#had to do it to him (isolate him from his jacket environment)

[the-puffinry]

i was looking up different types of embroidery stitches (long after having started embroidering of course) when I saw this adorable dragon-chicken from 1640s England. just look at him. :')

[landinrris]

In which Lando's an infantryman and Carlos is a medic who practices self-destruction in the form of isolation. Tags: Vague un-named character death, vague depictions of violence, 2k word drabble

The medics of Lando’s company are a sort of enigma all their own. Stand-offish, isolated, avoidant—not wanting to get too close to the rest of the men. On the one hand, Lando understands. Treating fallen men is hard enough as it is, let alone the issues should that man be a friend.

And there are so many casualties—of course, the medics aren’t going to enmesh themselves in the pockets of camaraderie that form within the platoons like the rest of them.

Some of the medics are friendlier than others. Of the two medics in Lando’s company, one is slightly warmer than the other—more willing to joke around a bit. The other one though… the one with thick dark hair and permanently wide eyes… the one who sits on the outskirts of every group and stuffs his hands as far into his jacket pockets as he can get them to protect them from the cold... Lando wants to know him.

Carlos Sainz, Medic, 2nd Battalion, 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment of the 101st Airborne Division.

Carlos is one of the original men from the company who has somehow never been injured. He’s someone Lando has looked up to as if he were a god—as if he were invincible, made possible by the fact that he’d trained for two years before ever stepping foot back in Europe.

In the six months since being with the company, Lando’s only spoken to him a handful of times. Even when they were back in England awaiting their next set of orders, he’d kept to himself, only exchanging full sentences with the other medics.

Now, ever since they’ve been holed up in the snowy hellscape outside Bastogne, Carlos has taken his solitude to a new level.

Lando still watches Carlos in awe as he flits around the snowy ground between their foxholes, cheeks red from the cold and nose rubbed raw, like a deer—every footstep as light as the last. He practically blends into the environment with his light green-grey fatigues and helmet covered in a steady layer of snow and frost. His back might as well be permanently hunched from trying to keep a low profile. He must be what the army had in mind when they thought of their boys out here fighting the good fight.

As the weeks wear on though, Lando watches Carlos’ temper grow thinner like everyone else’s. He loses his scissors and spends an hour jumping between foxholes trying to filch some off another guy. He asks Lando for his and any spare morphine he has twice, not remembering he’d already done so.

Lando blows up on him for that—for the audacity to not remember such a recent conversation when there are so few of them. Is he that forgettable that Carlos can’t tell him apart from someone else? As if Lando is a brand-new replacement and not someone who’s been around through advances and retreats alike.

When Lando’s holed up in his own foxhole with an actual new replacement, a young kid who’s still wet behind the ears, his resentment toward Carlos dissipates. They’re undersupplied out here, barely any food or ammunition, let alone medical supplies. They’re quite literally surrounded by the enemy on all sides—remembering who he last asked for supplies is probably the last thing on Carlos’ mind.

And still, Lando can’t help but complain to some of the others about it. They let him, probably because it helps to take everyone’s mind off the borderline inhumane conditions. Besides, it isn’t like there’s much else to do while they wait for another assault to begin.

And then the kid from Lando’s foxhole takes a shot to the neck on a patrol he insists on taking the lead on.

It happens so fast. One second, the only noise is their boots crunching in the snow and the next, the air around them is filled with the cracking of bullets and splintering tree bark. Everyone around him drops to the ground and behind the nearby trees. They’re pinned for several seconds before the sergeant they’re following gathers his thoughts and throws out commands.

Lando tries to get to the kid, to get a bandage on him to stop the bleeding, but the constant barrage of bullets fired in their direction prevents him. The other soldiers attempt to lay down cover fire for Lando to get to him, but even that doesn’t work. He tries and he tries—yells himself hoarse for the kid to stop moving so the enemy soldiers will stop shooting long enough to save him.

Nameless hands hold Lando back by the shoulders and eventually pull him up and away when it’s clear they’re not going to win this.

Lando continues to scream until he has to put his feet under him and move himself back towards their line. And then, through it all is a figure perched on the ground against the trunk of a tree watching in the direction they’re running from.

It’s Carlos, looking like the angel of death himself—dark clothes against the white expanse of their world. The church was wrong when they said Hell was hot. Hell is frozen ground and six inches of packed snow. Hell is tree bursts and bullets. Hell is the kid from his foxhole lying in the snow and turning it red.

