to hide the pricks behind your eyes and the wobble of your lip. Derek notices them, the entire team notices. They’re trained to notice.

“I want a lawyer.” You say simply, you voice is sharp and quiet but it does the job of slicing through the tension already building in the room.

“Come on, you don’t need a lawyer.”

“That’s where you’re wrong again, Agent Morgan. I do need a lawyer. Because even though I have full-heartedly trusted the justice system since I was in diapers, and even though I came to these offices willing to help your team in any way that I could, you are still trying to use me as a scapegoat instead of actually doing your fucking job and finding the bastard who is killing people in my name.

“A study from criminal law bulletin says that 10,000 people are wrongfully convicted of serious crimes every year. One in every twenty-five people sentenced to death are innocent, Agent Morgan. Just since 1973, more than 160 people were exonerated from the death penalty. That’s not even counting the people who were killed. But you sure as hell aren’t about to make me apart of that statistic because you want to waste your time trying to piece an investigation around me. That’s not how you’re supposed to do your job. So until you can remember how to do it correctly, I do need a lawyer. Thank you.”

By the time you finish you’ve leaned over the table, your index finger jammed into the wood to make your point. It feels like your chest is on fire as you slam back into your seat and cross your arms, determined to keep your silence for the rest of the time you were forced to sit here.

Everyone on the opposite side of the mirror is stunned into silence, their eyes focused on you even as Derek gathers all the things from the desk and walks out looking a little flustered himself. If Spencer was totally honest, your outburst was actually kind of hot. He has to remind himself that you may have killed eight people in cold blood.

Your lawyer makes it to the BAU in record time, his red hair expertly gelled back from his face. His icy blue eyes only cracking when he sees you sitting by yourself in the interrogation room. Spencer can tell by the way that he lowers himself on the balls of his feet to talk to you, reaching out to touch the hand that sits on your thigh, that he knows you personally. He likes you, actually. Spencer tried to tell himself that it doesn’t make him glad when you pull your hand out of his and awkwardly pat his arm.

He’s been lying to himself a lot today.

Hotch is the one to go back in the room, he was the best at dealing with lawyers. Unfortunately his best wasn’t enough to keep you in custody and soon your lawyer, who Spencer learned was named Jeremy, was walking you out of the room for the first time in six hours.

Your back cracks when you stand, your shoulders rolling back to try and ease some of the stress you’d been holding there since this morning. The sound of the door swinging open for you is almost heavenly, the feel of the air outside of the room is damn near enough to make you cry.

When you look to the side, ready to leave out the second door that leads into the hallway and away from this mess, you meet eyes with the only profiler of the BAU that you hadn’t seen that day. Spencer looks back at you with an expression that you find hard to put into words.

He almost looks sorry, the regret evident in the slight widening of his eyes, but at the same time his chin is tilted up like he is facing an enemy he has vowed to take down no matter the cost. His shoulders are squared, but his arms are uncrossed and his palms are open.

And even though you knew you wouldn’t be there without him knowing, the reassurance that Spencer knew and even suspected you is like a blow to the chest and stomach. It robs you of air, causing you to stumble.

Jeremy reaches to steady you. You shake him off, pulling your eyes from the young doctor and focusing all of your attention on the door knob.

“I’m fine, Jeremy.” Your tone of voice is more harsh than you intended but you’re still struggling to collect oxygen, even when you slide into your car by yourself, it feels like you can’t get enough air. The walk from the BAU offices to the parking lot had passed in a blur. Jeremy’s talk about staying at home and keeping your head low had gone by even faster, and now that you have time to truly be by yourself, everything hits like a ton of bricks thrown at you from a speeding train.

In the midst of your panic attack, gasping for air into the palms of your shaking hands, questioning everything about yourself and your career, you don’t register the shuffle of movement in your backseat. You’re so deep in your mind that you almost don’t notice the cool press of a gun barrel against the back of your neck until a familiar voice lifts your head from your hands.

“Drive.”

[fangirlandiknowit101]

12, 14 and 18☺️

Thanks for asking <333

12. Is there a trope you haven’t written yet but really want to?

There's lots to be honest, but something I still can't believe I haven't written is a horse riding au. Like, that's half a lie bc I have a few thousand words written for a Simon/Baz horse rider au that I might never finish, but I'd really like to write one for Naruto. But I always decide not to because I don't know all the words and I hate googling stuff while I write. But one day! Surely!

14. If you were stuck on a desert island with only two characters, which would you pick?

Honestly? Kirk and Spock. They'd find a way to get us out of there. And if not, it would at least be cool to meet them.

18. What is a line/scene you’re really proud of? Give us the DVD commentary for that scene.

You really had to pick such a difficult question... I can never decide on any particular line/scene. So I opened up The sun within me and looked at the chapters and thought I'd pick something that could be interesting to comment on. And in this case, it's a bit about how Naruto, Sasuke, and Charasuke have changed and their different relationships with each other. So! Here's a bit of commentary for a scene in chapter 40 (under the cut bc it's fairly long lol):

[For clarification, this is right after Naruto and Sasuke come back home from Sasuke's mission where he fought Menma and Menma then disappeared. I'm skipping ahead to the part where they arrive at the orphanage and Charasuke is waiting in their room (Naruto's POV). My comments will be written in bold text.]

The clone’s memories dropped into his head like a puff of smoke, and he groaned out loud, making a face. Sasuke gave him a concerned look, but Naruto sighed and shook his head.

“Let’s go,” he said, feeling very reluctant as he grabbed Sasuke’s arm.

He supposed he could have teleported them somewhere else, but Charasuke had seemed prepared to wait until they returned. Maybe Sasuke could deal with him while Naruto sort of… drifted away and hid in the kitchen.

Naruto is acting very childishly in this scene, mostly because he's still wary of Charasuke, and also because he's just spent two days in Sasuke's company but pretending to be Menma, which means no cuddles/kisses or anything. He's kind of clingy, isn't he? Haha. And also, he doesn't really want to admit to himself that Menma disappearing for Charasuke is the parallel to his worst fear, that Sasuke will disappear.

“Where is he?” Charasuke demanded the second they arrived in the bedroom.

“Ah, Sasuke, maybe you can explain?” he suggested, inching towards the door, but Sasuke nailed him to the floor with a single glare.

“He could be anywhere,” Sasuke said, continuing to glare until he was sure that Naruto wouldn’t escape. “I didn’t manage to get a good look through the portal.”

“The portal?” Charasuke seemed to waver, arms wrapped around himself as he looked between them. “Tell me what happened.”

You can tell that Sasuke has really started to care about Charasuke here. He's not entirely open with him yet, but he recognizes a lot of himself in Charasuke and he puts himself in Menma's position, thinking about when he left the village and Naruto was left behind. He doesn't want Charasuke to hurt the way he knows Naruto was hurting back then.

While Sasuke described the mission, including what he called ‘Naruto’s dumb interference’, Naruto dug through his closet for the shirt he would make Sasuke wear. He was absolutely sure that Sasuke would argue about it – especially since he’d sent a clone to Akatsuki and not himself – but if he talked fast enough and relented that it would be enough if Sasuke slept in it for one night…

“He really is gone, then,” Charasuke said, his voice toneless. “I’ll never see him again.”

“I’m sure you’ll see him again,” Naruto said, contemplating the pros and cons of a t-shirt versus long sleeves. “Whoever grabbed him and hauled him off probably just wanted to keep him out of Sasuke’s reach. He gets awfully strong when he’s irritated.”

Naruto is definitely acting a bit heartless here, again, because he doesn't want to think about his own feelings or feel forced to recognize that Charasuke is a person Sasuke cares about, that he should also care about. I think he can get a bit closed off when there's too much going on in his own life, and that makes it hard to focus on other people, especially since he still wants to leave the other dimension and doesn't want to think about Sasuke caring about his family here - meaning Sasuke might want to stay.

When he turned back from the closet, he found Sasuke giving him a disappointed look.

“What?”

“You’re taking this lightly,” he said, glancing at the shirt in Naruto’s hand and apparently deciding to ignore it.

“Well, unless we figure out how to dimension-hop after him, I don’t think there’s a lot we can do.”

Now that he was back to being himself, all Naruto really wanted was to curl up in bed with Sasuke and not think about the outside world at all. Charasuke, on the other hand, seemed on the verge of tears.

“And what would you have done if I was the one who disappeared?” Sasuke asked, an icy note to the question.

“How would I know? It hasn’t happened yet.”

A bit of foreshadowing lol. Except Sasuke is the one left reacting when Naruto leaves, but Naruto really is trying to keep a tight grip in his emotions here and absolutely not think about the fact that Sasuke could have disappeared with Menma, and he wouldn't have known what happened to him.

“You could have let me follow after him and we’d know where he went.”

Naruto straightened up, face hardening.

“No, you might have known where he went, but the rest of us wouldn’t. Besides, he was trying to kill you. I went through too much trouble to keep you alive to just let you jump into some unknown enemy territory.”

As you can see, putting a lot of emphasis on Naruto's fear of losing Sasuke again.

Silent tears now streaming down his cheeks, Charasuke sat down on the bed and clenched his fists over his lap. It was obvious that he didn’t like what they were saying, but Naruto pushed his feelings of sympathy aside. Sasuke was his top priority, and that hadn’t changed simply because there was another one of him now.

“I told him I never want to see him again,” Charasuke sniffled, and it was really disturbing to watch someone with Sasuke’s face – well, a version of Sasuke, really – crying out in heartache.

Meanwhile poor Charasuke is having a background breakdown. To Naruto, it's hard to see a version of Sasuke like this. Charasuke is coming face to face with the realization that he's A: definitely not over Menma, B: he really handled things badly and never even stopped to think about why Menma was doing things.

“If he survives, you can apologize,” Naruto told him, trying to sound comforting. “Hell knows Sasuke said a lot worse stuff to me.”

To his great surprise, Sasuke went over to sit beside Charasuke, frowning as his hand twitched to reach out to him.

“This isn’t about you and me, Naruto,” he said, settling for an awkward hand on Charasuke’s shoulder. “And it could be our fault, anyway.”

“You know, Sasuke,” Naruto said as the initial shock wore off, “that sounds scarily like you’ve started caring about other people.”

Naruto and Sasuke having a small fight about Charasuke... Naruto knew Sasuke cared about Charasuke, but this is when he realizes that Charasuke is becoming a person that Sasuke wants to protect. And for Sasuke it's a small step towards opening his heart for more people than just Naruto. Sasuke is honestly mad at Naruto for taking things so lightly, for treating this other dimension as something that doesn't affect them. Besides, I really wanted Charasuke to be comforted by Sasuke haha.

Charasuke kept crying, and the look Sasuke directed at him clearly said what he thought of Naruto right then.

“Moron. I care about other people, just not anyone in our own dimension.”

Naruto knew that to be a lie, but decided not to say anything. Having Sasuke admitting to something like having feelings was a huge enough step on its own. Instead he sighed, grabbed something to sleep in, and headed for the door.

“I’ll just sleep on a couch,” he mumbled.

Does Sasuke care about anyone back in their own dimension? Maybe, but you wouldn't really see him act like this with canon Sakura, not before they left for the RTN dimension at least. It's a big thing that Sasuke is starting to voice his feelings out loud, and acknowledge them more. Naruto is feeling jealous actually, because he wanted to finally have Sasuke to himself, and also he feels guilty for being jealous, and also he's hoping that if he pouts enough Sasuke will comfort him instead of Charasuke lol. Not always the most mature person, but who is?

Coward, Kurama accused as he headed towards the living room, but Naruto was too tired to argue with him. Something about Charasuke always rubbed him wrong, and maybe it had to do with how he displayed his emotions openly and so obviously thought of himself as weak. If Sasuke wanted to handle it, fine. Naruto didn’t have the patience for people who sat around crying, and a small part of him didn’t like that he had such problems with caring about Menma, either. Menma had everything, a loving family, a Sasuke who cared about him, but he was still feared and treated differently. Even in this world people treated the bijuu as something dangerous, and he wondered how much of the whole story of them losing consciousness and turning into beasts was true, and how much was justification to treat them badly.

It's a bit of 'my problems are worse than yours so you shouldn't be so upset'. In the movie, we really got to see how much it hurt Naruto to see this other world where he had everything he wanted, and then acknowledge that it wasn't real. Even if he can recognize that the bijuu were still treated badly here, he can't quite make peace with the way Charasuke and Menma can't appreciate what they have. It makes it really hard for him to sympathize with them.

Am I supposed to feel touched? Kurama snorted as Naruto rearranged pillows into an acceptable bed on one couch. You didn’t care much for us either before you figured out the truth.

No, but everything was supposed to be the opposite here, right? Well, this part isn’t the opposite, it’s the same.

Between one heartbeat and the next, Naruto blinked his eyes open in front of Kurama’s open cage. There was water sloshing around his ankles, and everything was clouded in some sort of yellowish haze.

“Oh, come on,” he complained, but Kurama tsk’ed at him with his head supported by one giant paw.

“I hate to admit it, but you might be onto something, kid.”

“Uh-huh, well I don’t know about you but I want to sleep.”

Kurama reached out and poked him in the stomach with a sharp claw, eyes narrowing to slits. Even if they were friends, Naruto didn’t feel like testing the limits of that friendship with those claws so close to him.

“Sometimes you say things in such a stupid voice that I miss how important it might be. Now shut up and listen,” Kurama growled, three of his tails swishing angrily behind him. “This world is supposed to be opposite, right?”

“I don’t know, but everything seems opposite.”

“Let’s pretend we know it’s true. So, everything and everybody is the opposite more or less. But, the prejudice against the bijuu is still there. And we were told that it was only recently that they became unable to control. So, where does that leave us?”

Naruto pouted, not bothering to answer. Obviously Kurama already knew what he wanted to say.

“I think it means that anything that is the same, is something that somebody has tampered with.”

I was going to do more with this, but it was also a bit of 'what sort of theories would they have for what was really going on?' and this one is accurate in a way, because Hagoromo did tamper with the bijuu which in turn made them become feared and badly treated. So it's definitely hinting at there being someone behind the scenes manipulating the bijuu.

“Huh?”

Kurama rolled his eyes, sighing so deeply that Naruto felt the wind from it tear at his clothes.

“Think, boy! If this is a mirror-world or whatever, people shouldn’t be afraid of me and my siblings. But they are, and it only started a while ago. Obviously someone made us go crazy. And Menma has me inside him, but a crazy version of me, so wouldn’t it be logical that whoever did something to the me inside Menma, could also do something to Menma?”

He thought about it, hard enough that his head started hurting. Sasuke would probably know, but he was busy with Charasuke.

“I guess,” he said eventually, huffing a little. “But even if you’re right, it doesn’t help us figuring out who’s behind it all.”

“Does it matter?” Kurama scoffed, and then his lips spread in a terribly evil grin. “We’re going to kill them anyway, aren’t we?”

“This is why you have such a bad reputation,” Naruto sighed.

Kurama only laughed.

I really love Kurama... His and Naruto's weird friendship gives me life. His solutions to problems are always very straightforward heh.

Well, that's that :3

[starfirette]

Chapter Three: Attack On Trost

grand masterlist | previous chapter | more levi | join the taglist: inbox

You reminisce your old passions and dreams when you meet an old friend–but the peace quickly ends.

tags: @kuxredere | @luvelyxp | @fan-g0rl | @levisbrat25 | @a-dream-is-reality 

a/n: Levi makes his grand arrival soon! Thanks to those who commented, liked, and reblogged the last chapters, as well as the Armin x Mother! Reader fic. Yall are so sweet! 

Connie Springer’s entire family is quite alive. 

You learned this unexpectedly when you were working on your assigned duties of the day. Every new graduate was taken to Trost to ‘celebrate’ their new found ‘freedom.’ The new cadets were to do the dirty work for the next three days while assignments were being made. 

In Trost, assigned with five others you didn’t even know the names of, you were on the ground transporting wagons of dry solider feed and blades to the supply center, or, for Garrison soldiers, headquarters. 

You wouldn’t have had any qualms with this job. It was nice to be outside among actual people, breathing fresh air. Trost is a little bubble village along the southern mouth of Wall Sina. Since the breach five years ago, Wall Sina served as the only defense against the titan beyond. Everything beyond it, including your old home, would now be ridden with them. 

You’d half hoped you’d be assigned to the suppliers along the top of wall. Not because you wanted to see Titans, but because you would have wanted to look out to the vast fields that you had once lived amongst. But Shingashina wouldn’t be at all visible to your naked eye, not even from the highest point of the world. The idea that you’d never again see Shingashina did hurt your heart more than you cared to admit. 

But that pain was naught compared to that which you felt when you watched Connie Springer, a younger boy apart of your corps, become embraced by a group of people you could only presume to be his family. A woman had him wrapped in a motherly embrace. 

He looked entirely surprised, and while he acted embarrassed, you could see in his body language that he was over the moon with joy. Who wouldn’t be? 

After over a year of spending time sharing showers in the community sauna with the other cadets that regularly kicked your ass, being with your family is much like being in Heaven. 

Your stomach ached as you turned back to your duties. You lifted bags of wheat and grain to the carts that would soon be taking off for HQ. You realized through the blurred vision of tears and sunshine that you were trembling all the way down to your knees. 

Now more than ever, you wish desperately for Annacka. Even just a letter from her in her swirly script would be enough. You half hope that she’s lingering somewhere, trying to catch a glimpse of you so she could make her grand, surprise visit. Maybe at any moment little Freda would attach herself to your legs, crying your name with that angelic lilt the way she used to.

You wiped your eyes quickly with the back of your jacket sleeve. The scratchy material was clearly made to protect a body, and not to soothe one’s skin.

You and the rest of your squad seemed to notice the surplus of family members gathering about the village center. It is the village center, but you can’t help yourself from getting annoyed. How could they just stand around and watch you all work? They were mostly in the way.

With some annoyance gathering as a scoff in your throat, you hoisted a large sack of dry feed over your shoulder. As you walked to the transport wagon about a yard away, you were suddenly stopped by a person.

You tried to keep yourself from expressing your discomfort as you averted your eyes. You walked around her, but she stepped in front of you again.

You couldn’t avoid her any longer, so you dropped the dry feed from your shoulder into your arms, holding it like an oversized baby.

“You’re Y/n L/n!” The young woman gasped. Her eyes were wide as plates, and they stared at you with such confidence and familiarity that you were a little bit frightened.

