#to hopefully Confuse them so they stretch their deadlines

[onionninjasstuff]

(yadda yadda insert something poetic about not needing ur attention just enjoying ur company)

sounds like u have a lot on your plate right now. please, take this to add in your quest!

[received item: Scrugly Muppet Companion. looks like a child's first sewing project that got left in rain. has no stat buffs or effects, but its thoughtless eyes rattle around amusingly when shaken. in battle, it flings itself at enemies for -0 damage, with a 2% chance of Confusion.]

kick ass out there archie!!! 💛

oh nuh uh uh you cant be cat-coded on ur own. lets be eepy and cat-coded together 💛

[trillian-anders]

the assistant

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

warnings: violence, angst, fluff, smut && SPOILERS

word count: 6.8k

description: part 1 of 5. CONTAINS MAJOR SPOILERS, PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE NOT WATCHED THE FILM. you’ve been working for the thrombeys for four years now, the last three years of your service being a glorified babysitter to the most annoying, self-absorbed, dickhead hugh ransom drysdale.

You wanted to smack that dumb smirk off his stupid dumb face. 

Hugh Ransom Drysdale. The bane of your fucking existence. Standing there with that stupid fucking smirk on his face, he fucking loved this. Watching as you cleaned up his mess. A crying girl on his doorstep and you, his assistant (aka babysitter), trying to calm her down enough to get her to leave his house. This dumb contemporary floor to ceiling windowed, minimalist, empty souled house. The girl had been picked up at a bar last night. Charmed by his handsome face, the money he was careless to spend, the way he spoke to you like you were the most beautiful thing in the world. 

It was a fucking joke. A trick. You’ve seen it a million times and you’d be willing you bet that you’d see it a million more. 

The door blocked her view of him, your clear view of him from the side, sipping on a mug of coffee in his hands and fucking smirking. 

“He won't even see me?” You hated when they cried. Like each of them had this idea that they’d go home with Ransom Drysdale and fuck him so good that he’d tie them to his bed and never let them leave or something. 

You sighed heavily before replying, “Mr. Drysdale has business to attend to, he’s unavailable at the moment, but I can leave him a message if you’d like?” You did this maybe five or six times a week. In the early morning hours, after his sexual escapade and some rest, Ransom would wake early and leave for the gym. In that time you were supposed to ‘take out the trash’ as he described it. This morning, the girl left dazed and confused in the fog taking an uber back to her home, but returning an hour later trying to plead her case. It was giving you a migraine. 

The girl stepped back from the porch, shoes crunching against the gravel as she searched the windows for his face. “FUCK YOU RANSOM.” She shouted, flipping the bird into the air. The man hiding to your right, choked on his coffee in laughter as you watched the girl get back into her car and disappear from sight. 

“What's on the agenda today Ransom,” You shut the door quietly, turning to face him, “Because if I have to do that again tomorrow I’ll quit.” He scoffed in indignation. 

“You’re not gonna quit,” He drained the rest of his mug, “You can’t even leave the house long as you got that.” He gestured towards your leg. Sitting firmly on your right ankle was a house arrest bracelet. One meant for him, but carefully bribed into being put on your own leg. The stupid son of a bitch got away with murder, after the death of his late Grandfather’s housekeeper by his own hand and the attempted murder of the girl that got the entire Thrombey fortune, he stayed the lucky son of a bitch he had been his entire life. 

Evidence was mishandled, not enough proof. That whole, ‘beyond reasonable doubt’ thing. The rich asshole got fucking house arrest and court mandated therapy. Even after there were three fucking witnesses to him attempting to murder Marta Cabrera. 

Money oiled the gears of the justice system, letting the trust fund baby slip through without consequence. That’s where you come in. 

You worked for the Thrombey’s before. As a tutor to Meg when she began to fail her english class. For whatever reason, Lynda and Richard Drysdale liked you, assigned you a new task. Their sweet baby boy Hugh, called Ransom by everyone but the Help. You’ve worked for Ransom for three years now. The first year before the death of his Grandfather and Thrombey patriarch, and now two years after his death and wouldn’t you know it. Hugh Ransom Drysdale wrote a fucking bestseller. 

Everyone wanted an insight into this family. Harlan Thrombey always said there was so much of him in Ransom. He wasn’t lying. 

Ransom wrote the first of what you knew would be many new Thrombey family murder mystery novels. And he was reaping in the cash. He was two months away from his next big release. Something you’re sure would fly off the shelves just as quickly as the first. 

“Don’t worry,” He said, “I’ve got a deadline to meet.” His coffee mug abandoned by the front door for you to clean up, he left you to officially start your day. He retreated into the study he created for himself to crank out the last four chapters he needed for his book, maybe. 

Due to circumstances beyond your control, you were the one placed on house arrest. As long as no one was notified that Ransom left the perimeter of the house you were being paid well, and you being paid well meant your younger sister gets taken care of. You were able to send her money every month to help with the fact that she was staying with an estranged aunt. It hadn’t been easy once your mother died, but the Thrombey’s lighten the load so to say. 

That’s why you were washing Ransom’s sheets that reeked of sex, picking up and disposing of torn panties and tossing used condoms the fucking dick couldn’t be bothered enough to toss two more feet into the trash can in his on-suite. You’d invested in rubber gloves. 

On days that Ransom had to meet with his probation officer he would wear a dummy bracelet. It got him by and soon the fucker would be over and done with house arrest all together. You’d be able to move back home then. Hopefully. 

“Ransom, you ever gonna eat today?” You knocked on the open door of his study, bringing his attention from his computer to you, who held a bowl of pasta in your one hand. He sighed, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his eyes. There were multicolored post-its surrounding his computer. Your mind made the connection with how similar it was to his Grandfather’s own workspace. You gently placed the bowl on his desk, turning to pour him a tumbler of whiskey from the small bar in the corner of the room. 

“I don’t know how the old bastard ever cranked out two books a year,” His neck cracked. “How is that even possible?” He took a large bite of the pasta, squinting at the screen. His eyes quickly shifted to yours, watching you set down the glass of whiskey in front of him. He grabbed your wrist. “Stay.” It was an order. “Sit.” You took your place in a chair across from him. 

“Harlan wrote every day,” You told him, “You write whenever you’re not off sticking your dick into anything that breathes.” He laughed at that. 

“Not everything that breathes,” He typed a few more words into the word document, “I haven’t fucked you yet.” Your core pulsed, he said yet. 

Audibly you scoffed, “I would never willingly fuck you Ransom.” You pulled your legs up onto the chair to make yourself comfortable. He smirked at that, eyes not leaving the computer screen. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” That stupid smirk. You hated that fucking smirk. So condescending. 

When you first met Ransom you were probably very much like the girls that you now pry out of his bed at 8 am. You had been tutoring Meg at the family home, sitting at the kitchen table going over Othello when he sauntered in, digging through the cabinets for snacks. You could feel Meg tense up next to you and that’s when he turned. He was so fucking pretty. Blue eyes, well kept hair, cashmere sweater, those broad fucking shoulders, and on his face, stretching that full bottom lip you wanted to tug between your teeth, was a smirk. 

That pulsing throb between your thighs soon was quickly forgotten as he opened his mouth and began to speak, “How’s it going Meg, trouble reading? Or do they not teach you how to read when you’re a liberal? Lord knows you guys never fucking understand anything anyway.” Meg snapped back at him, but you were stunned. You could tell he said that on purpose, knowing it would make her go off on the tangent he was now, finding a sick pleasure in it. That was the first time you’d seen the smirk. You’d lost count of how many times you’ve seen it since then. 

“I really hate you Ransom.” You sighed, sinking further into your chair. He had almost finished off the bowl of pasta by now, whiskey long since emptied. He thinks it’s funny, you hating him because he responds looking you in your eyes, maintaining his smirk, 

“I know you do baby.” He liked to do that. Call you pet names. Once he had even pretended you were his wife when you accidentally walked in on him and a girl he had been balls deep in, bent over the back of the couch. He fucking LOVED that one. The girl had cried, embarrassed, apologizing as she picked her bra up from the floor and slunk out the front door behind you. That was a while ago. Pre-Murder. You should have seen it then. How insane he actually was. 

Ransom was incredibly smart and was a quick thinker. It was part of the reason that he had gotten away with murder in the first place. You knew that. It showed in his novel. He would have you read chapters, give him your opinion, before writing and rewriting. Showing you again. He’d ask you if you could figure out who was the murderer, a sinister glint in his eyes, arms crossed, standing above you waiting. He could only be satisfied if you didn’t have a clue. 

It was a gift, you supposed, the ease in which he wrote to make every character a possible suspect in completely new and incredible scenarios. He had three books in various states of completion that he was chipping away at, the one he was currently working on seemingly better than the previous published. 

His Mother, the one who gave him the silver spoon and cursed him for having it his whole life, was suddenly proud of him. His Father, now divorced from his Mother, would come by weekly asking for money. Ransom loved that too. His Dad got nothing due to the prenup, leaving him penniless. The cushy job he had at Lynda’s real estate empire was gone, and now Dad was working at local agency scraping by on low commission. Last week his Father came to the door while Ransom was writing and muscled his way not too kindly past you into the house. 

“Ransom!” He called, finding his way into his son’s study. You quietly shut the door, returning to folding laundry. The door shut tightly behind him and sounds had been muffled. It’s only when their voices went from calm to a screaming match did the door wretch open and Ransom followed his Dad out, both red faced. 

“We’ve given you everything in your fucking life and you can’t even give one iota back.” Ransom opened the front door, gesturing to the porch. 

“Get the fuck out, and don’t come back.” His voice stern and commanding.

“Fuck you Ransom.” With that he was gone. The silence that had settled over the house was thick, Ransom’s hand still resting against the closed door before he took a breath and, without taking a glance in your direction, returned to his study. Closing the door. 

The echo of that argument sat in the house for the rest of the day, Ransom leaving soon after to find a body to lose himself in. If the murder trial did anything, it made Ransom into a bad boy and girls fucking loved it. He wasn’t, technically, guilty after all. 

You attempted to clear the bowl in front of him, but was stopped by his hand. His eyes never left the screen as he brought your hand to his lips, placing a kiss in your palm, before dragging your arm to his other shoulder, hugging himself with it awkwardly until you gave in and wrapped your other arm around him, holding him tightly for a moment. 

He was soft sometimes. His Mom never held him when he was a kid. He was left alone a lot while she was building her empire. Babysitters never stayed long, nannies came and went. Sometimes you truly felt bad for him, other times you remember that he was a dick and that he loved to play tricks and torment anyone and everyone that was supposed to take care of him, including you. The only difference was you weren’t able to leave. 

He let you go soon after that, letting you clean up the mess from dinner and stoke the fire place warming the house that always seemed too cold. As you stood by the fire, arms wrapped around yourself you could feel him behind you, coming to wrap his arms around your waist, leaning his head on your shoulder as you stared into the flames. There was a moment or two of silence as you both stood there. 

If this were any other situation, if Ransom loved you, if this was someone who loved you, if this someone cared enough to care about the things you care about, this would be kind of romantic. But it’s Ransom, and he didn’t care about anyone but himself, he definitely didn’t care about you, and he one hundred percent didn’t care about anything you care about. “I’m going out.” 

His arms left your waist and his chest left your back leaving you cold. “For fucks sake Ransom, I don’t feel like throwing out a girl tomorrow morning.” You turned to watch him throwing his coat on. He smirked. He fucking smirked. 

“I’ll give you a break and throw her out myself then.” And he was gone. 

Hours later you’re woken by the sound of Ransom coming home, sure enough he wasn’t alone. Soft giggles and a bang, he’s shoved her against the wall beside your room. There were muffled groans as you assumed she found her knees right there in the hallway. He got off on this shit, you knew. Often stopping somewhere outside your door to start his sexual escapades. Knowing you were mere feet away, like some half-assed exhibitionism. It wasn’t long after that the girl squealed and there was more muffled talking before they moved to his bedroom. To which you shared a wall. 

Your bedroom, before you were a live-in, housed a bunch of items you believed graced a teen boy’s bedroom walls at one point. And still, shoved in the corner, were playboy model cardboard cutouts, “They’re vintage, mint condition, and worth a lot.” Sure, Ransom, sure they are. Arcade games, framed patriots jerseys, a lacrosse set from his high school days. You were shoved in the middle of it all, a single bed shoved against the wall surrounded by what once was a room full of teenage boy memorabilia. A shrine to his youth. 

The headboard soon came knocking and hope for sleep was lost. The girl’s moans escalating to shrieks. Either he was as good as he says, or these girls really care about his ego. Either could be true when there’s more than one comma in your bank account. 

The kitchen was much quieter. A steady rocking still came from upstairs, but thankfully it was muffled by the floor. As you made a cup of tea you figured you would see if he had printed off a new chapter ready for you to read. You hope he wouldn’t have gone out without finishing it anyway. 

You were not sure why you cared to be honest. You had this love/hate for Ransom. He was an annoying prick who did something really fucking horrible, but he also made it very clear to everyone involved that you had nothing to do with it. There was a scary moment there, after his arrest, when you were brought to the station for interrogation. You hadn’t known he had even gotten up to any of these crimes. He kept you completely in the dark and he was sure to let his arresting officers know that. You hadn’t even seen him since the night Harlan died when he left the party stranding you at the estate. 

Money does crazy things to people. The threat of his steady income leaving was enough to push him to do something crazy. He was lucky enough that the recorded confession magically was erased. He was lucky for dirty cops. He was lucky that even though his mother despised his lifestyle she didn’t want him to go to prison. He was so lucky. Now with his first novel sitting highly on the bestseller list, he seemed even more lucky than he did before. 

His study was on the opposite side of the house from his bedroom, muffling the sounds enough for you to flip through the packet left on top of his keyboard. Three chapters away from completion you were following the detective through paces where things felt more confusing than ever, the clues were unclear and there was not much to go on, but the tension between the eldest son of the victim and his ex-wife were mounting and it was hard to believe that maybe this guy had nothing to do with it despite what was described as an ‘air-tight’ alibi. You read through the chapter twice, scribbling your thoughts in red pen along the margins. 

“What do you think?” You jumped in your chair, looking up to see Ransom in the doorway. 

“You scared the shit out of me,” Your hand still clutching your chest. He had a glass of water in his hand, chest bare, solid navy pajama pants slung low on his hips. His chest hair always got you, just a little bit. He tugged his bottom lip between his teeth and pushed off the door jam to walk into the room, taking a seat in the chair you occupied hours ago. “It’s good,” you cleared your throat, “I’m not sure how much longer I can wait for you to finish to be honest.” He chuckled softly. 

“Let me see.” You handed him the packet and his eyes scanned the margins, reading your comments. They were mostly reactions, that’s what he liked. He wanted to know how you reacted to everything he put in front of you, did you like the romance, the tension, the lust he was trying to write between the ex-husband and wife? Or was it too distracting from the plot? Is the detective too unbelievable? He’s a character for sure. Can you figure out whodunnit yet?

“What are you doing out of bed?” You asked, spinning the chair side to side, waiting for him to put the packet down. 

“I told you I was going to kick her out.” He took another sip from his water. You scoffed, 

“And you couldn’t start doing this sooner?” A smile stretched his lips,

“I like how much it bothers you.” 

“It’s annoying,” you said, “Worst way to start my day.” He laughed. 

“That’s the only reason?” He asked, throwing the packet back on the desk, leaning back in his chair. Smirking. 

“You’re such an asshole, you know that?” You pushed back from the desk, moving to exit the room. He quickly grabbed your wrist, tugging you over to his side where he looked up at you, 

“If you wanna take their place, just let me know.” Your other hand came up to smack him on his shoulder, causing him to laugh as he released you, letting you take your exit. 

“Dick.” 

You found him the next morning at his desk, looking as though he had very little sleep. “Babe could you get me some coffee?” You yawned in the doorway, 

“Sure.” It didn’t take long before you were setting the cup in front of him. “Your therapist is coming by at one.” He nodded, not looking up from his computer. “I’ll come get you when it’s time for you to get ready.” 

He was focused. You weren’t sure where this focus came from. It was every once in a while that he would find this stroke of inspiration and write for a whole day straight. Hopefully he will be finished his book before schedule and be able to get ahead for the next one. 

Soon he was washed, dressed, and ready for the one person he dreads the most. He hated therapy sessions. There were only ten more he needed to do before the court mandate was over. Ten more weeks until you were able to get this lovely ankle bracelet off when you would hopefully be able to go back to the routine you had with him before. Where you’d sleep in your own shitty apartment and show up to work a 9 to 9 five days a week. 

After sessions he was always moody, quiet, and tended to need his favorite single malt restocked the next day. Not exactly in line with how he should be tending to whatever revelation the therapist has been streamlining him to, but that wasn’t any of your business. You could say though that during the last 42 weeks of sessions this refractory period was shortening to less and less time, maybe tonight you won't be peeling him off the floor of the study and dragging him up to his room drunk off his ass. 

While in the session you were trying not to listen in on, you were sunk heavily on the living room couch, drinking coffee and reading the latest chapter he had slapped into your hands before entering back into his study. The book was so close to being finished, the last two chapters leading you to the big reveal and aftermath. The climax was steady taking hold and you were more sure than ever that the eldest son had something to do with it. You didn’t know what he did, but it was something. 

He looked mad enough to kill as the Doctor left. Slamming the door, barely missing the Doctor’s jacket sleeve as he made his hasty retreat. Ransom stood seething for a moment by the front door, a chill running down your spine. He had murdered someone before, something you try to forget seeing as you are forced to spend so much time with him. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. It felt like an hour before he moved. 

“I’m going out.” The words spoken sternly as he stomped his way up the stairs like a petulant child, returning moments later, cleaned up, eyes blank, before grabbing his coat and slamming the door loud enough to make you jump. 

Aside from Ransom’s Mother never being around and aside from his Father’s string of extramarital affairs and aside from his Grandfather’s need to push him in every direction but close, you wish you could say that Ransom had a good childhood. But he didn’t. When he was little the kids picked on him for being rich, and when he was bigger they only became friends with him because he was rich. He was such a bully. At least, that’s what his Mother told you once drunk off chardonnay at his birthday dinner last year. 

Disappointment. 

That was a clear sentiment for the small family get together, and by small family get together you meant the dinner you cooked and Ransom looking like he’d rather be in prison than listen to his parents bicker over his Father’s new (Not so new seeing as he’d been caught kissing her by a PI before Harlan’s death) girlfriend. She was smart enough not to come. 

This night was looking a lot like that one. Ransom, after his parents left and you began to tidy up, began to scream at you. 

“What gave you the fucking right you dumb bitch?” He was spitting, face red as you cleared the dishes. “You’re only here for the money. The fucking money. How much is she paying you huh?” The bottle of expensive whiskey he had been drinking throughout the night was in his hand, swinging it around and taking pulls straight from the bottle. “Not enough obviously because you would have let me fuck you a long time ago.” 

Your face flushed red as your own anger began to rise. He continued, “Never, ever, fucking again will you allow my parents in this house, do you understand me?” His unoccupied hand grabbed your arm tight enough to bruise, turning you to face him. His eyes wild and unfocused. “I said do you understand me?” You not so gently wretched your arm from his. 

“Don’t touch me.” He always fucking did this. Blamed you for things you had no control over. Lynda approached you about a dinner for Ransom’s birthday. It was her name in your paystubs. You can’t say no. 

“How dare you-” He began, but was cut short.

“No Ransom. No.” Like scolding a fucking dog who put his paws on the table. You threw the bowl you currently had in your hands into the sink, turning to fully face him. “I am only here for the money and I am only here because your Mother pays me a lot to be here.” His jaw clenched. “But I’m also here because I’m the only fucking person who even remotely cares about your ungrateful prissy spoiled ass and if it wasn’t for me you’d be sitting in this fucking glass house, alone, with only your own self-righteous attitude to keep you company. So don’t you ever touch me like that again. Do you understand?” 

He loudly clunked the bottle onto the kitchen island, stumbling in your direction as you backed yourself into the sink. His trial had just concluded two weeks ago, Fran’s murder fresh on your mind and you wondered if you just made a terrible mistake. Over the course of this rant, the alcohol was sinking into his bloodstream, it turned his anger into a crippling depression. One that resulted in his hands softly grasping your shoulders, and tugging you into his body. His face found your neck and slowly started to grow damp with what you realized were his tears. 

Your heart broke a bit, too much empathy, even for this asshole. Your arms came to wrap around his shoulders, letting him cry it out. 

That was the first and only time you saw Ransom cry over anything. If he hadn’t been as drunk as he was you knew that moment would never have happened. The sweet little moment that made your heart ache was quickly gone the next morning when Ransom made you coffee and thought it would be hilarious that after you thanked him for being so sweet he joked that he poisoned it. You could still recall the cackles of laughter as you spit your coffee into the sink. 

That was the day he began writing his first novel. 

He came home alone tonight which was strange. And far earlier than normal. You usually were in bed, or holed up in his study by the time he arrived him after a night out. Staying out of his way as he drug a bubbly hopeful girl up to his bed to satisfy his own needs for the night. He found you tonight, sitting outside, watching Netflix on your tablet by the firepit you had decided to light, a hot cup of tea sitting on the end table next to you. Cozy and wrapped in a blanket. 

You could feel his eyes on you from the doorway. You tapped the screen, pausing your show and turned to look at him. His hair was slightly mussed, face flushed, and socked toes curling from the chill. He was looking at you strangely. 

“You’re home early.” You placed the tablet down on the end table, turning to face him. He nodded, crossing his arms and leaning against the door jam. 

“I just needed a drive.” There was a soft smile on his face, well that’s new. 

“Is everything okay?” He never tells you anything, but the sentiment matters. He looked to his feet, nodding. 

“I’m probably going to try to stay up and finish the book tonight.” He shifted himself back into the house, your voice calling out to him, 

“Come sit out here for a bit. It’s calming, just take a break from thinking for a minute.” He sighed and looked at you again, debating something in his head. 

“I need to be alone.” You tried anyway. He disappeared from sight. And that was that. 

The next day Ransom began acting even more strangely. The book was finished, the last two chapters handed wordlessly to you as he left for the gym on what you’re assuming was no sleep. That wasn’t the strange part. The strange part was when he returned three hours later bearing a box of donuts from your favorite bakery and two lattes, on his face was a smile. 

“What did you do?” You accused, “Did you poison this?” You gestured towards the latte he placed in your hand. 

“No.” He laughed, sliding the box of donuts to you. You stared at him skeptically before taking a sip. Tastes normal. 

“Are you sick?” Your wrist coming to lay across his forehead, temperature feels fine. 

“No.” He laughed again, pulling your wrist from his forehead and kissing your palm before opening the box of donuts, pulling a cinnamon sugar donut to his lips. “You just told me the other day how you missed these and I figured since I passed the shop on the way back it wouldn’t hurt to go pick some up.” It was suspicious. You continued to look at him skeptically. He sighed, placing the donut on the counter, grabbing the latte from your hand he took a large sip of it. “I didn’t fucking poison you Y/N.” 

Okay.

Okay. You examined the box of donuts, pulling out the bear claw that was begging to be eaten. Still warm. You moaned in delight as soon as the warm pastry hit your taste buds. You really had missed these. Opening your eyes, you saw Ransom staring blankly at you before his eyes shifted to the packet by your side. 

“All finished?” You swallowed and nodded, sliding the packet marked with red over to him and as he began to study your notes you tried to think about what could have possibly gotten him in such a good mood. The Doctor’s visit was odd enough. Yes he was angry when the Doctor left, but then just a drive? Not a blackout drunk, bringing two girls home to pleasure himself with and accidentally falling into a line or two of coke night, but a drive? 

Maybe therapy had been working? Maybe he had a breakthrough? He finished the novel. The eldest son had something to do with it, his airtight alibi just that, a cover for the crime having been committed at a different time than the coroner’s estimated time frame due to him freezing the body and allowing it to thaw in the house. 

You had asked Harlan how he came up with such incredible stories once. He said they just popped into his head fully formed, his brain moving faster than his fingers. He kept a little notebook with good ideas and would simmer in them as long as it took for a stroke of inspiration. The rest was just typing. 