It’s not even like Lando was overly close to the kid. He was a replacement, someone who had no idea what he was getting into and whose first foray was the Ardennes Forest in winter. He’d only been here for a few weeks, Lando and him only having a few meaningful conversations that didn’t amount to much in the end. And now he’s gone, and Lando can’t even do the one thing he promised by getting his things from him.

Lando keeps going because he has to, but the weight hangs heavy on his mind for the rest of the day. This isn’t his first casualty. Hell, he didn’t expect the kid to last very long anyway given what they were currently up against, but they were supposed to have at least a bit more room to move.

The other medic, Max, lets Lando huddle up in his foxhole and not talk about it later that night. He can’t bear to be alone right now much less go back to his own hole. Max lets him crawl under the tarp and raises the thin army-issued blanket so Lando can get closer. It’s not much, but it’s a warm body—another living person who understands the horrors of what they’re going through.

If Lando were in a better mood and capable of coherent thought, he’d remark upon Carlos sliding his way into the foxhole an hour or two later, a relieved sigh on his lips. The thought that he’d been looking for Lando of all people is surprising. Carlos doesn’t talk to anyone but the other medic. Why is he looking for him?

Carlos doesn’t leave though, nor does he say anything to Max. Instead, he proceeds to hold a thinly wrapped chocolate bar out to him with hands shaking from the cold, a thick and low, “For you. Please eat it, Lando,” that leaves Lando speechless.

Lando looks at Carlos wearily, the gesture unexpected. The words seep into Lando’s bones and fill him with an unsettling warmth for how simple they are. His mother would be appalled to know he doesn’t say thank you, but his voice doesn’t work. All he can do is reach out and bite off a chunk, letting the sweetness melt over his tongue.

Carlos gives him this gift, shifts closer to him whether out of desire or coldness, and Lando can’t help but think this is some sort of new leaf they’re turning over.

Nothing truly changes around them after that night. The enemy still shells their location every day or so, the snow keeps falling, they remain surrounded. And yet, Lando lets himself gravitate to Carlos where he hadn’t before. What’s more—Carlos doesn’t try to stop him.

It’s unsettling how easily Carlos lets him in.

More and more men Lando had once thought were invincible start to fall, some from minor wounds and others from more serious ones. He can see the way Carlos’ hands start to shake more and more—the way Carlos loses some of the lightness in his steps. Lando has to pull him out of his foxhole once when someone’s yelling for a medic and Carlos is sitting there frozen while the sky explodes above them.

In the quiet aftermath, once everyone has calmed down and the silence is so thick it threatens to suffocate Lando, he finds and sits with Carlos. The sheer presence of the other man is enough to settle Lando’s nerves, the wordless presence Carlos offers acting like a balm to his soul. Maybe it helps to be next to the one person he’d trust to save his life.

Still, Carlos continues to pull back from chiming in on the group around him. He sits farther away, as if his very presence is a curse against the company, destined to bring violence and death upon them. Lando takes extra helpings of their meals and watery coffee over to him and sits perched on his own helmet. He half thinks he’s hallucinating, but Lando swears he sees Carlos’ shoulders relax a few inches when he’s nearby.

Not everything is downhill though. Sometimes, Lando can see remnants of the Carlos from the early days of this campaign. One afternoon, he jogs up to where Lando’s huddled at the edge of the line with two other guys in his characteristic little half-hunch. He asks some inane question with the authority of someone who’s on a mission—one that all three of them answer negatively, and then he’s gone again. The exchange leaves Lando with a fond smile on his face while the other two men seem lost.

“What?” Lando asks when he notices them looking at him.

“You don’t think it’s odd that you’re the only person he talks to, it seems like? Apart from Verstappen.”

Lando shrugs, unsure of how to respond even if it’s true. It’s not like he’s done anything significant to break Carlos from his shell. They’ve still barely talked. And really, the only thing Lando can think of is that he’s no longer letting Carlos use the demons in his head as a means to drive people away. Despite how hard he tries, Lando’s going to be there, and Carlos seems to have accepted that.

He gets a step further on a miraculously sunny afternoon seated in a foxhole at the edge of their line. Carlos crawls from the edge of the tree line and practically pours himself in next to Lando, shoving their shoulders together in unspoken fondness. They have to be quiet out here so close to the enemy, but Lando doesn’t mind.