“I don’t know you,” you tell her cautiously.

Her ginger lashes fluttered like butterflies as her bow of a mouth shaped into a thin smile. “My name is Fable Rippley. We grew up at the orphan house together.”

The dry feed slipped out of your arms, falling by your feet with a thump.

“My god,” you say. “You’re so tall now!”

Fable Rippley held her freckle arms open for a hug.

Though you recognized her, and were of course happy to see her, you hesitated to accept her hug.

As her arms wrapped around you, you felt how bony and thin she was. You lightly touched her back with your hand, using the bare minimum of a hug to get by.

“I had no idea you—!” She exclaimed, but she quickly pressed her lips flat. “The other girls never responded to my letters. Eventually they were being returned, so...”

"So you figured that I had died,” you assumed for her. 

Her thin mouth smashed into a pale line. “I did,” she admitted, the words sounding as though they were being ground from her throat. “I always felt as though it should have been me rather than the others,” Fable continued on a trail of thought. 

“That’s not your fault,” you note to the tall girl. “It’s a blessing that you were adopted when you were. How old were you then?” 

“I was ten,” she said with a faint lilt of happiness as she recalled the simpler times. “I’m sixteen, now. My birthday’s just passed.��� 

“Happy birthday,” you tell her with a half of a smile. “What brings you to Trost?” 

“I am only visiting. My parents have relatives who’ve just had a child. The little boy survived, and so we are all shopping the market to celebrate.” 

“Oh,” you said. You didn’t know how you were supposed to respond to such a  broad statement. ‘Glad the kiddo didn’t die,’ you could say, but she might not appreciate such humor. 

“I’m so, so happy to see you,” Fable suddenly burst out. “I never thought that I could see anyone from my past ever again. And to see you, now, to see that you’ve gotten so much older...it makes me so painfully happy that you could carry on the legacies of our sisters.” 

Fable’s sudden outpour of emotion struck you like a bolt of lightning. 

The blood rushed to your face as you looked up at the taller girl with a feeling of queasy-ness crossed with embarrassment. “I suppose so?” you worded very carefully. 

Fable just chuckled-a light little noise like that of a pixie. 

“We all loved you so much. That’s what I mean. The other little girls bickered for your attention, and somehow, you managed to spend quality time with all of them. All of us. Do you remember the shoe shine box? Oh, it was that special box with the expensive balms to treat leather. And one Yule, every girl got her own pair of real leather Mary-Janes. There was only one shoe shining box to go around. You found a way to split the balms amongst all thirty girls and even yourself! You were a sister to us. Even a mother to the littler girl, what was her name...Freda? Yes, yes, Freda. Oh that child clung to you or to Annacka, and she wouldn’t accept anyone else. Don’t you remember the time when-”

Fable’s voice had risen to a giggle, but she cut herself off shortly when she took a stern frown to her mouth and examined your face. 

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. 

Tears poured down your face like damn waterfalls, and you couldn’t get it to stop. You did remember the shoe shin box. You remembered trying to use it so sparingly between all the children. You remembered panicking when the balm ran out and scrounging together all of your spare change to buy more. 

You even remembered having none left over for yourself. 

And you did remember little Freda. Her shoes were purchased many sizes to big so that she could grow into them. She sat on your lap at the tender age of three, swinging her legs as she didn’t pay attention to your lecture on how to care for leather. 

She wanted to wear them as soon as you were done, and vehemently insisted the shoes would fit miraculously when you informed her they wouldn’t. She had to take such careful little steps around the place so she wouldn’t trip or fall. 

“I shouldn’t have mentioned her at all,” Fable murmured. “Or any of them.”

You wiped your eyes with the mounts of Venus, shaking your head negatively. “Freda didn’t die that day,” you said, your voice sounding dreadfully thick with sorrow. “Freda is very much alive. She lives with Annacka now. Annacka, Freda, and I, we were the only survivors from the orphanage. And also you. Annacka is her mother. I doubt Freda remembers me at all.” 

“How couldn’t she?” Fable asked. “You were such an important part of the house to all of us girls. It’s strange...strange to think that you were only fifteen, then. You gave up your childhood to help raise children. And now you’re a solider!” 

You stifled an informal chuckle. “That’s one way to look at it,” you agreed. 

“You know,” Fable said with a eye crinkling grin, “I remember how badly you wanted to be a doctor.” 

The words made your heart flutter. “You do?” 

“How couldn’t I?” Fable laughed. “You were always talking about the hospital in Calaneth. You wanted to go so badly to be a nurse. Somehow, being a solider suits you more...”

Fable drew you in close for another tight hug. Her boney arms were strong, and her finger tips may have even bruised your back, but her embrace was the most comforting. 

“I should find my family now,” Fable said with a shy gleam in her eyes. “I live in Fairkelt. It’s a little village near Stohess. I’d like to write to you.” 

“Then I will write to you,” you assured her. 

“Amazing! I live in Fairkelt,” she repeated. “But I guess you could just mail the letters to Stohess. The disctrict’s messenger can bring the letters out to our farm. But, you could just label it to Fairkelt if you’d like that more. I really don’t mind. But what do you think would work better? Maybe a letter to Stohess, marked with a note to deliver to Fable Rippley, would be more clear and concise. It couldn’t get lost that way.” 

She titrated on with her childish charm and rant. 

“I’ll write two,” you amused yourself. “Both letters couldn’t get lost, could they?” 

Fable went red in the face as she laughed. “I’m sorry for ranting on. You have duties to attend. I’m so happy we’ve bumped into one another. I’ll look out for your letter.” 

As Fable skipped away, further into the marketplace of Trost, you looked after her, her red hair swinging back and forth like a lick of fire in the air. She was white as a ghost. She must never get any sun, you think as you bend down to retrieve the dry feed you’d dropped earlier. 

Fairkelt, just off of Stohess. The mental image of the map in mind led you to pinpoint Fairkelt somewhere along the forest. Perhaps she lived in a secluded little cottage under the shaded canopy of trees. 

You carried the feed to the heavy carts mounted to four large horses. 

The Garrison solider that supervised your squad chastised you as you set the sack down. “I ought to write you up for idle chatter while on duty.” 

You tucked your chin downward. “Apologies, sir,” you echoed the template you’d been so dutifully taught by Sadies. 

He seemed to considered saying something else; another set of lecturing words, perhaps, but he didn’t. He waved you to continue. 

You and your squad continued the painful march back and forth, over the same dirt and stones of the two 1/2 yards. 

“Why can’t the damn wagons be closer together?” a girl of your squad grumbled. 

“Maybe cos thee Garrison don’t wan’ no pussies in thur ranks,” someone retorted. 

The girl mocked his words in the same thick accent he spoke with. “Wut makes yu think the Garrison gun wan a dumbo like yu?” she fired back, her hands on her hips. 

Well maybe Fable just doesn’t get outside much, you were thinking again of her wispy white skin, as if she were a ghost. 

You’d read a wonderful story, though long ago, about a ghost coming to warn the village of a coming attack. The attack came every century on the same night, and only one boy in the whole village believed the ghost.

Wouldn’t that be exciting? 

To know a ghost? To be that bridge of life for them? 

Oh, but how painful it must be for ghosts, for they can watch forever what they can never have. 

You hoisted another sack of dry feed over your shoulder. Turning on the balls of your feet, you looked at the full wagon that would be making it’s way to the Garrison’s supply center. Your final bag would be it. 

The sun blazed down across you, the heat beating past the thick material of your uniformed jacket. 

You tossed the final sack of dry meal onto the wagon, and your squad cheered at the sight of their chore being completed. 

“So we get to see the center now, right?” one of the girls from your squad politely asked the supervisor. He gave her a stern look over his thin glasses. 

“Yes,” he said, finally. 

You collapsed against the side of the cart as your squad cheered. You could feel the sweat that saturated you underneath your clothes and uniform. 

The leather straps and belts seemed to slide around easier than they had this morning, which made you feel better. The harness usually made you feel bloated. But with all the sweat, you were like butter on a hot griddle. 

You looked down at your own knees. Sweat stains formed at the joints of your white pants. 

You began to shrug out of your jacket when, all too suddenly, a group of cats ran past you. 

It was a strange sight, to be sure, for these cats did not only run-they sprinted. They went bolting as if they were hiding for their lives. You looked after them, counting them each in your head. 

One...two...three...f-

The CRACK of the thunder quaked through the earth you stood upon, jolting even the wagon. There had been a brief, brief flash of light, one that you doubted you’d even seen. 

The entire village came to a standstill. People muttered, asked questions, looked about for signs of storms. But you just looked after that group of alleycats whose tails were upright and haunches were breaking past their fur. 

The sweat dribbled down your neck as you spun around to look up in the air, which itself had a fresh smell of smoke. The sort of smoke that was layered with hot, raw meat. The scent made your eyes water. You looked to the sky. It’s emptiness filled your stomach with violent anxiety and just when you’d began to comprehend what was happening, the screaming started. 

[potterlovemail]

Math Tutor - Drarry Headcanon

(modern au)

Harry Potter wasn’t the brightest student in his classes. Throughout highschool, he managed to be pretty decent in his studies; he had B’s, and rarely any D’s. This pleased his parents greatly— though, they never really were strict on grades, they simply wanted Harry to live on happily and become whatever he wanted to in the future.

James is a professor at Hogwarts University. Basically Duke, but aim just a tad bit lower. Hogwarts was known for having many gifted students attend; no person was the same as the last. It seemed everyone had their own interests.

Though, Harry had no idea what he was going to do. He thought about teaching like his father, but it seemed far fetched. He could hold his own in class, teaching on the other hand— no. Harry hated teaching. Those times teachers would ask him to explain his answer, his mind almost always went blank. Maybe he was nervous, or perhaps he just disliked explaining himself. He’d put the future aside for now. There are more important things to be worrying about.

First day on campus, and they’ve been given their roommate’s name. Harry didn’t really mind having a roommate; just as long as they weren’t horribly annoying. He’d have to share a room with someone named Draco Malfoy. He had no idea who the hell that was. Harry had heard of the Malfoy name— apparently, they funded Hogwarts for a little bit. They were wealthy, Harry knew that much.

On the first knock, who supposedly is Malfoy answers the door. Harry didn’t know what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t this. Malfoy was darn gorgeous. That’s right, Harry was into blokes, and what are the odds that he landed a room with someone as attractive as that.

“Holy shit,” Were the first and only words to leave the stunned male’s mouth. “Nice to meet you too,” Malfoy stepped out of the way so Harry could walk in and drag his luggage along. He does so reluctantly, eyes trailing Malfoy. Malfoy’s eyes were grey, and it was pretty much the most beautiful shade of grey Harry had ever seen. Oh, boy, he was crushing big time.

“You’re staring. Is there something on my face or are you just surprised that I’m your roommate?” Malfoy’s voice cuts through his thoughts. The blond knew where he was at the Popularity charts. “Well- I.. actually didn’t even know who you were till now,” Harry tries his best to stand his ground and not stammer. “I mean i’ve heard of the Malfoy name, of course,” His heavy feet crossed the room, heading to the empty bed which Harry assumed was his. Malfoy had pretty much unpacked everything. His bed looked expensive compared to Harry’s; the mattress looked fluffier, and just comfortable while Harry’s looked flat, and plain. Maybe Malfoy had paid them.

“Alright then. You stay on your side and mind your business, and we’ll be fine,” Malfoy states calmly, sitting down on his bed with a proper posture. Harry couldn’t stop himself from looking just a little bit longer. This seemed promising.

A week of sharing a room, and the two males realized that they literally were opposites. Harry’s closet looked like a jungle compared to Malfoy’s. Even the dark haired male’s hand writing was put to shame with Malfoy’s bloody cursive writing. Damn rich people.

Harry wasn’t proud of it, but they’d argued sometimes. Mainly it was Malfoy complaining about how Harry took too long in the bathroom, and how Harry had used up all of the shampoo. Their mornings usually went like this, and they parted ways for their classes sharing insults.

“Git.” Harry walked out the door first, trotting down the hall to get to his class, bag clutched tightly in one arm. “Prat!” Malfoy bellowed, just enough for Harry to hear as he speed walked. It was hilarious to the blond. Despite this, Harry was still crushing. How could he not? Malfoy just seemed so.. perfect. Gosh, it was still a shock how he had managed one week without throwing himself on the male. If he did that he’d probably be sent to the nurses with a broken nose, or maybe a concussion. He didn’t even know if Draco liked guys.

Second semester, and Harry was having serious problems with Math. Math wasn’t his best subject— it was definitely his worst. One particular evening, Harry’s jotting down notes messily and trying badly to recall everything. He has an exam in about 4 days. He’s so focused, he doesn’t even realize that Malfoy was watching him.

“You seem like you’re actually thinking. It’s hurting to watch,” Malfoy snorts, and Harry’s head snaps up to glare at him. “I’m doing my best to study. I’m not stupid, alright?” He rolls his eyes, averting his gaze back to his near crumpled folder paper. “I didn’t call you stupid. Not really. But, I could help you with that,” The blond offers. “And why would you want to do that?” Harry’s interested, definitely. He would never pass up on that, he really needed the help, but he also wanted to know what Malfoy was up to.

“Just cause. And i’m bored, the poor need my help.” Only Malfoy could make Harry as irritated as this— yet the dark haired male wouldn’t act on his annoyance. He didn’t want to make their ‘friendship’ worse than it was, and besides, he wants to be more than just silly roommates and friends. “Fine. Help me,” Harry groaned, crossing his legs as Malfoy made his way over to him. “Great. Now scoot.”

Malfoy wasn’t a bad teacher, or rather, tutor, at all. He helped Harry with things he couldn’t wrap his head around, and even took the time to explain it thoroughly. Harry couldn’t tell if Malfoy was just showing off, or trying to help.

Harry’s heart felt as if it’d leap up his throat any moment; they’d never been this close to each other. Knees made contact, shoulders touching briefly as Malfoy pointed to certain equations. Malfoy’s hand brushing against his as he stole away Harry’s pencil to demonstrate. All of this made Harry slowly insane.

“You look a little pink. Don’t tell me you’ve got a fever of some sort,” Malfoy comments, pausing his very useful tutoring. “I’m fine, peachy,” Harry shrugged, knowing damn well the blush on his face only deepened.

He was going to die if he didn’t make a move soon.

Harry decides that a week later is when he’ll make the first move. Was it probably the scariest thing he’d ever done? Yes. Merlin, yes. Harry was never an open romantic, he didn’t give out much hints. It was because he just didn’t want to be rejected, but he strongly felt he had a chance with Malfoy. For whatever reason.

So, this is how he did it. “Hey, I need you to errr.. explain this one again to me.” Harry asked, fidgeting with the pencil in his hand. “Sure.” Malfoy peered at the paper, expecting a complex equation ready to be explained, but he was met with something different. Harry had written, ‘You’re cute’ just underneath his notes. Malfoy fought back a smile, looking back up at Harry. “Everyone tells me,” He cooed, and Harry nearly groaned out in frustration.

That’s right, how was he supposed to flirt with the gracious Malfoy; who’s expectations were as high as skyscrapers and the Eifell Tower.

“Thanks.” Draco muttered, breaking eye contact. Harry blinked; it hadn’t gone so badly.

He keeps it up, writing down small compliments where Draco could easily spot them. Each time he did, he knew he was getting somewhere— because Draco had become different. He wasn’t purposely insulting the dark haired male, and if he did, it was jokingly. Harry felt like he was floating. This was all he’d ever wanted since the first day he’d walked in and blurted out, ‘holy shit.’

He hadn’t even realized how fucking amazing Draco’s laugh was till he was the one who had made him laugh. At the end of the day, Harry had finally asked him out. ‘I really think we could make this work. Not the math— but, you and me. What do you say?’ Harry had tried his best to make his handwriting neat and decipherable.

“Hmm.. well, I’m not sure. If I dated Potter would that ruin my reputation? Most likely, yes.. “ Draco looked up at the ceiling as he talked to himself, and Harry gulped. “But, I don’t give a fuck,” The blond adds, and Harry lips curve upwards, later breaking into a wide grin. “So then..?”

“Yes. Prat, I’ll go out with you,” Draco’s rather angelic laugh comes out again, and suddenly, Harry’s kissing him. Draco kisses back quickly, and it’s like a fire lit in both of their stomachs. It was the spark that Harry had been longing for.

Sadly, even after all of that studying, Harry managed to get a 73/100 on the semester finals. Not too shabby, but Draco would definitely have him redo his notes.

[princess-of-riviaa]

Wuthering Heights challenge: Day 2

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Prompt: She was much too fond of him. The greatest punishment we could invent for her was to keep her separate from him.

Summary: You’re a war nurse at the same camp Captain Steve Rogers is based at, in the rare moments when he’s not on a mission to kill Nazis. His supersoldier serum keeps him from ever getting injured enough for him to need medical attention, but that doesn’t stop him from finding every excuse to demand your attention in the infirmary, and that doesn’t stop you from loving every second of it.

headcanon | drabble | oneshot

Warning(s): slow burn, innocent!Steve (but he knows just how to tease a girl), blowjob

Word Count: 4041

“Why do you waste your time here?” you question. You’ve currently got a light shining in the Captain America’s eyes, checking for pupil dilation or any other signs of a concussion, which he claims he might have.

He waits until the scrupulous eye exam is over before he asks, “Honestly?” He flashes those soft blue eyes at you and you swear you melt.

You force your attention back to your medical equipment. “Preferably.”

Captain Rogers sighs, and you realize that his answer is going to be a lot more personal than you’d initially expected. “My entire life, people have treated me differently because of my body. The first twenty-five years of my life, people would look at me in disgust or pity, if they even bothered to look at me at all. And now, with the serum... people seem to like me more, but it’s not me they like. The way they look at me now... it’s almost worse than how they used to look at me, before.”

You continue to uselessly inspect your instruments just to avoid his gaze. You don’t know how to look at him while he’s bearing his soul to you.

“But you don’t,” he continued. “You don’t just look at me and see muscle, like everyone else does. You don’t make me feel like I’m lab rat being inspected under a microscope.”

He’s putting you on a pedestal that you don’t deserve to be on. So you explain to him, “I’ve been in medicine for five years. I’ve seen every size and shape of every age and gender. Eventually a body just becomes a body, fat or no fat, muscle or no muscle.”