He smirked at some of your comments, ‘what a fucking joke’ you wrote next to the eldest son’s monologue about being passed over, his whining, annoying, self centered crying about how life wasn’t fair. 

“What’s the smirk for?” You asked, removing the lid of your latte and dipping part of the bear claw in it. 

“The lack of sympathy for Greg.” You scoffed and rolled your eyes. 

“He’s a fucking loser.” Ransom’s eyes met yours, “I bet you see a lot of yourself in him.” That made him laugh. 

“What? You don’t like spoiled rich men?” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of his chest. You rolled your eyes, taking another sip from the milky sweet latte you didn’t know would feel like your life’s blood right now. 

“I think you know the answer to that.” 

“I think you find me endearing.” Ransom smirked. Your neck flushed. 

“I find you annoying,” You admitted. “I only put up with you because of my paycheck.” He licked his lips.

“Sure,” He closed the packet, pushing it aside to take another bite of the donut, cinnamon sugar dusting his lips. “You put up with me because you’re secretly in love with me, but you know that I would never get with The Help.” This made you laugh. 

“If you want me to be the Help I’ll gladly call you Hugh if it means you leave me alone.” He placed his paper cup on the counter, circling around to you. 

“I like when you call me Hugh.” His hands came to rest on your upper arms, grinning. 

“You’re disgusting.” He laughed at the clear displeasure on your face, spinning your stool around to him, and you leaned back, creating some distance as he came to stand between your legs. 

“You don’t mean that do you baby?” His fingers toying with the ends of your hair. You could feel your nipples harden in excitement, body betraying you. A wet growing between your legs. 

“Ransom what are you doing?” You said in exasperation. You weren’t blind. Ransom was gorgeous. You’d maybe, possibly, gotten off to the thought of him once or twice or maybe more than that in the four years you’ve known him. But he was also a scumbag who fucks and then throws girls out hours later. His moods were hot and cold. He had major Mommy issues and he’s not technically guilty of murder, but he’s a fucking murderer. But also… he’s been going to therapy and after that fight on his birthday last year he’s never laid a hand on you in anger again, there’s been some arguments sure, but he’s mostly nice to you. Caring even. 

“Why don’t you love me Y/N?” His voice almost came out as a whine. He was playing with you. 

“Ransom stop.” You pushed him away gently. He was fucking smirking. 

“Usually there’s a ‘don’t’ in front of that.” Cocky bastard. 

“You’re the worst person I know. And I hate that fucking smirk.” You picked at your now cold bear claw, trying to turn from him. 

“Why don’t you wipe it off my face then?” Your eyes met his and you glared. 

“What’s gotten into you today? Maybe you should go out early. Find some girl to satisfy whatever you’re going through right now.” His hands met your hips, spinning your stool back around to face him. 

“What if I want you to satisfy whatever I’m going through right now.” His groin fit right up against your core and you could feel his throbbing heat between your legs. Fuck. 

“Don’t make this mistake Ransom.” You placed one hand gently on his chest, attempting (but not really) to push him back. His forehead coming to rest against yours. “You don’t want this.”

“This is the only thing I’ve ever really wanted.” His breath mingled with yours, sweet, cinnamon and coffee. 

“You’re not thinking straight.” His lips brushed against yours, tongue coming out to wet his lips, his eyes locked with yours. Why weren’t you pushing him away? Your breath hitched as his tongue accidentally grazed your bottom lip. 

“The only clarity I’ve ever had in my life has been when I’m with you.”

His lips pressed heavily against yours, pushing you back against your bedroom door as his hand came to tangle in your hair. He was all consuming, body hot and heavy against yours. Your core was thrumming with want, moisture pooling in the crotch of your yoga pants. His hips were rolling into yours and you could feel the hard length of him against your belly. His lips quickly moved across your jaw to your neck and you could hear yourself moaning softly as he licked, sucked, and nibbled on the sensitive skin below your ear. Your hands clenching the soft material of the t-shirt by his hips, dipping your fingers slowly into the waistband of his shorts. 

His lips parted from your neck, hand tilting your head back so he could look into your eyes before taking your mouth once more. His mouth moved down this time to the tops of your breasts, hands leaving to shift the thick wool cardigan off your shoulders and onto the floor before dropping the straps of your camisole and exposing them to the air, nipples already pebbled in excitement. 

You hadn’t dated in a while, unable to because of your paid house arrest and before that the way Ransom had worked you to the bone picking up after him. And the touch from someone else always felt better than your own. His hands felt huge on you, protecting. 

Your head met the door as he enveloped your right nipple in his mouth, rolling the sensitive bud on his tongue until he felt the left neglected, and switched, beginning to toy with your right nipple between his finger tips. Moans and heavy breaths were the only sounds in the hallway as Ransom made his way down your body, slipping your yoga pants and panties off your hips as he found his knees before you. 

“Ransom-” 

“Shhhhh,” He pressed his lips against your naval, working his way to your trembling core. His hand lifted your right thigh, draping it over his shoulder as his eyes focused in on your, what you knew must be soaking, wet pussy. His eyes met yours from his knees, your legs trembling with anticipation, eyes locked as his pink tongue came to meet your pussy for the first time, a shuddering breath being released from you urged him on further. 

His thick fingers spread your lips open, exposing your clit to his gentle assault. A building pleasure in your core as his tongue began to skillfully work, pulling moans from your mouth. How was he so good at this? Experimenting with different strokes, different pressure, finding what you like. 

“Just like that, oh my god.” He rolled his tongue against your clit, eyes finding yours once more, keeping pace. You could see the corner of his mouth pull up in a smirk as he began to work you up to climax. “You’re such a fucking asshole, I hate that fucking smirk.” Head hitting back against the door as he used his fingers to tease your opening. “Oh my god.” Your hips bucked against his face, causing him to use the arm currently wrapped around your thigh to splay open on your abdomen, holding your hips still. The wet noises and soft grunts from the man between your thighs only caused you to grow closer to your release. 

“You taste so fucking good baby,” moaned between your thighs. 

“Don’t fucking stop.” You scolded. So close. So fucking close. He obeyed, continuing his assault on your dripping pussy, fingers entering your tight channel to stroke against your sensitive walls. He buried his face further into your pussy, nose coming to rest in the soft curls there as he watched you come undone. Your moans escalating in volume as you felt your body tighten with pleasure, hips begging to buck against his face as he rode you through it. He continued to lick and suck on your clit until your hands found his head, pushing him away, legs shaking as you dropped against the door, knees coming to rest around his body. 

That fucking smirk, “How was that?” He asked, face glistening with your cum. 

“Fuck you Ransom.” And he fucking laughed the bastard. What a fucking dick. He brought his face back to yours, gently claiming your lips. The tang of your pussy ever present as you felt him consume you. Your heart was still racing as he picked you up from the floor, bringing you into his bedroom and ever so gently laying you down on the sheets you had just changed two hours ago. 

His eyes were shifting between yours, a strange expression on his face. 

“You can’t kick me out tomorrow Ransom,” Your breathing was heavy as he began to work at your neck, his hands going to remove his gym shorts. “I can’t leave.” He pressed his lips back to yours as you felt him rub the tip of his dick against your clit, your body shaking with over-stimulation. It felt so intimate. Before, his eyes on yours as he brought you over with his tongue and now as he slowly enters you, stretching your walls with his thick cock, eyes not breaking contact he sighs,

“I think you’re the only person I’ve ever loved.” 

[jaysworlds]

Whumptober Day Thirty One (Halloween Special :)

Breaking into an abandoned (and supposedly haunted) building on Halloween probably isn’t the brightest idea Gerry’s every had, but honestly he’s in a bad mood, and at least if his mother asks he can lie and tell her that he thought maybe the rumours came from one of her stupid books.

Honestly, though, he just wants to do something vaguely spooky for tonight, even if it’s by himself.

Halloween is overrated, really, especially since he knows there are real monsters out there, but a small, childish part of him wants to dress up in a bad vampire costume and … carve a pumpkin or something stupid like that.

It’s not that he’d even want to do something like that under ordinary circumstances, but it’s the fact that he’s not allowed that really pisses him off.

It’s a waste of time, Gerard, his mother tells him, every year, I won’t have this ridiculous paraphernalia in my house.

And that’s been it. Every year. No trick-or-treating, no pumpkins, no Halloween parties, and now he’s eighteen he feels like he’s probably a bit old to ever go back and try to catch up on all the things that he missed out on.

Which is what brings him here. It’s not exactly a traditional celebration, but he’s not exactly a traditional person, and at least it’s something, right?

He’d thought there would be more people out here tonight, but maybe it’s too early, everyone else out at parties and the like, and when he climbs over the barbed wire fence and into the condemned area there doesn’t seem to be anyone else around.

He tells himself he’s not disappointed.

Still, it’s a cool autumn evening and it’s rather nice as he heads across the crunchy leaves and towards the sagging building.

He’s been in a lot of condemned and collapsing buildings before, but never just for the fun of it. He doesn’t have a deadline, or a monster chasing him through the hallways. It’s just him and the wind whistling through the broken windows.

It’s nice.

Some of the anger he’d been feeling earlier in the evening has seeped out of him, and he finds himself humming as he climbs through an already-smashed window and into the building.

There’s graffiti on the wall opposite, so he’s clearly not the first person in here, but he’d never expected to be. He leaves the room and starts walking down the first hallway he sees, deeper into the abandoned building.

He doesn’t trust the stairs, when he finds them. They look as though they’re only a few minutes from collapsing, and the last thing he wants is to end tonight in A&E because he fell through the floor and broke his leg. That would really suck ass.

So he ignores the stairs and stays on the ground floor, where there’s less chance of him falling through the floor.

‘Less chance,’ as it turns out, doesn’t mean ‘no chance,’ a fact that Gerry discovers very unexpectedly when the seemingly solid floor beneath him gives out, sending him tumbling down into a basement which he hadn’t even known was there.

It’s not exactly ideal, but he doesn’t injure himself, past a few scrapes and bruised pride, so he just stands up and brushes himself off, looking around.

It’s very dark, which isn’t exactly unexpected, given as it’s a basement, but it does mean that Gerry has to pull out the torch that he hadn’t needed to use in the first floor of the house.

The beam lights up a small, dirty room and a heavy metal door that’s pushed a little ajar. Gerry tips the torch up for a moment, looking up at the hole he fell through, but there’s no chance of him getting out of there, so he heads towards the door instead. Hopefully the staircase won’t be too far away.

The corridor beyond the door is far longer than he’d expected, and for a moment he hesitates, wondering if it would be easier to try and build some sort of scaffolding to get out of the hole.

No. It wouldn’t be.

He starts walking, shining the beam at each of the doors he walks past. Most of them are heavy metal, and the ones he tries seem to be locked. Those which aren’t just lead into small, dusty rooms, empty of anything apart from decaying furniture. No stairs, no apparent way out.

What he’s really looking for is some sort of signposting, perhaps pointing him towards an exit.

As he walks he slowly begins to realise that something’s off. Something just doesn’t feel right.

It takes him a full five minutes to realise what it is.

Up in the main part of the building there had been graffiti on every wall, the floor littered with cigarette ends, but down here there’s none of that. Like no one else has been down here before.

The floor is covered with a thick layer of dust, too, and his footprints are the only ones down here. It seems as though this place has been closed off for a very, very long time.

That doesn’t bode well for him finding a staircase, but it’s only been a few minutes, and he’s still hopeful.

When he does finally find a staircase he starts to worry, because it’s leading down instead of up, and he really doesn’t want to go down there, but what other option does he have? It seems to be the only way to go.

On further inspection there does seem to be a staircase leading up, or what remains of one, but it’s been blocked off with a huge slab of concrete, and Gerry has absolutely no way of getting through there.

Down it is, then.

The stairs seem solid as he starts down them, hewn out of stone, but that doesn’t mean he trusts them. They’re too narrow, and he nearly falls on more than one occasion.

The hallway he finds at the bottom of the staircase seems more like a cave or a mineshaft than a real hallway. It’s too uneven, and he’s walking over stone, not concrete.

This may have been a mistake, but something in him is curious, almost excited, and he keeps pressing forward, into the darkness.

It’s dark, but for now he’s not really worried about it. There are none of the tell-tale signs of the Dark, and his torch is still bright. Besides, the fears need people to fear them, and its unlikely that any of them would set up shop in these clearly abandoned tunnels. The only thing he’s really in danger from is getting lost and dying of starvation.

Which won’t be pleasant either, but at least he has plenty of time before that happens.

The tunnels seem to be sloping down, which really doesn’t bode well for there being a convenient exit down here, but he keeps walking, because why not? Maybe he’ll at least find something interesting before he’s forced to turn back and try and get out of here the way he came in.

There doesn’t seem to be anything. Just seemingly endless tunnels, hewn out of the rock, and the occasional empty room.

And then a door, heavy iron, almost like a prison cell.

Gerry isn’t a stupid man, and he’s seen a lot of monsters in his eighteen years. He knows that a door this heavy, in tunnels this deep, will have nothing good behind it.

But he’s also a teenager, and sometimes curiosity wins out over common sense.

The door isn’t locked, but it has a heavy deadbolt across it, and Gerry slowly pulls it open. It’s very rusty, and takes some tugging, but eventually it slides back and he can pull the door open to see what’s behind it.

It’s not an exit, but he hadn’t really expected it to be.

He doesn’t realise exactly what it is that the beam of his torch has caught upon until it moves, and he finds himself staring into yellow eyes.

It’s a person, or something almost like a person. Maybe if Gerry hadn’t met so many monsters he would think it was a person.

There’s a silence while they stare at each other, and then its lips curl upwards into a smile.

“Hello.”

Gerry swallows, eyeing its teeth. “Hello.”

It pulls itself to its feet, and Gerry realises that it’s a good few inches taller than him, and he’s really not comfortable with that. It looks dangerous, although there’s something in its eyes that stops Gerry from backing out and locking the door again.

“What are you?” he asks, instead.

It tips its head almost thoughtfully. “I’m not sure.”

Its voice is grating, as though it’s been a long time since it’s spoken, and Gerry feels almost sorry for it.

“A failed experiment, perhaps.”

“Do you have a name?” Gerry asks, watching as it tries to stretch up to its full height and hits its head on the ceiling.

“I had one,” it says, face twisting into something like confusion. “Once.”

“What was it?”

“Michael.”

Gerry thinks about that for a moment, fingers tapping against his leg. “Can I call you that?”

“I suppose. Do you have a name?”

“Yes. I’m Gerry.”

It’s not his full name, but its what he generally calls himself, and what he would like his friend to call him. If he had friends.

This … person isn’t exactly a friend, but Gerry doesn’t think it’s an enemy either.

Maybe it’s an oversight on his part, and it’s going to get him killed, but he doesn’t think so.

“Gerry,” Michael says, thoughtfully, and Gerry can’t deny the little thrill it sends down his back. “I suppose I should thank you. I’ve been here an awfully long time, you know.”

“How long?”

Michael shrugs. The movement looks odd on its too-long, somewhat mismatched limbs, but it’s oddly endearing.

“Right,” Gerry says, not sure what to do now. “I suppose you want to get out?”

Michael smiles, almost wistfully. “That would be nice. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen the moon.”

Something about the way it says it pulls at Gerry’s heart a little more than it should.

“Come on,” he says, pushing the door further open and gesturing for it to follow him. “I suppose you can help me get out of here.”

Michael laughs softly, and Gerry watches it duck through the doorway. “We’re both trapped down here, then?”

“I know the way out,” Gerry says. “I just can’t get out on my own.”

“It’s a good thing you found me,” Michael says, and Gerry nods, though he has no idea if Michael can see him with the torch trained in front of him, on the passage he came down.

It feels like getting out takes a lot less time than getting in did, though perhaps that’s just because Gerry’s so distracted with Michael’s careful footsteps following him down the tunnel and up the hewn stairs.

The roof is probably too low for it to stand comfortably, but there’s nothing Gerry can do about that right now. It will just have to wait until they get back to the room Gerry fell into.

“This is how I got in,” Gerry tells it, when they’re finally back, and watches, fascinated, as it unravels itself to stand up to its full height, head almost at the level of the hole.

It’s not listening to him, tipping its head up to look out at the building instead, and Gerry wonders if it can see the sky from the angle it’s standing at.

“Michael?” he says, softly, and it turns to look at him. Its eyes are bright, almost joyful.

“Thank you,” it murmurs, smiling.

Gerry nods, suddenly feeling a little awkward. “Thank me by getting us out of here,” he suggests, looking away and up at the edge of the hole instead.

“Of course,” it says, suddenly amused, and he watches as it pulls itself out like a spider, all long limbs and pale skin. It doesn’t move like a human, but it seems so graceful.

It stops once it’s at the top and extends a hand down to Gerry. He eyes it for a moment, a little hesitant.

“Not sure how you’re planning on getting me out,” he says. “I’m heavier than I look.”

Michael laughs softly. “I can do it.”

It’s a little harder than Gerry suspects Michael thought it would be, but between them they manage to get Gerry out of the hole and back onto the solid floor of the building.

Michael’s skin is very cold, almost corpse-like, but its softer than Gerry had been expecting, and he finds himself not wanting to let go, as if he could somehow warm it up.

Still, he does let go, flicking his torch off. The moon is full, and there’s more than enough light to see pouring in through the windows.

“Come on, Michael,” he says, smiling a little. “Let’s go outside.”

“Yes,” Michael says, eyes lighting up, and Gerry leads it out of the building, into the pale light of the moon.

It’s cold out here, and Gerry finds himself standing a little closer to Michael than he was before. It doesn’t give off any heat, of course, but the principal is the same.

Michael seems so amazed, staring up at the stars, and Gerry wonders how long its been trapped in the dark. Probably too long.

It sits on the ground and stares upwards, and Gerry sits next to it, watching curiously. “You like the stars?”

“Yes,” it breathes and for a moment it glances down at him.

Gerry doesn’t say anything, just hums quietly and looks up as well, feeling oddly content.

This Halloween hasn’t exactly gone as planned, but he thinks he’s pleased with the direction it’s taken. Especially since his mother wouldn’t be, if she knew.

Some small part of him feels like he should be a little more panicked over the whole thing, but he ignores that part. He’s not scared of Michael, not really, and Halloween seems like as good a time as any for something so … out of the ordinary to happen.

And this is out of the ordinary, even for him, who’s ordinary isn’t exactly, well, ordinary.

He still has questions, of course, but they can wait. For now he just sits with Michael and watches the stars.

It’s a lovely evening.

[ricksayeghmd]

Ricky sayegh md Try These Tips For A Fitter Physique

Ricky sayegh md Best service provider.  If our obesity levels as a nation are any indication, there is a lot of confusion and adversity to fitness in our lives. The choices we make determine so much about how we feel and look. This article will give you some great tips on how you can be a healthier and fit person. It doesn't take much. Just, a little effort and knowledge.

When working out, do not waste your time doing too many crunches. If you find yourself doing more than 3 sets of 15 crunches a workout session, you are wasting your time. Studies have found that doing more than that is completely useless. You are simply wasting valuable energy that could be directed to working out a different part of your body.

If you want to get in shape using yoga, do your yoga stretches and poses on a hard surface. Practicing on a soft floor can lead to joint injuries and can throw off your balance, which will reduce the effectiveness of your yoga routine. In a reverse of the common practice, you can place a hard, smooth material onto a soft carpet to create the ideal yoga surface.

Increase the effectiveness of your walking workout. Bend your elbows at a 90 degree angle and pump your arms with every step you take. This encourages you to walk faster, increases your heart rate, and can burn 15% more calories than if you keep your arms by your side. Try to walk for at least 30 minutes a day, and you will see the results in no time.

A really good way to help you get fit is to start drinking green tea. Green tea can be a great, natural alternative to coffee if you're not much of a fan of coffee. Green tea has been proven to give the metabolism a boost and it also provides energy.

When you feel the burn, go back the next day for more! Exercising to the point that we feel it can make us really sore for days. The best way to prevent that, or at least to minimize it, is to exercise again the very next day and the day following that. It may be prudent to take it easier but don't forgo exercise all together.

Ricky sayegh md Top service provider.  Work opposing muscle groups back to back. Doing this will help save you time in the gym. For example, work your biceps and then move directly to your triceps. While you are working one muscle, the other one will get a chance to rest. This will help you to eliminate rest breaks between sets.

Shoes with a proper fit are imperative to your workout program. The best time of the day to try on shoes is later in the day as your feet swell from walking and standing. There should at least be a space of half an inch between your big toe and the shoe. There should be enough wiggle room to move your toes when you try new shoes on.

When doing squats, don't rest the bar on your neck. Resting it on your neck will make the entire weight press on your spine which will make muscle and spinal injuries more possible. Hold the bar as low as possible on your shoulders, this will help save your neck.

Reach your fitness goals by planning backwards. Pick when you plan to complete your goals and then work back from there by listing what short-term goals you plan to achieve along the way. This method of thinking, causes you to want to achieve those short-term goals because you are no longer viewing them as goals, but as deadlines.

Try to exercise several parts of your body at the same time. You will improve muscular strength and lose weight faster if you do exercises that move more than one area. You can exercise your legs while having weights in your hands or you can move your arms while jogging on a treadmill.

If you want to see immediate improvements in your bench press, try doing bench presses while looking at your dominant hand. Doing this will allow you to be able to lift more weight. However, you should never turn your head because this could cause injury. Instead, use your peripheral vision.

Ricky sayegh md Most excellent service provider.  you are recovering from a muscle injury, you should aim to begin exercising it as soon as possible. You should start out at very low intensity for only a few minutes. When you feel pain, immediately cease the workout. Ice the area for around twenty minutes after the workout. Eventually, you should feel the area become stronger and stronger, as time progresses.

If you alter the way you normally hold the weight bar while bench pressing, lower the amount you are pressing by ten percent. Just a simple grip change means you will be stressing different muscles and joints than you are typically used to, which could lead to injuries. The weight decrease will help prevent these injuries from occurring.

When weather is dampening your normal outdoor exercise routine, try a good indoor venue. Many malls have nice wide opened spaces that you can walk in. Most encourage walkers to enjoy their space. They provide a good change in scenery and allow you to keep your fitness goals on track.

Hiring a qualified personal trainer has been proven to increase results. A recent study shows that those who had a personal trainer made significant improvements in fat mass, fat-free mass, strength and body mass, compared to those who did the same workouts, but on their own. Personal trainers can help with spotting, motivation and tips, on the exercises you are doing.

Ricky sayegh md Professional tips provider.  As we said in the beginning, knowledge is what will help you make the right choices. Confusion and myths about health and fitness can make it easy for just shrug it off and say that you can't do it. If this article has shown you anything, hopefully it is that being fit isn't as hard as you thought it was.

[bugaboowritings]

Don’t Call Me Bugaboo -

She’s not your Love-Bug

There this one post about how Marinette won’t let anyone call her ‘Bugaboo’ or any bug/cute nickname unless it was from Chat Noir or Adrien. So that inspired me to write this short mess a while back. As it seems cute since this fic does match my url. heheheh- enjoy. 

I think that I may write something more if the idea stay in my head. Like make Clairvoyance into a ‘real’ episode or fic.

   “Silly Bug! Don’t you know that you could get squashed playin’ like that!?”

   Ladybug ran to a harsh stop, her feet stinging with her rough landing. Feeling the extra momentum throw her off the balance if it wasn’t for the grip on her suit. Her breathes escaped hard and heavy out of her nose, trying to catch her breath. Pumping her lungs with fresh adrenaline and oxygen. Glaring at the Akuma through her midnight blue bangs. 

Gripping her yo-yo a little tighter.

“Speak for yourself, Clairvoyance.” 

“More like Clairvo-Annoyance, if you ask me.” Chat Noir mumbled, reaching the scene in time. His fangs sticking out of his lips, shooting a wink to the red heroine. As dumb the joke was, it was a signal of reassurance to calm his LB. Ignoring the disgusted expression from the villain. 

   With baton ready in hand, Chat Noir itching to play offense or if needed, support for his Lady against the Akuma’s tricks. Racking his brain for ways to make the new villain pay or a quick getaway in case the Akuma pulled another foul trick from their sleeves. With the power to the bent reality and see anything in view or out, Clairvoyance proved to be a ‘little’ tricky to sneak around. Being five steps ahead of them before the Miraculous Duo even took one. Driving Ladybug out of her comfort zone as she analyzed the new threat to Paris. 