He looks over just as a sunbeam is catching Carlos’ face and lighting up his eyes for the first time in weeks. The low-hanging clouds full of snow are gone, and in their place is the most beautiful shade of amber Lando thinks he’s ever seen. He swears he stops breathing, embarrassingly obvious even when he should be twice as discreet as he normally would be.

Carlos doesn’t look away though. “What are you looking at?” he asks instead.

Lando should deflect, maybe turn it into some sort of jibe, but he’s so caught off guard that all his normal excuses dry up. It takes more energy than it should to utter out the barely-there, “Nothing, I just… nothing.”

A ghost of a smirk tugs at Carlos’ lips before it’s gone. “Maybe you should watch the line then.” His hand brushes against Lando’s where he’s gripping his rifle and doesn’t move away.

Lando’s stomach lurches but he finds it in himself to roll his eyes anyway. “God, you’re annoying.”

The quiet laughter is enough to sustain Lando for weeks.

[starshower1215]

Blitzen and Hearthstone Headcanons: Homeless Version (with some Magnus)

I missed them a little bit.

Since Blitzen never wanted to go too far from Magnus, he would go to a very specific store, shop, or mall that played Taylor Swift's music so he could listen. He's a demigod, so using a cellphone is a bit difficult. Thus, access to Taylor Swift's music is difficult, and he really misses hearing the albums that never play on the radio, like Folklore, Red, Evermore, etc.

Hearth has come to terms with his own disability, but sometimes, this would give him the slightest bit of sadness, because he would love to listen to whatever it is Blitzen loves so much and, perhaps, even sing it for him to comfort him.

The uncleanliness of living on the streets really messed with Hearth's head. He would be very fastidious about the things he touched and did, because getting his clothing dirty would result in a lot of anxiety. He has a very deep appreciation for any shops that have products such as Lysol wipes or hand sanitizer available to the public.

The pale color of his hair and skin does not help either, as it makes it much easier to see how filthy he is.

Blitzen's tendency to indulge in the free things in life helped pull Hearth out of his own mind, though. On the occasions when they'd be together, and not a day-mother-elf and night-father-dwarf, Blitzen would take Hearth to explore the town. They loved checking the community notice board to see what's going on, and they made sure to invite Magnus with them to the community festivals, events, all the little things. This was a small light in Magnus' life after his mom died.

Blitzen, who was isolated from his home and therefore, all his designing materials, loved to window shop. He dragged Hearth around the malls and outlets and just imagined what it would be like to style the clothes, how he would adjust them and improve them. They'd play dress-up, too, probably with Magnus, too, much to the dismay of the shopkeepers.

Blitz's games of dress-up often evolved into games of pretend and playing House, which affected Hearth emotionally sometimes. They would mess around together at the empty checkout counters, pretending to make each other dinner and chatting about how their day went, making up details about the mundane lives they could only wish for.

I had previous head canons that Hearth was already in poor health due to his lack of proper eating habits, so he probably fell ill even more in the bad sanitary conditions. This might've triggered him to feel really guilty, and Blitz would do his best to help Hearth.

This goes both ways. Anyone would get sick in unsanitary conditions, and both of them have issues with this concept of "taking up space." Blitz would feel guilty or discomforted by the fact that he's taking up more attention than necessary. It seems contradictory, since he would love more attention towards himself and his talents, but desire can clash with trauma.

Blitzen always let Hearth wear some of his clothes to sleep, as Hearth is used to a much warmer environment, being from Alfheim. It was awkward at first, since Blitz was much smaller, but Hearth eventually got used to simply wrapping his clothes around his shoulders.

With Blitzen being with Magnus at night and Hearth there during the day, they missed each other a lot.

Since Magnus never used to see them much together, he was shocked when he found out that they knew each other.

Hearth learned to read very late, since he was always busy surviving in an abusive household. But the library is a prime shelter for homeless people, so he would often spend days with Magnus, matching signs up to words. At first, they had a lot of trouble communicating, but one day, Magnus pointed at a book, then pointed to the word "book," and it went on from there.

Blitzen is very weak, I believe this is specified in the books, but I imagine at night, when it is more dangerous, Hearth lets him take his leather jacket. It makes him look broader, more tough, and it helps him scare people away despite his height in order to protect Magnus.