“Maybe.” He shrugs. “But that doesn’t explain why every other nurse in here looks at me like they want to eat me.”

You laugh at the comparison and the imagery it procures. “You’re a person,” you say finally. “You deserve to be treated like one.”

“Yeah, well, people tend to forget that in times like these. You’re one of the few people I can talk to anymore who makes me feel like I’m actually being listened to and not just ogled at.”

You finally turn to face him. “You know you don’t have to come up with some medical issue every time you want to come talk. I get off at four every evening.”

He smiles at you--that cute little half smile that makes most women swoon, and you understand why. Just because you treat him normally doesn’t mean you’re immune to his looks. It doesn’t mean you don’t blush every time those blue eyes watch you work, taking note of every movement you make. It doesn’t mean that you don’t keep your hands on him for a few seconds too long while giving him a check up. It doesn’t mean that that deep, raspy voice doesn’t send shivers down your spine every time he talks quietly enough for only you to hear. “I know,” he admits, “I just like seeing you in your uniform.”

You giggle as you feel yourself blush, looking down at your old and tattered nurse’s uniform. It was once white and pristine but you’ve been a war nurse since ‘42 and it’s had enough stains from blood and other bodily fluids that it’s more of a light grey. “I guess I could say the same,” you admit, eyeing his captain’s uniform.

The curtain parts beside your workstation and Agent Carter appears, looking beautiful as ever. She shoots you a dark look before turning her attention to Captain Rogers. “Your team requests you go over the plan of your next mission.”

Captain Rogers nods and stands. He doesn’t move towards the door, though, and Agent Carter finally realizes that he’ll meet her outside. The captain looks back at you and says, “You said you get off at four?”

You nod, still too afraid to speak after seeing the way Agent Carter looked at you.

“If you’d like to get a drink, my team and I will be at Bernie’s tonight. I hope you come,” he says. He sends you another quick, swoon-worthy smile before leaving.

...

You take one last look in the mirror. Your light makeup is applied perfectly--it took you three tries to get it all right--and the curls in your black hair fall just past your shoulders. The royal blue satin dress you’re currently wearing was a birthday gift from your parents--something you know they can’t afford in times like this, but they wanted to spoil their only child anyways. The black heels are new and shiny, matching the deep shade of your hair. For half a moment you wonder if this is too much, if you went over the top. Will the captain even be there? What if he already left? It’s only six o’clock, but he’s a busy man. He probably has a million other things to do, a million other places to be.

Still, you force yourself out the door and catch a ride to town with some of your fellow nurses. They comment on your dress and once you see the simple evening gowns they’re wearing, you blush with embarrassment. This is definitely over the top.

You arrive at Bernie’s in less than ten minutes. You let the girls run off ahead of you. They’re always giggling and whispering secrets like high school girls. That’s not your style. You’d honestly just used them to get a ride into town, an act you would usually feel guilty about but tonight you’re so nervous that you can’t feel much of anything else.

Everyone stops and stares at you when you enter the bar. You avoid everyone’s gaze and force yourself to put one foot in front of the other as you make your way inside. Eventually everyone goes back to their drinks and conversation and you breathe a sigh of relief. You stand at the bar, not knowing what to do with yourself.

“Y/N?” Captain Rogers calls out from behind you.

You turn to find him walking towards you, his uniform freshly ironed and polished. He eyes your outfit with a look that makes your face burn, though you enjoy his attention a lot more than anyone else’s in the bar.

“I didn’t think it was possible for you to look better in anything other than your nurse uniform,” he smiles, “but I stand corrected.”

You laugh nervously.

“You look beautiful,” he tells you sincerely, holding your gaze.

“Thank you, Captain,” you reply, though you feel sick with nerves. Why are you suddenly so nervous around him? You’re always fine whenever he comes to you in the infirmary. But now... now you’re in an unfamiliar place, and you don’t have to put on the face of professionalism. Now you’re just a woman, and him just a man.

“I’m glad you could make it.” The glint in his blue eyes tells you he truly means it. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Oh, no thank you,” you say quickly. “I don’t drink.”

He frowns, surprised. “Can I ask why you came to a bar then?”

You blush. Now the one reason you’re here--and dressed to the nines--is completely obvious. Why did you have to tell him you don’t drink? You couldn’t have made it more obvious that you’re only here for him.

You see no other way around it. “You asked to me to come, Captain.”

He practically beams at your answer. “Then would you like to get out of here? Go somewhere else? There’s a great diner down the street.”

The idea sounds lovely, but... “Isn’t your team here? I wouldn’t want you to just up and leave them.”

He shrugs. “They’ll understand. Besides, I insist. Let me buy you dinner.”

Your face burns as you look down at your shoes, avoiding his gaze. “Well, I suppose I can’t refuse a captain’s orders.”

He offers you his arm and you take it. Your heart races when you feel the tight bicep under his clothes. His gaze is locked on you as your hand wraps around his arm, looking so tiny against his huge body. You can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. You already feel your body burning underneath his gaze and you know that if you look at him you’ll lose any self-control you have let. So you let him guide you out into the night.

Captain Rogers is right about the diner. The food is terrific. Normally you don’t eat much on a first date, but the food is good you can’t help--

Wait. This isn’t a first date.

Right?

You’re both dressed up, eating dinner together... it feels like a date. He even pays the bill. That’s what men do on dates, right? It had been so long since you’d been on one. The war had taken up the majority of your focus--and any spare time you had--since Pearl Harbor, so you weren’t able to go out and find a man.

Captain Rogers holds open the door for you once you leave. “So was I right about that place, or was I right?” he asks cheekily.

“You were right,” you agree. “I can’t remember the last time I had a burger that good. Nothing else is going to satisfy me ever again thanks to you.”

You’d meant the last part as a joke, but his expression turns dark. You open your mouth to explain that he shouldn’t feel guilty, that you were indeed glad he’d taken you here, but something about the way he looks at you... it makes your breath catch in the back of your throat.

“C-captain?” you manage to get out.

He steps up to you, the distance between you gone. His gaze bounces from your eyes to your lips. A fire is lit inside of you at what you think is going to happen. Only now do you realize how badly you’ve wanted this--how badly you’ve wanted him. He leans down and closes the distance between your faces. You close your eyes in anticipation, but he never kisses you. Instead he merely pushes a strand of your hair behind your ear before stepping away. You open your eyes again, trying to hide your disappointment.

“We should get back to base,” is all he says.

You can’t remember how to speak so you just nod.

He walks you back to your room on base, though he doesn’t kiss you. He just gives you a soft smile at your door and wishes you a good night. You go to bed that night aching. It was cruel of him to walk away without even a touch.

A week later he asks you to join him for dinner again. He takes you out dancing after and you stay until the place closes long after midnight. You like spending time with him, you realize. Being around the captain makes you feel normal again, makes you forget about the war happening around you, makes you forget about the sick and dying soldiers you take care of during the day. When you’re with him you laugh so hard your stomach hurts and tears stream down your face. It isn’t long before you find yourself addicted to his presence. Even if he never makes a move on you, even if he ignores the heat between you two until you’ve convinced yourself it’s all in your head--even then, you like spending time with him. He’s real, he’s genuine, he’s human. And you absolutely love it.

He asks you out a third time, but he’s sent to Italy before it can happen. By the time you get the news he’s already on the front lines. You wait to here of any news for days. You spend all your time in the infirmary, waiting, hoping for him to show up. The worry drives you crazy and makes you sick. For three nights you can’t sleep, completely restless and agitated. You actually get out of bed and start praying--something you haven’t done in a while. But you’re desperate enough to do anything.

After a week, the whole situation has turned you so crazy that you’re almost convinced you made him all up in your head. You would believe it too, if it weren’t for all the Captain America posters you see littered throughout the town and camp. But you’ve forgotten the exact shade of blue his eyes are, or the way his laugh sounds, or how he smells. And that realization just makes everything so much worse somehow.

So you sneak off to his quarters, consequences be damned. It’s the middle of the night, so no one stops you before you get to his room. Only once you’re in there do you realize how intimate this act is, that you’re invading his privacy and it’s wrong. The bed is made and there’s a desk in the corner, though it’s completely cleared off. You move over to it and sit in the chair, imagining him sitting here. You picture him spending hours in this chair as he writes letters home. Your gaze flicks to the drawers and you’re suddenly filled with curiosity.

Don’t you dare snoop on him, you scold yourself.

But you’re so desperate for just a piece of him--

You open the drawer before you can change your mind. There’s at least ten notebooks in here. You hesitate at the sight of him. What does he write about so much that he needs all these books to hold his words? You shouldn’t, you really shouldn’t--

You pull out the top notebook and open it. It’s not a journal, you realize. He doesn’t write in these; he sketches in them. And the drawings are... Steve is an artist. His work is worthy of being displayed in museums. But that’s not what makes you freeze. What surprises you most is the sketch you’re currently staring at--

It’s unmistakably you. You’re wearing his captain’s jacket--and nothing else. You’re on your knees with the jacket wrapped around you, hiding your clearly-naked body underneath. One hand is in your hair while the other is between your legs, rubbing between your thighs. And the look on your face... it’s completely fucked out. Your eyes are squeezed, your mouth parted, and you’re clearly in the midst of pleasure.

The sketch is so detailed that it makes you blush. But the thought of Steve sitting in his room, thinking of you like that and liking it enough to draw it out... Suddenly your body is burning and you can feel yourself grow wet. You’ve never been with a man like that before, never been around someone who made you feel so...

“Y/N?”

You stand and turn, hiding the sketchbook behind your back. Steve stands in the doorway, his Captain America uniform bloodied and covered in grime and dirt. He’s sweaty and looks exhausted, but his eyes light up at the sight of you. You toss the sketchbook on his bed and are in his arms a second later, burying your head into his chest. Tears spill down your cheeks uncontrollably; you’re so relieved that he’s back, that he’s okay, that he’s alive, that it brings you to tears. He holds you tightly to him until all you can see, all you can smell, all you can hear is him.

He’s alive.

He’s safe.

He’s here.

And he just caught you looking at his sketchbook, his very personal sketchbook.

You step back. Your face flushes as you try to come up with an excuse. Nothing comes out of your mouth.

He steps around you and moves to his bed, where you’d thrown his sketchbook a minute ago. He opens it to the page you were looking at earlier and freezes. His eyes slowly make their way back to you and you feel awful.

“I’m sorry,” you get out. “I know I shouldn’t have looked at that and that I shouldn’t even be in here but I just... I missed you and I wanted a reminder of you and I know it’s not an excuse but...” You let out a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

Steve sits on the edge of the bed, his sketchbook still open in his hands. There’s a horrified expression on his face as he looks at the sketch.

“If it’s any consolation, you’re really talented,” you offer.

The look he gives you makes you wish you’d kept your mouth shut. “You were never supposed to see this.”

God, you’re the worst person in the world. “I’m sorry--”

“I never wanted you to see this,” he continues. He shuts the book and places it back in his desk drawer. “God, I can’t even look at you right now.”

Those words, those awful words, make your eyes swell with tears. It would have hurt less if he had punched you in the gut. With the way you struggle to breathe, it feels like that’s what he did.

Steve looks back at you and notices the look on your face. He’s on his feet in a flash, closing the distance between you. “No, I didn’t mean it like... I’m so stupid. I’m sorry, I’m really bad at talking to girls.”

Your vision is blurred as you look up at him. “But I’m just me, Steve.” There’s no reason for him to be nervous around you.

“Exactly.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

And you realize--oh. He is nervous around you. The same way you’re nervous around him.

“I never wanted you to see that because...” he hesitates, struggling to find his next words. “Because I’d be completely mortified if you knew that that’s how I thought about you, that that’s what I wanted... I mean, we’ve only been on two dates. I shouldn’t--I should have more respect. I shouldn’t already be thinking about that stuff. I’m sorry.”

You sniffle. “Would you judge me if I said that I already think about that stuff too? I mean, not about me, personally, but about... experiencing that with you?” You swear your face has never burned as much as it is right now.

Steve looks at you, incredulous, like he thinks you’re saying all of that just to make him feel better. But he must see something in your eyes, on your face, because he’s suddenly closing the distance between the two of you. He moves his face towards yours and you close your eyes. Your heart flutters in your chest at the thought that he’s finally going to give you what you’ve been craving for so long--

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers, his lips ghosting across yours.

“Please,” you practically whimper, and his mouth is on yours a second later.

The kiss is soft, tender, hesitant. But you’ve been so desperate for this exact moment for weeks now that you can’t help yourself--you grab onto his neck and pull him harder against you, your mouth quick and wild against his. He lets out a surprised gasp that turns into something like a moan and the sound is better than you ever could have imagined it in all your wildest fantasies. It makes your toes curl and your heart race and heat flood through your body until you think you’re going to explode.

Steve doesn’t seem to know where to put his hands. They rest on your shoulders for a few moments but his fingers clench at your clothes like he’s desperate to touch you elsewhere. He finally grabs onto your waist, but his grip on you is loose, like he’s afraid to touch you any harder.

You pull back and look up at him. The fire in your veins spreads as you see how dilated his pupils are with want.

“I’ve never, uh...” His voice shakes as he blushes and god if that look on him doesn’t make you want to eat him alive. “I’ve never done much more than kiss, so, uh--”

The thought that you’re his first makes something burn in your chest and it takes you a second to realize that it’s pride. You’re happy he’s never been with another woman. You’re more than thrilled at the thought that you’re the only one who gets to see what he’s like in the darkness of his bedroom.

“I’ve done a few things,” you confess, “but not everything.”

That seems to help him relax a little. “What have you, uh, what have you done?”

You give him a devilish smile and say, “Well, I could tell you, but I’d much rather show you.”

His eyes widened and he gulps again, but the lust is clear in his eyes.

You hold his gaze as you kneel in front of him. If he shows any sign that he wants you to stop, you will, but boy do you hope he doesn’t want you to. You’ve been waiting for this moment for so long! You don’t know what you’d do if he asked you to stop in the middle of it.

But he doesn’t look at you like he’s horrified that you know exactly how to move your body, exactly how to kiss his growing bulge over his uniform, exactly how to hold his gaze while you do it, too. In fact, the look on his face grows more desperate, needy, and the sight of him wanting you so badly makes you wet.

You unbuckle his pants slowly, moving at a pace that will only make him more desperate. He watches you the entire time you tug his pants down and kiss his erection through his underwear. He lets out something that sounds like “oh, fuck” once you finally pull down his underwear and let his cock spring free. You take a second to wrap your mind around how big he is and how you’re possibly going to fit him in your mouth. The tip is red and leaking pre-cum. You lap it up and let out a soft hum at the salty taste. That just makes him groan and fuck if the sounds he makes doesn’t make you want to suck him off until the day you die, just to watch him in the midst of his bliss.

You give soft kisses down the length of his shaft, enjoying your few moments of teasing before you wrap your mouth around the head of his cock. Your tongue swirls around him and more pre-cum leaks out. You lick it all up. You’d only given one other guy a blowjob--what was his name? Jackson? James? Yes, James. James Barnes, one of the sergeants at the camp--and you try to remember everything he’d shown you and told you to do when giving a guy a blowjob. Swirl your tongue around the tip, he’d said. Then take all of him in your mouth, get him all nice and wet so you can stroke his length with your hand. Give his balls plenty of attention. You do all of that and practically beam when Steve loses his control.

He lets out a string of fucked out moans and groans and you feel your underwear begin to soak. He fists a handful of your hair and begins to fuck your mouth. You loosen your jaw and let him use your mouth to chase his high. You keep your eyes on his face, loving the way his nose scrunches up and his mouth falls open the closer he gets to his release. His cock twitches in your mouth, growing even bigger before he shoots his load down your throat. You swallow all of the sticky, warm liquid, your throat clenching around his cock and begging for just one more drop. He retracts himself from your mouth and rushes to pull his pants back up.

He moves to the bed and takes a seat, looking like he needs a second to recover. “You’re really good at that,” he breathes out. You can’t tell if he likes that or not. He looks back at you, still on your knees. “Do you need...? I, um, haven’t... I’ve never pleased a woman before, but I could try.”

You giggle and move to sit next to him. “It’s a good thing I’m a good teacher.”

[flowercrown-bucky]

Trouble has never looked so good - But then again, it’s never been wearing a push-up bra before.

Fandom: 1970s!Loki Multi-Chapter

Pairing: Loki x ConArtist!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, drinking, drug references, later death, later smut, crime, loki and the reader are con artists..... It’s a wild one y’all, hold onto yo’ seats.

Word Count: 3084

[Something Wicked This Way Comes - Chapter One] 

Loki’s life on Asgard has become vapid; uninspiring. He’s got the taste for a little danger. 

During a trip to earth, he finds just the danger he’s looking for.

A partner in crime - in every imaginable sense. 

TAGLIST IS OPEN - EITHER COMMENT OR MESSAGE ME IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE ADDED. 

LIFE on Asgard was unbearably normal.

It was fine. If anything, it was too fine.

There was only so much feasting and so many council meetings one could take, you know?

Loki had stalked off to his chambers, muttering to his brother that he needed time to focus his magic.

He didn't, of course. Odin's lecturing on diplomatic decorum had simply become mind numbingly dull and it seemed like the most suitable excuse.

Loki's chambers were in a prime position. It was, after all, the reason he had coerced his older brother into switching with him when they were both around three hundred years old. He was roughly a hundred yards from the palace kitchens, something that well suited his secret midnight-snacking habit, and about as far from the Allfather and Allmother's chambers as he could possibly be, something that well suited his secret midnight sneaking-out habit.

However, the thing he loved most about his chambers, was the proximity to the palace orchard. If he stepped through the doors onto the balcony, he could grip the railings and sort of kamikaze himself over, before dropping the two-or-so-feet distance between him and the floor, and it was this that had made him want to occupy this chamber so badly.

He'd loved the orchard ever since he was a little boy. It was his safe spot, somewhere he had gone to hide from the world, where nothing could harm him or make him feel anything he didn't want to. He liked to take a book with him, and read under the shade of the apple trees until someone came to retrieve him.

It was here he had considered retreating to when he remembered the girl kneeling between his legs.

She was, Loki believed, a princess of Vanaheim, visiting Asgard with her father. Sex was not something that particularly concerned him, but he had left the council hall feeling rather frustrated, and the remarkably attractive woman had practically thrown herself at him.

