#for the record I haven’t even bothered to check before sending out this post so it could be 0 posts

[ur-favorite-queer-queen]

Internet Friends

For Maribat March day 4 theme internet friends

Master List

It was peaceful for once in the manor. Dick, Tim, Damian, Steph, Cass, and Babs were all in the living room doing their own thing. However peace cannot last forever and the silent atmosphere was interrupted by one Timothy Drake-Wayne. 

“Guys come check this out!” He exclaimed, his phone facing the others in the room. They all gathered around the phone, some more annoyed than others. On screen was a video and Tim hit play. 

It showed a girl with dark hair, blue eyes, and pale skin motioning for someone off screen to come over. There was music going on in the background and the girl was obviously getting impatient. The figure came on screen and they were all shocked to see it was Jason. Then at the top of the screen the words ‘Doing this trend with my overprotective best friend’ appeared and now they were very confused. Jason had never mentioned this girl before.

The music stopped and the girl repeated the lyrics “Look at my ass, look at my thighs” as she turned around. But before she could turn around Jason picked her up and carried her off screen before the video ended. 

“What was that?” Dick asked after a few seconds of silence. 

“It’s a trend on tik tok that girls usually do with their boyfriends, but in this case Jason and this girl are just best friends.” Steph answered. 

“How does Jason even know this girl?” Dick pointed out, asking the question that was on all of their minds. Unfortunately, no one, not even Tim, knew the answer. 

Cass then spoke up, “Watch more.” She grabbed Tim’s phone and played another video, however this time it was Jason holding the camera. He came over to the strange girl who looked to be baking something. She looked up at him weirdly, asking something that couldn’t be heard because of the audio playing, luckily they could read lips. 

‘What are you doing?’ She asked

Jason responded with ‘Just listen.’ 

She turned her attention to the camera as the lyrics “That’s my best friend, that’s my best friend” played. Jason was moving to the beat and that seemed to convince the girl to also move to the beat. The song continued with more lyrics playing “She’s not my girlfriend, she’s my best friend”. Then suddenly the lyrics “I just fuck her her from time to time” played and the girl whipped out her spoon and started whacking him on the head with it. She was screaming ‘LIES’ just before the video cut out. 

This led to them going on a spree of watching their tik toks. Apparently this was their shared account and both of them had separate accounts they planned to look at later. An hour had passed of them just watching their tik toks before they stumbled upon an intriguing one. The caption was ‘You guys asked for it, so I’ll explain. This is going to be my side of the story.’

It showed Margot, as they had found out her name was, sitting on her bed recording herself painting her nails a blood red as she talked. 

“Ok so you guys have been asking for this for a while so here it is. How I met Jason part one. And Jason will also be doing his side of the story, just so you’re aware, watch that after this. But this also takes place after the whole ‘Hawkmoth and Lila Incident’ so if you haven’t watched that storytime on my personal account, you should probably go do that.” 

One look at each other and they knew they were gonna look at the story afterwards. It was getting too good to leave now.

“So a long time ago I had a venting account on Instagram. Now I had many venting accounts, all with different usernames, including Twitter, Facebook, Snapchat, all that good stuff but Instagram is where I met Jason. I posted something about how death could never stop me because I had died by the hands of an akuma before but ladybug’s cure brought me back to life. But then later on in the post I said something about how if this one boy, you all know who he is, couldn’t take a hint then I would rather let death take me than bother living in this mortal realm. Jason ended up seeing the post since we were following each other at the time and DMed me. Now he said and I quote ‘Yo, my username at the time, if you need me to come and beat this guys ass I would be more than happy too. I would gladly let death claim me as well without your shit posts to relate to.’” 

She had tried to make her voice sound deeper and had stopped painting her nails so she could do air quotes. “Looking back on it now, that is such a Jason thing to say, but at the time I was pretty confused and mildly concerned. And time’s up, part two will be posted right now.” 

“Wait, what the heck is an akuma and ladybug’s cure and why did she die from it!?!?!” Dick shouted once the video ended. 

“Dick you don’t know what she’s talking about?” Babs asked in disbelief. 

“Tt, Grayson, and I thought you were one of the smart ones in this family.” Damian scoffed. 

“Does everyone here, but me, know what she's talking about?” Dick questioned, getting yes and nods from everyone in the room.

“Okay Dick,” Tim began, “This is gonna be pretty unbelievable and complicated so I’ll try to explain it as best I can in a short amount of time so we can finish her side of the story before dinner. So while I’m explaining don’t interrupt me.” 

He waited for Dick to nod his head before continuing. “There are jewelry called miraculous that house mini gods that grant powers to whoever has the jewelry. Each miraculous houses a different god thus a different power. Miraculous themselves, including the gods bound to them, are neutral so they can be used for good or evil depending on who wields them. 

Hawkmoth and Mayura used the butterfly and peacock miraculouses for evil purposes and were basically emotional terrorists to the people of Paris. Hawkmoth was able to send out a butterfly with magic to a person feeling negative emotions and manipulate them to do his bidding. These butterflies and villains created by the butterflies were called akumas. If you were or became an akuma you were akumatized. Mayura was able to send out a feather with magic that also used negative emotions to create a monster that aided the akuma. The feathers were called amuks and the monsters were called sentimonsters. 

That was when the heroes Ladybug and Chat Noir also came along and fought Hawkmoth. Ladybug had the ladybug miraculous which granted her the power of lucky charm and miraculous ladybug. Lucky charm gave her an item needed to defeat the akuma and miraculous ladybug reversed all the damage a fight caused. She also had the task of purifying the akuma, turning it back into a butterfly. Chat Noir had the black cat miraculous which granted the power of cataclysm, which made it so he could destroy anything he touched. The 2 worked as a team for around a year before they brought in other temporary heroes who are not that important. Eventually all their temp heroes’ identities were outed and they could no longer use them so they were back to square one. 

However many people noticed that Chat Noir was not taking his job as seriously, he began sitting out battles, flirting with ladybug while there was an akuma, and even getting civilians killed, relying too heavily on ladybug’s cure. We’re not exactly sure what happened, we assumed she snapped because one akuma attack Chat Noir was not there. Instead, there was a whole new team of miraculous wielders including Murder Hornet wielder of the bee miraculous who had the power venom which let her temporarily paralize her opponent, Red Illusion wielder of the fox miraculous who had the power mirage which let him create illusions, Peridot Protector wielder of the turtle miraculous who had the power shelter which allowed him to create indestructible shields, Medusa wielder of the snake miraculous who had the power second chance which allowed her to reset the time line as many times as needed to win the battle, Mustang wielder of the horse miraculous who had the power voyage which let him create portals, and a new black cat holder, Midnight. 

The team took 6 months to defeat Hawkmoth and Mayura, who turned out to be Gabriel Agreste and Natalie Sancour. The Justice League tried to recruit them but they all wanted to live normal lives. Ladybug still checks in every 3-6 months to reassure everyone she still has all the miraculous. I don’t blame them, especially Ladybug, for wanting a normal life. This whole thing started when they were around 13 and ended when they were around 17.”

Tim then clicked on part two of her story, not even waiting for Dick to recover from the huge information dump. 

It was the exact same place she was at in part one, and she was still painting her nails the same shade of blood red. “Okay guys part two of how Jason and I met. If you didn’t watch part one go watch then return to this one. So picking up where we left off I Dmed him back and we ended up having a very long conversation about murder, people not understanding the word no, and spineless cowards. This went on for quite a while of us just messaging each other and eventually we gave each other our emails and then phone numbers. I gave him my phone number just before I moved out of Paris. After like 6 months of texting we planned to meet up at some park in New York that was near the apartment I lived at at the time. Now in hindsight that was a very dumb move on my part so to all the kids watching don’t go meeting up with strangers you meet on the internet. Do as I say not as I did. I almost regretted my decision to meet up with him because he is intimidating as hell! He’s like over 6 foot tall, with muscles the size of my head! I honestly thought that I had put myself in a very bad situation but thankfully he was just as nice in real life like he was over text. We ended up hanging out a lot more and long story short we’re best friends!” 

It was at this point that she looked directly into the camera with a glare that could rival Batman’s, stating, “Literally just best friends to all the people who think shipping us is okay!” And just like that, it was gone, “Anyways see you guys next video, bye!” 

And with that the video ended and the Wayne children, minus Jason obviously, were left wondering how they missed the fact Jason had a female best friend. One where they declared their friendship on the internet nonetheless!

“Well that was certainly something.” Steph commented. 

“Yeah, who knew Jason could have a non hero friend that we didn’t know about.” Tim joked. 

“So are we gonna watch Jason’s part?” Dick asked. 

“I don’t think we have time for that, but we can watch it after dinner.” Tim suggested, “Alfred is probably on his way to get us right now.”

“Tt, what do we do now?” Damian questioned. 

It was then that Cass stole Tim’s phone and started to play a new tik tok. And it showed Margot trying to teach Jason how to do the WAP dance. They were never letting him hear the end of this.

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I am literally so sorry for that huge information dump with the miraculous. I did not expect to get that carried away while writing and by the time I realized it, it was too late and I had to post. Honestly because of how much I wrote I will probably use the miraculous holders names in a future fic, cause I’m lazy. :P Also if you wanna guess their identities feel free to! Anyways tomorrows prompt fic thing will be like a prequel for this one, it’s basically why Marinette now goes by Margot and why she lived/lives in New York. The prompt “Betrayal" will be connected to this as well. :)  Also sorry this was posted so late, I had things to do, that I still need to do...I hate procrastination

@maribatmarch-2k21

[r3almellow]

Pregnancy Headcanons/Scenario: Gavin

I hope you don’t mind, but I just decided to make this into a pregnancy headcanon post! I figured it would be easier to explain what our Bird Cop would do and how he’d handle things overall. 

Warning: Pregnancy 

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How you tell him

You became suspicious after not being able to keep certain foods down  the sudden fatigue and a week into you missing your period.

It was only a matter of time before you got pregnant. There were a lot of times when both of you were so caught up in the heat of the moment and neglected to use protection.

The minute you find out, you’re coming up with different ways to tell him. 

You’ve gone from thinking about buying matching leather biker jackets one with “Biker Dad” and the other “Biker Baby” embroidered on the back to telling him over dinner at a nice restaurant. 

So many ideas, but you settled for something simple. Buying two house plants to add to your homes collection. Both were succulents that matched with the one he currently owned, Greenie, but had their own unique traits. 

You excitedly show him the new plants when he gets home from work. 

 “I even came up with names!” You point to one that was predominantly green with a pink outline. “This one is Cutie because I thought it looked cute.” Then you point to the smallest one and suddenly the anxiety within you starts to bubble. 

“And this one is Baby.” He looks at you confused. “Baby?”

“B-baby...” You say again this time shifting awkwardly, not as confident as you had been before. “Because its so small...” 

He repeats the word once more as if trying to understand its meaning and as the seconds go by the anxiety builds further. Maybe you weren’t straightforward enough in your efforts to surprise him. 

As if a lightbulb dings in his mind, his face lights up and suddenly you’re in his arms, enveloped in the tightest of hugs. 

If there was any doubt in your mind that Gavin wasn’t going to accept you or the baby, that gets thrown out the window. He’s beyond happy because this is all he’s ever wanted. 

Having a family with you was only something he believed could only be achieved in a dream. 

“I’m going to be a... We’re going to be... You have no idea how happy I am. I promise I’ll..” He trails off as if to catch himself and pulls out of the hug. His elated expression turning serious. 

“I-I mean...if you want to. Whatever you want to do I’ll stand by you.” No surprise that Gavin puts your needs and happiness before his own. 

You can only smile up at him with misty eyes. “I want to have this baby with you.” 

During the pregnancy

Spoils the hell out of you! Whatever you want, he’ll get it. No matter how far or what time it is, your man will go through hell and back to make sure you’re satisfied. 

Want chocolate covered gummy bears with cinnamon sprinkled all over them, but the only store that’s open at 3AM is halfway across town? Say no more. 

Even when you don’t want to bother him, Gavin will take it upon himself to get even the smallest of things for you.

Will go to all of your appointments and parenting classes even if it means taking on less missions. Don’t even try to convince him to do otherwise. If he has to choose between you and work, it’ll be you every time. 

If, for whatever reason, he can’t be with you for a doctor appointment, he sends Minor in his place.

You do have an electric guardian angel watching over you as well, so even when Gavin’s away you’re not entirely alone.

As the months go on, Gavin will become very protective of you and refuses to let you lift a finger. 

He cooks all the dinners when he’s home and does all the housework. Won’t even let you pick up a broom. 

Massages! Tons of massages! The minute you start complaining about your feet or back, his hands are ready.

Work? While he won’t stop you from working until way later into your pregnancy, he will try to convince you to take on a lesser workload. 

He maaaaaay take a quick trip over to LFG to talk to your investor, just so the man knows not to stress you out. Don’t worry he’s just gonna talk to him. 

Handles your mood swings surprisingly well. Half of the time its because he does whatever you want and the other half is because he hates seeing you cry or upset. 

Only a handful of times has he been strict about certain things that could potentially harm you. Not even your cutest of pouts can change his mind when he wants to protect you and the baby. 

Has a few parenting books lying around and will be a bit embarrassed if you gush about how hard he’s trying to prepare. 

Once your stomach starts growing and you start to feel insecure about your appearance, Gavin will do all he can do reassure you that you are the most beautiful woman on the planet and that he’s lucky to be in the presence of someone so perfect. 

For every part of you that you highlight as being unattractive he’ll kiss it. 

You don’t like how big your breasts have gotten? You hate the sight of your stretchmarks or how your shirts can no longer cover your protruding stomach? Expect a barrage of kisses your way. 

Gavin will fight every doubt you have so he can make his girl feel beautiful. 

Speaking of your body, Gavin would be a liar if he said he didn’t love the changes happening to your body for his own selfish reasons. 

You going up two bra sizes has been nothing but a blessing in Gavin’s eyes. Of course you’ve always been perfect to him, but you know...

Has offered to massage your breasts whenever you talk about them being too sensitive. Most of the time you take him up on that offer knowing full well that he wants more than just to ease you of your discomfort.

Not that you’re complaining because the way your sexual appetite has opened since being pregnant and having a man who wants to do nothing but please you like the service top he is?! You’re in heaven! 

By the time you’re in your 3rd trimester its hard for you to do the simplest of things, so expect Gavin to offer his services. 

Even showering has become difficult so he’s more than happy to help while you’re riddled with embarrassment.

“This is so embarrassing...”

“What’s there to be embarrassed about. It’s not like I haven’t see any of this before.”

There will be times when Gavin will feel nervous about parenting. He won’t bring such feelings to your attention, but if you pick up on it make sure to shower him with words of encouragement. 

 “You’re a good man, Gavin, and I know you’ll be a great father.” “Starting a family with someone who is as loving and caring as you, I can honestly say I’m lucky.” “Our baby is going to have parents who will love them unconditionally.” “They’ll love you just as much as I do.” “Just think, all the other parents will be so jealous over how amazing our kid will be. They’ll have your looks and sense of duty and my...well....everything else!”

If you’re not already married, at some point he’ll ask you to marry him, but will assure you that you being pregnant isn’t the reason he’s asking. This has been something he’s been thinking about for a while now. Your pregnancy just pushes him to actually take the step. 

He probably already had a ring picked out way before all of this. 

And don’t worry, he’s not just going to ask all casual-like. He’ll put a lot of thought into how and when to ask you. Who knows, maybe your little bundle of joy will be present by the time the wedding actually happens. 

The weeks leading up to your due date his job has been very accommodating, giving him work that doesn’t require him to be too far from you and is mostly him directing his subordinates from a safe distance (as per your request). 

Labor

When your water breaks you’re in the car with your prepacked hospital bag and make it to the hospital in record time.

Gavin is a nervous wreck, but he doesn’t let it show. This isn’t about him. This is about you and this new life you were about to bring into the world.

Of course he’ll be with you the whole time. The whole twelve to thirteen hours you spend in labor he doesn’t move an inch unless its to give the doctor space. 

Gavin wants to see it all and be of help to you in anyway possible. If the doctor asked him to deliver the baby he’d do it in a heartbeat.

When its time, Gavin is all in and does his best to provide you comfort in anyway he can. 

Seeing you cry and breathing heavily as the doctor instructs you to push and not being able to take the pain away is hard for him. 

All he can do is hold your hand, every so often kissing the back of it and giving you words of encouragement. 

“You’re doing great, beautiful.” “Breathe. Just like that.” “I know...just keep breathing and push, okay?” 

You can curse him out if you want or squeeze his hand reducing it to nothing but a compressed remnant of what use to be; he doesn’t care. Use him to relieve you of the pain. 

By the end of it all, Gavin is in complete awe. 

From the way you look up at him with tears streaming down your face completely drenched in sweat to the sounds of the crying child as the nurses remove the excess fluids to you holding them in your arms, Gavin’s heart is full. 

He can feel his eyes burn with tears threatening to fall at the sight of the love of his life and baby. The mother and child. His family. 

And when he gets to hold the baby, Gavin is shaking with nerves, but not enough to disturb the child laying peacefully in his arms.

The baby will look up at Gavin with eyes that mimic their father’s golden ones before they slowly drift to sleep.

“They feel safe with you.” You’ll say tiredly as the nurses tend to you. “How can you tell?” 

“Because being in your arms is the safest place in the world.”

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Been sitting on this bad boy for a while now! Hope you all enjoyed the read and if you want more MLQC stuff make sure to check out my masterpost! 

[blossom-hwa]

Could I request . . . best friend!chan + boys' night out, some platonic banter and wholesome drunk escapades?

Okay ngl Javi I have never gotten drunk or anything so like.... I’m so sorry I don’t know how to write this smdkgshg but I wanted to write platonic banter and I started this like texting series in my last drabble game so.... I kinda continued it here but with a reader too?? I hope that’s okay I’m so sorry kjfskdjhguh

(Read the original text aus here: danceracha | 3racha | vocalracha | the boyz | both groups aka a nightmare)

Stray Kids drabble game: send me a Stray Kids member + a prompt (check out the post for ideas) and I’ll write a drabble for you!

~

Title: Cafe Shenanigans 2: Electric Boogaloo

Pairing: none (all platonic), reader is gender neutral

Word count: 1.3k

Triggers: cursing

~

quick clarification:

better than tony: chan

chingban: changbin

gremlin: jisung

y/n/wow: y/n

~

better than tony: we have a new worker joining today please for the love of god do Not scare them off

better than tony has added y/n to the group chat!

y/n: chan why is this your nickname

chingban: and why did you talk about a new worker all serious n shit we literally know y/n

gremlin: probably better than we know chan tbh

y/n: what’s my favorite color

chingban: ...

gremlin: ...

y/n: that’s what I thought

better than tony: I'm regretting everything rn 

chingban: ???? nothing has happened ????????

better than tony: something is going to happen I know it is

better than tony: it’s only a matter of time

y/n: chan you still haven’t answered my question

y/n: why is this your nickname

better than tony: I'd tell you but then I'd have to kill you

gremlin: I'm gonna do it

chingban: I'm torn between wanting to cease existence

chingban: and wanting to see chan melt into the ground out of embarrassment

better than tony: I swear to fucking god you assholes IF YOU DO IT

gremlin: [ sent 1 audio attachment wow.mp3 ]

y/n: oh my what’s this ??

better than tony: y/n go to work

y/n: I'm taking my break now <3

better than tony: I'm revoking best friend privileges

y/n: that’s fine I can make two whole other best friends right here 

gremlin: :D

chingban: :D

better than tony: I knew this was a mistake

y/n: I think my twenty minute break is long enough to listen to a three minute song! 

y/n: bye whores

better than tony: jisung say your prayers

gremlin: I'm willing to take one for the team

gremlin: it was only a matter of time before they found out anyway

chingban: you can’t argue with that

better than tony: I’D STILL RATHER KEEP IT UNDER FUCKING WRAPS

gremlin: are those choking noises from the back

better than tony: this was a mistake this was a mistake this was a fucking mistake

chingban: dw I'll go check on them

chingban: make sure y/n isn’t dead on their first day on the job

better than tony: I honestly hope they choke

chingban: update all is well

better than tony: damn

gremlin: that?? is??? your???? best????? friend??????

better than tony: not anymore

better than tony: anyone who knows about wow must be put to death

chingban: so our entire friend group should be put to death?????

better than tony: are you arguing with that

gremlin: you know what I can’t argue

gremlin: I'm surprised the fbi hasn’t shot us down yet

y/n has changed their name to wow!

better than tony: ok you know what fuck you

wow: what the fuck are you doing to get the fbi to shoot you down

gremlin: IT’S ALIVE

better than tony: unfortunately

wow: it ??????????????????????????????????

chingban: idk about them but I've never done anything that merits being shot down yb the fbi

gremlin: wow is an offense punishable by death

chingban: I agree it’s an offense but death ???????

better than tony: stop texting and go back to work I'm tired of you all

wow: I'm still on my break

better than tony: everyone except y/n stop texting and go back to work

chingban: the favoritism is real

better than tony: y/n is my best friend suck it up

gremlin: I thought you disowned them from that position ???

better than tony: unfortunately they’re still more tolerable than you two combined

wow: I'm still reeling over being called ‘it’

wow: bitch ass han jisung you think I'm Frankenstein’s monster or some shit? or the clown from that movie???

gremlin: do you want me to answer that question

wow: say your prayers

chingban: FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT

better than tony: I regret everything

~

wow: hey I didn’t know hyunjin/minho/Felix worked at the build a bear at this mall

chingban: literally where have you been

chingban: they’ve been there for at least six months

gremlin: why is only felix’s name capitalized

wow: 1. bitch do you think I come to the mall to go to build a bear?

wow: 2. autocorrect

wow: wow jisung your autocorrect is shit if it isn’t capitalizing Felix

gremlin: what do you come to the mall for

gremlin: also what of it

wow: to bother chan

wow: and mooch off the wifi because the connection at home is shit

wow: oh and work now ig

better than tony: nice to see your priorities

wow: <3

wow: actually jisung. don’t tell me you fucking actually go back and make Felix uncapitalized 

gremlin: caught

gremlin: and wait till they find out where seungmin/jeongin work at 

chingban: what the fuck why wouldn’t you just let autocorrect do its shit

better than tony: he’s jisung do you really need another reason

chingban: fair enough

gremlin: fair enough

wow: also I've known where the fuck seungmin/jeongin work I used to work at the tutoring center too dumbasses

better than tony: isn’t the pay better there? I still don’t know why you quit

wow: if you mean better by like fifty cents then yeah

gremlin: I-

chingban: I thought tutoring would pay a lot more than working at a shitty cafe???????????????????????????????

wow: yeah that’s what I thought too

wow: and then I found out how much chan was getting paid and I was like what the fuck I'd have so much fun working here even with slightly lower pay 

wow: so I quit

gremlin: respect

wow: wasn’t a hard decision

wow: the kids are horrible

better than tony: I thought you liked some of them

wow: “some” is the key word

chingban: ouch

wow: at least I get to fuck around here without getting in too much trouble

better than tony: isn’t sangyeon chill??

wow: Ella isn’t

gremlin: oh I've heard horror stories from seungin

wow: they’re all true

wow: honestly wish you’d burned down the tutoring center when you set fire to the refrigerator jisung

better than tony: HOW DO YOU KNOW ABOUT THAT

chingban: more like who DOESN’T know about that

wow: seungmin sent me pics

better than tony: betrayed by my own children

wow: he’s more my child than yours and you know it

chingban: does that mean y/n and chan are our parents????

wow: no

better than tony: no

gremlin: oh my god I have more parents now !!!!!

wow: suddenly I feel Regret

better than tony: welcome to my world

gremlin: I'll set fire to the refrigerator again if you don’t say you’re my parents

better than tony: isn't this how you bribed Jacob into giving you hugs instead of giving me hugs

wow: Jacob?

chingban: other worker along with chanhee they’re on vacation for the week

wow: o

better than tony: also please don't set fire to the refrigerator

better than tony: or even try to

gremlin: have my conditions been met

wow: fucking gremlin bitch ass child

wow: fine I'm one of your parents

gremlin: 1/2

better than tony: fine

gremlin: 2/2 :D

wow: let the record say I only ever wanted seungmin and jeongin

wow: and Felix

gremlin: ouch

chingban: ouch

wow: you force me to be your parent you suffer the consequences

better than tony: Felix is MY SON

wow: SO YOU THINK JUST BECAUSE YOU FUCKERS ARE AUSTRALIAN YOU HAVE AN AUTOMATIC BOND? SUCK MY DICK CHAN

better than tony: I’LL FIGHT YOU

wow: SQUARE UP OLD MAN

chingban: jisung did you predict this

gremlin: in reality no but for the clout yes

chingban: ...

gremlin: I am Agent of Chaos(TM)

chingban: that I can see

[xjoonchildx]

guarded | jhs x reader | chapter two: i’m screwed

summary: you’ve tried to separate yourself from your infamous crime family, but a new case has your carefully-constructed world crashing down around you.  now you have to figure out how to heal old wounds and handle the new man who enters your orbit.