[outsidereveries]

in the eight issue you will see...

how hyolyn is viewed by her seniors and juniors: the male idols see her as someone who brings the older generations back in one way or another, perhaps they feel that nostalgia from that time via hyolyn herself. they appreciate her for her versatility and talents. the female idols on the other hand see her as very impactful woman, they might idolise her in one point or another. i can see the other female idols see hyolyn as someone who is destined to be a trendsetter in some way, or to change her industry. they also appreciate her balanced personality.

seventeen, bts bond: overall their bond (between the two groups) is individual by its own and i can see that some members are more close than others (like jungkook and mingyu). both groups can be accepted as quite close while not communicating often (obviously why) in my opinion.

evnne career reading (until march 24'): they have the chance to become more relevant, possibly on tiktok or another social media. i do see someone shining more than the rest of the boys, possibly an earth sun sign idol /jeonghyeon, seungeon/.

how zb1 see evnne: zb1 are very optimistic for evnne and their future, so overall the thoughts are very positive! they wish only great things to happen^^

cha eunwoo, ideal type: someone real. he seems to be into these people who are authentic to their true self, no matter if he likes their personality fully or not. he might be into these type of smart people who know what and when they have to do everything when it's needed. someone who's organized by schedule if that's possible and also very chill. i do see some distinctive things such as weaker immune system (might have to wear warmer clothes in fickle or colder weather, i do imagine them wearing hats, bigger scarfs and puffer jackets around that time), making long skincare routines (possibly due to their skin, if it's more sensitive), being more emotional (like raw emotions all over themselves when they share everything surrounding themselves to eunwoo) only in front of him but have an emotionless face in front of other people, adventures (like bungee jumping!). possibly manager/ceo or similar job, related to (some sort of) leadership.

onlyoneof rie, ideal type: in the most positive way possible, i see rie is into these type of people who are struggling, like literally (mental, physical, financial even). i've seen similar things for other idols (that they see someone who's struggling as their ideal type) and as long i try to be as neutral as possible, rie is just the most optimistic out of all of them. he literally wants to be the "superman" in their eyes, like a psychologist, consult or dietolog. he seems to be into people who can be their best version of themselves when they're by his side. i am not sure if these thoughts of him are healthy or toxic, but i feel he is geniune and means well. he wants to be useful for someone and more or less to find his purpose of life. so overall keywords, he doesn't care about specific traits, he just wants to be by their side, no matter if they're good or bad.

jude bellingham, ideal type: someone whose life is very dynamic (similar to his, so possibly in the same or as public environment as his), who is very honest and doesn't sugarcoat everything they say. i don't see anything else but they can be in the law field or doing everything very fast too.

what svt mingyu feels towards jeon somi: very hopeful, very nice feelings from what i see and feel. mingyu seems to like somi a lot (i'll let other speculations be as what it is because it can be both options) and would really like to be at least very good friends. he seem to believe they would match!!

ateez, general reading: not that well as it seems, the boys seem to be in some form of isolation, i personally think that dramatic moment that I saw had happened, it looks like it's another thing though, I remember sunny (from X) has said that a producer or someone from the company, cannot remember, might depart from kq and it looks like it or similar thing has happened because ateez seem to be very dependant on that person, nothing else

yunho ateez, ideal type: basically, ✨the dream girl✨. i don't see any significant traits except optimistic, positive, dreamy, very romantic, like it feels like it's too obvious.

onlyoneof mill, ideal type: similar as jude bellingham, mill is possibly into people who are brutally honest, true to themselves (maybe less than eunwoo if i have to compare) but also very persistant, stubborn too i'd say at some point. alao innocent, clever, similar qualities and traits

what jungkook thinks of the drama uk army did: i believe he is indifferent and doesn't care. i can see that he thinks positively about that because he believes this brings more success to seventeen as a group.

zb1, 2024 career: at some point it will backfire the relevance they'll build with the time - from this uuuuup to this loooooow. i can see that it will be very great in the beginning but until the end, it will be worse than the beginning.

gunwook's relevance after 2nd comeback (the request was after crush era but since it passed when i asked, i modified it): probably the same as previous eras (only relevant to these who bias him). his popularity is unstable and might not work as expected but it definitely won't be enough, he seems to be not appreciated enough from netizens :(

update, hao's career after zb1: quite dynamic, he will still leave yuehua, but after that, nothing else, whatever the fate is for him, it will happen. i still see the same shit, i am sorry :((

due to limit of hashtags, the 8th issue stops here.

