#this is by no means an exhaustive list of people id tag if we could be here all night lmao

[lovewithoutresin]

Thank you for tagging me @isitcasualnow sorry this took me SO fucking long to do

Shuffle your on repeat playlist and list the first 10 songs

girl i've always been - Olivia Rodrigo

obsessed - Olivia Rodrigo

High Infidelity - Taylor Swift

Pass The Nirvana - Pierce The Veil

Better Than This - Lizzy McAlpine

Mastermind - Taylor Swift

Living Dead - MARINA

Pacific Coast Highway In The Movies - AWOLNATION, Weezer

Stadium Love - Carly Rae Jepsen

London - Mokita

no pressure tagging! @cruel-style @cardiganofbetty @spacewillowz @gloomknot @doctorbeverlycrusher @thetorturedchairman @lonelydncers @comehomet0myheart @midnightgoldstone @isitovernow-ootw @hope-ur-ok @liesyousoldme @darkchocolateyoghurt @riversrunningfree

[middleearthpixie]

Where I Belong ~ Chapter Fourteen

Summary: Noelle returns to Central Park and finds the universe isn’t quite finished screwing around with her.

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield/ Noelle James (female oc)

Characters: Thorin Oakenshield, Noelle

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 4,355 words

Tag List: @tschrist1 @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @ocfairygodmother @exhausted-humxn-being @shalinizhara @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-and-write-lover @sherala007 @enchantzz @knitastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here and AO3.

Noelle spent her birthday avoiding phones calls and running errands so she didn't have to think about why she was avoiding phone calls and running errands. Her phone case served to hold her ID and a credit card, so all she had to carry was the bag from Tiffany, holding the watch she’d bought for Dan and now had to return.

Stores were amazingly crowded, since it was so close to Christmas, but the people at Tiffany couldn’t have been nicer when she explained why she was returning the watch.

That done, she headed back out into the snow, where she paused on the sidewalk and just looked up as the flakes swirled about her. She’d felt out of sorts all day, ever since she forced herself to watch The Battle of the Five Armies and cried her way through it. Even now, some six hours after she shut it off, the movie haunted her. Ian hadn’t lied to her. Thorin did die. She watched it with her own eyes, sobbing as if she was there with him. How terribly unfair, for him to have to suffer the way he had from the time Smaug arrived until they reclaimed Erebor. The loss she felt was one she could not explain, for who would believe it? Now she knew Thorin would not be coming back. He couldn’t. Tolkien had killed him off. Peter Jackson had killed him off.

He was truly gone. He’d been taken from her and sent to die on an ice floe at Ravenhill.

She slammed into something solid and a man growled, “Hey, watch it, lady!”

“Sorry,” she muttered, going around him.

Her phone rang, so she stepped closer to the set of buildings and looked down, then briefly debated about whether or not to answer it. Answering won, so she hit Accept. “Hey, Mom.”

“Ah… there you are! I was wondering if you were dead. I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday, since it’s close to your birth minute.” Her mother, Diane’s soft voice was airy and light, as always. “You and Dan must be having a great time, I’ve been trying to call you for days, but your phone kept going to voicemail.”

“Thanks, Ma. It’s a quiet one this year.” Noelle winced, a sharp pain stabbing just behind her eyes. “But… I’m not in Colorado. We had a—a change of plans.”

“Oh, no.” Her mother’s voice went full-on maternal. “What happened?”

“He decided he’d rather ski with someone else.”

“Oh, love, I’m sorry.”

“Nah, don’t be. It’s okay.”

“Well, if you’re in New York, why don’t you come home for Christmas? Dad and I would love to have you, since Mark and Rob won’t be able to fly out because of work nonsense, and Gus is still overseas and Jay decided to abandon us and go to the Bahamas for the holidays with that slut he insists on keeping around.”

Noelle smiled despite her gloomy feelings. “Mara isn’t a slut, Ma. She’s a dancer and there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“She takes her clothes off for money,” Diane replied bluntly. “She’s a slut.”

“She isn’t but I don’t want to fight with you.”

“So, come home then. We’d love to have you.”

She shook her head. “No, thanks, Ma. I’m not feeling very festive and I wouldn’t be great company.”

“Well, that’s the beauty of family. We don’t expect you to be great company if you don’t feel it. Stay here for a few days and grump all you want. We’ll drink wine and talk about what a shit Dan turned out to be.”

Noelle almost smiled. Almost. “Ma, I—”

“We miss you, Noe,” Diane’s voice softened. “And we’re not getting any younger, you know.”

“That’s low, Ma.”

“But did it work?”

“No.”

“Damn. Okay, suit yourself. New Year’s, then? We can celebrate your and Dad’s birthdays together.”

Noelle sighed softly. “Okay. New Year’s. And there better be presents for me.”

“Have there ever not been?”

“One never knows with you.” She looked down at her watch. Three-thirty. “Okay, Ma, I gotta go. Since I’m still in the city, work is calling and I’ve got a meeting, so I’ll see you guys on the first, okay?”

“Okay. Remember to dress warmly and drink enough water.”

“I will, Ma. Love you.”

“Love you, too, princess.”

Noelle clicked off the phone and lightly knocked herself in the forehead with it. Maybe she should go home for Christmas. Her mother would fuss over her, and make real hot chocolate, from good cocoa powder and would top it with real whipped cream that she’d make and keep in the fridge the entire time Noelle was there. They would drink wine until late at night and talk about what an asshole Dan was, and Noelle would forget all about his dumping her.

She could even tell her mother about Thorin.

Thorin.

Her throat squeezed shut and she closed her eyes for a moment. No. She couldn’t tell Diane about him. It was still too raw. Too open a wound. At times, Noelle swore she could feel Thorin’s presence in her apartment. She would lift the heavy silver ring he’d given her, and just let it rest in her palm and it seemed when she did, it almost hummed with energy from time to time. Several times, she’d swear it grew warmer against her skin, as if it had come to life itself.

But then, the feelings faded and the loneliness crept back in. Two days had passed since the universe stole him from her. Two days that lasted forever and yet passed in the blink of an eye.

She began walking, and had no idea where she was really going. Her errands were done. She should just go back home, but she didn't feel like it.

So she walked.

And walked.

And walked some more

Until she found herself in Central Park.

Snow fell lightly around her, and there were still a few people wandering about, but she paid them no mind. Her feet carried her of their own accord.

To Turtle Pond.

She stood there, on the banks, the water only a few feet from her, and she had the overwhelming urge to wade into it, to see what would happen, where she might end up.

“Stop,” she muttered, scowling at her boots. “You’ll get arrested, that’s what will happen. Arrested and taken to whatever precinct is closest, that’s where you’ll end up. And you’ll be sopping wet and freezing your ass off and no one will believe you aren’t fucking crazy.”

Still, her skin tingled.

The hair along the back of her neck stood on end.

The familiar hum began—like the whir of a helicopter—faint and in the distance at first, but it crept closer.

She smiled as it buzzed its way along her skin. Oh, please… yes… take me to him.

But how was that possible? Thorin had died at the hands of a giant, pale and scarred orc called Azog the Defiler. She’d seen it. He’d died with the hobbit at his side, so at least he wasn’t alone, but still…

But maybe…

She closed her eyes as her stomach began to toss. A sour taste rose in her throat to flood her mouth. She swallowed hard as her head ached and her eyes stung and she couldn’t breathe. Had it felt like this to Thorin, when time and space seized him to fling him into her world? Did he feel dizzy and sick and apprehensive as it felt like the ground was falling away?

She fell forward, toward the still waters of Turtle Pond.

Instinct kicked in and she threw up her hands to block her fall.

They went through the water without a splash. Without a sound.

Cold bit into her, but no water soaked her clothes. Still, she was freezing. Shivering. Felt ice building on her skin, her hair, her clothes. Her teeth chattered so loudly and so hard, she thought for a moment they might shatter.

A hideous rushing sound filled her ears, threatened to burst her eardrums. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to swallow to unblock them.

Her head felt like it might explode. Her nausea worsened. Oh, dear God, I’m going to—

Then everything went black.

She hit the ground hard enough to drive the air from her lungs in a massive whoosh and for a horrifying moment, they refused to inflate.

But then…

“Ah!” She inhaled deeply, and promptly choked on a mouthful of dirt and leaf bits and God only knew what else.

Coughing and spluttering, Noelle lay there until she could breathe once more, then opened her eyes. Central Park was gone. New York City was gone. The rush of traffic, the smell of car and bus exhaust was gone.

The air was heavy, and cleaner. No lingering car exhaust fumes. No city bus fumes. The air held the scent of wet leaves and damp earth, but something else as well. It was heavy air, weighted with decay. Wood. Leaves. Maybe animals, but definitely decay. She lifted her head to see she lay on the floor of a forest that looked well on its way to dying.

“There were. And I heard water, but I never saw it. I just knew I was no longer in Mirkwood.”

“How did you know?”

He offered up a long look. “Everything in Mirkwood is either dying, dead, or decaying. It’s an oppressive place, filled with dark magic that will drive you mad if you aren’t careful. It was dark, but not so dark that I couldn’t see these trees were not dead or dying.”

Had she fallen into Mirkwood?

She slowly sat up, rubbing her forehead in the hopes of rubbing away the dull headache piercing behind her eyes. All around her was silence. Thick, eerie silence.

That and dead or dying trees.

And vines.

And fallen logs.

And leaves. So many leaves.

And not much else.

Oh, God… please don’t let there be snakes…

A hint of panic twisted her insides as she leaped to her feet, just in case. Thorin fell into Central Park, into one of the most populated cities in the world. Sooner or later, he’d have come across someone willing to help him.

She was utterly alone. If anything happened to her, no one would ever know about it, would never know her fate. She would have just simply disappeared and her family, her employees, her friends would never know what became of her. Not exactly a comforting thought.

She swallowed hard against a new nausea and slowly rose onto somewhat unsteady legs.

Then she heard it.

Or rather, she heard them.

Voices.

Her spirits rose, her heart flew even higher, when she heard a very familiar, very deep voice say, “We are to stay on the path. Do not deviate from it.”

Thorin.

Her eyes stung, only for the first time in days, her tears were those of joy. She’d found him. The universe had righted its terrible wrong and brought her to him.

Then she remembered the Mirkwood scenes from Desolation of Smaug.

Spiders. Giant, awful, terrifying spiders.

Instinctively, she looked up. And around. And spun about as if she expected them to all attack at once. Thankfully, it appeared to be only her and forest, but she didn’t know where the spiders or if they were lying in wait for her at that very moment. She hoped not. In fact, she hoped she’d avoid them altogether.

She brushed the leaves and other forest debris from her jeans, checked to make sure her phone was still in her jeans pocket (it was,) and waited to hear someone respond to Thorin.

“I think we’re to go this way.”

The unfamiliar voices became her guide.

Carefully picking her way around fallen logs and huge branches and vines and underbrush that seemed to grab at her calves and ankles, Noelle shrugged out of her heavy wool coat to drape over her arm, as it was hot and cloying in the forest, and concentrated on those voices. Her belly fluttered each time she heard Thorin and her urge to just run to him had her stumbling and tripping, and fighting to remain upright.

Then she caught sight of him and stopped dead in her tracks. Her heart melted at the sight of him, in his fur and leather coat, his dark hair tumbling down his back. For a moment, she actually forgot how to breathe. But then she smiled. She smiled and her belly was alive with the fluttering of a million butterfly wings battering her from the inside. Any moment, and she would be in his arms again.

But the forest seemed determined to hold her back, to keep her from reaching him. Brambles caught her hair, tugged at her sweater, her jeans, and the harder she fought, the harder the forest fought back.

Then, she relaxed.

And so did Mirkwood.

The voices grew nearer—the accents ranged from Scottish burrs, to Irish brogues, to elegant English, and it took only a few steps before she close enough to say, “Thorin?”

He stopped and turned, his eyes going wide at the sight of her. Her heart soared as she practically vaulted over a particularly gigantic fallen tree and launched herself at him.

He caught her easily, his arms warm and welcoming and she wrapped hers about his neck, buried her face in his hair, and breathed deep. Fresh earth. Rainwater. A hint of something muskier. They mingled together to bring tears to her eyes as she whispered, “Oh, thank God you’re all right…”

“Of course I am.” His arms tightened, but then he pulled away from her and set her back on her feet. “But, where did you come from?”

“New York.” She couldn’t keep from smiling, even if the confusion in his eyes gave her pause. But of course he was confused. She appeared out of nowhere and threw herself at him when he probably least expected it. “I was returning Dan’s Christmas present and just felt the need to go to Central Park.”

Fourteen pairs of curious eyes trained on her and her cheeks grew warm as she ventured on, “And I don’t know why I did, but I did and so I went to Turtle Pond and the air felt really odd. I felt really sick. And here I am and here you are and oh, thank God, you’re alive and well and in one piece.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He looked from her to the others and back. “Who are you and why do you accost me this way?”

The pit of her stomach fell away. The blood drained from her face. “Who am I? It’s—it’s me, Thorin. Noelle. Noelle James.”

The men around him chuckled and chortled and Thorin scowled at them as he snapped, “Quiet!”

He turned back to her, still scowling. “How do you know me?”

“You—you came to me. Remember? New York? Turtle Pond? I taught you how to use a zipper and how to hail a cab.”

“Thorin,” the shortest dwarf looked over at him, “is this a friend of yours?”

“No, Master Baggins,” he growled, shaking his head, “I’ve never seen this woman before.”

Baggins. The name was so familiar to her, but she couldn’t concentrate on it now. Not when her gut churned and twisted with the terribly uncomfortable feeling of something going horribly awry.

This was not how she’d envisioned her reunion with Thorin. He would catch her, would crush her to him and his lips would devour hers with hungry kisses. He would tell her how he’d missed her and how he was so relieved she’d found her way to him.

She never thought he wouldn’t have a clue as to who she was or how she knew him.

And he certainly wouldn’t seem to be angry about her being there.

“Well, she seems to think she knows ye,” the dwarf second only to Thorin in height chimed in with a chuckle, “so, I canna help but wonder what ye were doin’ between the Iron Hills and the Shire.”

“Quiet,” Thorin snarled, and steel sang as he withdrew the Orcrist and held it, pointing at her. “I don’t know who you are or what you are about, maiden, but you need to take your leave now.”

“Thorin.” She shook her head, her throat squeezing tight as the horror sank into her. He really had no idea who she was, had no recollection of meeting her, or anything else about her. Or them. “You have to remember. You just have to.”

“The only thing I have to do,” he told her, “is find my way out of this blasted wood. Now, leave me be.”

With that, he spun about and began moving down the path once more.

“Thorin,” Mr. Baggins said, still eyeing her up with no little suspicion, “is she one of the Mirkwood elves, do you think?”

“No, laddie.” The dwarf with the burr laughed. “She is no elf. She’s far too short.”

Another dwarf, one who actually resembled Thorin, offered up a smile. “She looks to be harmless, Thorin. Perhaps she might come with us?”

“Do not speak foolishness, Kíli,” Thorin snapped without neither turning nor slowing down. “She does not belong with us and so I care not what happens to her. Let’s move.”

Kíli. His younger nephew. That explained his resemblance to Thorin. She looked about for another dwarf who looked like him as well, one who might be Kíli’s older brother, but she saw no others who might be that nephew.

She had no time time to dwell, however. Several of the dwarves bumped into her as they tried to move around her and a small one with huge white hair and a huge white beard, stopped. “I am so sorry, miss. But we really must be on our way.”

“Balin, let’s go,” Thorin called.

“But… wait…” Her voice hitched and she blinked back tears. This was not the reunion she’d imagined with Thorin. Not even close. “Thorin…”

Balin patted her shoulder. “Are you lost, miss?”

“Am I lost?” She nodded, looking over at Thorin as he moved on down the path. “Oh, god, I am absolutely lost, yes. I don’t belong here at all and this isn’t how I thought this would go and I don’t even know how to get back home now. I helped him when he was lost, but—but he doesn’t seem to be too inclined to return the favor, does he?”

She sank onto the fallen log she’d leapt over in her haste to reach Thorin, and a heavy sigh rose in her throat. Her head fell forward, into her hands as she whispered, “And he doesn’t even remember me.”

“What was that, lass?” Balin sank onto the tree beside her. “Where do you call home?”

She looked around her, at the backs of the retreating dwarves—one in particular—and shook her head. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Balin!” Thorin thundered. “We need to keep moving.”

“Hold yer horses, laddie,” he shot back without hesitation. “Can ye not see she’s lost? Poor thing. I cannot just leave her here to fend for herself.”

“You should go,” she told him, looking over into his kindly dark eyes. “I don’t want to see him angry at you.”

“Don’t worry about him, lassie. He’ll be fine. And so will I. But these woods can be dangerous for one who isn’t careful. And no offense,” his gaze moved slowly over her, “you do not look like one used to being lost in a wood.”

“I’m not. I’m from a city and the only woods I see are in Central Park or at my parents’ house in Jersey.” She let out a low sigh, rubbing her forehead. “And I don’t know how to get back there. I didn't think I’d want to leave here once I found it, but now? It’s all I want to do. He has no idea who I am and now I’m stuck here and—”

Her belly kinked sharply and she looked over at the small man with the friendly eyes. “Have you been near the water yet?”

“Water?” He shook his head. “No. Why do you ask?”

“Because—because that’s how he came to me. Through the water. Bombur fell in and he leaned over to grab him and he fell. He fell into enchanted water and landed in my time.”

“Landed in your time?” Balin’s expression became one of suspicion. “Are you unwell, miss?”

“No. I know it sounds crazy, but… it makes sense. If you haven’t reached the water yet, Thorin hasn’t fallen in yet. Which means he hasn’t been to my world, so of course he doesn’t remember me.” The realization lifted her spirits some. “He hasn’t met me yet. And you can’t have missed someone you have never met, right? So, it makes sense.” A brief pause. “I think.”

“You truly think you’ve met him before?” Balin rose from the tree and held out a hand. “Come along and tell me while we catch up with the others and I make certain Thorin does not fall into the water.”

If he did, she shuddered to think what would happen, since she wasn’t in New York for him to find again. So, she reluctantly laid her hand in his and allowed him to pull her up. She was a good head taller than him, and as she gazed down, she said, “I’m Noelle, by the way.”

“I heard. And it’s lovely to meet you, Miss Noelle.”

Miss Noelle.

“Good night, Miss Noelle.”

“You know,” she rested her hand on the molding, “you can just call me Noelle. No need for miss.”

“Perhaps tomorrow. When I know you a bit better.”

She swallowed her next sigh as her gaze went once more to Thorin, ahead of the pack, with the Master Baggins right behind him. She’d originally thought him to also be a dwarf, but then she remembered. He was no dwarf at all. Mr. Baggins’ first name was Bilbo. And Bilbo was the hobbit.

Balin fell into step alongside her. “So, why do you think you’ve met Thorin before? Do you live between the Iron Hills and the Shire?”

“No. I don’t live in Middle Earth at all and you’ll just think I’m crazy if I try to explain it to you. I know everyone else pretty much thinks that as it is.”

“Try me.”

“Thorin fell into my world. I helped him to find his way back here. And for some reason, the gods or the universe thought I should be here as well, and so here I am. Only he doesn’t remember meeting me because he hasn’t fallen into the water trying to grab Bombur. Which one is Bombur, by the way?”

“The round, quiet one.”

“Keep an eye on him. I don’t even want to think about what would happen Thorin fell back into New York and I’m not there this time.”

He’ll meet someone else who will help him, you dimwit. And he’ll fall in love with her, instead.

Not really the time to be worrying about that, you dolt.

Her heart sank at the annoying little voice inside her head. Balin must have seen her scowl as well, for he said, “We won’t let that happen. Dwalin!”

The dwarf with the burr stopped and turned. “Wha’ is she doing wi’ ye?”

“She’s coming with us, is what. I’m not leaving her here with night coming in on us. Keep watch over Bombur. Don’t let him get too close to the—”

A loud splash cut him off and Noelle’s heart stopped beating as another dwarf called, “Bombur! Get him!”

“Wait! Stop! Don’t you dare, Thorin!” Balin shoved his way to the front of the pack, where he grabbed Thorin by the back of his coat as Thorin was about to lean forward. “Dwalin, grab him! Bofur, help him!”

As Dwalin and a dwarf with long black pigtails moved to grab Thorin, Balin turned to stare at her. “How did you know he would fall?”

Thorin’s blue eyes met hers and she held his stare as she said, “He told me about it,” as she pointed to him.

Thorin rolled his eyes. “I’ve no clue what you are talking about. Balin, what mean you by this, by bringing her with us?”

“I’m not about to leave her here, to the mercy of this wood, at night.” Balin poked him firmly in the chest. “She knew Bombur was going to fall into the water. And she knew you’d try to grab him. Perhaps, she can see what lies ahead for us. Perhaps Mahal has seen fit to provide us with an oracle as well as a wizard. Especially since the wizard took his leave of us.”

Noelle opened her mouth to protest, since she just knew being accused of being a witch would come next and she didn't even want to think about how that would play out. But then she realized that she did know what was going to happen and because of that, she could keep Thorin alive.

Her hopes rose as Thorin looked over at her again. His eyes widened, and for a moment, she’d swear she saw recognition in them. But the moment passed and they narrowed once more. “Very well. Try and keep up, Miss—”

“Noelle.” Balin supplied gently.

“Try and keep up, Miss Noelle,” Thorin said, his voice not quite as gruff as it had been, “for we wait for no stragglers.”

She nodded. “Of course.”

With that, she eyed her coat and almost wanted to cry at the thought of wearing it when she was already so hot and sweaty. Instead, she let it fall to the ground and just stepped around it, then blew a wayward curl out of her face, and fell into step behind Balin once the others retrieved Bombur from the water. One crisis had already been averted.

Only about a thousand more to go.

[vanillann]

ew, it’s the government (spencer reid x acab!reader)

warning: swearing, mentions of crime and sex, enemies to lovers, and mentions of vomit

word count: 1.0k

ew, it’s the government masterlist

chapter 1: mr. doctor and mr. ravioli

“That was the worst date I’ve been on.”

I could hear the exhausted tone of Jerick, the sound of his car staring in the background was enough to make me laugh.

“What happened?”

“He told me he sells feet pic.”

The chuckles were falling past my lips faster than I could stop.

“People actually do that?”

Jerick laughs could be heard on the other line of the call. Suddenly a loud knocking ran through my apartment.

“FBI.”

“Oh god Jerick, those kids down the hall are pranking me again,” I said as I picked myself from my couch and dragged my feet to the door.

“Oh kick their ass.”

“Oh trust me I will-“

My words were cut off as I opened my door and two men stood in front of my door.

Both drew out their badges, their actual real FBI badges.

“Jerick, I gotta go, the FBI is at my door.”

“No I wanna-“

I hung up the call, watching the door men that stood before me.