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre: mafia AU, E2L, slow burn, tsundere, eventual smut

rating: 18+

word count: 3.1K

A/N: you guys are? the? best? i’m so thrilled that you guys like the story and i hope you like this chapter, too.  i’d like to thank my emotional support llamas @ladyartemesia and @taetaewonderland for being the amazing people they are and beta reading for me, too. they really are the best.

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | EPILOGUE

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“What’s with the muscle?”

Donghyuk looks over his menu, eyes narrowed on the man just behind you.  You sip your wine as you decide on how you want to answer that.

Jung Hoseok is seated at a table for one, barely three feet away.  If you thought spending the last four days with him under one roof had been the most awkward stretch of your entire life, then you were dead wrong.

Tonight is infinitely more awkward.  

“Personal security,” you say casually, picking up your menu to peruse the entrees for effect.

Donghyuk’s answering huff of agitation is loud -- probably loud enough for Hoseok to hear and your skin prickles with embarrassment.

“You need security to have dinner with me now?”

“Don’t be silly,” you say under your breath, hoping Donghyuk will take the hint and lower his voice.  “I’m getting some heat on the Kwon and Lim case, so it’s just a precaution. Nothing to worry about.”

“Right,” he deadpans, one skeptical eyebrow raised.  “I see you every day at work. How is this the first I’m hearing about this?”

“Must have slipped my mind,” you say with nonchalance, looking back to your menu.  

You should be deciding on something to eat but your mind is wandering.  You wonder if Hoseok has ever been to this restaurant before. You wonder if he purposely picked a table where he could see you but you couldn’t see him. You wonder what he plans to order.

You wonder --

“Well, you’re sending him home for the night, right?”

Your wine glass thumps against the linen tablecloth when you set it down with more force that you’d intended. A flush creeps up your neck.

How much of this conversation can Hoseok hear from his vantage point?  The thought makes the tips of your ears warm as you fix your dinner date and occasional hookup partner with a warning glare.   Smart as Donghyuk is -- with the law degree to prove it -- he can be downright thick sometimes.  

‘No,” you say quietly.

He narrows his eyes.

“No, you don’t want to? Or no, you can’t?”

You blow out one long, irritated breath.

“‘Hyuk, I’m about two seconds from walking out of here,” you hiss. “Can we just drop this?”

He stops just short of frowning, eyes sliding back over your shoulder to Hoseok.

“And for the love of God, quit staring at him.”

Donghyuk slams his menu shut.

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

Jung Hoseok is like a ghost in your home.

He moves with a practiced stealth that makes it hard for you to keep track of what room he’s in at any given time.  He’s awake when you wake and still awake when you head to your room at night.

You have no idea when the man sleeps or when he eats.

Conversations -- if you can call them that -- are stilted and awkward. Short discussions limited to working out the logistics of your day.  You tell him where you need to be and when and he makes it happen.  

Apart from that, there is silence -- thick and suffocating and constant.

In fact, Hoseok is so silent inside your home that when you’ve retreated to your opposite corners of the apartment you could almost pretend that things are normal.  You could almost pretend that you don’t have a complete stranger living in your home.

But then you catch a scent.

It’s the smell of coffee that greets you when you wake every morning to a freshly-brewed pot.

It’s the clean, masculine smell that wafts under his bedroom door, carried on humid air after he’s showered.

And sometimes it’s the scent of gun oil that creeps into your room at night when he’s cleaning his pistol, bringing back memories you’d thought were long lost.  Memories you’d hoped were long lost.

That’s the scent that always brings you back to your senses -- the one that reminds you that the man under your roof isn’t just any houseguest.  

He might not look like the battered thugs who worked for your father all those years, but underneath the designer suits and composed exterior is a man cut from the very same cloth.  

And you’d better not forget it.

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

The sunlight beating down on the window to your office this morning is deceptive.  

Behind the protection of the thick glass, it’s powerful enough to make you feel uncomfortably warm in your lightweight sweater -- but outside it’s bitter cold.

Hoseok is parked just across the street from your building, like he has been every day this week.  You can’t help but notice there isn’t any steam coming out of the exhaust of the sleek black sedan and you wonder if he’s warm enough in there.

“You busy?”

Hyejin interrupts your thoughts with a knock at your office door.  

“Not at all,” you sigh, turning to smile at her before taking a seat at your desk.  “I should be busy, I just seem to keep finding ways to put things off.”

“Tell me about it,” she laughs. “Listen, I was looking for the photos we got from the Daerim warehouse. I can’t find them in the file and thought maybe you pulled them for something.”

“No, I haven’t pulled them,” you say, lips pursing into a frown as your hands skate over the papers on your desk.  You flip the corners of the folders up, checking to see if the photos are hidden underneath.  “They’ve got to be here somewhere.  Maybe Hajoon took them?”

Hyejin nods. “Yeah, maybe.  I’ll check with him.  You alright this morning?”

Tense laughter bubbles up your chest.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just have a lot going on, is all. Let me know when you find those photos, okay?”

“Will do,” Hyejin promises before leaving you alone to your work and your thoughts.

Hyejin is probably the closest thing you have to a friend — but there’s no way you’d tell even her that your brother thinks someone is trying to kill you and you’re living with an armed guard.

That’s not a conversation you can have with anyone.

You grab a drink, straighten up your papers and get to work.

The raid at the Daerim warehouse turned up enough guns to arm the entire city.  Police spent hours unpacking weapons from giant crates, hidden inside huge sacks of coffee beans and offloaded from a ship that docked from Colombia.  The coffee was pretty decent, actually.

As for the guns -- you knew the Ssijog leadership was furious about the confiscation. In all, investigators estimated they took about 7 billion won worth of firearms out of that warehouse that day.  That’s the kind of financial hit that could level any criminal organization, including your brother’s.

What you can’t seem to understand is why the Ssijog seem more worried about the men taken away at that raid than the guns.

You take a close look at the side-by-side booking photos of Kwon Jiho and Lim Joowon.

These are the kind of men who look like the muscle your father kept around. Heavily-tattooed, thick-necked and ears cauliflowered from one too many fights.  Their criminal records read like street gangster templates, page after page of petty crimes starting in their youth graduating to more violent crimes in recent years.

Men like these are a dime a dozen in this line of work.  So what makes these two so special that the Ssijog are this desperate to get them back?

You pull a post-it note out of your drawer and grab a sharpie. In big block letters you write the question you have to answer before this situation really spirals out of control.

WHAT DO THEY KNOW?

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

Car rides are the only time you let yourself get a good look at Jung Hoseok.

When he’s driving, his eyes never leave the road, never stray in your direction -- and you refuse to make him feel like some kind of glorified chauffeur by riding in the backseat.  So you use the silent drives as an opportunity to steal glances at him from the passenger seat like a shy kid.

Hoseok has strangely elegant hands for a man with a career in crime, you think. Long fingers free of scratches and calluses; prominent veins that move when his hand works over the gear shift.  And then there is his face -- his chiseled jawline and sharp nose and bow-shaped mouth.

He’s handsome, of course, and you -- a woman with a pulse and perfectly-functioning eyesight -- would be lying if you tried to deny it.

Tonight you are so distracted with looking at Hoseok’s face that you miss the fact that he’s skipped the turn he normally takes to get back to your apartment.  It isn’t until you are well into the heart of downtown that you snap out of your stupor and take a look outside.

“Where are we going?”

“Your brother wants to see you.”

Your scowl is wasted on the man because he doesn’t bother to look your way.

“So is this how things work now? You and my brother decide where I go and when and I’m the last to know?”

Hoseok is unmoved by your obvious irritation.

“Just following orders,” he counters evenly. “You’ll need to take up any concerns you have about your schedule with Namjoon.”

“I’ll do that,” you murmur, turning to glare out the window.  

A short while later you’re walking into your brother’s office, Hoseok trailing closely behind.  Namjoon signals for him to leave the two of you alone to speak privately.  You round on him as soon as the door latches behind Hoseok.

“If you want me here,” you say tightly, “Then tell me. Directly. I don’t like finding out I have plans second-hand from my babysitter.”

The corners of Namjoon’s mouth lift into a wry smile.  “Good to see you too?”

You roll your eyes but you can’t help but smile back. Your brother seems at ease tonight, lighter somehow.  It’s a good look on him.

“I want to know how things are going,” he says, leaning back into his chair. “How are you finding Jung Hoseok?”

Let’s see. Frigid? Intense? Unapproachable?

“He’s...quiet,” you say after a long moment.  “And maybe unnecessary at this point. I haven’t had any more trouble since that letter.”

“I assure you, he’s still very necessary,” Namjoon returns quickly.  “We’ve still got a lot to work out as far as this situation goes. My guys on the street say the Ssijog are in planning mode. I don’t want any of them catching us unaware with some kind of nasty surprise.”

You sigh.  “So no end in sight.”

“Not right now. Just bear with this a bit longer, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree quietly, reaching into your pocket to retrieve your buzzing phone.

Your mouth pulls into a tight line when you read the waiting message.

hyejin: can’t find the pictures. hajoon doesn’t have [ 6:15 PM ]

you: ? i have backup on my laptop [ 6:17 PM ]

hyejin: okay need to make sure we have those tonight? [ 6:18 PM ]

you: yeah, i’ll call you from my place when i get them [ 6:18 PM ]

“Everything alright?” Namjoon asks when you rub your fingers against your temples.

“Yeah, just work stuff,” you sigh, a low-level anxiety simmering in your stomach. “I actually have to go, unless there’s something else you needed?”

“No, just—“ your brother looks like there’s something he wants to say, but decides against it.  “— just be careful, okay?”

You nod and send him a small smile.

“I’ll try.”

You’re almost to the door when you hear him call out to you again.

“And Amsaja -- with Hoseok.  Try being nice.”

He nearly laughs at the disgusted look you shoot back.

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

HOSEOK

Hoseok’s got a pretty good idea of what a prosecutor makes in this town, and it’s damned sure not enough to pay for your lifestyle.

Your spacious apartment in one of the best buildings in town, your expensive furnishings, your fancy car and your designer clothes.  Hoseok has done the math in his head and that shit does not add up.

You’re a hypocrite, he decides -- too good to associate yourself with the trash that brings money in for the Gajog, but apparently not too good to spend it.  Living comfortably on the backs of men you wouldn’t acknowledge in the streets.

Men like him.

Hoseok wishes that didn’t get under his skin the way it does.  

He wishes he didn��t feel resentment simmering under the surface every time he sees you, every time he even thinks of you.  You keep to yourself and you don’t make demands and you haven’t really given him a reason to dislike you, but he desperately wants to.  

He needs to.

He wishes he truly didn’t give a shit about the idiot you had dinner with the other day.  The one straight off the assembly line of some prep school in the Seocho District.  The one with the loud mouth and the loafers and the country-club grin.  He wonders what you see in that guy, when all he can see is how punchable his face looks.

That’s why Hoseok doesn’t give too much weight to the furtive looks he can see you stealing in his peripheral vision.  He doesn’t put too much stock in the way your cheeks color when he looks at you sometimes.  He has to remind himself that underneath the polite distance and pretty packaging, you’re just desperate to be done with this entire situation.  You’re desperate to distance yourself from him and people like him.  

When he finds himself staring at you when you’re not looking, Hoseok forces himself to remember that men like him don’t warm your bed, they pay your bills.

And he’d better not forget it.

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

Hoseok can read the agitation in your body language loud and clear the second you slide back into the car.

He can see the way you keep scrolling through your phone, firing off texts and emails from the passenger seat. Tonight, you stare out of the window instead of pretending not to stare at him and he wonders what happened behind closed doors with your brother.

He almost lets it go because it’s none of his business. But he’s curious.

“Are you...upset about something?”

You seem to startle when he asks the simple question.

“Uh, yeah. Sort of,” you admit quietly, eyes falling back to your phone. “Work stuff.  I have to find something when we get home.”

Hoseok nods, eyes glued to the road.  “We’ll be there soon.”

“Thanks,” you say, turning to look out the window again.

Minutes later, you’re both walking into the apartment.  Hoseok turns to secure the deadbolt lock and when he turns back, you’re gone.  He hears the room to your bedroom click closed.  

He briefly entertains the idea of asking you if you need help, but resists.

Instead he sweeps the open rooms of the apartment like he does every night before heading into his room and closing the door.

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

The knock that comes almost two hours later is just short of aggressive.  Hoseok jumps up off the bed, ready in the case of trouble.

He does not miss the way your eyes go a bit wide when he opens the door, dressed in a thin tank and sweatpants.

“You need something?” he asks when you don’t say anything right away.

“Uh yeah, sorry,” you say with a shake of your head. “I’ve just never seen you in anything but a suit.  For a second I wasn’t sure you were the same man.”

“You think I sleep in a suit?”

“Well I wouldn’t put it past you,” you say hotly.  “But that’s not the point. I need you to take me to the office. Please.”

Hoseok glances at his watch.

“Now?”

“Yes,” you sigh. “I know it’s late and I’m sorry. This is super important.”

“Alright, hang on,” Hoseok says, turning to grab his holster from the dresser.  He slips into it and notices your gaze lingering on the pistol he fits onto his side.  You clear your throat and look down at the floor while he slips a sweatshirt overhead.

“It’s just a precaution, okay?”

Hoseok doesn’t know why he’s bothering to reassure you.  You know that he’s armed all the time, you grew up in this life.  None of this should surprise you.

You say nothing.

It takes only ten minutes to get across town to your office, in the dead of night and in the absence of traffic.  You look almost as irritated as you are surprised when Hoseok climbs out of the car to escort you inside.

“You’re coming in?”

“Yes,” Hoseok fires back, keeping pace just behind you.  “It’s well after hours. No one will see us together, since that’s what you’re so worried about.”

You stop for a moment, turning to face him and mouth opening like you want to deny it.  But you don’t.  

“Fine,” you say under your breath. “Please avoid looking at the cameras.”

“I know how to do my job,” Hoseok manages between gritted teeth.  

“I never said you didn’t,” you hiss back.

The two of you stand just outside the entrance to the building, trading glares.  

The tension feels like a step backward somehow.

One strained elevator ride later, Hoseok trails you into your office.  You flip the lights and immediately get to work going through file cabinets.  Hoseok takes a look around.

It’s not a huge space, but the large windows looking out onto the street make it look a little bigger.  Piles of file folders and papers are sorted into neat columns on your desk.  A desk, Hoseok notes -- completely devoid of personal effects.  No pictures, no mementos.  He doesn’t know why that bothers him so much.

“Shit.”

It’s the first word either one of you has spoken in five minutes.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

Hoseok turns to find you on your knees at the base of a filing cabinet, a pile of flash drives scattered across the floor.

“What is it?” he asks, crouching down beside you.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, covering your face with your hands.  

Hoseok picks up a flash drive, turns it to the side to read the small label.  It’s dated three years back, with the name “Cheon” written on the side.

“All of my digital evidence is gone. All of it,” you whisper, voice wobbling with emotion.  “I was searching the cloud at home and thought there was some kind of mistake. There’s no way this is a mistake. There’s no way my cloud and flash backups disappeared by chance.”

You’re right, of course, but Hoseok doesn’t voice that out loud.  You look stricken already without him pouring salt in that wound.

“What about these?” he asks, handing you the flash drive.  

“Old cases,” you say, shoving a hand through your hair.  “They didn’t bother to pull my old cases. Whoever took them knew exactly what they were looking for.”

Hoseok almost forgets himself for a moment.  

He nearly forgets who you are and who he is and what this is. He stops himself just short of reaching out to put a comforting hand on your shoulder.  

You turn tired eyes up to meet his.

“I’m screwed.”

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

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[nugnthopkns]

tell you i miss you but i don’t know how

word count: 2.7k

warnings: insinuated fem!reader, a singular swear word, it’s kinda angsty i guess

recommended listening: the story of us | taylor swift

a/n: long time hockey fan, long time reader, first time writer. i’ve been thinking about posting for a while and decided to bite the bullet. no time like the present i suppose. tagging some folks i feel might be interested (but there’s literally zero pressure please feel free to ignore) @matbaerzal​ @davidpastrsnack​ @troubatrain​ @jamiedrysdales​

Breaking up was for the best. 

You repeat the phrase like a mantra. It’s the first thing you think when you wake up, in the back of your mind as you sit in your cubicle, and verbally repeated anytime you pass a mirror. Deep down you know it’s right; you and Tyson aren’t on compatible lifepaths, and that’s okay. You just wish it didn’t hurt so much to say goodbye. He’s an easy person to miss, with his infectious smile and quick wit. Tyson’s the only person who’s made you laugh so hard tears roll down your cheek; the one who always picked up a bag of pretzels on his way home from the rink so you could have a snack after work. Though you didn’t expect to get over him quickly, you had no idea you’d still miss him nearly a year later. Or that it would hurt so much every time you see him in public. 

♠♠♠♠♠

The bar offers a reprieve from the brisk Denver wind. October has been unusually chilly so far, but the bodies packed like sardines in the open room create all the heat insulation you need. It’s a Friday night and you’re hoping to unwind after a stressful week at work. It’s audit season, meaning you’ve had to pull crazy late nights as you read over the financial records of the firm’s junior partners. Today was particularly terrible, with the computer system crashing, and you really need a drink. Your friends are supposed to meet you, but a text confirms that traffic is heavier than they anticipated and they’re running late. 

Not wanting to waste precious time, you head straight for the only empty space at the bar. A bartender a few years older than you sees you approach and leans close to hear your order over the thumping bass. “Could I just grab a gin and tonic?” you ask, and she smiles before turning away to make your drink. A minute later a drink is placed in your hand and you scour the venue for a table. A small booth is available in the corner; the perfect size for your party. It turns out to be the perfect spot for people watching, and you casually sip your drink and occasionally scroll through instagram while you wait. A text from your friend alerts you everyone is fifteen  minutes out. Though it’s pretty crowded everyone seems to be congregating on the dance floor so you don’t hesitate to leave your table and order a second drink. 

This gin and tonic goes down easier than the first, and soon you’re on your third. There’s still no sign of your friends anywhere and the balls of your feet ache from the heels you wore to the office today. You abandon your plan to meet them at the door, firing off a text giving your location in the venue. Once sitting down, you take off your shoes and rub at your feet. Why did you choose today to abide by the dress code? You typically wore a discreet pair of sneakers and wished you could go back in time to change your shoe choice. 

“I see you’re still drinking gin and can’t wear heels for more than two hours.”

His voice sends shivers down your spine. You look up to see Tyson smiling down at you, and the room spins around you. The entire reason you picked this bar was because it was the only one the boys didn’t frequent, but it seems they’re here anyways. 

“I’m consistent,” you say, trying to keep your voice even. The sight of Tyson makes your heart clench. He looks good, glowing the way that means the team came out with a win and that he played well and put up some points. 

Tyson nods to the empty seat across from you, and against your better judgement you allow him to sit. A small section of your brain thinks he’s going to confess he’s been miserable the last few months, that he’s still madly in love with you. It seems to be the part controlling the rest of your body. “That’s one thing that’ll never change. How’s work?”

You hum wistfully, wishing he wouldn’t make small talk. How is this so easy for him? “Busy,” you sigh. “It’s audit season so the department is swamped. The boys still causing issues?”

“They’re annoying as ever.” He smiles at you again. The sick feeling in your stomach doesn’t subside. Tyson gives you a quick recap of the Avs’ season so far, and you half pay attention. You’ve gone to great lengths to avoid seeing him: switched the way you drive home, where you hang out with friends, what grocery store you go to. It’s a little ironic he’d find you here of all places. 

Idle chatter occurs for a while. Tyson’s talking to you like he’s reuniting with a childhood friend, not an ex-lover. As much as you find the conversation uncomfortable, you can’t turn him away. You miss sitting with him, talking about anything under the sun. Life hasn’t been as bright since the break up. No matter how hard you try, nothing fills the Tyson sized hole in your heart. In a twisted way his presence is comforting, a reminder of what once was. Eventually his teammates realize he’s gone missing and come to whisk him away. 

“See you around Y/N,” Tyson says, a little bewildered because J.T is dragging him by the belt loops. 

All you can croak out is a feeble “Yeah.” He doesn’t look back once he’s away from the table. You shouldn’t have expected him to; he seems to be doing fine. Well even. Every step he takes breaks your heart a little more, and you curse yourself for missing him and down the rest of your drink. 

Your friends find you crying in the bathroom and usher you home. 

♠♠♠♠

Despite being separated from Tyson, you’re still close with some members of the Avalanche extended family. Mel Landeskog continually reaches out, ensuring you’re doing the best you can given the circumstances. It isn’t easy when your ex-boyfriend is the pride of Denver, plastered over every billboard in a fifteen mile radius of the city. When she called to ask if you’d emergency babysit Linnea while she ran errands you jumped at the opportunity to help. 

“Thank you so much,” Mel says, cooing to her daughter who’s comfortably placed in your arms. 

“It’s not a problem,” you insist, “I’m just glad I can finally start repaying you for everything you’ve done for me.”

She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, telling you to text her if you need anything picked up at the store. You’re then left alone with the baby who is luckily one of the happiest you’ve ever seen. The first hour or so is spent entertaining Linnea with various toys and games. Her smile and laugh melt your heart, and your mind briefly flashes to conversations you had about children with Tyson. You push them from your mind, not wanting to lose your focus. The child in front of you is the one that matters, not the hypothetical one from times past. Around two she gets fussy; a bottle and quick diaper change satiate her. 

“You having fun pretty girl?” you coo. “I’m not always the most exciting to be around.” She doesn’t respond; just looks up at you with heavy lids. You pull her closer to your chest, rocking gently back and forth on your heels. Within minutes she’s soundly asleep and you head upstairs to place her in the crib. 

Back on the main floor, you settle into the corner of the couch. The baby monitor is on the coffee table and you keep your laptop at a low volume to ensure you’d hear anything. You sift through the mess in your inbox, deleting promotional emails and replying to those that need your attention. After killing half an hour, you quickly check on Linnea before scrolling through social media. According to twitter the Avalanche are on a six game winning streak and are looking to keep it alive. You honestly could care less about hockey anymore; it’s a painful reminder that Tyson is no longer yours. In truth you’re happy for the team because they work hard and deserve it. Other social media platforms yield nothing of interest and you soon feel yourself nodding off. Looking at the clock you realize there’s about an hour left in the baby’s nap, so you let yourself sleep. 

A knock on the door startles you awake. Careful not to cause a commotion that could wake Linnea you head in the direction of the entryway. The knocking increases as you approach, and you open the door to a disheveled Tyson.