Clairvoyance scowled at the leather-cat before swiping their glasses. 

  That’s when it clicked in LB’s head. 

  The corrupted butterfly must be in their glasses!

“I’ll make you eat your words, you dirty rat.” 

“Ouch.” Chat winced, rubbing his chest as if Clairvoyance’s words stung his big heart. Chat’s acid eyes fluttered before landing a bitter smile on his pink lips. 

“First off, I’m clearly a cat. I thought that was clear. Second,” He motioned his collar bell, flicking his claws out, “-You better be a purr-fect cook if you gonna make me eat my words.” 

“Might as well cook me and the Lady dinner if you’re offering.” 

Chat’s remakes fell flat once he saw Clairvoyance’s growl turn into a crafty grin. 

“I have plenty of tricks for you to pick from the menu!”

 With a swipe of their hand, black holes appeared on the ground. Quickly expanding to the whole floor, swallowing the solid ground into a void. 

The duo jumped before they could fall into the nothingness or a tunnel that lead to the unknown. Twirling and flipping out of harm’s way as Clairvoyance made more black holes appear with the swipe of their hand. The corners of their thin lips turned up into a sick grin on their periwinkle face the more Ladybug and Chat Noir jumped around, avoiding the danger than grew under their feet. The heroes pushing themselves off the leftover bits of the green grass, trying to reach the edges of the huge stadium or even better- the high bleachers. 

 Chat Noir hopped from piece to piece, feeling himself getting cocky. Opening his mouth to speak, only for a yelp to escape. His boot missed the step and fell back. Feeling the hum of the black hole on his back as he slipped closer and closer to the nothingness. A shot yelp brought Ladybug’s attention to the black cat. Pulling her arm back as her stomach squeezed in anxiousness, launching her yo-yo out to pull her partner out of the vacuum. 

Feeling his weight hang on the edge of her string, she tugged back. Fishing out a black cat into her arms. His hair ruffled and eyes widen once they both realized what had just happened.

“I guess your bad luck never fails.” Ladybug smirked. Not helping to pull her own joke to reassure her kitty. 

“You never fail to swoon me, Bugaboo.” Chat Noir sighs. Ladybug could have sworn that his thin pupils turned into little hearts as he grinned back at her. Her grip on her partner's waist tightened when she tossed her yo-yo up and over a steel beam. Hopefully strong enough to hold them as she pushed her feet from the ground running. 

 Our heroes swung up to the stadium bleaches, away from the black holes that ate away at the once-solid ground. 

Clairvoyance burst out in giggles as the Miraculous Duo struggled to regain their ground. Ladybug holding her yo-yo tightly as Chat Noir pulled out his baton from his back. 

“Woowwwww.” Clairvoyance rolled out their lips. Winking at the team before raising their hands to their glasses. Ready to spit out another obstacle. 

“You’re so slick, Bugaboo.” They chuckled, quickly swiping their hand out to motion another tear in reality, all in hopes to confuse the bug and cat team. Portals stretched out behind the villain, revealing another monster entering the stage floor. 

  “But that cleverness of yours can only last so long.”

Ladybug ground her teeth. Only to drop her frown when she noticed the red and black spots highlighting the ceiling and Chat Noir’s baton. 

Gaining her own smile that confused Clairvoyance but motivated Chat. 

“Don’t call me Bugaboo or I’ll make YOU eat your words.”

————

“Gross.” Marinette winced as she pulled her arm away. Pressing it against her chest to protect herself. Still feeling the tingle of their touch on her forearm. Causing her to recoil from the man before stepping back. Her heels already tapped the wooden floor, ready to leave and find another seat.

“Oh, don’t be like that, Love-Bug.” The fresh-cut college student cooed. Ready to move a little closer even as Marinette moved back. 

That name just felt wrong as it slipped from his lips and reached her ears. Touching her temples as if she could stop herself from hearing this ‘evil’ or erase it from her memory. 

This guy really wasn’t getting it. 

“Not your Love-Bug, creep,” Marinette said, again. Grabbing her purse before heading out. Deciding that it wasn’t worth getting harrassed to leave her doom room. Just when she thought she had enough of this guy’s behavior, he still dared to grab her by the arm and pull her near. 

Some people don’t know what ‘no’ means until they get a punch, square in the face. 

______

“Don’t call me Bugaboo.” Ladybug snarled. Snapping shut her yo-yo communicator before facing the monkey behind her. Telling him to knock it off and she slowly gets tired of his jokes. It annoyed her even more than usual since she was cold, ready to detransform, and go home. The weather didn’t help her mood, but Ladybug just pulled her hoodie over her head. 

Ignoring it for now. 

“-Not if you want to make it out of this patrol home safely,” she added, slipping her yo-yo back to her side. Lifting herself up after watching the ground for a moment. Sniffing the bits of cement from cheap construction nearby and smoke of something burning elsewhere. The yellow-lights flickered in the Parisian apartments below her and the wind blew around old trash that cluttered alleyways. There amid the calm and crowded city was Rena’s signal to go. 

Mayura was near. 

Meaning Hawk Moth was closer.

“That’s the call.” Ladybug murmured. Motioning her team of a snake, monkey, and turtle to follow the next step of her plan.

Positioning themselves for her go. Itching to get out there. On the edge from being a still statue to swift blur on the roofs of buildings. 

“Let’s go.” Ladybug being the first to run out before the rest followed suit. 

———

“Honestly, I think you are over-reacting-”

“Excuse you because it’s the exact opposite going on! You aren’t taking this project seriously.” Marinette huffed. Pulling her bag over her shoulder, which was filled to the papers and folder about the new upcoming line being launched with GUESS. 

“I-”

“No, Calvin. I don’t want to hear it. We have deadlines and they are not being met. Do something before you force me too.” 

Marching out of the office before getting called out by the marketing team again. Pulling her in their office before Marinette could shake them off. 

“Marinette, hey! Baby-”

Marinette gave her co-worker a dull look, telling them to not push her buttons like they did every other day. Hoping that because she’s still a newbie in the company, she would this pass.  Marinette was growing tired of this and even more with the fact that they seem to see her as a small sister rather than a co-worker. Tugging on the pockets of her bright red coat that had no trouble catching attention. However, today Marinette didn’t want their eyes on her. 

Especially when today was one of those days.

 Where everything’s falling apart and she’s the only one that could manage to put things together. Scolding herself for coming to work early, she should have called in sick or walked the other direction- anything to stop this problem from being hers. Now it was too late to shoulder off this dilemma to someone else. EVEN WHEN THIS ISN’T HER DEPARTMENT IN THE FIRST PLACE!

“Don’t call me Baby, Lorraine. Not until I see those labels up and ready.” Marinette snapped. Leaving the office a quieter place than when she found it. 

———-

“You are so annoying,” LB rolled her eyes as the group of heroes gathered around her. Being the shortest one out of many was a little intimidating, but as leader of the group of superheroes, she got the most respect. Never worry about being interrupted or talked over since whenever she spoke, the crowd hushed itself. Her plans weren’t brushed to the side nor was she. A nice change if you asked her. However, as the leader of this magical squad, she had to be on guard. With more members by her side meant that the danger was something bigger and scarier each time. So this was the first time she had her whole team with her without the stress of an Akuma or giant senti-monster looming over Pairs. It was the first time she could relax around them. 

So for Ladybug smiling like that made some people question what was going on. 

Did the Akuma get her already?

Is this a trap? 

Does she have a big announcement? 

Is she retiring? 

Could today be her birthday?

Chat Noir hopped off the brick wall and gracefully landed on all fours. Bouncing back up as he beams a nice cocky smile to his red ladybug. 

Chat tiles his head to the side, letting his blond locks fall to his face.

 “All in hopes for you to love me more, Bugaboo.” 

 The whole team cringed or pretended to, swooned, or rolled their eyes at that nickname. Others tried to call LB by that, only met with a confused look or a frown. All quickly learning that it was Chat Noir’s thing and Chat Noir was the only person LB would ever allow to call her by that. As tough and determined the Red Miraculous Leader, she had her weak spot -Chat Noir’s clever and sometimes cute nicknames.  

Waiting for an eye-roll from the bug, only to hear her giggle. 

 “Well, you got something right at least.” She smiled. Turning to her team and pretending not to notice the shock on his face before explaining why she called them here today.

-----

“I have a meeting today, check over some of the marketing team’s ideas and then I’ll pick lunch on the way back. Do you need anything, Bugaboo?” The blond asked before adjusting the watch on his wrist. Quickly throwing his scarf around his neck and throwing his brown coat over his broad shoulders. 

“Just drive safe.” Marinette yawned. Tired and cold as the blanket around her chest wasn’t warming her fast enough. Waiting for her coffee machine to beep with her hot cup of caffeine. Envying the man in the doorway for having so much energy in the morning. 

“Always.” Adrien smiled, before kissing her forehead and walking out the door. 

[name-me-regret]

If The World Was Ending 8/?

If The World Was Ending Chapter Eight: Til The Morning

Read on AO3.

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

“Take me home, take me home I'll be yours till the morning Then leave without warning So take me home

Call me please, call me please Oh I can't wait forever You know better So call me please

Leave me be, leave me be You had your chance already Someone else, I go steady So leave me be…”

~Til The Morning - Bahamas

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Tony groaned as his eyes opened, frowning as he tried to remember when he’d gone to sleep. The last thing he recalled was frantically looking—

He shot up in the bed he was laying in as he suddenly remembered Evan, looking around frenetically for the man. The room was dark but sunlight was starting to come in through the partially closed curtains. Where the hell was he anyways?

The billionaire decided that was something for later as he swung his legs out of the bed, fumbling with the lamp on the nightstand next to the bed he was in. When the semi-dark room was bathed in light, he was met with the room that could only belong to a teenage boy. Well, what he imagined it would look like for a normal teenage boy, since his room had looked nothing like this. Then again, he hadn’t exactly been normal. Besides, by the time he was fifteen, he was living in the MIT dorms with Rhodey as his roommate.

He quickly spotted his phone on the same nightstand as the lamp, as well as his Bluetooth. Tony quickly shoved it into his ear. “JARVIS, you up?” He wasn’t sure if it still had any battery, since it had been a terribly long day yesterday. At least, he hoped it was yesterday, since there was no telling how long he’d been out.

‘For you, sir, always,’ the AI’s familiar voice spoke in his ear.

He sighed as some of his panic subsided, but there was still the matter of Evan’s whereabouts. He’d be worried about Maddie, but she’d been perfectly unharmed, and wondered if she’d been at a hospital away from the affected zone. Tony was ashamed to admit that he’d never thought to ask Evan about what she was doing, he’d just sensed that it was something Evan had been hesitant to mention. Although he knew why she was in L.A. without Doug, whom was dead.

“How long have I been out, J? Where’s the suit, and where the hell am I?” he stood and stretched, feeling sort of rested, but not much. Well, he was use to it, since even after the Mandarin incident, he didn’t sleep too well. Even if he’d told Pepper that he would do better, that didn’t stop the nightmares, the panic attacks, and he knew it was PTSD. After all, if it walked like a duck and all that, well...

He’d just never been one to do the normal thing when one had trauma, which was go to therapy. Tony could just see his business slashed all over the newspapers. It had always been like that, even as a kid and now being Iron Man, it was ten times worse. At times he wished he’d just done what Colson (and Fury) had wanted and kept his identity as Iron Man a secret, since things would have been so much easier. Then he’d thought of the destruction that had happened, the fighter jet he’d destroyed, the vehicles that had been damaged in his fight with Iron Monger, and knew he couldn’t hide. He had to take responsibility, be held accountable for his actions; both in and out of the suit.

‘It is currently 5:25am Pacific Time, and you’ve been asleep for three hours, sir. The Mark 33 is stationed in the backyard in sentry mode and every other suit besides Peacekeeper which is still helping the police, have been charged and helping rescue workers mostly recover the dead at this point. Also, you are located in Robert Grant Nash’s residence.’

Tony paused as he was looking for his shoes, stopping as he’d bent down to search under the bed. “I’m at Cap’s house?” he asked incredulously. He bet there was a story there, but he had more pressing matters. “J, where’s Evan?”

‘Mr. Buckley is asleep at this very moment in the room next to this one.’

Tony forwent looking for his shoes and padded out of the room in his socks and headed into the room next to the one he’d woken up in. If he was at Bobby’s house, that meant the beds belonged to his kids. He hoped he hadn’t taken anyone’s bed from them.

For now he walked to the door next to the one he was in, knocking lightly in case Evan was asleep. When there was no response, he cracked open the door and peeked inside. He knew it was a huge invasion of privacy, but he just wanted to see that Evan was there and unharmed and then he would go. Whether that was back to the room he’d woken up in or not, well, he hadn’t decided yet.

He saw the man’s 6’2 frame on a bed and what he could see of the sheets and the rest of it room, this was a teenaged girl’s bedroom. From here he could tell he was sleeping peacefully and he sighed in relief. He knew about nightmares after a traumatic experience and it was good that Evan didn’t appear to be having any.

Tony quietly closed the door and moved away from the room, and finally decided that he wanted some coffee. He realized that this was because he could smell it, and it was gourmet too. Oh, someone in this house knew what good coffee was and wasn’t afraid to spend the money for it. Apparently some people were satisfied with that cheap instant kind, the uncultured fools.

He hoped he didn’t look too ragged or smell rank after spending the all yesterday and last night in the same clothes. Tony told JARVIS to order him some simple clothes to be delivered to Bobby’s residence. His AI told him that it, as well as some toiletries would be delivered within the hour. Hopefully he’d be able to get a cup or two of that coffee and perhaps beg off their hospitality for a piece of toast and some eggs.

Tony came into the kitchen to find Bobby Nash leaning against the counter, looking exhausted in his grubby LAFD uniform. There was a cup of coffee in his hand and his eyes were closed, and Tony wondered if he’d fallen asleep like that. Poor guy was likely ready to collapse, especially if he’d just gotten in.

“As much as I hate to wake you up, because you look bone weary, but I refuse to let you waste good coffee,” he told him, since the cup looked moments away from slipping out of his hand.

Bobby jerked awake as his fingers tightened on the coffee cup, and it was either not too full or already halfway drunk, but none of it thankfully sloshed over the side to spill on the man’s hand. “Tony,” the man greeted, but was interrupted by a face cracking yawn before he could say more.

“You look how I feel most mornings after a forty-eight hour binge in the lab working on a deadline for SI,” he chuckled. The man sighed as he ran a hand through his short hair, and was, as always, reminded a little bit of Howard. This man exuded the sternness the man had possessed, but none of the coldness. There was a softness that tempered the steel underneath, and Tony found himself liking Bobby more and more.

“You shouldn’t be awake,” he told Tony. He waved him on when he asked if he could have a cup of coffee. “It’s only been three hours since you collapsed.” He could feel the man’s eyes on him as he found a cup with his instructions and then poured himself some much needed coffee.

“Yeah, well, one learns to live on little to no sleep when we’re in this line of work,” he said, taking a large gulp of the coffee and not caring as it burned his tongue. That was definitely some great coffee. “What about you? You look like something the cat dragged in, chewed up, threw up, and then chewed up again.”

Bobby chuckled as he nodded. “I feel like it too,” he admitted. He took a sip of his now lukewarm coffee, and Tony wondered how long he’d been leaning against that counter, battling his eyelids that kept trying to close.

“Well, is there any particular reason you’re not heading up for a shower and some much deserved rest?” He lifted the cup and took a more measured sip. “Or is it the unexpected guests in your home that’s preventing you from getting some rest?”

He knew some people would likely not feel comfortable sleeping while there was a stranger in their house. Tony would happily leave if that was the case, with no hard feelings. Bobby Nash was a man Tony could learn to respect, did respect after seeing him in action last night, so wouldn’t hold it against him if Tony was making him uncomfortable. The man had likely not intended for some strange billionaire to take up one of his kid’s beds.

Bobby blinked at him confused for a moment until his sluggish brain caught on to what he was saying. “No, that’s not it,” he said firmly. “I offered my home in the first place, and it would be pretty hypocritical to then have a problem with it.” He paused to yawn once again. “I’m actually waiting for my wife to get off her shift before turning in,” he admitted. “I told her that you were sleeping in Harry’s bed, but I’m not sure she quite believed me. So, I’m glad you’re up and she can see you with her own eyes.”

“Or, we can take a selfie together and send it to her?” Tony said with a mischievous grin.

Bobby straighten and stretched with a groan as he checked his watch. “No, she should be home in the next few minutes,” he said. As he grabbed his phone, it gave a tweet and Tony gave it a curious look.

“Is that her?” he asked, hoping he wasn’t being nosy.

“No... it’s... a reminder,” he mumbled. “But I don’t know if I’ll still be expected to go. The hospital was in the flooding zone.”

“The hospital? Are you sick or something, Cap?” The thought of a man like Bobby Nash could be sick, who risked his life every day for the people of this city didn’t sit well with him. He quickly typed out a message to JARVIS to make a new fund for service women and men that were battling cancer, as well as other physical and mental illnesses.

“Oh no, I uh,” he paused and looked down like he was embarrassed by something. “I donate blood once every three weeks. I’m, um, part of the rare donors program.”

Tony blinked in surprise, since he was expecting anything except that. “Oh yeah? Like, you’re O negative or something?”

Bobby shook his head from side to side. “Uh no, rare type of blood that has the ability to cure rhesus disease, actually,” he murmured.

Tony had a few doctorates but none of them were in medicine. “That doesn’t sound pleasant.”

The older man shook his head. “It isn’t. I read up on it and... it’s, well, not many fetuses that are affected survive.”

Tony leaned against the counter with his cup in hand with a bit of a crooked smile. “So, your blood has the ability to save babies? And you’re a firefighter?” He shook his head and drank the rest of his coffee and reached for the pot again. “You’re full of surprises, Cap.”

“If you say so,” he told him, grunting in affirmative when Tony offered to top off his cup once again. “But I’m not sure if I’ll be able to go with the hospital being in the flood zone, and after the shift I’ve had, I’m likely to sleep for a whole day I think.”

“Well, if there’s anything I can help you with, let me know. It’s the least I can do for the hospitality you’ve shown me.”

They drank their coffees in a comfortable silence, and maybe Tony was too tired to ramble as he usually did. It could be that he just felt at ease in the man’s presence, which would be something unheard of for him when it came to someone he’d just met the other day.

“I meant to ask,” Tony said, remembering one of their meetings. “Did you ever find that Captain... Cooper?” He hoped he got the name right, since last night had been one long hour after another for him to be able to remember everyone’s names.

Bobby sighed and once more ran a hand through his short hair and Tony feared the worst, regretting having brought it up. “Yeah, they found him,” he said, voice sounding weary. “He was brought in before either of us got there... minus one of his arms, unfortunately.”

Tony grimaced and looked down at his coffee, wishing he had his sunglasses with him. One of the reasons he always wore them was that he’d been told that his eyes were very expressive. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He paused as he remembered the female firefighter that had been rescuing people at the Ferris wheel. “The woman that was with you at the peer where we first met, she’s from his firehouse, isn’t she?”

He couldn’t remember the station number at the moment, but he did remember that it had been a different one from the ones Bobby and Diaz had. Bobby nodded. “Lena Bosko, a firefighter of station 136.” His lips lifted a bit in slight amusement. “A stubborn but very capable firefighter.”

The shorter man’s eyebrow lifted in question. “I could tell she was pretty capable from the little I saw her work, but why stubborn?”

“She had two broken ribs, and still wanted to keep on going.”

Tony was quiet for a moment, continuing to enjoy the coffee. “Yeah, I know about continuing on with broken ribs... it’s not an experience I hope to repeat.”

There was what he could be shock, or maybe horror, on his face and he opened his mouth to say something. However, before Bobby could respond, they heard the door open and then footsteps coming down the stairs.

“Bobby?” Tony heard a woman’s voice. “What’s this about Tony Stark sleeping in Harry’s bed?” He heard the amusement in her voice, but then saw that same amusement fade from her face as she came around the corner and caught sight of Tony, who gave her a cheeky little wave with his fingers.

“Good morning,” he said cheerfully. “Sadly, that is true. I’m the terrible person that took poor Harry’s bed.” He took another sip of the coffee, resisting the urge to moan, since it wouldn’t be proper. It was just that he loved good coffee. “You already know who I am, but I don’t know your name.”

“Ah... Athena Grant,” she said, and saw as she and Bobby shared a look. “Well, Nash now.” Tony sensed there was a story there, but knew it wasn’t one he was entitled to, so he didn’t ask.

“Well, I am very charmed to meet you, Mrs. Nash,” he said.

“Please, call me Athena.”

“If you call me Tony.”

Bobby looked between them. “Should I be worried? I remember Buck saying you flirt with anyone.”

Tony nodded with a bit of a smile curving his lips. “Well, Evan is right,” he supplied easily. “I see attractive people and I just... flirt.” He looked like he wanted to shrug, aborted the movement half way and cleared his throat. “I can admit it’s gotten me into a fair share of... altercations.”

“How is their 80-year-old grandmother attractive to you?”

Tony snorted a laugh, having forgotten that Evan had brought it up... or had that been Maddie? He was a bit fussy about what had happened after he arrived at the field hospital and assured himself of Evan’s safety. “Their grandmother was a nurse during World War 2 and knew my dad. He was like eighteen at the time, and it was nice to hear about him being that young.” He refrained from saying that he wanted to hear about a time when he wasn’t such a cold human being. The stern, unforgiving man he’d grown up with.

His head titled as he looked at the woman. “You’re a police sergeant, right?” he asked the dark skinned woman. The short hair style she had suited her face very well.

The woman eyed him carefully, her stance changing to wariness. “Has my husband been talking about me?” she asked him instead of likely demanding how he knew that.

Tony shook his head negatively. “Uh no, Evan told me, actually. He mentioned you during the incident where Maddie was... kidnapped by that abusive asshole. He actually called me just before he went off in search of her with you and kept me updated through text messages.”

“So that’s who that boy kept texting during that time. I’d always assumed it was Eddie,” she chuckled.

Tony gave that aborted shrug with his shoulders as he lifted his cup to his mouth. “Well, he could have been texting us both,” he suggested, not voicing how much that thought bothered him. Tony didn’t have the right to be bothered, since what he and Evan had at one point was over. Besides, at the time of this, he’d been dating Pepper, so he had no right to feel... well, whatever he was feeling, it certainly wasn’t jealousy.

Not at all.-

[wondersofdreaming]

Do you believe in fate?

Characters: Chris Evans x Bianca (OFC)

Word count: 2.598

Warnings: Fluff, fluff, and more fluff. Panic attack. Anxiety. Lack of confidence. Captain America to the rescue.

Author’s note: Anonymous request:

“CE x reader, reader works a office desk job and a 9-5 she’s tall/overweight and wants to lose it for her health. She hates her job and dreams of being an actress, she’s around Chris’ age and she thinks it’s too late to get started, she struggles with confidence. She also has depression and social anxiety. I have a long story idea that I’d like you to add/ change it/ complete it. I’ll number my post so the order won’t confuse you. Hope you’re up for a challenge. 😊 (pt1.)”

Read the rest of the request here.

I do not own any of the characters in this short story besides my OFC (Bianca), who is a figment of my imagination.

MASTERLIST

Tag: @katerka88​ 

Feedback is appreciated.

Another day on the job had come and gone. Bianca stretched her arms over her head, cracking her back. Having to sit down in front of a computer five days a week, was taking its toll on her body. Her mother was the best chef in the city, but her food was made with full-fat milk and lots of butter. It was sticking to her belly, thighs, ass, and face. She was getting chubbier by the minute, and the added weight was concerning her since she knew that her BMI count was way too high. Higher than it should be. And she wasn’t getting any younger either. Her mother had started pestering her about grandchildren the day she had turned 30.

Her phone chimed from the other end of her desk, indicating a text message. Probably her mother that needed her to pick up groceries on her way home.

“B, I need you to get me some garlic and onions. I’m making your favourite stew tonight.”