One was older, maybe 60’s and had both his hands in his back pocket.

The other was younger, a lot younger, and rubbed a nervous hand up the back of his neck.

“What do you need?”

I cross my arms across my chest, the two men watching me closely as I make no move to let them enter.

“Are you (Y/N) (L/N)?”

The older man, looking at me. He had a decent accent but I couldn’t place where it could be from.

“Speaking.”

Both men looked at each other, expressions that I couldn’t read.

“Are you going to stand there or are you going to tell me why you bothered me in the first place?”

Both men slowly looked back at me, annoyance written on both their faces.

The young boy spoke up this time.

“We’ll need you to come back to Quantico with us.”

I rolled my eyes, going to shut my door and walk back into my apartment.

I didn’t look back until I heard a loud thump, a boot stood in the way of closing the door.

The boot pushed the door back open, both men walking into the living room like I invited them in.

Arrogant assholes.

“My mom told me not to get in the car with strangers.”

“We’ll we’re the FBI.”

I rolled my eyes, turning back to the two men finally.

“Even worse.”

I walked further into my apartment, falling back onto my couch and grabbing the remote.

“Look, you might be in danger,” the older man spoke.

“Let us help, I’m SSA Rossi and this is Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“Oh a doctor, wanna check my temperature?”

I jumped up from my couch, standing in front of him and pushed my lip out slightly.

Dr. Reid jumped back, a rosy blush crossing his cheek as he shook his head quickly at me.

“I-I’m not that type of doctor, I have PhDs in Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering.”

I looked the kid up and down, he couldn’t be much older than me and I only had a Masters in Political Science.

I rolled my eyes, falling back onto the couch behind me and looking up at the two men.

“It’s cute you think I was serious.”

Agent Reid started coughing, looking around the room while the blush on his cheeks got redder.

“You good kid?”

The older man patted him on the back, Mr. Ravioli or whatever his name was.

“Look I know why you are here, there is a serial killer and I happen to know the victims but this is a small town, everyone knows everyone,” I shrugged my shoulders, picking up the remote and turning the tv on.

The blonde news lady from earlier popped up, a grocery store worker face I remember seeing a few times ID photo was bright on the tv.

“George Campbell was found dead this morning in a park near the Rose Lux apartment complex.”

Okay, so now body’s were being dropped off at the park near my apartment, maybe the FBI is on to something.

I must be sick, I just said the FBI might be right.

“Oh-“ I didn’t think again as I stood up from the couch, running to the bathroom.

The door flew open, the toilet sat perfectly in line for me to fall to the floor.

I felt more bile come up before a hand moved to my shoulder blades.

I looked over my shoulder to his Mr. Doctor stands with a sad smile rubbing amal circles on my back. I jerked my body away, gave him a nasty look as more vomit fell from my mouth.

After the last bit, I grabbed some toilet paper and cleaned my mouth, standing up to see both FBI agent’s now standing in the doorway for my bathroom.

“I think we both know it's time for you to come with us,” Agent Ravioli spoke.

God I really need to figure out his real name.

“Just cause I’m coming with you doesn’t mean anything.”

I pointed a finger between them both, pushing through them and walking to my room.

I grabbed my watch and made sure my phone was in my back pocket, walking back into the living room.

Both men looked around the room, wandering eyes as they took in their surroundings.

“Can we please hurry this up.”

Both men stopped looking around the room, quickly walking out the room. I grabbed my keys and locked the door on the way out.

“This will be a fun ride,” I heard the younger man whisper to himself.

“You have no idea.”

I turned back around, watching both men as they walked to the elevator. I picked my step up, keeping an easy pace with the two men.

I watched Mr. Ravioli hit the first floor button, rocking on his fancy booted heels.

“I hate this.”

“Hate what?”

“I’m helping the system that I hate with every nerve in my body, I hate your bastardized system that you think is helping people but is only helping yourself.”

Neither men spoke, watching the elevator doors open and walking in simply.

“Well aren't you a ray of sunshine.”

“Yeah, get too close and I’ll burn your face off.”

prologue

cm tag list:

@itsarayofsunshine

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[redrobinfection]

(16) Graveyard

SociallyAwkwardFox’s Spooktober (2018) - Day 16 “Graveyard”

Tim & Damian | Implied JayTim | Implied DickDami | College AU | No Capes | Crack | actual discussion of literature | Dick Grayson was adopted by the Drakes instead of the Waynes | Want to write/create with me? Find the prompt list here!

~*~

"How about four out of seven?" Tim asked with a shrug, winding up the toilet paper roll again.

Damian, his fellow barista, threw his roll at Tim's head, missing wildly. He glared. "You cheated, Drake!"

Tim rolled his eyes as he retrieved Damian's roll and began winding it up too. "How could I cheat at coffee cup bowling, ‘Wayne’?"

"You wind your roll too tightly. It doesn't unravel as much when you pitch it and thus has more mass by the time it hits the cups."

Tim raised his eyebrows. "What are you now, a physics major? That just sounds like strategy, dude. You are free to roll your roll as tightly as you'd like. That isn't against the rules."

Damian fumed. "The rules you made up! This is why I said we should use the rice crispy ba--customer."

Tim whirled on the spot, seeing that, indeed, a paying customer had entered their little, semi-enclosed coffee shop. Outside, a few students sat or sprawled over the sectional couches that filled the large basement of the university student union in which the shop was located.

Tim turned and vaulted over the counter. He heard a quiet "-tch-" from Damian as he walked to the hinged raise-able section of the counter and let himself in.

Tim straightened his apron and stepped up the register with a smile. The customer stood about five feet from the register, head tilted back, studying the menu board over Tim's head with bleary eyes. The guy was like a zombie, he was that exhausted. Tim cut his eyes over to the clock on the wall. 3:45 am. Hell of a time for coffee.

Tim glanced over his shoulder at Damian, who was reawakening the cranky espresso machine with deft fingers. Seven hours and forty-five minutes with Damian "the Demon " Wayne down, only four hours and fifteen minutes to go. Tim turned back to their customer and sighed. This was going to be a loooooooong morning.

At second glance, there was something familiar about the guy, but Tim couldn't put his finger on where he knew him. The guy had pretty teal eyes, but they were reddened and dull, like he hadn't closed them except to blink in way too long. He was also pretty well cut, Tim noticed, with clearly muscled arms and pecs so defined that Tim could clearly see them through the man's sweater. Maybe that's how Tim knew him? Maybe he'd seen him in the UREC weight room?

The guy's most eye-catching feature by far was the white forelock that curled down over his forehead. He was the third person Tim had met to have a whitened forelock like that; the other two were fraternal twins who had had small patches of albinism right at their widows peaks which affected both the skin and hair. Tim idly wondered if this guy's white lock was natural too. In any case, it looked frickin' cool, a lot cooler than his own; the best thing he could say about his own hair was that he could pull off the 90's curtain cut plus semi-mullet well enough that he could go an entire semester on a single haircut.

Tim was drawn out of his thoughts when dude finally stepped up to the counter and began to speak.

"Uh, hi, could I get a large, double-shot caramel latte?"

"Absolutely. How many pumps of caramel do you want?" Tim asked cheerily.

The guy looked up from digging through his overly stuffed messenger bag. "Uhh…the normal four should be fine."

"Okay, that will be $6.47. Can I get a name for the order?"

The guy didn't look up this time. "Uh, Jason. Gimme a sec', I know my wallet is at the bottom of this thing somewhere."

"No problem, take your time. It's not like we have a line, anyway," Tim joked.

This guy looked so dead right now--inside and out--that if he didn't find his wallet, then Tim would probably just buy the coffee for the guy himself. He understood better than anyone the sudden need for caffeine at odd hours of the day. He's not sure how he would have finished half his computer science projects this term without a much-needed double-espresso every couple of hours, to be honest.

The guy--'Jason' apparently--finally fished out a small money clip then handed over a student ID card. "Put it on my Dining Dollars, please."

"Yeah, no probl- wait a minute!" Tim cut off, staring. Suddenly, it had hit Tim where he knew this guy. "Aren't you that kid who always sits at the front of Professor Hyatt's nine-fifteen, Tuesday-Thursday, Modern European Literature and answers all the questions?"

The dude raised an eyebrow. "Uh, yeah. Why…? Wait…" He squinted and leaned in. "Aren't you the kid who once tried to sit all the way back in the AV booth, since, and I quote, 'the back wasn't far enough back'?"

Tim grinned as he swiped the ID card through the register. "Haha, yeah."

Damian moved as if to step up to the counter, the guy's drink in hand, but stopped dead about a foot away. He stared.

"Wait. Aren't you the guy who always comes in, gets tea, and sits in the window over there and reads romance novels?" Damian asked, eying him appraisingly.

The dude huffed. "Yes. My name is Jason--by the way--and they're not romance novels, it's classic lit. Now can I get my coffee?"

Damian handed the coffee over the counter, but raised an eyebrow skeptically. "You mean to tell me Rebecca is not a romance novel?"

"Wait, what!? Do you mean Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca?" Tim asked as he handed Jason's ID card back over the counter.

Damian nodded wordlessly. Tim snorted, then said, "That's not a romance! That's a totally a murder mystery! You must be confusing it with Jane Eyre. I get those mixed up too."

Jason nodded in agreement, tucking his ID away before taking his first sip of coffee. He moaned, his eyes fluttering for a moment as he savored in the sweet bliss of piping hot caffeine at 3:49 in the morning, then he looked at Damian and said, "Well, actually, I'll give you that one, uh…" --he paused to squint at Damian's name tag-- "...'Damian'; Rebecca is a modern romance novel by classification, but it's also a crime thriller just like--whazzatsay?--'Tim' said."

He turned to Tim. "I'm not surprised you'd confuse it with Jane Eyre, considering that a lot of scholars believe du Maurier adapted it from Jane Eyre."

"Wait, really?" Tim said with a laugh. "I'm glad I'm not the only one thinking that! Rebecca is like the less boring version of Jane Eyre."

Jason froze halfway into sitting down in one of the arm chairs that lined the wall closest to the door and looked up at Tim as if he had just suggested burning down the library or something similarly unthinkable. "Whaaaaaat?! I can't believe you just implied that any of the Brontë sisters' works is boring!"

Tim laughed again. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I was only twelve when I read Jane Eyre, so maybe I'd enjoy it more if I read it again now--with a mature perspective--but I remember Rebecca being a blast for thirteen-year-old me so…" He smiled, then shrugged.

Jason stared. "Twelve? Thirteen? Jeez. What else were you trying to read that young?"

"I mean, I read Moby Dick the year before that, in sixth grade," Tim admitted, shrugging until his shoulders hit his ears.

Jason gave him a flat stare. "Moby Dick? Moby fucking Dick? You've gotta be kidding me. And lemme guess, you also thought Herman Melville's masterpiece was a load of crock?"

Tim laughed, but shook his head and waved his hands placatingly. "No, no, no. I only understood, like, every fifth word--so.many.whaling.terms!--and it took me four months to get halfway in only to realize there was no way I was going to finish it by the end of the school year--I ended up skipping to the end and guessing for a lot of the AR test questions--but I definitely got the sense that it was a seminal work and that I was just too young to appreciate it. I've always meant to go back and try it again, but I still haven't gotten around to it."

"Why the hell were you trying to read Moby Dick at the age of twelve?" Jason asked incredulously, leaning back in the chair and taking a long sip of his coffee.

"Eleven, but, ah, well, my mom was convinced I had to be The BestTM in everything, so she pushed me to max out my Accelerated Reader level by the end of sixth grade and demanded that I always get the most AR points of anyone in my class, so I read a lot of the 20 point-and-up books." Tim tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I think Moby Dick was 47 points...Rebecca was 25...Jane Eyre was 33..."

Jason stared, shaking his head slowly. "So…what? You're fine with Moby Dick, a romance of the American Renaissance, but a gothic romance of the British Victorian era like Jane Eyre isn't good enough for you? Next you'll try to tell me you think Wuthering Heights is a snooze fest!"

"Well, I mean, I never could get into it, so…"

Jason slammed both hands down on the arms of his chair, incensed. "Okay, Mister, get your butt over here and sit down, we need to have a talk about Victorian Gothic and why, hands down, it is some of the best literature ever written."

Tim laughed again, then bit his lip, considering the offer. He glanced around the nearly empty coffee shop. Then he leaned over the counter and looked out into the lounge--there were exactly four people there and only one of them wasn't completely asleep in their books. Yeah, he could probably afford to humor the man.

He turned to Damian. "Hey, Dames, I'm going to make myself a coffee and take my break. You good to hold down the fort?"

"I told you not to call me that," Damian snapped, but there was no real heat to it; he liked to pretend that he hated the guts of all his coworkers, but Tim knew that he was Damian's favorite. "However, yes, I think I can manage. Go take your damned break, but when you come back I fully expect a rematch in bowling…and don't you dare cheat this time!"

Tim rolled his eyes and groaned, then turned toward trying to coax Ol' 'Spressolino--their affectionate name for the cantankerous espresso machine--into spitting out a double-shot for him. "It's not cheating, but fine, we'll do it your way," Tim replied. "But I'm telling you, you have to buy those rice crispy balls. I definitely don't want to have to explain to Barbara why some of the food on sale looks like it went through the spin cycle in a dorm washer."

Damian grinned smugly. "My pleasure. It will be a small price to pay in order to ensure your swift defeat."

Tim shook his head, grabbed his espresso in one hand and two biscotti off the front counter in the other, ducked under the counter drawbridge, then slid into the armchair across from Jason. He offered one of the biscotti to the other man and Jason accepted the free food with an appreciative smile. He already looked ten times less zombie-like, thanks to the caffiene, and he was honestly pretty damn attractive.

"Okay," Tim said, peeling the wrapper off his own biscotti and dunking it into his bitter cup of joy, "Educate me."

Between sips of coffee and bites of biscotti, Jason began explaining his thoughts on the romantic period of literature, but barely a minute into his lecture, a plastic-wrapped, ball-shaped rice crispy treat about the size of a cantelope whizzed by their feet and crashed into the ten extra-large paper coffee cups arranged in a bowling triangle at one end of the coffee shop, scattering them in a definitive strike.

Jason jumped in his seat and looked around wildly. "What the fuck?"

Tim sighed. "Daaaaaaamiaaaaaaan…"

"Shut up, Drake! I'm practicing. I need to hone my skills and adjust my form so I can thoroughly crush you in our next round," Damian called back. He marched from the counter to the end of the shop to retrieved his plastic-wrapped projectile.

Jason blinked in confusion. "I repeat: what the ever-loving fuck?"

Tim sighed again, then explained, saying, "It gets pretty boring in here during the graveyard shift, so we invented a game, coffee cup bowling. Normally, we'd sleep or study, but Damian finished his exams two days ago and I don't really study for exams, per se-"

"And sleep is for the weak," Damian finished, nodding as he walked past them carrying his sweet, gooey ammunition.

Tim nodded sagely, in agreement. "Sleep is for the weak."

Jason glanced over Tim's shoulder at the coffee cup bowling 'pins' and then over his shoulder at Damian as he lined up another throw. "You guys are insane," he declared.

Tim made a dismissive gesture. "I mean this is my third graveyard shift in a row and Damian here is almost 20 hours into a 24-hour stint. After that much sleep deprivation, you'd lose your sanity too."

Jason tilted his head in acknowledgement. "Fair enough."

"If you want, you're welcome to join us after we finish our coffee and literature talk," Tim offered amiably.

Jason watched as Damian threw another strike, sending one cup so far it landed in the pot of the ficus in the corner, and raised his eyebrows. "You know what…why not." He turned back to Tim with a grin. "I could use a bit of fun before I go back to work on my Native American Lit paper."

"Are you a lit major?" Tim asked curiously.

"I am."

Tim nodded. "That makes sense."

"And you?"

"I'm a CS major--computer science."

"That makes sense," Jason echoed, grinning.

Tim grinned back at him and waved a hand. "Okay, so as you were saying…?"

"Yes, as I was saying…"

Jason continued his little lecture while they continued sipping their coffee and nibbling on the biscotti. When they had finished--the coffee, not the discussion, because Tim was pretty sure Jason would go on for hours about literature once you got him started--they joined Damian in a game of "ten-cup."

It was in the middle of this heated battle of cups and marshmallow-bonded puffed-rice cereal balls that their next customer found them fifteen minutes later. The man, dressed in flower printed leggings and a black hoodie with "Gotham University Aerial Arts" printed across the chest in blue, took one look at them and grinned.

"Oh, hey! Coffee-cup bowling! I love that game! Do you think I could interrupt you guys for just a sec to get some hot chocolate?"

All three of them--the two baristas plus their customer--turned and stared.

"Hot… wait, what?" Jason said, laughing a little. "Man, it's like 4:30 in the morning. Why are you getting a hot chocolate at 4:30 in the morning?"

The man laughed, too, shrugging before he explained, saying, "I don't like tea or coffee all that much, but I just finished a 20 page paper on ethics in police enforcement and I need a pick me up. I need to get my warm fuzzies going again."

Tim rolled his eyes and sighed, moving back toward the counter to get the man his drink. "You're going to end up being the cuddliest cop on the street, Dick."

"You know it, Timmy!" the man--'Dick' apparently--exclaimed, pulling Tim into a bear hug when he made the mistake of passing too close to Dick on his way to the counter. The hug escalated into a full on octopus hug as he lifted his legs to wrap around Tim's hips. Tim, for his part, ignored the grapple, opening the leaf in the counter and hobbling over to the drink bar with the human cephalopod still attached.

Damian and Jason stared. Damian cleared his throat and eyed Dick with poorly disguised interest. "Wait, do you know this man, Drake?"

Tim blinked dully as he turned around, a cup in one hand and a packet of instant hot chocolate in the other. "Yes. He's my brother." Dick made a squeeing noise and nuzzled his head into Tim's neck. Tim sighed. "My adopted brother," he amended testily.

Dick laughed, dropped his feet back onto the floor and stood up. He nearly wrung Tim's neck as he tried to hug him around the shoulders. "Awww, don't be like that, Tim. We haven't seen each other in two whole weeks and I needed my Tim-hugs! Gotta meet my cuddle-quota."

Tim shook his head and handed the hot chocolate back over his shoulder. "You're insufferably, insatiably clingy when you're this tired, Dick. Go home and sleep."

Dick finally released him to take the drink. He took a sip of the hot chocolate, sighing in appreciation. "Thanks, Tim, and yeah, but, only if you do the same. You're just as bad as me when you haven't slept, if not worse."

"Can't. Working," Tim answered curtly, vaulting the counter to escape before Dick's grabby hands could reach for him again. His brother wasn't wrong; Tim was always up for a good cuddle after a long stint without proper sleep, but he didn't like public displays of affection.

Dick took one look at the nearly empty coffee shop, the three of them, their game, and then laughed out loud. "Ahhh, the days of getting paid to drink coffee and make up games at 4:30 in the morning. I kind of miss it."

"Would you care to join us," Damian asked abruptly. Dick brightened.

"Absolutely!"

And so that was how the four of them ended up bowling for empty coffee cups with rice crispy treats the size of spaghetti squash while blasting ABBA’s greatest hits--Dick's terrible, wonderful idea--until the sun rose and their shift ended, at eight AM.

By the time the four of them walked out the door, Dick was trying to convince Damian to join him in the aerials gym before breakfast, and Damian, clearly eager to do anything with the handsome college senior, accepted readily. Jason and Tim, on the other hand, were back to discussing literature over coffee--now focused on the merits and downfalls of contemporary science fiction and fantasy as an art form--and making their way to the East Campus Dining Hall, so they could continue their discussion over breakfast.

Tim snorted softly as he listened to Jason list all the ways Dune defined an era of sci-fi/fantasy, then smiled at the way Jason took his hand--without seeming to realize it--to pull him forward after the crosswalk light changed out of Tim's line of sight. Oh, yeah, this one was totally gay/bi/pan and he was definitely asking him out the minute he saw the opportunity, Tim decided.

He smiled. Who would of thought he'd come out of last night's graveyard shift not only having seen his demon coworker and his older brother hit it off--of all things!--but having met someone for himself too! He laughed, thinking, you never know what crazy things you might see, or the people you might meet, at the campus coffee shop at 4 o' clock in the morning!

[snarkwriteswrasslin]

summer sizzle | allnighter, jon moxley

[ prompts used ] 

“Don’t mind me, just enjoying the view.” + exposed + sweet + hands against the wall + lace - these all came from varying lists that I’ve collected over time. I own nothing but the scenario and the originalfemalecharacter used within.

[ warnings ]

18+ only. Unprotected sex. Breeding kink if you squint (iykyk), body fluids, biting a little bit, gentle romantic smut this time.

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[ tag doc - masterlist - about page ]

                           JON MOXLEY in A L L N I G H TER,

“Fuck stilettos. And double fuck hairpins.” I grumbled as I tore at the hairpins holding my hair in place, letting it tumble down my back. I kicked off my stilettos and flexed my toes in thick, plush carpet as I wandered over to the spot I’d sat down my luggage. 

Grabbing the bottle of wine I picked up on the way in, I poured myself a glass and I peeled off the majority of my clothing, leaving me in only a lace pair of panties and the stockings and garter combo I’d been wearing tonight just to kind of feel like a bad bitch.

Pay-per-view weeks are the actual worst. Especially on us stage managers. See, while the guys and girls are out there putting on a show, we’re left with all the prep work. Making sure everyone is in their places and whatnot.  And tonight had been filled with glitches. Spots that should not, under any circumstances have happened, let alone over concrete. People missing their cues to go down to the ring by a minute or two.

The entire night just seemed like one neverending miscommunication amongst the team working and it was frustrating. All I wanted to do was drink some cheap wine, watch some bad cable and lounge around half naked. Maybe even order wings. 

About the time I’d dialed down for room service, I heard the door being knocked on. Staring at it with a raised brow, I grabbed for a gauzy pale violet robe and tied it, slinking over towards the door. I wasn’t expecting anyone and there was literally no way the rack of ribs I’d just ordered myself from room service were already here.

,, probably just one of the girls.” I dismissed any other possibility than this, because on occasion, one or two of the girls on the roster stopped by to talk and hang out. Usually Britt or Anna. I honestly assumed that when I threw the door open, one or the other would be standing on the opposite side of it.

When I did and it wasn’t, well… I slammed the door shut all over again in a hurry, calling through it, “Sorry! I thought it was Britt or Anna Jay. Fuck. Just a minute.”

I dashed around, finding a longer shirt. If I wasn’t 99 percent sure that Mox hadn’t already seen hotter bodies than mine and I wasn’t so goddamn mentally and physically drained, I’d have bothered with the formality of pants. He’s the one who knocked on my door.

They get what they get. If they don’t like me bopping around in a tee shirt and panties, they know how to leave me alone.