“What are you doing here?” You didn’t mean for the question to come off so rude, but it does. 

He pays it no mind. “Is Gabe home yet?”

“No,” you sputter. “I’m watching Linnea while Mel stepped out.” 

Tyson looks stumped. “He should be home by now. We had plans to unwind before the game.” You make no attempt to stop him from entering, and he takes his shoes off without another word. Aimlessly trailing behind him, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when he heads to the guest room. “I’m gonna take a nap, have Landy wake me up when he gets home.”

“Can do,” you sigh, but it falls on deaf ears. Tyson’s already got the door shut, and you imagine he’s climbing under the covers, blissfully unaffected by your presence. You can’t say the same. Knowing he’s less than fifty feet from you sends you spiraling. Flashbacks of pre-game cuddles grace the back of your eyelids, and you rub your temples furiously to get rid of the images. It doesn’t help. You want nothing more than to not be bothered by how much you miss seeing him. You miss the way his hands felt entangled with yours and how sweet his voice sounds in the morning. Being this hung up on a person so long after a relationship has ended can’t be healthy. 

The baby monitor crackles, signaling the baby, and the only reason you haven’t fled, is once again awake. Linnea’s room is bright and cheerful; the perfect hideaway from Tyson. Sometime during your tenth reciting of Green Eggs and Ham Mel returns. She finds you upstairs and giddily sweeps up her child, missing her terribly even though she was only gone for a couple of hours. 

“Did everything go okay?”

You nod. “She was a dream. The happiest baby I’ve ever seen. She might need to be changed soon though.” 

Mel nods. “I saw Tyson’s car in the driveway, did he meet Gabe?”

“He’s actually asleep in the downstairs guest room,” you whisper, scared he’ll sense you’re talking about it, and by extension thinking about him, missing him. 

“Oh. Shit.”

That’s the understatement of the year. “Yeah.” You quickly help put away the groceries before heading out, not wanting to disrupt the routine more so than you already had. Really though, you want to be as far away from the Landeskog’s as possible before Tyson wakes up. You’ll have to do a better job of avoiding him in the future, you decide on the way home. You’re heart can’t take seeing him this frequently – or at all. 

♠♠♠♠

You would rather be anywhere than the Pepsi Center. It’s the first time you’ve been in the arena since breaking up with Tyson and you’re downright miserable. However, you promised your younger brother you’d take him to a game the next time he visited Denver with your parents and you aren’t about to break his heart. Ryan is borderline obsessed with the Avalanche and hockey in general. At eleven he’s showing significant promise and you know he works hard.

“Ry, slow down,” you huff, desperately trying to keep up with him. The kid is swaying through the throng of people at lightning speed, desperately trying to make it to your seats to catch warmup. Wanting to make the experience special for him, you purchased seats along the glass across from the Avs bench. Your brother halts, tapping his foot impatiently as you join him and match his stride. 

Contrary to what Ryan thinks, your seats have not been stolen and warmup is just starting. His winter jacket is soon placed on the seat, revealing the too big jersey underneath. The number seventeen nearly sits at his elbow and the name-bar is askew because one side keeps slipping down, but your brother’s happy. He’s preoccupied with watching players do passing drills, hands pressed against the glass, and you allow yourself to look around. Virtually nothing has changed since the last time you were here. The banners are still the same, the energy electric. One small difference is your seating arrangement: the better halves’ box is no longer a luxury you have available to you. A quick glance in that direction confirms they’re enjoying themselves, laughing and no doubt in the midst of planning the next off-season wedding. 

Ryan grips the hem of your sweater to get your attention. “Look Y/N,”  he squeals, “Tys and J.T are coming over!” Sure enough, the two friends are making a beeline in your direction. Tyson waves and Ryan eagerly reciprocates. You’re reminded just how much he misses Tyson; they were the best of friends whenever they could get together. Another piece of your heart breaks in that moment, as you realize you aren’t the only hurting from the breakup. 

“You’ve got him in the wrong jersey Y/N,” J.T smirks. “Think he’d look better with thirty-seven plastered all over.”

You roll your eyes. “I’ll remember that Compher. You got the spare change lying around to buy him one?” There’s no malice in your voice; you truly miss joking around with him. 

Tyson throws a puck high enough to clear the plexiglass. “Ry-Guy, catch!” It lands unceremoniously at Ryan’s feet, but he beams as he picks it up. The two boys share a makeshift fist bump and quickly catch up with each other. It’s been over a year since they’ve seen each other at this point, and Ryan has so much he wants to talk about. J.T tells a joke that makes the younger boy laugh, and Tyson turns his attention to you. 

“It’s nice to see you again,” he says, doing his best to convey his sincerity. The energy of the area and the adrenaline have Tyson shaking slightly, and he rocks back onto his blades. 

You study his facial features as you inhale. He’s still incredibly handsome, just slightly more defined, like he’s growing into himself. “Likewise,” you exhale. You know you shouldn’t lie but you can’t help it; for Ryan’s sake you need to pretend that seeing Tyson doesn’t make you want to curl into a ball and cry. He smiles sadly, like he knows you’re putting on a show. He probably does – you’ve never been good at hiding your emotions from him. Has been able to see how much you hurt every time you interact?

Ryan recaptures Tyson’s attention for a few final moments before he has to return to the locker room. With a high-five and a promise to call soon he skates away, leaving your brother to gush about his idol. The game goes better than you could have ever imagined; the Avs gain a landslide victory and Tyson gets a hatrick. After each goal he points in your direction and Ryan goes berserk. You catch yourself smiling, proud of his accomplishment, before you realize you won’t be at the celebratory afterparty. That isn’t your life anymore. 

The traffic out of the arena is terrible, and Ryan’s asleep in the backseat before you hit the interstate. In some sort of daze you think about what you’d be doing with Tyson right now if you were still together. Maybe you’d be getting ready to make an appearance at a club to celebrate the big game, but it’s more likely you’d be pressed together on the couch, watching a nature documentary to unwind. It’s moments like that you miss most; where you were both too comfortable and enamored with each other to care about your social obligations. A single tear escapes and flows down your cheek. One turns into ten, and soon you’re sobbing over lost love. 

♠♠♠♠

Tyson Jost isn’t someone you could ever stop loving. He’s the human equivalent of the sun, and even now your life revolves around him. It’s centered on missing him, sure, but that’s a part of him nonetheless. You can only hope it gets easier to deal with.

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

A Miraculous TikTok Account

Part 14

First

Previous

Next

The next day was The Day.

It had been a full month since they had moved into the house.

Tensions had settled somewhat, people had more or less grown used to each other’s presence… but, on that one particular day, the five of them were on edge.

It was the day to begin posting.

Chat bit his lip, scrolling through all the different videos he had taken on patrols. Should he just go in the order that he had taken them in? That would certainly be easier than any arbitrary system he put out.

Then again, if he actually figured out a system it would make what he was doing feel like it had more effort. Out of all the account themes that he knew (Chloe was still refusing to answer any questions about hers), his definitely required the lowest amount of effort.

It fit him, but still.

He decided to schedule a little bit. It would go dogs, then cats, then more unusual animals, then repeat.

There. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Hopefully, Fu wouldn’t take issue with it --.

He tore through the skin of his lip and hissed in pain. He dropped his phone on the bed next to him and brought his hands up to stem the bleeding until he found a tissue.

He walked to the mirror and snickered to himself when he saw his reflection.

Thank the kwamis he wasn’t home anymore. His dad would have thrown a fit about him ‘ruining’ his perfect face.

The door opened and he looked over to see Chloe. “Bonjour --.”

He groaned a little. “Bonjour. You’re not taking tonight’s patrols from me, but you can come along if you want.”

“What? No. I need more time to edit a video for my account so I’m going to be announcing the start of our accounts.”

“You had a month and you’re still not done?” He teased, tossing the bloodied tissue in the trash.

She scoffed. “Not like I owe you an explanation, but I have an hour of footage to go through and edit down to a few minutes at most.”

Ah. Yeah. That would be hard.

He followed her to where everyone had congregated on the couch.

Well, actually, Ladybug and Carapace were the only ones on the couch, Rena was standing behind it, peering over the other miraculous holder’s shoulders as they scrolled through their phones.

Rena looked up when she heard their footsteps and gasped. “What happened to your lip?”

“I lost a fight...” … with his own mouth, but that was beside the point.

Carapace raised his eyebrows. “You lost a fight without leaving your room?”

Rena’s lips twitched into a mischievous grin. “Who knows, with all the stuff in his room something could be living in there and no one would know.”

He fought the urge to sink into the fabric of his turtleneck (which he now felt weird wearing considering the actual turtle in the group never wore turtlenecks). “Shut up.”

“Nice comeback,” commented Carapace.

“Thanks,” he muttered, dropping down onto the couch beside him and resting his head on his shoulder.

Chloe hummed as she set up her phone to take a video of them all and then she paused, looking at everyone. “Costumes? Since this is the announcement video?”

Ladybug set her phone in her pocket. “Sure.”

“Oh, what if we start in costume and then we detransform?” Said Carapace.

“Why?” Questioned Rena.

“For the drama. Obviously.”

No one bothered to reply to that, instead they all called their kwamis to transform.

Chloe pressed to start recording and then waltzed over to take a seat on Ladybug’s lap. To Ladybug’s credit, her face remained neutral. They all knew she blinked behind her mask even if they couldn’t see it.

Rena snickered a little behind her hand.

Ladybug’s skin flared bright red. There it was. She’d finally finished processing.

“Was… was the spot beside me not good enough?”

“Nope!” Chloe said brightly before turning her attention to the camera. “Hello, Paris… and others, though I don’t know why you’d bother with our accounts if you aren’t Parisian. We’re the miraculous team!”

They went in a line from left to right introducing themselves and then detransforming to show off their civilian clothes.

“Now, you might be wondering: what’s going on?”

“A good question. Not even we really know,” Chat muttered.

(Carapace, the only one close enough to really hear, was now smiling more sincerely.)

“We’ve started TikTok accounts that we’re going to be maintaining until we defeat Hawkmoth. Why’d we decide to do this?”

Everyone’s gazes briefly pulled away from the camera to send Chloe looks that varied from slight exasperation (Carapace) to amusement (Rena).

“No reason! Just convenience!”

Chat rolled his eyes a little.

Chloe went on to explain what each of their accounts would be about, except...

“You forgot your own niche, Queenie,” said Ladybug gently.

“I didn’t forget.”

They waited for her to go on and say what she was going to be doing, but she didn’t.

The other miraculous holders exchanged wary looks.

“All their accounts are going to be in the caption. Follow them!”

The video cut.

~

A day passed, but no one was really getting picked up by the algorithm, it seemed.

They had all convened in the living room again to discuss what to do.

Chat had the most followers, which wasn’t a surprise considering he was just posting cute animals.

Ladybug actually had quite a few as well. A few of them were actual Parisians, but most just seemed to be random French speakers who wanted to get their lives together. Good for them.

Everyone else was having trouble getting their videos seen.

Chloe was taking this especially hard. She had flung herself over the sofa and buried her face in the cushions.

Ladybug didn’t seem all that concerned about the possible impending akuma as she sat down on the arm of the couch. “It would probably help if you had actual content,” she commented.

The other barely lifted her head to send her a glare.

Carapace sat down in the armchair with some chips and salsa. “Maybe we should just use all the trending tags to get people to see us.”

“We could tag our videos as cosplay and then see how long it takes them to figure it out,” said Rena, grinning as she stole some chips.

(Carapace sent her a tired, halfhearted glare but apparently decided it wasn’t worth the effort to keep his food away from her.)

Chat wasn’t really concerned about all of this. He sat in the window, smiling as the sun beamed down on his back. “I don’t know. If we want we can get some blogger to report on it.”

“If we do that one, how about the Ladyblogger? I’m pretty sure she’s the most popular one,” offered Ladybug absently. “And her blog has the option to send in stuff anonymously, too.”

Chloe pushed herself up to a sitting position, apparently done sulking. “Nope, she’s been inactive for a few months. Said something about her schedule getting too hectic, I think.”

“Oh! Is that why I haven’t seen her around?” Said Chat, trying to hide his relief. “I thought I’d done something to offend her or something.”

He noticed, vaguely, that Rena was now bright red. His brain struggled to figure out why and then it clicked. The Ladyblogger stopped showing up a little while before Rena had appeared… she must be feeling left out!

He gave her a tiny smile. “There’s still other blogs, though, so we could try that.”

“You know, I always thought it was weird that the Ladyblogger had always chosen Ladybug for her name when Chat was there first,” mused Carapace.

“Do you know any good puns for Chat Noir that has to do with blogging?” Said Ladybug, a little defensive.

“Fair.”

“She also had a different name originally, she just changed it when Ladybug came on because of the pun,” muttered Rena.

Ah, so Chat had been wrong about Rena’s feelings about the Ladyblogger. Clearly she was just a fan of her work. That made sense, that seemed like the kind of content she would enjoy --.

Chloe was the one to pull everyone on track: “Who cares? If she’s been inactive no one’s checking her page, so we need a new plan.”

The five of them lapsed into silence as they considered the options.

“I could get Nadia Chamack to report on it?” Offered Ladybug.

“No one under thirty really watches the news. Wrong demographic,” Rena pointed out.

Chat hesitated slightly before raising his hand to get everyone’s attention. “Can’t we just use Chloe’s dad? I mean… everyone follows him to find out what insane thing he did for his daughter this week.”

Chloe sent him a glare.

“No offense,” he added quickly. “That’s definitely on the people of Paris for their… judgementalness and tendency to --.”

“Chat, do yourself a favor and shut up,” advised Rena.

“Okay.”

There was a moment as they all thought about it.

Chloe pulled her phone out. She dialled a number and there was hardly a beat before she smiled and said: “Daddy! Hi!”

There was a collective wince that the mayor’s daughter opted to ignore.

“I was wondering if you could -- oh. Thanks! I’ll text you the info to tell everyone, then...”

~~~

Taglist

@nathleigh @mialuvscats @sassakitty @th1s-1s-my-aesthet1c @blueslushgueen @woe-is-me0 @ladybug-182 @cas-and-their-refusal-to-write

[firefly464]

The Gilded Cage - Chapter 9

hehe i’m very excited :) also thank you pami for doing write time with me that was super poggers and awesome you’re so cool 

Written in collaboration with @pamiiap​​ :D Thank you @tea-with-veth​ for beta reading, and editing :D

Master Post

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~~~

Three days. That’s how long Eret stayed with the computer. Three days of nothing but staring at the same screen, desperately trying to test out different commands to see what would work. Three days of sitting in a dark, cold room, with nothing to keep him warm. 

Over the past three days, Eret had barely slept. 

He’d lingered there for hours, the clicking of the keyboard and flashing of the screen filling his senses. All he could think about was this could be his way home. A way to end this and leave it all behind. Maybe he could wake up and it would all be a dream. 

A dream.

Dream.

Dream was his friend. Dream was…

Dream was.

After hours of clawing at the keys for an escape, he hesitated for a moment. He curled his hands into fists and relaxed them, trying to release the tension he had. 

Instead of typing commands, he typed:

Why?

If anyone is reading, send me something

A sign, preferably

Tell me I’m not alone

Give me something

Anything

The shaking in his hands slowed, the edges of his vision melted away. He watched as his world faded into darkness.

~~~

“Hey, chat!” He says, on impulse. “How’s it been? Feels like forever.”

“Sorry for the long hiatus, life’s been throwing curveballs at me.” He continues.

Don’t worry!

You’re fine!

Its okay :D

“I hope you guys have been alright. Don’t know what we’ll be doing with this stream so I’m going to start a little poll in the chat here…”

Time melts away as he talks to his stream, he knows that. That’s how streams usually go. It happens in a blur, the eyes of thousands of people aren’t on him anymore. The stream has ended.

He falls into nothingness.

~~~

Journal Entry #1

I found the Console, still can’t get back home yet though. I’m still unsure on how it works, but I know, I know, that I can get home. It’s kind of like a command block, you can input code but it needs some sort of activation key to trigger it. Haven’t found that yet.

I’ll update this as I find more information.

Journal Entry #2

Text commands seem to work, more extreme commands need the trigger. I really should make some sort of command list, that might help. 

Journal Entry #3

I’ve made a list on a separate paper. I’m running out of space.

Journal Entry #6

What could the trigger be? I need to find it.

Journal Entry #8

I haven’t slept in three days. I need to head back.

Journal Entry #9

Nothing new as of the moment. I’m going to start working on a trigger to activate this thing.

Journal Entry #10

I wonder if I could undo whatever Dream did to everyone’s memories? I wonder if I could make it so that they didn’t hate me anymore. 

Journal Entry #13

I can’t sleep. 

Journal Entry #15

Going home back again. Bad’ll still have muffins, I hope. (If George didn’t eat them already)

Journal Entry #16

George ate my muffins. Prick >:(

Journal Entry #17

Packing for another trip to the Console today. Bad made extra muffins to compensate for the atrocity that happened yesterday. (Sidenote: George had his muffin privileges removed for a day)

Journal Entry #20

Bad’s worried. I wouldn’t blame him. I don’t think I can blame myself either. I have to get home.

Journal Entry #24

I’m here. Glad no-one’s tampered with my list. I’ve been gathering some redstone supplies to try and make a prototype trigger.

Journal Entry #27

I’ve tried several combinations of levers and buttons and redstone but nothing seems to activate it. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.

Journal Entry #28

Nothing’s working.

Journal Entry #30

Can’t sleep again.

Journal Entry #32

I don’t think I’ve eaten. 

Journal Entry #33

I have to go ho back. I need to be more careful, George and Bad are getting worried. I don’t want them to be worried about me. They don’t even know me.

Journal Entry #34

Do I even know them?

Journal Entry #37

I won’t go to the Console for a couple of days. That might calm them down.

The weather’s getting warmer actually. I think spring might be almost here. Not sure if seasons might not work the same.

Journal Entry #38

George says it’s already mid-spring. I didn’t realize I’d been here for so long

Journal Entry #???

I want to go home. 

~~~

Eret closed the small book with a sigh. Ever since he had found the console several months ago, he had tried to do his best to keep a record of what he found. 

However, the journal had quickly turned into a place for him to pour his emotions, rather than document his findings. All of his actual records were with the console itself, where he could better keep track of them. 

He placed the small book in his bag, before swinging it over his shoulders. He needed to go back. Even if everything about the small, dark room made him want to scream, it was his only hope. His only way of potentially returning home. 

Gently, he pushed back the small curtain that separated his room from the rest of the community house. Even after several months of staying here, he still hadn’t bothered to make an actual room. After all, it wasn’t like he had a ton of free time. 

Almost all of his time was spent either at the console, or digging out tunnels underneath L’manberg. God, he hated those tunnels. 

As he gently stepped out into the main room, he quickly glanced around, checking to see if the coast was clear. 

It wasn’t as if he didn’t trust Bad or George, in fact it was quite the opposite. He just… He hated making them worry. He knew how much his frequent visits bothered both of them, and so lately he had begun trying to quietly slip away. 

He was almost at the front door of the community house, when a voice called out to him. 

“Eret?”

He froze. 

Shit. 

Maybe, if he kept walking, whoever it was would just… let him go. Maybe he could pretend like he didn’t hear them, and he could just move on with his day. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to figure out the best course of action. 

“Eret? Are you alright?” 

Fuck. 

He slowly turned around, trying his best not to grimace when he saw Bad standing at one of the other doors. 

“Hey…” The word sounded forced, even to him. “Uh, I was just… um…” 

Bad’s face fell ever so slightly as he noticed the small bag slung across Eret’s back. 

“Are you going to the forest again?” Eret tried his best to ignore the way that Bad’s voice was tinged with a slight disappointment. It would only make him feel guilty. 

“Uh, yeah…” 

“Were you just going to leave again? Without telling anyone?” Although there was no accusation in his tone, the words still cut deep, acting as a harsh reminder of his own actions. 

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying to dispel some of the nervous energy that was swirling around him. “I didn’t want to worry you guys anymore… I left a note upstairs though, I swear!” 

That was a lie. There was no note, there never was a note. But if claiming that there was helped to ease Bad’s worries, then that was what he was going to do. 

He could tell that Bad didn’t believe him. Although his friend would never actually call him out on it, he could still tell from the way his shoulders slumped ever so slightly, or the small frown that crossed his face. 

“Ok… Well, before you head out again, me and George were hoping to give you something,” Bad’s voice was filled with a forced cheerfulness, complete with a matching smile. 

Eret’s head shot up in disbelief. What on earth did they possibly have to give him? They had already done so much to help him, what more could there possibly be? 

Tendrils of guilt began to worm their way through Eret’s mind, reminding him of all the ways his friends had helped him over the past months, and all the ways he had failed to return their kindness. How was he supposed to accept yet another gift? 

“I really don’t need anything, you guys have already done enough for me,” he protested, knowing full well that nothing he could say would actually dissuade Bad. 

“Nonsense, this is something that we wanted to do for you. Hold on, I’ll go get George. Don’t go anywhere!” he cried out, already rushing out of the building. 

Eret let out a long sigh at the final sentence. Of course Bad didn’t trust him to not run off. 

Why would he?

~~~

Despite every instinct in his body that was telling him to run, Eret found himself rooted to the spot where he stood. When Bad returned nearly 10 minutes later with George behind him, he had hardly moved. 

“So… What exactly is going on?” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded forced and strained. 

“Well, George and I were talking,” Bad started, already rummaging through one of the many chests that lined the walls, “and we realized that you’re going to be king soon, right?” 

Eret couldn’t help but flinch at the reminder. To him, the title of king was nothing more than a reminder of what he had lost. A reminder of the pain he had caused for his friends. A reminder of the pain that he would continue to cause. 

But still, he couldn’t let his own reluctance show. If he remembered correctly, becoming king had meant a lot to his alter-ego. Hell, he had gone so far as to betray his friends, just so that he could secure the crown. 

And so he forced a smile onto his face, doing his best to swallow the bitter taste in his mouth. “I mean, yeah. I’m pretty sure it’s not going to happen for a while, but… yeah that was the idea. Why?” 

Bad’s grin grew wider, his face alight with barely contained excitement as he continued searching through different chests. Even George, who rarely showed any outward excitement around Eret, had a small smile on his face. 

“You’ll see, it’s a surprise. I just gotta find it first” 

“I uh, I think it's hanging up downstairs,” George interjected, already moving towards the stairs, “I can go grab it, hold on.” 

He was gone only for a few moments before he emerged at the top of the staircase, holding something behind his back, hidden from Eret’s line of sight. “Do you wanna explain what it is?” He asked, his question clearly directed at Bad. 

Bad nodded, then turned back to Eret, pride showing in his eyes. “Well, we wanted to get you something nice for your coronation. I know it probably isn’t going to be for a while, but you’ve seemed really stressed lately, and we wanted to do something nice for you!” 

George grinned, revealing a long, extravagant coat from behind his back. “Sapnap and Punz helped out with collecting dyes as well.” 

The silk coat was a deep shade of crimson, embellished with gold accents. It felt nice to touch but it was also durable. The inside of the coat was lined with an insulating fur that pokes over the collar, making the inside of it warm. 

He glanced up at both George and Bad, his brow furrowed in slight confusion. “Wait… Wait is this… What?” 

“It’s a coat! I know it gets cold at night so we made you this. Not to mention, a king should look the part.”

Tears started to form in his eyes, threatening to spill over as he gently took the coat. “Thank you” He forced out, unsure of what else he was supposed to say. 

“Go on then,” George said. “Put it on!”

Slowly, he took off the tattered L’manburg uniform, bloodied and stained with dirt, and put on the new coat. It felt… different. But, a good different. 

“Thank you.”