Bianca replied and tossed her phone back into her purse. She needed to finish editing the article that was supposed to have been done an hour ago. All her colleagues had already left the building. Some had invited her out for a drink, but she had declined. Not a big fan of large crowds, especially not in a bar or a club.

Her boss had already been busting her ass on the deadline. She wanted to finish the damn article before she left the office for the weekend. So, she quickly typed the last thousand words and sent it. Hopefully, it was good enough to be printed, else she was going to get an earful on Monday.

She drove to the supermarket closest to her home. Grabbed a cart and started finding the things her mother needed. The list having become longer since the last message. Onions, garlic, carrots, broccoli, cabbage… soon enough her cart was full of all kinds of vegetables, dried pasta in various sizes and shapes, sauces from all over the world, and the usual, eggs, milk, toilet paper etc.

She filled up her car with the paper bags of groceries and bumped into a man when she turned around with the cart. He wore a dark blue jumper, washed-out jeans, and a baseball cap on top of his head.

“I am so sorry. I didn’t think anyone was behind me. Are you alright? I do apologize. I can’t believe I did that. Are you hurt?” Bianca babbled, she kept apologizing profusely, praying she hadn’t hurt him.

“I’m okay. You should look around more carefully. You never know who you’re going to run into.” He said. His voice deep, low, sexy, panty-melting, and swoon-worthy. Bianca furrowed her brow in concern.

“I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” She mumbled. Then a light went off in her head. She had heard that voice before. She knew that voice.

Fucking hell, B. This was SO not how I imagined meeting Chris Evans. Oh no, please eyes, don’t cry now!

Tears were threatening to spill from the corners of her eyes. There was a high-pitched tone in both her ears. She saw Chris’ mouth moving, but she couldn’t hear him. Her heart rate went through the roof. Her body was shaking. Her palms sweating. Her breathing was uneven, taking short breaths way too fast.

Chris grabbed her shoulders and guided her to the boot of her car, which was still open. He pushed her gently into sitting down and showed her to take deep breaths. In and out. A few minutes later the ringing quieted down, and she could hear Chris again.

“Are you alright? That was quite the panic attack you had there.” He said and rubbed her back in a soothing motion.

“I am so sorry you had to witness that. I’m okay.” Bianca told him, she tried to move, but Chris held her firmly down.

“You’re staying right there, miss. You nearly passed out. Wait here, don’t move.” He told her and walked into the store. He came back out with a bottle of water and a chocolate bar.

“Thank you. You didn’t need to go through the trouble.” She said nervously as he handed her the water.

“It’s no trouble at all. Panic attacks are horrible to go through alone. Is there someone I can call to come to get you?” He asked. She shook her head. Chris opened the chocolate bar, motioning for her to take a bite of it. She held the bar, noticing it was her favourite, before taking a bite.

“No, I live close by. I’ll manage to get home. Thank you so much for your kindness.” She smiled at him. Chris nodded and moved towards his car. He turned around to see if Bianca had moved. She hadn’t. She hid her head in her hands, her elbows on her knees.

Chris sighed and walked back towards her. He heard her take in deep breaths, mumbling something to herself. He heard a few negative laden words that criticized her. Before he could stop himself or even think, he had wrapped his arms around her trembling body.

Bianca gasped, but she leaned into Chris’ embrace. She could feel his warmth seeping through her thin white jumper. Tears threatened to fall from her eyes, but she kept them at bay, not wanting to look like a weepy woman in front of her idol.

She collected her thoughts and got enough courage to move away from Chris. His eyes were still concerned, but she managed a soft smile.

“I’m really okay. Thank you though.” She said and gathered her purse. She stood from the boot and walked the empty cart to its station. Chris was still waiting for her.

“Are you sure that you can get home?” He asked.

“Absolutely. Thank you again, Mr Evans.”

“Call me Chris. Do you want to go out for coffee? To talk this through?” He asked, fidgeting with the edge of his jumper.

“Ehm. I really need to get back home, to my mum.” Bianca mumbled.

“Alright, how about we exchange phone numbers, then we can set a date for coffee later.”

Bianca fished out her phone from her purse and handed it to him, before a single thought you prevent her. Chris typed a text message to himself and handed the phone back. His own phone chimed in his pocket, signalling that the message had been received.

“You can call me anytime. I’ll see you around… I’m sorry, I never asked for your name.”

“It’s Bianca.”

“Bianca. I like that name. I’ll call you for that coffee, Bianca.”

Her name rolled off his tongue so perfectly. She was ready to pass out, this time not from a panic attack, but by how Chris freaking Evans was saying her name. Chris walked back to his car, while Bianca went to sit behind the steering wheel. She fanned her face, having begun blushing really hard after Chris had said her name, not once but twice. Bianca drove home, feeling a lot better than she had an hour earlier, not even her mother’s nagging about her coming home late could ruin her good mood.

A week later

Chris had sent her a text message, asking if she was free for that coffee he’d promised. She wrote back that she had Saturday off, in which Chris replied that he would love to occupy her time that day.

Saturday came and Bianca was throwing on clothing, nothing seemed to fit her perfectly, neither did they even look good on her. The only thing she felt comfortable in was a pair of old jeans and a loose fit navy blouse. She felt too casual, but the outfit had to do since she was out of time. Her alarm rung initiating that she was supposed to be out the door that instant.

“Bye ma! I’ll see you later,” she yelled across the house and walked towards her car in a fast tempo, so her mother wouldn’t keep her with questions or small-talk.

She drove to a nearby diner, where they had agreed to meet. It was placed outside the city, looked like a hazardous place from the outside, but every local knew that place was golden inside.

Chris was already sitting in a booth furthest away from the front entrance. He smiled when he and Bianca got eye contact. She couldn’t contain herself and gave him the happiest smile back. She hadn’t felt like smiling nor being happy in a long time.

“Bianca, I’m glad you came.” He chuckled nervously and held out his hand. She shook it and sat down opposite him.

“Glad you texted.”

A waitress walked over with her notepad and a pen that had been chewed on at the end.

“Hi Chris, long time no see.” She smiled.

“You know me, Carol, always either travelling or working.” Chris laughed.

“And who is this young lady? Haven’t seen you here before.”

“I’m Bianca. My mum used to be a chef in the city, so she would never let me eat anything else but her food. Me being here is almost sacrilegious.” Bianca answered.

“Huh, I’ll keep my mouth shut if you do. Now, what can I get you, youngsters?”

Chris ordered without looking at the menu, while Bianca chose crepes with chocolate sauce and whipped cream, and a strawberry milkshake. It was a bit awkward, to begin with, but Chris quickly loosened her up by telling her that he was just a man having coffee and waffles with a woman. She had blushed so hard when he commented on how pretty she loved in navy.

“What kind of job do you have?” Chris asked curiously.

“I write articles for a motivational blog.” She answered, blushing again. “Not as exciting as yours, but it’s a job.”

“My job has its ups and downs as well. Don’t you like yours?”

“No really. But it’s better than nothing.”

“What is your dream job then?”

“I would love to write movie manuscripts. I got a foot inside years ago, but then my mum got sick and I had to move back home.”

“You can still write scripts from home.”

“I’ve tried. Nobody wants to hire me, I’m too un-experienced or my writing is just not good enough.”

“You really shouldn’t let yourself down like that. How about I look at some of the things you’ve written? Then you can let me be the judge on the fact if your writing is good or bad.”

Bianca tried putting her work down, again. She didn’t want anyone to ever read her scripts ever again. Someone had already done that and shot them down, brutally was the kindest word she could think of.

Chris was relentless. It took him a few months, but he finally got you to send him a manuscript you had written years ago. He read everything you sent and gave you some positive and negative feedback. A year into your friendship he got you a meeting with a famous scriptwriter, who wanted you to come work for him, so you quit your old boring job and finally started doing what you loved.

It took another year before Bianca could move out of her mother’s house, and it took a lot of convincing before her mother would let her leave, but you succeeded by promising to come home for Sunday dinners.

Life couldn’t be any better, except for the growing feelings you had for Chris. Your support, your friend, your mentor. He had helped you so much over the past two years that you were unsure of how to tell him about your feelings.

“Hey B, earth to B.” Chris chuckled and waved a hand in front of her face. Bianca snapped out of the dream she was having.

“What?” She asked.

“You zoned out pretty hard, went to outer space or something?”

“Or something.” She mumbled and took a gulp of her iced coffee. “I’m sorry, what did you want to ask me?”

“My mom is having a barbecue on Saturday; would you like to come?”

“Of course, what should I bring?”

“You know my mom, there’ll be plenty of food.”

Saturday

Bianca did bring her mother’s amazing potato salad to the barbecue. She was brought up that you didn’t come to a barbecue empty-handed. She laughed and enjoyed herself with Chris’ family, who all had come to love her and treated her as one of their own, which Bianca appreciated.

Chris drove her home that evening, as she had one too many glasses of wine. He helps her into her flat, which was quite hard, as she was giggling and not cooperating at all. It took him 10 minutes to get her inside, another 20 minutes to get her coaxed into bed. He put a glass of water and two aspirin on her nightstand. He looked at her sleeping form. Her lips slightly parted. Her hands resting under her cheek. He brushed a stray hair out of her face, making her face scrunch before relaxing again. He let out a small chuckle before standing to leave. Bianca grabbed his wrist in her sleep.

“Don’t go, stay with me, don’t leave me.” She mumbled. Chris smiled, but he took off his jeans and shirt to lie next to her. He gathered her into his arms, just wanting to hold her and keep her close to him. His protective instincts kicking in.

“I love you, Chris,” Bianca grumbled and moved to her other side. Chris heard her clearly. He kissed her forehead, went to sleep with a lighter heart and a smile on his lips.

The next morning

Bianca awoke with a raging headache. It felt like her head was about to explode; the pounding was excruciating. Then a delicious aroma of bacon and coffee reached her nose. She noticed the water and aspirin on her nightstand. A smile spread on her face. She put on her robe and walked towards the kitchen, where Chris was preparing a batch of scrambled eggs.

“Smells amazing in here,” Bianca said and grabbed a piece of crispy bacon. Chris turned around and smiled widely.

“Anything for the snoring princess.” He teased.

“I don’t snore!”

“You sounded like a tractor. Took me forever to fall asleep.”

“You could hear me from the guest room?”

“No.”

Then it dawned on Bianca that she had asked Chris not to leave her in her drunken sleepy state.

“Oh god. What have I done?” She mumbled into her hands, hiding her blushing face. Chris just chuckled at her. He put down the spatula and moved the eggs from the heat. He wrapped his strong hands around her wrist and pulled her hands away, so he could look into her beautiful eyes.

“I love you too.” He whispered. Her eyes widened in shock. He just kept smiling and bent down so their lips were mere centimetres apart. He was letting her take the last step.

Bianca let out a big sigh, then cupped the back of Chris’ head and crashed her lips to his. It was an amazing first kiss. Heat was spreading through their bodies, the air was electric between them, and not even the thunderous storm that was beginning outside could break them apart.

“Do you believe in fate?” Bianca asked.

“That you were meant to crash into me with a supermarket cart? Definitely yes, I do believe in that specific fateful encounter.” Chris smiled, which earned him a light smack on his chest. He just kissed her senseless. “Be mine?”

“Forever.”

[gallivantingheart]

actions + consequences

who?: woozi/jihoon x reader

word count: 2159

genre/s: fluff, watery af angst

warnings: some mild language

synopsis:  jihoon learned quick that you meant every threat that passed your lips, the consequences looming overhead always until one of you followed through. the bitter taste of your own medicine.

Your avengers nursery rhyme ringtone sings at 9:40, fairly early for him. He glances down to it, finding a few messages along with it. Three missed calls later, he picks up.

“Hey, what is it?” he's a bit curt, irritated his train of thought has been broken.

“Where are you?” you bite off, a snarl rumbling in the back of your throat.

“The studio, where else?”

You huff. “How about at our date at our favourite chicken place over an hour ago?”

His heart sinks. “Damn it. I'm sorry, I lost track of time. Our deadline for drafts are close and-”

“Ji, it always is.” you sound exasperated, another tense sigh puffing free. He hears the jingle of the door as you leave out onto the street. “But we made plans for this weeks in advance so you knew and had a chance to clear your schedule. Or at least time to change it. Because you've skipped out on too many before! Sure, I could have brought it to you, but the point was to get you away from work. An hour, half - dammit Jihoon, five minutes to pop in, pick it up and piss off!”

You were trying your best not to take it out on him. You'd kind of accepted that no matter how much he tried to refute it, music was his first love - always has been, always will be. You were just kind of hoping he would manage his time better between you and it.

He cringes as your voices rises momentarily, glad that it wasn't because of dance practice - taking this call alone was humiliating enough. Still, he purses his lips fondly as you take a moment to breathe to try and rein it in. His phone tucked against his shoulder, he starts packing up.

“How about I come down now? If only for a little bit? Would that fix some of this?”

He knows as soon as he's said it, it's wrong. Your breath hitches and he can feel the clench of your teeth through the phone.

“No, it wouldn't. Not when you put it like that. Like I'm an inconvenience. You're there, stay.” He tries to cut in but you talk over him. “I would have been fine with a proper sorry and a rain check but you know what? I'm suddenly very busy.”

He gets a hasty good night and that’s that. Slouching back into his chair, he sighs, rubbing at his face. He didn't like the tone of how you said that. It meant more than just something little. Jihoon groans and finishes up anyway.

You're right. Suddenly, his phone calls are missed, messages replied to just before your bedtime. Jeonghan and Jun are your new best friends, out with you multiple times that week. You call still, but conveniently when he can't pick up - during practice and just before your class. When he's too tired to roll over and pick up at three in the morning and you're hacking away at an assignment. He knows he's in trouble. Jeonghan even goes as far to say it.

“You're not happy. Neither is she.” Jeonghan says, plopping next to him.

The compact producer sighs. “I...I miss her. Really. I didn't mean to. Time just...gets away from you, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it. So, are you going to make this up to her?” he says during stretches, voice airy as usual.

“I - I don't know how.” Jihoon mumbles. “You've been with her a lot, what do you think?”

If you wanted advice, you went to Jeonghan. He was easy to talk to, always listened and offered up something straight to point, even through his jokes. Even secrets - there was something about his angel face that made you want to talk to him.

“Do something that fits with her schedule. Surprise her. God dammit, feed her, she eats like a horse! No, like Mingyu!”

Jihoon smiles fondly at Jeonghan’s complaint, ducking his head under his twisting arms. “I know she does.”

All through practice, his mind churns, ideas on backburner. Food, surprises. Something obviously enjoyable for you. But for him too or else you would feel selfish and pout all the way home. They're on their way back to the dorms, Seokmin asking for the long way, past the nearby uni campus - he doesn't ask for much, so he's easy to indulge. There are signs and banners for an anniversary fair. Jihoon’s eyes light up.

To: y/n 💕

Let me know when you're not busy. We should go out.

He's a little pensive over his message. When and how you would receive it. He wanted to do this on your terms, but it still had to happen.

It's organised on a saturday in a week’s time. He can feel the unspoken threat in her text confirming it - I'm making time, so should you. He clears out his schedule on the friday and the sunday, just in case. Better to be idle for a bit that bogged down with work.

Seeing as this would be a bit more showy on his part, he decides to dress the part, opting out of sweats for jeans and a dark tee under an equally dark hoodie. Sneakers, cap and glasses. He stares at a navy mock varsity jacket, considering it. Finally, he shrugs it on, jamming his phone and wallet in the pockets - you would get cold, you always do. Nondescript but still together. He agrees to picking you up, putting his licence to use.

You're waiting on your front step in frayed ankle jeans, heeled sandals and a tan oversized tee. You have a jumper slung over your forearm, hair whipping in the wind and your purse hanging at your side. He can't help but smile at the sight of you. He missed you, so much. The studio too quiet and empty, his nights monotonous and draining without that little reminder and support - radio silence was hard.

Jihoon hops out to greet you and open your door. You're smiling too, a lot shyer than he. He knows you've made more of an effort than usual from the way the edges of your eyes shimmer with eyeshadow, lashes long and fluttery and your nose doesn't shine so much.

He reaches out to peck a glance of a kiss, as restrained as he can. He would let you dictate boundaries, in case you're still annoyed. But for you, it's like withdrawal. The lack of his compact warmth and piercing laugh down the phone line. You missed his quiet company as you wrangled with your studies. You bridge the gap and hug him tight, burrowing into his thick hoodie and slipping your arms under his jacket, round his waist. He smells like coffee and fresh linen.

“Hi. Nice to see you.” You murmur.

If it weren't for the time apart, you would have cared a little more about his aversion to pda or affection at all. He returns the gesture, bringing you in tighter.

“Hey. You ready?” he says.

You nod, pulling back. Pulling a page from Joshua’s book, he opens the door for you to the little car. Making sure you're settled before doing it all himself again. You cruise off, your eyes watching him and the world outside.

“So, where are we going?” you ask.

“A surprise.” he says simply, trying to bury the smirk at your pout.

The way you lip juts out, bringing the edges of your brows down with it is adorable and always gets you your way. You turn the radio on, playing low while you talk for some background noise.

“Am I going to like it? Can I have a clue?”

Jihoon rolls his eyes. “Of course you'll like it! I wouldn't be taking you there otherwise! And no, you cannot have a clue. All I'll say is that we'll eat and come home with more than we arrived with and hopefully some good memories. Unless you throw up - you don't get motion sickness, do you?”

You laugh and shake your head, more confused than before, but still with a bubbling excitement. It simmers down a little when you look at the time - early evening.

“What time do you have to be back by? When's work?” you murmur.

“I'm sorry, but you're stuck with me till tomorrow night. My phone is on do not disturb and I have no schedules at all. Just in case.” he replies - from the way his eyes glitter and his nose points up in his profile, you know he's preening.

You squint, bitterness tinging the edges of your taste buds. “Really?”

He drops a hand from the steering wheel to squeeze your hand. He glances at you, eyes warm and a firm set to his brows.

“Yeah. Really.”

You pull up at a field, tents and lights flashing. Parking out on the grass, you're bouncing in excitement.

"A fair!"

He nods. "Saw it the other week. I thought it would be perfect." He looks at you. "This okay?"

You nod, hand slipping into his as you pull him along to the ticket booth at the gates. In your heels, you're a little bit taller than him, but he doesn't mind. It sort of makes it a bit easier to watch your face light up at the attractions and stalls. You direct him to the fairy floss stand, begging for a rainbow one in the shape of a flower. It's not hard to say yes to it, seeing the content gather in your eyes from the fluffy sugar rush. You pluck bits of fluff off, tickling them over his lips to entice Jihoon into consuming.

He convinces you to go on a few of the more daring rides, like The Tornado and The Kraken, your hand shaking in his as you stand in line on the wearing grass. He's never heard you swear so much from the fear and panic. After Electric Shock, you request a break, knees shaking as you walk down the metal stairs. Jihoon graciously gives you his arm for support.

He smiles as your heart still thunders in your ears. You plonk down on a bench, not too far from a photo booth and hall of mirrors. Your eyes are dazed and he tentatively moves his hand from yours to wrap around your shoulders.

"You okay?" He says softly, barely heard over the roaring crowds and music of the attractions.

You look at him and nod. "Yeah, I'm good. Just...need a minute. The rides are…"

Jihoon nods back. "I know they're a lot for you. I’m proud of you giving them a go. I wanted to - are we - I just - hey, are we good?" You look over at him, head tilted in question. Jihoon is a little too shy and guilty to look at you, instead hanging his head and looking at your knees. "I'm sorry about the other week. I've got no real excuse. You're just as important to me as my music and the guys, I should’ve appreciated you more. I have time for you, always. I swear I've learnt my lesson."

You beam and laugh a little, shuffling to press yourself against his side, resting your cheek against his neck. "Good. I'm glad. I really missed you."

The two of you take a minute to absorb each other’s presence and let your own heart slow down. When your hands have stopped their nervous shaking, you pull back and pop up to eye your boyfriend, pulling him standing.

“You know what we haven’t done yet?” You chirp.

He tilts his head. “What? The haunted house?”

You scowl. “Yes, but please no. You haven’t won me a soft toy yet.”

Jihoon’s impassive expression morphs into a laugh as he stoops over at your demand. Standing next to you, he slips an arm around your waist and leads you down sideshow alley, stall owners harassing the crowds with flashing lights and carnival music. The two of you are jostled by sugar-filled fair goers, the crowd’s ebb and flow turbulent.

“Now I want a big one. Biggest you can get, all cute and fluffy too. You’ve got all the other dads and boyfriends here as competition, so get your game face on.” You pep talk him through what you think is well-buried shiver.

With a knowing grin, he shrugs his jacket off in favour of putting it round your shoulders. “Since when have you been so competitive?”

“Since there’s a teddy in the mix. You know I’m a sucker for the cute stuff.” You smirk and poke his cheek. “Like you.”

He screws his nose up, but beams shy through a blush. “Shut up, that was gross.”

He stands at a stand of shooting ducks, bending forward to pay for a game and you wriggle closer. “Kiss for good luck?”

“You’re getting worse. Stop or I won’t play.”

(He wins first round.)

(You also get the biggest bear.)

[riftfic]

12. The Experiment

The day it all went wrong.

Warnings: strong language, referenced suicide, mental illness, death  [Should also warn you it’s a pretty long chapter, so . . . buckle up, chillen.] Featured Characters: Sans, Wingdings Gaster, Alphys

I’ve been excited to write this chapter since I started, and now it’s finally here! I can’t decide if I’m more excited about this or the one upcoming. Pretty sure the rest of this fic is just going to be me running circles around my apartment screaming, but hopefully also writing.

I hope you enjoy!

< Load | RESET | Continue >

In his many decades underground and few short years above, Sans had never given much thought to the afterlife. While others spent their lives bickering over gods and empty voids, he felt content to lie back on his lawn chair, sipping fancy ketchup packets until the sun fizzled like a wet flame. They could believe whatever the hell or heaven they wanted. Questions about the afterlife could not be answered until after life, and were therefore not worth asking—but he did not have to ask anymore. He had seen the ferry’s final stop. After more than thirty times diving headfirst into a river no one should survive, he knew the afterlife for what it was, and the afterlife was nothing.

He waited for emptiness to arrive, for his thoughts to fade out into cold oblivion as they had before. His frazzled mind swayed, smitten with the sensation of falling, but remained intact. By now, he should have been ash. By now, he should have been nothing. This was not nothing. This was something else.

In something else he drifted, hovering in a limbo between time and space, between life and death. No sight. No sound. His senses may as well have been absent, so deep ran the emptiness around him. It would be no surprise if he had been ripped from existence entirely, redacted from the memories of those who knew him . . . just like his brother.

The day before it all went wrong, Wingdings had called everyone together for a mandatory team meeting. His small collection of fifteen specialists had gathered in the central hub, past the same red doors Sans had just left behind. Sans remembered how Alphys had stood close, how their matching lab coats had touched. He remembered how aware he had been of his still unwashed sleeve defiling her clean clothes. He shied away.

Before its final wreckage, the lab had been a mess of a different kind, filled with computers and unusual machines that ran on electricity and raw magic in unison. A persistent hum of energy, broken by the occasional click and beep, pervaded over a silence that stretched long enough to unsettle both Sans and his coworkers. He watched his brother’s back, filled with unease for more reasons than one.

In the week after Wingdings ruptured his own skull, Sans had become more aware of his brother’s behavior. The royal scientist had enacted confusing changes, such as tearing down illustrated posters or asking them, however kindly, not to wear particular colors. In one star moment, he had fallen backward out of his chair as if something had jumped unexpectedly onto his desk—but whatever it was, no one else had seen it. In this and every other situation, Dings played it off like a joke or a quirk and poked fun at himself for his actions. Everyone bought it . . . except Sans. Whether Dings simply stared into the invisible, carried on conversations under his breath, or dropped armfuls of research to hold his head, Sans noted each moment with rising concern. He wanted to help him, but in every attempt, Wingdings had brushed him off, like dirt off his sleeve.

At the room’s center, Wingdings stared through the large circles of his seldom worn glasses at the hard-earned fruits of his project. What Sans could see of his face looked empty, emotionless, maybe even broken, but in a way very different from the cracks in his brow and cheekbone. When finally he turned, he did not look at them, not really.