“Not that I’m complainin.” Mox called through the door, “But I’m fuckin tired and it’d be nice to get some fuckin sleep.”

I threw the door open, a brow raised. “In my room?” I was confused. What the hell was going on?

I remembered Britt complaining that this hotel was frequently overbooking itself and people wound up having to share rooms a lot and then it hit me. That was probably what this was.

Awesome. On top of everything, I was now going to have to suffer through a night of lingering sexual tension… I cast a gaze at the ceiling, briefly wondering what deity I’d pissed off. First the train wreck that was backstage during the pay per view tonight and now, having to share a room that I won’t lie, I wouldn’t kick out of bed for eating crackers.

Who I’ve maybe flirted with back and forth on occasion. Who I suspect flirts right back with me.

“Our room, apparently.” Mox stepped into the room, chuckling as his eyes settled on me and then darted down, fixing on the bottle of wine in my hand. “Rough night?”

“You were there, Jon.” I mused, raising the bottle to my lips. The door to the elevator down the hall slid open and the scent of barbecue ribs filled the air, my stomach growling upon scent. He sniffed the air and eyed the cart being wheeled towards the door of the hotel room before casting a glance back at me.

“Ya mean you eat somethin besides salad?” Mox muttered, chuckling quietly as I continued to stare intently at my ribs as they made their way towards me. The cart came to a stop outside the door and I stepped out, shutting the door behind me as I signed for the order. Mox pulled the door open and stepped out of the way, letting me wheel the cart into the room. Almost the second the door was shut tight behind me again, I was tearing into the covered dishes, tearing a rib apart from the rack and devouring it while groaning. 

Mox’s eyes fixed on my mouth and he bit his lip, muttering something to himself and shaking his head. I honestly didn’t have a fuck left to give on this particular night. I was tired and hungry and hell bent on eating. I tore away another and held it out to him, teasing with a playful smirk, “What?”

“Nothing.” Mox took the piece I held out to him and stepped away abruptly. Wait, did I just pout because he stepped away? It had me a little shocked for a second. I quickly pushed it out of my head and flopped across my bed, grabbing for the remote, turning on the television set. I sat up and reached for the phone on the nightstand beside my bed, killing the music. 

As I did it, I could almost swear I felt his eyes glued to me. I didn’t dare turn to look back at first and when I did, rather than catch him watching me, I caught him tugging the form fitting gray tee shirt he was wearing up and letting it settle on the floor next to his bed. He wandered over to the cart filled with food and got himself another rib and then he flopped down on the bed opposite mine.

The tension in the room was so heavy. I almost couldn’t breathe. I tried to ignore it, just sit there and keep eating my ribs and drinking my wine, but the silence was getting to be too much.

He cleared his throat and I jumped a little, rolling over to look at him. “Yeah?” I asked, taking another rib and biting into it, waiting on him to say whatever it was he’d been about to. Metallica shattered the silence and I grumbled, diving for my cell phone.

“What now.” I grumbled, annoyed. By the time I’d actually gotten my hands on my phone, it was silent. I checked the call id anyway and just as I figured, it was my ex. Probably drunk dialing again. Which was definitely the last thing I wanted to deal with tonight.

Mox coughed abruptly and as soon as I realized what my impromptu little dive exposed in the form of my entire lace covered ass, I felt my skin burning all over. I tugged down the tee shirt and poked out my tongue and he grumbled quietly about my lack of pants with something else behind that, much lower. I couldn’t hear it. “If it bothers you, maybe don’t look.” I sassed, poking out my tongue. The tension was subsiding, however, the air in the space still felt heavy somehow… Filled with something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

“Oh, don’t mind me. I was just enjoying the view, kitten.” his voice had a certain teasing drawl to it’s usual velvet gravel rasp and I felt my legs clench just a little bit before I could process just how his voice actually gets to me. I pretended not to hear and I wiggled around on my bed, trying to get comfortable again, winding up propping on my elbows.

I huffed at the way my bangs flopped back into my eyes and I grabbed for the remote, trying to focus on the tv set, but it was almost mission impossible, what with breathing temptation sprawled out shirtless on the next bed.

We sprang up at the same time, heading for the cart full of food and found ourselves body to body. Just to keep from whimpering, I raised the bottle of wine to my lips, taking a rushed gulp. Nearly choking. He reached around me clumsily, patting my back until I stopped, snickering quietly about it.

“What was so funny about that?”  I pouted slightly, cocking my head to the side to gaze up at him.

“Nothin.” he muttered the word, leaning in a little. His eyes were locked on mine. We were migrating closer. Maybe I started out taking a step back, but when my back met the wall, I let out a quiet groan as soon as his hands settled palm down against the wall on either side of my head, pinning me between.

As his tongue darted out and trailed slowly over his lips, I swallowed hard, barely stifling a whimper. His hips pressed into mine a little and he reached down, toying with the collar of the oversized tee shirt I’d thrown on when he knocked.

“Jon?” I gasped out quietly, my eyes fixing on his. Darting down to his mouth and lingering. And out of nowhere, this strong and almost overwhelming desire to pull his mouth down against mine surfaced. 

I tried and tried but I couldn’t shove it down. His mouth was inching closer, slowly. Almost lazily. When his tongue shot out and rolled over his lips again, I gulped and when I took a breath, it was shaky. Enough to jar me a little, have me raising an eye at myself. 

“Don’t you get tired of dancin around what happens when we’re in a room together, kitten? Because fuck… I’m exhausted.” 

I nodded, my brain and mouth still trying to come to some kind of agreement and formulate actual words at this point. I’d never really stopped and thought about it, nor had I taken Jon Moxley seriously at any time whenever he flirted with me, because, well.. But now that I was stopping to think about it, the tension that always lingered between us was almost draining. I mean, sure… I did my best to ignore it. And keep him at a safe arms length.

Now that I couldn’t. Now that I had no way to escape it… I was starting to notice all these little things. Like just how fucking blue his eyes were up close. The little quiver to his lip right now. The way his hand felt rough against my hip when he lowered it from beside my head and squeezed my hip tight, grinding me right against him, his head lowered, nose buried in the crown of my head as he took a few long and deep breaths.

Kind of like he was trying to pull himself together.

It was not the side of Jon Moxley I was most used to. The side that was always taunting and teasing, laughing or being an idiot. Or an ass.

This was something different. More serious. Deeper.

When I felt him strained against the thin basketball shorts he was wearing, I gulped and a whimper slipped out of my mouth.

Ice blue eyes turned almost inky as he locked them on my body and did it again, snapping his hips against mine. I reached for the bottle sitting on the dresser nearby and his hand reached out, circling mine and steering the bottle to his own mouth. He took a long sip and I guided the bottle back towards my mouth. His eyes locked onto my lips intently.

“If you want to do something, Jon…” I sat the bottle down, staring up at him, a bit of a smirk forming. Because I still doubted that anything would actually come of it.

Until it did. The low throaty growl shattered the air between our mouths as he leaned into me, pressing my back right up against the wall and allowing me to melt against his body. My hand raised, fingers dragging close cropped hair and his mouth collided with mine all while he rocked his hips into me over and over, one of his hands on the side of my face and the other lowering, gripping bare thigh and raising my leg to his hip. 

His tongue pushed my lips apart, slipping between. I could taste the wine and the barbecue sauce from the rack of ribs we’d been sharing. My free hand found his shoulder, my nails digging lightly. Our breaths were harsh and they lingered. My hands moved over his biceps as I leaned into him heavily. My legs suddenly felt like someone swapped out all my bones with butter and I was in danger of puddling on the floor.

And I won’t even get into the fact that I was so wet I knew I had to be soaking through thin lace. Or that my cunt was throbbing pretty much in time with my heart right now. I rubbed myself against him as the kiss deepened to a point that I couldn’t tell whether we were breathing on our own or for each other and he muttered lazily against my mouth, “Get it now, kitten? Do you know what I want right now? Or do I have to spell it out?”

At this point, he didn’t, but I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t make things just a shade difficult. As his lips broke from mine and ghosted over my pulse, my eyes fluttered and I gasped out at last, “Yeah. Tell me, Jon.”

A hand resting against the side of my face lowered between us, slipping beneath the hem of my oversized tee shirt, resting palm down against my cunt as he gave a squeeze that had me whimpering and rocking against his hand. I exhaled sharply, licking my lips as I locked eyes with him. His mouth was back against mine again, teeth latching onto my lower lip and tugging, the hand on my cunt continuing to rub and squeeze as he growled into my mouth, “Fuckin soaked through those pretty little red panties already, hm?”

I felt my skin heating all over in a blush and all I could do was whimper as thick digits brushed the lace barrier currently separating his fingers from my dripping cunt to the side. As his fingers worked me open and pressed against my clit, rubbing slow and hard, I whined and rocked against his fingers in a desperate bid for more friction. Anything to make the throbbing ache settled between my thighs die down. “Had my eye on you a while now, kitten. And I ain’t stupid. I know you’ve been flirting back.”

“I have.” I panted as I rocked harder, faster, my eyes fluttering open and shut as a blinding wave of pleasure began to build and his teeth grazed my pulse, sinking down into my neck. Biting my neck is definitely a way to get me going real fast and in a hurry.  It caught me off guard that I wasn’t offering up my usual thousands of good excuses why not like I’d normally do in the past whenever Mox came on just a little too strong for me and then it hit… I only push him away because there’s something about the way he makes me feel everything entirely too much that scares me a little. See, I like playing it safe. And I know enough to know that Mox is dangerous as they come.

“All you gotta do, kitten, is tell me to stop.” Mox caught my gaze, the fingers on his free hand tucking beneath my chin as he stared deep into my eyes. His mouth caught against mine all over again, lazily and not even a full connect and damn it, I wanted more. I needed him kissing me again... Even though he said it and I knew he meant it and I knew that stopping was probably a good idea given what I now realized, I also knew that I was not about to stop him.

Not when I wanted him. Craved him on a level that blew my mind to even comprehend.

“And I haven’t. I’m not going to, either.” I mumbled the words again just as his fingertips brushed open my folds and slipped inside. The heel of his hand pressed right up against my clit, rubbing with each scissoring movement of his fingers and I whimpered, rocking against. My arms went around his neck, one hand settling at the back of his neck to pull his mouth deeper into mine as the other hand rested on his muscular shoulder, fingertips digging in just a little more with each thrust of his fingers deep into my dripping cunt. I pouted when he drew out his fingers and he chuckled, pressing himself full into me as he nodded to the bed.

“Tonight was too goddamn rough for me t’ even consider tryin this standing up.” he explained in breathy pants against my mouth and neck as he slid me up his body and stepped over to my bed, gently tossing me on top of it, leaning down, his fingers going straight for the hem of his shirt as my legs circled his waist and he positioned himself between them. I lowered my hand to the waistband of his sweats, tugging and giving an impatient whine. He caught the pleading look in my eyes and chuckled, biting his lip as he leaned down and into me, raising me up, getting the tee shirt completely away from my body and tossing it to the side.

“If you want something, kitten.. Fuckin take it. It’s all yours. I’m all yours.” the words were spoken in this tender tone that before tonight, I never would’ve readily associated with Jon Moxley in any shape or form. He bucked himself against me clumsily and I hissed, my legs tensing at his sides, locking as they tried to pull him flat against me even more. 

“Take it, huh?” I mumbled as I gripped his jaw, guiding his mouth away from my tits and back up to my own mouth, “That’s really all I have to do?”

“Mhm.” lust blown blue eyes locked on me and this time when he bucked himself against me, it was harder. With so much more urgency. Fingertips caught in the band of thin lace panties and the silent tear lingered heavy in the air a few seconds as he pulled the ripped material away from my body and tossed it to the floor.

My first instinct, of course, was to throw my hands up over my tits and torso because of the softness and imperfections. They didn’t bother me, but I’m no idiot. I know that there are other women in his past that looked a lot more appealing than me and maybe knowing that bothered me a little. His, of course, was to lower my hands, eyes roaming me hungrily. A low growl slipping out of his mouth as he licked his lips. “Don’t cover yourself up, kitten.”

I nodded, my  tongue dancing over my lips as I gazed up into his eyes. My hand raised, fingers catching in his waistband all over again, tugging impatiently. Once I got them down past his hips, he let his sweats hit the floor and kicked them off at the ankles and as soon as my eyes settled on the lack of underwear or the way his thick cock sprang free, I swallowed hard, trying to pull him back down against me with my legs all over again.

He settled on top of me, hips pinning mine flat against the mattress. His hands moved up my body, his mouth blazing a trail right behind it, stopping as he squeezed my tits together and rolled his tongue across both my nipples, letting his teeth catch as he stared up at me, hints of a smirk playing at his mouth. The groan that came out of his mouth was enough to have me whimpering. The way he combined gentle kitten licks to my skin with harder and harsher bites was.. Enough to have me arching myself up against him. Or trying to, it was a little harder to do with his hips pinning me against the mattress.

“Jon.” I panted against his throat as my teeth scraped against it, “C’mon. Need you inside me.” my moan hung in the air between us as he pushed himself into me, shallowly at first, going still, his teeth and lips against my skin, nipping and licking, sucking and leaving as many marks as he could behind on the surface of my skin. The way his body felt pressed against me had me even needier because it just felt entirely too good. Entirely. Something I could get used to easily.

“Need me, hm?” he mused, pulling away to look at me while catching his breath. I raised a hand as I nodded, fingertips dancing over the outline of his mouth. “I said it, didn’t I?”

“You fucking did, kitten.” he muttered in a low growl as his teeth nipped at my fingertips, making me whimper a little. His mouth dove down to mine, meeting it all over again in a deep and passionate kiss and I rocked myself up into him, his cock slipping between my folds and making me moan, my fingers dragging his scalp and digging into his shoulders as my legs clenched his sides.  He thrust into me slowly, inch for inch sinking in, his fingertips digging into my hips as he groaned against my throat, “Goddamn, kitten. So fucking tight around me.”

My eyes fluttered and I whimpered, my back arching as I gazed up at the ceiling and braced myself, getting used to the way he stretched and filled me with dots dancing in my vision as my orgasm only continued to build and intensify. I could hear the wet sounds every single time he pulled his cock out and slammed it back in deep, hard.. Slow. With enough drive behind the movements of his hips that I felt like I was being fucked deep into the mattress. His hands left my hips and wandered up my body, catching hold of my hands and holding them flat against the pillow under my head and I gasped out against his neck, begging for more. Faster.

His hips snapped against mine almost frantically, his teeth locked onto my neck, sucking. When he broke contact with my neck, his mouth was on mine again, hungrily. The soft smacks of our kisses growing louder and more desperate. “Kitten, fuck.” he groaned as my hips rocked to meet his every thrust. I raised them a little and the new angle had him slowing down just a shade, his mouth against the bridge of my nose and his hands letting go of mine, going down to my hips to hold them at the angle I’d risen them to, driving into me slower.. Harder.. Deeper. “Wanna fucking fill you up.” that growl got lower and his words left me whimpering, frantically trying to meet his pace as my lips latched onto his, capturing them in a needy and rough kiss. “Do it then.” the words left my mouth before I could stop to really consider what I was that I was saying.

Not that it mattered.

My orgasm was building at an earth shattering speed now and Mox seemed to pick right up on it, his cock striking right up against my g-spot over and over as he bottomed out inside me. Our eyes locked on each other and I whimpered at the way his eyes practically glowed with this soft lust when they met mine. My hand raised, briefly resting against his cheek as his hips stammered and I could feel my pussy clenching around him. “Let go, kitten, c’mon. Let go for me.” Mox urged, his voice more groan than anything.

I could feel him burying balls deep as he slammed back into my pussy, his hands squeezing my hips, his breath catching in his throat. My own orgasm ripped through me and I clung to him, my hips struggling to keep up the pace he set between us but not caring, too gone on the high I was feeling to bother. He fucked me right through my own orgasm and into his own, his cock throbbing, his seed overfilling and he kept plowing into me, gradually slowing, his mouth all over my neck and against my mouth, his teeth catching on tender and kiss swollen lips.

He came to a stop at last and he fell back against the mattress, immediately reaching out, pulling my body atop his with his arms wrapped around me tight as he chuckled against my mouth. “Not too tired on me, right kitten?”

“A little tired.” I gave a soft laugh, my body settling close against his, my mouth brushing his mouth as his hands wandered down, giving my ass a squeeze as he rocked himself into me and gave a quiet growl.

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Thirty Eight

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

March 14th, 1998

Emile was tired. He had a long day today, and it just felt like it was getting longer when he realized that he had to visit family. It was only one set of his aunts and uncles, and they only had two kids, but he still felt exhausted and not up to much.

That changed the second Emile caught sight of his two younger cousins, though. Their eyes lit up and he felt a small burst of happy energy at being the source of that excitement. He was able to play with them while the adults talked, and Emile laughed as the three of them danced around the living room. He knew he would be dead on his feet later tonight, but that was the price you paid sometimes for family. And it was totally worth it.

  July 4th, 2001

Emile was sitting in the park’s field on their picnic blanket, fondly watching a small child running around, chasing a butterfly. Remy nudged Emile’s foot, capturing his attention. “What has you so smiley?” Remy asked.

“The kid over there,” Emile said, pointing. “Kinda reminds me of some of my younger cousins. Makes me think about family, but in a good way.”

“You can think about family in a good way?” Remy asked dubiously.

“Yeah, I can,” Emile sighed. “It’s not often that I really give it thought, though.”

Remy shrugged. “Why? I get you don’t like my family, but you don’t think about yours often?”

Emile shrugged. “Well, there’s always the issue of...say...extended family asking about my love life,” he said. “Some of them are accepting and others...I don’t know. They certainly don’t come across that way. And then there’s my grandfather to worry about.”

“He’s not accepting?” Remy asked. “Someone in your family is homophobic?”

“Yep,” Emile said, voice strained. “I’ve told him about girlfriends, before, but never about my boyfriends. My parents knew, of course, but not him. He just...doesn’t understand, and doesn’t want to make the effort to understand, at least not right now.”

Remy winced. “What about that kid had you smiling, though? Why were you thinking of family in a good way?” he asked, redirecting the topic back to their original conversation before Emile could brood for too long. A fact which Emile appreciated.

“Well, it makes me think about how things were when I was younger,” Emile said. “And it takes me back to when my cousins were really little and I got to help take care of them. And because my brain is weird and makes random leaps sometimes...”

“What?” Remy asked.

Emile shrugged, looking away. “Makes me think of having kids of my own, some day. Whether or not that’s something that actually happens. And I’m not like... seriously considering anything. I was never one who really gave a family much thought as a kid, it was never something I wanted outright. But sometimes, in my head, where there’s no lasting consequences if I screw up, I imagine there’s a world out there where I do have kids, biologically or not, and I get to...be a good influence, and make sure they know they’re cared for emotionally and physically, and...I don’t know. It’s not something I seriously want, and I would never ask you to raise a kid with me, especially not over this conversation, or any like it. It’s just...a fun mental exercise, sort of.”

Remy seemed to consider this a moment. “You know, I think you should donate to that sperm bank like you wanted to a while ago.”

“What? Why?” Emile asked, mind effectively doing a record scratch.

“I mean, it’s not like you’re going to be the one doing the parenting, but you get to help that family actually exist. That’s pretty cool, and if you really want to help families become families, well, that’s a pretty noble cause, I’d say. And you seem to have family on the brain a lot lately. It could...I don’t know, it’s possible that it could quiet that part of your brain when it starts to nag you about your own family,” Remy said with a shrug.

Emile sighed. “I mean...the reason it’s so hard is because I do want a family, just a little bit. Not enough to do anything about it, but I’d like to be a part of someone’s life like that. I’m not sure if donating to a sperm bank would offer that same satisfaction.”

Remy shrugged. “Look, you can do it or not, but I say you should give it a go. Worst comes to worst, no one uses your donation, you know? You could do it anonymously, no one would have to know it was you who was the father.”

Emile shook his head. “No, if I were going to donate I’d have my donation be Open ID. I just...I don’t know, if there were kids out there, I feel like it would be only fair for them to know who I was. To be able to ask about medical history in the event of some emergency or another. Even if they tried to seek me out, just to know who I was? That would be okay. I wouldn’t mind keeping in contact with a kid who I helped conceive by like, e-mail or what-have-you. Anonymous donation...just isn’t an option I’d like.”

“Oh,” Remy said.

“Does that change your opinion of it?” Emile asked.

Remy shook his head. “No, if you want to do it, you should do it. Not being anonymous just means we might have an extra person to send Christmas cards to in eighteen years.”

Emile laughed. “Can you imagine if the parents of that poor kid were homophobic? They’d have an aneurysm!”

Remy practically cackled and a few people nearby sent them odd looks. “Oh, man! There’s no laws saying you can’t donate if you’re gay or bi, right?”

“Not that I know of,” Emile said. “So assuming we’re still together in eighteen years, we’d have some very interesting Christmas cards to send.”

Remy sighed, a smile still on his face. “I like to think we’d still be together in eighteen years. Maybe twenty.”

“Yeah?” Emile asked.

“Yeah,” Remy said. “I mean, if we’re not it would have to be for a real good reason, because I can’t see myself... not enjoying your company.”

Emile blinked. He knew that Remy loved him, they had said as much to each other countless times by now. But every once in a while Remy still said things that took Emile’s breath away. Emile took one of his hands and intertwined it with Remy’s, giving him a smile. He wasn’t sure if Remy even understood how huge this was to Emile. Remy wasn’t just talking about his feelings openly, but he was talking about them casually. Like he was talking about the weather, or saying that Emile’s new glasses made him look nerdier than he already did. It was something that Emile saw as amazing progress. “I love you too, Rem,” Emile said softly.

Remy offered him a smile that was fond and full of softness, and again it took Emile’s breath away for a few seconds. He would do anything to see that smile more, and it made him ecstatic to know that he could do that just by saying how he honestly felt about Remy. His boyfriend.

The sun started to set as Emile and Remy brought out their dinner and began to eat. They had set up their picnic blanket in prime territory to watch the fireworks later tonight. And for now, they were just going to enjoy each others’ company. “So, are you going to do it?” Remy asked.

“May as well,” Emile said with a shrug. “I mean, like you said. Worst comes to worst no one uses my sample. And it’s just one appointment, and then it’s over, and I don’t have to deal with as many nagging thoughts as I otherwise would.”

“Because instinct will know that you helped produce offspring with your DNA and your genetic line gets passed on, and everything works out,” Remy teased.

“Something like that,” Emile laughed.

They returned to eating and soon it was dusk. “Fireworks should be starting soon,” Remy said idly.

Emile felt like he was vibrating in his excitement. “I know. Fireworks are super cool, aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” Remy agreed. “Sometimes they’re a little loud, but they’re very pretty.”

Emile gasped dramatically. “You, Remy Picani, appreciating something that’s pretty?! Wow! I never thought I’d see the day!”