~~~

Several days had passed since Eret had last left the community house. Several days since George and Bad had gifted him the red coat. 

George could tell that their friend's absence was starting to chip away at Bad, his worry festering underneath his skin. By the third day, George had had enough. 

He quickly packed two bags, complete with everything that they would need for a long journey. He might not have known where exactly their friend had gone, but they knew the general direction. That would have to be enough. 

“Hey Bad!” He called out, his friend quickly coming down the stairs of the community house. 

“Whats up?” 

“Come on, we’re gonna go look for him.” 

~~~

Neither of them had any idea what they were looking for, all they knew was that it was somewhere in the eastern dark oak forest. They had spent nearly a week searching every nook and cranny of the woods, never finding any trace of their friend. 

That is, until they stumbled across a pathway. The dirt had been worn down, leaving a trail that they could follow.

The path had led to a small clearing, with a dark building in the center. 

Both George and Bad had recognized the strange material almost instantly. Bedrock. Eret had somehow found a building made of bedrock.

What the hell. 

The area surrounding the building was devoid of any human life, the only exception being a lone horse that was sleeping in the warm sun. 

“Well, I think we found him…” Bad’s voice was filled with concern. 

As they stepped into the strange building, they saw the room completely empty except for a machine in the middle. And unconscious at the desk, was…

“Eret?!”

~~~

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Taglist :D (feel free to send me an ask if you wanna be added) @hismilw @violet--majesty @chiera99 @koi-boye @waffle-time-god @miss-oleum @porkgavo @crafted-dreams​ @harley-the-pancake​ @lemonaid-ruru  @g3rmpy​​ @somethingtocrowabout  @bee-tubbo​​ @firepowder​​ @jayebird ​ @rayjayo  @carry-on-my-wayward-why​ ​ @echo-delta​ ​ @star-fruit23 ​ @brieflyburningbaguette 

[lilydalexf]

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with Rae

Rae has 16 stories at Gossamer. If you like MSR, you should go check them out, including (but not limited to) the fun-titled, banter-filled The Cat, an Espresso and a Bag of Sunflower Seeds. Big thanks to Rae for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

It surprises me that anyone reads my fanfic at all, let alone they are reading it 20 years after I wrote it!

But in the same vein, I am still actively reading xfiles fanfic and I tend to read the older fics, or new fics by authors I recognize or remember from back in the day. I cannot explain this lack of rationale. 🤷

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

I had a great experience with the X-Files fandom! I made some fantastic friends - many even attended my wedding! I didn't really get involved in the dramas that went on. I was aware of it, but really, I just wanted to discuss my show with people that loved it like I did and read the fic, so I ignored all the other static.

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

Mainly message boards. AOL chat rooms, Yahoo groups, etc. We would all sign on after the episode aired and chat about it. Deconstruct it. And then we started traveling to meet each other and the real fun began!

What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

It was definitely a growing experience. It forced me to step outside my comfort zone a little bit. Traveling to NYC, LA and Chicago to meet people just to fangirl with. Meeting Gillian and getting a picture with her - it was wild.

Different shared experiences that "real life" family and friends just didn't understand. It was fun and exciting.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

So I came to the show late in the game. I was sick, lying in bed channel surfing and caught the last 5 minutes of Fight the Future and immediately wanted to know why this woman was sitting in the snow holding onto this man. I spent the summer recording episodes on FX during the week and watching them all weekend and was somehow able to pretty much catch up on the first 6 seasons in time for the 7th season premiere.

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

In my quest to know all the things that summer before the 7th season, I discovered AOL chat rooms that led me to different discussions on the show in general and at one point, a link was posted to whatever fanfic was hot that minute and I was instantly hooked.

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

I often feel like a wallflower at a party. I'm on the fringe, looking in to see what's going on. I don't bother anyone and most people don't even know I'm there. Every now and then I'll send feedback on a story, or I might even participate in a random discussion, but I feel it's a little more difficult these days without the chatrooms and discussion boards. Following people on tumblr or twitter and trying to engage in those platforms is more awkward since it feels so much more personal. It's like I'm intruding on someone's personal space.  Or having to scroll through non-fandom stuff to find the fic. The message boards were a more even playing field I guess? It's hard to explain.

When I'm hardcore searching for something...anything to read, I'll refer to "The Classics" list. There are still many on there I haven't read.

I miss ephemeral.

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

No. No other characters have ever interested me beyond the story we're given within the confines of the show/movie/book like Mulder and Scully did. My friends would dive into Harry Potter or Marvel or (fill in the blank with anything) and I would try to get excited, but there's nothing.

Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

Well, Scully because she's so bad-ass. She's always so certain of her convictions. We don't see her second-guess herself often.

Anne of Green Gables because against all odds, she still sees the beauty in everything.

Jo in Little Women because she is just so tenacious. She knows what she wants.

Hermione in Harry Potter. She knows the most important thing she'll do is help Harry and there is value in that, so she gives it all she's got.

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

I do. A couple of years after the original run was over, I lost a dear friend (met because of XF) and then later I had my first baby and life just got busy in a very different way so I fell out of the fandom and just dropped all of it.

And then there was the revival. I waited until all episodes aired and then binge-watched them. And I did the same with season 11, but waited about 6 mos after it aired to watch it, rewatching the whole series from the beginning, first.

But now I turn it on a few times a week while I'm folding laundry or making dinner or some other chore. It's nice to have it on in the background because I don't have to pay close attention because I know what's going to happen. I've actually watched the whole series a few times this way.

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

I still read XF fic. It's still my favorite thing to read. I am always looking for the next great fic to lose myself in. Back in the day, I would read any pairing, any genre...I was game for anything, as long as it was XF fic. I'm a little more choosy, now, but only because my free-time is more limited. I only want to read MSR and I'm not at all interested in revival fics.

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

I am partial to the novel-length AU and canon-divergent stories.  I love everything by Prufrock's Love and Bonetree. I have read Paracelsus, A Moment in the Sun and the Goshen/Secret World series countless times. Journal 1999 and Journal 2000 by MD1016, The Mastodon Diaries by akaJake, Blinded by White Light by Dashak, Deliverance From Evil by Char Chaffin and Tess.

I could go on all day.

My absolute favorite story is Arizona Highways by Fialka.

I am partial to Scully angst. And the Emily storyline just kills me, so when authors take those elements and write a kick-ass story, I am there for it.

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

How awful is it that I had to look up my fics to answer this question? I don't know that I have a favorite. That's like asking a mother which child she favors. Maybe One of the Damned.

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

I won't say never, but I don't think so. I've tried to start one or two with some ideas I've had, but I haven't gotten far with them.

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

No. I don't even have time to read as often as I would like to.

Where do you get ideas for stories?

Usually what if scenarios - I try to work out different ways the story could go in my head. I would usually have the guts of the story written in my head before I typed the first word.

What's the story behind your pen name?

There was already a well-known Rachel posting fic when I got started, so I just decided to go with a nickname - Rae.

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

My husband is crazy supportive and tries to convince me to write again All. The. Time. I never hid my XF obsession from anyone, but I don't think I told many people about my writing.

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

I am on tumblr and twitter, but like I said above, I don't really post. All of my stories are at Gossamer.

(Posted by Lilydale on February 9, 2021)

[calligraphist-artemisia]

Field of Flowers

Written for the Kidge Spring Event! 

Prompt 7: Daffodil | Unequaled Love, New Beginnings

Summary: It was just another normal day for Youtuber Katie "Pidge" Holt. She and her boyfriend were going to spend a few hours recording some stuff in Minecraft for their channels and then probably wrangle their friends into a few rounds of Among Us. Except Keith has a question designed to derail all of those plans. 

Also posted on AO3 under the username Kishirokitsune

❀ - ❀ - ❀ - ❀ - ❀

Pidge settled in at her desk and took a look around to make sure there was nothing odd in the background of her webcam. There was only her cat, Tesla, who was relaxing in his carpeted tree, which was sure to thrill her viewers. On the desk in front of her were two monitors, one which displayed all of her recording details, as well as the service she and her boyfriend were using to communicate while they played. The bigger monitor was showing the main screen of Minecraft.

She put on her headphones and adjusted her mic. “Keith, can you hear me?”

“Yeah, I hear you. Everything all set up?” he asked.

Pidge glanced up at her webcam as she nodded. “Yup! I'm just going to put you on mute to run through my intro and then we can get started. You can hop in if you want and I'll join once I'm ready.”

“Sounds good. I'll see you in a few.”

She quickly muted the audio for his channel and gave it a few seconds to make sure she couldn't hear him as he loaded up their game. Then she sat up straight and began recording. “Hey, everyone! I'm TechOwl and today we'll be jumping back into Minecraft with the always handsome KHawkins. As always, there will be a link to his channel in the description and I encourage you to check out his stuff as well.”

Pidge hit join and easily found their usual world, typing in the password so she could join. She waited to unmute until the world had loaded in and caught Keith in mid-sentence when she did.

“...tower and arming it with bows and arrows, so I'll need to expand the chicken farm. Pidge will probably – hi, Pidge – probably help with harvesting flint,” Keith said.

“I'll see what I can gather up while I'm mining,” Pidge said as she opened her inventory to try and remember where she left off. She had a whole row of iron pickaxes and plenty of wood and coal, so she had probably come up to drop off everything in the vault beneath their house and to grab some food. “Actually, let me see what's in the Vault first.”

“You're back at the house?”

“Yeah, I think I was getting food. My bar's pretty low,” Pidge responded. She directed her character through the trapdoor in the corner and rode the ladder down 25 blocks to a room she'd carved out during their first few videos together. Double chests lined the walls and also had signs to go along with them. She went to the section for stones and took a peek into the box labeled 'gravel'. “We only have a stack of it. I'll go find more once I get some food. There's probably a vein of it somewhere in my tunnels that I haven't bothered collecting yet.”

“It'll be a while before I need it, so there's no real rush,” Keith told her. “I still have to build the watchtower and I won't get to that until I'm finished with the gardens.”

Pidge frowned as she went back up the ladder to get into the food chest in their house. “I thought we had way more gravel than that. Have you used any?”

“I used a few stacks of that and the sand to make some concrete a while back,” Keith said.

Pidge guessed that meant they were nearly out of sand as well. It was a bit of a venture to get to the desert biome where she'd harvested most of it, but that could wait for a while. “Anything else I can mine for you, oh-masterful-builder-of-the-world-above?”

“No, I think that's about it,” Keith responded, his tone light. “I thank you for your service, oh-lady-of-the-deep-earth.”

Pidge snorted with amusement as she grabbed a stack of food and ate until her hunger bar was full. She kept a few cooked pork chops in her inventory and put the rest back before turning to go back down into the complex labyrinth of her mine. She got halfway down the ladder before she swore and turned to go back up and fetch more wood, filling up the empty slots in her inventory so she could drop off the extras into the Vault. She kept one full stack of 64 wood blocks on her and then ventured through the double doors leading into the mine.

Pidge spent the next hour combing over her tunnels and collecting any gravel she came across using the iron shovels she specifically built for that purpose. She also collected a decent number of chunks of flint and took all of it back up to the surface with her once she was through.

All the while, she and Keith carried on a conversation for the sake of entertaining their audiences – their banter was often something that was most talked about between their fanbases, with numerous jokes gaining meme-like status. Their friends were fond of quoting those memes back at them whenever they played games together.

“Hey, where do you want all of this gravel and flint?” Pidge asked once she was back in the house. Once again, she had to pause to grab a snack from their food chest as she started taking hunger damage.

“Gravel can stay down there. I have a double chest at the bottom of the watchtower. The flint... yeah, go ahead and bring the flint up to me. I'm at the top. You should look over the edge and check out the garden from up here too. I'll stand on the side you should look over,” Keith said, sounding as though he was leaning away from his microphone. “Hang on, I've gotta run and get something. Go ahead and come up.”

“On my way,” Pidge responded.

She left the house and then looked up, spotting the watchtower immediately. It was a massive wooden structure that stretched high into the sky, though it didn't look like it was all the way up to the build height. She stopped at the base to drop off the stacks of gravel and then hopped on the ladder and rode it all the way to the top. It was there that she found Keith's character standing motionless to one side.

“I'll just drop these off here first,” Pidge said, cracking open the single chest that was next to the ladder. She dropped off the 24 flints and then backed out of the inventory so she could enjoy the sky-high view of the gardens that Keith had spent several sessions working on.

She hopped up on the side where he was standing and looked down. She could see the food garden off to one side, stretching down along the plot of land they took the time to flatten out. To the left of them was a field of flowers and as she looked at them, she realized they spelled something out.

“Wait...” she breathed as her mind caught up with what she was seeing.

Spelled out with red flowers was the question: “Will you marry me?”

Pidge tugged off her headphones and turned in her chair, ready to run downstairs and confront her boyfriend, but he was already there in her office, waiting for her with that soft smile on his face. “Keith?”

He walked into the room and knelt down in front of her, taking her hand with his own. “I've been in love with you from the first day we met. I didn't know it at the time. It took a few people pointing it out to me. Or, well, a lot of people,” he chuckled, “but eventually I figured it out. I never thought I would have the opportunity to find such happiness in my life and it's thanks to you that I have. I can't imagine spending the rest of my life without you in it.”

Pidge hiccuped as she tried to breathe in, reaching up to cover her mouth even as tears of happiness began to spill from her eyes. “Keith...”

Keith cracked open a tiny black box and held it out for Pidge to see the slender silver ring inside. It was inset with three green jewels – not the traditional diamond, but she'd never been fond of those anyway. “Katie Holt, will you marry me?”

She nodded, swallowing thickly so she could try and get the words out. “Yes! Yes, I will.” She slid out of her chair with a breathless laugh and into his arms, unable to wait until he could slip the ring onto her finger. She pressed a kiss to his cheek and then another and another until Keith was shaking from laughter and had to ask if she even wanted the ring.

Pidge pulled away from him, a great big smile on her face as she held out her hand in response, allowing him to put the ring on her finger. And then she dove right back in, kissing him with all that she had to make up for her lack of words.

❀ - ❀ - ❀ - ❀ - ❀

Bonus Scene

“Coran! Coran, you have to come see this!” Allura shouted in excitement.

She could hear him running down the hall from his office, where he was working on editing their newest video together, and was soon striding over to her side while asking if everything was alright. Allura responded with a smile and by hitting play on what she had been watching.

“...-ver the edge and check out the garden from up here too. I'll stand on the side you should look over,” Keith's voice came through the speakers.

Allura eagerly watched Coran and knew the exact moment when Keith's proposal was revealed by the way Coran suddenly squealed in delight. She glanced back at the screen in time to watch it fade away from the flowers and then fade back in with a photo of Pidge and Keith, who were smiling at the camera. Pidge held up her left hand so a beautiful ring could be seen. It was also accompanied by the words: “She said yes!”

“How exciting!” Coran said, grinning broadly. “We must do something to celebrate! Dinner, perhaps? I'll call Hunk and begin preparations!”

Before Allura could agree or disagree with his idea, Coran was gone. She laughed softly and took out her phone to send out a warning to the rest of the group so they wouldn't be too blindsided.

It was certainly an event worth celebrating.

[foreverfangirlalways]

Who Does Virgil Really Like?

Based off this post by  @more-incorect-quotes and this comic by @illogicallyinclined

(Also, a huge thank you to @thefingergunsgirl for some of the plot points!!!)

Summery: After a 20 question game gone wrong, will Virgil be able to tell Logan who his crush really is?

Ships: Analogical, hinted at Dukexiety, hinted at Prinxiety, Moceit

Warning: Misunderstandings, weird flirting, lowkey stalking

-let me know if I need to add more warnings-(I hope you like it! )

—-

It was a relatively calm day in the Mind Palace. Patton is eating cookies, Roman and Logan are working on the final draft of a new song, and Virgil, Remus, and Janus are play 20 questions.

“Janus, how would describe your perfect date?” Virgil asked.

“Well, I definitely wouldn’t take my partner dancing after a nice dinner and then talk a stoll before walking them home.”

Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at Janus. “What? I’m a liar, not classless.” Janus said while winking at Patton.

Patton blush and accidentally crumbled one of his cookies. Remus laughed. “Alright, my turn before Dadceit and Daddy inspire me to make another fic!” Everyone groaned and rolled their eyes, and Janus gave Patton another cookie.

Remus clapped his hands, then eyed Virgil.

“So Tickle-Me-Emo, tell me, what’s your ideal boy?”

‘Shit! What do I say? I have to say the truth, but I don’t want to make it obvious... oh! I know!’ Virgil thought while chewing on his lips, then he hid a secret smile.

“Oh, he’s creative, knows how to handle weapons, and loves nicknaming.” Everyone acted all almost exactly how they did with Janus’s answer, except Patton wasn’t blushing.

“You just described me! Ha!” Remus yelled, looking gleeful. Janus, who knew the lies that Virgil told himself around a certain tie wearing aspect, just smirked and decided to “play along.”

“Or he could be talking about your brother.”

Virgil fought the urge to get up and go slap Deceit’s smug smirk off of his face. At Deceit’s words and Virgil’s glare, Roman made some dramatic princy noises.

Remus just blanched, not believing that HIS emo could have fallen for his dull brother. He looked at Roman’s delighted face and then at Virgil’s glare. “There is no way he likes that! Remus shouted, pointing to Virgil and then gesturing to all of Roman.

Roman then made some offended princy noises. “HOW DARE-!” Patton silenced Roman by throwing a piece of the popcorn that Janus had just summoned for them to share at him. “Now kiddo, you know the rules, no yelling in the famILY room.”

Virgil took a minute to wonder when Janus had gotten up, sat beside Patton, started cuddling Patton, and summoned popcorn, but he was interrupted by the look on Logan’s face.

He looked mildly interested, but Virgil has known him long enough to know that his feelings are hurt. Is it because Janus is not sharing the popcorn with him or...

Virgil had a realization. “Uhh, on an unrelated note, I have to be, not here.” Virgil gave a two finger salute and then sunk down to his room to freak out.

Both Remus and Roman got up at the same time, noticed that the other had gotten up, and then lunged at eachother. “How dare you think Virgil likes you, you’re just a stinky wannabe Mario!” Roman yelled at the same time Remus shrieked, “Virgil is my bloodsucking vampire bat, hands off!”

While they rolled around on the floor, laying claim on Virgil and insulting eachother, Janus kept Patton from interrupting their fight by kissing him on the check and whispering, “Come on darling, just let them work it out themselves.”

Patton was suddenly a speechless, blushing mess who was just mechanical eating popcorn and avoiding Janus’s teasing gaze.

Logan, who everyone had forgotten about, looked forlorn. He liked Virgil, but clearly it is one sided. He always knew that he never had a chance.

Logan just sighed and started to sink down to his own room, not noticing the knowing, glowing heterochromic eyes that were following his movements, and hearing his deceitful thoughts.

-_-_-_-

Over the following week, Roman and Remus have both tried to woo Virgil, oftentimes resulting in them fighting.

Janus has gone through about 15 bowls of popcorn, 11 of which were shared with a blushing Patton.

Logan has been getting more sad every time he notices one of the twins antics, and has gotten to the point where he almost can’t stand to look at them. He realizes that this is illogical, and who Virgil choses to give his affections to is none of his business, but he still gets jealous, despite himself.

And Virgil... well, Virgil is at his wits end. He’s sick of finding dead rats in his toilet and getting random, blood covered knives from Remus. He’s tired of shooing sing birds away and cutting the heads off of the roses that Roman gives him. Virgil HATES roses.

About 8 days after the whole 20 questions incident, Virgil and Logan were sitting on the couch in the famILY room. Virgil was scrolling threw tumblr and Logan was reading about constellations.

After about 20 minutes of silence, Virgil couldn’t take it anymore. He tossed his phone onto the loveseat, and groaned. When Logan question Virgil about what was wrong, Virgil took a daring move, and laid his head on Logan’s lap. Logan turned faintly red, and just stared at Virgil.

“Hey Lo? Can you give me some advice?” Once Logan nodded tensely, Virgil added, “Its relationship advice.”

Logan felt like crying. ‘Of course he needs relationship advice. He obviously likes Roman, and as his friend I am ok with that and will help him.’

Janus, summoned by Logan’s thoughts, was sitting against the wall with Patton on his lap. They were both eating popcorn, having already done this multiple times this week. They could both clearly see the two on the couch, but neither one seemed to notice the couple watching them. Not even when Janus had to muffle Patton’s squeal with his gloved hand upon Patton realizing Logan and Virgil’s position.

“What seems to be the problem?” Logan asked, trying and failing to keep the hurt out of his voice. Lucky for him, Virgil didn’t notice.

“Well, I have a crush on someone an-“ Virgil was cut off when he felt Logan put a comforting hand on his chest. Virgil looked up, and smiled faintly at a faintly smiling Logan.

“I’ve been trying to tell them for the past few months, but they haven’t seemed to notice at all.”

Logan side-eyed Virgil. ‘Is he serious? I think Roman knows, he gave you a bouquet of roses yesterday. Which is a little pointless, given that you hate roses, but... oh.’ Logan thought, coming to the conclusion that Virgil didn’t realize that Roman likes him back. Janus relayed what he was hearing from Logan thoughts to Patton, and they both rolled their eyes at the two oblivious sides.

“Really?” Logan asked, now full on looking at Virgil. “They don’t sound particularly observant.” Janus had to keep Patton from yelling out “he’s not!”

Virgil just smiled, and decided to try something. “See, that’s the thing. They’re actually really smart. Just...” Virgil took a breath and intertwined his fingers with Logan’s, “dense.”

Logan fought all the butterflies that were raging war in his stomach, and decided to record Virgil admitting his feelings, so that he can just send the recording to Roman and cry.

“Perhaps you just need to take the obvious route. You could try saying a simple...” Logan held back a gag and position his phone more directly over Virgil’s face. “I love you.”

Virgil considered. ‘Could it really be that easy?’ “You think that would work?”

Logan nodded, and put on a near perfect mask of nonchalant. “It’s at least worth a try.”

Virgil looked to the away and nodded. “I... guess you’re right.” Virgil took a deep breath and Logan shakily pressed the record button.

“Hey... Logan...” Virgil said, gripping his hand tighter. “I love you.”

Janus and Patton just stared, leaning forward. Logan blushed, and decided to never delete that recording, ever. “Yeah! Use that exact phrase!” Logan said in false cheerfulness.

“HOLY FUCKING SHIT!” Virgil yelled at the same time Janus and Patton facepalmed.

Logan regrettably let go of Virgil’s hand. “And if that doesn’t work, we can always try a different approach.”

“Oh my God.” Virgil said while covering his face with his hands, trying his hardest not to reach up and shake the denseness out of Logan.

Logan, not seeing Roman and Remus walk in the door way and be freezed and silenced by Janus, continued.

“Don’t worry Virgil, I’ll make sure Roman realizes how much you really like him.” Logan says.

Janus looked dumbfounded. ‘How dumb can Logic be?’

Patton looked disappointed and almost started laughing.

Roman looked triumphant and Remus looked pissed.

Virgil, however, just looked done. He quickly sat up, and turned to face Logan. “Wait, you mean to tell me that you think my crush is on ROMAN?!”

Logan gulped. “Umm yes. Was I wrong in that assumption?”

Virgil just started laughing. He laughed until his laughter turned to tears. Logan immediately became alarmed and took Virgil into his arms.

“Shhh, Virgil, sweetheart, I need you to calm down for me.” That just seemed to make Virgil cry harder so Logan grabbed Virgil hands and squeezed them in a 4-7-8 pattern. Virgil, knowing what Logan is doing, starts to follow the pattern. After about 5 minutes Virgil is calmed down.

“Virgil, can you tell me what is bothering you?” Logan asked gently. Virgil just nodded defeatedly. “You.”