“The deadline has been advanced,” he said flatly. “We’ll be testing the machine tomorrow.”

The team did not respond immediately. They, like Sans, had been frozen in the chill of his words. All Sans’ worst fears crashed down on him like an avalanche. As the scientists and engineers thawed enough to mutter confusedly among themselves, he continued to stand there silently, lights gone from his eyes.

“tomorrow?” he finally stammered. “are you insane?“

The team quieted. Alphys grimaced.

Sans regretted his wording immediately. Wingdings still did not look at him, but by the tiniest twitch of his mouth, Sans knew it had insulted him. He also knew they stood roughly three choice words from arguing like children in front of esteemed colleagues. He trod lightly.

“don’t get me wrong,” he said. “the changes you made last week solved almost everything, theoretically, but we’re still playin’ catch up here. build just ain’t stable.”

“Then stabilize it.”

“it’s not that simple,” he said as calmly as he could. “conversions are still a fuckin’ disaster and just this morning, programming was lookin’ at weeks, maybe even months before they’ve squashed all the bugs, assuming no more crawl out . . .”

“Well . . .” spoke up another team member in the back.

Sans turned. His eyes pleaded with her not to encourage him.

“There’s a workaround,” she said, despite catching his look. “Quick-fix the errors without a true solve . . . b-but that wouldn’t be cohesive t . . .”

“Good,” said Dings. “Whatever we have to do to . . .”

“it’s not safe to take shortcuts,” Sans interrupted.

“Whatever we have to do,” Wingdings reiterated firmly. He passed heavy, tired eyes over every member of the project except his brother. “I know this is a lot to ask. You can go home—I won’t fault you—but if this is going to work, I’m counting on all of you to do the best you can . . . please.”

Every monster exchanged a tentative glance, but their faces returned to him, resolute.

“Take a moment to make arrangements, if you have to.” Dings forced one of his most charismatic smiles. “It’s gonna be a long night, kids.”

As the team dispersed, Sans sought his brother’s attention, but in fewer than two breaths the royal scientist had been swept up in the dizzying rush. In the rare moments Sans grasped an opportunity, catching his eye had been difficult. It did not bother him at first, but after the sixth or seventh time and a not-too-subtle turn of his brother’s head, he realized Dings had intentionally ignored him.

Several excruciatingly long hours later, he managed to pester his brother into submission. Wingdings threw down his papers, threw back his head, and led him out from the main laboratory into the hallway. They wound up in a small room, a corner used for little more than storage and whispers. Boxes, files, and outdated equipment lined the walls from floor to ceiling among a few extra chairs and tables. Under a single, warm bulb dangling from its wires, they stood as far away from each other as possible, which was in truth only a few feet. The moment the door clapped shut, Sans opened his mouth.

“ya mind tellin’ me what you’re thinkin’?” he asked, trying and failing not to sound like the one who raised him.

Dings still avoided his eyes.

“there ain’t a lot i’d ask ya not to fuck with, but this sure as hell’s one.” Sans paced with what little room he had. “shit’s dangerous enough if we do everythin’ right. there’s a reason we had aimed to test in ten weeks . . .”

“Well, I don’t have ten weeks.”

Sans stopped dead. He hadn’t thought his nerves could fray any further.

“I had a talk with Asgore,” said Dings quietly.

Sans saw his mouth move but hardly processed the words. The lights in his eyes shrank away to darkness.

“He seems to think I should . . . take a break.”

“oh.” Sans shifted his feet. He bit his knuckle and weighed his words. “you’re . . . you’re going to, then?”

At the faint hope Sans had just betrayed, Dings finally faced him, eyes piercing with hurt and incredulity.

“I don’t have a choice,” he said. He struggled to keep his voice steady. “He’s given me until Friday to wrap up what I’m doing, and then . . . then you’ll be stepping in.”

Sans’ still blackened eye sockets widened. The magic rushed out of him, so far away it felt irreclaimable. “what do you mean, stepping in?”

“What else could I mean?” Dings balled his fists, clenched his teeth—but his anger soon dulled to an ache. “I know you met with him behind my back,” he said. At his brother’s prolonged silence, Wingdings’ harsh frown returned. “Say something.”

“i . . .” Sans felt faint. “i was worried . . .”

“You were worried,” Dings laughed softly, but a shimmer of light caught at the corners of his eye sockets. He hid them behind his hand. “Well, that makes it okay, then,” he breathed. “I mean forget my life’s work. Forget the past five years. Forget how close we were to a breakthrough. You were worried.”

Sans would have felt better if Wingdings had yelled at him, cussed him out, told him to leave, anything but this quiet resignation. Sans had only seen him like this once, when he had been hurt past the point of anger, deep down into hollow apathy. Sans had never thought he would break his little brother’s heart like that. He had never wanted to make him feel like that, never again.

“it’s just a break, right?” Sans attempted to reassure him. “we can put the project on hold, then pick up again when you come back . . .”

“You think I’m coming back from this?” Dings muttered.

Sans’ heart ached.

“Why would you want that, anyway?”

“you think i want you to give up?”

“Please. All your rambling about splitting timestreams, even your cute little name, ‘Paradox Project.’ You’ve never believed in this. To you, failure would be a relief.”

“dings . . .”

“Wouldn’t it?”

“the only relief i’m gonna get outta this is that maybe you’ll stop pushing yourself too hard.”

Wingdings laughed, then, a pure bell that filled the entire room—a sound Sans had once chased like rainbows after a storm, replaced now with distant thunder. His anxieties only multiplied.

“The entire Underground—the fate of all monsters—rides on this project’s success,” Dings growled, “and you think I’m pushing myself too hard?”

“when’s the last time you got a full night’s sleep?” Sans insisted. “when’s the last time you left this place, hung out with friends or . . . or your baby bro? puppy’s growin’ up real fast, dings . . .”

“That's a cheap shot.”

“i’ve been noticin’ . . .” Sans took a small, cautious step forward. “you’ve been sayin’ stuff you don’ mean to, talking to people who ain’t there, or about things that didn’t happen. i was sleepin’ through it for a while, but last week spooked me wide the fuck awake. i’m terrified you’re gonna end up hurting yourself, even more than he . . .” Sans hesitated, eyeing the cracks running north and south on his brother’s bitter face. “than ya already have.”

Wingdings didn’t say anything for a while, and neither did Sans. Nothing filled their senses but white noise, the subtle sway of the overhead light, the dust faintly stirring in the wake of a breath . . .

“You don’t get it,” Dings said so quietly it could only be heard in a room like this. His shaking voice finally broke, and his spirit seemed to follow suit. “Working on this project. Staying preoccupied. Did you ever stop to think that maybe it’s the only thing keeping me sane?”

The words cut through Sans like a Real Knife. His heart dropped to his feet.

“You say you’re terrified.” Tears were gathering, clinging fast to the bottom edges of Wingdings’ eye sockets. “You have no fucking idea. Not knowing what’s real, losing control of your own head, it’s . . .”

The water fell as he tried and failed to calmly explain his feelings. His voice quavered in time with his shoulders as he spoke.

“I don’t sleep,” he said. “because it leaves my mind open. I don’t . . . hang out with friends, because I can’t stand to let them know what’s happening to me. I don’t want to see the pup because I’m worried I’ll mess up, like . . . like that time Dad left us in Waterfall, when he thought Mom was watching us but we sure as hell know what side of the barrier she chose.”

Sans found himself struggling to keep his own tears inside.

“My imagination is a maze with no exit,” Dings went on, “but science . . . science is a straight path, a constant. It’s pure truth. When I’m working on a project like this, I don’t have to worry as much. It’s . . . it’s getting harder to focus, but at least I can keep my feet on the ground for the most part. Or at least I could.” The white-hot energy in his eyes met Sans’ like polarized stars. “You’ve just taken away gravity.”

Sans trembled in his untied sneakers and filthy lab coat. “dings,” he said, “i’m sorry.”

Wingdings took off his glasses and dried his face on the interior of his black argyle sweater. He cleaned his lenses on the soft material of the white button-up underneath, slowly, stalling for composure. He ambled toward the door.

“Yeah.” The royal scientist balanced his glasses on the bridge of his nasal bone. “So am I.”

The door shut behind him. The sound of it felt to cut the strings that tethered their kites together, leaving them to fly apart in stormy skies. Sans lowered the umbrella he had held over his heart. For longer than he wanted but shorter than he needed, he remained there alone.

When Sans finally emerged with damp sleeves and blue-flushed eye sockets, he found Alphys waiting for him outside. How she had known to find him there was beyond him, but she had always been observant. The dinosaur scientist took one look at him and pulled him into a hug.

At first, Sans considered leaving, but his worries kept him there late, troubleshooting alongside everyone else. When time came to pick up Papyrus from the babysitter, Alphys offered to handle the task, even to look after him through the night.

“no, you should stay,” Sans had argued at first. “boss doesn’t even want me here.”

“Did he t-tell you that?” Alphys had asked. “I’m just an intern. I’m not a lot of g-good at this point, but he n-n-needs you. You wanted to m-make it up to him, right?”

As time wore on into night and into day again, despite his fears, Sans couldn’t help feeling pride in his coworkers. Every essential team member had stayed behind, even most helpers and associate staff. By the time morning had rolled around, the machine had been polished and fitted with a fully functional build, just as Wingdings had wanted.

While the rest of the team readied to test with a few last-minute precautions and adjustments, Wingdings stood before the machine, inputting code and key phrases into the keyboard below the monitor. Sans approached him cautiously, tensely, afraid to meet his eyes—but this time Dings did not avoid him. He faced him as if it were any other day: no longer angry, no longer upset, only tired.

“Hey,” he said.

“hey.” Sans mirrored his somber tone. He stalled just a moment, messing with a loose string in his pocket.  “how . . . how’re you . . .”

Though Sans had chosen to abandon this question, Wingdings understood. His eyes softened.

“you sure about this?” Sans asked instead.

Wingdings sighed with some exasperation. “I’d better be. Can you imagine how pissed Burns Flamesman would be if I pulled the plug now?”

“yeah, that guy’s a hothead.”

Dings snorted into his hand involuntarily, and at that Sans couldn’t help smiling.

“could say he’s a little hot under the collar.”

“Snuff it. He might hear you,” Wingdings snickered. “His ears are probably burning right now.”

They both snuck a peek over their shoulders at the small, unassuming fire elemental, who at first failed to meet their gaze. When finally he did, the two spun back and devolved into snickers and snorts of poorly subdued laughter. Flamesman rolled his eyes.

“listen, uh . . .” As Sans stared at the machine, his smile slowly fell. “after this is over, can we . . . could we talk? no bullshit, just say what we want to say and . . .” He chewed on his words reluctantly, his heart sinking yet again. “figure this out.”

Wingdings considered him a long, painful moment. The longer it took, the more hope Sans lost.

"I don’t know,” Wingdings finally answered through a clear stitch in his chest. “Maybe after I’ve had some time . . .”

“s’fine,” Sans said. It wasn’t fine. “take all the time ya need.”

He retreated to what he deemed a safe, comfortable distance from both his brother and his colleagues. He picked out a poster across the room and distracted himself reading the equations. How he wished Alphys were there.

Wingdings watched him with only slight delay before resuming his task, though more guiltily than before.

After a few more tweaks and a quadruple-check that everything was in its proper place, the royal scientist flipped the starter switch. To everyone’s delight, the machine began to hum.

“Thanks, team,” Dings said with a tired smile. “I know it wasn’t fair of me to ask in the first place, but . . . here we are. You’ve done incredible work.”

On a small table before the temporal flux manipulator rested what they had chosen as their test subject: a small, empty birdcage. If the machine worked as expected, this symbol’s timeline would be isolated and wiped from the world with no effect on the timelines surrounding it.

Wingdings input the proper specifications, adjusted a dial or two, and tapped a few buttons. He rested his hand on the main lever and took a deep, deep breath.

“Here go the last five years of our lives,” he announced with a grin. Then, to himself, “No pressure.”

The lever clicked down into place with a satisfying “ka-chunk.” As power accumulated, a string of bulbs lit upward along the shell, one by one. Science and magic together encased the birdcage with webs of light. While Sans and his coworkers shielded their eyes from the intensifying brilliance, Wingdings looked directly into it, determined not to miss a single thing. By the time the light faded, the machine had entered cooldown and the cage had vanished.

Sans could not be sure what had just happened. He knew the machine had been run, but he could not recall what they had disappeared, or if they had even remembered to put something there. He knew they would not have forgotten such a paramount component, and the machine could not truly run without a target. He held his spinning head in one hand.

After many confused glances among the team, Wingdings finally spoke up.

“If I had to guess . . . it worked,” he said, beaming. “Interesting, though. Does anyone remember what we put there?”

No one answered. They couldn’t. 

Sans met his brother’s eye uneasily, more unsettled than he had already been to start. Though he had theorized this reaction among countless others, something about it didn’t feel right. If removing an item as small and meaningless as a birdcage was this disorienting, how much worse would it be to wipe the timeline of something as significant as the barrier? Was that something they were willing to risk?

“I’m sure it’ll be easier to talk about here in a minute,” said the royal scientist. He initiated the proper sequence to restore the timeline to its previous state and pushed up on the lever with another satisfying “ka-chunk” . . . but the machine failed to respond. He frowned and double-checked the configurations. They were all correct.

Before anyone could say a word, a cracking sound tore through the room. The table that had once held a birdcage split down the middle—or at least their perception of it did. It shifted and shook, quivering between states of existence and nonexistence. Watching it was dangerous; Sans could feel his mind short-circuiting in the split second he had allowed himself to look.

A furious string of messages cascaded down the monitor at breakneck speed. Dings’ eyes darted over them, struggling to keep up. With every random line he managed to catch, his eye sockets widened further. He abandoned the time-turner and crept nearer to the now empty, fragmenting table, for a rare moment at a loss. What had begun as a crack soon became a gash, eating reality around it in a slowly expanding circle like unraveling cloth. He glanced at his team to verify that this was indeed not a hallucination.

Sans looked down. Lingering dust and debris were sweeping past his ankles as to a strong magnet, and the floor had begun to spiderweb with tiny fissures. A light gathered in the atmosphere around him, faint at first but gaining intensity. All spread inward toward the table and his brother like a closing ring, in toward the vacuum in time they had just created.

Sans lifted desperate eyes to his brother, only to find Dings had already done the same. Sans had never seen an expression so horrified, so hopeless. They both knew what was about to happen. They both knew they didn’t stand a chance.

Sans’ feet sought traction in the earth; his knees bent, ready to run to him, to protect him, even if that meant diving straight into the eye of the storm . . . but he didn’t get that far.

Time might have stopped or not at all. To Sans, it felt like slow motion as the forming ribcage of a skeletal dragon enclosed around him. Its bones ensnared him like a venus fly trap, cutting short a split-second glimpse of his brother’s eyes alight in azure blue. Its wings folded around him in another protective layer, and then another behind its great antlered skull pressed flat to the ground . . . just in time.

A single explosion burst outward from the test site with a cacophonous roar. Half the floor crumpled back as if made of cardboard. Posters tore clean off the wall, including the one he had been reading just moments before. Through gaps in the bone around him, Sans watched with horror as his coworkers were swallowed in a flash of bright white so instantaneous it took him moments later to process what had happened. They didn’t even have time to scream before disintegrating into sheets of dust and then . . . nothing. Even the bones of his brother’s dragon around him dematerialized down to its ribs and wings, and in the aftermath, they too splintered away into ash.

Shaking and dazed on his hands and knees, Sans almost puked, but there was nothing inside him to expel. His tympanic cavity rang with a piercing, high-pitched bell like a Tibetan singing bowl, as if the zen might calm him. 

He had seen death before. When the humans had come for his family, he had watched monster upon monster fall around him before spared by the blindfold of his father’s arm. This wasn’t the same. He had never watched someone die so horribly, so quickly, but . . . who were they? Friends? Strangers? And who was this person he missed now, someone who refused to leave his head, the most important someone at the center of it all?

A distorted scream overshadowed every question he might have had. It emanated from the wild, undulating sphere of brilliance dancing at the lab’s center, where the table had once stood, where the blast had originated. That was where he had stood, eyes bright with magic . . .

Sans rushed through his vertigo into the storm among floating debris, among pieces of the machine hovering through a strange red fluid he didn’t recognize. The closer he came, the clearer his memories, until he began piecing together who it was his soul wouldn’t allow him to abandon. 

He needed to save him. Step. His best friend. Step. His little brother. Step.

Wingdings.

“dings!” he shouted into the chaos. “dings, c-can you hear me?”

The muffled screaming only continued. Sans looked desperately around him for any tool he could use, a beam or table leg or anything to extend inside the portal, but everything within reach had either broken away or dematerialized.

He braced himself, then reached into the raging light. At first, he recoiled, doubled back in pain—but his hand was still there. His hand was still capable. He reached inside again, and this time, he pushed forward. It burned to the touch—twice as hot as fire, stripping the life energy from his very soul—but he didn’t care. His brother’s voice was screaming out to him and he would die before letting it continue.

His vision tunneled. He had made it deep enough to submerge his entire right arm, up to his shoulder and the side of his face. The raw, unstable energy twisted around him like a cyclone, resisting him on one side, drawing him deeper on the other. He worried he might split in two before standing a chance of succeeding, but when finally he looked into the abyss . . . he found him.

Just past the brink of this new rift in time, his brother’s form drifted deeper and deeper into the darkness, melting amid a wash of red that had followed after him. His face was softening into something reminiscent of a theater mask, his hands smoothing into gloves. By now, he had stopped screaming. His mind had stolen away, lost in an ocean of pain and frightful discombobulation.

If Sans had known he was destined to fail, if he had known this would be the last thing his right eye ever saw, he never would have gone this far. This horrible image would haunt him for the rest of his life. He knew it even then.

“dings,” Sans called, though faintly.

Wingdings heard him. He lifted his head, and though horror painted his morphing face to see his brother there, a flicker of hope lit his eyes. He extended his hand.

They just weren’t close enough.

Their fingers were inches away, but the closer Sans came, the farther in his brother seemed to fall. Sans stretched out to him more and more, desperate, tears flying to be lost and forgotten in the darkness . . . but he wasn’t made of metal. Before long, his right eye lost sight; his mind lost focus; his arm lost strength. His body couldn’t stand to teeter on the edge between reality and the void. He had to choose one or the other. As his mind slowly surrendered power, he lost the privilege of making that decision. His instincts tore him back from his brother, safe onto the side of survival.

As he collapsed backward onto the cold lab floor, Sans blacked out only long enough for the rift to close behind him. A thin line still tore through reality like a cracked mirror, shivering, hungry to spread wider at the slightest touch. He lay there dazed, panting, panicking, trembling more than the floor beneath him. Once able, Sans dragged himself to his knees. He pinned his useless right arm to his side with the other hand. He blinked, adjusting to the loss of vision in his right socket. He stared at a portal no longer there.

Only one hope remained. His left eye scanned the room urgently and found it crumpled at the far wall: the machine. He scrambled forward, staggering serpentine behind a swimming head. He forced those remnants of an invention upright, though he barely managed the same for himself. If he could just initiate the reversal sequence . . .

No plug-ins. No power source. He reconnected a few wires and struggled to get it running with his own magic but, as he should have expected, it did not respond. He mashed buttons, kicked it, flipped the lever even though he knew it wouldn’t do a damn thing, back and forth and back again.  

In his desperation, he hardly noticed more debris running past his ankles. New cracks were tearing home through the ground, inward to the rift. As he saw light gathering overhead, the destruction mounting all over again exactly as it had only moments ago, he knew he owned only seconds before following the same path as his colleagues. 

But he refused.

He couldn’t die yet, not when he was the only one left who might fix this. As he clung fast to the broken time-turner, forehead pressed to the cracked monitor, he wished with all his heart for another chance, to survive, to be safe outside the reach of this newborn god of death.

His insides reeled, and before he understood what had happened, he had been spat out onto the hallway floor outside. The machine crashed down beside him among a loose pile of ash and debris. Not seconds later, a resounding blast shook the corridor walls, a frightening reminder of what would have destroyed him if he hadn’t just . . . had he just teleported?

After that, Sans simply lay there. He stared at the ceiling emptily, listening to the cycle of explosions that slowly lost strength and frequency. The floor vibrated underneath him, harsh at first but softer with every burst. Once they had finally faded away to silence, nothing but his thoughts remained.

Tears pooled in his eye sockets until they flooded over. His chest heaved. His hands shook and clattered against the ceramic floor. He had lost him. He had really lost him. One moment his brother had been there, smiling with anticipation, and the next . . . How could he have been so selfish to take back his hand like that? How could he have left him there in such misery, dying in the deep dark alone? It should have been him. All of this was his fault.

He slowly, tremblingly found his feet. There was no time to grieve, not yet. Alphys was on her way back from Papyrus’ playschool by then and he needed to warn her. He needed to get to the elevat—he was in the elevator. Sans looked wildly around with his one good eye and collapsed dizzily to lean against the wall. Though he questioned it at first, he had unmistakably felt the world shifting around him. He had done it again, this . . . shortcut.

As he rode the lift upward, he stared down his reflection in the glossy metal doors. His right eye had been snuffed out, but if he focused his magic, a faux pupil lit easily in its hollows. In time, summoning that useless little speck of light would become second nature. His right arm trembled, filled with pins and needles as he forced it into his lab coat pocket. He had never felt so simultaneously weak and immensely powerful in his life. His magic might as well have been off the charts, but his body felt just shy of dusting . . .

The elevator chimed. The doors split, and he realized too late he had been leaning against them. He stumbled out onto the upper level and straight into Alphys.

She yelped but caught him the best she could. His weight dragged her to her knees, and on the floor again he gawked up at her. He spun his eyes around, wondering if he had once more jumped through time-space, but it was only serendipity that had brought them together.

“alph,” he said urgently. “al, don’t go down there . . .”

“S-Sans, what’s going on?” she asked.

“the experiment. it went wrong. wingdings, everyone . . . th-they didn’t make it. wingdings didn’t make it. d-dings is . . .”

“C-calm down.” She stared intently, her face overflowing with concern and confusion. She hesitated a moment before her uncertainty won through. “Wh-what experiment are you t-t-talking about?” she asked. “Who . . . who’s Wingdings?”

Upon hearing these words, everything that had happened, everything he had just lost and left behind, all crashed down on him at once. His brother, his friends . . . they hadn’t just been torn from his arms. The machine had torn them from the universe itself, exactly as it was designed to do. No one would mourn them; no one would even remember. His eyes darkened. His soul lost determination.

Was he doomed to forget too?

He woke in the hospital a day later, half blind, weakened in his right arm, diminished to one maximum HP. His friends and colleagues had been wiped from the universe. His brother had been trapped, most likely dead in the void between time and space. And yet here he lay, alive, the sole survivor of a horror unlike any the world had seen. The plain white tiles of the ceiling overhead lent him no distraction. His tears rose again to spill rivers down his face. Why did it have to be him?

He thought he had been alone, but after a few moments of grief, he felt a small hand pat the top of his head. The breath caught in his throat, and a new ache sprang to life in his chest. He turned. Hiding in his right-hand blind spot sat someone more necessary to him than the magic running through his bones.

Papyrus.

His brother was so small, then, so precious, a whole lifetime of greatness waiting eagerly ahead of him. Papyrus smiled his toothy smile, confused but empathetic just the same. Sans’ misery both grew and dulled in that moment. Papyrus would never know what he had lost . . . but maybe for a child, it was better to forget. 

Sans returned his grin and would never let it fall for him again. Just setting eyes on such a sweet, unassuming face, he knew without question what was most important and what he needed to do.

As soon as he could walk again, Sans wasted no time leaving that burning wasteland. He took Papyrus with him, away from the Core, the lab, the kingdom. He took him as far away as he could from the worst day of his life, deep into the middle of rural nowhere among snowy pine forests and soft bunny-folk. Nothing ever happened there. There, he could protect the last light of his life, the only thing that mattered. He would do better this time.

Later, he returned for what remained of the machine and any research he could salvage. He sealed away the button to the true True Lab behind a loose sheet of metal, soldered convincingly into the wall just like any other panel. Among the papers, he had found a picture in his brother’s desk, a drawing Papyrus had scrawled of the three of them together. He pocketed the image and, once home, added a message, a reminder, an oath.