“Shut up!” Remy laughed. “I can admire things that are pretty, and I do it often enough that it’s not unusual! I just usually don’t verbalize it!”

“Oh yeah?” Emile challenged. “List five things around the park that are pretty, right now!”

Remy looked around. “The butterflies, the flowers, the clouds, the sunset in general, really, and a certain man I happen to be sharing a blanket with at the moment.”

Emile short-circuited and made a strangled noise of surprise. “Shut up!” he said, but he was laughing as he did it.

“Not a chance,” Remy said. He dotted kisses on Emile’s cheek. “I have the prettiest, most beautiful boyfriend in the world, and he deserves to know it.”

“Remy!” Emile squealed, laughing. “Stop! I’m not pretty!”

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” Remy said, a mischievous glint in his eye. “And therefore, I can call you pretty as I please. Because to me, there’s no one prettier.”

Emile was blushing, cheeks as hot as a forest fire by this point. “You’re the worst,” he groaned into his hands.

“If by the worst, you mean the worst at letting you think you’re anything but exceptional, then I agree,” Remy said, continuing to pepper Emile’s face with kisses as he removed Emile’s hands.

“Remy!” Emile squawked. “Come on! You’re not playing fair!”

“Well, I’m not playing,” Remy said. “I’m dead serious about this.”

Emile blushed harder, a fact which he had previously thought impossible. “You’re a sap,” he said, a desperate attempt to get Remy to pay attention to something other than Emile.

“Maybe,” Remy allowed. “But I’m your sap. You’re stuck with me. Forever. And nothing you can say or do will change my mind.”

“Really?” Emile asked, surprise coloring his words.

“Emile, I seriously doubt there could ever be a time in my life where you’re not so much as my friend anymore. And I don’t intend on breaking up with you. Like, if you were the one to stop this,” Remy gestured vaguely in the air, “Then I wouldn’t be able to stop you, and I’d respect your decision. But until that hypothetical day comes to pass, if it ever does...I’m here with you. There’s no place I’d rather be, in complete honesty.”

“I...” Emile was at a loss for words. “I don’t know what to say.” There was a lump in his throat and his eyes were getting hot. Remy was being so open about loving Emile, and it was in public, where people who might disapprove could see them. Remy was taking that risk, and...and by the look in Remy’s eyes, he knew and he didn’t care. He loved Emile that much. “...I love you,” Emile whispered.

Remy smiled good-naturedly, and pulled Emile into his arms for a hug. “I love you too,” he said.

Emile turned in Remy’s arms to kiss him, and the second their lips met, the first firework of the night went off in the sky. Both of them jumped before dissolving into laughter. “Wow, our love really does set off fireworks! Just like in the movies!” Emile laughed.

Remy giggled. “That’s pretty cool,” he said. “I’ve never had a relationship that’s set off fireworks before.”

Another boom reverberated through the park and the two turned to look at the falling red sparkles. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Emile asked.

Remy grinned, eyes fixated on the sky. “Almost as beautiful as you, Emile.”

“Stop,” Emile whined.

“Never,” Remy vowed.

They stayed in the park, watching the fireworks go off, content to just be with each other for a while. After the fireworks ended with about twenty consecutive fireworks going off at once, and people were packing up their stuff, Remy and Emile still stayed on the blanket. “I love little domestic moments,” Emile said.

“Yeah, they are pretty nice,” Remy agreed.

“We should make an effort to do more stuff like this,” Emile said. “Going out on dates is fun and all, but so is cooking together. Having pillow fights. Cuddling. It’s super sweet.”

“Oddly enough, I don’t mind that kind of sweetness,” Remy idly mused.

“No?” Emile asked.

Remy hummed in thought, before placing a peck on Emile’s lips. “No. Not when it’s with you, at any rate. You seem to make every moment special. You help me see the good of the little things in life.”

“I’m glad I could help,” Emile said. “The last thing I want is for you to be miserable because anything good that comes your way gets immediately dismissed.”

“I had a bad habit of doing that, yeah,” Remy agreed. He smirked at Emile. “But then a beautiful, good man came into my life and turned that around.”

Emile squeaked. “Stop it!” he protested, but he was grinning ear to ear.

[fmdjaewonarchive]

event post time lets goooooo. as usual, under the cut there will be some general ideas for event, pls like this post or slide into my ims/dscrd if u wanna plot! i’m trying to be as detailed as possible but like, there is a lot going on, this list probs won’t be exhaustive. i’m also open to p much anything so pls don’t feel limited to any of these plots!! im down for anything!!! either way, continue below the cut if u wanna know more ab what my kids are getting up to (any dates that arent specified i just... didn’t decide on anything and am open to Absolutely anything):

JAEWON: 

general: backstage at the concerts is v welcome for any of the days, just idk, hanging out, i’m tryna keep this v general. pros: jaewon is p proud for unity snatching one of the three closing performance slots, dimensions’ pride indeed. cons: he probably has his tits out, jaewon always has his tits out on stage, he rlly lives like this. anyone is allowed to feel whatever way he wants ab either of those two things.

dec 26: jaewon pulls a blue card cuz sexy pool montage of jaewon. ok im kidding (kinda). idk, kick his ass at games, team up w him to crush the competition,  drown his stupid ass, literally anything.

dec 26: so SOMEONE learned his lesson from the halloween party, no alcohol at the ball for him. come clown him w/ memories of that night (he sure doesnt have any) or idk, try to talk him into drinking (he won’t)

dec 26: in general, i think jaewon might forego most of the party, just find a quiet spot to hang out, look at the sea or some fake deep shit. if anyone is feeling up to it come hang out w him and, idk, reflect on the past year. it’s a time for realizing stuff. (the muse in question would have to b somewhat close to jaewon for this but like im always down to plot that out!)

dec 27: idk, jaewon will probably forego most of the traveling and exploring, opt for a calm day on board instead, anything re: that is super welcome.

dec 28: jaewon ends up in team red for the day so like, kitchen antics w/ jaewon. he’s a surprisingly good cook (shoutout to grandma park, the real og, for kicking this idiot into the kitchen since a young age)

dec 30: jaewon pulls blue again and... you’d think he wouldn’t be as disgruntled about it? someone pls kick his shins till he accepts going to the spa isn’t such a bad thing sir just relax for one (1) day it will Not kill you

YUANJUN: 

dec 26:  yuanjun pulls a yellow card cuz dancing king xiao yuanjun sure as hell is fucking involved in this god damn flashmob sUE ME. local enthusiastic dance teacher, will annoy anyone who Doesn’t Want To Be There into having fun and partaking, cutely messing around w people who are having a good time anything you need him to!

dec 26: in their free time after that he’ll def drag someone along to come explore the ship with him so like!!! will they get lost? possibly, but it will be Fun

dec 26: someone decorate sugar cookies w him at the holiday ball pLEASE

dec 27: yuanjun is DEFINTELY exploring the hecc out of taipei, grab dinner w him, go late night shopping w him, sightseeing, ANYTHING

dec 28: he pulls yellow again so you know how it is, photo session at the zoo, you just know he’s going to vibing so hard taking pictures of animals. whether they succeed or not i’m not decided on, im down for either way tbh

29 dec: YUANJUNS BDAY BITCHESSSSSS. ill probs write up an open ab this, but he’s !!!! going to be so annoying the entire day, he WILL be acting like bc has organized this entire thing Just for his 21st bday and u can’t stop him (you can try tho, feel free to attempt and burst his bubble). again, i’ll do a general open for this but if anyone wants to do anything specific for his bday let me kno uwu

30 dec: this time he ends up w a red card and he will be whining and pouting about his, he rlly has to clean up? the day after his birthday? preposterous how dARE they

31 dec: firework go boom and yuanjun WILL be endlessly fascinated by it, idk man why do we let him look at dangerous explosive things. this isn’t an idea but? it could be? i think? idk man

MINAH: 

general: someone that teams up w/ minah and makes a pact to try every restaurant on the ship at least once,,, good food is important okay

dec 26: minah pulls blue and... why do they expect her to play pool games? idk man she’s just going to be worried ab people cuz pls don’t drown children. also good luck if u are on a team w her for anything, you’ll probs lose

dec 26: someone,,, come make,,, gingerbread houses w minah,,, i just think it’d be neat,,, pls i need this

dec 26: minah will mourn not having like a classic christmas at home watching stupid movies and shit, someone that sets up some kind of small tradition w her at the ball to make up for it?

dec 28: minah pulls red and wow kitchen work w minah thats neat she knows how to cook this will be easy WRONG ur stuck w her and shes a huge control freak and will correct every little thing you do and jesus christ woman leave them ALONE they’re TRYING

dec 30: minah pulls red,,, again,,, and tbh this time she won’t be as annoying, just some therepeutic cleaning, if ur muse complains ab it tho she might lecture them. alternatively: ur muse pulled yellow and they think they’re being casual but minah calls them out cuz “hey i didnt see u around before have u been slacking???”

dec 31: minahs baby sister minji is attending the busan concert and minah will be over the moon about it, odds are she will chat ur muses’ ear off ab it backstage, sorry not sorry!

YENA:

general: first things first, yena doesn’t have a roommate yet so like,,, any female-presenting muses hit me UPPPP 

general: yena will be complaining backstage at the concerts tbh, she’s tryna celebrate a vacation here why does she have to WORK, does anyone really care to see gal.actic perform anyway?

dec 26: yena pulls red and has to help decorating which honestly she’ll enjoy but i also just need someone to playfully fuck around w her cuz yena doesnt Do excessive labor and instead decorate her in tinsel instead because yes, yena IS the main attraction here thank you

dec 26: yena WILL spend most of the holiday ball in the indoor pool, chilling in a jacuzzi w a glass of champagne or smth, real hot girl shit, you know how it is

dec 28: lucky queen pulls blue which means she gets to go shopping, it also means she’s going to try and scam someone into spending their money on buying her pretty things, whether she’s succesful or not

dec 30: this time. yena is on team yellow and she ends up later tagging along to the spa day and tbh, id like to think she’d do a pretty convincing job at it, acting queen nam yena pop off

dec 31: if u think yena will see the new year sober ur WRONG and truly u should know better, if there is any night she goes stupid crazy its this night just saying

jan 1: god she’s going to complain the living FUCK outta the day cuz of that god damn fansign, in part cuz shes hangover and part cuz ew who even is a gal.actic stan in 2020. either join her in her complaining or lecture her ab being thankful for fans or smth!

[thebiasrekkers]

Make It Right [BTS Mafia AU]

Plot: “It’s always darkest before the dawn…” It’s a dog-eat-dog world in Seoul, South Korea. One has to dwell in the shadows in order to reach for the light. What are you willing to sacrifice in order to feel the sunlight on your face? What will it take to drag you back into darkness? How long will the journey be to make it right?

Rating: NC-17 // NSFW

Genre: Series | Mafia!AU | Crime!AU | Angst | Romance/Fluff | Smut

Pairings: Jin x OC | Taehyung/Hoseok x OC | Yoongi/Jungkook x OC

Warnings: Graphic Violence (bloody violence), Heavy Language, Angst, Slow Burn, Smut

Previous Chapters: Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || Admin E’s WP || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 3,239

Tag List: @prisczero, @pinkpjmin, @btsaudge, @flowerwrites06, @unoriginal-username15432, @halussali, @shrimpmsg, @ggukkieland​

AN: I need to quit fooling you people. Because the trust issues are going to get worse. Maybe this is a silver lining? Maybe? Yes? ...I’ll go away now.

Chapter 55: Sea

“Praying that we’ll remain in this desert till the end. Praying that this isn’t truly our reality.”

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

Two Days Later Jeju Island – Seogwipo South Korea

When Taehyung first came to, he felt warmth blanketing his entire body. Every so often, a gentle brush of cool air passed over him. His limbs ached and it felt like a stone was being pressed against his chest. Breathing was a seemingly impossible task. When he could breathe, the sensation of phantom glass fragments scraped along the insides of his lungs. Coughing was a regular occurrence. Through said coughing fit was how he was able to pull himself back to consciousness.

For a moment, he believed he had, in fact, died. There was a part of him that even accepted it. But he wouldn’t have accepted it with a smile, of that he was most certain.

There were people waiting for him; people he would potentially be leaving behind.

The faces of his brothers and of the woman he loved yanked him from the abyss.

An old man sat next to him, moving a fan slowly over his body. Sweat seemed to cover him from head to toe and there was a large basin of ice beside him. Again, Taehyung coughed and tried to sit up. But the old man placed a hand on his shoulder, gently urging him to lie back down on the futon. What energy he managed to muster quickly slithered out of him, the weight of exhaustion overwhelming him all over again.

Had he actually died?

“Don’t make such a fuss,” said the old man.

The stranger’s skin was bronze from being out in the sun, his worn and wrinkled hands and face gave testimony to the life he lived. His hair was a salt and pepper gray, frazzled from being whipped around in the ocean breeze just outside. Despite his seemingly austere appearance and gruff tone, his dark eyes were gentle as he continued to move the fan back and forth over Taehyung’s prone form.

Taehyung squinted slowly, the light peeling in from the window almost blinding him. He tried to lift his arm to shield his eyes, but found it more difficult than he’d anticipated. Sensing his distress, the old man shifted so his small frame could block as much of the light as he could.

“Where am I?”

The question croaked from Taehyung’s throat, surprising him. Attempting to swallow, he mentally reeled at how terrible he sounded.

He heard the man scoff, a sympathetic smirk pulling at his thin lips. “My home,” he replied simply, resting the fan on his knee, “you’ve got the devil’s luck, young man.”

Taehyung tried to smile but realized it probably looked like a grimace. “You don’t know the half of it, Oroshin.”

He watched the man’s smile widen a measure. “You’re young, but I see you still have some manners.”

Again, he attempted to sit up and failed. The old man seemed to take pity on him, reaching out with his thin arms to help him. When he was up, Taehyung winced at the tight feeling around his chest. He rubbed at it gingerly as the elder pressed a cold compress to his temple. Willing himself not to shrink back at the sudden cold, his eyes wandered around the abode to serve as a distraction.

He could tell that it was the home of a local fisherman. Quaint, humble and quiet; save for the crashing of waves along what he could only assume was the beach nearby. The salt was prevalent in the air, seeping in through what cracks existed in the house. Even though he could feel the cold wind, the floor was warm beneath him.

“Did you save me?”

Dipping the cloth into the ice water, he wrung it out and pressed it back to Taehyung’s head. “The gods saved you, my boy. You were already washed up on the shore when I stumbled across you.” He watched his eyes shifting to his shoulder and Taehyung reached up to touch the dressings over his injury. “I managed to purge the toxins out of you.”

His eyes narrowed. So it was poison, he thought angrily, shifting his gaze to the space between his knees, Lee Jooheon, you son of a bitch…

Taehyung lifted his eyes to meet the old man’s. “How long have I been out?”

“Couple of days now. The worst of it passed yesterday.”

Even though he still ached all over, Taehyung quickly shifted to sit on his knees, bowing his head low to the old man. “I’m in your debt, Oroshin.”

“Nonsense. It’s human nature to help those in need.”

Taehyung raised his head. “It’s a cruel world we live in now. Your kindness is rare in it.”

“Your view of the world is too narrow, my boy.” The old man lifted the fan and smacked Taehyung’s wrist with it. “Now enough of this. Sit comfortably.”

He did as he was told, sitting with his legs crossed in a more comfortable position. “Oroshin, I hate to burden you further, but would you mind taking me into town? I need to get back to Seoul as soon as possible.”

For an uncomfortably long moment, the old man peered at Taehyung – as if gauging what his motive was. But there was only one thing on his mind. He needed to get back to his brothers and warn them of the danger that was coming. There would still be time for them to find Eden and return her to the place she belonged.

…at Jungkook’s side.

Jooheon’s words slammed through his body like a wrecking ball, causing him to visibly shudder. Taehyung couldn’t believe it now that he was lucid. How had Jungkook managed to hide such a huge secret from them all? Then again, they’d all been so busy anticipating the moves of the Jade Fangs that a lot of things could have gone amiss. Something as small as eloping could easily be overlooked.

That didn’t mean he was any less salty about it.

When I get back, he and I are gonna have a little chat…

“Well,” cut the old man’s words through his thoughts, “it’s a good thing this washed up with you then.” He reached into a nearby drawer and pulled out Taehyung’s wallet.

He bowed as he took it from him, opening to see the paper money was worthless. So were his cards. But his ID was still intact. That was the only thing that mattered. If he could prove who he was, getting money would be easy. He peered at the old man expectantly who raised his brows at him.

“I’m assuming my phone didn’t make it?” The elder shook his head and Taehyung sighed. Of course it wouldn’t have made it. That would have been the luckiest break he could get outside of being alive. “I’ll just have to buy another one.”

“Eat something and then I’ll take you to town. You can’t function on an empty stomach.”

Taehyung flashed him his best boxy smile despite the agony he continued to feel. “Thank you, Oroshin.”

After filling his stomach with three full helpings of rice, soup, and freshly caught fish, he thanked the old man profusely for his kindness. When he asked his name, the elder simply smiled and told him to come back when all his business was taken care of. Taehyung promised he would return to repay him for saving his life.

There wasn’t much time to waste. He needed to procure funds to buy a plane ticket back to Seoul. He would worry about a phone once he landed safely. Besides, Taehyung didn’t think he could handle the slew of missed calls and voicemails demanding to know of his whereabouts. He went on blind faith that everything was okay; that his brothers were able to find something out on their end since it was obvious that his own trail was a perfectly placed trap.

The flight back to Seoul was only an hour, but he felt like time crawled at an agonizingly slow pace. The time he had alone on the plane was enough to cause Taehyung to fester in his own guilt. He was angry at himself for falling for such a setup, and he was even angrier that he hadn’t seen it for what it was.

Maybe Hyungwon was right, he thought bitterly, narrowing his eyes as he stared out the window, we’ve gotten fucking soft.

But he stood by what he said. This wouldn’t have been a problem had they taken the Jade Fangs out five years ago. Sacrifices be damned. At least they could avoid the headache inducing bullshit they were suffering right now.

He replayed the scene on Dragon’s Head Cliff repeatedly. No matter how many times he thought about it, Taehyung’s conclusion was the same every single time.

…if I hadn’t dodged, whatever came at me would have hit me straight on. He frowned. They were really trying to kill me.

The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. Curling his hands into fists on the arm rests, he closed his eyes – attempting to stave off an oncoming migraine.

They would be dealt with.

They would all be dealt with.

Taehyung wouldn’t rest until he made sure of it.

Seoul - Cheongdam; Gangnam District South Korea

As soon as he landed in Seoul, he purchased a phone at one of the stores in the airport, activating it on the spot. There were several voicemails and he rolled his eyes. He didn’t have time to listen to them. Now that Taehyung could confidently say he’d met the Reaper at the Gates of the Underworld and walked away, the only person he wanted to see was the woman carrying his child. He had to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming; still sleeping from the effects of the poison.

Taehyung needed just a little more reassurance that he wasn’t dead. That he wasn’t already in Hell.

Hailing a cab, he gave instructions for the driver to take him to Raelyn’s hospital. The woman was so stubborn, insistent on continuing to work as her belly continued to swell with the life in her. Taehyung told her constantly that she didn’t need to work anymore, especially while she was with child. But she was hellbent on having her way and who was he to deny her the freedom to do as she pleased?

He’d have been a fool to try.

Taehyung quickly paid the cab driver, thanking him for getting him to his destination so quickly. He raced through the parking lot, up the steps and just barely clipped his shoulders in his impatience in waiting for the sliding doors to open wide enough to give him entrance. One of Raelyn’s co-workers that he recognized spotted him, her expression forming into shock before melting to discomfort almost immediately. He skidded to a halt in front of her, blocking her path as she seemed to mentally prepare herself to flee.

“Eunsoo-ssi,” he huffed, attempting to catch his breath, “where’s Raelyn?”

She averted her eyes, shrinking back from him as he took a step toward her. Canting his head slightly, he couldn’t hide the confusion on his face. She’d never treated him like this before. In fact, he remembered her playfully doting on him like she would a younger brother. This sudden standoffishness seemed a little unwarranted.

“She…” Eunsoo paused, taking a breath, before lifting her face to meet his gaze. Her brows were furrowed harshly and he could swear that her eyes looked glassier than they had just a few seconds ago. “She’s at the funeral hall.”

Taehyung frowned. “Why?”

“I’m sorry, I have to finish my rounds.”

Eunsoo quickly bowed, side-stepping him to disappear around the corner to the next hall. His gaze followed her as he was left in the main lobby alone.

What the hell is going on? he thought as he made his way toward the elevators. Pressing the button to give him entrance, he pressed the button that led to the mortuary floor where funeral services were typically held. Did something happen to one of their co-workers?

It didn’t take him long to make it to the funeral hall. Various other families were dressed in their traditional mourning attire and rows of wreaths with white carnations lined the walls. White ribbons hung from them, traditional hangul printed on them with the names of the deceased. He barely took notice of them, his eyes frantically searching for any sign of Raelyn.

The weight of sorrow that filled the hall was palpable, making the uncomfortable feeling welling up in his chest almost unbearable. He couldn’t place his finger on it, but Taehyung swore that a dark cloud of dread was hanging over him. He quickly shook his head, attempting to chase the nagging voices from his mind.

This was crazy. He needed to get his head together.

Just as he took another step, he stopped as someone dashed out of one of the rooms. He blinked when he realized the woman dressed in a traditional white mourning garb was Jimin’s older sister. She covered her mouth, smothering a sob, and Taehyung could only blink when she paused just seconds before colliding into him. It seemed to take her a moment to recognize who he was, as it did him for her. Her face was puffy and swollen from all the crying she’d done.

“N-Noona,” Taehyung stammered out, an icy sensation slithering down his spine, “what are you doing here?”

Her bottom lip quivered uncontrollably, her hands reaching out to grasp at the sleeves of his jacket. “Oh, Taehyung-ah,” she choked out, curling her fingers into his arms, “Jimin-ie…he…he…”

Slowly, he craned his neck to peer at the three wreaths lining the walls just outside the room she’d vacated from. He read the names on each of the ribbons draped over the wreaths. Taehyung’s heart froze for half a second before slamming viciously against his chest.

“No way,” he murmured, looking back at Jimin’s sister, “…Noona.”

Instead of answering him, he watched her collapse to her knees – a wailing sound bursting from her. Taehyung heard his very soul shattering as he pivoted on his heels, his legs carrying him into the mourning chamber.

It was crowded, bodies shuffling around as people cried or whispered among themselves. Taehyung didn’t bother removing his shoes as he stepped up onto the small landing. He saw Raelyn out of the corner of his eye. She was the first one to spot him, making her way toward him. But instead of relishing in the comfort of her embrace, the very thing he had so desperately been seeking out since he’d woken up, Taehyung stepped just out of her reach. His eyes focused on the three portraits situated on the table where various foods and flowers were placed.