Logan froze, not knowing how to respond to that. Virgil continued. “I have liked you for almost 2 years. I have tried to tell you about my crush for months. I admit, I could have been a bit more obvious in my clues to Remus, but I thought for sure you would know who I was talking about. You are creative when you come up with raps, you threw a computer at Thomas and knowledge is a weapon, and you called Roman a ‘Roman Scenturian.‘

Instead you avoided me for days, didn’t believe me when I said I love you, and think I have a crush on Roman? Can you see wh-“

Logan interrupted Virgil’s rant by kissing him. If he was totally honest, he barely heard a word after Virgil said, “I have liked you...”

The couple sprung apart as soon as they heard cheering. They both stared at Patton, who was sitting in Janus’s lap with popcorn all over and around him, and the biggest smile on his face.

Janus was also smiling, and looked over at Remus and Roman, who were looking fondly at both couples. Janus unfroze them.

“So...” Remus starts, “you like Logan, huh?” Everyone laughs. “That’s fine, I’m gonna go see if the Dragonwitch wants to go on a date.” Remus winked then sunk down, headed towards the imagination.

Virgil then looks at Roman. Roman takes a step forward, and Logan tightens his grip on Virgil. Roman just laughs.

“Don’t worry Lo, I was just wanting to give y’all my blessing! Also, do you think that O will want to go on a quest?”

Virgil giggled and nodded. “Yeah, I think ol’ Orange would love to go ‘rob people legally’ as he put it, with you.” Roman waved and then headed to find O.

The couple on the couch then turned to look at the couple by the wall. Patton looked ecstatic while Janus looked amused. “Well, that certainly didn’t take forever.” Janus said, breaking the silence.

They all just shook their heads, and Patton dragged Janus to the kitchen to start on dinner (and totally not eavesdrop).

Virgil looked at Logan. “So, if I say something do you promise to not be stupid this time?” Virgil asked teasingly. Logan smiled and nodded.

“Logan, I love you.” Logan kissed Virgil and smiled. “Virgil, I would love for you to be my boyfriend.” “I would love that too!” Virgil said before kissing Logan again.

-----

Note: Incase you are wondering, Roman and Remus were just really trying to make Virgil like one of them more than the other, and were actually surprised when Virgil described them and not Logan during the game. They did not just immediately move on after seeing there was not shot. They were coming to tell Virgil that they actually like other ‘people’ but kind of got stopped 😅

Taglist- (I went ahead and did my Analogical Taglist 😅)

@five-falseh00ds-ph0nated

@illogicallyinclined

@more-incorect-quotes

@thefingergunsgirl

@kawaiikat54

@yikesdodson

@sanders-sides-with-quinn

@aleiimm

@peachy-pidge

@nerdycupcake559

@softestvirgil

@dragonwithproblems

@teacupfulofstarshine

@lynxsans

@rainbowemonightmare

@impatentpending

@star-crossed-shipper

@falsehoodx

@007ardra

[calypsoff]

Ninety Three. Part 3

That talk with Mel is something I needed, I needed to speak to someone that knows Robyn as much as they do. Mel is relying on me to bring her back, I mean I feel I can do it but then again I feel like Robyn is very much adamant in telling me to fuck off, several times too. Mel said I need to be on her level, I can’t be trying to tell her she can’t do something when she is like this. I really wish Robyn told me this, told me how she is feeling so I could help her get through it. I think Robyn felt alone, like you can have a room full of people but still feel alone and I think she felt that because I was being an idiot. I wasn’t thinking straight, I never do but that video of Robyn. I need to look at it actually, I just had a shower and got some clothes on. I am praying and hoping she is where I think she will be, I am assuming she will be in the casino and if she is with other men, I need to not bite because she is going to do everything in her power to make me get annoyed. TMZ loaded up and the first thing I see is Robyn, they are are saying she attacked me, and I don’t like that because it was never that, my wife isn’t violent. Tapping on the article, this is very much defamation of name because that is not it. Tapping on the video and waited for it to load, I am not happy that this is happening. She doesn’t deserve this; she isn’t a bad person. Watching the video and seeing that she did hit my shoulder or whatever, but she was angry that I said her dad and it kind of works out, it’s bullshit. I don’t want to tell her that this was said. She doesn’t need it, but I need to stay by my wife, she means the world to me. I have let her down, I have always known she was vulnerable when it comes to men in general and her dad, it’s crazy how much it’s affected her.

Sitting atop of the pool table, I want to address the situation because it seems like in the article it states that she was with other men, looks like I was jealous of that and we argued, that didn’t happen. It’s crazy to see what they put but I want to shut down these rumours, it’s spreading thanks to that toxic ass page. Pressing record on my phone, fixing my Snapback “what’s up, I don’t like to get involved in these kind of scenarios or politics to do with things that go on, my life or whatever but I don’t. It’s come up on that wack ass blog TMZ a video of me and my wife, lies are being told. We were talking and she did hit my arm or whatever, but it was playful, she was a little tipsy whatever. But it’s all lies, we are good in our marriage. My daughter is just better, and we don’t need to see that kind of shit, or those rumours being said, we come to Vegas to have fun. Our marriage is fine, we are good. God bless that my daughter is good so yeah, I just want to address that we are fine and that my wife isn’t the vicious person y’all making her out to be, I was fully aware she was speaking to men so there was no issues or arguments about that” shaking my head “we good over here” stopping the recording and adding it onto Instagram, adding a caption ‘y’all need to leave me and mines, I don’t fuck with the shit y’all be saying’ pressing send on the post, I will protect my wife on god, I will fuck up anyone for her, that’s my girl. Now I need to find that wife of mine, I want to call her but then I don’t think she will pick up because of my name being shown, if I don’t find her I’m gonna be panicking. I am worried for her, she is drinking and smoking so much too, like smoking excessively. I need to do this, I need to control my mouth and be there for her, she needs me, and I wasn’t even seeing it.

I put on a shirt and made my way down to reception, I need to know where my wife is and they will know, obviously they will. They see everything and they knew she was here earlier, I huffed out making my way to the reception. The lady looked at me and she was going to say hi, but I just cut her off “my wife, Rihanna? Where is she?” I sound abrupt but I am not the mood for all the nice talk, I just need to see my wife and see how she is “I can show you” why is it everyone knows where she is, is my wife making that much of an issue, this is concerning to know actually “right this way sir” walking behind her, she seems so kind about it but I am wondering if Robyn is causing a scene “is everything ok?” I have to ask; I am nervous. Robyn is so sly and is running off constantly, she isn’t just nobody either “not at all, just she was getting harassed by a barrage of people and we had to bring in extra security but please, it’s not bother” oh god, I am nervous now. Walking into the casino I can see where she is, the group is gathered and it’s not a show. I just need to not kick off either, I get very protective of my wife too “that way sir” she gestured, nodding my head walking off towards the crowd. She is on the slots machine and is being stared at by people, I dislike that because she doesn’t need all eyes on her either. Looking around and seeing phones out “watch out!” I spat, people started to move to the side and then recording me “don’t push sir” I will knock this nigga out, he better let me through right now before I cause a scene in this place, I do not care for anyone “let him though, that’s Chris” another security guy came forward, he let an oh “sorry” he let me through, nodding my head walking by him. Robyn clapped her hands together “I won again” Robyn looked at me, she is wearing my snapback “I can see” moving the snapback back a little, kissing her forehead “I can see you are winning, as you do” pulling the snapback down, looking around us, there is so many cameras around us, they have literally blocked off the whole section because of Robyn, she really doesn’t care, she is staying here and having fun “what you doing” Robyn is searching my pockets, then she dug her hand in my pocket “these” she grabbed my cigarettes “ok” I mumbled, my phone started ringing in my pocket “you good yeah?” I asked, Robyn nodded her head smiling at me. Looking down at my phone, Robyn wrapped her arm around my torso “what’s up?” I asked, it’s Mel “she is in the casino, they are tagging her on Insta” Mel is spying from afar “yeah I am here with her now, thanks. I will update soon” I don’t know what to do, there is so many people here. So many prying eyes too.

Robyn is playing Crabs, I say play she is trying her best and the whole crowd is cheering but I am so protective of her, I am just thinking on what to do. She hasn’t said much to me at all “I done good?” Robyn asked, nodding my head “always” nuzzling the top of her head, licking my lips looking around. I just hate this, it’s so compact like everyone is just here and I feel judged. I feel our marriage is being judged; I hate this. I want this to just stop but I can’t make it stop, I need to take action. I am so protective of Robyn, I feel like she is vulnerable, and I didn’t see it at first but I do now, she is so vulnerable “Rihanna, you good at playing Crabs” someone shouted, I smiled looking over at the person “I am good at a lot” Robyn said, her voice is husky as hell, all that smoking is getting to her “what that mouth do?” my eyebrows knitted together, looking at whoever said that “ask my husband, I just sucked him off in the penthouse suite” I had to do a doubletake at Robyn, the whole crowd just busted out laughing “don’t be speaking on my mouth nigga, go ask ya father” Robyn added “don’t come for me nigga, don’t do it!” everyone cheered, Robyn is being called volatile and she is being recorded shouting this, I just feel stuck on what to do “shall we go to the suite?” I said in her ear “you can get me a blunt, make me one” she turned to me, taking in a deep breath and then sighed out.

Robyn turned away from the Crabs table with the blunt in hand and her cocktail “I want to go now” when she moved the whole crowd moved with her “where you going?” moving back from the Crabs table “let’s go to the club” licking my top lip “erm” I paused, I don’t even know what to say. Nodding my head and leaning down to Robyn hugging her “how about we go to the suite, you can do your hair and stuff. Look all cute for the club” pressing a kiss to her cheek moving back, Robyn nodded her head too “you right, ok let’s go then” following behind Robyn, we can finally go to the bedroom and just talk, I don’t know how to even bring the questions up about everything. I caught some arm that reached forward trying to grab Robyn’ shoulder “the hell” pushing it away, the security is rushing us out and I just moved to the side of Robyn. She is so calm about everything; she doesn’t even care that we are getting mobbed. She doesn’t even know what is being said about her, I am here trying to save her. I just want to protect my girl, she is going through a lot and I want her to be happy, I think I haven’t helped with her at all. I am so bad, I am a bad husband to her, but she needs me to be there for her, I can only love her.

We got to the bedroom and Robyn went straight to the room, she wants to get dressed for the club. The club I don’t really want to go too, I don’t even know where to start at all. Answering the call from Mel, she has been so supportive right now. She has been ringing to check “hey” I answered “just thought I would ask how you are? You seem very nervous about this; you seem a little scared. Robyn is just closed off Chris, don’t mind her. She will break that mask; I just know her” she is so confident “can you come?” I don’t know “no, you need to be the one to do it. She do what you need to do, anyways. I got Rylee actually, she is doing so well. I am so glad to see her in high spirits” I miss her so much “thanks for checking on me, I just feel so stuck. Robyn hasn’t really let go of Rihanna; I can tell. I will go upstairs and see to her, thanks” disconnecting the call, I appreciate Mel for this. I understand what she means by she wants me to do it but I just feel like she would do a better job, I do feel bad because I know that Robyn be there for me to build me up so can’t I do this for her, how useless am I to even think someone else should do this. I don’t mean it in a bad way but it’s hard, I don’t know how to approach the situation.

Walking into the room and all I can hear is Robyn’ phone going off, like it’s been none stop but all she is doing is getting ready. She is really ignoring everything “you good?” I asked what I asked before, I can’t help but say the same thing “are you? I was the one that left you in bed” she sniggered, knowing full well what she did but I won’t make it an issue “erm yeah I am” the phone started ringing again, making my way to the phone, looking down and seeing Jay Brown name. Rejecting the call, picking the phone off to turn it off “I am fine, it’s been a while you know” the phone switched off, placing it down “you remember that time when my dad took us to go and watch Space Jam?” Robyn looked up at me “I do, why?” she is miserable “it just made me laugh because erm, that time I wanted to sit with you, and you ended up letting my dad sit in the middle? Like what, but the bonus of it all is that my dad paid but then you were sick after the hot dog” Robyn groaned out “oh yeah, that was bad” she nodded her head and froze “and your dad was holding my hair back, yeah. He is so sweet to me” she agreed “yeah he was, I’ve always wanted to be like him. Like my dad, just a good man. But I don’t think I actually am, I think I am not the person he bought up, you know. You said I am just like your dad, and at first I was so caught up on it thinking it was a bad thing but me and your dad have something in common. We both hurt you and let you do, and I apologise for that. I do a lot without thinking and what I did and how I have been acting was bad, I will forever be sorry for that” putting my head down “men are trash” I expected that “I don’t blame you for that Robyn” looking up at her “you say we should talk; I enjoy our talks. At night” stuffing my hands in my pockets “talking to me about me, asking me how I am, asking me what I am doing, telling me what I need to do. You have asked me how I am, how I am doing. I have my own issues and you have been there for me to console me but I haven’t thought of you, I can’t say I understand how that feels, to be abandoned by a parent” Robyn doesn’t like it “I don’t want to hear it” she got up from the seat “but I do, I am not Monica where I will say you know what your dad should be like, I want to hear you Robyn. What happened to Rylee was never your fault, I know these words won’t heal you, but it wasn’t” she stared at me “Rylee needs you” I said in a whisper “the same girl that sleeps only when you sing to her, I bet she is wondering where her mommy is, you know she is because her eyes light up seeing you, she needs you more then me Robyn, I know that. Rylee adores you” Robyn put her head down, she was quick to run to the bathroom, maybe I can keep pushing her to break and she will talk to me.

[craniumhurricane]

call me, baby, if you need a friend

Cleaning up some old WIPs. This has been in my drafts since end of season 2/around season 3.

Basically 4 times Clarke calls Bellamy and 1 time that Bellamy calls Clarke.

Thank you @casleyislove and @sushigirlali for always reading things before I post them!

[ On AO3! ]

___

(i)

It's a quiet night in at the Blake apartment. Or, at least, for Bellamy it is. He's having a nice Friday night by himself after surviving a truly grueling week of finals. Octavia tried to convince him to go out and celebrate the end of the semester the "right way," but he turned her down… he's still not quite sure how he managed to do that.

His feet are currently propped up on the coffee table with a large bowl of store brand cocoa puffs in his lap. Bellamy may be an adult but damn if he isn’t going to celebrate the end of the term with sugary cereal… nevermind that he didn’t actually make time to grocery shop this week. The TV was queued and ready for the marathon of Ancient Aliens episodes he’d missed due to studying, and he was just about to press play when he hears a short but insistent buzzing sound.  

Glancing around, his eyes land on Octavia’s phone sitting on the corner of the coffee table. She must have left it in her hurry to leave since she was running late to meet up with her boyfriend.

Bellamy keeps his eyes on it for a second before deciding to ignore it, and once again his finger hovers over the play button on the remote. Then the phone lights up again, this time with a phone call; a picture of Octavia and a curly haired blonde that he recognizes, the name CLARKE THE GRIFFIN flashing across the screen. He considers ignoring it for a second time but... if she’s resorting to actually calling instead of texting again then something could be seriously wrong.

Bellamy swipes his thumb across the screen to answer and brings the phone to his ear but before he can even say anything a voice on the other side interjects immediately.

“Men are dicks,” the woman says without preamble. “No! Worse than that. They're weird tumors that grow on dicks," she pauses, seems to think about it, and then adds, "Preferably life threatening.”

Bellamy blinks a few times before he answers, “I'm sure you're right, but don't you think that's a bit harsh?”

The line is quiet. He can hear her shifting the phone, no doubt checking the screen to make sure she called the right person.

“Octavia?”

“Bellamy.”

Clarke huffs. “Where's Octavia?” she snaps. He can hear the annoyance seeping into her tone, which in turn just makes him feel his own frustrations start to rise.

He tamps it down though. “On a date,” he answers.

She deflates at that, “Oh right. One month anniversary with Lincoln.”

He hums a confirmation and then they’re silent for a few minutes. So long that it’s Bellamy’s turn to look at the phone and make sure she’s still there. “Did you need something?” he asks once he sees that the call is still, in fact, in progress.

She takes a deep breath before answering, “I ended things with Finn tonight.”

Bellamy had only met Finn Collins a handful of times; the guy was fine except for a little cocky… and he always seemed to want to show off in front of pretty girls. His hair was too long and always styled like he was some kind of frat boy that came from big money even though Bellamy's 100% sure he never so much as pledged.

And then there was that one time he flirted with Octavia.

Ok, so Bellamy didn’t like the guy. But a break up is still a shitty thing to go through which is why he says, “I’m sorry,” and finds that he means it.

“Not your fault,” Clarke says immediately, “But I was kind of looking for someone to watch me binge drink and listen to me vent.”

He understands that, having gone through the same thing when he broke up with Roma at the start of the term. If you could really call them “hooking up occasionally” the same thing as dating, but still, getting drunk with Miller had been essential in the whole moving on process.

“You want to come over here anyway?” he offers carefully, casually. He doesn’t mind Clarke. She’s younger than him, around Octavia’s age. They aren’t exactly friends, but he would consider them a little more than acquaintances. Enough that it shouldn’t be too weird for him to invite her over even without his sister present. Plus, her getting drunk here is a better alternative than her getting drunk by herself in some bar.

“You don’t mind?” she asks and he thinks he hears relief in her voice, “I was kind of already on my way over to your guy’s place... I don’t really feel like going out and I really don't feel like being depressed and alone in my dorm right now.”

“Nah,” he says and then tries a joke to brighten her spirits, “Sounds like something fun to watch. I’ll order food.”

“Chinese would be great,” and he swears he can hear a smile in her voice so he’ll count his dumb joke as a victory. “Thanks, Bellamy, see you soon.”

He's not even a little bit mad about dumping out his now soggy cereal.

*

(ii)

“So, you’ve been in school for basically forever. Is it normal for a person to experience this amount of stress?”

Bellamy’s lips twitch as he holds his phone to his ear. After Clarke crashed his Friday night in, and spilled on the whole cheating Finn debacle while they did shots, Bellamy figured he should give her his own cell phone number. As much as he hated to admit it, and honestly he never will, his sister and her boyfriend were getting serious, so who knows how much Octavia would be available for late night bitchfests about significant others, fellow students, and the human population in general. Which were just a few of the topics they discussed that night. Hanging out with Clarke ended up being kind of fun, a better night than he originally planned. She even let him watch a little of his marathon and offered her own commentary. Bellamy would do it again… which is something else he would never admit.

It's not like they suddenly talk every day, but it’s a near thing. They would send each other the occasional text when one of them sees something that the other absolutely has to know about. Mostly, he gets pictures of old dogs she sees at the park, asking if this will be him in 20 years. Bellamy responds in kind with memes about college life and rubbing it in her face that they no longer apply to him since he graduated last semester.

But sometimes she reaches out to him if there is something particularly bothering her. Such as dealing with egotistical dickwads that consider themselves professors and shutting down female students in a male dominated class.

Clarke’s probably the only person that ever calls him and can never start the conversation with a simple ‘Hello’. Actually, she’s probably the only person that actually still calls him.

“I just got a job teaching so that insult isn't going to work anymore since I literally will be in a school as part of my job,” is his first response before he turns to one of concern, “Midterms got ya down?”

“It’s just,” she gives an exasperated sigh before continuing, “I want to do something that helps people, I know I want to help people… But maybe I don't want to help people the way my mom wants me to help people...ya know?”

“You’re going to have to give me more to go on here, Princess-”

“I’m thinking about switching my major,” she says abruptly, like she’s ripping off a band aid.

He’s silent, waiting to see if she’s going to say anything else. When it becomes clear she’s waiting for him to say something he responds honestly, “If being a doctor isn’t something you want to do, then you shouldn’t do it.”

“But-”

“What your mom wants you to do shouldn’t overrule what you want to do, Clarke,” he interrupts her. Due to the increasing amount of time he’s been spending with Clarke, he’s learned that the Griffins have always had a capital “P” Plan and he knows that Clarke has a hard time knowing when she can push the boundaries of said Plan.

She’s silent again and Bellamy’s starting to think he’s going to have to prod her a second time. He’s got the beginnings of his big speech all prepared when finally she speaks up. “I’m thinking about going into Art Therapy,” She says thoughtfully, “Or maybe teaching? Helping out underprivileged kids...or hell, even underprivileged adults. Or maybe something for the community?”

His lips twitch on another smile at hearing the beginnings of a hint of passion in her voice. “Teaching can be very rewarding,” he says magnanimously.

She snorts and it turns into a full laugh, “You haven't even started yet! It could be the worst thing you’ve ever done and a total waste of your degree.”

“Your confidence in me really is touching,” he deadpans and then adds simply, “You’re an amazing artist, Clarke. I think doing something with that could be something you'd enjoy and be really really good at.”

She’s quiet when she asks, “You think I’m amazing? You’ve never told me that.” And Bellamy swears he can hear that smile in her voice again. The one he always looks forward to. The one he tries to coax out of her without realizing he’s doing it.

He feels his cheeks start to heat up and even though she can't see him, he feels the need to brush it off. “Yeah, well, I generally try to be as dickish as possible so…”

She snorts again and damn if he didn’t feel a slight flutter in his chest.

“For the record, I think you’re going to be an amazing teacher,” she says it so matter-of-factly but he’ll have to dwell on it later because she sobers and then asks softly, “So, you think I should do it?”

It’s not hard for him to build her up. She spends so much time being there for the rest of their slowly merging friend groups that she rarely takes time to see the greatness in herself. He doesn’t mind helping.

“I think you should do whatever the hell you want.”

*

(iii)

“Women are worse than men.”

Bellamy rubs the sleep from his eyes and glances at the clock; it was almost 3 in the morning. “I thought men were tumors?” he asks around a yawn.

“Yeah, well, women can be tumors too,” Clarke huffs, but she just sounds tired, “Comparing people to tumors is equal opportunity. Strides in feminism are being made, didn’t you know?”

Bellamy pushes himself into a sitting position, suddenly more alert as he picks up the trace of tears in her voice. “You ok?” he asks.

Clarke is silent at first, but he waits her out, he knows that she’ll tell him. “Lexa broke up with me,” she says quietly and then adds in confusion, “Or we broke up with each other? I’m a little unsure. We spent the whole night arguing and then suddenly she was packing up her stuff.” She pauses before taking a shaky breath, “It’s over. We’re over.”

“I’m so sorry, Clarke.”

“She was leaving anyway,” she continues, bitterly, “Some new job. She was leaving in a few weeks and didn’t even bother to tell me. I told her we could make it work long distance, I was willing to try and make it work. That’s when the arguing started. Not just about that but about-,” Clarke abruptly cuts herself off and hesitates, “about... other things. Things I didn’t even know were an issue.” She’s quiet again before she adds, “She didn’t say it but I think she was disappointed that I never suggested going with her...”

The thought makes a quick flash of irritation run through him. “She wanted you to uproot your entire life and go with her,” he summarizes as he tries to adjust the pillows on his bed by beating them, maybe a little too roughly at the thought of her doing just that, before leaning back against them.

“Which is completely crazy, I know,” she hurries to say, “but I wish we could have talked about it.”

“I am sorry, Clarke,” he says again, “I know Lexa seemed like she was it for you.”

“But maybe she wasn’t?” Clarke counters as if trying to reason with herself. “I don’t know. We were both committed to each other, but maybe this was a sign that we weren’t going to be able to make it work long term?” She pauses and Bellamy can hear the gears in her head turning as she processes a way for her to handle this, too explain it to herself. “When we were together,” she hesitates before continuing, and he can imagine her biting her lip, “I was happy... but I felt like a separate version of myself, ya know? Still me, but not completely me?”