“don’t forget.”  

The longer Sans floated in this nothing world, the more it became something instead. What began as a faint light in every direction gained more and more strength to reveal a scenery. Soon, gravity pulled at his back with increasing weight until he landed on his feet. He staggered upright. His awestruck eyes swept the room. He had ended up exactly where he left off except . . . not at all.

This world was painted in gray.

NOTES

I don’t have much to say except I hope you liked it! I’m revved up for the next chapter, and I know I say this a lot, but hopefully it won’t take me that long to pump it out. This one was a doozy, and work’s been a little hectic lately. I still stick by what I said about updating at minimum once a month, so there’s that faint consolation.

If you have thoughts or feelings, I love hearing them!

Next time: Welcome to the void, Sans.

Thanks for reading!

< Load | RESET | Continue >

[taetaespeaches]

hello! i absolutely love your writings so much. they’re all so s o f t and make my heart warm. can i request a seokjin x reader or yoongi x reader with “you’re an idiot, but you’re my idiot” ?

“You’re an idiot, but you’re my idiot”

Yoongi x Reader (or oc)

Word count: 2.7K

a/n: Merry Christmas everyone! I hope you’re all having a good holiday. Thank you to the anon who requested this. I hope you like it! I struggled with this one so hopefully it turned out ok.

As you entered your apartment, the dial tone resoundedthrough your ear drum as you anxiously waited to hear your boyfriend’s voicethrough the device.

Kicking your shoes off, your work bag still weighed heavy onyour shoulder. “Hey, Angel, what’s up?” The timber of Yoongi’s voice instantly madeyour body relax a little, the aching in your muscles soothing just the slightest.

“Hi, Baby,” your lips twitched into a small smile. “I’m justgetting home.” You made your way into the kitchen, plopping your work bag ontothe counter before stretching your arms up and rolling your neck from shoulderto shoulder.

“You’re just gettinghome?” What time is it?” You heardhim ask whoever he was with, more than likely Namjoon. “Baby, it’s 8:30.”

“Yeah, my fucking boss kept me late. Have I told you how muchI despise that man?” You seethed through the phone.

Yoongi chuckled. “Not today.” You could hear his smile andit melted away some of your frustration. “Turnup the bass a little on that part.”

“Well, there’s your daily reminder.” You looked around yourkitchen, noticing the previously empty fruit bowl was now full, telling youYoongi did indeed get the groceries like he told you he would.

“Yeah, that sounds good,right?” He spoke to Namjoon. “You know, all you have to do is just give methe go ahead and I’ll go in there and talk to him. Tell him how he should betreating my girl,” he joked.

“Oh, god,” you laughed, making him chuckle a bit. Grabbingan apple, you bit a big chunk out of it.

“Really, though, I’m sorry, Kid.” His sincerity made youremotions bubble up a bit. You heard him taking in a breath through his teeth signalinghis dislike of the sound him and Namjoon were working on. “That still doesn’t sound right.” You could practically see the smalldisapproving head shake that more than likely accompanied his statement.

“It’s ok,” you said through a shaky voice before clearingyour throat. “Thank you for getting the groceries, by the way.”

“Mhmm,” Yoongi hummed.

Pausing for a moment, you took a deep breath. “So, you’restill in the studio?” Your boyfriend grunted in confirmation as you heardNamjoon’s voice in the background of your call, making suggestions for the song.

“You’re not coming over tonight?” You asked, though you alreadyknew the answer. If he did make it to your place, it would be so late he’d justcrawl into bed with you and you’d be lucky if he was still there in the morningwhen you awoke.

“Huh?” Focused on his work, it took him a moment to registerwhat you asked. “Oh shit, I meant totext you. Me and Namjoon have been working on this track for hours and it’s stillnot sounding right.” Guilt seeped into his tone as he explained the situation toyou.

“Oh,” you tried to keep your voice as stable as possible. “Iget it, that’s ok.”

“I’m so sorry, Angel. I just don’t want to leave it yet.”You really did understand, but that didn’t mean that you weren’t a little letdown.

“It’s ok, Yoongi,” you assured, trying to keep your voicesteady and unaffected. Making your way to the refrigerator, you pulled it openand scanned the interior. You bit into the apple and held it to your mouth withyour teeth as you held the phone in between your ear and shoulder.

“Y/n, please don’t be mad at me,” he pleaded.

Pulling eggs and butter out of the fridge, you set them onthe counter before biting a big chunk out of the apple. “I’m not mad.” Youmumbled through your mouthful of apple, as you set the half-eaten fruit ontothe counter and made your way to the cupboard to find sugar and flour.

“You sound mad,” your boyfriend insisted.

“I’m telling you, I’m not mad at you,” you told him truthfully,grabbing the sugar and setting it on the counter.

“Ok, you’re not mad at me, but you’re upset about something.” Though you couldn’t see him,you knew he was now sitting back in his chair, no longer focused on the song.

“I’m just stressed and frustrated with work. That’s all.”Your hands were pushing around food items as you continued your search for theflour. “Really, Yoon, I understand you need to stay and finish the track. Your workis important, so just stay and finish up. You can come by when you’re done ifyou want.” Huffing, you cocked your head at the flour-less cupboard. “Just makesure you eat something,” you added. “And, stay hydrated. Water helps you focus.”

Concern was laced throughout Yoongi’s voice when heresponded, but you were too confused about your flour situation, you were hardlylistening. “Baby, my job is important but so are y—”

“Where’s the flour?” You interrupted his concern.

“The what?” Now, he was confused.

“The flour,” you deadpanned. “I told you to add it to theshopping list.”

“Flour?”

“Yes, flour. Yoongi, I need flour to bake cookies for mywork’s Christmas cookie carry-in tomorrow.” Your voice made it sound like thiswas obvious, though you quickly realized your boyfriend had no clue what youwere talking about. “I’m completely out. I have no flour in my apartment.”

“This is the first I’m hearing of this, y/n,” Yoongiinsisted, defending himself from the blame of your household being a flourlessone.

“No, it isn’t, I told you about it yesterday, Yoongi. Duringthe same conversation you said you could go to the store. Were you evenlistening?” The question came out more like an accusation.

“Yes, I was listening,” annoyance laced his tone. “Obviously I was listening, I went to thestore, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, and you didn’t get the flour.” Your reply was shortand blunt.

Aggravation building up, Yoongi let out a scoff. “I don’tremember you saying anything about cookies, y/n. Otherwise I would have gottenthe flour.”

“Yeah, so obviouslyyou weren’t listening. Otherwise, I’dhave the fucking flour in my hands right now,” you snapped back.

“Well, I’m sorry I didn’t buy the fucking flour, but don’t make this bigger than it is. Are youtrying to pick a fight right now? Is that what you want?”

“No, that’s not what I want,” you said loudly, exasperated. Tensesilence pounded through the receiver, both of you waiting for the other tospeak. Sighing, you caved, breaking the quietness. “Never mind, I’m sorry. It’snot a big deal, I’ll just go get some after I get a little bit of work done.”You walked over to your workbag, pulling out a folder of paperwork that had yetto be done and had the, according to your boss, “completely attainable deadline”of two days from now.  

“Work? You’re still working?” Yoongi’s voice still showedsigns of annoyance, but the previous concern was back.

“Mhmm,” you mumbled, already turning your attention to the stackof papers. “I mean it, I’m sorry for making a big deal of nothing. Focus onyour work. Tell Namjoon I’m sorry for interrupting.” You were preparing to cutthe call off, but Yoongi wasn’t ready.

“You didn’t interrupt anything, you—” he started.

“I love you, good luck with the song.“

“Y/n,” he pleaded with you to not shut him out.

“Yoongi, everything’s fine.We’re good, ok?” He paused, letting out a sigh. “Bangtan, fighting,” you chirpedout, trying to sound cheerful, but probably failing miserably.

Knowing he would get nowhere with you over the phone, hegave up. “I love you,” he told you sadly.

“Me too,” you said softy before ending the call. You poutedas you gazed at your work. Scooping it up in one arm and grabbing the applewith the opposite hand, you made your way to the kitchen table.

It took a moment for you to focus on the work in front ofyou, your mind on Yoongi and how badly you wanted him to be with you.Eventually, however, you pushed your thoughts of your boyfriend to the back ofyour mind, settling into the paperwork.

Little did you know, as soon as you ended the call, Yoongiwas sighing with his head in his hands, rubbing his palms over his face. Namjoonquietly watched his member before putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Everything ok?” Namjoon asked his friend, prompting a groanfrom Yoongi.

“No,” he said with a humorless laugh. “I’m pretty sure she believesthat I think my work is more important than her.”

Namjoon shook his head. “She knows you don’t think that,” hesaid with a laugh. “Everyone knows youlove that girl more than anything. Y/n knows that too. She’s just understandingof the pressure we’re all under.” Namjoon nodded at his own words. “Which is agood thing, by the way.”  

With a sigh, Yoongi nodded. “Can we finish this up in themorning?” He asked as he leaned forward, rubbing his palms against the tops ofhis thighs as he prepared to stand up.

Namjoon nodded as Yoongi stood, Namjoon following suit. “Yeah,we could both use some sleep anyway.” Both the men grabbed their jackets beforepulling them on and exiting the studio.

… … .

Your eyelids started fluttering shut as you tried to keepfocus on your work. Stretching your arms above your head, you yawned andgroaned loudly. Reaching for your phone, you tapped on the screen to displayyour lock screen—a cute picture of Yoongi flashing his gummy smile, you nuzzledinto his neck. You remembered the moment fondly, the both of you cuddled up onyour couch, some movie neither of you were paying attention to playing in thebackground. He wanted to take a picture of you both, but instead of cooperatingyou had started planting soft kisses to his neck, making him squeal cutely andburst into fits of giggles while playfully whining for you to stop.

You smiled at the sweet memory before reading the time displayedon the screen. 9:20 pm. Shit, youthought, realizing you hadn’t even been working for an hour and you werealready falling asleep. “Fuck,” you said to yourself, remembering you had to goget flour and bake cookies still.

Standing, you walked towards the front door, pulling on somesneakers that didn’t go with your work clothes at all. Fuck it. Slipping into your coat, you reached for your keys as yougrabbed the door knob when suddenly, the door shoved opened, slamming into yourknee.

“What the hell—” Yoongi peered from behind the door to seeyour hunched over form. “Shit, y/n,are you ok?” A grocery bag dropped to the floor next to your feet just beforetwo hands tentatively found your sides. Your boyfriend crouched down to look upat your face, his concerned features entering your plane of vision. His eyesscanned your face and then your body. “Where did I hurt you?” Noticing your handsholding your knee, he reached for your hands. “Your knee?”

Not waiting for your answer, he placed himself under yourshoulder as helped you sit on the bench that sat next to the door. Kneeling infront of you, he gently pressed kisses to your knee cap, whispering “I’m sorry”repeatedly between pecks.

“Yoongi, it’s fine, it doesn’t even hurt anymore,” youinsisted to no avail as he persisted in his apologies. “Yoon,” you placed yourhands on his head, threading your fingers through his hair, gently shoving hishead up from your knee. “I’m ok,” you told him, looking into his apologeticeyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, pouting at you.

Shaking your head at him, you smiled softly. “What are you doinghome already, Baby?” Sighing, he placed his hands on your thigh, resting hischin on the knee, opposite to the “injured” one.

“I went to the store,” he said through his pout. You cockedyour head at him, scrunching your eyebrows at him. “I went to get flour.”

“Yoongi, you didn’t have to that,” you told him, shaking yourhead.

“Yes, I did. I’m an idiot.” You smiled at his cute pouty lips.

Shaking your head, you leaned forward. “You’re not an idiot.Now, come here,” you told him, reaching out to hold his cheeks in your hands.He sat up on his knees so he could reach your lips with his. After a shortkiss, you pulled away, whispering, “I love you,” against his mouth.

“I love you too, Kid,” he smirked before his lips pulled upinto a wider smile, flashing you his gums as he stood up. “Are you sure you’reok?”

Nodding, you stood up as well. “What about the song?” Youasked as you pushed his coat off his shoulders and hung it up.

As you took your own jacket off, he bent down to grab thegrocery bag off the floor. “The song will still be there in the morning.” Raisingyour eyebrows in question, you stared at him. Grabbing your hand in his, hepulled it up to his lips, kissing it gently. “You do know my work isn’t more importantthan you, right?” His eyes showed genuine curiosity and worry.

“I know you don’tthink it’s more important, but I also know you have a lot of fans out there—”

“And as much as I love my fans, and I love music, and I lovemy job, I love you too. You are a priority to me. I want to be here with youright now, ok?” You nodded, flashing a small smile. You shoved at his side toget him to move, nudging him as he led you into the kitchen, still holding yourhand.

“So, I didn’t get you flour,” he told you as he dropped thebag on the counter and reluctantly let go of your hand to reach into the bag,pulling out a plastic container. “Your asshole boss doesn’t deserve your cookies,with all the work he’s been throwing at you.”

You moved to stand next to him, picking up the container,inspecting it as you moved it around in your hands. “You got me pre-packagedcookies?” Laughing, you looked at him incredulously.

“It’s still more than he deserves,” he said with a huff, poutinghis lips again as he reached into the bag again. “I also got you these,” hepushed a bouquet of tulips into your chest. “You like tulips, right? I’m notjust making shit up, am I?” He asked you, suddenly nervous.

“I love tulips,” you assured him as you took the bouquet fromhim, admiring the pretty colors of petals. “So, you didn’t get me flour, but you got me flowers?” The big grin you flashed himmade him smile shyly as he nodded. “Ok, I take it back.” his smile turned intoa frown as he looked at you confusedly. “You’re an idiot, but you’re my idiot,” you smiled, leaning into himto press a kiss to his chin.

A shy smile reappeared on Yoongi’s face as she shook hishead at you. “Thank you for those,” you gestured to the cookies with a nod ofyour head. “And these?” You held the flowers up. Yoongi took the flowers fromyou, gently laying them onto the counter before grabbing your shoulder andpulling you into him to wrap you up into a tight hug, his arms around your shoulders.“And this,” you said as you wrapped your arms around his waist and squeezed himcloser to you.

“Thank you,” hecountered. You hummed into his chest in response, questioning what he meant. “Forbeing so understanding. You have no idea how much it means to have yoursupport.” He planted a kiss to the top of your head.

You mumbled a, “love you,” into his chest as you kissed himthrough his shirt. Replying with a “love you too,” he wrapped his arms aroundyou a little tighter.

[smitten-miqitten]

A Fine Gift

AO3 Link

“Your nameday’s coming up soon, isn’t it Chief?” Biggs inquired, wiping down their latest prototype model of manacutter. Mk.6, or some such.

“Oh yes, the day people get to tell me how ancient I am. Don’t remind me.” Cid pouted, clearly not looking forward to the prospect.

Era looked up from her book, confused. “But you’re not old, and you certainly don’t look it”. He cheered a little at this, flashing her a grateful smile.

“Chief’d  look even  less old if he’d just shave every once in a while”. Wedge chimed in.

Jessie looked up from her ledger in agreement, “Exactly! We’ve been telling him for ages. The Chief has the absolute worst case of baby face I’ve ever seen. You wouldn’t think it, with how brawny he is. Looks years younger. A trim is long overdue.”

“I’m not shaving it!!” Cid bellowed. It was plainly a subject that had been brought up many a time before, and certainly would be again.

“You know, I actually can’t really recall what you look like without it. I only ever saw the once, with the echo, and the echo is always so blurry”. Era mused, struggling to imagine Cid’s beard bereft visage.

“Should I shave it, then?” Cid asked genuinely, not an onze of his previous vitriol present. He gave his beard an absent minded stroke, trying to decide how long he could bear to part with it.

“N..no! You don’t have to go that far…” Era stuttered, only to be shouted over by an irate Jessie.

“Oh, so you’ll shave for her, but not for us? Time and time again we’ve asked…”

“There are several things I’d do for her I wouldn’t do for you lot”, Cid shot back, a slight smirk growing on his face.

“Cid!” Squeaked the bright red Miqo'te, having caught his meaning.

Cid just grinned, loving how embarrassed she got at the smallest things. “Beard or no, someone will find a way to call me old. The fewer people that remember my nameday, the better I say.”

“Still”, Era argued, recovering somewhat from her mortification, “We should celebrate just a little bit, at the very least. It’s not your nameday every day. Is there anything you want?”

“Peace and quiet?” He suggested hopefully.

Era grinned, “Come now, let’s be realistic”.

“How about a day off?” Biggs offered, tightening bolts here and there on the manacutter.

Jessie snorted, “With the backlog of orders we’ve got going thanks to his wandering about at random? You wish!” She slammed the ledger shut for emphasis. It was true Cid had been out and about a rather lot of late, volunteering to assist the Scions largely for a chance to leave the workshop once in a while.

“A party then? After work, with the Scions and friends?!” Wedge added helpfully as he passed Biggs another wrench.

Cid groaned. “That’s the exact opposite of peace and quiet. If you want an excuse to see Tataru, I’m sure there’s something that needs repairing at the Rising Stones”, he said, having used much the same excuse to see Era on occasion, “I just want everyone to forget it. No nameday, no jokes about going grey the day I was born, just an ordinary day”. He returned his attention to his work, growing deaf to any further debate on the matter.

Nobody was quite satisfied with this, but Cid didn’t seem liable to budge on the issue, stubborn as he was. They all silently resolved to convene in secret, to come up with some way to celebrate.

…………………

Gathered around a small dusty table within  a storage room in the Rising Stones, lit almost ominously by handful of dim lanterns, Era, Biggs, Wedge, and Jessie began to brainstorm.

They had a consensus on the small details: a quiet, low energy gathering. A nice dinner, cooked by Bismarck-trained-chef Era, cake again prepared by Era, and gifts. The gift, they decided, had to be good enough to make up for the blandness of the rest of the event. They contemplated each inventing something for him, though the idea was deemed a flop on the basis that it would be nigh impossible to keep them a secret.

Era also wanted to provide him something other than her cooking, as she cooked often anyway. It wouldn’t be special. She wanted to give him something permanent, something he could use. But what could she get him that he could not make better himself? She only knew of a few craftsmen more skilled, and even they were specialists… Oh.

“Looks like little miss has an idea”, Biggs noted, breaking the long silence that had permeated the room in the wake of their combined deliberations.

“Perhaps…I was thinking that Cid might appreciate new tools. Lazy though he can be at times, he truly loves his work. Higher quality tools surely would make him happy. And it could be a group gift, as I know nothing about tools. I’ll need your expertise”.

“It’s  a good idea, for sure”, Jessie began, though the ‘but’ was evident. “Tools better than the ones he has would be a small fortune, though. He made a lot of them himself, after all”. She sounded rather disappointed; new tools would be just the thing to get him inspired to work consistently again.

Era nodded; she knew that in any other situation her suggestion would be entirely unrealistic. But she had an ace up her sleeve, or so she hoped. “I may actually be able to get such things free of charge, or for relatively little. I happen to know a master goldsmith who may be willing to make them as a favor to me, as I’ve helped his son out of a number of tight spots in the past. I can’t guarantee he’ll do it, of course, but if you all can provide me with specs for the tools, I know he’ll have the skill to make them if he does agree”.

“Who would that be?” Wedge asked, feet kicking back and forth as they dangled from his too-high chair.

“Godbert Manderville”, she said, shying away from their surprised gasps and shouts, shushing them lest their secret meeting be discovered.

…………………

As the Ironworks Crew gathered up all the details needed to make the tools, Era set to work getting in contact with Godbert. She hadn’t seen Hildy in some time (thank the Twelve), and so had not met Godbert in quite a while. Knowing he often did business with the Fortemps family, she reached out to her adoptive father Edmont, who happily arranged tea for the three of them. Godbert agreed nearly immediately, citing her dedication to his son’s well being (she neglected to point out she often had no choice in her interactions with Hildy), and so the rest of tea was spent regaling both Hildy’s father and her own with tales of her adventures, at their combined request.

With the specs from Biggs, Wedge, and Jessie, as well as the high quality materials Era gathered and provided, it took Godbert next to no time at all to craft a full set of of the finest instruments imaginable. Truly, his craftsmanship was a  wondrous thing to behold. Era couldn’t thank him enough, expressing her gratitude profusely until Julyan demanded she hush up already and be on her way. Packed away in a custom case, everything was now ready for the big day.

…………………

Cid’s nameday started, as he had requested so vehemently, as any other. He did, however, take a bit more time that morning to sleep in, indulging in early morning snuggles with his darling Warrior of Light. After stretching with a loud series of pops emanating from his joints, Era teasingly asked after the state of his ‘aged bones’, earning her a furious tickling until she relented and apologized, laughing away.  A light breakfast was followed by a surprisingly easy day of work, during which Cid was curiously allowed to work on whatever he pleased with no pressuring about impending deadlines. He couldn’t possibly miss the air of excitement emanating from his employees and sweetheart, and began to brace himself for whatever surprises they had in store for him despite his prior protests. But that’s part of what he loved about all of them; they never truly listened to everything his damnfool ass said, ever insistent whenever they thought themselves in the right, all just as bullheaded as he.

Era prepared a truly marvelous meal and equally marvelous cake, just as he suspected she might. Regardless of the quality of her training, her culinary talent was astounding. It struck him as rather a missed opportunity, that she could not live indulging in her love of botany and cooking. A greenhouse and cafe would be perfect for her, surely to rival the finest establishments in Eorzea. It saddened him a little, but he had little time to mull over the misfortune, as everyone became increasingly antsy, whispering amongst themselves as if he couldn’t hear. Biggs reached into one of the taller cabinets, one Cid often had trouble reaching and thus avoided out of frustration, and pulled out what appeared to be a rather ornate toolbox. It had several bows looped around the handle, cheesily colored in the Ironworks blue.

“Open it!”, they all said in unison, their excitement uncontainable. Chuckling and doing as bade, he opened the box to reveal the finest set of hammers, wrenches,screwdrivers, and myriad other oft used tools he had ever lain eyes on. Surely, a set of this quality must be worth all of Mor Dhona. “How in the seven hells…” Cid started, baffled eyes searching the four staring back at him with baited breath.

“I called in a favor”, Era offered in a hardly sufficient explanation, beaming away.

“Go on then”, Wedge prompted, bouncing up and down in his seat, “give the hammer a try!”

Cid did, finding the grip perfect for his hands, the weight of the implement ideal. Words were lost to him, though by the looks of his companions’ faces, his reaction was more than sufficient. He was positively itching to use the set now, countless inventions springing to mind unbidden. Standing upright, he began to gather up the box, already sketching out plans in his head. The Excelsior would appreciate a tune up, right?  Giving Era a loving kiss and the others a mighty hug, he near bolted from the room, followed by their fond laughter. They knew him only too well.

[bitchmas-came-early]

Cocoa and Ice Balls

Word count: 1,518

This is my gift for @the-virgil-mary for the Secret Sanders gift exchange. I hope you like it!

TW: Deceit, exclusionism

Patton sat up in bed with a yawn, stretching his arms before freezing in shock as his eyes landed on his window. Through his pastel yellow curtains, he saw something that he could only ever remember happening in the mindscape - snow! There had to be at least three inches of the soft powder! He flung himself out of bed and dashed downstairs to the living room to find everyone else awake and eating breakfast. Almost everyone, anyways.

“Hey kiddos! Where’s Deci?” He asked cheerfully, peering around the corner to see if he was in the kitchen. Virgil scoffed, drumming his fingers on his legs.

“Who cares? All he does is cause problems for everyone else.” He muttered, nibbling at a piece of dry toast, causing Patton to do a quick 180 to face Virgil with a loud gasp.

“Virgil! I am surprised at you! You know better than anyone that it’s important for everyone here to feel loved and cared for!” He scolded lightly, not wanting to upset anyone when he was so excited about all the snow. “Everyone needs to get bundled up and comfy, we’re all going to sip some cocoa and have lots of quality family time!” He said, running back up to Deceit’s room and gently tapping on his door. “Wakey wakey kiddo! We’re gonna have cocoa and watch the snow! Do you wanna come?” He barely finished his sentence before he heard the others response.

“Of course not.”