“Taehyung-ah.” Seokjin called to him, but his voice sounded muffled from the incessant buzzing in his ears. He heard him say his name again and he still couldn’t hear it well.

All he could focus on were the smiling faces of Jungkook, Eden, and Jimin looking back at him from the black frames encasing their visages.

As he took another step, he saw someone move to step in his path – blocking his view of the pictures. When he lifted his eyes, he was now staring into Hoseok’s stern face.

“Where have you been?”

Taehyung continued to stare at Hoseok, blinking slowly as his mind attempted to catch up. He opened his mouth to speak and found he couldn’t find the words.

“We thought you were dead.”

The phrase shook Taehyung; rattling his bones. He visibly flinched, took a breath, then glared up at his older brother.

“Hyung,” he finally managed to say, his voice dropping a full octave, “what is this?” Raising a hand, he pointed to the side of him and gave a wide flourish to the entire scene surrounding them. “What the fuck is this?”

A hand fell on his arm and he felt Raelyn’s swollen belly pressed against his side. She buried her face into the curve of his shoulder, suppressing a sob as she pulled him close. His body felt stiff, like he’d turned into a marble statue. This was all some joke. It had to be. There was no way that any of this was real.

“How?”

“The Jade Fangs were responsible,” cut in Seokjin.

Taehyung’s eyes narrowed. “There’s no way that—”

Yoongi sighed gently. “You told us her location, Taehyung-ah.”

It was like someone dumped a bucket of ice water over his body.

“W-What?” That was impossible. He hadn’t been able to obtain that information. “I didn’t—”

“We realize that now,” added Namjoon. When Taehyung glanced at him, he nearly hiccupped at the dark expression painted over his brother’s face. “They texted us from your phone. It was all a setup from the start.”

Again, silence filled the small space around them save for the members of Jimin’s family who came, as well as friends.

“They’re gone, Taehyung-ah.”

Twisting his face to look back at Hoseok, he noticed his other brothers crowding around him in a semicircle. It wasn’t until his vision went out of focus that Taehyung realized he was now crying.

“What?” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “What do—”

Hoseok’s face softened, his brows furrowing before he closed his eyes. “They’re gone.”

The sun slowly set over Seoul’s cityscape. Lights blinked with life in succession, illuminating the darkness. Taehyung listlessly stared out over the vast expanse while standing on the hospital’s rooftop, lips puckered out while indulging on a sucker. He didn’t remember running from the mourning chamber. He didn’t remember banging his knee on the steps as he tripped over his own feet upon his ascent.

No one chased after him. They knew better. They knew he would likely implode if they did.

Taehyung didn’t stay for the cremation process. He would have thrown himself into the flames right along with them. Selfish? Of course he was. He was man enough to admit that all he could see was red.

Pulling out his phone, he crushed the candy between his teeth. Scrolling through the numerous voicemails left by Hoseok, he stopped until he saw Jimin’s name. His thumb hovered over his name, trembling, before he pressed down on the screen.

It automatically played the message on speaker mode.

“Ya, Kim Taehyung,” came Jimin’s voice from the receiver.

Taehyung’s brows furrowed, hearing the pained chuckle that followed.

“…you son of a bitch. How could you just take off for the gates of the Underworld alone? Huh?”

His grip tightened on the phone, feeling his arm shaking from the force of his hold. There was an uncomfortable stretch of silence before he heard Jimin speak again.

“Don’t even think about stirring up a bunch of shit without me. Jungkook and I will be there soon.”

Without any warning, Taehyung fell to his knees. The phone fell with a clatter beside him as his hands gripped onto the roof’s railing. His whole body shook, his silent sobs rattling through him. The tears that streamed from his face were hot and thick. He swore he could feel his own blood leaking from his eyes.

Jungkook. 

Jimin.

Eden.

They were gone. 

Mercilessly ripped away from the life they more than deserved to live.

Someone had to answer for this. 

Someone was going to answer for this.

“I’ll make them pay,” he growled, glaring at the landscape as he ground his teeth together, “I swear to your God, Jimin-ah…”

I’ll fucking kill them all.

[kpoppwriter]

We Got Married! First Date - Hongseok

Genre: fluff au

Words: 1.4k+

Tag List: @chanyeolol , @mashtons-unicorn

a/n: I’ve been starting to get into a new group like hard core starting to stan so I haven’t been able to write Pentagon stuff but I watched the Road to Kingdom teasers and fell back into the Pentagon rabbit hole lmao if you can guess which group it is and if you can guess my bias you win also I might do reactions for this AU if people want it! I think there are some reactions that could work for this AU 

We Got Married Masterlist~

As the fountain got into your field of vision, you stopped. You started getting cold feet, too nervous to keep going. You heard your phone chime.

? - I’m waiting for you, wife~

You kind of let out a squeak, the text catching you off guard. You siked yourself up enough to walk over to the fountain. You didn’t see anyone when you got there. You walked around, seeing if there was someone sitting on the other side. You spotted someone dressed in a suit on the other side sitting with a bouquet of flowers. You gasped quietly as they got up, recognizing them right away.

“Oh! Hello,” you said shyly

“Hi there.”

You felt yourself blush immediately after seeing the man in front of you. He was very attractive. You were having a hard time processing everything. 

“I-I’m Y/N of Y/G,” you struggled to say

“I’m Pentagon’s Hongseok,” he smiled

Wow...he’s so charismatic. He hasn’t even done anything. He’s smiled at you. Wow. Whatta man.

His eyes raked over your figure quickly, almost as if he didn’t want you to see. A small smirk graced his lips. You weren’t sure what was going through his mind but you wanted to sink into the ground beneath you. 

“You’re wearing the dress,” he raised his eyebrow at you, “It makes you look really beautiful.”

“Thanks,” you murmured

“Your face is so red. Are you feeling alright?” 

He came closer to you. His hand delicately touched your cheek, checking your temperature. He looked concerned but in that moment you were more concerned with how close he was to you. You wanted to pull your face away but for some reason couldn’t. You assured him you were alright, despite your face getting redder and redder by the second. He didn’t seem too sure but he accepted your answer. He pulled his hand away finally after what felt like an eternity. 

“Well, I was thinking we could go take a walk down by Han River, if you’d like to.”

“That sounds great to me,” you responded softly

“Great,” he smiled sweetly

He motioned for you to walk towards the exit of the park with him. Just as you were about to head that way, he stopped. His hand went into his jacket pocket, digging around for something. He pulled out a small velvet box.

“I saw these earlier when I got them from the staff,” he opened the box. Two matching silver rings sat inside, “Not as extravagant as I’d get for someone like you but beautiful nonetheless.” 

He took your hand in his, sliding the smaller of the two rings onto your finger. You watched him as he placed the other ring on his own finger. He admired the shiny band on his finger before smiling at you, his hand outstretched towards you. 

“Ready to go?”

~

Hongseok lead you to his car where the two of you drove to Han River. You stopped at a convenience store before actually going to the river. You both grabbed tons of snacks and sweets to munch on as you walked by the river. He very kindly paid for all the food, despite you insisting that you’d pay for your items. He refused though saying that you were his wife now and he was going to treat you as such. His words stunned you and he used that as his opportunity to pay for the snacks. 

You got back into the car after the snacks were purchased and drove the small distance to Han River. The sun was out but there were still clouds in the sky, making it a perfect day to walk. The sun wasn’t beating down on the two of you but it was still pleasantly warm. 

You stabbed your straw into your second yogurt drink in the last 15 minutes. You sipped on it contently as you strolled leisurely beside Hongseok. He watched you in amazement as you happily drank another yogurt drink.

“Wahh, you have a bigger appetite than me!” he teased

“Hey! Don’t make fun of me,” you pouted, elbowing him in the side

“I’m not,” he laughed, “I think it’s cute.”

His hand came up to your hair, ruffling it. He looked at you sweetly, as if you actually were his wife. You blushed furiously as you looked down at the sidewalk taking another drink. Hongseok chuckled to himself. He very much enjoyed seeing you blush over the small actions he did. He made it a personal challenge to see how much he could get you to blush. 

You pointed out a playground within walking distance from where you were. Hongseok took this as his opportunity. He took your hand in his, interlocking fingers with you. He pulled you in the direction of the playground.

“Lets go,” he smiled at you

~

After an exhausting day of trying to keep up with Hongseok, you finally made it back to your dorms. Hongseok drove you home and walked you up to the front door. He was really sweet. You kind of wished you had spent more time together but you were already so tired from just the few hours you spent with him. How was the rest of this experience going to go?

It was fun though, spending time with him. After he dragged you to the playground, he insisted on pushing you on the swings. You had another romantic heart fluttering moment there too. You swear your face must’ve looked like a tomato for the entire time you were together. How he got you to blush so easily was a mystery to you but an absolute joy for him. 

He showed off his strength too. I mean if I had a body like him, I’d constantly be showing off. He challenged you to a pull up contest. You and him knew who was going to win but it was still fun to try and beat him. Overall, the day was super fun and exciting. And you were excited to see him again.

You trudged into the living room of the dorms, flopping down on the couch with a loud sigh. The eldest member of your group walked in after getting a drink from the kitchen.

“How was it?” she asked, a teasing tone to here voice

You just hummed, knowing she wouldn’t press you for details if you didn’t want to talk about it. You heard some murmur of voices and footsteps coming your way. 

“Y/N! You’re back!”

“How’d it go?”

“You look tired.”

“That’s because I am,” you half laughed-half sighed, “It was good. We had fun.”

“Where’d you go?”

“We went for a walk by Han River,” you responded

“Ahh~ That’s so romantic~”

“I wish I had a boyfriend to go on dates with!”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you grumbled

“Yeah, he’s your husband,” your eldest member teased

“Hey! He’s-”

You were interrupted by the sound of your phone ringing. You looked at the caller ID and your face became dusted in a rosy tint. You took the phone in your hand, shushing your members before answering.

“Hey Hongseok.”

Your group mates quietly gossiped to themselves. They went on and on about how attractive he was and how jealous they were that he was your husband. You got up off of the couch and went to your shared room, knowing no one would be in there since everyone was in the living room. 

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“No! I was just getting an interview from my group members,” you laughed

“Ah, you too?” he chuckled, “I just got finished with my interview.”

You laughed, relating to how over it he sounded. 

“I was just calling to let you know I had a lot of fun today.”

“I did too,” you smiled, knowing he wouldn’t see

“I’m really glad you did,” you could hear the smile in his voice, “If you ever need anything or want to talk, don’t hesitate to call.”

“Yeah, I will.” 

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?” he asked even though he knew the answer

“Mhmm, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And with that, you ended the call. You flopped down on your bed with a loud sigh. You groaned as you recounted your day yet again. Why was this man making you feel butterflies? He wasn’t your real boyfriend. But why did he treat you like you were his real girlfriend. You rolled over into your pillow, letting out a muffled scream. It was going to be a rough time shooting this show. 

[archadianskies]

Whumptober Day 23

Exhaustion + Sleep Deprivation  → part of the MT-RK900

Whumptober Masterlist | 23/31 of RK900 short stories ↳ on Ao3

Tags:  Post-Pacifist Best Ending x Exhaustion x Sleep Deprivation

{Character sheet + bonus art here, and here. }

It starts small, starts as barely noticeable symptoms that can easily be mistaken for something else. Nothing is easily mistaken to him, nothing is ever dismissed casually, not when he deals with people’s lives on a daily basis. That includes the lives of his colleagues too, and today, specifically, it involves the lives of his human colleagues.

“Dr Fitzpatrick, you are exhibiting the initial signs of influenza.” He tells his senior, the Director of the trauma unit and his attending leader for the shift. “It is best to take precautionary measures and time off to recuperate whilst removing yourself from possibly infecting others.”

“What?” She blinks at him, brows creased and lips pursed in a frown. “It’s been a long shift, that’s all.” He says nothing, though his expression must say a lot because her frown deepens. “You’re sure?”

“With adequate care you will recover much quicker and stop the spread amongst our colleagues, than if you were to continue working and possibly, quite rapidly, infect others.” Ronan says evenly. “Influenza season is already underway, we are treating more and more patients everyday and we have had three deaths already.”

She gives him a long hard look, searching his face for some sort of reaction before she sighs tiredly. “Are there others on the team you think might have it?”

“There are four possible nurses, one clerk, and two registrars also exhibiting early signs.” Ronan informs her and she groans into her hand, rubbing her temples. 

“It’s not up to me to give others time off, you know.”

“I know. But you can speak to the right staff, and I can give them my findings.” He nods.

“We’re run off our feet already, and you’re rostered at Jericho for the next three days!”

“I can change that. Androids are not susceptible to influenza, and aside from the cold weather affecting some of the older models, we weather winter well.” He glances at the door. “If you can help arrange it, I will stay on for the week and use mainly a team mostly made up of the other android nurses here, minimising the risk of infection amongst the staff.”

“Ronan, you- that’s insane! No one can work an entire week, especially not in trauma!”

“No human can, but I am not human.” Ronan reminds her gently, and he knows she is tired and she knows he is counting on this. She relents, shoulders sagging.

“Four days. Not seven. Four, and I will aim to be back by then.” She points her finger at him accusingly. “Don’t you dare take on more than you can handle. You’re the best trauma surgeon I’ve ever worked with, so god help me if you run yourself ragged because you’re too damn nice!”

* 

So it begins. After careful negotiations the ration rises from five human nurses for every one android nurse, to two humans per one android. Ronan assigns various amounts of memory in his processing core to take over the clerical duties, and the E.D. phone is now answered by an ST300 temporarily stepping in from reception. This means she can answer the call and feed the information directly onto his HUD for ease of triaging. He keeps patient charts in a digital folder, and medication schedules, and theatre bookings.

He utilises programming that would normally be used for listing mission objectives and keeping tabs on the status of other soldiers in his battalion, for good instead, for saving lives and managing their care. At the seventieth hour mark, one of the android nurses pass him a bottle of thirium and he drains it, belatedly realising his levels are below optimum given how fast he is burning through it due to the high number of processes he is running. No matter. He will continue.

 At the eightieth hour, he receives a concerned message from Simon while he is operating on a stabbing victim. The knife penetrated into the victim’s small bowel and it is a race against time to repair the damage. He manages to send Simon a quick reassuring message that yes he is fine, but will not be able to come home for some time yet. Dr Fitzpatrick had said four days but he knows it will not be four days. He will need longer because the humans will need longer. It is alright. He is an RK900, CyberLife’s latest cutting edge android. He can manage.

As predicted, Dr Fitzpatrick does not return after four days. No matter. Ronan powers on, temporarily rotating out the last of the human nurses as a precautionary measure as a surge of new influenza patients floods the hospital. Humans are woefully unprepared for the season due to a lot of factors, be they socio-economic or just plain ignorance. There was a pandemic his father lived through, with many wild tales of humans simply ignoring even the basic, primitive safety measures attempted. It does not surprise Ronan to see so many victims this season either, given all that Hank has told him about those ‘unprecedented times’. 

There is no time to stand under the charging bay downlights. There has been a shooting and there are multiple victims en route to the hospital. And hours before that, there had been a multi vehicle crash on the highway. And hours before that, there was a case of food poisoning at a children’s party which meant Ronan had to call the paediatric registrar for extra help. There is never a good time, and so he has to be conservative about power usage to ensure he can still handle the workload safely. 

“Your hair is white.” One of the nurses whisper to him as they’re scrubbing up for yet another surgery. Ah. His stress levels must be high. He hasn’t checked- he turned off his notifications ten hours ago. 

“I am functioning adequately. It is only cosmetic.” He reassures them with words, and he’s glad there’s a mask over his mouth because he hasn’t quite mastered how to give reassuring smiles to match. 

“You’ve been on call for five days, nearly six now.” They’re brows crease in concern and beneath their mask Ronan knows they are frowning. “You’ve given all of us an hour break every eight hours to ensure we have enough time to charge adequately. You’ve done this for all android staff except yourself!”

“There is no other android qualified for surgery.” He reminds them, flicking through the patient’s stats and passing them on to the surgical team. “So I cannot rest.”

On the first surgery on his sixth consecutive day as the trauma surgeon on call, Ronan finds that the bulbs in the surgical downlights have been replaced with UV charging lights. The same nurse who raised concerns earlier gives him a somewhat stern, no-nonsense look.

“So you can charge while you operate.” A compromise, he realises, and a very kind one too. He gets to work, and he feels the tension unwind from his shoulders, his battery core soaking up the charge as the lights bear down on him. It’s not quite stasis, not quite reprieve from the onslaught of duties, but it’s close.

**

“Simon?” Dr Anthea looks up from her tablet, blinking in surprise as the Jericho leader stands in the doorway of her office. “What can I do for you?”

“Ronan is still at Detroit Metro.” The PL600 chews his bottom lip, wringing his hands together anxiously. “It’s been six whole days straight and he stopped answering my messages on the fourth day.”

“Yes he’s temporarily removed himself from our roster to manage Detroit Metro ED while the human staff recover from the flu.” She sighs, shaking her head. “He’s very much like you, you know: he’ll work himself ragged for the sake of others.” Not quite the answer Simon hopes to hear, she’s sure, but it’s the one she’s giving because she’s right. She’s heard the tales from Professor Joshua. She knows during Jericho’s early stage, Simon nearly died keeping everyone safe and functioning. 

“I just- I’ve left so many messages at reception and though the receptionist assures me she’s passed them on, I can’t help but feel like he literally won’t stop unless he’s physically unable to keep working.” Simon gives her a pained look to which she can only reply with a cocked brow.

“Like you, Simon?”

“Well- alright, yes, like me!” Simon huffs, and it coaxes a laugh from her as the PL600 looks torn between embarrassment and determination. “You are the only android surgeon still qualified to work at human hospitals. To work at that human hospital.” He says it quietly, with caution, because they both know that was a different part of her life. Not an unpleasant one, definitely not, given she deviated out of empathy, out of kindness, but still a different chapter now put behind her. She has the qualifications because she never bothered to give them up like the other medroids. Sentimentality, perhaps, because Detroit Metro had been her home for so very long and to still see a valid ID badge gives her a little spark of joy whenever she opens her drawer. 

“Please?” Simon of the Jericho Four is pleading with her and she knows she cannot deny him a single thing, lovely and courageous and prone to martyrdom as he is.

*

It’s been eight days, twice the number of days she thought she’d need, but she’s feeling strong and healthy and definitely not weighed down by any symptoms anymore. Damn that android and his perceptive, persuasive ways. She both hates and loves how he’d been right, and yes he’s been running an incredibly tight ship here in her absence, though she wonders which other staff he’s rostered on to replace him because obviously he hasn’t been working the entire eight days straight. Right? Surely not. Obviously not. She warned him she’d be Very Cross if he worked more than four days. 

“Nicola?” She turns at the voice and there, right there is Medroid Anthea. The surgeon she shoved into an ambulance with as many android nurses as she could find when racing through the unit after that horrible announcement androids had to be surrendered to the police. Not on her watch, no damn way. 

“Anthea.” She smiles, though a little puzzled. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, you’ve worn my best surgeon down to his bones here so I’m coming back as a favour, just so he gets rest.” There’s a pause as she lets that sink in.

“Are you telling me Ronan’s been here the entire time?! All eight days?!” She nearly explodes with anger and Anthea cocks a perfectly arched brow in that gesture she hasn’t realised she’s missed seeing so much. They made such a great team.

“Why do you sound like you didn’t know this?”

“Because I didn’t! I’ve been on sick leave, recovering from the flu! Oh that boy, honestly!”

“Simon’s here to drag him home, and I’m here for his shift.” Anthea smiles as she clips her ID onto her scrubs. “Just like old times?”

She’s smiling so hard her cheeks ache. “Yeah. Just like old times.”

* 

Simon can’t even stay angry with him. The anger just seeps out of him the moment he sees how exhausted Ronan looks, his hair stark white meaning his stress levels are at their peak given the weather isn’t cold enough to activate his tundra camouflage. He’d demanded his stats and the RK900 had given them with great embarrassment and Simon realised he’d been so very close to just shutting down to conserve what pitiful charge he had left. Honestly.

“You’re mad at me.” Ronan says quietly as Simon ushers him inside the apartment.

“I was.” Simon hangs up their coats before wrapping his arms around his waist and pressing his cheek to his chest. “Couldn’t stay mad, though. I know why you did it.”

“I had to help.”

“I know, love. I know.” Simon sighs, looking up at him fondly. “Because you’re a good, kind person and a wonderful colleague.”

Ronan says nothing, only offers a small smile before leaning down to bump his nose against his fondly.

“Right.” Simon declares with a nod, stepping back, grabbing his wrist and tugging him to their bedroom. “I’m putting you under the lights for a six hour charge and you are not leaving the bed a second earlier.”

“Yes, doctor.” Ronan smiles tiredly, pausing only to press their lips together in quiet gratitude before he lays down and closes his eyes. 

[clansayeed]

Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ― Chapter 16: The Fugitives

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ⥽

While struggling with nightmares of lives she’s never lived, a shadow from the past looming over her city, and the proposed idea that her life may just be a little bit too weird to handle alone, Nadya makes sure to tell herself that everything is perfect just the way it is. If only. When the self-proclaimed King of Vampires (and Maker of her sometimes-girlfriend and always-boss, can’t forget that little tidbit) Gaius Augustine returns intent on claiming Manhattan as the throne that was promised, she and her friends find themselves forced into the task of saving the world. But with millennia-old vampires and an Order of hunters on their heels as well as allies hiding catastrophic secrets at their backs… it won’t be an easy task. Too bad destiny didn’t exactly ask for her input.

Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Destiny II tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Nadya and the others land in Paris in the hopes that Adrian's mysterious psychic friend will be able to help them in their search for a way to stop Gaius. But things are very different for vampires in Europe; from old customs that could prove dangerous to a secret Order that definitely is.

[READ IT ON AO3]

The storm follows them across the ocean. Nadya doesn’t mind; even if it does paint her first view of Paris in bleak and grey. How it looks outside matches how she feels inside — and somehow that helps in its own little way.

Landing is slightly less bumpy than takeoff though that isn’t saying much. When Adrian’s voice comes over the speakers telling them to buckle in her stomach flips nervous. Her nervous habit would have Nadya lifting the shade on the window to watch their descent but it’s too close to dawn; too much of a risk — so she just picks a spot on the wall and stares.

Though why she had to pick the splattered blood, remnant of their actual pilot whose fate Priya left gruesome evidence of, she didn’t know.

The jet pulls deep into the hangar; keeps the shadows tied around them like a safety blanket as the cabin depressurizes and they disembark. Adrian is already on the ground addressing the airport crew in rapid French and its by pure chance that Nadya is the last one to step out.

Hands braced on either side of the doorway; looking down but not really seeing. Because the second she takes that first step she’s not in that strange in-between of an airplane anymore. She’s not somehow, in some small way, still tied to New York.