Bellamy chews on the words he wants to say and goes with, “Sometimes the person you're with can change you; it's not always a bad thing.” He gets quiet as he adds thoughtfully, “I like to think Gina made me a better person...and she probably did,” he pauses, this time unsure if he should keep going, but Clarke hasn't said anything, so she must be waiting for him to continue, “We tried, tried really hard, to make it work, but eventually you just realize that maybe the relationship isn't going anywhere and what’s best for everyone is just to call it.”

“Wait, you and Gina broke up?” Clarke asks in surprise, “When did that happen!?”

“That's what you got from that?” He rubs a hand over his face as he thinks about it, “About two weeks ago?”

“Shit,” she says and is quiet before asking in a small voice, “Why didn't you tell me?”

“Honestly, I haven't seen a whole lot of you these last few months,” he hears what he said and corrects himself, “We haven’t seen a whole lot of you.” He’s surprised at his ability to keep the bite out of his voice; because the truth was this last year has sucked since Clarke started dating Lexa.

They met at one of Clarke's art gigs. Lexa was cool; fun when she wanted to be, but also a little hard to be around. Most of the time, she seemed to prefer doing things without any of Clarke’s friends.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke says.

“It’s fine,” he answers her and means it. “Gina and I are still good friends.”

“I wasn’t talking about you and Gina,” she says, voice soft.

He realizes what she’s actually apologizing for and he doesn’t know what to say. Because of course he forgives her, he will always forgive her.

The silence lasts too long so he clears his throat and prompts, “Want to come over and get drunk?”

Her laugh through the phone breaks the tension, “It’s like 3 o'clock in the morning.”

“My bar is always open.”

She chuckles. “I really want to hit something,” she says with a determined edge to her voice, “Then maybe get drunk.”

“How about this, we get a few more hours of sleep, wake up at a normal time, and go hit something,” he offers and then adds as if it's an afterthought, “And then get drunk, of course.”

She laughs again, “Oh, of course.” There’s that smile. “I forgot what being single with you was like.”

Bellamy sobers at the thought. It has been awhile since the two of them were single at the same time. “Always here to help, Princess.”

*

(iv)

“Why did I agree to this trip again?”

He’s packing up the essays that are scattered across his desk when she calls, 4 o’clock on the dot. Bellamy tries to suppress a laugh but he’s pretty sure she can at least hear the teasing smile in his voice.

“Just getting back to the hotel?” he asks in lieu of his own greeting.

“Yes!” she exclaims in exasperation. “And if it were up to Josephine, we probably would have walked all of damn Paris tonight,” her voice gets muffled at the end and he can only assume she’s thrown herself face first onto the nearest bed. “I cannot wait for a shower- No! A bath, definitely taking a long, hot bath.”

And now the image of Clarke Griffin in the bath, with just enough bubbles to cover up to her chest, has entered his mind. He shoves it away before anymore thoughts can accompany it.

This used to never be a problem. Sure, he’s always known that Clarke is attractive, but he has never been attracted to her. But ever since he broke up with Gina and she broke up with Lexa, Bellamy has been exceedingly aware of the fact that they have both remained single.

The last time this happened was right after Finn.

Bellamy shakes his head for good measure before responding. “You’re going to fall asleep in the tub and your roommate will find your prune-y, wrinkled body in the morning.” He cringes.  Apparently he wasn’t able to get the image of her completely out of his head.

Clarke scoffs, but he can tell that it’s in an exasperated but fond kind of way. “How is it that you manage to be a buzzkill from over 4,000 miles away?” she asks drily and then pauses before adding, “Actually, Josie would probably just leave me in there for the entire trip and never let on that something was up.”

He turns the key to lock his office behind him and heads for the staff lot. “Don’t worry, if you don’t call to check in, I’ll call the National Guard,” he teases.

“I know you would,” she says simply, like it’s a known fact.

Things have been a little weird after he became aware that they were both single. Mostly because, he’s pretty sure that Clarke has also come to realize it. When he turns to look at her, he often finds her already looking. Their innocent touches are now more frequent and linger just a bit longer.

Bellamy has come to realize that he doesn’t want to be single and the reason he doesn’t want to be single is because he wants his best friend to not be single with him.

There’s just never a right time to tell her.

“So, what did you do today?” he asks.

Despite the exhaustion and jetlag that’s surly setting in, Clarke jumps into an animated retelling of the flight and arriving at their hotel room just in time to change clothes and head back out to walk the streets of Paris to get their bearings before their tours officially start tomorrow.

“I’m a little disappointed that we’re doing the Louvre first thing tomorrow. I was hoping to be a little more alert for that.”

“Your coffee addiction hasn’t stopped just because you’re in another country,” he points out as he gets in his car.

She laughs, “Jeez, you are such an ass.”

He starts the car but doesn’t leave just yet; afraid the long distance call will drop out.

“What are you doing now?” he asks into the comfortable silence.

“Admiring the view,” she admits softly. “It really is gorgeous all lit up. Makes me want to dig out my sketchbook.”

“You have a week, Princess,” he chuckles. “Don’t screw up your jetlag even more by losing track of time in your drawings on the first night.”

She’s quiet again before confessing softer somehow, “It also makes me wish you were here.”

His heart clenches in his chest and he wills himself to sound normal. “Maybe next time,” he tries for teasing but it comes out almost wistful.

“Next time, hmmm?” Clarke hums. “You’d come to Paris with me?” And he’s sure she’s flirting with him.

“Well, maybe not for our first date,” he says, “But maybe, like, our fifth or something.”

Clarke’s quiet for a long time and he’s afraid he’s overstepped, misread the room. He’s about to take it back, play it off as a joke when she finally speaks.

“And what would a first date look like?” she asks with what he thinks is hope in her voice.

He swallows a couple of times. “Well,” he starts, “Since you’re already getting some of the best museum experiences, I’d probably settle for dinner and a movie. Something cheesy that’s playing at the dollar theater; where we’re the only ones there and can yell at the screen.”

She chuckles and his heart flutters, “We already do that, Bell. Quite frequently, actually.”

“Yeah, but if it’s a date then I’d get to kiss you at the end of it.”

“What? No making out during the movie?” she asks and he can picture how cute her face gets when she pouts.

A grin spreads across his face and he’s grateful no one can see how goofy he must look.

“We’ll have to make sure it’s a really bad movie.”

*

(+i)

Clarke rubs some moisturizer on her face before capping the tube and tossing it into her bag on the bed. After ensuring that everything she’s going to need for tomorrow is packed, she zips it up and grabs one of Bellamy’s hoodies to slip on over her clothes.

Ever since he picked her up from the airport when she got back from her trip to Paris, and she ran directly into his arms, giving the other people waiting quite a show, there always seems to be one laying around, waiting for her to find it. She assumes that he gets as much of a thrill out of her wearing them as she does.

She heads down the stairs of their townhouse, passing various pictures and artwork, and shoots Raven one more text not to forget to bring her dress to the venue tomorrow. She’s supposed to help her get ready in the morning along with her mother. In the meantime, Abby has sent a car to pick her up and take her to the hotel. Easier to get ready if she’s already there for the stylist… something else her mother insisted on paying for. No matter how many times Clarke told her she didn’t care what her hair looked like because she was marrying the love of her life.

Clarke locks up the house and greets the driver, slipping into the backseat. She intends to spend the ride lost in thought, going through the checklists that were running through her head.

Their engagement had been on the short side but she didn’t mind. They were both ready to get on with this next chapter in their lives.

Her phone is resting loosely in her hand, face down on her knee, when it starts to vibrate with an incoming call. She holds her breath for a second, praying it isn’t the florist or the caterers. But when she sees the photo of her and Bellamy from New Year’s flash on the screen, she can’t help but smile.

She taps the button and greets him with a sultry, “Hi, handsome.”

“Hey,” he says and she can tell he has a soft smile on his face, the one just for her. “You just leave the house?”

“Yep. On my way to the hotel now, so hopefully you haven’t forgotten anything because it’s too late now.”

“The most important thing is already on its way,” he responds with a teasing lilt.

Clarke can’t help the sharp laugh that escapes her lips, “Oh my god! You are such a sap!”

“I was referring to the ring, obviously, Princess.”

“Oh, obviously,” she says, mock serious.

They chuckle to themselves for a few minutes and she honestly can’t tell if the driver is rolling his eyes or thinks they’re being cute from hearing one side of the conversation.

Bellamy sobers up first only to let out a groan. “I hate whose ever idea this is,” he whines.

“Aren’t you the history professor? Shouldn’t you know where common traditions and such come from?”

He scoffs, “No, I mean I hate whichever of our friends is making us do this.”

The two of them haven’t seen each other since yesterday morning, him having been spirited off by his groomsmen while she was left to spend last night alone in their bed. And now they’re meant to go one more night without seeing each other.

To Bellamy’s point, Clarke isn’t altogether sure why this is a tradition anymore, nor why they are choosing to follow this particular one. She and Bellamy aren’t even that superstitious! And yet somehow they were talked into spending the days leading up to their wedding apart.

“Ah,” she answers him now, “That would be Raven and Miller. Although, I’m pretty sure it had nothing to do with marriage traditions and has everything to do with getting back at us for making out in front of them so much.”

Bellamy scoffs again, “Well, jokes on them, because after tomorrow, I don’t ever have to stop kissing you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says, “We’ll have to come up to eat at some point.”

The driver pulls up under the awning of the hotel and Clarke gets out and grabs her bag before he’s able to get out and grab it for her. She gives him a wave and a simple thank you before heading through the sliding doors.

“How’s your room?” she asks into the phone as she bypasses the check in desk, her mother having already checked her in and given her the key card to her room this morning when they were getting their nails done.

He heaves a deep sigh. “Lonely,” he answers as she steps into the elevator. From what Clarke knows from his texts, Miller dropped him off here last night and left him to his own devices. Apparently, the best man gets to sleep next to his husband but Bellamy wasn’t allowed to sleep next to his soon-to-be wife.

She makes a split second decision and presses a different button, jolting the elevator to stop sooner than intended. When she steps off she casually offers, “I could help with that.”

“Oh yeah?” He chuckles. “You going to describe for me what you’re wearing?”

“Hmm,” she hums as if she’s considering it. “I could do that… but I was more thinking that I could show you.”

Clarke stops in front of a door and gives it a nice rhythmic knock.

She doesn’t have to wait long before it’s opening and Bellamy is standing in front of her with his phone against his ear and a huge grin on his face.

She lowers her own phone from her ear, pressing the end button without looking.

“Hi, handsome,” she manages before he’s pulling her into his room.

[snarktheater]

Ready Player Two — Opening Cutscene & Chapter 0

Hello again.

It’s been a while. I haven’t been active on this blog since, fittingly enough, Ready Player One. I was going to do this sooner—even had an alarm set up and everything—but then, it turns out, I’m feeling so much negativity about the world in general that a book just pales in comparison.

Seriously, I had to scrap this post’s entire intro because it’s not even 2020 anymore as I write this. And you know, maybe that’s for the best. I’m not really in the mood for doom and gloom and bitching anymore. I uninstalled Twitter from my phone a while back, I’ve been doing good at my daily writing sprints, my biggest fanfic project concluded on a positive note from people I didn’t even realize had been following it for years.

So I don’t know what this is going to be like. My commentary, I mean; I’ve heard echoes of what the book is like, so I’m not expecting a surprise there.

The book opens right after the end of Ready Player One, in a “Cutscene” where Wade recounts to us what happened after he won Halliday’s contest. It also assumes you remember exactly who the main characters of the book are, which is a bold move for a sequel that came out almost a decade after the original.

Technically, I could just look up the details I’m fuzzy about. But also, I think it’s more authentic if I don’t. I trust my memory enough that if I’m wrong, it’ll be in subtle enough ways that it’ll almost be a private jokes between all of us. An “if you know, you know” sort of error system. And I don’t think there’s anything more true to the spirit of this book than that.

Shoto had flown back home to Japan to take over operations at GSS’s Hokkaido division.

So Wade starts his tenure with nepotism. Wasn’t Shoto really young? Why is he qualified to run anything?

Aech was enjoying an extended vacation in Senegal, a country she’d dreamed of visiting her whole life, because her ancestors had come from there.

You know what, I’m not touching “send the token black character back to Africa.” This isn’t my lane.

And Samantha had flown back to Vancouver to pack up her belongings and say goodbye to her grandmother, Evelyn.

Why is she saying goodbye? Why, she’s moving to Columbus to be with Wade, of course! It’s not like there was anything else in her life. Was there? And why isn’t she referred to as Art3mis? I’m pretty sure Wade found out all of their offline names in the last book, and the inconsistency mildly bothers me.

These three sentences are back to back, by the way. Someone—I forget who—once described Ready Player One as a book that’s fun to write a wiki about, because it’s got fun concepts to summarize about until you realize that all the emotional connective tissue you need to turn a list of things into a story is missing, and that’s roughly how this first page feels.

Hell, the first line of the book is Wade telling us he remained offline for nine whole days after winning the contest, but by the end of the second paragraph we’re already to him logging back into the OASIS to "distract himself from [his and Samantha’s] reunion.

I’ll give Ernest Cline one thing: it feels like he wrote this opening nine days after the first book and did about as much maturing as a teenage boy would do between the two books.

Way more time is spent describing Wade’s OASIS rig, or the in-game planet where the climax of the last book happened, than anything else in this introduction. He is immediately greeted by a crowd of adoring fans who have been waiting over a week for him to come back in the game, because they’re all grateful that our protagonist and his friends restored their avatars after they were annihilated by the Sixers.

You’d think the adoring fans would serve some kind of purpose, or that something would happen, but no. Wade immediately goes “ew, people” and teleports away, since he essentially has ultimate powers within the game. With a caveat: the powers are actually coming from the Robes of Anorak he’s wearing, and I’m mentioning that in the hopes that it will pay off sometime in the book’s future, assuming Cline at least learned to do that. But still, let’s not skip too fast the fact that we introduced that crowd of adoring fans for no other purpose than to tell us they’re out there, because it fits right in with the last book’s attempts at saying as little as humanly possible in as many words as possible.

Anyway, Wade went back into Anorak’s study, where he arbitrarily checks out the Easter Egg he got at the end of the last book, and finds an inscription on it. I was dreading another riddle, but no, it’s just straight-up instructions to a vault in the GSS archives, so Wade logs off and goes to check it out.

Of course Halliday had put [the archives] [on the 13th floor]. In one of his favorite TV shows, Max Headroom, Network 23’s hidden research-and-development lab was located on the thirteenth floor. And The Thirteenth Floor was also the title of an old sci-fi film about virtual reality, released in 1999, right on the heels of both The Matrix and eXistenZ.

I’m equally shocked that it took two whole pages (on my ereader) to get to the first slew of references, and that one of these references is from 1999. I didn’t know we were allowed to think of anything that isn’t the 80s. Speaking of which, I’ll spare you the whole paragraph, but the book does feel the need to explain why it’s vault 42.

Inside the vault, there’s another egg containing a super-fancy and advanced OASIS headset. The egg also has a video monitor that plays a video message from James Halliday shortly before his death.

But despite his condition, he hadn’t used his OASIS avatar to record this message like he had with Anorak’s Invitation. For some reason, he’d chosen to appear in the flesh this time, under the brutal, unforgiving light of reality.

That oh-so-important message? An infodump about the headset’s working. He called it an OASIS Neural Interface, ONI for short. It basically lets you experience the OASIS through all your senses with sensory input just like the real thing, you know, that thing Wade had to get a fancy suit and massive rig to do in the first book. And yes, Wade does spend a paragraph or two comparing it to other works of science fiction. Of course he does.

More importantly, it also records all the sensory input into a separate file, which can then be replayed over to re-experience said sensations, or live someone else’s experiences. Halliday tries to frame it as a tool to generate communication and empathy, seemingly all without acknowledging the potential creepiness of that. But hey. Who knows. Maybe that’s because this is the setup stage, and it’ll pay off eventually.

I also wondered about the name Halliday had chosen for his invention. I’d seen enough anime to know that oni was also a Japanese word for a giant horned demon from the pits of hell.

Add “reducing Japan to anime” to the list of things the book has failed to improve upon. By the way, the narration insisted on spelling out ONI letter by letter earlier, so it’s weird to make that link now. It’s also just kind of inelegant to just tell us “this is the symbolism behind the name”, but that’s just the sort of thing I’ve come to expect from this book.

Anyway, the reason Halliday kept this for his successor to find is he wants Wade to test out the technology and decide if humanity is ready for it. Why Halliday thinks the most glorified pop culture trivia / video game competition qualifies you for such a decision should be a problem, but sadly, a lot of billionaires have said and done a lot of dumb and eerily similar things in the past few years since I read Ready Player One, so actually, I can’t fault the book for that one. Tragically, our fates really are in the hands of people who should rightfully be cartoon villains.

To his credit, Wade does question Halliday’s motives in keeping this under wraps at all rather than releasing it himself. So hey, maybe it really is setting something up.

Wade goes back to his office with the ONI, and we’re treated with this lovely piece of narration:

I was grateful that Samantha wasn’t there. I didn’t want to give her the opportunity to talk me out of testing the ONI. Because I was worried she might try to, and if she did, she would’ve succeeded. (I’d recently discovered that when you’re madly in love with someone they can persuade you to do pretty much anything.)

There’s a lot to unpack about the implications this has for their relationship, but it’s way too early in the book for me to editorialize when one character hasn’t even been on the page yet. So I’ll just leave it here for the record. Hopefully you see the problem without me needing to point it out anyway. If not, feel free to hit my inbox.

So Wade, confident in the fact that Halliday would have warned him if there were any risks to using the ONI, decides to try it out. Even though he immediately follows up that statement with this:

According to the ONI documentation, forcibly removing the headset while it was in operation could severely damage the wearer’s brain and/or leave them in a permanent coma. So the titanium-reinforced safety bands made certain this couldn’t happen. I found this little detail comforting instead of unsettling. Riding in an automobile was risky, too, if you didn’t wear your seatbelt…

Wade. My dude. What the fuck is this simile. And why don’t you see that maybe a machine where you’re forcibly trapping yourself inside a virtual reality might be dangerous? Hell, when I said this was setting something up, I was expecting something vaguely interesting about the potential breach of privacy, or how you don’t need to literally walk in someone’s shoes to feel empathy for them, or anything substantial, but now I’m worried it’ll just end up as “man, sometimes science fiction machines will scramble your brain, isn’t that weird”?

Like, I don’t know, to me “it will put you in a coma” sounds like a good reason for Halliday not to release the ONI. Maybe we can still make it into a commentary on how corporations will sell stuff they know is directly harmful if it can make them a profit. Who knows.

The book waffles on about more risks, and the mechanics of how the ONI activates, and the warning disclaimer when it does turn on. Specifically, there’s a time limit of twelve consecutive hours, after which you’ll be automatically logged out, because yes, using the thing for too long can also cause brain damage.

Gregarious Simulation Systems will not be held responsible for any injuries caused by improper use of the OASIS Neural Interface.

See, now there’s the sort of thing that could be a source for commentary, but no, instead it’s thrown in there like it’s nothing and Wade glosses over the entire warning, and instead keep wondering why Halliday didn’t just release the ONI if even the safety disclaimers were in place.

By the way: this whole system has apparently gone through several independent human trials already, so I’m finding it hard to imagine that it’s actually a secret Halliday took to the grave as Wade says. Unless he also had everyone involved in those trials killed afterwards. Or maybe they all ended up with brain damage which rendered them incapable of talking about it.

And before you think I’m being unfair and maybe we’re supposed to understand that ourselves even if the protagonist doesn’t, I’ll remind you that the book didn’t trust its reader to know what the number 42 is a reference to, or what an oni is, even though I don’t think anyone in the target audience wouldn’t know about these two things.

There’s also the fact that, since this book came out, a video game did release with a scene intentionally designed to cause seizures, and it had countless fans flocking to defend it over that fact. So you’ll have to excuse me if I’m not assuming this book’s stance on whether your video game console causes brain damage and possibly coma is actually a bad thing, or just an acceptable risk.

Wade certainly seems to think so, since he agrees to the terms of service.

As the timestamp faded away, it was replaced by a short message, just three words long—the last thing I would see before I left the real world and entered the virtual one. But they weren’t the three words I was used to seeing. I—like every other ONI user to come—was greeted by a new message Halliday had created, to welcome those visitors who had adopted his new technology: READY PLAYER TWO

Well now that’s just silly.

And that’s our opening cutscene. And while this post is already long enough, I feel like I have to go on to chapter 0, because it feels like barely anything has happened so far. We didn’t even introduce any new character motivation or conflict, or a mystery to set the plot into motion, unless I’m supposed to think “why didn’t Halliday release this?” counts.

So Wade is back into the OASIS, and tells us about how much more real it all feels thanks to the ONI. I especially have to question how he can smell or taste anything—both of which he tells us he can. Like, who coded that? Did Halliday implement every single smell and taste himself, without anyone noticing? I hope you don’t need me to tell you that’s not typically how features are added to a large-scale video game.

If it feels like I’m nitpicking at the logic of the book, even though I always say I’m not very interested in that and would rather talk themes, it’s because I am, because there isn’t much else to discuss so far. Wade is happy about tasting virtual fruit. That’s the scene.

He tests out if he can feel pain, but no, the ONI reduces pain (a gunshot is translated as “a hard pinch”). On one hand, good, it would be a nightmare otherwise. On the other hand, I sort of hope there’s a setting for that in there, because otherwise, you just lost an entire clientele of kinksters.

This was it—the final, inevitable step in the evolution of videogames and virtual reality. The simulation had now become indistinguishable from real life.

Ah, now we have some juicy themes. Because if you think this is the inevitable final step in the evolution of video games, I invite you to look at literally any other art form, and what happened to them once hyperrealism became easy. Hint: they didn’t stop evolving, because it turns out realism isn’t the only goal one can achieve with art.

The realism discussion is not a new one in video games, mind you. In case you’re out of the loop: most of the big-budget blockbuster games (“AAA” as they’re known) are aiming for hyperrealism nowadays, and it results in development teams being forced to work in horrible conditions (known with the equally horrible euphemism of “crunch”). And, because it turns out that 1) humans working themselves to the bones isn’t healthy and 2) racing for realism with little to no vision besides it makes for poor creativity, a lot of these games come out as disappointments. Oh, there are hordes of Gamers™ who will defend them to the bitter end, but inevitably, in the months following release, the defense cools off while the criticism keeps on going, because the defense was a knee-jerk reaction born of a mix of people hyping themselves up for a game they hadn’t seen that much of yet, then attaching a part of their identity to liking that thing.

Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that this throwaway line feels like it comes from someone who is so out of touch as to accidentally support a world view that has in fact resulted in the biggest part of the industry stagnating artistically while growing more toxic for the people working in it. All the while, more and more independent games come out every year, proving that that realism is nowhere near the most important thing to making a game good, and that you can achieve much better results with a small team.

What I’m trying to say is: watch Jim Sterling’s channel, they’ve been bleeding out subscribers since they came out as nonbinary and make much better commentary on this topic than I could, and play Hades.

Back to the book, which sadly hasn’t become any more interesting since I decided to go on a tangent. Wade tests the ONI functions some more, all the while musing on how he knows Samantha would disapprove but that he doesn’t care, because what loving relationship doesn’t consist of that?

Among the functions, he tries the ONI files, the aforementioned recordings of someone else’s experiences. Specifically, a woman, which Wade tells us by telling us he suddenly has breasts, I suppose because Ernest Cline saw that subreddit about men writing women and went “I want a piece of that”. Oh, and also, those sample files were recorded from real people, in the real world. And yes, this goes exactly where you think it does.

SEX-M-F.oni, SEX-F-F.oni, and SEX-Nonbinary.oni

Look, I actually started writing a complaint about the boobs thing, and I deleted it, but now Cline is doing it on purpose. So, here goes: I saw a quote from this book on Twitter that looked like Cline attempting to make up for Wade’s casual transphobia in the first book. It wasn’t good, but it at least sounded like he was trying. So to immediately get this is…a lot? Let’s go for a lot.