If a beautiful woman desired to fellate him, who was he to complain?

It was, however, doing nothing for him - so much so he had forgotten she was even there.

"You can stop now." He wasn't entirely gentle when he tugged her off him, opting to do so with the help of a handful of her hair, but ,hey, he was extremely frustrated and she had been no help in the easing of that frustration.

"I can-"

"Nope." He waved a hand dismissively at the woman, leaving her to gather her clothes and dignity from where they'd been discarded in the floor. Girls were far more his brother's thing.

The only satisfying sexual encounter he had ever had had been on Midgard, some ten years before. Her name was Elizabeth, and she wanted to be an actress. With a head of carefully constructed dark curls and unusual violet coloured eyes, she was positively electrifying. She'd liked Loki's regal manner, assumed he was important. He'd been looking for a way to unwind and had yet to find it in a bottle of whiskey. They had, you might say, used each other equally.

He wondered what she was doing now.

Midgard, however, didn't seem like too bad an idea.

The mortals, he thought, were funny. Their funny little ways, their funny little habits, their funny little emotions.

He rather liked that idea. Midgard it was to be, then.

--

Las Vegas, was perhaps, the worst place he had ever been. Crawling with perhaps the worst specimens humanity had to offer, and drowning in immorality, Vegas was perhaps the physical embodiment of iniquity. 

Perhaps the underbelly of the world, Vegas combined all aspects of bigotry - racism, misogyny, pride. Men traded their lives away to pay to warm the sheets of women condemned to a life of misery, destined to while their days away in some clandestine pact with dingy hotel rooms. 

Not Vegas, Loki thought to himself. 

New York, he was not particularly fond of either. It was much too cold and full of self importance. The people were, largely, cold and unpleasant, and the food was something he could never get behind. 

Europe he had not visited for a long while since. It had been stricken by an unpleasant pox last time he had visited, covering the suffering with boils as large as the palm as his hand. He’d begrudgingly lent his healing skills to the ailing people. After all, he really didn’t like the smell of rotting flesh. 

 He wasn’t altogether pleased with the likenesses the people later formed in the name of worship.

In all honesty, they made him look rather greasy and weaselly.

—

Montecarlo, Loki thought, might be a little more interesting than he'd initially thought. Possibly, his favourite place he'd visited on Midgard.

It was like a hive of temptation, the culmination of human greed. Nowhere on earth quite said luxury like a city dressed to the nines, and Loki loved it.

It was far better than his previous visits, wherein he had found the planet stricken by various bouts of violence and deadly plagues. 

1973, with its penchant for sex, drugs and rock'n'roll was far more to his taste.

He had, in the short time he'd been in the city, become very well acquainted with the calibrate of person who liked to visit. Men with enough class to never let an expletive pass their lips within company, but perfectly happy to snort narcotics off the seats of public toilets using a ten dollar bill that was on its fourth use.

Women loyal enough to remain on the arm of one gentleman for the whole of an evening but not opposed to a quick fuck in a back alley from a tall dark stranger with a mysterious smile.

Sex was not something Loki was particularly concerned with, but he did enjoy the sense of power he got from looking directly into the eyes of a man whose wife he had made come undone not ten minutes earlier.

Humans, he noted, were no different to the savage tribes of Muspelheim. They just hid it better, under expensive clothes and university degrees and layers of makeup.

This was not something he necessarily was bothered by. He was having far too good a time for that.

Casinos, he had taken a real liking to. Money was another thing that held no meaning for him, but cheating pompous assholes out of what they believed was rightfully theirs?

That, he could get behind, and it seemed he was not alone in that.

He had been watching you all evening, as you worked your way around the room.

You were dressed to kill, and the man you'd turned your attentions to looked like he would gladly die if it would please you.

One hand stroking his *ahem* ego, and the other stealing his wallet.

You were perfect.

Mischief was on his agenda, and you looked like a wonderful accomplice.

He'd approached you quietly, a gentle hand on your shoulder, his lips by your ear.

"Well, hello." He'd murmured, as you turned to face him. "Who might you be?"

You'd practically preened at the sudden attention, clearly very pleased with the idea of a second conquest of the evening.

"Darling, I'm your worst nightmare." You bit your red painted lip, your eyes trailing the length of him. Your glance was cold, calculating - pretty much everything Loki appreciated in a woman. 

For a moment, he wondered if you were to kill him, how you would carry out the act. He felt almost as if he would appreciate it. 

You looked like a poisoner, he decided. Less messy, less loose ends to take care of. 

“And what, exactly, does my worst nightmare take to drink?” He could feel the smug grin growing on his face. “I am well acquainted with the torment of the unconscious mind.” 

You were taken aback, that much he could see from your face. For someone so experienced with hustling card games, you did not have much of a poker face. 

His smile grew. Unsettling people was one of his very favourite things.

“Champagne.” You still gnawed at your lip, but the reasoning, he could tell, had changed - if he didn’t know better, he’d think you were quite literally biting back a smile. 

“A lady after my own heart.” He replied. “You have good taste.” 

 “Only the best.” You lifted your glass towards him. 

“I’ll drink to that.” 

-- 

The course of the evening made abundant to Loki exactly how you operated. You were fairly certain you had him in the palm of your hand, that much he could tell - and it was certainly amusing to play along with it. 

You played your role well, and that was something he admired. You allowed him to lead the conversation, showering his ego with praise and affirmation. You fiddled with your hair as you spoke, twisting it around your index finger before draping it over your clavicle, trailing towards your ample bosom. 

You occasionally - intentionally - licked at your lip as you spoke, your tongue coyly tracing your plump bottom lip, tilting your head to the side as if to show how truly intrigued you were by what he was saying, exposing a good deal of neck in the process. 

It truly was a shame, he thought, that mortal men were unable to see the brains, the intellect, behind the beauty - or more specifically, the bust. 

Midgardian men were truly unable to see exactly what they possessed, but on Asgard, you would’ve been celebrated, treasured even, for the power of your mind. 

It was a great pity, Loki thought, and rather unfortunate for their wallets. 

You’d kept him on his toes since you’d first spoken. You were keeping him on his toes now. 

He watched you as you spoke to the woman next to you. You were so careful, every movement deliberate, purposeful. 

You played your part well. In a knee-length blue dress, you largely left the curves of your body to the imagination. The imagination, however, was aided by how the material clung to your hips and your more than ample bosom. Almost every male eye in the room was on you. 

You made your way back over to where he lent on the bar. You seemed to enjoy toying with him. As to why, he could not fathom. 

You waved a bottle of champagne in his face, before topping up his own glass. 

“Consider the favour...” You flashed a smile at him that was utterly to die for. “Repaid.” 

He ran a hand through his long hair, catching your gaze. 

If he was an ordinary man, he would be truly fucked. 

“So, tell me.” His voice came out as something closer to a purr than anything else. “How does a woman such as yourself turn to petty crime?” If it were possible to display every element of the spectrum of human emotion in one simultaneous instant, Loki was sure it would look very similar to how your face currently looked. 

Almost as quickly as it had come over you, it was gone. The mask returned and you flashed him a coy grin. 

“What gave me away?” Your left eyebrow quirked. 

“I’m perceptive.” He smiled. “You’re good, I’ll give you that. But I’m better.” 

“What are you, a cop?” Your voice was calm, level. It was almost completely impossible to detect the emotions behind it. 

“Please.” He scoffed. “I have a proposal for you.” 

Your arm dropped to your side. Your face remained unchanged, but the mischief, the slight twinkle in your eye, was gone. 

“Meet me outside the toilets in five minutes.” Your voice was hoarse. You turned away from him with a swish of apple-scented hair, taking a step away from him. 

He reached out, catching your wrist. You stumbled slightly, grabbing at the bar to steady yourself. 

“I’m not interested in sex, if that’s what you think.” His voice dropped. 

“Then what do you want?” You spun to face him. 

“If you show me, I’ll show you.” He grinned at you. 

“Show me, what, exactly?” You asked, intrigued. 

“Everything.” He whispered. His hand came up to your face, taking your chin gently inbetween his forefinger and thumb. He turned your head gently from side to side, before tilting it back. You watched with curious eyes, but allowed him to rest his hand on your forehead. 

He closed his eyes slowly, his consciousness seeping through his body, penetrating your mind. 

--

It was an odd place, your mind. He’d never been in any other quite like it. There had always been a lot going on, in people’s minds. They were.. furnished. Most appeared as a place, at least - a childhood home, a favourite place - but yours was remarkably empty. 

Enormous black units surrounded him, rows upon rows of boxes reaching as far as his eyes could see. The only other thing present within your mind was a chair, upon which you sat. 

It was tall and as black as the shelves. The back faced him, your legs slung either side of it, your elbow resting on the top. Your chin rested on your fist, and you watched him as he adjusted to your surroundings, one eyebrow bemusedly quirked. 

“Fancy seeing you here.” You smiled. “Sorry about the mess. I don’t get a lot of visitors, you know, inside my head.” 

Loki laughed. 

“Your mind is intriguing, little one.” He walked towards one of the units to get a closer look, lifting a hand to open one. It didn’t budge. 

“I bet you say that to all the girls.” You teased.  

“Just the pretty ones.” He tugged again, a little harder. “What’s in these boxes?“

“My deepest secrets.” You replied curtly. “How do you do this, anyway? You don’t get many people who can waltz into your mind uninvited around here.” 

“I told you, you show me, and I’ll show you.” He left the boxes, walking over to where you sat. He circled you a few times, looking around for anything else within your mind. “I am not of this world.” 

“No shit.” You grumbled. 

“Ladies first.” He grinned. “I want to know how you do it. Then you will get your answers.” 

“Then get out of my head.” You replied. “The only person in here to scam is you, and it’s not quite the same when someone knows you’re going to rob them.” 

“Very well.” Loki snapped his fingers. 

You opened your eyes with a gasp as he lifted his hand from your forehead. 

“Never do that again.” You warned. 

He chuckled, lifting his hand to support his head, looking at you expectantly. 

“I’m waiting.” He raised an eyebrow. 

“Where shall we start?” 

--

You leant across the table towards Loki. 

“That one.” You tilted your head towards the left. 

He lifted his head, looking up for the man you’d singled out. The ginger in the double breasted suit? The lanky blonde with the knock knees? The man bun? 

No. 

He knew the one. 

“Clammy hands.” He mused. “Look at the discoloration on the front of his trousers. The pigment has been lost from repeatedly wiping his hands on them. He has sweaty hands.” 

“Can I keep you?” You tilted your head to the side. 

“Why him?” He asked. “How do you choose?” 

“I don’t.” You replied. “They sort of... reveal themselves. They look at me. Stare at me. All I have to do is look back.” 

“And from there?” 

“The art of robbing someone just comes down to sleight of hand. Same as hustling a card game.” You glanced over at the man. “I used to do magic tricks with cards and make people’s car keys disappear as a kid. I picked it up from there.” 

“Impressive.” He leaned back in his seat. “Why do you do it?” 

“This world has not been kind to me.” You sighed. “Besides, life is so much more interesting with a little chaos.” 

He chuckled, placing both of his elbows on the table, hands clasped together in front of his face. 

“Do you fuck all of them?” He raised one eyebrow. 

“Just the pretty ones.” Your face cracked into a wide smile. 

He stared at you for a second. This beautiful, conniving woman in front of him, the poison that resided in your mind, the deadliness that lay in your hands. 

In all honesty, it excited him. 

You’d intrigued him since he’d very first laid eyes on you, and every moment since, that  intrigue had grown. Who were you really? What were you? 

For the first time that evening, it occurred to him that he didn’t even know your name. 

He got the feeling that if he asked, you wouldn’t tell him the truth. You weren’t that stupid. 

You were hiding from something, he was fairly sure. Being in hiding was something he was all too familiar, and if there was anything he had learned in his five thousand years of life, it was how to spot when someone was on the run. 

“I believe you are exactly what I’ve been looking for, little criminal.” He murmured. 

“And what, pray tell, would that be?” You pursed your red painted lips. 

“A partner in crime.” He replied. “A fellow mischief maker, if you will.” 

“You could be a serial killer.” You crossed your arms over your chest. 

“So could you.” He said curtly. “I entered your mind and you’ve just explained how you con and rob people, but yet, here we both still are.” 

You blinked, shifting so you were leaning on your left side. Your expression was thoughtful - you were considering his suggestion. 

“And what exactly do I get out of this deal?” You asked. 

“You saw what I did earlier.” He leaned forwards on his forearms. “I will open your mind to things you cannot currently even begin to comprehend.” 

“Okay. I’ll bite.” You lifted your drink to your lips, taking a sip. “I accept your offer.” 

“I must tell you.” He warned. “You will be playing with fire.”  You set your glass down on the table, before leaning back in your seat. You turned your head to the left briefly, tossing your hair over one shoulder. You crossed one leg over the other as you turned back to face him. Your eyes found his, a gaze that truly seemed to be looking into his soul, and you smiled. 

“Luckily for you, I like to watch things burn.” 

TAGLIST: @possessedjoker​ @amour-delicate

[letsgofoletsgo]

Nightlife of Scilica

“Okay, got it. Thanks love, bye.”

“So, what did she say?”

“Belle says she and Masa will meet us at 6:00.” Morgan said as she slid her phone into her pocket. 

“Alright, that leaves us a couple hours.” Lamar stated. 

“So what do you guys want to do in the meantime?” Sofia asked.

“Well, I guess we could wander around and see what we can find.” He suggested. 

“Wait a sec… Isn’t Anime Reach just around the corner?” Morgan realized. 

“Anime Reach? Wasn’t that that one store you guys accidentally shoplifted from?” Sofia said. 

“I thought we weren’t gonna speak of that again!” Lamar retorted. 

“Hey, no one got arrested, so no shade from me.” Sofia teased.

“That being said, you haven’t been there before, have you Sof?” Morgan said. 

“Nope, can’t say I have.”

“In that case, you and I have a duty toward our friend here Lamar.” Morgan said confidently 

“Oh yeah! As proud Otakus, we’ll guide you through one of the most prestigious anime merch stores in all of Silica!” Lamar boasted. “Er, if that’s cool with you.”     “Sounds good to me!” Sofia smiled. 

“Then onward we go MD-5!” Morgan exclaimed.

The three proceeded through the bustling streets of Silica City. The multitude of neon signs mounted around the buildings illuminated the city in a brilliant shower of light, sparking a sense of wonder and excitement of of the nightlife scene. Indistinct chatter coming from the crowds that populated the sidewalks perpetuated the buzzing atmosphere of the night; The signature vibe of the city that MD-5 felt truly at home in. 

“We should be coming up to it now.” Lamar noted. 

“Yo, look! There’s that one gaming equipment store we looked in.” Morgan pointed to a neighboring store that looked worse for wear, complete with being decked out with glaring yellow and white neon signs that appeared to be on their last legs.

“Oh yeah, Nyla Co., was it? Let me tell you, all it took was one look for us to decide to high tail it out of there- leave their shoddy products for the next poor fool to stumble upon.” He commented. 

“Huh. Don’t need to tell me twice,” Sofia said as she eyed the place dubiously. 

“Forget Nyla- I can see Anime Reach from here!” Morgan said.

“Let’s get a move on then!” Lamar said. 

The trio made their way across the street, and they approached a large store with anime merchandise posters plastered all over the large glass windows. As they came closer, Sofia’s eyes lit up in wonder. 

“Woah… I had no idea it was so big!” She marveled. 

“Just wait ‘till you see it from the inside! Morgan said excitedly. 

The sliding doors in front of them parted, and the entered the building. Before them was a sprawling otaku paradise; for seemingly miles the shelves were stocked with figurines, posters, cardboard cutouts, art books, disc and manga sets, anything a lover of anime could want. 

“Wow, I can see why you like it here so much.” Sofia remarked as she took it all in. 

“Indeed, welcome to our little slice of heaven my friend.” Lamar beamed. 

“Lamar’s been here more times than I’ll have, so I’ll give him the main honors of showing you around.” Morgan noted.

“An honor it shall be! If you ladies would follow me, I’ve got the best bits of the store practically memorized.” 

“I would expect nothing less.” She giggled. 

Lamar led the two down the main isle, where several groups of fellow otakus were browsing the shelves. He then took a turn a little ways down, where the shelves displayed hordes of figures. The colorful figures all had a unique charm to them, and they were usually grouped with others from the same source material. While most of them were packaged in flashy but efficient boxes, there was a certain section where the figures were out in the open, and seemed to be mismatched between animes.

“Now, I like going into this aisle because you can actually find some good figures here, and they’re usually pretty hard to come by otherwise.” Lamar explained. “But there’s also a section of figures that I think are second-handed, so they go for lower than they normally would.”     “Yeah, didn’t you find a decently-made Sastsuki-Chan figure here once?” Morgan asked as they overlooked the displays. 

“That I did, little bud. I’m pretty sure I still got it in my room... Somewhere.” 

“Hey, isn’t that Nova-Chan in there?” Sofia pointed to a figure in the bunch.

“What? Nova-Chan?? Don’t worry baby! I’ll save you!”

In a rather comical endeavor, Lamar dramatically reached for the figure Sofia identified. He grabbed the blue-haired figure and cradled it gently in his hands. 

“What did they do to you, Nova-Chan?” 

As Lamar expressed his lament, Sofia and Morgan just looked at each other, not quite knowing what to make at this display of weebness. 

“Um… Is uh, is she okay?” Sofia asked after a moment. 

“Luckily, yeah, but it ain’t right for a figure that’s so high quality to end up in a pit like that.” He stated. 

“Looks like Nova-Chan wasn’t alone at least.” Morgan dug into the pile and pulled out a figure that looked similar to Nova-Chan, but had a different design scheme. 

Lamar gasped. “Comet-Chan! Not you too!” 

“Don’t worry, she’s a little chipped around the edges but seems alright as well.” Morgan said as she examined it. 

“As much as I like this store, I wish they’d treat some of their stuff a little better.” Lamar expressed. 

“You know, this actually got me thinking of that one episode near season one’s finale.” Morgan said. “Remember how the Galactica arc started?” 

“Oh yeah! The Nova explorers had to fight in Galactica’s tournament to save their galaxy, and she put Comet up against Nova for the first match!”     “You see, it was a really big plot point because this was where Comet-Chan’s jealousy towards Nova-Chan started to boil over, and we get to see what their friendship was like before the formation of the Nova Explorers.” Morgan described. 