Not like refusing to move will get you back there though, which her rational brain says no matter how much Nadya doesn’t want to hear it. And it’s right.

The gold rim of Nadya’s charm bracelet dug grooves into her palm hours ago. She squeezes and keeps the imprint fresh the whole way down.

The routine will be a familiar one by the time all this is done. Shuffling from the hangar to an expensive-but-modest (and safety-tinted) vehicle. From the vehicle to wherever they’re staying — and Nadya hadn’t actually thought about that part but thankfully Adrian had. Then the brisk walk disguising a mad dash to the safety of indoors.

The storm here tastes different. Nadya can’t say how, exactly, but it does.

And it’s abundantly clear when they step into the apartment that it wasn’t made to accommodate four (five, taking into account this Serafine woman) people but they’ll make do.

While the rest of them flick light switches and outlets, check out bathrooms and make sure blinds are drawn tight and secure, Adrian turns to a small kitchen. There’s a large manila envelope on the counter that he grabs like he was expecting it. Now that Nadya thinks about it — he probably was.

He beckons them to join him in the main room and confirms her suspicions. Starts pulling out handfuls of papers from within and spreading them out for all to see.

Passports, paperwork, little cards with a set of what look like emergency phone numbers handwritten neatly under the laminate. He hands each of them a different color of the same clunky flip-phone but the rest they have to sort out of the pile themselves.

Jax grabs for his passport; props it open with his fingers to stare at the photo in discontent.

“Do I want to know where you got this information?” He asks gruffly. Nadya glances at her own. She’d just assumed everything was taken from her personnel file.

Adrian shrugs it off, like privacy isn’t a real thing. “The Council always keeps —” and the need to change the tense throws him for a second, “— has always kept this kind of information on hand in case of emergencies like this.”

“You had a plan for ‘Sociopath Regent Takes Over the City?’”

“Funny. You know what I mean.” He starts plugging numbers from his regular phone into the burner. “Kamilah and I have been seeing the same woman for papers since… for as long as I can remember, actually. These aren’t forgeries, they’re the real thing. They’ll be your IDs and travel papers while we’re here and in case we need to leave town.

“Phones, please.”

One by one they lay their real phones out. And one by one he presses the heel of his palm into the fragile metal and glass until each one yields with a crunch.

Lily doesn’t hide a little noise of distress; nor does she turn down the offer to tuck herself against Nadya’s side in consolation. Adrian offers her an apologetic look. “It’s for the best, Lily.”

She sighs as a reply. Adrian can’t do much else but take what he can get.

“Normally I wouldn’t call it necessary, but we can’t take any chances. Priya and the Baron have access to the same resources, finances, and investigative tools that Kamilah and I do. We’re lucky in that the papers are a favor from an old friend, but I have a feeling favors are going to be few and far between going forward.”

His words put them all on edge. Jax fiddles with the strap of his sword resting in his lap.

“You make it sound like we’re fugitives.”

For a moment it looks like Adrian plans on denying it; correcting him, maybe, with something a bit more eloquent or less dangerous.

But that would be downplaying the severity of the situation now… wouldn’t it?

“Until we know just how many from the clans went to Gaius’ side we may as well be. At the height of his power there wasn’t a city across the country that didn’t somehow wield his influence. Gaius kept his inner circle close but over the years Kamilah and I, along with Vega, Lester, and probably even some I don’t know by name, put all our effort into securing his kingdom.”

Nadya looks down to see Adrian’s fist clenched, shaking in his lap. If the coffee table weren’t between them she’d reach over and try to steady him. That darkness on his face is becoming uncomfortably familiar.

His eyes sweep over the two younger vampires; a fact he seems to have only just realized. “You’re all… so young.” And the look on his face is as exhausted as he was prior to feeding on the plane. Not a good sign.

“What does that have to do with anything?” asks Jax. Adrian’s jaded little “ha” isn’t an answer but still speaks volumes.

“It makes you vulnerable. It makes all of us vulnerable.”

His eyebrow quirks up; a look between the lamenting older vampire and his katana that says “let someone underestimate me like that, see what happens.” Not that he says it.

As the youngest of them all, the worry in Lily’s voice is justified. “How so?”

“We probably should have gone over this earlier.”

“Gone over what?”

It’s slowly dawning on Nadya why Kamilah had been so bewildered by her invitation to Lily’s One-Year Turning party. At the time she had thought it was because of the fact they had kinda-sorta split just a few days before, even if she wrote the woman off as being a bit dramatic… which in hindsight wasn’t like Kamilah at all and should have tripped more than a few alarms in her head.

And, really, she only has herself to blame for being so surprised. She’s encountered this type of behavior before — she watched the proud and accomplished Kamilah bend her head to the Trinity, despite looking like she would have rather staked them instead.

Because things are different overseas; the culture here is nothing like in the States. Among those the oldest of their friends had spent her centuries with. It only made sense for her to hold on to old habits.

Here in Europe everything is based on the only thing that has ever mattered to a race of immortals. Age.

“Modern innovation hasn’t just made human lives easier, but ours as well. Blood bags, tinted glass — more and more vampires are living through their initial fifty years. That may not sound like much to you, but it was a cultural stigma that was just starting to phase out by the time I was Turned. Think about how long humans were expected to live back then, and in the hundreds of years before.

“The longer you’ve lived, the stronger you are. Smarter, faster. Able to outwit nature itself and the constant changing of civilization. The newly Turned were taught to admire that kind of survival instinct. Admiration became respect, which gave way to superiority. There was once a time when speaking improperly to a vampire a certain number of years over you was grounds for defanging.”

Lily’s hand flies to her mouth — either from shock or to protect herself, both are applicable. From the look on his face Jax can’t help himself from thinking about how many times his words would have gotten him outright staked.

“But much of this mentality came from centuries of being at war for their very lives,” Adrian continues, “The whole reason Gaius set his sights on the New World was to try and solidify a place of power outside of their enemies’ reach. For centuries now the vampires on this side of the world have been living in the shadows. Survival is as good as currency; a symbol of strength and power that demands an inherent respect. And in truth that desperation worries me.

“The idea of an empire ruled by a Vampire King might sound pretty appealing to more than just people like Priya and the Baron. People who would do anything for freedom… even hunt us down.”

The look he gives Nadya is as forlorn as it is resigned. They didn’t flee to safety over here. Paris just happened to be where they needed to go. They’re still in just as much danger.

Maybe even more danger, now that she thinks about it. At least back home she knew the faces of the people who would hurt her friends. Here everyone is a stranger.

They really are fugitives.

The feeling seeps out from him and to the rest of them, bleeds into their clothes and skin until the entire apartment is stifling with their new understanding. Nadya rubs at her throat with an open palm. It feels like a real, physical vice around her.

“And you’re sure we can trust this psychic chick of yours?” Lily asks to clarify.

Small mercies; like the relief Nadya feels seeing Adrian’s stalwart nod. In this he is certain, unlike everything else going on around them.

“Absolutely. I met her through Kamilah; the pair of them go way back. When you meet her you’ll understand. I knew immediately when we met I could trust her with my life.”

Lily and Nadya exchange mutual stifled giggles; it’s pretty damning that Adrian is too lost in whatever memories he may have of this ally to notice.

When he comes back he’s still oblivious. “And for what it’s worth she was the person I asked for guidance when the time came to put a stop to Gaius’ plans. She was the one who made up my mind in the end.”

Which automatically gets her Jax’s seal of approval. “I like her already.”

Because her life is the way it is, it isn’t lost on Nadya how all of her friends are vampires and, with it being in the middle of the day and all, they don’t hide how tired they all are very well.

She’d been out like a light the entire flight. Excessive emotions, crying, and fright will do that to a poor human heart. But the same definitely couldn’t be said for Adrian who had flown them all here, and probably for the rest of them either.

“Still no word from Serafine?”

Adrian looks up from his phone and shakes his head mutely. That’s all she needed to hear. “Then get some sleep. Seriously, you look like you all need it.” There’s something else they need, too, but that Nadya can’t quite provide right now.

Hopefully in an apartment full of vampire-specific amenities like black-out curtains and a window that doesn’t face direct sunlight at any time of day anyway, blood bags are covered. Or, like, hot French donors or something.

Lily is the first to stop pretending; yawns wide and loud and with a stretch that almost hits Jax in the face. “You gonna be good, Nadi’?”

Good is relative, she thinks, and definitely doesn’t say it.

“Actually I was thinking about going out. We need clothes, I need food…” Because like most girls, Nadya finds the siren song of French shopping trip to be almost impossible to resist.

Adrian doesn’t look entirely thrilled with the idea of her wandering the streets all by her lonesome, but it’s a point in her favor that they can’t go with because of the sunlight; “Which means all the other vampires will be asleep too.” He can’t argue with that.

Well he could. He doesn’t — which might be more for his benefit, she realizes as he clears his throat to contain a yawn of his own, than hers.

But every step she takes further away from the apartment complex feels heavier and heavier; until Nadya doesn’t think she could possibly go another step without breaking through the concrete and sinking into the center of the earth.

Back home the world is kind of ending. And here she is, squinting against the dreary sun (hey it’s sun, she’ll take it in any form) and snapping subtle pictures every couple of minutes and praying the older phone doesn’t ruin the quality.

Does she even have a right to enjoy herself anymore?

Why shouldn’t she find joy in the fleeting things while she can?

Nadya leans against a nearby building, hands flat on the freezing brickwork, and inhales deeply. Funny how a city smells like a city wherever you go. But it’s hard to breathe through the tightness in her chest.

That was Kamilah’s voice in her head. And, yes, most of her rational thoughts over the past couple of months have sounded like Kamilah (the best coping mechanism her subconscious had invented yet, really) but it’s different now isn’t it?

The voice has a point though.

And even with all of the storm clouds over her head there’s one little ray of light that shines through…

Kamilah would want her to enjoy this. For herself; for the both of them maybe. Ha, she can even see in the shadow of her eyelids that little downturn of the woman’s lips, hear some kind of admonishment like, “Paris is too beautiful of a city to spend your first time walking her streets in melancholy.”

The cold may be bitter but even with slushed snow pushing up against the curbs the beauty of the city can’t be denied. When the wind is too much Nadya finds a store and ducks inside, pink-cheeked and shivering, and does exactly what she told Adrian she would do.

Lily’s size she knows by heart — that’s no problem; if it has metal studs she buys it. Out of the corner of her eye she catches sight of a dazzling blue and finds it’s a neon-dyed leather cuff. She buys it because if Lily is feeling anything like she is… it’ll be a comfort.  Adrian is a guess-timate; it helps that one of the fresh-faced shopping aids looks roughly as tall as him in the store. Funny how their fake and placating smiles change when they see the black card she’s willing to put down. Well it’s Adrian’s, but, you know.

Nothing on this fancy side of the store caters to Jax’s unique brand of ‘Action Movie Star Who Shops Solely at Resale Outlets’ but she tries her best.

But the most important purchase of Nadya’s day comes near the evening and on her way back to the apartment.

Let it be known that there is no sadness a crepe stuffed with strawberries and shoveled full of choco-hazelnut spread. The pain later will be so. freakin'. worth it.

Nadya’s glad to find when she returns that she’s not the only one who needed a little time to relax. Not that crossing the threshold doesn’t immediately remind her of the weight of their predicament but who can think about that when she’s met with smiles relieved, happy, and rested?

When Lily is finished crushing the wind out of her lungs she pulls back and immediately hones in on… something. She watches as the girl licks her thumb and drags it over the corner of Nadya’s mouth, eying the stain with suspicion. Refuses to look even the slightest bit ashamed when she starts getting ragged on for not having brought enough sugar for everyone. She just shrugs with her hands full of large bags of fancy French clothes.

Not-so-amazingly all is pretty much forgiven for that.

Freshly showered and dressed, the curtains pulled back to reveal the beginnings of the Parisian night; the change in overall morale is almost jarring for all of them.

Well… almost. Because apparently neither rest nor a new (and perfectly-fit, thank you very much) look will un-crinkle Adrian’s brow. It’s been well over twenty-four hours and still no word from Serafine — from the entire reason they’re in Paris in the first place.

“What’s the plan if she never shows?” Jax asks finally; tired of the question flitting through their eyes but never through their lips. “We just fly back to New York?”

Unfortunately they all know that’s not exactly an option.

Adrian doesn’t have an answer, and it has him in knots. Jax turns away, back to his attempts to decipher the news anchor and her rapid French.

“It’s just not like Serafine at all,” he eventually confides; only in his lowest voice and when Nadya has signaled for Lily to turn up the news to the highest reasonable volume to drown them out, “I mean — it’s been a decade or so… I’d hoped to see her at Marcel’s, honestly. But that’s only in person. We’ve kept in close contact otherwise. She even wished me a good Dark Solstice…”

The more he says, the more Nadya’s starting to think there is to their connection. She places a gentle hand on top of his.

“How did you two meet? When, too, I guess I should ask.”

His smile is slow to start… but there. “We met in New Orleans, actually. At the Graveyard Shift.”

Maybe it’s because she’s touching him, or maybe it’s because they both share memories of that quirky little bar. God; it feels like they were there years ago now… But she can feel the tickle of him at the edges of her eyesight. Like her mind wants her to see… but — no. She can’t.

Maybe Adrian doesn’t want that. She can’t afford to lose someone else she loves because of this. But pulling back; pulling away? That would only prove she can’t ever care about her friends again.

Nadya keeps her hand on his because she needs to learn how to not look.

So she distracts herself, the both of them; “You said Kamilah introduced you?”

“Yes; it was pure coincidence that they knew one another. Kamilah and I were… on a job.” We were there because of Gaius. He doesn’t have to say it. She knows.

“We had drinks,” he continues, “they caught up and told me stories of their days back here in Europe. Even here in France, in Paris. Big vampire community here back then, apparently. And there was just this way she talked, Nadya. Like I could imagine I was there myself. There was still a lot of tension all around at the turn of the century, you see. People were still so disheartened. But when Serafine spoke about the world she brought light into it. All her centuries and she still saw beauty around her.”

That’s… a lot more than Nadya was expecting if she’s being honest. Not that she’s complaining! It’s so so nice to see Adrian talk like this. To see him look on something from his past with a happiness rather than that broiling anger.

“How come you’ve never mentioned her before?”

He blinks; taken aback. “How do you mean?”

“Well no offense,” read: full offense intended, “but I’m a little hurt there’s someone out there I could have been teasing you about this entire time. Especially when you and Lil’ started conspiring together.” Not that Nadya’s not still grateful for their intervention.

He’s just accrued a lot of payback is all.

It doesn’t get the smile she hoped for. It’s more like Senior Picture Day and your mother shoved you into a sweater vest.

“It’s not… Serafine and I aren’t like that.”

“You sure talk about her like you are.”

“What?” He has the audacity to actually look surprised. Well either that or he’s genuinely oblivious… which is seeming more and more like the truth. “I’ve barely said anything about her. Until now, obviously.”

She nods slowly. “Mmhm, yeah that’s true. But I think you and I both know it’s not what we say… but how we say it.”

After all; Adrian had seen her at the Ball. Had trusted Kamilah to keep her safe while he was away with Katherine and maybe he knew even before Nadya herself did. He’s remarkably astute for a complete dork.

He gives a long sigh and looks out the window instead of giving her an answer. If she were anyone else she might worry about having gone too far. Especially taking into account they’re still boss and assistant.

But she’s Nadya — so she doesn’t worry about that at all.

“Hey, I’m all for it. In fact I’m honestly relieved,” she catches how his facial muscles twitch; she has his attention, “since up until now I’ve been under the impression the only people you’ve been into were the bad guys.”

Adrian groans. “Please don’t remind me.” She doesn’t have to. Valdas did that enough on his own at Persephone.

Even after Vega; they never talked about that. Seeing as she had just watched the old-as-dirt vampire chop off a man’s head, Nadya definitely wasn’t going to be the one to bring it up. Maybe (and especially after the events of their meeting) she should have. For Adrian’s sake.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

Nadya jumps. No use trying to hide it with that kind of reaction. Luckily Adrian shrugs it off. “I wish I had an answer; Kamilah certainly wants to know. That night when you were dancing with your friends she very clearly told me her thoughts on it. I only wish now I’d understood what she was trying to warn me about.”

“Trust me, I think we both underestimated them. And how much they were involved in everything that happened.”

“I think back to that night sometimes.”

“T-M-I.”

“No,” he sighs, “about… something he said. We got to talking about experiences, then wars, then soldiers… and now I can’t help but wonder if he knew who I was before I even introduced myself.”

“Because that’s what Gaius called you? His Soldier?”

Adrian tenses under her touch. Nadya goes to pull back, curses herself for opening her mouth in the first place… but the way he relaxes is a silent permission. So she stays. “Kamilah told me about… but I’ve been a little nervous to ask, truth be told.”

Ask how much you’ve seen of me, he means.

“Another time, maybe.” Because I can’t push you away too.

His laugh is rueful; harsher than he should ever sound. “Fair enough. But you’re right — I was… that. But I wasn’t the first. Actually… I think that was Valdas; that he was the first of Gaius’ soldiers. Maybe that’s why I was drawn to him.”

There’s an unspoken asterisk hanging on the edge of his words. That’s what I tell myself, or something to that effect. Nadya is no stranger to the lies we tell ourselves to find the strength to keep moving, so she can hardly blame him.

“Does it matter…?”

“No,” and it’s clear he wants to wave the conversation off, “it doesn’t matter. Why try to find rationale in the irrational, right?”

Fair point.

But that doesn’t sit well with her. That he’s okay drawing comparisons between himself and that manipulative man — no matter what Valdas would say to the contrary. That being alike to him is better than… than the other elephant in the room.

“Adrian?”

Nadya keeps her eyes trained pointedly on the table; on their hands. He can feel him look at her, feel the tension rippling under his skin.

“Hm, what is it?”

“We never talked about what happened.”

And for a second she’s hopeful. Sees the resolve flicker in his normally unwavering armor. He’s just as exhausted as she is; if not more. Doesn’t that mean maybe…

“Another time, maybe.”

Nadya knows he’s just giving her back the same response; and maybe she even deserves it. But that doesn’t mean she’s not left sitting there, watching him head into the living room to join the others, feeling like Adrian’s just slapped her in the face.

[theliberaltony]

via Politics – FiveThirtyEight

Last week, Twitter tried something new. When President Trump tweeted that “There is NO WAY (ZERO!) that Mail-In Ballots will be anything less than substantially fraudulent,” Twitter appended this message to Trump’s tweet: “Get the facts about mail-in ballots” — which in turn, linked to a page with the headline: “Trump makes unsubstantiated claim that mail-in ballots will lead to voter fraud.”

Given the dangers misinformation poses to both democracy and public health, many believe social media platforms have a responsibility to monitor and correct misinformation before it spreads. But can corrections like this even work? And what role should social media platforms play in combating misinformation?

Well, it turns out there is evidence that fact checks do work. Numerous studies have demonstrated that when confronted with a correction, a significant share of people do, in fact, update their beliefs.

Political scientists Ethan Porter and Thomas J. Wood conducted an exhaustive battery of surveys on fact-checking, across more than 10,000 participants and 13 studies that covered a range of political, economic and scientific topics. They found that 60 percent of respondents gave accurate answers when presented with a correction, while just 32 percent of respondents who were not given a correction expressed accurate beliefs. That’s pretty solid proof that fact-checking can work.

But Porter and Wood have found, alongside many other fact-checking researchers, some methods of fact-checking are more effective than others. Broadly speaking, the most effective fact checks have this in common:

They are from highly credible sources (with extra credit for those that are also surprising, like Republicans contradicting other Republicans or Democrats contradicting other Democrats).

They offer a new frame for thinking about the issue (that is, they don’t simply dismiss a claim as “wrong” or “unsubstantiated”).

They don’t directly challenge one’s worldview and identity.

They happen early, before a false narrative gains traction.

So despite a few studies suggesting that fact checks may make misinformation more prevalent (most prominently a widely-cited paper from political scientists Brendan Nyhan and Jason Reifler in 2010, which popularized the concept of the “backfire effect”), the overwhelming majority of studies have found that fact checks do work — or at the very least, do no harm. Still, some pieces of misinformation are harder to fight than others. And this episode involving Trump has several qualities that may make Twitter’s “get the facts” approach not exactly effective.

First, there’s the source: Donald Trump. Trust him or doubt him, chances are you have an opinion of the president. And if you already trust him, who are you going to trust more in this particular disagreement? Trump? Or CNN and the Washington Post (the two sources Twitter listed in its fact check)?

But given Trump’s notoriety, his misstatements may just be harder to combat. In one of Porter and Wood’s experiments, they took an op-ed by Trump and issued a correction on two versions of the piece: one (correctly) attributed to Trump and one attributed to Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell. The authors found that the fact-check of McConnell moved significantly more respondents toward the accurate position than did the fact check of Trump.1

Next, there’s the fact that Twitter referenced articles from CNN and the Washington Post to correct the record. Research shows that an unlikely, surprising source for debunking misinformation, like a fellow Republican criticizing Trump, is just much more effective at making a correction stick than a more predictable and unsurprising source (like CNN or the Washington Post, both of which Trump has also cast as his enemies).

A Trump-supporting reader might take a closer look if told that Republican state officials in Idaho and Washington had complete confidence in the security of voting by mail, or that an exhaustive 17-month law enforcement inquiry into voter fraud in Florida, a state governed by fellow Republican Ron DeSantis, found no evidence of wrongdoing. This combination of surprise and credibility, in theory, would activate a closer look — the kind of attention required for mental updating.

And although Republicans en masse did not criticize Trump’s tweet that equated voting by mail with voter fraud, one recent example of a surprising debunk (and therefore, perhaps a maybe more effective fact check) is the Wall Street Journal’s editorial board’s take down of Trump’s allegation that cable news host Joe Scarborough was responsible for the death of a female staffer while he was a Republican congressman in Florida. The WSJ editorial board wrote that Trump’s suggestion “that the talk-show host is implicated in the woman’s death isn’t political hardball. It’s a smear.”

But fact-checking Trump is also further complicated by the fact that he is just really good at making memorable — if misleading or completely baseless — allegations. Remember Trump’s bizarre assertion that the hacker who released the DNC’s emails was not someone in Russia but instead “somebody sitting on their bed that weighs 400 pounds?” You probably do. It was a memorable, specific image, and catchy enough that “400poundhacker” briefly trended on Twitter. And as a memory expert will tell you, the more specific and outrageous the image, the more likely you are to remember it. This latest tweet was no exception. And this makes refuting Trump’s claim by simply dismissing it as “not true” especially ineffective. Political scientist Emily Thorson calls this phenomenon a “belief echo,” or the phenomenon that even when an idea is rejected as false, it can still continue to shape attitudes.