I can almost excuse the use of “M” and “F”. You gotta name your files and you could excuse a non-exhaustive list. But…nonbinary? On one hand, I want to know what Cline means. On the other hand, I don’t think he can come up with an answer I’ll find satisfactory.

We are thankfully spared from finding out because Wade has just lost his virginity to Samantha a few days ago and he’s 1) not ready for this and 2) pretty sure this counts as cheating. You could make a case that this is more like porn, but I can see that this is more of a personal distinction anyway, and I can respect that one. Plus, you know. I don’t want to find out.

Wade logs off, and he can’t tell the difference between the OASIS with the ONI, and decides this will change the world. And then it’s back to the “how did he do it and keep it a secret”, even though Wade now finds out in the documentation that this had been in development for twenty-five years, basically since the OASIS launched. So it’s not really that it’s a secret, so much as there are a lot of people under very strict NDAs out there. Or, again, they’re all dead and/or otherwise incapacitated.

The ONI is the product of the Accessibility Research Lab, and Wade tells us about other stuff that the lab has produced using similar technology, mostly for medical purposes.

GSS patented each of the Accessibility Research Lab’s inventions, but Halliday never made any effort to profit from them. Instead, he set up a program to give these neuroprosthetic implants away, to any OASIS users who could benefit from them. GSS even subsidized the cost of their implant surgery.

Look, it’s nice that you want Halliday to be the good guy through and through, but it’s kind of hard to take any social commentary seriously when you think this is how a billionaire is made. Hell, even when he shut down the lab and fired its entire staff, he gave them a big enough severance package to set them for life. You know. Capitalism!

Hey, remember when Samantha said she was going to end world hunger if she won the contest, a thing billionaires right now could be doing, but aren’t, and she is now the co-owner of GSS? Yeah, I kind of hope the book remembers that too.

Speaking of the co-owners, the book just completely skips over the debate that our four main characters have over whether or not to release the ONI to the world. All we know is that they voted, and the vote goes in favor of releasing it. I mean, why have characters who could have opinions and feelings that could create a discussion? That might make us care about them! And who wants to care about characters in a story?

We put them on sale at the lowest possible price, to make sure as many people as possible could experience the OASIS Neural Interface for themselves.

What exactly is “the lowest possible price” here? Your company literally owns money. Like, OASIS money is real money. There is literally nothing stopping you from giving them away, especially because what you’re giving away is access to the platform you’re already running for a profit.

It’s almost like, even trying to make “good billionaires” out of its protagonists, the book can’t stop and actually make them significantly good.

Oh, I should mention. If you thought my Ready Player One review was angry at capitalism, wait until you see what the past couple years have done to me.

Anyway, once they his 7,777,777 simultaneous ONI users, a new riddle shows up on Halliday’s website. Because yep: our plot is apparently not about the implications of releasing the ONI, or any of the potential ideological discussions associated with that, it’s another riddle. Oh boy, do I wish I’d known that.

Seek the Seven Shards of the Siren’s Soul On the seven worlds where the Siren once played a role For each fragment my heir must pay a toll To once again make the Siren whole

I cannot wait to have the book give me just not enough information to solve the riddle until it’s solved by the book itself. That was so much fun the other…what was it, five times? Six times? Something like that. Wade already tells us the Siren might be Kira Morrow, because her alias was named after one of the sirens of Greek myth, so I can’t wait for that plot point to stick around. It was so fun to hear all about this man pining for another man’s wife the first time!

So this is the “Shard Riddle”. People are apparently convinced it was made by Wade and his crew as a publicity stunt, but of course, they know that that isn’t the case, and they also don’t know what that riddle is supposed to lead to. So, that’s great. We have a puzzle, and we also don’t know what the stakes are. All we know is that Wade wants to solve the puzzle essentially because it’s a challenge.

We skip over a year, and Wade tells us about how IOI collapses and gets absorbed by GSS because of the ONI’s launch. Remember IOI? They were the bad guys, so I guess we have to cheer?

GSS absorbed IOI and all of its assets, transforming us into an unstoppable megacorporation with a global monopoly on the world’s most popular entertainment, education, and communications platform.To celebrate, we released all of IOI’s indentured servants and forgave their outstanding debts.

On one hand: good for the slave. On the other hand: not gonna cheer for a monopoly, you guys.

Another year’s skip, and now 99% of the OASIS users are using the ONI, and yes, that includes trading their experiences with one another too. And I guess we’re still hand-waving any possible problems associated with that technology, because the technology is made so that all recordings must be shared and played through the OASIS.

This allowed us to weed out unsavory or illegal recordings before they could be shared with other users.

How? Do you know any of the problems associated with content moderations on the current platforms? I don’t know if I want to point to Youtube’s extremely faulty algorithm, Twitter’s complete apathy towards its Nazis, or Facebook doing moderation by making underpaid staff watch all potentially problematic content, which resulted in serious psychological damage to said staff.

You can’t just say that as if it solved everything. The chapter later says this is handled by an AI called “CenSoft”, and as an AI engineer myself, let me tell you: this is not going to work. Again: Youtube is the way it is for a reason.

It also let us maintain our monopoly on what was rapidly becoming the most popular form of entertainment in the history of the world.

And again, monopolies are totally a good thing as long as it’s in the right hands!

When I’m implying that the book does not care for any of these potential problems, I mean it. These enormous ethical issues are sidestepped in cold narratin, and we just keep going on introducing new slang that I hate, but have to quote so help you keep up.

“Sims” were recordings made inside the OASIS, and “Recs” were ONI recordings made in reality. Except that most kids no longer referred to it as “reality.” They called it “the Earl.” (A term derived from the initialism IRL.) And “Ito” was slang for “in the OASIS.” So Recs were recorded in the Earl, and Sims were created Ito.

There. You have been infodumped.

In the midst of all this (still extremely dry) exposition about how this changed media, we also get this tidbit:

You could take any drug, eat any kind of food, and have any kind of sex, without worrying about addiction, calories, or consequences.

Now, I was going to rant about this, but then, a page later, this happens and spares me the trouble:

I’d struggled with OASIS addiction before the ONI was released. Now logging on to the simulation was like mainlining some sort of chemically engineered superheroin.

So, you are aware that addiction isn’t just possible, but extremely facilitated by this. But sure, no worries! It’s perfectly safe! Because our protagonists are good.

Also, remember how the last book ended on a weak attempt at having a moral that maybe the real world is good, actually? Yeah, Wade tells us the ONI helps poor people live enjoyable lives in the OASIS. So. Fuck that message, I guess. It only applies if you’re the literal wealthiest man on Earth.

And me? All my dreams had come true. I’d gotten stupidly rich and absurdly famous. I’d fallen in love with my dream girl and she had fallen in love with me. Surely I was happy, right? Not so much, as this account will show.

Aside from the aforementioned returning OASIS affiction, there’s the Shard riddle that Wade is now obsessed with, to the point of offering a billion-dollar reward to anyone with information about the riddle’s answer.

I announced this reward with a stylized short film that I modeled after Anorak’s Invitation. I hoped it would seem like a lighthearted play on Halliday’s contest instead of a desperate cry for help. It seemed to work.

On one hand: good, Wade finally has a character flaw that the book actually acknowledges as a character flaw. I can work with that. On the other hand: this is all told to me in such a dispassionate that I am dreading how the book will handle this character flaw. Which is to say, I’m not expecting it to be very good.

(For a brief time, some of the younger, more idealistic shard hunters referred to themselves as “shunters” to differentiate themselves from their elder counterparts. But when everyone began to call them “sharters” instead, they changed their minds and started to call themselves gunters too. The moniker still fit. The Seven Shards were Easter eggs hidden by Halliday, and we were all hunting for them.)

Especially when this is something the narration feels is more important to tell me about.

Anyway, skip another year, and a gunter finally leads Wade to the First Shard. Solved that riddle, I guess. And wait, wasn’t part of why IOI was ~evil~ in the first book that they were paying people to find the Easter Egg for them? How is this any different, Wade?

And when I picked it up, I set in motion a series of events that would drastically alter the fate of the human race. As one of the only eyewitnesses to these historic events, I feel obligated to give my own written account of what occurred. So that future generations—if there are any—will have all the facts at their disposal when they decide how to judge my actions.

And that is the end of our chapter 0. And can I just say: what a mess already. I don’t think my snark can properly convey how utterly devoid of emotion this book’s writing is, and that alone is honestly more of a turn-off than anything else in the book so far. Even, knowing that I railed about it in the first book, I still feel newly unprepared for it. And it’s not like this double-prologue is making me hopeful that the book will show an ounce more critical thinking—or decent fucking humanity towards marginalized groups—as its predecessor.

So, that’s a lot to look forward to! For the sake of my sanity and schedule, don’t expect me to do such big posts every time. I’ll probably do one chapter a week from now on, if that. We’re in for a long ride, but I hope it’s worth it, at least.

[storygirl000]

ML Fic: Funhouse Mirror

Ao3 link here.

Summary: An akuma traps Alya in a pocket dimension with another version of herself. 

A far less pleasant version of herself.

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

A/N: This was inspired by one simple question: “What if Alya met the version of herself that always seems to pop up in salt fics?”

Everything Other!Alya does in this fic is based off of actual salt fics I’ve read.

00000

“Behold! Soon, you will all see what you could have been!”

Alya watched from the rooftop, camera focused on the villain before her.

From what she had gathered, Alix’s older brother had been akumatized once again, due to another fight with his father over the former’s weird conspiracy theories. This time, he’d been attempting to claim that the ancient Egyptians had perfected a form of dimensional travel.

From that argument had sprung the Dimensioner (god, Hawk Moth needed to come up with better names), who for the past fifteen minutes had presumably been sending random citizens to alternate dimensions.

As she watched, Ladybug and Chat Noir sprung onto the scene. They exchanged some banter with the villain, the villain demanded their Miraculouses, they fought, yadda yadda yadda. Same routine as always.

Alya remained focused on making sure that her camera recorded everything for the livestream she was hosting on her blog. It was rare that she could get this close to the akuma, and she wanted to catch every minute of it.

In fact, she was so focused on him, she didn’t notice one of the blasts Chat Noir had deflected was going towards her until it was too late to dodge it.

Her eyes widened. “Oh, fu-”

The light enveloped her, and everything went white.

00000

When she came to, Alya found herself floating in a white void.

She cursed under her breath and checked to make sure she hadn’t dropped her phone. She hadn’t; in fact, strangely enough, it was still livestreaming.

“Who are you?

Alya blinked. That voice sounded awfully familiar...

Probably because it was her voice.

She whirled around, and sure enough, another version of her was floating there. She seemed mostly the same, but she looked more...sullen? Alya didn’t know how to describe it.

“Are you...me?” she asked.

The other Alya nodded. “Looks like it. Man, this is surreal.”

“Did you get here the same way?”

“Rampaging akuma? Guess so.”

Alya smiled. “Oh, this is so cool! What are you like?”

The other Alya smirked. “Well, I’m an aspiring journalist, and I have a great best friend who I love hanging out with...”

Alya nodded. “Yeah, Marinette’s amazing!”

The other Alya froze, and her eyes narrowed.

“I’m sorry, did you just say Marinette?” she asked, her voice taking on an icy tone.

Alya gave an unsure nod. “Um, yeah?”

Other!Alya sighed. “I guess you haven’t wised up to her true nature yet.”

“What are you talking about?” Alya asked, a sinking feeling starting to overtake her.

“You know! She’s a bully, she refuses to help anyone even when they ask nicely, and she’s joined up with Chloe of all people!” Other!Alya rolled her eyes. “I ditched her a long time ago.”

Alya couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

There must be an explanation for this, she thought. Wait...this Alya comes from another universe. Maybe Marinette in that universe has a completely reversed personality or something?

“So, who is your best friend?” she asked.

Other!Alya smiled. “Only the best girl in the school! Lila!”

Alya almost choked on something.

“She’s super cool,” Other!Alya went on, ignoring her counterpart’s negative reaction. “She saved Jagged Stone’s kitten, she’s met Prince Ali, Austin Moon dated her for a while, and she interned under Lois Lane herself! And she says she can get me a job with her!”

There were so many things wrong with that story that Alya couldn’t process them all. She could process one thing, though: her counterpart was gullible as hell.

She was starting to have doubts about her “evil alternate Marinette” theory.

“Um, did you ever check and make sure that her stories were true?” she asked. “You know, like a real reporter?”

Her counterpart glared at her. “Do you have any proof that she’s actually lying, or are you just buying whatever bullshit Marinette feeds you?”

“I have plenty of proof that-”

“Whatever,” Other!Alya interrupted. “It’s probably all doctored, anyways, seeing as how you sided with Marinette on this issue.”

Alya had never wanted to stab someone this badly before.

“Ugh, first Marinette, then Ladybug abandons me, and now this!” Other!Alya groaned. “And I had plans for today, too!”

“Wait, Ladybug abandoned you?” Alya asked.

Her counterpart growled. “I was a casualty in her falling-out with Lila. She had the nerve to call the Ladyblog a piece of tabloid garbage! I only post the truth on there!”

Alya silently decided that this other version of Ladybug had a point.

“Whatever.” Her counterpart dismissively waved her hand. “After I get out of here, I’m finally going to prove to everyone that Marinette’s a liar and Chloe’s still a terrible person!”

“How?” Alya asked, suddenly worried.

Other!Alya smirked. “You know how they’ve been lying about how Chloe’s allergic to soy?”

Alya just nodded, not bothering to tell her that they weren’t lying about that – Chloe had known she was allergic since the fourth grade.

“Well, my mom’s taking me to visit the hotel while she prepares Chloe’s meal,” Other!Alya explained. “While I’m there, I’m going to sneak some soy into her meal and see how she reacts!”

Alya’s heart dropped into her stomach.

“You’re going to try and murder her?” she croaked, not quite believing what she was hearing.

Other!Alya scoffed. “Please, she’s not really allergic.”

“And what if she is?!”

“Then that’s one less bully on the face of the Earth,” Other!Alya replied, a wicked grin on her face.

Alya wanted to throw up. How could she – how could any version of her – be so cruel?!

Thankfully, before she could commit murder herself, the familiar glowing red ladybugs flew through the void, sending her back to the rooftop.

She was still too in shock to really do anything – except realize that she’d left the camera on and livestreamed the whole thing. She quickly turned it off.

Then, numbly, she started heading home.

00000

The next day, she walked to school, still reeling from what had happened last night.

She’d barely made it past the gates when she heard someone yell “ALYA!”, followed by three bodies tackling her in a hug.

“Guys?” Alya asked, startled. “What-”

“We saw your livestream last night!” Marinette told her.

“That other version of you...” Nino shuddered. “She was all kinds of messed up, man.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine how you must be feeling right now,” Adrien added.

Alya gave a small smile. “Thanks, you guys. I’m fine now. But can you promise me something?”

“What is it, babe?” Nino asked.

“...if I ever start acting like that for real, slap some sense into me.”

Marinette giggled. “Will do.”

And with that, the four of them headed for class.

[kiss-my-freckle]

2x11 Rewatch: Ko No Mono

Gif set can be found here.

2x10's end scene doubles with 2x11's opening. I'm saving those for a season three rewatch post. The bird-eating scene comes off rather sexual. "I don't hide from God." Hannibal has no reason to. He believes God created him in His image, and He collapses church roofs, so why bother. Hannibal was euphoric when he ate his first ortolan. Playing God... power over life and death. Best time for Will to bring up Freddie. "You must understand that blood and breath are only elements undergoing change to fuel your radiance. Just as the source of light is burning." Hannibal's Motto. He's trying to push Will to go full lion. Hannibal's comment gave Will a light bulb moment. You can see it in his response. His turn for peacocking, as I made mention when Abel went after Dr. Chilton before his date with the Ripper. Will is trying to impress Hannibal. Claiming to kill Freddie is one thing. He basically uses her fake murder to show Hannibal he's ready to push forward in his becoming, and at the same time, gives him reason to trust taking off his person suit by pulling a false match on Freddie's dental records. Will is most certainly doing this with Freddie because he's looking forward to putting Hannibal in prison for Abigail's murder. "Freddie had a longing to be noticed. She was noticed." Hannibal follows him as they've done in front of Jack several times before. "He's the one to be noticed now." Hannibal believes Will is giving him what he's wanted all along... the lion, full flame. "Freddie Lounds had to burn. She was fuel. Fire destroys and it creates. It is mythical. She won't rise from the ashes, but her killer will." 

Will is VERY upset that Margot is pregnant. He's staring off in silence as she and Hannibal talk. I didn't think anything of Will's comment and Margot's response on my first watch of this series until I hit Francis' storyline. Once I hit Hannibal's comment in 3x9, I knew. Will trusted having sex with her because she made him believe she was on birth control. I don't believe Hannibal planned for Margot to turn to Will to get pregnant, but he most certainly knows how Will feels about having children of his own. "A stepson absolves you of any biological blame. You know better than to breed. Can't pass on those terrible traits you fear the most." Will sweats it out from a nightmare. Not sure the purpose of it because he didn't kill Freddie and they used a male stunt double for the scene. But his scenes with Alana in this episode are hilarious. I love the way Will basically slams the door in her face. He cares about her, but he's still pissed. She didn't believe him before. Now she's at his door, believing he killed Freddie. 

A lot of this is setting up for season three. Hannibal reminds Mason that his father is dead. You see that about his character... how he was not only educated by his father, but is quite driven to make him proud. Definitely a daddy's boy, that's why Mason talks about him so much. Hannibal sends him on the path to take Margot's unborn child. Full intent there. He wants Will to kill Mason, to push the lion even more. Will is having trouble wrapping his head around this baby. That's why he's only anticipating attachment. Different for Abigail, and it shows. I think this is when Hannibal realized Will wanted a non-biological child. He asked him about the baby, but Will responded with Abigail. "I still dream about Abigail. I dream that I'm... teaching her how to fish." He cares more about her, and he's most certainly hoping to arrest her killer. He’s heartbroken, and Hannibal does nothing to ease his pain. He actually fuels it with his comments. The teacup that comes together in this scene is for Abigail. 

Hannibal pulls up Freddie's fake body. "She won't rise from the ashes, but her killer will." Alana's comment is all you need, and take note Will's response to it. Showing their love for each other out in the open. Don't underestimate Alana as a profiler. She's spot-on with Will, pre-pilot and now. The lion always fantasized about killing, but he was trained to suppress his instincts. She realizes he's now being guided to act on them. "It's a courtship." Two deadly wildcats. Hannibal speaks of Will's becoming, and he responds with questions because he's angry at Hannibal for sacrificing Abigail for the sake of it. Their scene here is quite something. Every time Will speaks of Abigail, Hannibal pisses him off even more. 

"I have no confidence that I know Hannibal Lecter anymore. Even with as much as you know or think you know Hannibal, you don't know him either. And you don't know Will. You are going to lose, Jack! If you haven't lost already." Forehadowing the very end of the series, but it's Francis' storyline that makes it possible. Will's scene with Mason is sexy. The way he checks out his pig set-up, knowing very well what it's used for, beats the hell out of him and threatens him with a gun. Will knows what Hannibal wants. He’d rather put Hannibal in the position to kill Mason or die because he wants to arrest him. "Dr. Lecter is the one you want to be feeding to your pigs." Will is pissed as hell.

"He endured death as a lamb; he devoured it as a lion." - Augustine

Shiva is perfect for this episode, for Will's character. "He has a benefactor who admires his destruction." The lamb is laid waste to give rise to the lion. When you watch the series finale, refer back to this episode, to Shiva. That's why they go with fire for Francis and they set Dr. Chilton on fire. Will's false becoming to his real becoming. What your'e left with is a repeat of S3, but the players on the board are different. Instead of Hannibal taking off with Bedelia and attempting to eat Will, he takes off with Will and eats Bedelia. Push forward from there with Jack, Alana, and Dr. Chilton... and whatever roles they’d play. But yeah... what you see of Hannibal and Will during Francis’ storyline... they’re picking up where they left off in their courtship. That’s why Will asks Bedelia if Hannibal is in love with him. Allowing Will to act as bait to catch Hannibal was Jack’s mistake. Because Will is most certainly a killer, and he’s connecting with Hannibal in the process. 

[ardentmuse]

Rogue Choices - Prologue (Kingsman x Reader)

Kingsman - Harry Hart x reader, Eggsy Unwin x Reader, Merlin (Hamish) x Reader  (you decide!)

Summary: As a new agent, Arthur gives you your last big assignment before you are approved to run missions on your own, only this time you get to pick your partner. And who says you can’t mix business and pleasure.

Wordcount: 5.8k (and this is just the intro!)

Warnings: fluff, sexual tension, talk of violence

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

(Note: I started this a long time ago but had to pause because Twine was doing weird things. It’s meant as a fully interactive piece, but I think we can make it work here on tumblr and AO3 with different chapter links. So I’m putting it out into the world to see if you all like it!)

PROLOGUE

Two strong raps on the door grant you a gentle, “Come in.”

As you turn the handle and enter, the smell of old books and polished wood fills your nostrils. Arthur’s office is a proper executive space. Shelves are lined with old tombs that must have been passed down for generations. The rich, plush Persian rug is worm upon the edges from years of use, but still draws the eye with its vibrant reds and subtle blues. Two large and striking leather wingbacks rest before a sturdy walnut desk, at which sits a patient Arthur, who doesn’t even bother to lift his gaze from the files before him as he hears you enter.

“Agent Kay, please take a seat.”

You do as you are bid, leaning back into the worn leather to take in the countenance of you boss. He seems tired, the grey hair of his eyebrows coming together as he squints at the documents before him. But even with the slight bags under his eyes, he is still the image of a proper gentleman. His collar is expertly pressed and his turtle shell glasses sit low on the bridge of his nose, just as you imagine Churchill’s might have.

After a few moments, he shuffles the papers aside and levels his eyes with yours.

“It seems you received the memo that I needed to see you?”

You laugh, “Your assistant nearly tackled me as I left lunch.”

“Eager kid, that one. He’ll make a good agent someday, too,” he muses, and then with a wry smile adds, “Much like you.”

“I’m already an agent, Arthur.”

“But mayhaps a good one given time,” he says, his eyebrows rising ever so slightly in challenge.

You haven’t been a secret agent long, having earned the title only a few months prior. The selection process to join the Kingsman was grueling to say the least, but you had been Arthur’s hand picked candidate. Only upon your recruitment did you understand just how much Arthur, a second father to you in so many ways, had primed you from your youth for this very role you doesn’t even know existed.

But nothing, not even Arthur, could have prepared you for the stress of being a Kingsman agent out in the field. Taking down the world’s most harrowing criminals, dismantling sex trafficking rings and stopping terrorist attacks takes a toll on the mind and body. Death is constantly right beside you, a single word or a single misstep enough to reveal your identity and get you killed. The work of Kingsman is highly classified, incredibly dangerous, and outside the bounds of traditional justice. You are a ghost, a guardian angel just outside the realm of men, leaving only vague notions of what could have been: a newspaper headline, a five o’clock story on Radio 4, a traffic jam or a flight delay. Ignorance is bliss as they say, but you now know the dark underbelly, the secret of which is the source of bliss for so many.

You sigh and hold your hand against your thigh to stop yourself from fidgeting. The shoulders on your suit, the well-fitted tweed of our Kingsman uniform, seem to tighten as Arthur continues to stare at you, waiting for your protest.

“What are you getting at?”

Arthur laughs as he pivots in his chair and presses on the spine of a book behind his desk. Instantly, the two shelves pull forward and slide to the sides, revealing an entire wall of flat screens and holograms projecting outward. You can’t make out all the details but the lower corner contains a building schematic and the top right shows the animated, scowling face of whom you can only assume is your organization’s latest target.