“Then after Nova wins, we get a moment of character development where they re-learn what it means to be apart of the Nova Explorers, and made amends to their friendship.” 

“A bit cliche, but I personally think it was well done, and it solidified their friendship for the coming seasons.”

“Well now, you two are certainly well-versed in Nova Explorers lore.” Sofia joked.

“What can we say, we binged watched the first couple seasons last week.” She admitted. “Anyway, Lamar, how about I show Sofia and I look around the rest of the place, while you scour the other end for any rare merch you might have missed?”

“Sounds like a plan, little man.”

    The two shared a triumphant fist-bump, then briefly parted ways. Lamar went to searching the shelves in great detail, using his keen eye to detect anything worth noting. Morgan and Sofia went about in a more casual manner, however the former continued on about Nova Explorers lore and how it all connected to the central plot. Sofia didn’t quite understand it all, but eagerly listened nonetheless. It was fun wandering around in the store, it felt like so long since they all just let loose and had a good time. The trio almost felt as though they were kids once again running about the toy store. 

    It may have been for that reason that they nearly lost track of time; Morgan was dramatically acting out a pivotal moment in one of the latter seasons with a couple of figurines, when she abruptly remembered the schedule they were on. 

    “Hold on, Sofia!” she said, realization hitting like a brick. “What time is it?”

    “Uh- five fifty.” She stated, checking her phone.

    “Shit! We need to find Lamar and get going!”

    She nodded in agreement, and the two set off to find their Otaku friend. It took a few minutes, but they managed to spot him rummaging deeply in a shelf. 

    “Lamar! There you are!”

    “Huh- Ack!” He cried as he banged his head on the upper shelf as he came out. 

    “Dude, come on, we’re meeting the others in ten minutes!” Morgan said.     “Oh damn, we better get a move on!”

    With that, the trio hurried out of the store back onto the streets. After briefly arguing which would be the quickest path to take, MD-5 ended up cutting through a nearby alley way and out onto a major commercial lane. Despite nearly running into several people and maybe a lamppost or two, the friends eventually made it to where they agreed to meet.     “Finally! Good thing we got here in time.” Sofia said slightly out of breath, looking intently at Lamar.

“Hey, I was on a good lead towards a limited edition, so sorry if I lost track of time a bit.” Lamar defended. “Besides, we weren’t held up too badly now, were we?” 

    “I’ll say. Now where-” Morgan was interrupted by a ping from her phone. After reading it over, she looked around for a moment before spotting a couple of familiar faces. 

    “Guys, there they are!” She exclaimed. “Masa! Belle! Over here!” 

    The other two members of MD-5 turned to face the rest of their friends. 

    “Hey there, it’s about time you all showed up.” Masa said. 

    “Sorry, we spent some time at Anime Reach and got a little distracted.” Morgan smirked at Lamar. 

    “Look, a fan’s gotta do what a fan’s gotta do, okay?” He said proudly. 

    “Well, what are we all standing around for? I’m dying for some food over here.” Morgan said. 

    “Yeah! Besides, we still haven’t covered the Quazar arc from the fourth season of Nova Explorers!” Lamar said. 

    “Oh boy, here we go again.” Belle said in a half exasperated tone. 

    “Hey, that’s what you sign up for when your girlfriend and her best friend are anime fans.” Morgan said playfully. 

    “Regrettably so.” She nudged her a bit before putting an arm around her. 

“So as I was saying to Sofia, the Quazar arc really threw the fandom for a loop as it turned one of the main concepts of the series on it’s head-”

And thus she would nerd on, with only one other member of the group intently listening.

[padfootagain]

Balaenoptera Bonaerensis (I)

Chapter 1: Security Measures

 This is the first chapter for my fic with a Bodyguard AU for our dear Cap! Thank you so much to @marvelcapsicle, who is hosting the writing challenge this fic is made for.

I hope you like this fanfic, please, read the author's note on the masterlist for this series concerning any link with real events!

I did, however, spent more than 8 hours researching different elements for that story so far, and have no doubt it's just the beginning… being a writer is hard…

Word Count: 3400

"Have I ever told any of you how much I hate our job?"

"Just… twenty times today. And hundreds more if you count all the times we had to wake up early to get on a plane."

"Taking a flight at 4 am doesn't make you 'get up early', it makes you not sleep at all!"

"I'm sorry you couldn't get your baby sleep, Bucky. But there were no better flights available on such a short notice."

"Did we really have to take that job?"

By Natasha's side, on the two seats before Steve and Bucky, Sam snorted, waving the newspaper he was reading to make his point.

"In these days, you should consider yourself lucky to have a job at all," Sam replied, shaking his head. "Seven months since that mess happened in Wall Street, and it's not getting any better."

By the window, Steve took a look at the clouds they flew across, cotton-like forms drifting slowly against the blue sky. He didn't react at all as the plane shook with turbulences, too used to flying by now to even truly notice. And if his blue eyes rested on the white puffs of water outside, his mind was set on work already. The file where he had gathered the information he had found - in the little time he had had to prepare their new job - was set open on his laps. He had stopped listening to his colleagues somewhere above the Pacific Ocean. Now that they were en route towards Townsville, having changed their flight in Darwin, he had stopped to act like he was listening altogether. Maybe others would have taken it badly, but his three partners were too used to his working routine to think anything of his behaviour. And as they flew across a cloud, the world turning solely into shades of white and light grey, Steve wondered who could have sent the threats that had pushed the editor of the Townsville Bulletin to hire Steve and his team to protect one of his journalist and three scientists they worked with. Apparently, it had something to do with the scientists' study of whales, although Steve couldn’t possibly imagine why someone would want to kill anyone about a study of the population of whales in Antarctica. That was beyond him.

But the threats were real, and at the thought, his eyes travelled back to the printed letters that were sent in an attempt to stop the research, and he had no doubt that it was a threat to take seriously. The message was, after all, quite explicit. Besides, they were paying for his services, so even if the threat wasn't real, it didn't exactly matter. He wouldn't complain about an easy job for once.

However, he wasn't sure to find who could have sent the threat. In the week he had been given to prepare his departure, he couldn't really find any lead. He reckoned that talking with the people involved would help clarify the situation, or at least, he hoped so.

He went through the file again, memorizing the names and faces of the people he would have to protect for the coming months.

Sofia Longbrook – PhD student

Dr. Rosa Alvarez Santiago – Postdoctoral researcher

Dr. Y/N Y/L/N – Researcher

Luke Savoy – Journalist

Lucy McGreed – Lawyer

Joshua Alexander – Lawyer

If the threats had been pointed towards only the journalist and the research team, chances were that the two lawyers involved in this whale study might get threatened as well soon.

At least three locations for their professions were to be secured, even without taking into account the lawyers for now. Plus each of their homes. And having some of them working on a major campus that held thousands of students would be a challenge to say the least. Adding to that limited resources, So much work to be done…

The voice of the flight attendant cut Steve's thoughts, forcing him back to reality. They would soon be landing. While he folded his papers and fastened his seatbelt, the plane slowly descending under the clouds, he checked the address of the hotel he had booked one more time. After dropping by the hotel, they would meet with the people who had hired them to discuss how the security could be handled, and more importantly, what kind of threats they were truly facing.

In the seats before ad next to him, Sam and Bucky were bickering, as usual, and he chose to ignore them for now.

All he hoped for was a smooth, calm mission for a change.

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

 "This whole ordeal is absolutely ridiculous, Mark."

"Look, for the last time, Y/N: you've received threats. I will not sit down and wait to see if they were serious or not. You don't want to stop your research, and for some unknown reason, my reporter also refuses to drop the story, so all we are left with as alternative is to hire professionals who will keep you safe."

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms before your chest.

"Look, we're talking about a trade. About something that involves money," Mark continued to argue. "And just like everything else that involves money, it is not so surprising to find people ready to go to extreme ways to deal with whatever goes in the way of their profit."

"I know, but…"

"No 'but'. By the way, Richard, I could use some help."

The director of your lab turned to you, but could only shrug.

"Honestly, I don't know what to say."

"You don't agree that it was the right decision to hire professional security?" the editor of Townsville newspaper asked with a frown.

"No, no, I think you were right to propose that," Richard replied, shaking his large moustache as he spoke. "All I'm saying is that Y/N is so stubborn, I really don't know what you want me to say."

You rolled your eyes again, but the ghost of a smile appeared on your lips this time.

"I just think that we're overreacting. Opinion with which you disagree, so I have to follow your and Richard's lead anyway."

"Exactly! Thank you!"

"I have to admit that I'll feel safer with a bodyguard around," Sofia, your PhD student, added. "Plus, if the one in charge of us at the lab could be a very sexy American wearing a tuxedo and dark sunglasses, that would be even better."

"They've hired bodyguards, Sofia," you replied. "Not Agent J."

"Aren't bodyguards supposed to dress up like that all the time? Kevin Costner was all dressed up too in that movie with the singer!"

"I don't know, honestly. I have to admit that I have never asked myself that question."

"I feel like the conversation has drifted…" Mark tried to bring your attention to the matter at hand, but he had already lost you and your colleagues.

"You have to admit that it's a rather good question!" Richard jumped in.

"Maybe they'll even have this kind of earpiece, you know, with the wire and everything," Sofia went on, a dreamy expression on her face as she tried to picture in her mind how her bodyguard would look like.

"They've hired only four of them," you replied. "I don't think they'll need any earpiece."

"Which, by the way, doesn't sound like much security," Joshua added. "I mean, shouldn't we all have one personal bodyguard?"

"There were no threats against you and Lucy, so…" Mark replied with a shrug.

"Of course, let the lawyers defenceless, as usual."

"What do you mean 'as usual'?"

"Ha… nevermind. I guess it's just my fate to die like this. You know, according to my astral theme I'm supposed to die a violent death."

"If you mention astrology again today, I can guarantee that you will die a violent death," you replied, pinching the sides of your nose.

"Sorry, but I'm nervous. And I always ask the stars when I'm nervous."

"Are they more talkative than Jesus? Or is the line busy for them as well?" Richard mocked, earning a kick from under the table.

Mark let himself fall down on a chair, heaving a dramatically tired sigh.

"You know, working with you guys, who are supposed to have brilliant minds and all that, kind of brought down my expectations on life."

None of you bothered to reply to his comment, too busy discussing the bodyguards who would soon arrive.

Indeed, you waited now for their arrival, all of you gathered in a meeting room in your lab. The Marine and Aquaculture labs at the James Cook University formed a large ensemble of buildings, from the tanks used for experiments and research to the offices where you were now. The buildings were often referred as MARFU for Marine and Aquaculture Research Facilities Units. They were not the most impressive buildings of the campus, and yet their research was among the most advanced in the world in terms of understanding marine life. The studied topics were vast, and your own little team was but a fraction of the people devoting their lives to understand and protect sea life.

On the north-east coast of Australia, Townsville held one of the four campuses of the James Cook University, one of the main institutions in the country. Hidden behind the large medical centre, on the south tip of the town, the university stretched to the edge of the wilder areas of Mount Stuart, the town stuck between its slope and the ocean. The white buildings for Marine Sciences research were all gathered on the eastern part of the campus, in an ensemble of about 20 separate buildings.

You were for now waiting in one of the meeting rooms on the first floor of the main building for Marine and Aquaculture, looking around you at the blank white walls and wooden tables and chairs. A poster for the defence of sharks was hung on one wall, the light of the sun falling partially on its dark blue shades, causing the colours to wane after years of exposure to the too bright rays of the Australian sun. In the corner of the room, up to the ceiling, a spider had threaded its web, but it was only a little one, and none of you could be bothered chasing the arachnid away.

While your colleagues kept on bickering, your own mind wandered off, drifting back towards the element that had caused all this to happen.

You remembered getting the letter at your office, opening it without worry, thinking it was merely linked to your research. You were expecting some documents for a field trip with your students after all.

Instead, you found a letter reading that if you didn't stop your surveys on whales, you would pay for the consequences of your actions. If the word 'killing' was not explicit, the meaning hiding behind their phrasing was evident, and whoever had sent you this letter was ready to use violent ends to shush your voice.

Clearly, whoever they were, they had never met you in person, or they would have known that threats would be far from enough to make you back down.

Nevertheless, Mark and Richard had decided that it was best to call professionals. Apparently, Richard had a friend in the security business, who had recommended the team he and Mark had hired. Why did they have to go to all the trouble to hire Americans, that was another mystery in this crazy story, but you simply accepted whoever they chose, as your complaints were dismissed.

You doubted heavily that anything would actually happen. You were a researcher, and none of your work was secret. If it had turned into a political stance over the past few years, it was still not a secret. All your colleagues in the lab knew about your research. You had asked for help from the press and a law firm when you realized that your research might have more impact that you had thought of on an international scale; yet, here again, you were not trying to keep any secret. What were they going to do? Destroy the entire university? If whaling held a lot of potential money, it was still no reason to make so much damage, at least, not in your mind.

When you started to investigate the migrations of whales in Antarctica, nothing could have made you think that you would come to discover that a Japanese research program was misused. If your accusation that it was merely a cover story for killing whales and selling their meat had always been denied by the Japanese authority, over the course of the past years, it had become your crusade to shut down the whole program. One could not, after all, excuse the killing of hundreds of animals and call it 'science', not in our day and age, at least.

You knew you had made enemies by taking a stand. You had never tried to hide your purpose. It didn't seem to you that it was a game people would play with death and threats. Maybe you were wrong, though.

And now you were up to get a bodyguard follow you everywhere. That was probably the most ridiculous position you had ever found yourself into.

Who would be your guardian angel though? Your mind started to play a game, trying to picture features and hair and clothes, and you found it funny to imagine a rather large sixty-year-old bald man wearing a cowboy hat and a heavy Texan accent as your protector for the coming weeks.

Just as you settled on an image, Richard was called by the reception as the four bodyguards had arrived. And when the four of them stepped into the room minutes later, Sofia gave you a look that meant I told you so.

And indeed, they were all wearing suits, which you imagined was not that comfortable considering it was a warm 27°C outside and quite humid after the strong rains of the day before.

And well, they were all pretty… attractive people, you guessed. As you introduced yourself to each of them, you kept on thinking about how much your two female colleagues would make your life annoying for the whole duration of this nonsense, gushing about their bodyguards.

Everyone took place around the circle of tables at the centre of the room. A little bit of small talk went on for a moment while they were all served coffee, about their flight, and their accommodation here in Townsville, but the man in charge, Steve, soon became more serious.

"We've started to research suspects, but for now I have to admit that we couldn't pinpoint any individual as being a threat in your direct acquaintances."

"To be completely honest, we highly doubt that it's coming from anyone we are close to," Richard answered.

"Not any colleagues, or a rival from another paper?"

"No, no one comes to mind. The only suspects for us would be someone linked to the whaling industry, as Dr. Y/L/N's research could have negative impact on their business, if we manage to give it a proper exposure."

"No one else is working on this project, you're all here?" Natasha asked, and you nodded.

"On the research side we are three active scientists on the project, plus our boss Richard. Luke here is our link with the press, and Mark his editor. Lucy and Joshua are advising us on legal issues."

"Why? Does your research break the law?" Bucky asked, lifting his eyes from the notebook where he had been taking notes.

"No, of course not. On the contrary, we think someone else is breaking the law."

"Our final goal is to bring the situation to an international court," Lucy added. "That's why we're helping them."

"And the two of you didn't receive any threat?"

"No, none."

"What about the police?" Sam inquired.

"They have no lead. They asked for the University to strengthen their security," Mark answered. "The investigation is still on-going, but for now they have nothing. And a simple letter is not enough for them to dispatch officers, which is why we called you."

"As we have discussed before, we have made arrangements to stay here for three months. We'll assess the situation again in a few weeks, to see if you would like to extend your contract or not."

Mark and Richard nodded in silent agreement.

"We're going to need to make an inspection of the facilities to determine which areas are the most dangerous. Same for your personal homes. We'll spend a couple of days adjusting to the situation. Do you all work in different buildings at the University?"

"No, all three of us share the same lab, and Sofia and Rosa have the same office, mine is next door to theirs," you answered. "But I teach, and the classes take place on the other side of the campus for the most part."

"Alright," Steve nodded, and he seemed to be thinking hard. "We're going to take a look around, and one of us will be assigned to each of you who has received direct threats. If you want, we can take a look at your workplace tomorrow as well, and give you a few advices on how to lower the risks," he added to the two lawyers, before focusing on the rest of the group again. "Ms. Romanov will be in charge of Mr. Savoy, Mr. Barnes and Wilson will protect Ms. Longbrook and Dr. Alvarez Santiago, and I'll be protecting you, Dr. Y/L/N. We're going to take a look at all the areas where you go here, in these facilities, and tonight we'll check your homes. We'll continue our investigation as well to find who has threatened you. Depending on how large the areas we have to cover are, we might have to use cameras as well."

"We'll show you around, if you want," Richard offered, and you were all soon leaving the meeting room.

Steve had already studied the map of the building, but he did find some interesting details that were worth writing down. Some areas difficult to see from afar, and other hidden corners. He would have thought that the lab would be a challenge, but it was tidy and ended up not being a problem at all. You showed him your office while Natasha was leaving for the newspaper headquarters, and Bucky and Sam were taking a look at your colleagues' office. Steve walked around, checked the windows and what was outside, looking for an angle from which a shooter could fire.

"It would be safer to move your desk a little closer to the door," he advised. "That way, there's no chance anyone outside can see you by the window."

"Okay," you nodded, hiding your annoyance, and helping him move your stuff around the room.

Luckily, none of the piles of files on your desk fell, and in a matter of minutes, Steve seemed satisfied.

You checked the time. It was quite late already, but you still had a couple of things to finish tonight, you hoped to keep on working at the office for a little longer.

Steve exited the room to talk with his colleagues for a moment, and when he came back, he asked you if you could stay at the office for a while, which matched your plans perfectly.

"I need to talk to the security on site, and take a look at the building where you give your classes. Please, don't go home without me, ma'am."

You gave him a smile.

"I was going to ask you if I could have more time before going home, I have still some work to do. And, please, call me Y/N. Anyway, you would have to call me doctor, not madam," you joked. "Let's keep it simple though."

Steve gave you a little, pinched smile, but shook his head.