Think about someone like President Nixon saying “I’m not a crook” in response to the allegations that he oversaw a break-in at the Watergate Hotel to wiretap his political opponents. By refuting the allegation, he’s also repeating it, and therefore, making it more memorable. And the more evocative and colorful the original claim, the stronger the echo, Thorson finds, if the rejection also repeats the claim. “Unfortunately, this means that the times when we are most tempted to repeat misinformation — a horrifyingly inaccurate graph, an offensive comment in a debate — are also the times when it is most likely to create belief echoes,” Thorson wrote.

Rather than simply saying there is no evidence to support Trump’s claim that voting by mail will lead to widespread voter fraud, an effective fact check might offer an alternate explanation for why voting by mail doesn’t cause voter fraud. For instance, a good fact check could explain that many governors support voting-by-mail to protect vulnerable family members from getting sick from the coronavirus, not because they think it will benefit their party politically. Or it could detail all the specific measures governors are taking to ensure a secure process, like signature matching and ballot tracing.

But this brings us to perhaps the trickiest obstacles regarding effective corrections in this situation: partisanship and worldview. Research shows that people can easily incorporate new information — even if it’s inaccurate — as long as it fits in an existing worldview. Take Trump’s misstatement on voting by mail causing voter fraud. Even though there isn’t evidence to support this, it already fits within a preexisting narrative that many Republicans believe — that voter fraud is widespread and Democrats help perpetuate it. This is what makes the problem of combating misinformation so challenging.

When premises are familiar (e.g., Democrats perpetuate voter fraud), it’s easier to incorporate new information uncritically, especially when partisanship is involved. Partisans are typically much more receptive to any facts that make their side look good and any facts that make the other side look bad. Likewise, they’re likely to reject facts that make their side look bad and make the other side look good.

Practically, this has meant that as Democrats and Republicans have cocooned themselves in separate information streams, they’ve increasingly incorporated not only different worldviews, but also different sets of facts to support those worldviews. The more partisanship itself becomes an identity, the more intense this motivated reasoning has become.

But there is one thing that might make this particular correction effective: It was issued simultaneously with the misstatement. And research has shown that the most effective corrections are immediate responses. A team of researchers led by Nyhan recently found that “disputed” tags, like the one Twitter issued, successfully reduce belief in false stories on social media.

There’s a very real question, though, of how much these tech platforms should be controlling what we do — and don’t — see. Facebook, for instance, has taken a different approach than Twitter so far. Facebook founder and CEO Mark Zuckerberg criticized Twitter’s new policy, saying that, “I just believe strongly that Facebook shouldn’t be the arbiter of truth of everything that people say online.” Twitter and Facebook are also two of the very few places that both Democrats and Republicans turn to for news, even if their feeds rarely overlap.

Finally, even an effective fact check might not make the difference that policymakers are hoping for in political attitudes. While it’s possible for fact checks to shift beliefs, attitudes are much harder to change and much more resilient to fact checks.

In other words, even if some Twitter users now know that voting by mail doesn’t cause voter fraud, it’s unlikely that their attitudes about Trump will change, let alone their attitudes about voting by mail (they might find other reasons to oppose it, or still be concerned about the possibility of fraud, even if they don’t think it is widespread). After all, in our two-party system, it is still a tremendous leap for a Trump supporter to defect to voting for a Democrat. Fact-checking can help with updating and correcting prior knowledge, but breaking the hyper-partisanship that nurtures misinformation in the first place will require a whole lot more work.

But the more aggressively Twitter combats misinformation coming from Trump, the more it risks both the ire of the Trump administration and a potential loss of angered Republican users. A more comprehensive corrections department that fact checks all public figures (not just Trump) might allay some criticisms from the right that Twitter is biased against conservatives. But it would also cost money to employ more fact-checkers, and it might still disproportionately correct conservative voices if they do share more misleading information than liberals. If so, the information echo-chambers may fracture further, with liberals and conservatives seeking out their own platforms even more. That could make fact-checking even harder.

Social media companies will have to balance competing demands in deciding exactly how — and how much — they want to correct misinformation. The good news is that fact-checking does work. But the bad news is that it’s going to take a lot of concerted fact-checking efforts to make any difference — and even that might not be enough.

[myheroaizawashota]

Hi!! Me again! Can you do a request where Asui finds out that Aizawas daughter is best friends with her little sister, Satsuki? It can be an Aizawa x daughter!reader. Maybe Satauki and the reader have met through elementary school? Tysm!

[welcome back friend! Haha I can absolutely do another dadzawa request! I never get tired of my handsome man being a loving father!]

It was nearing the end of the school day for the worlds most prestigious hero academy and the 1-A teacher of twenty couldn’t be anymore eager to leave. While running on a lack of sleep had become habit for the day time teacher night time pro hero, he still couldn’t help the overwhelming exhaustion that consumed him as he did his best to keep consciousness. Turns out sleeping with a six year old’s feet pressed into your spine doesn’t make for a good nights sleep...nor does sleeping on a mattress built for one grade school child. Taking a deep breath in through his nose, the enervated teacher leant his head to the side, releasing his breath as his neck cracked. While he knew leaving school would not be the end of his day, he was eager to leave none the less. He was drained of energy with a laundry list of chores to accomplish before the days end, the quicker he could get out of here and complete them the closer he’d be to resting. Trying to occupy his time by grading some papers, the barely awake teacher stopped when the phone in his pocket began to vibrate. Listlessly he let his fingers spider their way down his pant leg, fishing the vibrating brick of wires and plastic out of his pocket humming at the caller ID. With no hesitation the typically stoic educator swiped to accept the phone call, he placing the phone to his ear. “What?”

“Don’t you sound joyous as ever my love” a voice chuckled in response, the sound coming through the speaker of his phone.

Aizawa couldn’t help the smile that viciously pulled at the corners of his mouth refusing to be flattened out or taken control of. He gave a hum, dropping the pencil in his free hand, body leaning back in his chair as his wrist rubbed against his eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to take my day out on you. I assume you’re calling to tell me you’ve picked up Y/N?”

The voice on the other end of his phone laughed, the sound fluttering the man’s chest. He loved the sound of that laughter, it was one of the only sounds he didn’t mind. “Yup, I’ve got cranky pants here with me! Looks like she’s taking after daddy today, she’s got a pout to match yours”

Giving a hum, he couldn’t help but feel bad for his daughter. “I assume Guppy is still missing then?”

Guppy was the small kitten stuffed animal, the erasure hero had bought for his daughter nearly four years ago. There was no way to even remotely go about replacing the thing and ever since it’d been lost three days ago, the hardly sleeping teacher of twenty father of one had been lassoed into replacing the small stuffed animal in his daughters bed. It was getting tiring. While he loved his daughter to the ends of the world and back, he needed to sleep in his own bed and get a few hours of rest. It broke his heart to hear his daughters distress in the distance of the phone call. “We’re never gonna find him.....” you whimper out, tears strolling down your face. “When is daddy coming home...”

The sound of those tears broke his heart, he was a man of vacant emotions but two things were sure to always catch his heart. You and your mother. Sighing softly, aizawa began to gather his papers, his eyes fixed on the clock as office hours quickly began to run out. Only five more minutes and he could leave...clearing his throat the usually uninterested teacher let his voice grow soft as he now talked to address the child who he assumed would be able to hear him. “I’m leaving in a few minutes kitten. I have to stop somewhere before I come home, I won’t be long. Behave for your mother, help her make dinner tonight?”

Your arms crossed as your lips settled into a firm pout, huffing at your father’s response. You didn’t want to wait for him to come home, you wanted him now. It was the only thing that came close to filling the feelings the loss of you’re beloved toy cat left. Wanting to deny your father’s request, you knew he’d only be upset so you gave a fuss in response. “I guess....daddy I miss Guppy...”

The ordinarily stone cold hero gave a sigh, his heart twinging at the sound of your little voice hurting. “I know kitten, I know....were trying to find him..”

With two minutes remaining to his office hours, the desperate to leave teacher made his way for the door. It was two minutes, no one would come looking for him. Intending to leave, Aizawa reached for the door, hand stopping when the divider slid open on its own. No no....of course. “Office hours are over, I’m sorry Asui but if you have a question you can ask tomorrow.”

“Well this isn’t so much of a question as it is me dropping off something -ribbit-“

While all of his instincts wanted to dismiss the student and tell her to come back another time, the mentor and hero in him decided to let her speak her mind. With a shaking sigh, your father’s voice came back over the phone once more “I have to go, I’ll see you later.” Before hanging up. You weren’t upset by your father’s abrupt end to the call, but you still were upset about your toy.

Palm rubbing against the side of his face, aizawa looked down at the green haired student in front of him, brow raised as he waited for her next move. “Well, what did you need to give me?”

Allowing her bag to slide off her shoulder, she undid the front pouch, digging for a moment before pulling out a tattered tabby cat with three missing whiskers and a red faux leather collar that had began to peel and tear around the stuffed animals neck. “How did you get this?...” the teacher asked, eyes widening as his student happily passed the toy along.

“It was left at my house. I didn’t know you had a daughter Mr. Aizawa...turns out y/n and my younger sister Satsuki are best friends” the frog like girl smiled, her tongue slipping past her lips as she gave a satisfied croak. “We found it last night when we were cleaning the room. It fell under my sisters bed, that must of been how your daughter forgot it”

Floored by the news, the habitually emotionless pro didn’t know how to answer this. He never thought his students would find out about his home life. He was generally pretty good at separating his professional life from personal life. Clearing his throat, aizawa gently rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “Well I don’t like too many people to know about my wife and Y/N...”

Asui could understand, being a pro hero is a risky job when you have a family. The pro in training could comprehend her sensi’s reluctance to share his personal life. “Don’t worry Mr. Aizawa...your secret is safe with me. Satsuki really loves hanging out with Y/N -ribbit-. I’ll make sure no one else knows” she smiled slipping her bag back over her shoulders.

Still confused by his students knowledge he couldn’t help but question her as they walked down the hall. “How did you find out about Y/N?...”

Pressing the pad of her index finger against her lip she gave a soft ribbit “well, the tag on the cats collar said if lost return to Y/N Aizawa.....that and my mom said you stopped by the other day. When I asked if it was for me she said you were there to pick Satsuki’s friend up” she laughed, walking off in her own direction. “I’ll see you tomorrow in class Mr.Aizawa...tell your daughter my sister says hi!”

Relief flooded over the man, as he looked the cat over in his hands. His luck, only his daughter would make friends with his students siblings. He only hoped some of his more problematic students didn’t have siblings. Shuttering at the thought, he shoving the stuffed critter in his own bag before sulking off on his own way. One thing was for certain. He couldn’t wait to get home and give you Guppy back. Just picturing the look on your face was enough to make him grin, he loved you....but he was glad he’d be sleeping in his own bed tonight. He debated kicking his wife out so he could get some true quality sleep, but he figured he’d be nice. Hand reaching for his phone once more he dialed his wife’s number back, happy to hear your voice answer instead. “Hey kitten, I wanted to let your mother know I’m leaving work now. I got stopped last minute by a student, but I have a surprise for you when I get home.....I think you’ll like it quite a bit.....no I will not tell you. You can wait until I get home...I see you get your impatience from your mother.”

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Stay Ch. 16

Master List

Pairing: Natasha X Reader (Female)

Summary: You have a gift, the ability to see other people’s innermost secrets. For years you used it to gather intel for the highest bidder when you take on The Widow. After she becomes more than a mark the two of you spend years stealing moments. Post snap you wait in your designated meeting place, look back on the sordid past you share with the woman you love and hope against everything that she’s still alive.

Warnings: Angst, and fluff, and feels oh my!

A/N:  So yeah I swear I wroth an authors note for this... but idfk what happened. 

ANYWAY! Thank you all for being so patient while I got my life together. This one is also short and sweet (guess that’s the mood I’m in). However, y’all should know me by now. This is just the calm before the storm. 

Hope you enjoy this one my pumpkins! 

Tags are open!

@mywinterwolf  @disagreetoagree  @breezy1415  @peachthatdrinkslemonade  @5aftermidnight@jeromethepsycho  @marvel-randomness  @daniellajocelyn  @katecolleen  @yanginginthere@wonderlandmind4 @piensa-bonito @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @lesbian-girls-wayhaught @siriuslycloudy2

March 2007

At some point in the last five months, you’d stopped recognizing yourself. The woman in the mirror wasn’t Y/N. Her hair was different, down to even the eyebrows. Her accent distinctly that of a life long Londoner. She worked for an independent UK couture fashion magazine, chose wine over whiskey, and was distinctly heterosexual.

When the chance to work this job requiring deep cover came up in December you jumped on it. You didn’t want to be you anymore. The you that couldn’t be with the woman you loved. The you that was heartbroken. The you who was beginning to doubt that you’d ever be happy. Fuck her.

Being Charlie Daniels was far better. She was, of course, a real person. Just one who was now living comfortably in the Bahamas courtesy of MI6. Even legit agencies had use of freelance talent every now and then.

Settling into her life had been easy. Not setting her boss on fire or blowing his brains out daily was a different task altogether. Turned out that a magazine was a great front for a crime empire. Lots of international travel, young and beautiful and desperate men and women, money exchanged in countless untraceable ways, on and on. And this fucker was happy to take advantage of every single disgusting avenue it opened up.

You almost had everything you needed to hand to MI6, get your obscenely large payout, and get on to another gig while they threw all of these bastards into cells to rot for the rest of their miserable lives. Just one more trip. After whatever horrible things they lay out in Tokyo you’ll be set.

Tokyo is one of those cities you can lose yourself in. Like New York but better for its interesting balance of vibrancy and grounded reserve. You absolutely love it.

The whole point of the trip, at least on the surface, was to focus on Fashion Week Tokyo. Honestly, there was a part of you that wished this was your world. Nothing but runway shows and after parties. Writing about the latest trends rather than delving into the inner workings of the worlds miscreants

Oh well. It was nice enough to pretend. You had to admit that you’d miss Charlie Daniels once you shed this skin in a couple of weeks.

You’re sitting two people down from your boss at an underground show. The level of security here screams that there are other things going on behind the scenes but it’s still a room filled with a who’s who of the Japanese and international fashion communities.

This was your third show of the day, and you knew there would be a party after where you’d have to schmooze all while plucking information from your unsuspecting fellow guests. You’re exhausted. So rather than pay much attention to the show you let your mind wander.

When she walks out you feel her rather than see her.  Slowly you turn your head to stare dumbstruck at the model walking onto the catwalk. Your heart begins beating against your ribs, your mouth goes dry, your hands shake.

It takes every ounce of control you have to keep your emotions in. To not scream “Natasha!” at the top of your lungs. To not grab her and run for the hills. Charlie Daniels and her easy life be damned. It’s hard but you manage.

As she turns and comes back down, passing now closer to you, her eyes don’t graze  the crowd at all. Head up, shoulders back, she walks the runway like she’d been doing it for years.

The rest of the show is maybe ten minutes but it feels like years. You know the models are all attending the party. Eye candy for the high end guests.

It’s fairly easy to ditch your coworkers in the crowd as you try to find the best vantage point in the room without being too obvious. After a solid twenty minutes, you find yourself planning an escape route. Most of the models are milling about but she’s no where to be seen. You will find her.

But you know you can’t skip out just yet. At the bar, you order a red wine and make yourself seen. Charlie would never miss the whole party after all. You spend a bit chatting with designers and a few models, feigning interest in the whole thing until you hear your boss call out to you.

“Oy, Charlie!” Carl’s voice alone makes you want to put him down. When you turn he’s waving you over to the bar. Sighing heavily you head over.

You’re about ten feet away when you see her, head back laughing at something Carl or his friend had said. Both men are far to close to her for your liking and the hungry look on Carl’s face sets your blood boiling.

He slings an arm around your shoulders and you carefully coach your face to not show disgust. “Charlie here is my best writer. Doin’ some pieces for us on this whole thing,” he waves his other hand around wildly.

“Good to meet ya, Charlie, I’m Dan,” the other man, clearly American says.

“Likewise,” Natasha doesn’t react to the accent at all.

“This here is-”

“Natalie,” Natasha cuts him off, extending a hand to you. Holding her eyes with yours you take it. It’s like touching a live wire.

“Natalie is an American model working here in Japan. May be a good topic for a piece.” He ribs you leaning closer, “And a good piece for the office eh?” Suddenly that MI6 money seems far less appealing.

“I’d love that,” Natasha beams. “Why don’t you guys go mingle and Charlie and I can chat!” The men exchange a glance, but there’s plenty of fresh meat around to sink their teeth into.

Carl flashes you a greasy smile and a wink as he walks away. Thinking clearly that you’re going to snare this woman for him. You, unfortunately, had a few others. Not something you were proud of. Demands of the job you told yourself.

“She’ll take a vodka neat,” you tell the bartender.

“Yes,” Natasha smiles at him, “Whiskey for her. Makers if you have it.” He thinks nothing of it and makes your drinks.

“So, how’s modeling in Japan?”

“Probably about as good as writing for a sleazy jackal.”

You laugh, “That bad? What’s the goal.”

“Getting a cover,” you commend the clever word play.

“That’s a good goal. Long term?”

“Something like that.” She takes a sip of her vodka, “How long are you here?”

“End of the week.” Your skin itches to touch her. The men are rounding back. You hold her gaze and shift your eyes back to them. She catches on.

“Perfect! It’s so hard to have a good interview here, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely. Why don’t you come by my hotel?” You whip out your spare key card. “I’d love to get your story for the mag, maybe do a full feature.”

“A feature would be excellent exposure!”

“Wouldn’t it?” Carl slides up next to her. “We can get you all the exposure you could want Ms. Natalie.”

“Charlie was telling me all about it.” She flashes him a coy smile. “Thank you so much Charlie! I forgot I have a late fitting tonight for another show so I’ve got to run. But we’ll chat soon yeah?”

“Absolutely! It was so good to meet you Natalie.”

“Same! Bye!” She hurries through the crowded room and disappears.

“Busy girl.” Carl quips. “Whiskey?” You look down at the glass by your hand.

“Some guy sent them over,” you gesture to Natasha’s lipstick stained glass. “Seemed rude to refuse. Can’t stand the stuff though.”

“That’s a mans drink,” Carl laughs at his own perceived joke and you force a smile.

Somehow you make it through the rest of the evening. You’d refused to allow yourself to hope that she’d be here, too obvious to come the same night, better to wait. Kicking off your shoes you head straight to the mini bar and crack open a whiskey, downing it in one gulp.

“You really need to be more careful,” Natasha’s voice comes from the bathroom. “I mean not even checking around. Sloppy.”

“Charlie Daniels doesn’t have to check for Russian assassins in her bathroom,” a smile pulls your face so tight it hurts.

“Well, Natalie Rushman isn’t a Russian spy. So…”

You let your real accent resurface as you pull her into your arms, “Natalie Rushman, I don’t know if that’s clever or lazy.” She kisses you hard, tongue sliding over your lips hands gripping your ass.

“Mmm,” she hums. “Kinda like the accent.”

“Oh?” You revert to the clipped posh Londoner sound. “Would you rather be with Charlie? I hate to break it to you, she’s strictly into dick so you may need to get a bit creative.”

Natasha’s head falls back with laughter, “I’m always into a challenge but,” she cups your face in her hands, “I’d much rather Y/N, she’s got a cute accent too.” Your kiss is soft this time, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, honey.” Gently you push a strand of hair out of her face. “Is this smart? Are you gonna get-”

“I’m good. I wouldn’t be here if I thought there was risk.” She pulls away and tugs you toward the bed. “There’s no surveillance on me here, I check in every week, that’s it. This is strictly to build a cover.”

“Cover for what?” She gives you a sideways glance. “Right. National security.”

“Do you really want to talk about work?”

Smirking at her you push her back on the bed. “Maybe later.”

You lean down to her but she stops you by planting a strappy heel in the center of your chest. Trailing your fingers down her leg you snag a knife from her thigh holster. Carefully you slide the blade under the straps, the incredibly sharp edge cuts through the thin suede like it’s nothing.

“Those were very expensive you know,” eyes sparkling with desire.

You slip the shoe off and toss it aside. “I’ll buy you a new pair.” Your lips press against her ankle.  

Everything in your life until her was so fleeting. Even your own name, the sound of your own voice, who you were… But with her, you were grounded. You weren’t anything but her’s, you were Y/N.

Suddenly you’re overwhelmed. Caressing her muscular calf you just stare at her eyes. Emerald green, dark liner, lids heavy with lust and exhaustion.

“Natasha…” Your voice cracks and you fight for composure.

“Y/N? What is it?” She shoots up, cradling your face in her hands.

You shake your head, unable to really find the words and unwilling to send this storm of emotions to her. “I just…” You cover her hands with your own. It’s not that you don’t want her, you do. But…

“Can we just… I just wanna hold you…” Her expression immediately softens, eyes sparkling a touch with tears. “Sorry… I… I just…”

“I’d love that, baby.” Tenderly her lips brush yours, then your cheeks, your forehead, your eyelids as they flutter closed.

You shed your clothes and crawl into the plush bed. Holding tight to one another you spend hours drifting in and out of sleep, covering the other with soft kisses. Before the sun rises your hands wander southward.

This time you don’t fuck one another senseless. It feels like you’re trying to memorize every curve, every sound, every subtle thing that marks being together. You both know you many not get to do this for some time. The knowledge aches but it doesn’t make having her any less sweet.

Post Snap

You lean your head back on the wall behind the booth. The crying man from last night is gone, you find yourself hoping that he’s resting peacefully somewhere… even though you know it’s pointless to hope for such things.

There are more people filling the bar than there was before. The TVs are off, radios turned up, reporters frantically trying to determine what happened. It was global, that was clear. All planes grounded, trains stopped, communications spotty due to damaged cell towers.

A man speaks frantically to someone who seems to be a friend that he was heading to Nuremberg from Budapest, how the roads are almost not navigable. He doesn’t know if his family is even still there but he has to find out.

Despite his distress, your lips curl a bit at the mention of Budapest.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Reaction Shots, ch.2 (baon)

Summary:   Still in the aftermath of the events of ‘Any Other Tuesday’.

Notes: All right, chapter one was from Edge’s POV. This time let’s see Andy Jeff!