“Andrej Jankovic. Former Russian operative now based in Cyprus, leading what we’ve learned is the largest money laundering ring in the world. We’ve been tracking him for months, but,” he stops talking to focus on the movement of his fingers, swiping away spreadsheets to pull up live surveillance footage of the target, “As you can see, he covers his tracks very well.”

You watch on the screen as the man sips coffee in a small café. Four different cell phones lay out before him, concealed under the newspaper through which he flips lazily as he takes in the sea just outside the window. He is younger than you expect for such high crimes, with not a wrinkle in sight upon his face. His dark hair is long and flung haphazardly to one side but his facial hair in contrast is shaven with precision, just outlining his harsh jawline. He is striking in that brooding sort of way, long Roman nose and chiseled muscles. You might consider him handsome in a different life where your mind isn’t trained to notice the harshness of his brow or how quickly his eyes narrow with disdain each time someone new enters his vision.

“He is certainly… something,”

“Killed three people just yesterday for using checks,” Arthur throws your way as if that is something to marvel.

You swallow, still not comfortable with just how common death is in your new line of work.

“He’s ruthless and calculating, incredibly thorough and uncommonly intelligent. We’re never going to catch him with paper trails alone. There won’t be any. And simply taking him out leaves the whole rest of the corrupt network up and running. We need names.” Arthur swivels in his chair so he is facing you once again, resting his elbows upon the wood of his desk with a thud. “And I think you can get them.”

“Wait, really? You’re trusting me with this?”

You feel your jaw go slack. Biggest money launderer in the world, and Arthur thinks you can handle it? These past few months have felt like a probationary period, working alongside other agents, cleaning up their messes and assisting in communications and research. Your field time has been limited to sitting in corners of crowded rooms, observing more senior agents doing the hard work.

Arthur raps his fingers against the stack of papers before him.

“I think he’ll take kindly to you. If our intelligence is correct, he’ll be most susceptible to your…”

“Charm?” you insert.

“At least more than that of any other agent,” Arthur confirms. “Now don’t misunderstand me. It is not my intention to send you out alone. You will need a partner. Consider this your last test before I set you loose, Kay.”

Arthur picks up papers before him, writes quickly on a post-it that he places on the top of the stack, and then thrusts his arms forward to you.

“You have until tomorrow night to select a partner and review this research material. The jet leaves Friday.”

He doesn’t have to dismiss you with words. The way he pivots his body back to the screens behind him is signal enough that your questions will only be addressed after you thoroughly review the case.

And so you stand and make your way back into the labyrinth of the Kingsman manor to begin to wrap your mind around your new mission.

Just as the door closes behind you, a voice calls almost directly into your ear.

“Our mighty leading givin’ you a hard time, there, newbie?”

With a shocked puff of breath, you pivot on your heels to see the broad chest and shoulders of Eggsy just inches from your face. He is reclining casually against the doorframe, his arms crossing over his chest matching the cross of his ankles, all casual and cool. The cheeky grin upon his face, showing you those pristinely white teeth, lets you know your startled response is exactly what he was hoping to see.

“You’re never as alone as you think you are, my love,” he purrs with a rub of his palm into your shoulder, stilling the jump of your body at his appearance. “Rule number one of this spy gig.”

His deft hands make calculated movement against your collarbone, each brush bringing just the tip of his fingers against your pulse point, as though trying to discreetly test how much his proximity is impacting you. Your body goes stiff at the sensation, not in fear or discomfort, but in confusion. Eggsy smiles that disarming smile of his. He leans forward, his mouth finding a place beside your ear.

“You know, I think I still have quite a bit to teach you.”

The feel of his breath combined with the gentle graze of his nails against your throat make your breath hitch, goosebumps running down your chest. You hate how clear your responses are to these sorts of flirtations and so you divert your gaze to the place where the tips of his oxfords are pressed against your shoes.

At your lack of response, Eggsy drums his fingers across your shoulder, tickling you. You laugh and pull back slightly, enough to actually take in his features: his jaw, sharp and square and his skin kissed with just a tint of sun, his blue eyes glowing with humor behind his glasses. And with that last realization, you sigh. He is right. You are never as alone as you think, especially at Kingsman, with those silly glasses recording almost every interaction for Merlin or whomever to review at their convenience.

“You know, it seems everyone thinks I still have much to learn.”

Eggsy gives you a quick slap on the back, pulling his body fully from yours.

“That’s what big boss man is on you about?” he says as he begins walking down the hall, leading you out of the offices spaces and back towards the communal agent quarters. “Ill-timed joke, then. My bad, love.”

As you turn the corner into the grand stairway, you notice the chasm between your bodies. Eggsy is two steps in front and his feet light, tossing a look back towards you as he continues his talking, as if he wasn’t just holding his body only inches for your own, running his calloused fingers across the sensitive flesh of your neck and raising your blood pressure, not just giving you dazzling smiles and teasing your earlobes with his hushed breaths. That is Eggsy, flirtation and friendship, on and off, hot and cold, and always just enough honesty in his eyes in those moments to make you question which is the act.

After a long walk through parlors and the kitchens, laughing about your dogs and the antics that came out of the latest team meeting, you find yourself standing in front of the control room with the majority of your tension about your mission lost somewhere in the depths of your brain.

“Now this is where I leave you,” Eggsy says.

You turn with a huff to your friend.

“Why didn’t you tell me Merlin sent you to find me?”

The corner of Eggsy’s mouth turned upward in that too-seductive half-smile he had perfected somewhere between you first meeting him and right now,

“You’re much more fun when you aren’t stressing about work.” His eyes scanned from your body, slow and intentional, until his gaze came to rest on your lips, now just slightly parted from his clearly heated evaluation. He smiled at your response. “Much more fun.”

You shake your head at him, always the tease.

“You really believe I would have had you laughing after Arthur had you down if your mind had also been churning on what Mr. Stoic McSeriousface wanted with you?”

You pout. Eggsy knows of your friendship with Merlin, the tech head for your organization. You know he is just trying to get a stir out of you.

But before you can answer, Eggsy moves forward. You step back and find the door pressing against your back.

“You’re going to be the death of me with that pout, you know.”

After a silent beat between you, the air growing thicker as you stare each other down, Eggsy leans forward, raising his hand the way he sometimes does to brush stray hairs from your face. But instead, his hand moves beyond your shoulder, making contact with the wood of the door. He knocks hard and heavy.

“Enjoy being bored to death, peaches,” he whispers to you before slinking down the hall.

Eggsy turns the corner just as Merlin opens the door to his workspace. You take note of his expression as he looks down the hall. It really is stoic, but when his face sets upon you, it immediately changes into something soft and inviting, encouraging even.

“Kay, glad you’re here.” He opens the door a little wider and then continues, “Come in.”  

“Good afternoon, Merlin,” you say as you move into the tech space, Merlin following closely behind.

You throw yourself down on the vintage Eames lounge chair that sits in the corner of the room, placing your stack of papers on the floor as you allow yourself the joy of reclining deeply into the headrest.

Merlin pats the footrest as he passes by, inviting you to relax. He moves towards his desk, computer, and all the hundreds of gadgets that are organized upon the shelves beside.

“So, what do you have for me?” you ask as you follow through on Merlin’s request to fully recline yourself. “Details on Jankovic?”

“Yes, and no,” he says, not meeting your eyes. He takes a seat and begins typing away.

The rhythmic ping of keys give you a moment to truly observe the man before you. Merlin is a striking, almost imposing, figure in appearance. He is tall and lithe, in complete control of each moment, in a way that conveyed a refined elegance to some and a rigid intent to others. His face is a masculine stone, like a sculpture of a Roman general, piercing in its seriousness. But he brings life to the features that you love: soft hazel eyes, busy dexterous hands, and a smooth Scottish accent that makes even the sweetest words from his mouth sound husky.

After a moment, he continues on, “Jankovic has a well-trained team and multi-layered cyber systems. His security, virtual and physical, is nearly impenetrable. I do believe I have found a few exploitable flaws, almost all of which require work on the ground to hijack. If we don’t go that route, I have managed to mirror the controls for the security system at the hotel he owns in Limassol, so I will be able to be of assistance once you land.”

You stand and move beside his desk. He has months of logs, meticulously organized and color-coded and tabulated, certain sections highlighted in red, denoting times of lower security or routine system upgrades. His work, just like him, is precise and detailed.

You lean down over his shoulder to take in the schematic of the hotel, several floors of suites and an entire rooftop entertaining space. Your mind conjures images of the ocean and soft sand beaches that are visible just below, the salt air and the setting sun filling your slowly numbing senses as you sip on your second cocktail and a stunningly handsome man runs his hands down your spine to the soft of your back.

But the strong scent of cedarwood and bergamot that you know to be Merlin bring you back to the present. Or maybe it aids in the fantasy.  When he reaches over to rest his hand on your back, pushing you forward slightly to watch the tiny dots he is pointing at with his other hand, you know where your mind got those ideas in the first place.

“I’ve discovered some patterns here that I think we can exploit, unless of course you decide making your presence known to the target is a better option.”

His fingers never leave your back as he speaks.

“Stealth or charisma,” you muse, “Just like a video game.”

“If so, your video games are quite limited,” he laughs. His fingers slide across your back as he rolls his chair to the other side of the room. You feel the absence most acutely.

“I’d hope there’d at least be some intelligence or combat in these skill trees of yours.”

His fingers run over the lock in the shelving. You hear a click and then the draw opens to reveal a pristine case containing three weapons you have yet to see, each encased in foam and glass like priceless works of art.

“Perhaps some lock-picking?” he turns and offered you a smile.

“I’ve definitely maxed out my luck, at least,” you say with a tilt to the draw of weapons, each more beautiful than the next.

“And enchantment, if I may be so bold,” his words are to the drawer of weapons and not your face, but your mind fills in his devastating lip bite and the thought has you melting and feeling the shyness creep over you.

The silence hangs between you two as Merlin flicks the lock on each case.

Finally with a deep breath, he says, “My latest prototypes. You’ll need all the protection you can get on this one, Kay, so take your pick.”

“Can’t I take all of them?”

Merlin turns and shots you a look so deadly, you feel the air leave your lungs.

“And risk you losing all my hard work? Never.”

His eyes are piercing yours, wearing you down, but you try your best to hold your ground.

“I’m quite trustworthy, Hamish,” you say with a gentle bit of your lip.

“First names, now? You jest, my dear,” he says with a narrowing of his eyes that let you know he likes the words more than he wants to admit. “Now pick.”

You feel the weight of the weapon in your hand, bouncing it a little to get comfortable.

“This one. I like this one,” you say finally.

Merlin shuts the drawers and turns to you. “And it likes you, too, Kay. Very fitting.”

You can’t help but smile at his praise. Eggsy is wrong, you know. Merlin isn’t so much serious as he is careful about his work.  You enjoy the lightness he shares with you, even if it is intercut with professional talk.

“Thank you, Merlin,” you say as you holster the weapon and grab your papers.

“You’re welcome.” Merlin’s head already back in his computer and typing away.

As you reach for the door, he calls you once more.

“And Kay?”

You turn to offer him your full attention and are struck by how serious he looks, the hard lines of his face all completely turned to you and his chin dipped in a soft reverence that you hope is reserved for you alone. His voice takes on that husky quality as he breathes out the next words.

“I know you’re a little overwhelmed right now, but you are among us for a reason. You’re a capable agent, Kay. Please don’t forget that.”

For a man who often shrugs off sentimentality, he manages to find just the right words to build you up and make you smile. You feel a tiny wave of pleasure course through you, easing a bit of the weight from your shoulders.

You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. With a curt nod, the sweetness of the moment lost, he returns his eyes to the screens beside him.

You sit in the study, the fire roaring beside you, as you pour through each meticulous document that Arthur gave you. Just skimming these papers alone is going to take you all the way to your flight and then some, and that doesn’t include the time you need to devise a plan, select a partner, and prep for execution. But none of those other things can happen until you wrap your mind fully around your mission. And if that means sitting here well into the morning, transcribing and memorizing and organizing, then that is what you are going to do.

You hear the clink of porcelain upon the table beside you. A mug of tea is now perched among your discarded notes, the steam cloud in the lamplight.

“Thought a pick-me-up might be in order,” Harry, your mentor and fellow agent, says above you as he moves to the other side of the room, carrying his own mug and his own papers, though his take the form of the news, several morning editions stacked together, a few in languages in which you weren’t aware Harry had proficiency.

With the flick of his wrists, Harry opens the top paper, but unlike his usual routine of reading through the headlines and major political scandals, Harry turns towards the back, folds the paper in half, and pulls out a pen from his jacket pocket.

You take a long sip of the tea he provided you, and are pleased to discover it isn’t his usual nighttime blend but a proper English brew, one that will provide you enough caffeine to get your through this work. If Harry is anything, it certainly is thoughtful.

You work in silence for fifteen minutes or so, Harry’s long legs elegantly crossed as he relaxes himself against the couch. He drums the end of the pen upon the tuffs of the Chesterfield. You can’t help but think about how, in the past six months, you had already fallen into a pleasant routine with these men you called your colleagues. Lunch with Eggsy, briefings and shooting practice with Merlin, and long nights, just like tonight, sitting beside Harry and working in companionable silence. With Harry, words are rarely needed. He is a man whose company creates an aura of calm that penetrates even the most intense of moments. The few missions on which you have accompanied him were smooth, efficient endeavors; they left you feeling confident and poised even by comparison to arguably the most poised man you have ever met.

“Attractive, eight letters, third letter is most likely a ‘g’,” Harry asks into the air.

You lift your head from a giant list of innocuously named shell corporations to consider his question.

Engaging? Magnetic?

“Hmmm,” he muses, scribbling upon the paper, “Thank you, darling.”

You only get a few more minutes of silence before he is piping up again.

“Unstable, six letters, last letter ‘y’.”

Wobbly? Flimsy? Shifty?

“Perfect,” Harry whispers over his swift pen strokes. The roar of the fire by now was dying down, the pleasant crackle of embers scenting the room in hickory and smoke. You find yourself fighting the exhaustion that is coming over your body at the sheer comfort of your company and the ambiance the room provides.

Not thirty seconds pass by before Harry is calling your way once more.

“To proceed, four let-“

“Harry, are you trying to distract me from my work or is this crossword collaborative?”

Harry folds the paper shut and places it firm upon his lap. His eyes shift upward slowly, from your feet to your eyes, pausing upon the stack of papers spread out around you on all sides before he finds his way to your face. Harry’s lips curl into a soft smile, one that is made all the more precious by the way the fire’s reflection upon his face. He rubs at the bridge of his nose as he debates his words.

“I wouldn’t call it distracting as much as helping,” he finally decides, picking up the paper as he takes soft steps towards you.

Soft, that is the best word to describe Harry. Gentleness and patience and softness are what you associated with him most. Sure, you have seen his skills, watched him turn into a ruthless hit-man as the situation called for it, powerful and strong and confident. But the instant the bodies laid still before you, Harry’s steps grew light again. As he reached out his hand in serenity, kindly lifting you to your feet, brushing debris from your hair and asking in a whisper if you are safe.

“I’m not so sure how not doing my work is going to help me do my work,” you say as Harry pulls the footstool out beside you to sit. His back is perfectly straight despite the lack of support and you wonder if you body would ever be trained with the same precision as the seasoned agents you so admire.

“You’re thinking too much,” he says. He sits the newspaper down on top of your papers, covering up all your notes and drawing your focus to the absence of notes on his actual page. Nothing exists in the boxes, only in the margins and you notice how peculiar it appears.

“See, darling, this is you right now, taking each individual note and trying to assess it alone. If I went bullet by bullet through this crossword puzzle trying to figure out what it meant by every single word clue or question mark, I would have half the puzzle wrong.”

Harry is leaning over the newspaper now, his head awfully close to your own. The fluff of his brown curls are brushing lightly against your forehead. Despite the tickling, you don’t pull away.

Harry’s voice is low, requiring you to lean in. He wants this proximity. For what purpose, you don’t let you mind assume.

“Some clues like this one,” he says, pointing to 20-across ‘Author Silverstein,’ “Are easy to solve without context.” His hand moves to write the first bit within the puzzle: ‘shel.’

“But others,” he moves his pen to point at 4-down, ‘To proceed,’ and the three words he has written beside it: sail, toil, and till. Somehow his brain did the puzzling work of realizing long ago that the ‘l’ in ‘shel’ was the necessary fourth letter. “ Others require much more context.”

“And even still, some may seem to require context,” he says, pointing to the clue, ‘display of glee,’ which had nothing scribbled beside, “But actually require none at all, just experience and foresight.” And with that note, he moves quickly to the tiny space to which the clue corresponds and without checking anything else, writes ‘jig’ in large, bold, capital letters.

“Now how do you—“ you went to protest, but Harry interrupted you.

“Because it’s always jig. I know it could be ‘hah’ or ‘lol’ but it isn’t. It is always jig. There aren’t many other ways to get ‘j’s into the puzzle. Do a few crosswords and you don’t even have to finish reading the clue. That and emu. And Nave. V’s are tricky buggers, too.”

You sigh, “But I don’t have the experience to see the ‘j’ and the ‘v’ in our spy work yet. I just see the Silversteins and the capitals of France and the 2017 Best Picture winner.”

Harry’s hand reaches out to rub against your knuckles, comforting and supportive, “But, darling, you do. Every puzzle has a theme. Every target has his preferences. Find what is distinctive, what is rare. Trust your gut to see what doesn’t fit, what needs to be there because it can’t exist any other way. “

Harry lifts up the newspaper, revealing your workspace once again. He links his fingers with yours as he allows his free hand to run along the stack of papers before you.

“Scan,” he says, slow and emphatically. He lifts the stack like a book and flicks, one page each second with a satisfying click and swipe.

The first few pages go by with a blur. By the tenth, you are pulling out only a handful of words, though those words seem to make a story anyway: Ancoria, Konstantinos, $9,999, Ltd.

“Stop!” you say upon the sixtieth page or so. Harry’s hand grips yours a little tighter, sending a warm jolt down your spine. You see him smile out of the corner of your eyes at your apparent discovery.

“What do you see?” he asks, his shoulder brushing yours as he leans in. The rough wool of his jacket brushing against your bare arm is a pleasant contrast to the smooth skin of his palm that still pressed firmly into your own.

You use your free hand to point to the third transaction line.

“All the previous shell companies had Greece mythology names. Scylla, Nyx, Calliope. But this one is Roman: Decima. At least I think it is,” you bit your lip a little realizing this may be a stupid thing to call out, “But even if it isn’t, it doesn’t seem right. This also seems to be the only shell company for which we have names of the board of directors.”

Harry takes his pen and circles Decima with three big spins. He underlines each of the names listed on the board below and pulls the paper out of the stack and up to the top.

He draws his hands away from yours to close the pen and collect your stack together once more. He plops the newly assembled stack before you and makes to leave you. But as he stands with one knee against the footrest upon which he had been sitting, he hovers his body over you, his proximity doing little to help with the already intense heat of your skin from the fire. He leans forward and grazes his lips gently upon your forehead. As he pulls away, his hand finds your chin and he meets your gaze.

“That’s my girl,” he says with a smile before turning and walking swiftly out of the room, his newspaper abandoned to your pile.

With a renewed vigor, you dive deep into the papers, determined to see the odd inconsistencies that might provide context for the more common practices. As you continue to sip on your tea, you notice the cup had refilled and rewarmed itself. You never heard Harry enter the room at all.

The following morning, you wake with the sun. Little sleep had happened in the past day but you feel refreshed regardless. The long hours you had put in the night before resulted in quite a bit of relevant information and three distinct methods for tackling Jankovic, each with its merits and its challenges. But you are feeling confident for your meeting with Arthur, at least you were last night. This morning, you need to eat your breakfast and review your notes before providing your supervisor with your planned course of action.

You lift yourself from the plush comfort of your bed, the biggest benefit of spending the night at the manor, and walk towards your desk, which now is a much more organized collection of research: three distinct piles with three hand-written mission plans upon each.

You pull the blanket along with you, cocooning yourself as you sit at the desk and review your plans.

The first is a traditional approach: the honey-pot. In Andrej’s personal history, he has displayed a clear preference for your physical features. And even more, he has had no steady partners, just a series of lovers, all of whom were affiliated with other men simultaneously. In your time at Kingsman, it had already become clear that the type of people you took down got enjoyment out of breaking more than just the law.

Eggsy is the perfect partner for this plan. His flirtatious personality and social skills mean he can easily convince a group of people that you are a couple. With the gala at the hotel on Saturday, all it would take is a little skin and some well-placed winks on your end for Andrej to want to tempt you away from your handsome partner. And while you entertain Andrej’s attentions, Eggsy would be open to sneak into the depths of Andrej’s personal estate and gather what information was needed to take him down. Sure, this plan puts you right in the belly of the beast and therefore in the most direct line of danger, but it also gives you the best chance to adapt to new information and go with the flow.

The second plan is significantly less risky but requires more planning. A covert invasion of his security detail and hijacking of his automated banking systems would provide you all the information you needed to tear down the entire network. With Merlin’s mirror, you could cut down power to the hotel, sneak into the basement offices undetected, and bug and download what you needed. With Merlin, this plan could be flawless, with you using your combat background to take down the guards and his tech skills ensuring a full system overhaul without a trace. You would still need to get into the hotel, and the gala would work as a good cover, but unlike the honeypot, your goal would be to blend in as much as possible. It may not be the most glamourous plan, but it would certainly be the most efficient, and not to mention the most intimate, sneaking through darkened corridors and keeping as close as possible to avoid detection.

And finally the third plan would require approaching Jankovic directly, posing as British investors seeking to hide funds overseas, hoping to utilize Jankovic’s existing network to hide quite a bit of money quickly. And you’d be willing to pay for the services. You need credentials, as Andrej is a skeptical man, but he is also not the type of man who can pass up a quick cash opportunity. You could approach him at the gala, enquire about his services, and find out much from the horse’s mouth, supplementing what he tells you with the information would be able to mirror from his phones once you had him in the room with you. And in this, Harry could truly sign. A master of the art of blending in among the oddest of crowds, Harry could easily pose as the financial head of your organization, partners in crime in the truest sense. You wouldn’t have to steal anything in this plan. Andrej would give it freely, though it would require near perfect coordination between you and Harry.

As you add notes to the margins of your stacks, you look over at the post-it Arthur left on your files yesterday: Regroup noon, tomorrow. If you don’t leave now, you will be late. You throw on yesterday’s suit, scoop up what papers you need and rush to Arthur’s office.

The door is open when you arrive and Arthur is seated upon one of his couches, cutting into a perfectly roasted chicken breast as he beckons you forward.

“Discover anything useful?” he says after a swallow. He lifts his cloth napkin to his lips and waves out the door behind you. Pushing past you, his assistant cruises inside and grabs his plate with a nod before leaving.

Arthur waves a hand to the seat in front of him. You take your sit and go to speak, but before you can say a word, Arthur lifts a finger.

“Before you run me through the details, whom should I request be joining us for this briefing?”

“Um…”

And that’s a wrap for the prologue! Please let me know in the comments which route you’d like to me to work on first. :) 

All tags: @fangirlandnerd, @aerdnandreaa​, @thisisbullshytt​,  @cancerousjojian​, @whovianayesha​, @themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy​, @luna-xxxxx​, @sleepylunarwolf​, @starryrevelations​, @potter-thinking​, @all-by-myself98​, @bananafosters-and-books​, @cutie-bug​, @igotmadskills​, @hazelandcoconuts​, @yallgotkik​, @amberkay284​, @the-new-galahad, @13ofjuly​, @daft-not-punk​

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Merlin tags: @consultingdoctorwholock​, @sparrowharkness​