"It wouldn't be very professional of me, doctor. I'll be back soon. Mr. Barnes will stay in the corridor, if you need anything."

"Alright, thank you then, sir."

He gave you a nod and exited the room, closing the door halfway behind him, probably so that his colleagues could keep an eye on you from the corridor.

You heaved a sigh and unlocked your laptop.

Of course, you had to fall on Mr. Serious out of all people, huh?

These were long, long three months awaiting you…

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

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@marvelcapsicle​

[tjkiahgb]

On August 13th, 2018, at 8:20 PM, TJ Kippen performed a basketball-themed apology rap for Buffy Driscoll and completed his redemption arc. In doing so, he became a full and complete hashtag good boi and fulfilled this blog’s ridiculous destiny.

This post is scheduled to go up on August 13th, 2019, at 8:20 PM. It only feels right that I retire this blog on the one year anniversary of that moment.

Okay. It’s not that dramatic. I’m not deleting my account or logging out forever or anything. I’ll be around. I’ll check in and like some posts and hang out like the kid who graduated high school but won’t leave. He keeps coming back and acting chummy with the teachers and it’s like, doesn’t he have better stuff to do?

The point is, my queue is depleted, my drafts are empty. I don’t have a shift in fandoms planned. I don’t have anything planned. It’s time for me to turn my attention to other things and stop thinking about this show and writing about it and working on this blog.

So that’s basically the tl;dr of this whole deal. I’m going to write some rambling personal stuff so if you don’t care, which most people probably won’t, then thanks for reading and thanks for all the memories. It’s been fun.

Okay, lemme ramble. And if you’ve read this blog for a while, you’ve probably heard some of this already, but whatever, this is my goodbye post.

Way back in October of 2017, I came across a post on a website for TV news that said “Disney Channel to Feature Its First Gay Main Character in Andi Mack Season 2″. I didn’t know what Andi Mack was, and I hadn’t watched Disney Channel in well over a decade. I remembered reading about the two moms on Good Luck Charlie when it happened, but I also remembered that it was, you know, mostly nothing. A lot of controversy for what was just a quick little thing. But this headline noted that it was a Main Character. And I’m reading the article and it’s talking about how he’s going to have this journey in season two and the producers had talked to GLAAD and other groups to get it right, and I’m like, wow, this is pretty cool, this really seems like they’re putting some respect into this. (I’m also thinking about how much young, closeted me would’ve killed for something like this.)

So I set my DVR to record it not knowing what to expect. Mostly thinking it was just going to be your standard Disney Channel show: cheesy and corny and bad jokes, but I’ll catch the coming out scene and it’ll be cool to see how they handle it and that’ll probably be that.

And then I’m watching the episode and I’m like, this is... not bad? In fact, more than not bad, this is way better than it has any right to be. And then I got to the coming out scene, which was so well done, and I’m just... shocked. This is like Pixar. Like, it’s for kids, but I can watch it as an adult and pick up on themes and subtleties. This is not like the shows from my childhood. Where was this show when I was growing up?

Next thing I know I’m watching the next episode. And the next one. And I’m starting to care for these characters. I can forgive a lot of issues with plot if I care about the characters and what this show did, maybe as well as any show on television, is made you care for the characters, from top to bottom.

So now I’m watching the show regularly. At some point, I went back and binged through season one on DisneyNow. I’m in, as a casual viewer at this point at least.

And then I get to 2.11, and the swing scene happens, and I watch it wordlessly, and it ends, and I feel like I’m losing my mind. I could not believe what I just saw. I thought for sure this show was just going to have a couple of coming out scenes and that would be the end of it. Had I really just watched a scene that was hinting at a gay romance?

I wanted so badly to talk about it with someone else to see if they were seeing what I was seeing, but, as you may not be surprised to learn, none of my adult friends were watching Andi Mack. So I started looking around online. And I eventually found my way here, to this site, to the tag. And people were seeing what I was seeing. And people were excited about it, and I was like, okay, cool, I might’ve found my community.

So I started lurking around here. And I would check in after 2.12 and 2.13, and I was really starting to enjoy it. Most of the stuff I watch that I care about I’ll watch with friends or family and talk about it with them, so I never really thought being a part of a fandom would be worthwhile. Plus, I’d hear about shipping wars and other nonsense like that, and I’m like, I’m not going to make an account to argue with people over fictional characters’ relationships.

But what I was finding about this community was that it was more positive than that. There were arguments, sure. You’re going to get them in any group of people. But for the most part, people just seemed happy. They were posting theories and memes and gifs and jokes and fanfics. And they were celebrating the characters and developments. I don’t know if that’s special to the Andi Mack fandom or not, but it seemed special to me.

That’s around when I started thinking about making an account, during that hiatus between 2A and 2B. But I was like, do I want to commit to this? What’s the point of my account? What do I want to say? And at some point in the hiatus, I was checking the tag, and I saw a gifset. It was by an account, since deleted and gone, but who, at the time, was very prominent in the fandom. And the gifset was all about attacking Tyrus. It was trying to take everything nice about what had happened between TJ and Cyrus and stomp on it. Tyrus was like a little baby ship at this point. People were just starting to get into it, the numbers weren’t that big. There wasn’t even really a name for the ship back then. The Tyrus tag was mostly that professional wrestler and the CJ tag was even worse. And this account had decided they were going to use their platform to try and make this small group of people in the fandom feel bad about liking their ship. I just remember thinking, why? Why be like that? It just seemed so unnecessary. And for the briefest of moments, I thought, okay, maybe I’ll make an account to be a troll and argue this stuff. And then I was like, nah, that’s just going to make the tag worse. When you see someone trying to ruin things for other people, you can give them attention and power, or you can just do your own thing.

So what I decided to do instead was to make an account that would add to the positivity I had been seeing. To just be one of the many voices doing fun stuff to drown out the bad. I could put out dumb posts to hopefully make people laugh, or eventually start writing recaps to give people something to do after watching the episode. There wasn’t really any bigger goal than that. Kill some time while celebrating the show and making the tag a more fun place, if only incrementally.

I’d like to think I did that. That I haven’t written or made too many things that have bummed people out and that most of my posts have hopefully made things better for people who wanted to hang out on here and talk about the show.

That’s all. At the end of everything, that was all. Just try to leave a net-positive wherever you go.

So that’s why I joined tumblr. Here’s why I stayed.

I am an unemployed writer. I’m an employed something else, but I would like to be an employed writer and I am currently not. And what that really means is I’m an unread writer. It means I write stuff and I try to convince people to read it and buy it, but most of the time they don’t. Most of the time, my stuff sits around waiting and hoping to be read. And when that’s the case, you can start to feel doubt.

What I didn’t realize when I started this account was that I would also be getting positivity back. I mean, I probably should have. It was the whole reason I started this, because I liked the positivity here. I guess I just didn’t expect it to be returned to me.

But it has. It has tremendously. Just writing this silly stuff that I do and putting it out there and getting feedback on it has meant so much to me. People saying something I’ve written is funny or interesting or just saying that they enjoyed it is such a confidence boost. You feel like, okay, people like my jokes or the way I think or whatever. There’s an audience for me somewhere. People who will get me. I just need to stick with it.

That’s what you all have been for me this last year and a half. More than just making this a fun place to share our love of this show, you’ve made this a place for me to feel seen.

I try not to tie too much of my self-esteem to the amount of interaction my posts get. (Seriously, don’t do that, it can be really unhealthy. I’m like, if a post flops, it flops. No biggie. Move on to the next one.) But every note I do get on something I’ve written lets me know I’ve done something right. The reblogs, the likes, the follows, the nice messages in my inbox, the comments on the posts. Any of it. All of it. It lets me know I’ve been read. It makes me feel like I’ve made a connection. And that means the world to me.

So thank you, to any and all of you who participated in this thing with me. Thank you for reading. Thank you for being a part of my experience on here. Thank you for being so cool that I wanted to join your group in the first place and thank you for being so great afterwards that I’m eternally happy I did.

It’s meant more to me than you could possibly know.

Keep the positivity.

- Jay

[ai-suru-hito-yo]

Calling You (Gardner Langway x Reader)

Summary: You and Gardner have been in a relationship for about a year now. Things are going great, the ups make the downs completely worth it, and you’re so in love with this goofball it almost hurts. Based on Calling You by Blue October.

Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, probably rambling, very light references to possible smut but nothing detailed or explicit, some angst but I only write happy endings.

A/N: Sorry I don’t have the next part of WFSTRM ready yet! My dumb ass almost forgot I signed up for this event so I’ve been working on pumping this baby out. It’s just a lot of projection, honestly, because I am lonely and would very much like a cute and goofy ginger of my own (ahem Joe Mazzello hmu) Not beta’d because what are this? Written for @littledarlingwellaway​ ‘s 1k/Birthday extravaganza! Lyrics in italics. Timeline jumps around through different events in the relationship.

There's something that I can't quite explain

I'm so in love with you

You'll never take that away

You stared at the popcorn ceiling of your bedroom in your tiny apartment. No matter how long you stared, no matter how many little bumps you counted, sleep would not come. It was quiet except for a dog barking in the distance, and the quiet, deep breathing of the man currently sprawled across your chest, auburn locks in disarray after the number of times he had nervously run his fingers through his hair.

You and Gardner had just experienced your first real fight. You had been together for about 8 months now, and those months had been filled with mostly bliss, minus a bump or two in the road as you navigated the newness of suddenly finding someone else and their needs a part of your life. You had been out at date night, and Gardner said something accidentally insensitive (And what was it anyway? You could not possibly recall anymore, it was so trivial.) You had a bad day at work and immediately took the comment to heart, resulting in a serious overreaction and argument to end the night. You had fled home, only to see Gardner running up the sidewalk about 20 minutes later, a look of utmost determination on his face.

Finally, after talking things through and lots of reassurance, he finally passed out on your bed with you, wrapped entirely around your body, as if afraid you might slip away in the night if he failed to keep you anchored.

You looked down at his face, peaceful and relaxed in his sleep, looking paler than usual and downright ethereal in the moonlight streaming through your window. His plush lips parted slightly as he exhaled, and you studied last dark eyelash as they fanned against his pale cheeks. Your fingers gently brushed through his wild hair, and he stirred slightly. You froze, afraid the touch had woken him, but all he did was rub his face against your sweater before the sound of deep breaths filled the room once again.

As you resumed your stroking of his hair, you realized that whatever it was you had argued about was unimportant. You knew you loved Gardner, there was absolutely no doubt in your mind how you felt about the goofy, soft, awkward, beautiful man with his boat and his stamp collection and his zest for life and his unrelenting passion for the people and the things he cared about. You felt your eyelids slowly droop closed as you took comfort in the weight of your boyfriend pressing into you, keeping you safe and warm and loved.

And if I've said a hundred times before

Expect a thousand more

You'll never take that away

The first time he said it was an accident. He had truly not thought about it, not taken the time to really analyze how he felt about you, caught up as he was in the exhilaration of finding you and learning about you and developing this new, wonderful thing with you.

It was the simplest thing, too, that made him say it. He had been trying to make you laugh, telling you about some of the dumb suggestions Calvin had made as far as his next employment opportunity after he had quit being a mailman. Some throw-away comment that he made just as you had reached for your drink caused you to laugh and nearly drop the glass, which just caused you to laugh even more. Your eyes lit up and you threw your head back in mirth, letting out an unrestrained laugh, loud and happy, and it just hit him.

“God, I love you.”

Your laughter died down to soft giggles, before you realized what exactly he said. Your smile was still plastered on your face, but your eyes grew wide in shock. “W-what?”

“Um, I said I- yeah, yeah, I love you. I really do.”

You stared at him for a moment, silently, and Gardner could feel his heart rate pick up, his palms going sweaty from nerves. Had he said the wrong thing? Was it too soon? Should he not have said it? He was absolutely certain it was the truth, but now he was terrified he would scare you away.

“I-I'm sorry. I mean, I'm not sorry for how I feel, I won't apologize for that. But I'm sorry if you didn't want to hear that. I'm sorry If that was too soon. I'm really sorr--”

You never found out what else he was sorry for as you grabbed his shirt front and pulled him to you, right there in the middle of the bar, and planted your lips against his, effectively shutting him up for the next few minutes. When you finally pulled away again, you made sure to whisper for Gardner only,

“I love you, too, idiot.”

So expect me to be

Calling you to see

If you're okay when I'm not around

Asking if you love me

I love the way you make it sound

Three weeks. It had been three weeks since your boyfriend had been dragged off by his “brother” on some boys' trip as he had called it, leaving you behind and without his presence for 21 long days. They were due back at the end of the week, seven days that seemed to stretch out like a year before you.

You dragged yourself back home after another long day at work, wanting nothing more than the pint of Rocky Road in your freezer and a nice, long sleep. After a scalding hot shower, you put on your favorite pajamas (fuzzy warm pants and one of Gardner's old, faded t-shirts) and promptly fell asleep before you were even able to so much as braid your hair back for the night.

What must have been several hours later, judging by the darkness outside, you were pulled slowly from a rather deep sleep by an annoying and insistent sound. You reached toward your alarm clock, only to realize that the source of the noise was actually your phone, which you hd left on your bed during your shower and was now lodged somewhere under you. You lifted your leg and dug around, retrieved it from under your thigh, and promptly smashed the volume button before throwing it back down by your pillow. You were just about asleep again when the stupid thing started vibrating, alerting you to another call. This time you decided to answer it, letting out little more than a tired grunt.

“'Lo?”

There was a moment of silence, and then an robotic voice greeted you. “Hello. You have a collect call from,” pause, then a familiar voice, “It's me!!” you sat bolt upright, nearly dropping the phone. “Do you accept the charges?”

“Yes!” you practically scream into the phone. “Yes I accept!”

There was a bit of noise down the line, then quiet for a moment, before you tentatively spoke up again, “Uh...Gardner?”

“Honey I am so sorry it's collect I SWEAR I will pay you back!” Gardner's tired and slightly panicked voice called out to you. “I promise, the moment I get ho-”

“I don't give a shit about that,” you interrupted him, feeling an ache in your chest ease at the sound of his voice. You had been a little worried all day as you had not heard form him or Calvin for nearly three whole days now. Usually Gardner was calling you every night, excitedly telling you where they were now, what they had seen that day, and reassuring you that he loved you and he would be home soon. “Why are you calling collect? Where's your phone? Better yet, where have you been for three days, I've been so worried!”

“I know, I'm sorry,” your boyfriend assured you softly. Then his voice jumped an octave like it always did when he was irritated. “It's not because I didn't want to call, believe me. Let's just say Calvin had a little...mishap...which resulted in all but one of our bags falling into the Mississippi. My phone, my wallet, my camera, all of my clothes, as well as Calvin's phone, wallet, and clothes all in the bottom of a fucking river. Thankfully Calvin had his passport stashed in his car for some reason. We've spent most of today running around trying to get bank cards replaced so we can get back home.”

You sat in silence, stunned by everything your boyfriend had just told you. You could not decide whether to laugh or cry or scream or ask him if he was lying and playing a prank on you. Instead, you just sighed and asked him, “So, you're coming home, then?”

You could almost feel Gardner's sigh through the phone. “Yes. I'm calling it, we're cutting this road trip short and coming home.”

A squeak left your lips as you tried not to scream and cry. He was coming home early! Gardner was coming home, you would hopefully see him as early as tomorrow afternoon, and it was the best news you had heard in a very long time.

“Baby, I am so sorry your trip has ended on a sour note, I really am. I know you guys were really looking forward to boys time, and you deserve it. But I am so excited to see you,” by the time you reached the end of your statement, you were practically whispering, feeling choked up and near tears. You were acting ridiculous, you knew it, but it had really been tough not to have your goofy boyfriend around, your rock and your source of comfort, the one person you had grown so used to being the one constant in you otherwise hectic life, and it was really affecting your mood and your attitude badly.

A soft huff of laughter sounded over the phone, and Gardner asked, “You really miss me that much?” When you failed to answer right away, his tone turned softer and more serious. “Hey, are you okay?”

You sniffed and promptly pulled yourself together. “Yeah, I just miss you, Gardner. I miss you a lot. When will you be back? Where are you even?”

“I miss you, too, (Y/N). We're in some podunk town in southern Missouri right now. It's about a 9 hour drive home, and we're going straight through, no stops-no stops, Calvin!- except bathroom breaks. So sometime tomorrow afternoon.” The smile that split your face was one to rival the Cheshire cat, and you felt yourself relaxing just a little more as you were reassured that you and Gardner would soon be reunited. Thankfully, you had the whole next day off to plan a little something for just the two of you to enjoy after being apart, a little welcome home party.

“Okay,” you said quietly, phone pressed hard to your ear, as if that would suddenly make the physical distance between you smaller. “I guess I'll see you tomorrow.”

You let out a yawn and heard Gardner laughing down the line. “I'll let you go, honey. I just really needed to hear your voice and to tell you that I'm coming home.”

“I'm glad you did,” you told him honestly. “I had a really shit day, but it's all better now that I know I'll get to see you soon.”

“You still love me?” Gardner asked, and you chuckled.

“Of course I do, silly,” you assured him. “To the moon and back.”

“I know,” your boyfriend told you. “I just love hearing you say it. And I love you, too. More than anything.”

You rang off with promises that you would be home all day and that he could come over as soon as he was back in town. Feeling much warmer and more relaxed, you held the shirt up close to your nose, breathing in the lingering scent of Gardner's soap and distinct smells, and fell asleep with plans for the following evening swirling in your mind.

I thought that the world had lost its sway

Then I fell in love with you

And you took that away

You take away the old

Show me the new

You and Gardner had met shortly after he had gone through a really rough patch in his life. You did not know many details, but from what you gathered after a slightly tipsy conversation with Calvin, Gardner had just lost his job and experienced his first real heartbreak before you came into his life. Well, fell in (quite literally).

You had been in a hurry, rushing to find lunch on your short break from work, and all but ran into a cafe down the street. Unfortunately, someone had been about to step out when you reached to push the door open, and you promptly tripped over them and fell at their feet.