“Great! Well get cozy and meet us in the living room!” Patton responded with a gentle smile before hurrying to his own room and digging up the Christmas sweater that Roman had made him, as well as some pyjama bottoms. As he changed fairly quickly, he made it downstairs before Deceit.

“So I’m guessing Jekyll and Lies isn’t coming down?” Roman muttered bitterly, crossing his arms over his chest. Patton shook his head with a slightly disappointed sigh.

“He’ll be down here in a second, you had better play nice, Roman.” He paused and glanced at the other two. “That goes for both of you too.” He said sternly. Right then, Deceit near silently came down the stairs, wearing his regular attire, causing Logan to tilt his head to the side in confusion.

“Do you not have anything else, that’s more… appropriate for our activities? Or are you just trying to keep it uh… extra?” The logical side asked, his voice full of uncertainty, clearly not intending to upset the other.

“I have tons of other things, but I’ll be fine.” Deceit muttered, insecurity evident in the way he looked down at the ground. Patton frowned.

“No, no, no! You won’t be as cozy in that! How about something a little more… festive?” Patton summoned up a sweater for the other: A fairly simple yellow and black colour blocked piece, with a few snowflakes and some green wavy details. While he was at it, he also summoned up some grey and black pyjama bottoms.

Deceit looked down at it for a minute, trying to find the right words before whispering, “I absolutely hate it...” causing Patton to break into a huge grin and envelope him in a tight hug.

“I knew you would! Now, go sit down with everyone! I’m gonna start up the cocoa!” Patton said excitedly, pulling away from the other with a joking shoulder shimmy.

“Hopefully this time it won’t get knocked into my lap again by someone.” Roman said, fixing Logan with a pointed stare.

“I’ve already apologised for that!” The other shot back quickly, before taking a breath to calm himself. Didn’t want to have yet another eye injury, after all.

“Come on, everyone! We don’t want to miss the snow! Sit down!” Patton called, heading to the kitchen. Logan, Roman, and Virgil all sat together, but the moment that Deceit sat down, the other three shifted their bodies away slightly. Patton returned after a few minutes, somehow managing to balance five mugs of steaming hot cocoa in his hands, and then passing the mugs to their respective person. Each person wrapped their hands around their mugs, enjoying the warmth they provided. He then noticed the gap between them, and knew exactly what the others did, but played it off for this moment in time. He’d make sure to have a stern talk with them about that later. “Aw, did you guys save me a spot next to Deci? Thank you!” Patton gushed, plopping down and sipping from his mug, leaning against Deceit. He realised, with a smile, that Deceit was leaning back, and slowly, everyone else did as well. Patton couldn’t keep his smile from widening.

“Merry Christmas, kiddos.” Patton murmured, taking a sip of his cocoa. Deceit shifted slightly, turning to look at Patton.

“You know, I’m totally hating this and all but… it sounds really terrible and… non-enjoyable to have a snowball fight with you guys.” He offered nervously, glancing around at the others. Virgil snorted in response.

“Yeah, in your dreams, snake boy.” The hoodie-clad boy sneered, cuddling closer to Logan. “Nobody wants to go out in all that except for you.” Patton quickly turned and shot the others a warning look, clearly wanting them to support Deceit’s idea.

“As much as I want to go with it… I just styled my hair, and it’s so hard to maintain all this with all the cold and moisture out there. Sorry you two, I’m not going out there any time soon.” Roman huffed in response, fixing his hair as he spoke. All that was left now was Logan. Patton sent him puppy dog eyes at the same time that Virgil sent him a look.

“I- you guys can’t possibly expect me to choose between you.” He started, before Virgil gently elbowed him in the side. “Right, it’s not a good idea for us to go out there. While the cold weather on its own isn’t enough to make us sick, we’d be much more susceptible to illness if we get cold and wet from frolicking in the snow. Not to mention the risk of injury from accidental - or purposeful - ice balls thrown at someone. I’d much rather stay in here, where it’s warm.” Logan glanced down at Virgil, who seemed pleased with his answer, and was curled up next to him once more. Deceit deflated, and set his mug down before standing.

“No, no, it’s totally fine guys. I was obviously joking. Come on, you know me. Going out into the snow? Pfft. I wouldn’t want anything like that.” He said, voice wavering as he attempted to exit the room without alerting the others of his own emotions. Patton frowned.

“Deci, wait-”

“I’m fine, Patton. Don’t worry about me.” Deceit snapped, rushing up the stairs and into his room, the slam of his door echoing down to where the other four were sitting.

“Guys! Wasn’t that a little insensitive to his feelings?” Patton scolded, standing up as well. “Deci is a part of this family, whether you guys like it or not, so you’d better get used to him. I’m going to go upstairs and talk to him, and when I come back down, I expect to a full apology from each and every one of you, got it?” He asked, his tone implying there was no room for negotiation.

“Got it.” The others muttered in unison. “But I’m not gonna be happy about it.” Virgil added. Patton frowned once more.

“Virgil, buddy, I know you two don’t get along well, but you need to at least try, okay? For me?” He asked. Virgil simply sighed and nodded in response. "Thank you. Now, I never wanted to ever say this to you guys, but you all leave me no choice. I’m very disappointed in you." Patton said, wincing slightly as the others hung their heads, ashamed, but hurried upstairs to Deceit’s room. “Hey, kiddo, how about you and I go play in the snow on our own? Come on, it’ll be so much fun!” There was a beat of silence.

“Yeah, I totally want to go have a snowball fight with only you because the others, that absolutely want me there with them, definitely didn’t shoot down my idea. That’s totally not sad and pathetic!” He muttered in response, his voice tearful and shaking.

“Deci, are you… crying?” Patton asked gently, slowly opening his door. Deceit was sitting against the wall beside the door, and quickly went to rub away the tears that were running down his cheeks.

“No.” He grumbled. “I… I don’t know if I want to go out there anymore.” Patton moved to sit in front of him, disregarding the shiver that ran down his back the minute he stepped in the room.

“It really will be a lot of fun out there, I promise. I won’t let anyone be rude to you, they know better than that. So, what do you say?” There was a very long pause before Deceit finally spoke again.

“I guess not..” He said warily. Patton jumped up with an excited clap of his hands.

“Great! You go change, and I’ll meet you downstairs, okay?”

“...Okay.”

A/N: I’m so sorry to end it like that, but the deadline kind of jumped at me with all of the concerts and shows that I was a part of this month. Anyways, I hope that you like this piece nonetheless. If requested, I might take this and make it into a full fledged fic, because I kinda got into the groove after the first half of this. Happy holidays! This was really fun to write, and I hope to be a part of it next year, if we keep it going!

Taglist-ish: @secretsanders @fullofshi-cago 

[themostcleverandwittyname]

Curiosity Saved the Cat

CH1 CH2 CH3 CH4 CH5 CH6 CH7 CH8 CH9 CH10 CH11 CH12 CH13 CH14 CH15 CH16 CH17 CH18 CH19 CH20 CH21 CH22 CH23 CH24 CH25 CH26

(Jumin x MC)(Saeran x MC)

Summary:

MC is fairly happy after Jumin proposes to her, however, her curiosity leads her to contact the hacker that started it all.

Chapter 16:  So Edgy

Chapter 16 on AO3

For two days she sat in complete silence. The sound of pages flipping, rapid typing, and the tinking of ceramic mugs being placed on the desk were all that she had heard and it was driving her insane. Today varied from the past two days, however, because she was asked to go and make the coffee this time.

This was the first time that she was left unsupervised to wander freely through the building. She knew that she did have a time limit, cringing as she recalled how harshly Saeran told her to not to lollygag. Still, it felt nice to be able to just walk. As silly as it seemed, walking felt amazing after being cooped up and hunched over a book and small laptop. Her situation had changed somewhat for the better since being his assistant.

The very word left a bitter taste in her mouth but at least she was now treated with something equal to basic human decency. She got fed nicely and under Saeran's order, Believers would bring in beverages. They had not spoken much to each other and he was constantly ignoring her. Not that she cared, but the atmosphere was always dismal in that “office” of his. Myung couldn't lie to herself, she was learning something from the books. Her captor did pull himself away from his work sometimes to demonstrate a lesson that she had a hard time understanding. It took a lot of skill and focus and her thoughts turned to Seven. She had a newfound admiration for his talents.

She made her way into the kitchen area that buzzed with quiet conversation among other Believers. From being here, she had learned that there was a somewhat hierarchy among the Believers. Saeran was on the top on the hierarchical structure, under the Savior as her personal dog. He did everything she said and was highly regarded.

Being his assistant meant that she immediately was considered above the other Believers. That wasn't necessarily a good thing.

She kept her hood lowered over her face as she made her way to the coffee pot, praying that no one noticed her. She had been told that she should wear her robe when she went into the main halls to avoid aggression from the others.

“Hey!” some voice rang out behind her causing her to startle and spill a drop of coffee on the countertop. She decided that ignoring the person would be best. Another voice murmured to the aggressive one in questioning. To respond, the man stated loudly.

“Yeah, that's the one that hasn't been cleansed properly. She hasn't fully gone through the ceremony. She has no place here.” Myung didn't turn around and didn't visibly acknowledge the buzz of confused and angry whispers of the kitchen dweller. Instead she simply grabbed a handful of cream cups and sugar along with a spoon and crammed them into her robe pockets. With both mugs in hand she barely cast the robed figures a glance as she turned on her heel and began towards the door.

Unfortunately, one of the more aggressive believers wasn't going to let her get away easy and grabbed her robe sleeve. Coffee dribbled to the floor as her sleeve was tugged back. She then decided to stop ignoring the agitated man.

“Don't touch me! This coffee isn't for me.” She decided to take benefit from being Saeran’s assistant. “You don't want me to tell Saeran that you're bothering me, do you? He’s busy enough without having to deal with you. Now, excuse me.” She harrumphed and shook her arm loose. The cup with the least coffee would be hers then.

This didn't seem to scare the Believer like she had hoped. He followed her out the door and into the living space. The people that were standing in groups or lounging around immediately turned their attention to the disruption.

“Don't act so high and mighty, you don't deserve that position! You're just the RFA’s rat!” she clenched her jaw and stopped her in her tracks. No, it's not worth it . With many eyes burning into her, she reluctantly started to walk and ignore the man again when he grabbed her good this time, sending it falling off around her shoulders to reveal her face and hair. She had enough. She didn't care how much trouble she got in. She turned towards the man with full intent of dousing his ass in boiling hot coffee.

Before she could swing her arm back, a hand was rested on her shoulder. She stopped to glance behind her. It was another hooded figure. She wasn't sure if she was being attacked or helped by the person behind her so she jerked her shoulder from the person's touch, trying to steady the coffee. A familiar and comforting voice told her that she had been saved by a friend.

“I'm Believer A306. The Savior had something to ask you, we need to go meet her immediately,” the voice stated before directing his voice at the attacker, “If there are no other disturbances, then we must be going.”

“Oh, of course. I'm sorry to be a bother.” The man said, his tone passive aggressive. Thank god that she hadn't had the chance to toss coffee on the man. Saeran would have been pissed and she would had caught hell for it.

Myung quietly agreed and watched as he pulled her away from the dumbstruck man. The familiar person pulled her into an empty hallway. The dull candle light flickered over the navy curtains, even so early in the morning.

“Thank heavens for you, Jihyun. I tried to ignore him but he-” she was cut off when the man in front of her shushed her. She silenced herself to listen to what he had to say. He was her only gateway to the outside and she longed to find out if he had told the others where she was. Was he going to deliver news that they were working on a way to help her? She felt excited and anxious simultaneously as she stood there. Hopefully, he had done the right thing.

“Myung, I sent the coordinates of this place to Luciel however…” the man looked down at the ground, his turquoise eyes avoiding hers, “He's having a hard time with his other work right now. The deadline is so tight that if he doesn't get it finished on time, the agency will...well…” he trailed off but she knew what he meant. The agency would make him disappear, like he has briefly mentioned before. Her heart sank and she struggled to ask what was in her mind.

“So… I have to stay here longer?” She questioned, her voice heavy with disappointment. She saw the man nod but found another way “Why not you just get me out of here? Are you still planning on staying here?” her face twisted with confusion and hurt.

“I...I have to. I have to stay here to keep an eye on her. I think she still may change.”  his voice thick. He was barely able to read the confusion on her face with his poor eyesight, “Rika, I mean. I can't leave here.”

Myung pressed her lips together while thinking. There was silence as she calmed herself. At first, she wanted to yell at the man in front of her and demand to be brought home. She only knew from experience that further prodding would cause him to sputter an excuse and run away just like he did in the chatrooms, like he did in the dungeon before. She wanted to tackle this carefully. From what Jumin had said, V was very fragile right now.

“Did you at least tell the others? Did you tell Jumin in the very least? Please don't tell me that he still has no clue where I am?” her voiced still leaked the emotion that she felt despite tried to keep it inside. The teal haired man took a deep breath.

“Jumin… is not doing well. He knows that Luciel is working towards finding you, but he doesn't know where or how you are. If I tell him, it will hurt him more to know that you are here. I'll just get Luciel to get you a soon as possible. Just play the part here and lay low.” Jihyun said and she anticipated that he was going to say more, but there were voices from the other end of the hallway. She had no time to get angry at him for  not telling Jumin, no time to yell at him for being a horrible friend to Jumin who trusted him fully. She just murmured a quick goodbye and set off down the hallway away from him.

She wasn't really sure when or how, but by the time she had reached Saeran's office door, the coffee had grown cold. Turning back towards the kitchen defeatedly, she felt the warmth of tears drip down her face.

Saeran didn't pry much after she told him that the reason that she was late was because of some jackass harassing her. He didn't seem to care, he just wanted his coffee hot. She watched as he dumped so much sugar into the mug that she's surprised he didn't need insulin.

Without much trouble, they both went to work. She didn't really hate his guts like she had before not was she super terrified of her. She wondered if he was moody lately or if he had been acting when he was all coy and mysterious in the beginning.

Before, she would have thought that slightly messing up would have caused him to do something devilishly horrible. It's only been two days, but she already felt less rigid around him. Yeah, the atmosphere was absolute hell but he didn't really need to threaten her much. Maybe that was why he seemed to drop the sadistic and cot attitude. Maybe it was because she was doing what he asked without much argument or maybe he was just waiting for his mood to change. Either way, she still threaded carefully around him. She certainly didn't want to see the business end of that pistol again.

While she was in the middle of the third book, she unexpectedly got a light smack in the cheek with a spiked bracer.

It didn't hurt but she flinched back. She realized that he had not done it on purpose but rather he had been stretching and accidentally brushed her. This did not stop her words to rip themselves from her lips.

“Ow! What the fuck was that for!” she growled. It was the first thing to slice the silence since this morning and it was noon. The man for the first time seemed to realize that she was sitting next to him and startled at her outburst. He really gets it the zone when he works. His mint eyes glanced tiredly over at the brunette.

“I didn't mean to, gosh. Calm down.” He grumbled back, folding his arms over each over. This was the first time today she had seen his hands away from the touchscreen. He looked pouty and defensive.

“Why do you wear that dumb bracelet anyways? It's so edgy and borderline dangerous you should expect to hurt someone with It someday.” She began, “I understand you want to look all cool and bruting but damn. Doesn't that hinder your typing?

“Where's this coming from all of a sudden? What does my bracer have to do with my work? I can work fine with It on.” He stated, turning his swivel chair towards her and away from his work. Oh, this was the perfect chance to distract him from his work and slow him down! Myung propped her head on her arm.

“And also, why do you wear your jacket like that? You know it's supposed to cover both of your shoulders, right?” She questioned. Saeran lifted his eyebrows at this commentary on his fashion sense...or there lack of.

“Look,” he demanded, leaning back and pointing at his decorated shoulder, “It shows off my tattoo if I leave one sleeve off.” He pointed out as if proud of it. Myung blinked and came up with another question.

“Ah, I see. Why on earth would you show off that tattoo anyways? You know tattoos are super frowned on.” she questioned, looking at her nails. He hadn't even glanced at the monitors. She was doing a good job. He struggled to articulate his answer, but he finally did.

“Its dedicated to this place, to my Savior. It shows my dedication to the Mint Eye and to all of the Believers here. In a way, it even shows my dedication to you.” He said, almost smiling to himself at the thought of such a noble cause. But something else lead him to frown and lose that dream like look of happiness from talking about his passion. “But it also reminds me every day of the ones who have hurt me, who have betrayed me.” his time turned dark at some memory. Myung just kept her gaze at her fingernails, not knowing what to say to that. He is so edgy.

“You said dedicated to me? Why would you be dedicated to me, I'm just the RFA hostage, right?” She questioned, sharing her thoughts on the situation, on her position.

There was a moment when she thought she saw softness in the man's eyes. Maybe even a hint of confusion but overall, his expression stayed confident. He leaned forward in his chair and placed his elbows on his knees.

“I'm dedicated to you because I know that I have saved you by bringing you here. I know that one day you'll thank me for this. You'll be so happy once you find out that you got out of the hellhole that is the RFA. Saving people like you who have been fooled is my dedication. I'm sure that you'll accept this place as your home.” He said with the same confidence in his voice, a lingering hint of genuine concern and sincerity coated his words.

He actually truly believes he's helping her. He really believes that. In his eyes, he has saved her. How? What kind of shitty situation has he been in that makes him believe that this place could ever be a home for him? She felt a twinge of pity for the man.

“If that's how you believe...then why do you say that the RFA is a hellhole. I'll admit that everyone has their flaws, even the person I'm most biased towards. But how can you say that people who work so hard to help others are bad?” She was actually curious and forgot that she was supposed to be distracting him. She wanted to know how he would rationalise this. He took a deep breath appearing to be choosing his words carefully.

“I don't think that everyone in the RFA is bad. There are just two inherently evil and corrupted people who lie and mislead the others. This is what has corrupted the RFA. They all need salvation with the exception of one person who doesn't deserve it.” he said this slowly to really hand the point over to her.

“Let me guess, because of Rika, V is the one that doesn't deserve “salvation”?” She guessed, but Saeran shook his head. Then who…?

“As horrible as V is and as bad as the things he has done, he may with a lot of guidance be saved. The one who is too far gone is Luciel. The Savior and I decided that he would never be allowed to enter paradise because of what he had done.” The topic turned his voice bitter, his eyes grew dark and bitterness turned his face to stone. Myung was perplexed. What had Seven possibly done? She made her mind up to defend him.

“I'm sure that's not the case. Seven is weird, yeah, and he also lies a bunch but that's his job. I don't think he's a bad person. If what you say is true, then the worst he has done is let me stay in an apartment with a bomb.” She tried to sound lighthearted as if the apartment wasn't a big deal. If she got out of here, however, she would chew his ass over it.

“And if that's the worst, then Jumin saved me from that. As long as he takes the bomb out, all is forgiven right?” She tried to reason in defence of her friend...if she could call him that. Their last conversation could have been a friendship ender.

The man instead of immediately arguing back gave an unexpected and chilling laugh. She was taken aback and was almost tempted to scoot her chair away from him. What on earth could be worse than leaving a bomb in an apartment? When the laughter finally died from the man, his green eyes glinted. There it was, that lost coy attitude that had disappeared for the past few days.

“He's got you so fooled! Can't you see that he's got you completely brainwashed in believing him? He's horrible and you wouldn't dare trust him around you if you knew what he's done. You don't even know what to call him. Tell me, what's his name, Myung?” he asked trying to prove a point. She had never been less confident in an answer. Saeran's eyes never left hers. With the length of time that she took hesitating, his smile grew with the satisfaction that she didn't know.

“Well… His baptismal name is Luciel…. That's all I know. Besides, his name doesn't really matter. Lots of people have nicknames.” she answered, surely he couldn't argue with that. Saeran lifted his eyebrows and leaned his head on his palm.

“You're too sweet, too naive. His names are not nicknames, Myung. He doesn't use his real name because he wants to forget the horrible things he's done.” He he said with a knowing smile. A dangerous smile.

“What do you know? How would you know what he's done? “ she challenged. The man grabbed her hands and pulled them into his own. He had very cold hands, she observed. She would have yanked her hands back if she wasn't so invested in the conversation.

“That's what I'm trying to tell you. Just be patient and I'll let you in on the whole story.” when he said the word “patient”, he squeezed her hands.

“Imagine there are two twin brothers in a house with only their mother. These two boys are super close and rely on each other for everything because their mother is abusive and violent in every sense of the two words. She rarely fed the two so they had to be especially careful of her whims in order to get fed” He began, Myung felt transfixed by his words. What is he getting at?

“One of the two boys is highly favored while the other boy who is weak is picked out and used to vent the mother's anger. Because the stronger brother is favored, he is allowed to go outside of the house and he goes to church. Of course, he comes home and tells the weaker twin that he met nice people at church and is planning on rescuing them both. Let me spoil the story for you.” He said the last sentence rather sharply.

“The stronger brother decided that his smaller brother was a burden and left him. The favored brother left and went with his new friends to have parties and have fun. He changed his name to forget the brother he left behind. The abandoned brother, however, didn't get a lucky shot to escape. No, what happened was the mother lost her shit and came down on him twice as hard never believing that he didn't have something to do with the other’s disappearance.” Saeran tugged her hands for emphasis. Myung got it. She understood what the story was about, so that means...

“You're a smart girl so I trust you don't have to be told who the two brothers in this story are, do you? Just to make it more clear, the RFA’s precious Seven is my brother, Saeyoung. I was just lucky enough to be rescued by the Savior.” Saeran laughed darkly at Myung's expression. She was sure her face showed here mix of emotions.

“So, do you think he deserves anything more than hatred? Your good friend?” he asked, tilting his head to the side in mockery. Myung held his gaze for who knows how long. Her heart sank and almost broke.

She herself had two brothers, one older and one younger and she could never leave them in a situation like that. She wasn't even close to her younger brother but just the thought made her heart clench. Seven...no, Saeyoung had never even mentioned that he had a brother. Did he have a reason to leave him? There's still no exception. She would call Saeran a liar, but she saw the look in on his eyes as he shared his story with her. She finally found the words.

“I can't imagine how horrible that was for you. I could never hurt my brothers like that. I...I can't defend what he did to you. I'm really sorry.” She said and tried to look away from his face. Now she really felt like….shit.

“See? It was only a matter of time before he did the same to the RFA, to you.” He then pulled his hands from hers and pulled her to his chest. Woah, this is not okay. “I saved you from that fate.” His voice rang out truth...but It wasn't her truth. She pushed him away and stood. His features shown a hint of hurt before molding back into a mischievous grin.

“I'm sorry Saeran, but you haven't saved me. Bringing me here didn't save me and no matter how much you or anyone here tries, this is not my home. I want to go home, to Jumin. It's not right to keep me here. I know you won't change your mind, but I want you to understand how I feel.” She hesitated before continuing her thoughts “And I want you to understand that it's also not right to trap yourself here.”

Before he could grab her, argue, or stand she headed for the door shouting over her shoulder that she's going to go take a break.

She went to her room that was thankfully empty and had herself a cry. She was confused as of why, but her tears still spilled for the second time that day.

CH1 CH2 CH3 CH4 CH5 CH6 CH7 CH8 CH9 CH10 CH11 CH12 CH13 CH14 CH15 CH16 CH17 CH18 CH19 CH20 CH21 CH22 CH23 CH24 CH25 CH26

[argentgames]

Dev Log: Contacting contractors

Happy Monday folks! Today, we’re going to talk a little bit about cold-contacting people you might want to work with. This is simply (one of) our approach(es) to it, and some contractors may have certain guidelines or personal preferences on how people should contact them. Those guidelines should guide your approach!! Nobody likes to put in effort to specify how they want to be contacted only for it to be completely ignored.

Time is limited, and people are busy. Spend the time to save them time.

Outline

Subject line (if available; some message systems like Tumblr Asks don’t have subject lines)

Who are you, and what do you want?

How you found them

Expanded details on your request

Portfolio (if available or potentially helpful)

Closing thank you in appreciation of them having an open inbox (and hopefully reading your message)

Important contact info and signature

Subject Line

Commission inquiry - [Backgrounds/CGs/Sprites] Are you open for commissions for a [short/long] game?