Tags: Spicyhoney, Original Undertale Characters, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Prejudice Against Monsters, Violence, Injury, Prejudice from Police Officers, LV issues

part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Andy Jeff

~*~

Since he’d met Stretch, hospital visits had become a thing again in Jeff’s life. A couple years ago he’d had an experience with them as well, when Julia finally told him what was going on. She’d been in hospice at that point and he’d spent a week there with her. Until it was over and he’d gone back to school because he didn’t know what else to do. Julia didn’t have much family, didn’t spend time with them, and seeing the way they went after her estate when she died made Jeff understand why. All he had left were pictures, but he hadn’t wanted more. What he really wanted was the impossible; he wanted her back, her laughter and her kindness. She’d loved cooking too, not like Edge, more haphazard and slapdash, usually tasty and sometimes requiring copious amounts of ketchup and Tabasco. He really missed her. But his fear that hospitals would remind him too much of her were proved wrong, to his relief. For starters, the Monster hospital was a lot nicer than the sterile hospice she’d spent her last days in. The rooms were airy and painted in soothing colors, with artwork on the walls and plants in corners. It was more like a hotel room than a hospital. Not that Stretch ever seemed to appreciate it. Every time Jeff had visited, his relief at seeing him was blatantly obvious and now that he was on the other side of the equation, Jeff could agree with him on one thing; hospitals were fucking boring. Not they were supposed to provide amusement along with healthcare, of course. But as exhausted as he was, Jeff couldn’t sleep and time was dribbling away so slowly he could practically hear the tick-tocks.

His body would’ve been happy for a rest. It was just a shame his brain wasn’t willing to get with the program. The sun was coming up, he could see it coming in through the curtains, which meant he’d slept a few hours at least. Stretch was curled up again in his armchair, this time with legs drawn up to his chest and his feet tucked into the cushion. It made Jeff wince to look at, that looked like a cramp waiting to happen. Maybe skeletons didn’t get cramps? He didn’t know much, but he knew his friends normally slept in a bed, so it was a good guess that Stretch would be waking with some regrets. The television was on with the volume down, the subtitles narrating along. They even had a smart tv, but Jeff didn’t think he’d ever wanted to catch up on his Netflix less. It was still very early. Jeff texted his roommates and Thomas, anyway, before they caught the whole debacle as it was brewing on the news. That was pretty much the end of his contact list. Every other friend he had was either sitting here or already knew where he was. So that left him with Netflix, his phone, and his unsettled thoughts that kept wandering back to what had happened outside the Golden City, to the sight of his own soul, hovering above Stretch’s hand. To everything. To the ache of absence in his gut reminding him that Antwan wasn’t here, and he shouldn’t feel that way, he shouldn’t. He was the one hurt, yeah, but one look at the news had him cringing. A hate crime against a Monster ally, one that involved Stretch who’d already been in the news a few times himself recently. Jeff only read a couple headlines before he didn’t want to see anymore. Antwan and Edge, hell, the whole Embassy was probably working feverishly to get this under control, and there was a lot at stake. But he couldn’t help that small, selfish part of him that wanted Antwan here with him. Stupid, it was stupid and selfish, and— A light knock at that door interrupted the downward spiral of his thoughts. He looked over, expecting to see a nurse and instead Edge walked in. He was in one of his power executive suits, but for the first time in Jeff’s memory, he honestly looked exhausted. There were shadows under his sockets and the crimson magic that glowed in his eye lights and joints seemed dim.

Jeff gave him a little wave and was both startled and amused when Edge raised a curt hand back. There were a couple plastic bags in his other hand and Edge set it down as he glanced over to where Stretch was sleeping. His expression, his entire posture, softened when he saw him; there was no other word for it. He walked on silent feet over to him and Jeff tried not to stare goopily as Edge straightened the blanket, smoothing it gently over him. At least he could enjoy someone else’s affection vicariously.

Stretch made a sleepy sound, nestling deeper into the folds like a particularly tall and lanky puppy and Jeff expected Edge to pull a chair up next to him, the better to keep hands on. Sure, he was the one who got hurt, but Edge was a smart guy. There was no way he hadn’t connected the dots like Jeff had, no chance at all that he hadn’t realized if Stretch hadn’t fallen back a pace, he would’ve been first in line to meet those fuckers, and that didn’t even include what Jeff had seen online about the police. There was a story he needed more information on and soon. But to his surprise, Edge took a seat on the other side of the bed before he asked in a low voice, “How are you feeling?” “Sore,” Jeff said honestly. “But it’s not that bad.” It was true; he’d really expected to be in a lot more pain. But the stitches itched more than they hurt and it seemed almost absurdly easy to forget why he was here to begin with. Edge nodded, unsurprised. “A residual effect of the healing. I’ll warn you now, it will wear off, so when the nurses offer you pain medication, accept it.” “Yeah, okay, I will.” This felt weird, even a little awkward, knowing what he knew about healing; namely that Stretch really hadn’t been supposed to do it. His memory of it all was blurry and dim, and he wasn’t trying very hard to pull any of it back into focus, but he did recall Edge telling Stretch to hurry. So he knew, too, and he hadn’t told Stretch to stop. “I brought you a gift,” Edge said abruptly. Jeff had to bite back a smile, because that was such an…an…Edge thing. Directly to the point, bypassing the unnecessary smalltalk. Whenever they were all together, he made for a great foil for Stretch, a perfect straight man, but on his own, Edge kept firmly on track. From one of the bags, Edge pulled out a tastefully wrapped package and handed it to him. It was about the size of a hardcover book and Jeff opened it curiously, wondering at what kind of reading material Edge would find suitable for hospital bed reading. Except it wasn’t a book. Jeff stared down at the box with uncertain dismay. The word Ipad stared back, and not even the cheapest model. “Edge,” Jeff started weakly, trying to come up with something, but what could he say? Thanks but no thanks for this astonishingly thoughtful and too damn expensive present? “An iPad is not a gift.” “Of course it is. I gave it to you,” Edge told him. The arrogance in it was probably so ingrained in him that Edge didn’t even hear it. Well, that was a tone that brooked no argument, but Jeff was going to give brooking a shot anyway. “I have a laptop.” Something about his obvious distaste made Jeff think Edge knew a little too damn much about his aging Dell. “Yes…and now you have an iPad.” Well, fuck. His first mistake had been taking it because there was no way in hell Edge would take it back now. Especially not with the smug way he was sitting there, and that was the expression of someone who knew they’d won. “Damn it, Edge—“ “Here, let me help you,” Edge interrupted. He stood, reaching out to take the lid from the box. A quick press of a button and it started up, already connected to his Apple ID and there was another question that Jeff probably wasn’t going to get answered. "Now, I'd like you to open this document right here." How a gloved finger that covered bone was able to use a touchscreen was a mystery past Jeff’s skills, but it did. The document opened to a bunch of legalize, enough to make that aching twinge for Antwan flare. It dimmed back as astonishment overshadowed it, Jeff staring at the page. "This is an employment contract." "Excellent, you can read, we can skip that part of the interview." Edge tucked his hands into his pockets and said crisply, "I've been trying to be subtle, but it's become apparent to me that the direct approach would be best. I’d like you to come work for us at the Embassy.” “What would I even do?” Jeff asked, a little helplessly. The contract listed a lot of benefits but there was no sign of job duties or even a title. Edge sighed with pointed exasperation, and his eye lights were sharp, assessing. “Jeff, you have a degree in sociology and a compassionate soul. Do you see how that might be useful working for people who spent most of their lives trapped underground? We are not a perfect people, but we are loyal, and we want you with us.” “How do you know I have a compassionate soul,” Jeff blurted. The memory of his soul, that soft green, compassion, was still very fresh. “Did Stretch tell you?” “Of course you do, it’s obvious—wait,” Edge narrowed his sockets, eye lights flaring. “Did Stretch look at your soul?” “Uhhh.” Well, fuck, that was a smooth move. Stretch had said it was kind of a big deal, maybe it was like, like cheating or something, but it hadn’t been like that, not at all. Meekly, Jeff offered, “I mean, I asked him to?” Edge waved him off. “Never mind that, but he shouldn’t have done it while you’re so weak. What I’m trying to get at is you would be a useful member of the team and—“ He trailed off as Jeff signed it without another word. He hit send, watched as the icon swirled and popped up with a cheery, ‘sent!’. Prickles were stinging in his eyes but Jeff looked up at Edge anyway and told him firmly, “I don’t want a pity job. I want to help.” “You’ll get plenty of work, I assure you.” Edge seemed off-balance, oddly stiff and abrupt, and Jeff realized he expected to have to argue more with him. But working at the Embassy, with all the Monsters he’d met over the past year? It sounded like a dream that he didn’t want to wake from, a chance to pay back kindness that he’d never been able to with Julia.

He wanted this, so much. “Thank you,” Jeff told him, quietly. Edge relaxed visibly at that. “As an employee of the Embassy, you’re entitled to housing in New New Home. Here-“ he leaned in, reaching for the Ipad and Jeff couldn’t stop himself. He wrapped both arms around Edge’s slim form and hugged him. He regretted it instantly. Edge stiffened immediately, standing stock-still in his arms. Fuck, Edge didn’t like being touched unexpectedly by anyone but Stretch, he knew that, he knew it. Before he could pull back or apologize, an awkward hand patted him gently on the back. “You’re welcome.” “are you two done?” Came sleepily from the other side of the bed. “because if you need more bonding time or a chance to sing kumbaya or something, i can go.” Edge drew back and retorted, “If you’re going somewhere else, you may want to take advantage of the clothes I bought you.” The blanket was cast aside as Stretch scrambled to his feet, already reaching for the bags. “babe, in a world of mediocrity, you are a shining star.” “Only because you are easily pleased.” The bag was quickly tossed aside as Stretch pulled out the clothes and laid them on the foot of the bed, making pleased sounds about the sweatshirt and pants, and Jeff didn’t miss that a few of those things were way too short for Stretch. Edge had obviously brought him clothes, too, and Jeff swallowed hard before managing, “You could’ve gone home to change and get some better sleep.” “uh huh,” Stretch agreed absently, chuckling delightedly as he held up a T-shirt with ‘She-Ra, Princess of Power’ emblazoned on it. “excellent. or i can stay here and use the ensuite shower.” “Are you planning on camping here until they cut me loose?” And Jeff was blinking hard because he already knew the answer. “yep.” “Of course.” One more question, the one he’d resisted asking because he wasn’t needy, he understood, he did, but, “Where is Antwan?” That softening fell over Edge again, but Jeff had never seen it directed his way before. “Finishing his work at the Embassy. He’s going as quickly as he can, but there’s really no one who knows it better than him. He was here when they brought you in and waited until he knew you were safe.” Jeff nodded, swallowing hard. “He asked me to stay with you, but to be honest, that was my plan to begin with,” Edge told him with a gentleness Jeff had heard before, months ago when they’d spoken about his parents. “He’ll be here as soon as he can.” “sure he will!” Stretch gathered up an armload of clothes and headed towards the bathroom. “keep an eye on the injured party here, i can’t even stand my own smell right now and that’s saying something.” “Where would I go?” “I will,” Edge said firmly. The door closed behind Stretch and Edge settled back into his chair, pulling out his phone. He was quickly absorbed, probably working, but his eye lights slid Jeff’s way anytime he moved, trying to get comfortable with the slowly growing ache in his side.

The television wasn’t offering any new enticement and he since he couldn’t rightly turn away his new gift, at least he could play with it. Jeff went to the App Store, scowling when he saw the sum loaded to his account and silently promised that he would be paying them all back very soon, for everything. His excitement over a new job was dampened a little by Antwan’s absence, but it was okay. Everything would be fine. He downloaded a game, losing himself in the mindless shifting of gemstones and triumphant lights.

And waited.

~~*~~

Read Chapter Three

[gendercensus]

Gender Census 2018 - The Full Report (UK)

This report is long! You can read a summary of the three regular questions here.

~

In 2018 I spaced out work on the survey into several smaller blog posts throughout the year, in the hope that it would be less exhausting, and I think it has worked! In this article I will combine all the UK data into one report, and compare it with the worldwide data.

The survey took place between 1st February and 25th March 2018, and there were 11,278 respondents, of which 1,535 said they were living in the UK (compared to 1,357 UK participants last year).

The spreadsheets are split this year. Links: questions one, two, three, four, and the original spreadsheet of all responses.

~

Q1: THE SPELLING OF NON-BINARY

The first question in the survey was: How do you think this word should be spelled? The options were:

nonbinary

non-binary

non binary

I don’t know/I don’t care

Other [text box]

The first three options, bolded, were randomised. I asked this question first because there was also a question about how people identify, and I had to choose a spelling for the checkbox option for nonbinary, and I didn’t want my choice for the survey to sway the results of this question. I also avoided using the word nonbinary in all promotional materials.

You can see and download the Google Sheet of the results here and you can see a more in-depth report here.

So what we can see is that people who identified as nonbinary were consistently more likely to prefer no hyphen than those who didn’t identify as nonbinary.

But we also see that UK participants overall spelled it with a hyphen, whereas worldwide participants (mostly USA, I’d guess) preferred no hyphen. That makes sense, because the British English conventions tend towards including hyphens.

Since the international preference is for no hyphen, and it’s an international survey, I’ll be spelling it nonbinary in future surveys.

~

Q2. IDENTITY WORDS

I asked, Which of the following best describe(s) in English how you think of yourself?

There were 23 checkbox options, and participants could check as many boxes as they wanted. You can see the spreadsheet of all 11,000+ responses for this question, as well as the graphs in more detail, here on Google Sheets and you can see the report about identity words only here.

The top five identity words in the UK were:

nonbinary - 57% (down 7.6%)

trans - 34% (up 1.7%)

transgender - 28% (up 1.8%)

genderqueer - 28% (down 5.5%)

agender - 23% (down 4.8%)

Nonbinary and genderqueer have dipped significantly this year, which I think is at least in part due to my efforts to make the promotional materials more inclusive and less biased. I didn’t use those words in promotional blog posts or as tags or in the introductory text on the survey itself, and I changed the title of the survey from Nonbinary/Genderqueer Survey to Gender Census.

Here’s everything that got over 1% worldwide, comparing the UK results to the worldwide results:

You can see a larger version of this chart by clicking through to the Google Sheet linked above.

All the top ten words were chosen less often in the UK, but we in the UK are apparently more comfortable with the words transgender, woman, and transfeminine - and we’re also more likely to not describe our genders at all.

I think the reason for this striking difference is that UK participants used fewer words to describe themselves on average - worldwide participants most often used 3 words, whereas UK participants used only 1.

In all there were 379 unique write-ins, of which two were words that were entered by over 1% of UK participants, which means next year the following words will be added to the survey’s checkbox options:

queer - 2.9% (2.8% UK)

genderless - 1.1% (0.8% UK)

demiboy - 1.1% (1.2% UK)

demigirl - 1.1% (0.9% UK)

gender non-conforming - 1.1% (0.3% UK)

People seem to want to specify demiboy or demigirl even when demigender is an option, so I think it might be wise to remove demigender from the list and see what happens. It might be that over 1% of participants will write in demigender, in which case I will re-add it to the checkbox list.

Gender non-conforming was a tricky one to count. I had sorted the list of write-ins alphabetically and I noticed that it was being entered many times but being spelled in a lot of different ways, and therefore wasn’t being counted properly. When I searched the worldwide list for “conform” I found 23 unique spellings, 15 of which had been entered only once. When they were combined there were 122 participants entering some variation, with “gender non-conforming” being the most popular, so I will be adding that to the next survey.

Fun UK facts:

73% of write-ins were entered only once, and 109 words were written in more than once.

38% of participants used the write-in box.

When the write-in boxes were used, on average people wrote in 1.6 new terms each (high compared to the 1.4 average worldwide).

14 people, or 0.9%, used all five boxes.

The mean number of identity words (including the checkboxes) was 3.8 each, and the most common number of identity words chosen/written was 1.

92% of UK participants chose 1-7 words.

~

Q3. THE TITLE QUESTION

I asked, Supposing all title fields on forms were optional and write-your-own, what would you want yours to be in English? I also clarified that participants should be currently entitled to use it, so they should have a doctorate if they choose Dr, etc.

There were 5 specific titles to choose from, plus a few options like “I choose on the day” and “a non-gendered professional or academic title”. Participants could choose only one, with the goal of finding out what, when pressed, people enter on official records forms and ID. You can see the spreadsheet of all 11,000+ responses for this question, as well as the graphs in more detail, here on Google Sheets.

The top 5 were:

Mx - 38.6% (up 1%)

No title at all - 27.4% (up 0.2%)

Mr - 8.1% (up 2.3%)

Ms - 7.8% (up 4.7%)

Miss - 5.5% (up 1.3%)

As is fairly consistent with previous years, we’re more likely to favour Mx and less likely to favour no title at all compared to worldwide participants generally. Anecdotally speaking I do hear that British systems and organisations are more insistent on titles than for example American ones, so perhaps we’ve collectively found that picking a neutral title will be less hassle for us than fighting for a titleless existence.

Of the 23 people (1.5%) who said that in an ideal world they prefer a gender-exclusive title, only 3 used the text box provided. The text box asked people to specify what that gender-exclusive title would be, and only one person gave a specific title: Pr.

So I’d say that we do not currently have a gender-exclusive nonbinary title yet in the UK, and the picture is very similar worldwide.

(By “gender-exclusive nonbinary title”, I mean a title that denotes a nonbinary gender, as generally speaking Ms denotes a female gender and Mr denotes a male gender.)

~

Q4. PRONOUNS

The fourth question was actually a complex set of questions, which started with Supposing all pronouns were accepted by everyone without question and were easy to learn, which pronouns are you happy for people to use for you? This was accompanied by a list of pre-written checkbox options. It included “a pronoun set not listed here”. and if you chose that it took you to a separate set of questions that let you enter up to five pronoun sets in detail.

You can see the spreadsheet of results for just the pronouns question here, and a more detailed report here.

Everything that was a pre-written checkbox option got over 1%.

Here’s the top 5 for the UK:

Singular they - they/them/their/theirs/themself - 73.6% (down 4.9%)

She - she/her/her/hers/herself - 31.7% (up 3.8%)

He - he/him/his/his/himself - 26.9% (down 2.9%)

Mix it up - 11.3% (down 0.6%)

None/avoid pronouns - 9.9% (down 0.4%)

It’s the same five as last year, but in a slightly different order - he/him and she/her have swapped places. Here’s the sets that were chosen by UK participants over 1% of the time:

As with identity words, we in the UK were more likely to use fewer pronouns each:

Neopronouns

Even when you only count the first form of each neopronoun set (xe, or ae, or ne), the most any neopronoun set got was 0.5%.

Here’s the top 5:

ze (singular verbs) - 0.52%

they (plural verbs) - 0.39%

ve (singular verbs) - 0.39%

ey (singular verbs) - 0.33%

ae (singular verbs) - 0.20%

In the end, the most popular neopronoun sets were in the checklist options, which makes sense - being able to check a box is much easier than having to enter five forms for each neopronoun set that you’re happy for people to use for you, as is remembering sets that you’re happy for people to use when talking about you. The popular neopronouns from the checklist options were:

Xe - xe/xem/xyr/xyrs/xemself - 7.9% (122 people)

Ze - ze/hir/hir/hirs/hirself - 5.7%

Spivak - e/em/eir/eirs/emself - 4.5%

Fae - fae/faer/faer/faers/faeself - 3.2%

In the UK we were slightly less likely to use neopronouns than participants worldwide.

I am extremely happy with the improvements to this question. It’s great to get more complete information about neopronoun sets, and to be able to say with certainty exactly how each neopronoun set is most commonly composed. Next year I would like to expand this question to collect data about how people tend to gender their neopronoun sets, as I did a few months back when I ran the pronoun-specific survey that helped inform this question.

If you’re not super familiar with neopronouns, you can see the more popular ones from the worldwide results in use here.

Here’s some fun statistics:

25 unique pronouns were typed into the “other” box more than once.

50 pronouns were typed into the “other” box only once. This is much higher than last year because we’re collecting more accurate information about variants now.

Including the checkbox options that’s 71 pronoun sets in total.

People chose on average 1.6 acceptable pronouns each, lower than the worldwide average of 2.

Most people (45%) chose only one pronoun, slightly less than last year.

About 76% of people were happy with only one or two pronouns - higher than last year’s 72%.

~

THE QUESTIONS I ASK

What should the third gender option on forms be called? - Still no consensus in that area. Nonbinary is consistently most popular, is at 57% this year, and is still twice as popular as the next specific word (genderqueer), so it’s promising. But there’s still almost half of UK respondents not identifying as nonbinary, so I don’t feel comfortable jumping to that conclusion just yet.

Is there a standard neutral title yet? - Not yet. Mx is still consistently far more popular than all other titles, but almost as many UK-based nonbinary people want no title at all. It’s really important that activists campaigning for greater acceptance of gender diversity remember to fight for titles to be optional, too.

Is there a pronoun that every nonbinary person is happy with? - No. The closest we have to a standard is singular they, and it’s important for journalists and anyone else with a style guide to allow it. But around a quarter of us are not happy with singular they, and 10.6% of us don’t like he, she or they pronouns.

Are any of the neopronouns gaining ground in a way that competes with singular they? - No. This year the closest is “Xe - xe/xem/xyr/xyrs/xemself” (7.9% compared to singular they’s 73.6%). Users of these neopronouns will probably not reach consensus for many years - language and especially pronouns can be very slow to settle and gain ground. Even if one neopronoun does become very commonly used, many will continue to use other neopronouns for a long time to come.

~

THIS YEAR IN REVIEW

The survey hasn’t changed much, but the way I approach working on it has.

Being disabled and moving house meant my energy levels were pretty unreliable. I took a bit-by-bit approach, processing the results for one question at a time and then writing up a report, before compiling everything into one large report. That’s why each question has its own Google Sheet! (Questions one, two, three, four, and the original spreadsheet of responses.)

And the number of people involved in the survey has increased such that I’ve needed to start paying for more stuff.

I crowdfunded for the survey fees again, but I included fees for the domain name and the email server so I can use proper mailing list, because Gmail wouldn’t let me email everyone about the results last year. There are just too many of you.

What I’ll do differently next year

I will make the wording in the promotional materials more inclusive. This year I made an image for the tweets and blog posts that had the words “male” and “female” on and there was some confusion over whether I meant gender or sex. (I meant both.) Next year I will refrain from using these words, and possibly use a non-text way to convey what I mean, so that potential participants aren’t put off by language that they feel excludes them.

I’m actually pretty happy with how I handled most of it. I think the software is probably the best I’m going to find, the site and domain and mailing list set-up is a big improvement, the wording of the questions and the answer responses seem to be working.

I think if I ask a one-off question in 2019 it’ll be family words, such as neutral words for aunt/uncle, nephew/niece, etc.

Closing thoughts

I continue to be a little overwhelmed when the responses start rolling in at hundreds per hour. I love mashing the numbers about and getting something informative and interesting out of them, and I really hope other people enjoy reading the results! You’re all fab for trusting me with your answers too. Thank you.

See also

A list of links to all results, including UK and worldwide, and including previous years

The mailing list for being notified of next year’s survey

~

SUPPORT ME!

I do this basically for free (the crowdfunded money went entirely on survey software and domain fees), so if you happened to stumble onto my Amazon wishlist and accidentally fall on an Add To Cart button… well, I would be immensely grateful. ;) If you wanted to go and check out Starfriends.org too I reckon Andréa would be pretty chuffed!