“Oh my god! I am so sorry!” a voice called out to you, and a hand circled your arm and helped pull you back to your feet. You brushed off your dress before you caught sight of a pair of feet still in front of you. Your eyes slowly made their way up a pair of legs, up, up, up, until you were looking into a pair of kind and rather stunning hazel eyes. The man before you looked to be about your age, with a strong nose and sharp jawline, skin so pale it was almost translucent, a bright shock of messy, red hair, and a slight smile. Despite the purple shadows under the man's eyes and the general tired look to him, the man was a cutie, and you could feel your face start to heat up as you realized you had been staring for far too long now.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, snapping out of your thoughts. “It's um, no problem. My fault, actually. Should have been paying more attention. Um, I'm (Y/N), by the way. Not that you should care, I'm just some strange girl from off the street.” You were rambling now and you knew it, but you could not seem to make yourself stop. Cutie seemed to be having a strange affect on you and you lost your mental filter entirely.

“I'll...just go now,” you said, promptly turning back to the cafe door, intending to scurry off back to work, appetite gone.

“I don't think you're strange,” Cutie suddenly spoke up.

“What?” you had stopped in your tracks, quickly turning back to him.

“I don't think you're strange,” he said again. “Although, it might seem a little strange for you to walk out of here, empty handed, after having just walked in.”

“Oh. Well I-uh,” you stammered, looking for some excuse, a reason to make a quick getaway. Oh, why doesn't a sinkhole just open up and swallow me whole, you thought as you realized you were caught out.

“Come on, I'm buying you a smoothie,” the stranger said, turning toward the counter before stopping and turning toward you again. “I'm Gardner, by the way.”

Calvin told you he came home that night, smiling for the first time in weeks, and had not stopped since.

“He wouldn't shut up about you, actually,” he said, leaning quite close before pushing himself off of your shoulder back to an upright position. “It was '(Y/N) this' and '(Y/N) that' for three whole days before I asked him if he even got your phone number or anything.”

You glanced at Gardner, who was pink faced and avoiding eye contact with you at the moment, remembering how you had seen him again in the same cafe five days later, and seemed strangely relieved when you pulled a pen from your purse and wrote your number on the back of his hand, telling him he could use it sometime if he wants. It had been a further week after that before he called you, and now you understood why. He had his heart broken, and was probably not entirely keen on repeating the experience.

You stood on slightly wobbly legs and made your way around the table to your boyfriend, wrapped your arms around his neck and perched yourself on his lap. He finally looked up at you, though still a bit reluctant, and you pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.

He smiled up at you, and you leaned in to press a gentle kiss to the curve of his lips for good measure.

“What's that for?” he asked, looking up at you with a slight furrow to his brow. You smoothed it with a light touch before answering him.

“Nothing, really. Just wanted to make sure you know that I love you and I'm not going anywhere any time soon.”

It was quiet for a moment as Calvin had run off to who knows where in the house, following whatever crazy idea his alcohol-drenched brain had come up with. You felt more than heard Gardner take a deep breath before he spoke.

“You know you don't have to worry about me, right?” he asked, head tilted back to look up into your eyes now that his brother was no longer present to spill all his secrets.

“What d'you mean?”

“I mean, that stuff is all in the past. Yeah, I was in a funk when I met you, but as soon as you showed up, it was like it all happened to another person. It wasn't me anymore. You replaced all the bad things that I held onto with the good things I hadn't realized I actually needed. The world became easier to navigate. Nothing seemed to bad or so difficult anymore.”

Gardner ended his little declaration with a shrug, as if he had not just finished saying the most beautiful and profound thing someone had ever said to you in your life.

Instead of answering him, you simply stood and pulled him up to his feet. You wrapped your arms back around his neck, pulling him close and pressing your lips to his again. You felt his arms snake around your waist, locking behind your back and pulling you close. After some time that could have been minutes or hours for all the attention you had paid to the outside world at that moment, you pulled away from him, trailing one hand down his arm and interlacing your fingers with his long ones.

“Come on,” you said, pulling him toward the door.

“Where are we going?” he asked with a puzzled look.

You threw a coy smile over your shoulder before giving his hand another tug. “To the boat.”

Calling you to see

Do I try too hard to make you smile

To make a smile

In hindsight, you really should have seen it coming.

A ring your great-grandmother had given you had gone missing off your dresser. You thought you had placed it down next to your favorite apple cider candle, only for it to disappear, causing you to spend three days searching for it. You searched all the usual places, then all the unusual places, even your desk drawers at work, thinking perhaps you had misplaced it, but it was nowhere to be found. You gave up, officially declaring the jewelry lost, and spent the evening at home alone, trying to figure out how you were going to tell your mother that you lost her grandmother's ring.

You decided to drop by Gardner's boat one afternoon after work, only to walk in to him immediately slamming his laptop shut and staring at you with a wide-eyed, guilty look on his face. When you asked what he was doing, he claimed he was looking for something for Calvin.

“He's always trying new recipes, you know, so I thought I'd look some up for him,” he said, slipping the computer onto a shelf and gesturing for you to come sit by him. You were sure this was a lie, as Googling recipes certainly did not warrant such suspicious behavior, but decided to let it slide, as you had no real reason not to believe him.

However, the strange behavior got worse. One afternoon about two weeks later, you and Gardner both had some time off and were spending it together, when he got a phone call and slipped into another room to answer it. This was odd, as he usually only received calls form you, Calvin, or his boss. It certainly was not you on the other line, and he had never felt the need to leave the room for a call from work or his brother before. You knew it was wrong, but you decided to follow him.

He had stepped outside your apartment and into the hallway, so you stood by your door with your ear pressed against it, trying to catch anything you could. He must have been pacing, because you could only catch a few words at a time as the grew louder and then softer again.

“...sure that's right? How much...? ...meet you there at 4 tomorrow...look forward to it...”

You heard him approach your front door and quickly ran into your bathroom and locked the door behind you. You barely registered the front door opening and closing as your breathing picked up and you began to think of all the worst possibilities for his behavior. You did not register Gardner calling out your name before knocking at the bathroom door. The sound pulled you rather suddenly from your panicked thoughts, and you had to quickly sit down on the toilet lid before you fell over.

“(Y/N)? Are you alright?” he called through the door, concern evident in his voice. You knew you had to think fast.

“I-I don't feel good,” you called out, which was actually not a lie. You did find yourself suddenly feeling rather ill. “Maybe you should just go home.”

“What?! Are you sick? Unlock the door, let me come in and check on you.”

“No! I um-don't want you to get sick, too. It might be contagious.”

“I don't care. I've been around you all day, if it's contagious I'm gonna get it anyway.”

“Please just go, Gardner,” you called out. “I'm gonna try taking a shower and going to bed early. Maybe I'll feel better tomorrow.”

“Okay,” he finally relented, sounded disappointed and defeated. “I hope you feel better soon, honey. I love you.”

“Okay, thanks, you too,” you answered, turning on the shower to hopefully drown out any further disappointed sounds or words. Sleep never came to you that night, and you spent the whole next day wound tighter than a drum and jumping at every noise and movement.

At your lunch break you ducked into the ladies' room, hoping to freshen up a bit and try to get your act together for the afternoon. You stood staring at the dark shadows under your eyes that no amount of concealer would cover up, lost in thought, when your phone suddenly started ringing in your purse, causing you to jerk back violently before stomping your foot in pure frustration. You wrenched it out of your bag and answered it without even looking at who was calling.

“Hello?” you practically shouted into the phone?

“Hi, honey,” Gardner's happy voice answered you. “How you feeling today?”

“Fine,” you lied, your grip tightening around your phone.

“Oh, um, well I'm glad to hear that,” the man answered slowly, clearly a little puzzled by your grumpiness. “Think you'd be up for dinner out tonight? My treat.”

“I don't know, Gardner, I didn't sleep the greatest last night and my appetite hasn't been the greatest today,” you answered honestly. You had softened a little, as this was still the man you loved, and thought that maybe you were reacting a little strongly based only on your paranoid suspicions.

“Okay, we'll stay in, then,” he said, clearly not to be deterred from his plan to see you. “Come by the boat. It's supposed to be a beautiful night. I just really want to see you.”

You felt the last of your resolve crumble and you caved, agreeing you would come over. He agreed that if you started to feel ill again, he would bully Calvin into driving you home.

That evening you decided to walk the half a mile or so from your apartment to Calvin's house where Gardner still had his boat parked, taking time to reflect on all that had happened recently. You were not sure what to expect upon arrival, but it certainly was not what you saw.

Gardner had taken the cover off his boat, exposing the deck fully. He had gathered every blanket he owned, as well as a few you were certain you had seen in Calvin's house, as well as every cushion and pillow it seemed he could get his hands on, and piled them on the deck like some sort of hybrid nest-pillow fort. There was a bottle of sparkling cider set beside two trays loaded with food, and fairly lights were strung around the rigging, creating a soft glow around the nest. You had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk just staring at everything, which was where Gardner found you when he emerged from below deck with two glasses in his hands.

“(Y/N)!” he waved at you when he spotted you. “Come on up!” You climbed the ladder to the deck and Gardner reached out to help you on board, hands warm and clammy in they way they were whenever he was nervous.

“Do you like it?” he asked you with a small smile.

“I love it,” you answered honestly. “Did you do all of this?”

“Yep! Well, Calvin helped with the food and dragging all the cushions outside, but it was all my idea. I bought the juice and strung the lights and everything,” Gardner's hands started waving around excitedly as he explained, and you took hold of one again to calm him.

“You did this just for me,” it was more of a statement than a question.

“Well, you seemed so stressed lately I thought it might be nice for you to have a quiet, cozy way to unwind,” he explained, steering you toward a particularly plush looking pile of cushions. You arranged yourself on it in a way that hopefully looked less awkward than it felt, and Gardner promptly wrapped a blanket around your shoulders, enveloping you in warmth and his familiar scent.

You hugged the blanket around yourself, feeling infinitely better, and wondering how you could ever have doubted this wonderful man. He reached out to you with a glass of juice, and soon you both were digging into the food he had prepared. Sandwiches, fruits, and even chocolate and caramel sauces for dipping. It was delicious, and you realized just how hungry you were after barely eating for the past 24 hours. You talked and laughed over your dinner, the conversation slowly dwindling into companionable silence. You were licking a bit of stray chocolate sauce off your finger when Gardner caught your attention again.

“(Y/N)?”

“Gardner?”

“There's...another reason I wanted you to come over tonight. Another reason why I prepared all of this,” he started and turned to face you more directly. “I know I have my faults and my quirks, and sometimes it may seem like I try too hard, yet other times, not hard enough. But I love you more than life itself. What you and me have is so much...different when compared to anything I've ever known. I've not had anybody really be there for me, there because they actually wanted to be and not because they felt obligated or for some ulterior motive. When I look at you, I feel whole, I feel new, I feel invincible. Like I could fly. I could take on the world with you by my side. And that's what I really want. I'm not sure about the rest of the factors in my life, but I know that whatever happens, I want it to happen with you there, too.”

Time seemed to stand still as Gardner shifted so he was on one knee while reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a small blue box. You gasped, eyes comically wide as you stared at the box. It all made sense now. The missing ring, the sneaky internet research, the private phone calls. He had been in touch with a jeweler. He needed to know your ring size. Of course. The clues were all there, your mind had just come to the wrong conclusion.

Tears blurred your vision as Gardner opened the box, revealing the most beautiful ring you had ever seen. A princess cut stone of pure (y/b/s) sat in the middle of a sparkling white gold band, two much smaller white diamonds framing it, giving off the most brilliant shine even in the low light surrounding you. It was truly gorgeous, more so than any piece of jewelry or clothing or anything you had ever owned. Taking a deep breath to regain your composure, you looked back up into his hopeful face, flashing a watery smile.

“Ask me,” you said, wanting to hear his sweet voice speak those words. “Ask me, Gardner.”

“(Y/N), will you marry me?” he asked, brilliant hazel eyes flicking back and forth between yours.

“Yes,” you said, nodding vigorously. “Yes, yes, of course I will!”

You threw your arms around him, tackling him back into the pile of blankets and cushions behind him, peppering his entire face with kisses, leaving no exposed skin untouched. He laughed as you even kissed his ears, only stopping when Calvin's voice rang out from the house.

“Well?! What did she say?!”

“Oh, the ring!” you said, suddenly remembering it. “Where's the ring?”

Gardner picked the box up from where he had dropped it on a pillow and quickly slipped it onto your left hand. You stood and flashed your hand toward the house, making sure it caught the glow of one of the lights strung around you.

“What the heck do you think I said, Calvin?!” you shot back at him.

“Smart girl!” he called back to you. “You two have fun, now, and don't rock the boat! Or maybe do!”

You laughed as Calvin closed the window he was leaning out of. His words made you realize something and you quickly turned to Gardner, leveling him with your best serious face.

“I have one condition,” you stated firmly. The smile on Gardner's face slipped a little. “You can keep the boat, but I am NOT living in it!”

He laughed in relief, reaching out to pull you down to him again.

“Deal.”

[lachlann-macnab]

At Al’s Potluck

Alternative title: Backstory, friendly banter, potatoes and feels.

Dated: October 24, 2020

Lachlann MacNab Lachlann had learned rather quickly that when Seamus had said "you're a menace to society you're never driving again, not unless I'm hurt so badly I'm passed out" he'd really, really meant it and no amount of pouting and/or complaining would stop the man from driving them both to Al's Comic Barn as their respective recipes sat on the backseat. But karma had struck the man as soon they had to get out the car, since now he had to juggle his enourmous plate and the keys, a scene Lachlann found actually quite funny as he remained seated on his place, phone on one hand and dish on the other

Seamus MacTunnag it would have been much easier to balance the fucking pot if he didn't have another platter along with it. Stovies and oatcakes were easy to make, especially for large amounts of people, but that meant having more than was necessarily manageable. Lachlann was pouting in the car and, thus, unhelpful. Finally shoving his keys in his pants pocket, the brunet picked up the second tray he'd set carefully on the hood of the Roadster. "Yer no help, ye know that?" He shook his head and mumbled under his breath about a grown man being a brat all because he wasn't allowed to drive before he nodded to the door. "Hands're otherwise occupied. Care the get th' door at least?"

Lachlann MacNab "That's a lot of complainin' for someone that generally insists on doing everything himself, Mister Mac T" Lachlann replied with a grin, making sure his phone was set to airplane mode (having figured before that receiving any message during the event would be a faux pas) and using the little moment to also make sure he'd actually closed Spotify, not wanting a certain other playlist to accidentally...well, play after the "driving" one had finished. "Yeah, yeah, I'm getting the doors. I'm still surprised you decided to actually come, tho'" he said, now being the one doing some juggling

Seamus MacTunnag "An' that's a lot o' lip comin' from a man who sat an' watched 'cause he wasna allowed tae drive," Seamus quipped back, smiling winningly as he waited. Lachlann fiddled with his phone for a moment before shoving it in a pocket then reached for the door. "Thank ye kindly," he murmured, brushing past the other as he strode through the doors. "An' 'course I would, Lachie. I try tae at least go tae one or two o' these every year. Get a feel fer th' candidates." McWiggin was a native to the town, ran a small business, and seemed concerned with the community as a whole. It would be smart to look into him, at the very least. "'Sides, I havena cooked fer a large group in a while. Seemed th' thing tae do. Old family favorite, an all."

Lachlann MacNab Lachlann didn't have a counterpoint for that, so he decided to stick his tongue out at the other man and take that L as he made sure the car's doors were closed, Al's were opened and his own pot of Chili Macaroni (Vegan, mind you) remained secure on his hands. "Louie says Al 's a pretty cool dude and I think he did well during the first debate" Lachlann nodded "you rootin' for him, Mister Mac T? or are you more interested on the food? Like, I think he's done great so far but, well, I'm kinda new around, so... I don't really know for certain"

Seamus MacTunnag If Seamus's hands were free, he'd have gone for Lachlann's tongue. Much like how Adelaide had done to him when she was a wee one, in fact, though the circumstances were far different. "Careful darlin'," he warned, grin hinting at the mischievous, "wouldna want ye tae lose yer tongue." Listening for a moment as he found somewhere to set the platter and pot down, Seamus hummed in acknowledgement, mind turning over what he knew. In years previous, he'd known McWiggin to be a bit of a tit, rude to women and someone who was just generally unpleasant. Seemed like he'd cleaned up his act in the past year or so, as well as he could anyway, and was hoping to turn over a new leaf. "Dunno quite who 'm votin' fer yet, in truth. 'S why I come tae these, see what they're about. He seems concerned about th' town he grew up in an' the local business, but I'd like tae see more of his stance on Magick/Mundus relations, given where we live."

Lachlann MacNab "Darlin'" Lachlann didn't know what to reply to that -at least not while in public-, even stopping for a second before deciding that the best next unrelated step was finding a place to place his pot as he nodded. "Yeah, it's kind of complicated" politics had never been an easy topic, really "Al strikes me as the most approachable candidate, like, I don't get a thing Reza talks about, Aquata is kind of initimidating and Shock..." He didn't really finish that sentence because he figured that everyone felt the same way about the youngest candidate and her blasé ways about... everything. Also, because he'd just spotted a familiar recipe. "Oh, the Beignets! Tiana must be here too!"

Seamus MacTunnag The silence was noted and smugly filed away. And over a little old thing like darlin', at that. "Aye," he agreed, eyes sweeping over the people milling about the comic shop. He'd never ben inside the place himself, but he knew Louie worked here, so he'd wanted to come down for a look-see. "Al may be approachable, but both Reza and Aquata address cohesion and Magick representation in a mixed community as well as plans to provide a more streamlined petition process. An' Adamson, well, I hardly take 'er seriously." Seamus shrugged, running a hand through his hair. After having lived with a Magick for half a decade, amidst other generational hardships, Seamus had always made it a point to look at legislation that had to do with Magicks. "Take it ye know someone around?" The name was vaguely familiar, like he'd met them previously, but he couldn't place a face to it.

Lachlann MacNab "I mean, yeah, they do" Lachlann shrugged "Like, they sound like they know what they're saying but I think that the best possible option 's having someone you know you can approach, you know? I'd get nervous by the mere thought of just getting close to Miss Triton or Reza -like, I don't think I'd ever have a reason to do so but...yeah" And he'd rather not think much about the whole Magick-Mundus things, since he still had a bittersweet feeling about the whole Moon Market fiasco. "Ah! Yeah, well- kind of! She's an acquaintance of sorts, I guess. 'nyways, what was it that you cooked, again, smoochiekins?"