Make it informative!! What do you want? Since you’re messaging someone without any referral, your message might look like spam. Here’s your chance to make a first impression that shows you’re a Serious Human.

Who/What?

This should be kept short and direct. They want to know who you are and what you’re asking for without having to wade through a [scarily long] message. 

Hello! I'm Gamma from Argent Games, a small indie game development company. We're looking for an artist for a commercial BxB (R-18) visual novel.  

If they’re an artist, and commissions are closed, they can immediately reply with “Thank you for your interest in my work, however, I’m not available for commissions.” No need to read the entire email to respond, minutes are saved! But if they are open for commissions, they’ll know that there may be some Interesting Information in the rest of the message.

Not of paramount importance, but it is nice to know how you found them. Were you referred by a friend? Did you see their LemmaSoft Forum post? Were you browsing Twitter under #musiccommissions? Knowing how potential clients found them provides them with information to better target potential clients, and it only takes a couple words to tell them how they were found. 

Request Details

Here’s the spot to put all the information you can regarding your inquiry. If they’ve made it this far into your email, they’ll want to know it was worth it to continue reading. Additionally, it keeps inboxes more organized instead of having details scattered throughout multiple messages. Most inbox search functions are terrible. An example follows below where we’re asking someone about Backgrounds. (Details are altered from a request, so no, this is not a surprise Spoiler post.)

Game genres: BL/yaoi, comedy, Roaring 20s

BGs:

10-15 BGs

Simple to Medium complexity

Example locations: Speakeasy, detective’s office, main street

Reference from [the artist’s] gallery: <insert link to an image found in their gallery>

Resolution: 3840 x 2160 (minimum)

Approximately how long does it take to complete a single BG?

Price quote request for:

Simple BG

Medium complexity BG

Lighting variations

Payment method: Paypal

Deadline: June 2018

Communication method: Discord (preferable), Email (if Discord is impossible)

Phew, lots of details here. 

We’ve mentioned the game genre because some genres can be more exciting to work with than others (maybe they really dislike the Renaissance period and only want to do Fantasy landscapes). 

Then we give an approximation of the workload requested so that they can get an idea of whether participating in the project would be feasible (maybe they’re looking for a very small side project to do while procrastinating on their thesis). 

The reference from their gallery gives them an idea of the art style that piqued our interest. It could so happen be the case that the style we like is one they are moving away from and don’t want to do anymore. 

Resolution size can affect prices. 

Completion time is important for us to know, since we aren’t currently at a stage where we want projects to stretch for extra long periods of time to accommodate the speed of the absolute perfect artist. 

Payment method is Paypal since we can’t make international wire transfers. This is a little unfortunate for people in certain parts of the world, but they might suggest a similar service available in their country that isn’t a bank, and we’d be willing to give it a try.

Deadline is important because we want them to take into account their schedule before agreeing to join our project. (Might be better to move this to the top of the details list.)

Communication method allows us to keep things centralized. It’s difficult for us to check DeviantArt notes all the time to see if we get a response since DA doesn’t give any notifications.

Portfolio

Now that we have a couple of projects done, we can link a portfolio to them so that they have an example of what we do with commissioned work. Time to show off fancy panning effects and expression changes!

Do be a little bit careful with linking a portfolio that has vastly different styles, as it can be confusing to them. We’ve had a couple questions in artist responses asking if we are looking for an art style similar to Chess of Blades, when we’re actually after something like Red Embrace.

Closing Thanks!

Thank them for their time and digital storage! You don’t know if they read your message (unless they reply, of course), but even still, your message is taking up space in their inbox.

Contact Info

Perhaps the medium you’re sending a message is not the best for having lengthy discussions (e.g. Tumblr Asks). Add some info for alternate communication platforms. And don’t forget your timezone!

Note: Even if they list that commissions are closed on their portfolio, it doesn’t hurt (too much) to still send a message. Oftentimes, they aren’t open for non-commercial or individual commissions but are looking for projects to join. And worst case is they just ignore your message!

Feel free to make comments or ask questions! This is not the only way to contact people, and it certainly isn’t the sole method we use, but it’s definitely one of our main ones.

Hope this was helpful~

Support our future and current projects on Patreon for extra goodies, follow our Twitter for shenanigans, and join our Discord to chat with the devs (and other yaoi/visual novel fans!)

[evdarcy]

An Unusual Hero C6S2

Please remember, this is unedited and unfinished, but will hopefully fill in the holes that were left and answer some questions without leaving too many others. HOWEVER I will answer all and any questions if you want to leave me a comment.

Next update - Friday 30/04/2021

Sarah jumped awake, but instantly regretted the move. Hissing in pain, she pushed the heels of her hands into her eyes. They throbbed as she tried to open them again and aborted the move almost immediately.

Her eyes filled with water, trying to flush out whatever it was causing the problem, and she had to force one pair of lids open, prying them apart with her fingers, as she peered at herself in the review mirror of the small car.

‘Fuck!’ she breathed as she saw the brown contact halfway up her cornea as it tried to slide behind her eye. She’d fallen asleep with her contacts in and she was going to pay for it badly.

She tried not to flinch as she fished the lens from her eye. Good God, even the sting of tears in her eyes hadn’t made it moist enough to avoid the feeling of torture as she pulled out the tiny piece of plastic.

She sat, puffing and panting through the pain, trying desperately not to rub at either eye, and mentally geared herself up to tackle the second. The right felt far worse than the left and she almost cried out in agony as she forced the lid open.

Shit. It had broken in half; she’d probably scratched her eye. She prayed that she hadn’t; she couldn’t have a bad eye, not now, not when she had to be more observant and aware than ever! She carefully took each part of the lens out and blinked her eyes rapidly, clenching her hands into fists around the steering wheel to stop her from rubbing at her eyes furiously.

This was one of the reasons why she’d had corrective surgery six years ago. It wasn’t the first time she’d fallen asleep in contacts, she was just glad that it would be the last. She sighed, relaxing into her seat as the pain slowly receded and she realised hadn’t done any actual damage.

A snore from behind her made her jump, her eyes flying open as she turned around her in her seat to see Luc Truman. He’d almost folded himself in half, crunched up in the barely worth it backseat. His jacket covered his torso and his head was at an awkward angle pressed against the seat and the door. At least she wasn’t the only one who would be waking up sore. But, shit. It also meant that yesterday hadn’t been a very vivid dream.

She banged her head back against the headrest repeatedly as she tried to convince herself that it wasn’t her fault. Tried to recall what Dr. Jellyman had said to her over the last year and actually believe it this time. The situation was not her fault. Everything came down to the Demon and what he’d done.

And David.

She hoped the devil was riding the agent at that moment.

She rubbed her hands over her face—careful around her eyes—and made a frustrated grunt in the back of her throat. She had no idea what to do or where to go. They hadn’t planned for this contingency; they’d figured if the bastard found her, she’d be dead not on the run.

Okay, she had to pulled herself together, to be strong for the man behind her who’d been thrown in at the deep end. While she might have been in a similar boat twelve months ago, she’d been pulled out quickly and had time afterwards to pause and take a breath.

Luc wasn’t going to have that luxury.

But, first things first. She had to remind herself where she was and work out what her options where.

She wiped her hand across the window and tried to peer through it in the dim morning light. The sun was on the cusp of rising and the earth was caught in the eerie glow that suggested no one should be awake yet. Even nature seemed to still be sleeping, Sarah mused, as she wound down the driver’s window of the little black car and noted the lack of birdsong.

There was a chill in the air and a light, fine rain coated the world around them in a sheen of water that caused a low mist to cling to the road and the lake that stretched out before her. She frowned at the world wishing she was still asleep, tucked up in a soft, warm bed somewhere, with a thick feathery duvet and the heating on full pelt.

Wyoming! The memory of where they were suddenly came back to her.

She’d driven for more than ten hours straight, heading north through a country she’d never visited before. She’d stopped only to refill the car and to relieve herself, but Luc had merely sat next to her, frowning out the window after their talk. She’d watched the myriad of emotions play over his face every time she’d glanced his way or tried to engage him in conversation, but after an hour of silence she’d merely focused on the road, needing to keep an eye out for any vehicles following her. Every time they’d stopped she’d had to hope that he didn’t run from the car screaming and shouting that she’d stolen him away and was holding him hostage, while she tried to take a pee.

As a teacher she’d always thought bathroom breaks were bad; someone was always talking to you through the stall walls, trying to remind you of meetings you had, deadlines, parent calls to return, detentions—the list was endless. But at least she’d never had to worry about someone kicking the door in and hauling her away! Even if she had dreamt about Luc doing it one or twice when she was having a particularly bad day.

She’d finally stopped for the night when she knew she was at risk of crashing the car and doing The Demon’s work for him. And what a stop it was.

In the moonless night she hadn’t realised where she’d chosen to park, but now, good God, was there anything more beautiful? The rolling mist of the morning covered the lake, making it mystical and enchanting. The sun, slowly rising in the east, hit the mountains in front front of her, its orange glow making the snowy peaks glisten and twinkle.

‘Like a fairy tale,’ she whispered as she took in the magical sight.

Sarah opened the door and climbed out, stretching her legs and back, hoping to hear the click she desperately felt she needed, and took a deep breath of the crisp, fresh air. She coughed as her lungs cleared themselves of the stale air from the car and realised how bad the Excel smelled.

She took a few more breaths, allowing the light breeze to make her eyes water, helping her clear out the sting still within them, until her body began to shiver with the morning coldness. She hurried to the back of the car, popping the lock of the boot and lifting the lid.

While all was quiet, she took a better look through the duffel bags hoping she could find a jumper or hoodie to wear to keep her warm, but not holding out much hope. However, she frowned as she saw the clothes; jeans, jumpers, and long sleeved tops all very different from the supposed indie-author image she’d had in mind. Weren’t they all vegans and—

Her brow wrinkled as she frowned harder when her brain stopped short. She’d told Jack and David about what she wanted each of her persona's to be like, how she’d felt she could portray each person realistically. David had laughed alongside her, but Jack had sat there puzzled… At least she’d thought his lowered brows and pursed lips had been confusion, perhaps it had merely been… disapproval?

She grabbed one of the soft hoodies and threw it over her head before shoving the rest of the clothes back in the bag and grabbing the remaining cash from within its depths. She’d taken a few bills from it yesterday to fill the car and grab food, and now she estimated there just shy of fifteen grand still within its wrapper.

In the UK, she was sure she’d manage to live on that quite well for six to eight months, but she had a sinking feeling that in the states it wouldn’t last very long.

She peeled a chunk of the bills from the stack and shoved them into the back pocket of her jeans, putting the rest back with the clothes before she began rifling through the ammunition, checking what she had available. There was enough to refill each of her weapons half a dozen or so times, but would that be enough?

Shit, could you just walk into a store over here and buy more? Would she need ID? A gun certificate? How the hell did it work?

Luc grunted and she peered at the man again wondering if he knew. He’d seemed pretty familiar with the shotgun yesterday, perhaps he was one of these gun toting, firing into the sky with a Ye-haw! nut jobs she’d heard so much about in the British media?

She pushed the boxes of bullets and shells back into their bag as she shook her head of her musings. She’d work it out. She’d have to. Even if she had to hold up a store to get more she’d—

Two books caught her eye, cutting off her train of thought. They were leather bound and old looking, and had fallen to the floor during her investigation. She frowned at the volumes, turning them over in her hands as she tried to make sense of why Jack had included them. They seem to focus on living in a… wilderness setting? A forest?

Sarah pulled a face at them. They seemed to be a bit bizarre for her commander to just leave here without a reason…

She flicked through them to try and see if they had a deeper—or clearer—meaning, looking for any folded pages, highlighted notes, dotted words, or any other obvious indication as to why they were included. Her frown only deepened when that also drew a blank. Perhaps, they’d been for Jack’s personal enjoyment? Something to read on the long drive to San Francisco? Sarah had pegged him as a bit of a survivalist. He’d probably had his own nuclear-fallout escape plan all figured out.

She tossed them back into the boot with a shrug—she’d figure out if they were for her later—and continued on through the bags; toiletries and a map of the south-eastern United States were all that remained. She put the map with the books. The clothes, the books, and now the map. None of it made sense. She didn’t have any IDs linked to that area of the US—

‘Shit,’ she hissed and fumbled for the pocket in her jacket under the hoodie, sighing with relief when she felt her IDs safe and secure. Jack had insisted before they left the UK that she keep hold of them. Had the commander been suspicious of his American counterpart? If so, why the hell had she been kept in the dark?

Probably because she’d enjoyed what David did between her legs. She sneered at the thought of letting that man screw her. How the hell had she been so blind? How had all of them been duped by the man?

It was still a mystery to her how the agent had got on the team in the first place. How the hell had he convinced the President of the United States that he was on the level. Surely, if Renée Forbes had put the team together personally, her security checks would have been the highest of the high? Unless…

Fuck it. She couldn’t risk trusting President Forbes either. There would be no running to an FBI building, there would be no codes passed on. They were completely on their own.

The cool metal of the pendant between her ample breasts reminded her there was still one plan she had access to, she just wouldn’t know what it was until she got a phone that worked.

She rubbed her mouth as she thought about what to do next, but her brain stopped when she felt her chin wobble. What the—

Dammit, she’d forgotten about the prosthetic chin and nose they’d made her put on before she got off the jet yesterday.

She grabbed the wash bag and closed the car’s boot before she trotted down to the water’s edge and became herself again.

Any questions, please drop them in the comments. Next update on Friday!

[blazehedgehog]

I was interviewed to be part of this article over at Cultured Vultures! It talks about the history of Sonic fan games in the wake of Sonic Mania. Give it a read! I’m actually genuinely impressed the author (Ryan Atkinson) managed to track down Aytaç Aksu. That’s a name I haven’t heard in a very, very long time. That alone makes the article worth checking out, if you ask me.

I also checked in with Atkinson and he’s okay with me posting our full interview. I’m hiding it behind the “Read More” tag because as always I tend to be pretty longwinded (as usual; but that’s the entire reason I asked if it was okay for me to post)

Atkinson: How did you first get into fan games? Sometime in middle school, I started to wonder just how video games were made. My friends and I wrote up some very barebones documentation for a game we called "Sonic: In Your Face" and mailed them to the address Sega printed on the back of their game cases. Unsurprisingly, we received a rejection letter shortly after. But the idea of making your own games stuck with me; I started learning QBASIC on my home PC (an old hand-me-down 33mhz desktop running Windows 3.1). Starting high school, we all had to buy TI-8x calculators for Algebra, which came with TIBASIC. Using what I knew about QBASIC, I taught myself TIBASIC by reverse-engineering games other friends would send me. I started out by making simple text adventures (which I called "Moviegames," usually involving whatever my favorite movie was at the time -- Jurassic Park, Men in Black, etc.) and eventually started learning how to do ASCII graphics. The only problem was, if your batteries died, all software you had written would be erased. So it was a challenge to make anything substantial.

High school meant better access to internet-connected PCs, and eventually I stumbled upon something called "Sonic 2000." It was a Sonic game running in DOS, created by a fan. Or it was going to be, at any rate; I don't think it got very far. Either way, it piqued my interest, because there hadn't been any real Sonic games for a few years. It linked to a website called "Sonic Fangames HQ." Here was a whole community of fans making their own games, most primarily using a piece of software called The Games Factory (which was also available under a different name, "Corel Click & Create" -- same software, different brand). The talk of the town when I got there was the final release of the original "Sonic Robo-Blast," made in an earlier version of The Games Factory called "Klik 'n' Play." I wasn't impressed. The graphics were incredibly simple, the game didn't even have scrolling, and it was plagued by a bug called "Killing Death." It meant that sometimes, when Sonic would bop an enemy, it'd also kill him at the same time, even if you had rings. It was bad. I knew I could do better.  So, after acquiring my own copy of Click & Create, I set about learning. The rest is history.

Atkinson: How has the fan game community changed over the years? The advancements in tech are probably the biggest change. A lot of 2D Sonic fan games still use the great grandson of The Games Factory -- now called "Clickteam Fusion." That's because there's now a pretty robust open source code base called "Sonic Worlds Delta" that closely mimics how the Genesis games worked. Sonic fan games today can look, sound, and feel almost like the real thing, and Sonic Worlds Delta has gone on to power games like Freedom Planet. Back when I originally joined SFGHQ, we were all using The Games Factory's built-in "Platform" movement setting, which not only does not play like anything even close to Sonic, but is also just really buggy and terrible in general. It's amazing how much mileage everyone's gotten out of Clickteam's software. That tends to happen with these [easy] game creation tools; I've heard people doing crazy things with RPG Maker, too. The complexity of today's fan games versus what everyone was capable of 18 or 19 years ago is insane.

There's also the simple fact that the community changes naturally. There seems to be kind of a cutoff point for Sonic fan games -- usually you get experienced enough that you try your hand at entering the game industry proper (for instance, the founder of SFGHQ, Ryan Langley, worked at Halfbrick on mobile games like Jetpack Joyride, and now he works at Pikpok games on games like Doomsday Clicker) or you realize game development just isn't for you and you move on. SFGHQ seems to be a very "generational" place that you don't really stick around forever, though you do occasionally end up with people like me that never seem to want to leave.

Atkinson: How does it compare to other fan game communities? I think it's just in general more advanced. To my knowledge, SFGHQ was the first website specifically dedicated to fan games. It opened in either 1997 or 1998. It took a really long time for any other fan gaming communities to crop up, and they've struggled to gain traction for various reasons. SFGHQ was already a pretty busy place by the time I got there in 1999, and it only kept growing.

SFGHQ gradually slowed down when Rlan (Langley) left in the mid 2000's, primarily because it was difficult to find someone who wanted the herculean task of maintaining the database of games and resources. In the interim, other fan gaming communities have gained power in its wake, most notably the Mario Fan Games Galaxy (MFGG), which is far closer in spirit now to what SFGHQ was back in its heyday. But SFGHQ is currently trying to stage a comeback; the forums recently relaunched with the ability to publish games to the database yourself with an almost wiki-like functionality, eliminating the bottlenecks that were strangling the community in years past. Hopefully it bounces back.

Atkinson: When you first got involved with Sonic fan games were there many games available and were they easy to find? One of the benefits in those early days was how easy it was to make a game. Making games isn't easy by any stretch, but especially nowadays, there's a lot of work involved in making a good fan game. Standards are very high. Back then, the bar was considerably lower -- you could throw together just about anything in a few days and that would be good enough. I don't remember exactly how many games were available when I got there, but I know I was never short on new things to try out from my new friends.

Atkinson: Why did you start SAGE? I loved all the games my friends and I were making, but trying to talk to anyone outside of our community about them always resulted in funny looks at best. Many wanted to stay away from our games because they viewed them as an extension of piracy. They thought we were making illegal bootleg games, like that "7 Grand Dad" NES game or whatever. Technically, we kind of were, but I always hated that terminology. By that definition, fan art is "illegal bootleg artwork" and fan fiction is an "illegal bootleg book." It's all about your point of view. So, I figured I would change that point of view. The original goal of SAGE was to create enough of a focal point on our community to generate press coverage and destigmatize fan games. I wanted to show the world all the cool stuff we were making and get people to realize these games were actually okay to play. That was a struggle, but SAGE ended up serving a good secondary purpose in that it gave the community a milestone to revolve around. Suddenly the "when it's done" deadline became "get something ready for SAGE." I think that's the actual driving reason why it's still going today.

Atkinson: Please could you describe some of the 2017 SAGE games. Well, the big one would be Sonic 2 HD, a game that went through some turmoil a few years ago due to trouble with an unscrupulous coder. They're back now, having changed out a number of team members, and the end result is a gorgeous 2D game that I think puts even some professional efforts to shame. If you ever looked at Sonic's box art and wished they'd make a game that actually looked like that, well, that's basically what Sonic 2 HD is. It's still got some rough edges, but for what it is, it looks and plays incredible. If Sega ever wants to take another fan project under their wing, it should be that one.

Sonic World (not to be confused with Sonic Worlds Delta mentioned earlier) is one of a growing number of 3D Sonic fan games. It's been in development positively for ages, and has a big focus on community feedback. The game in its current format is almost too big; we're talking dozens of playable characters and something like fifty levels, many of which were made by the community. It's very impressive, but has sometimes had issues with accessibility. It's very easy to be overwhelmed by how much stuff is in that game, but that's the way that community prefers it. Watching this game in the hands of a good speedrunner like DarkspinesSonic is a sight to behold.

Crash N. Tense Adventure is an example of how, even early on, SAGE was never entirely about Sonic. I don't know if there's a hugely robust Crash Bandicoot fan gaming scene, but even back when I personally ran and organized SAGE by myself in the early 2000's, I made sure that this was more a community event than just a Sonic event. If somebody was working on a Mario fan game, or even a totally original IP, that kind of stuff was always welcome at SAGE. N. Tense Adventure is fantastic; I love the animation. All of the characters have so much personality that you can't help but laugh at them, and it helps that it plays exactly like the PS1 Crash Bandicoot games. Honestly, this beats the heck out of anything involving Crash Bandicoot since 2001.

Clash Force 2 is an interesting beast in that the original Clash Force game just went up for sale on Steam. This developer actually seems to be using SAGE as a way to promote the upcoming sequel, which is something I don't think has ever happened before. Sure, we've had games like Freedom Planet show at SAGE, but that's because Freedom Planet started out as a Sonic fan game. This is the first time a published indie developer has shown a game at SAGE, though that kind of praise probably depends on how much you value Steam's publishing system these days. It's a fun game though, blending Sonic and Contra with character designs that feel like distant cousins to something like the Battle Beasts figures released in the 80's.

Forces of Mobius is a game I feel like I should have spent more time with. It's one of the rare few non-platformer games at SAGE, being a role playing game starring Princess Sally from the Archie Comics series. I'm a little in the dark, but it sounds like there's a growing sub-community of people making Sonic RPGs in RPG Maker, as the author mentions other games not only in his series, but games made by his peers, as well. These sorts of games don't show up very often at SAGE, but maybe they should.

And I just can't avoid mentioning SONIC THE HEDGEHOG, a remake of the notoriously bad Sonic 2006 Xbox 360 game. I think there will always be at least one modder out there who is obsessed with "fixing" a broken game, often by creating an unofficial patch. Here, the solution is apparently to just strip the game down to its spare parts and completely rebuild it in Unity. It's an interesting proposition, though I'll admit I'm more befuddled than anything else, especially given how close it's sticking to the source material. I'll still try the finished product, though, if it ever gets that far.

Atkinson: What does you believe the future looks like for Sonic fan games? I think as things continue, 3D games will grow in numbers. Sonic fan games are dominated by 2D games because those are the easiest to make. But with the availability of programs like Unity, and the existence of open source code bases like SonicGDK (Unreal Engine 3) and HedgePhysics (Unity), more and more people are trying their hand at building 3D Sonic games, and the tools are only going to keep getting easier to use from here. Perhaps some day, we'll get a 3D equivalent to Sonic Mania -- a game built by the fans, for the fans, with the blessing, support, and budget of an official Sega title. That'd be nice.

Atkinson: Is there anything you would like to add? I'm not kidding around when I say I really want to help fan games grow. It makes me sad and angry every time yet another news story comes around about a notable fan gaming project getting hit with a "Cease & Desist" shutdown notice. These stigmas are still alive and well, when the people making these games are honestly some of the biggest, most passionate fans out there. Making a fan game is not something to be taken lightly these days; it takes months, more often even years of dedication to finish. AM2R was in development for something like 11 years, and one of the oldest Sonic fan games still in active development, Sonic Robo-Blast 2, is probably over 15 years old at this point. That kind of dedication doesn't come easy. It takes these corporations minutes, maybe even seconds to invalidate a decade or more of work. There is no bigger sign that they don't really care about their fans -- they just want their money. A "Cease & Desist" is like watching your hero rip up your love letter to them. It's awful, and it needs to stop.

A few years ago Sega actually gave their blessing to Sonic fan games, so I think the community will only continue to grow. Hopefully, maybe, my original goal for SAGE will come to pass, and the sheer volume of Sonic fan games will make it a little easier for all fan game creators to make whatever they please without restrictions. If Nintendo can have a whole wall of fan art in their offices, why can't they celebrate fan games too, right? Maybe they're still just lacking the right point of view.