Seamus MacTunnag Lachlann did have a point, yes. You had to be able to approach a council representative, or feel like you could, anyway. That was the entire point of it all, wasn't it? Granted, Seamus had cut his teeth on hardened business men and women, their unflinching values and ironclad stances. There was a different type of ability to interact there for him than there was Lachlann. "The Triton lasses ain't all bad. Adella's nice, even if she is a right pest." He smiled, thinking on the woman fondly. He'd not seen her in a while but she was one person in town he counted as a friend. "Aquata's Da was a staple of th' council. Think she's jus' tryin' tae do right by him." Both brows rose at the abrupt change of subject and the godawful nickname. His nose wrinkled involuntarily at the implementation. "That's awful, Lachie. Truly, truly awful. But 's, uh, we call it stovies an' oatcakes. Traditional Scottish fare. Me mam used tae make it a lot." He glanced down and off to the side, clearing his throat once he was through speaking, suddenly not too keen on talking about Davina MacTunnag. "Yers was, uh, vegan was it?"

Lachlann MacNab "I think I've heard about the Tritons before- I think one of them designed Loopy's favourite lipstick" he couldn't say which one, though "And I kind of recall seeing Adella's name somewhere..." He'd checked Tinder one or twice since arriving to Swynlake and vaguely recalled seeing someone with a curious name and amazing photos but, well, obviously out of his league, so he hadn't even bothered trying. And there was another reason,  of course, which was currently looking fondly at his own pots. "So that's what you needed all those potatoes for!" he said with a wide smile "and here I was, thinking you were feeling like starting a farm, Mister Mac T! And, yeah, 's no big deal. You kinda just throw all the ingredients into the pot and pray for the best. It may not be anything fancy but at least I didn't burn down my kitchen"

Seamus MacTunnag It took him a moment to parse out who Loopy was but, once he had, Seamus nodded his head. "Aye, one o' 'em has a make up line I think. Adella dragged me tae th' bloody adult prom a year of so back," he mumbled, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. "She's a sweet girl. Seemed tae think I needed tae get outta th' house. Kinda like someone else I know." Yes, that was a Pointed Pause, Lachlann. "The family's from Swynlake though. Been here fer generations, I s'pose. Makes sense they'd try tae continue it." The comment about the potatoes made him pause, lips quirking up into a smile before he chuckled and shook his head. "Nope, no potato farming. My people didna do such a thing," he quipped, grin widening. "But th' Stovies feed a family fer a while, keep ye warm, all o' that. 'S a staple when ye grow up in Glasgow slums. Had tae take th' liquor outta the recipe though. Been sober around two an' a half years. Don'tcare tae cook with it neither." He hummed his acknowledgement of the other man's dish, wondering how it tasted. At least it wasn't burnt

Lachlann MacNab "Oh" Lachlann said, nodding at the comment and making a mental note about Adella being cool (even in a non-Tinder context). But at the rest of the phrase he tilted his head and bit the inner part of his right cheek "But isn't that kind of thing like...what's the word? When someone in power helps other person to achieve things- necromancy? no, eh, neo- no, nepotism?" He paused for a second, first thinking about the implications of the words and the situation he wasn't sure about, then deciding to move towards a plate full of cookies before the girl with the white dress decided to eat them all by herself. "Myesh" he said with a mouthfull of cookies "sh more like ah shtereoghtiphgical 'rish thng, nt Scottish" Wait. Slums?... " 's better that way, I guess. That way you can be the one driving, instead of having me risking everyone else's well-being, sweetipie" he joked, even if he was still curious about the comment about living in the slums once.

Seamus MacTunnag "Mm, I s'pose ye could see it that way, aye. Most dunna. From what I understand 's more--" Seamus searched for the words, brow furrowing a bit as he walked alongside the other man. Toward more food, he could see. "--a generational connection to th' town. The Triton family is rooted in Swynlake. Everyone knows 'em. Sure, it sounds like they're takin' advantage o' that an' maybe they are, but what if 's because they got th' best fer th' town at heart? I jus' tend tae look at both sides o' matters, or try tae." Rolling his eyes as the other man spoke with a full mouth, Seamus waited until he was done. "Aye. An' 'm nae fuckin' Irish." He'd had to live in the Little Ireland neighborhoods in New York for a while, mind, but that's because no one knew their arse from their head back then. Couldn't tell the difference. Some people still couldn't. Seamus swiped a cookie from the other man and took a bite before turning on his heel to take a look through the rest of the dishes, offering quiet hellos as he went. When he heard another awful nickname, Seamus turned to give Lachlann a droll look. "'M nae luggin' yer heavy arse tae th' car--" A mischievous little grin cropped up and, just to be a tit, tacked on a m'eudail for good measure, accent thickening around the familiar word.

Lachlann MacNab "Yep, 's important to try and do that, get to know both sides I mean, like the whole thing with Reza's scandal" which had surprised all of twitter, himself included. Lachlann still wasn't sure where he stood on all that and his attention was, instead, focused on the food and trying to keep his cookies away from the other's hands, anyways. But even when he swiped one away, Lachlann couldn't help but smile it off, nod and follow him in the search for something nice to munch on. "Yeah, some people think it's the same thing but that's, frankly, offensive to both nationalities" he said, having some vague knowledge about the topic, since people assumed a lot of things when they heard the MacNab surname, but he had never really mind the errors "You started it, darling. Anyways, so Stovies are kind of a family recipe, then?"

Seamus MacTunnag Seamus nodded his head, agreeing without really needing to say anything. It was true, after all. The scandal release had been a shock to everyone, but Seamus wasn't just going to judge the man like so many other people seemed to be fond of. Sorcerer or not, Magick or Mundus, all sides deserved a critical look. "'S extremely offensive, particularly when I was exposed to it." The Irish, at one point, were treated like animals. When people had believed Seamus was, he'd been given the same treatment. He'd had to learn how to defend himself and his sisters quickly. "Darlin' is a term of endearment. Whatever those other things were were nae. But yes, I s'pose so. Most everyone in th' area knew how tae make 'em, but me mam taught me. I had tae work two or three jobs growin' up but, uh, she let me help in me downtime. Da never gave a shite so--" Seamus shrugged, going a bit pinched around the eyes at the involuntary reminder of his father. "--figured I could give another pair o' hands when she needed 'em."

Lachlann MacNab This was the first time Lachlann heard about Mister Mac T's parents and- nothing about it sounded all that cool. Slums, working two or three jobs, the "Da never gave a shite"... Sure, the older man was resilient and most certainly had seen a lot of stuff before, but hearing that he'd to struggle even during childhood was kind of a harsh idea; Maybe someone that felt particularly poetic or philosophical would say that that kind of things had turned the man into the kind of person he currently was but- but Lachlann only found it kind of miserable, really, that he hadn't had the chance to just be a happy child. "Maybe you could teach Huey, Dewey or Louie how to cook it, eventually" he said, placing a hand in the other's shoulder, in an effort to cheer him up "or me. I'd be happy to learn it"

Seamus MacTunnag See, he knew what his childhood sounded like. He had lived it and it was just as shite in the telling as it had been back when he was a lad, and that had been hedging around how big of a piece of shite his father had been. Seamus snorted at the mention that the boys would learn. He turned his head to look at Lachlann's face, squeezed the hand that had landed on his shoulder."Aye, maybe Huey. Dunno about Dewey. Louie would rather food be served to him, not be made by him, so I doubt he would. But I wouldna mind it, if ye wanted tae learn. Ain't hard tae make."

Lachlann MacNab "I think Dewey would be down to clo- I mean, totally up for it" Probably. Maybe. He wasn't sure if his best friend had any interest in cooking but he figured that as long as something sounded like a fun time, he'd be up for it. Huey probably would take notes about the recipe like the very organized guy he was and- -he was absolutely correct about Louie, so there was no point in thinking about that, so he smiled and nod, then pointing towards a fancy-looking salad, as if asking the man if he wanted to try some of that (while still not letting go of his shoulder). "I wonder if we'll see Al himself. I'd really like to tell him that I admire the fact that he has Darkwing comics in stock- and also maybe give him props for making the drinking game interesting for everyone"

Seamus MacTunnag Down to clown? Really? Resisting the urge to laugh or smile at the turn of phrase (because it was awful and not at all endearing in any way whatsoever), Seamus still found himself losing the battle when his mouth twitched upward. Nodding his head at the nonverbal suggestion, the Scotsman allowed himself to be steered to the side a bit, walking in step with the other man and listening as he spoke. He'd have to remember to ask the boys if they ever wanted to learn how to cook. It would come in handy for them later, if anything. "Maybe, maybe not," Seamus murmured, a shoulder moving in a half-shrug. "Though I dunno if havin' a series o' books or tryin' tae give yah alcohol poisonin' is worthy of congratulations." Now he was just being a shit head, it was true, but it was also a fact that McWiggin had seemed to run in circles during the first debate, never really seemed to address questions that were more hard hitting when his contempories had. He had stuck to "small businesses" and "community" which, while what he was using in his campaign, should not have been the entire thing, in Seamus's opinion. But what did he know?

Lachlann MacNab "But I'm ok now" he declared, rather proud of himself "I'm dying by plane crash or not at all" Which was a joke, really; He simply didn't get (terribly) injured in any of his particular stunts so that phrase was more of a roundabout way to say "no way" than an actual - -wait. Mister Mac T wasn't supposed to know about that. Shit. "They aren't just any comic books, they are, objetively, the best comic books ever made" he said, trying to steer the conversation into another direction, then stuffing his mouth on some nearby potato salad so he could play the "sorry, I can't talk, my mouth is full" card just in case the older man didn't take the Darkwing bait. "Thish ish tashty! You shld try shome"

Seamus MacTunnag Dying by plane crash or not at all. That...that didn't sound good at all. In fact, that sounded the opposite of good. In fact, that sounded like Seamus should be worried about Lachlann flying a goddamn airplane which was, frankly, disappointing. He wanted to see how the man flew. And the fact that the other man tried to steer the conversation into a 360 didn't help any. "In a minute. We're gonna circle back tae th' plane crash thing. How many times, exactly, have ye crashed Lachlann? How accident prone are ye?" Is that why you're in Swynlake?

Lachlann MacNab Oh, Lachlann was absolutely not having that conversation -not in that place, not ever and specially not with Mister Mac T of all people. " Gee, I was only joking" he said, even if his tone was way more somber than intended "but, I guess now I know what I'm not supposed to joke about when you're around, eh?. Like, I guess that's all my fault, I know it's a serious topic and all". He decided to try and distract himself searching for a plate and filling it indiscriminately with food.

Seamus MacTunnag Ah, sore subject then. Seamus could read a room well enough by now and certainly could tell when someone didn't want to talk about something, even if it was something important. He'll, he'd done much the same more than once. It was still irritating but it was forgivable. It would be hypocritical to not be, after all. "Mmhmm," he murmured, both brows hiking ninto his hairline before offering a small smile, the kind that said 'I know you don't wanna yak about whatever that is, so I won't. Yet.' "Ye can joke around plenty. Death 's just a touchy subject, is all." Which wasn't a lie, but he wasn't going to elaborate much more just then. Instead, he picked up a small plate of his own.

Lachlann MacNab Look, Lachlann generally tried his best to take that whole topic in stride, playfully mentioning it every now and then when necessary, but discussing it (or anything vaguely related to it) with the older man was simply not going to happen, not when he held his family's talents in such high regards, not when he felt like his-their current closeness depended on what he could offer (and driving certainly wasn't it). If he didn't have a good reason to be there then- then Mister Mac T would send on his way, right? He would never bother dealing with a washed-up pilot, right? He- he deserved way better and- "'s ok. I know, I'm sorry" he finally said, voice slightly cracked. He just couldn't bear to lose the other's respect too, or the comfortable closeness they've built.

Seamus MacTunnag He heard the cracks in Lachlann's voice before they really made themselves apparent and Seamus felt his brow furrow at the sound, wondering at it. He filed it away for later, just like he did much everything else he observed about Lachlann and other people around him, to pull up and examine later on. Clearly, whatever it was, it was something the younger man didn't want to talk about, probably something with his family, if Seamus had to guess. Just a hunch but, well, MacNabs usually didn't stray far from their clan, if you will. And Lachlann was an entire ocean away from his. "Ye dunna have tae apologize, Lachie, 's alright," he said, voice pitched low so the nosy biddies around them couldn't eavesdrop. Namely, his nephew, wherever he might be.

Lachlann MacNab "Yeah, but still...." Lachlann said, trying to keep up with the conversation even if he suddenly felt quite down (so much so that the food currently on his plate suddenly didn't seem all that enticing anymore and had been reduced to a mere excuse for his movements). He just didn't want to deal with that topic. He'd rather run away. He'd rather pretend all of that wasn't even a thing. He'd rather just take his few belongings, throw 'em into his uncle's car and never look back now that people, that Mister Mac T knew about his failures. But he couldn't. Not now. He didn't want to let go of that- them- him. Not yet. "I just- could we- I'd rather talk about politics or Darkwing or Swynlake, you know?"

Seamus MacTunnag Yes, there was definitely something sore about the subject here. He recognized the behavior. In fact, he'd done it himself, once upon a time. It was...odd seeing it mirrored in someone else, someone he knew that hadn't been from decades and lifetimes ago. "Aye," he said, voice still pitched low, a small, placating smile, curling around his mouth. "We can do that." Seamus checked him with his hip, herding the man away from the food table and closer to the comic books, figuring it was a better topic to pick up than anything else. "Which arc's yer favorite? Or th' one ye need? Might have it here."

Lachlann MacNab That- was kind of unexpected, really. Lachlann had hoped the other would simply nod and let him be instead of guiding him away from the table -or actually mentioning Darkwing. He couldn't but give the man a little smile (that also served as a silent 'thank you') as he followed him and looked into the various colorful displays, plate still in his hand. "The Dark Knight Returns, hands down" he said, voice slowly returning to it's usual volume "I like the idea of Darkwing being retired for a while, then returning. Like, I feel that makes a hero -doing the right thing even when it's difficult or it kind of hurts, being- reliable, I guess" But he wasn't looking at the comics as he said that, not really.

Seamus MacTunnag He saw the unexpected surprise cross Lachlann's face and counted it as a win. Or, at least, a minor victory of a small skirmish. It was also, incidentally, what appeared to be a bit of a thank you in its own right. As the other ran spoke about the comics, Seamus's eyes traveled over the colorful covers and the snazzy artwork, the characters that came to life in their pages pitted against the harrowing forces of some villain or another in a snapshot on the front cover. The Darkwing books were no different, though Seamus knew them by hert a little differently. Still, it was nice to hear Lachlann a bit more normal, so he let him go on with his explanation, chuckling quietly at what he heard. "Sounds like yer trying tae tell me somethin', Lachie," he mumbled, teasing in the tone. He reached out a hand and tapped one of the covers, the garish suit they put Darkwing in front and center. "I remember when th' first one o' these came out. Laughed meself about sick. 'Course, I knew why. He did deserve it, retirement an' all. Sometimes it ain't fer someone, though, an' they wanna keep on, even if they dunno how tae quite get back intah th' game." No, he wasn't taking about Darkwing anymore.

Lachlann MacNab Lachlann laughed and shook his head 'no', even if there was some true to the other's statement and once again found himself intrigued by the other's words, or more exactly the way he used them -sure, one could argue that him being older meant he'd had more exposure to that sort of media, but that didn't seem like the reason he talked of Darkwing in such a way. But then again, who was Lachlann to judge? If anything, he was happy to had a shared interest. "It's difficult sometimes. Once you start doubting it just...isn't the same, right?" he asked, before taking a bite of his previously-forgotten food "I really admire the kind of people that just- you know, keep doing their best even when things get difficult. I hope to learn to do that kinda stuff someday" Maybe he could from the older man, that even with his rough start had managed to make the best he could and continued trying to do so. "I- I know this may not be the best place, but could I ask you a question real quick, Mister Mac T?"

Seamus MacTunnag Seamus paused when he was done speaking, glanced over at the other man, a hand holding just over the spine of an omnibus edition. Looked like the first arc of an early Darkwing series. Maybe another hero, mixed into the wrong area. "Aye, it is." Turning so he was facing the other man more fully, Seamus leaned his empty arm against the shelf and crossed his feet at the ankles, brow ticking upward. "Shoot, Lachie."

Lachlann MacNab "Would you keep me around even if I had nothing interesting to offer?" But that was a waaay too complex of a question for that moment and place, really, so Lachlann chewed a couple of seconds more, eyes on the omnibus' in the other's hands, before speaking again. "How do you do it?" he finally said "keeping on even when things get difficult, I mean"

Seamus MacTunnag It had long been established that patience was a virtue in Seamus's life, one that he had learned to perfect over the years. Even with a bit of a temper when he got riled up, he had learned to make the most of a wait. And he did. Even guessing at the question hadn't really prepared him for the actual thing, however. It made the brunet's eyes widen as he drew in a breath and let it out. That was a bit of a loaded question. "Sometimes ye dunna want tae," he began, wetting his lips and giving a small smile. "Sometimes 's hard, harder than anythin' yer gonna ever do. But then ye remember ye've got family that need ye, friends that care about ye. An' th' shite ye hear in yer own head...dunna sound so loud anymore. Ye keep busy an'...ye remember. Ye remember everythin'." He'd looked down as he started speaking, thumb of his free hand flicking against the side of the shelf as he spoke, but he looked up now and met Lachlann's gaze head on.

Lachlann MacNab Lachlann remained silent for a second, taking in every single word, and smiling at the end. "See? Just like a hero" he said almost in a whisper "You're there for them-" He paused again, eating a piece of steamed broccoli before he continued, adding a better word to express his idea. "-for us" because he was still there, even if his previous words hadn't been the best, his skills still were a sore topic and he was too dumb or too loud or just too much in general "I- thank you for that, for being there" For staying, even when he, himself, wanted to run.

Seamus MacTunnag A wider grin edged around the corners of Seamus's mouth and eyes; despite that, he shook his head, bemused. "Aye, if ye wanna call it that, then sure." There were a lot of times he didn't quite feel like a hero, like there were times were he missed a step or took a wrong turn, hid away or back tracked entirely. But if he kept moving forward, didn't look back, he had learned that maybe, just maybe, things would get better. That he could learn to live with the things he had seen and what had been done in his life. Thank you for that, for being there. "'Course, Lachie. What else would I do?"