[atriza]

I apologise if this has been asked already or if you have put it somewhere.

I was just curious if you only write Character x Reader or if you do Character x Character.

Because if you do Character x Character I was hoping to request some hurt/comfort for Ant and Spider in HBH, were one of them fights with their mum and goes to the other.

Thank you and it's obvious perfectly fine if you don't do that.

Hey, thank you for your Request🫶🏻 I only do Character x Character if someone requests it 😊

I hope you like it!

Safe Harbor

Spider× Ant

Genre:Angst

Summary: Spider, upset after a fight with his mum, seeks comfort at his best friend Ant's house. Overwhelmed by emotions, Spider breaks down, and Ant offers quiet support without judgment. As Spider vents about feeling inadequate, Ant reassures him, reminding him he’s more than enough. The two share a quiet, intimate moment, with Ant providing a sense of safety and understanding.

Word Count:2,717 Words

---

Content Warning:

This story contains themes of abuse (both physical and emotional) and trauma related to an unsafe home environment. It explores feelings of fear, isolation, and the process of seeking help. Please read with care if these topics are sensitive or triggering for you.

Spider couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this angry. His chest was tight with frustration, hands trembling as he gripped the front door handle, hesitating for just a moment before yanking it open and storming out. The cold night air hit his face like a slap, but it wasn’t enough to cool down the heated mess of emotions bubbling beneath the surface.

“You’re wasting your life!” His mum’s voice still echoed in his ears, sharp and biting. “You need to grow up, Spider. You can’t just keep pretending everything’s a joke!”

He kicked a rock off the pavement, muttering under his breath as he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, hunching his shoulders against the night air. It was always the same argument—every time. She’d push, he’d push back, and nothing ever changed.

She doesn’t get me. She never will.

Before he even realized it, his feet had carried him down a familiar street, past rows of dimly lit houses. He wasn’t sure where he’d been heading at first, but now it made sense. His body had gone on autopilot, taking him to the one place that had always felt like refuge: Ant’s house.

Ant was his best mate. Had been for years. Even before things got complicated—before the stolen glances, the late-night hangouts that felt like something more, the unspoken feelings Spider could never quite put into words—Ant had always been there. A solid, quiet presence that never asked for more than what Spider could give. And right now, Spider needed him more than ever.

He paused outside Ant’s front door, his breath visible in the chilly air as he stared at the chipped paint. His chest was still tight with emotion, the anger and hurt from the fight with his mum swirling inside him like a storm. He didn’t want to burden Ant with it, didn’t want to show up on his doorstep like some emotional wreck. But where else could he go?

With a shaky breath, he raised his hand and knocked. It was soft at first, but when there was no answer, he knocked again—louder this time, his pulse quickening with each second that passed.

The door creaked open, and there stood Ant, his face lit by the soft glow from inside the house. He was wearing an old, oversized hoodie, his hair slightly disheveled like he’d just woken up from a nap. Ant’s eyes immediately softened when he saw Spider standing there, his brow furrowing in concern.

“Spider?” Ant asked, his voice low and careful. “What’s going on? Are you alright?”

For a split second, Spider felt like he might be able to brush it off. Crack a joke, pretend like everything was fine. But then the weight of the argument, the suffocating pressure of his mum’s words, crashed down on him all over again. His throat tightened, and before he could stop himself, he felt the tears sting his eyes.

Ant didn’t wait for an explanation. He stepped aside and wordlessly pulled Spider inside, closing the door behind them. The warmth of the house wrapped around Spider, and he shivered slightly, not from the cold but from the raw emotion he was barely keeping in check.

Ant turned to face him, his expression softening further as he took in Spider’s red-rimmed eyes and the tense set of his jaw. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” he said quietly. “But you know you can, yeah?”

That was all it took.

The walls Spider had built up all night—the ones he always built up whenever things got too real—crumbled under the weight of Ant’s words. He blinked, and the tears spilled over, hot and unrelenting. He tried to wipe them away quickly, embarrassed by the sudden display of emotion, but Ant stepped forward, his hands resting gently on Spider’s shoulders.

“Hey,” Ant said softly, his voice calm and steady. “It’s alright. You don’t have to hide it from me.”

That broke him. Spider let out a shaky breath, his body trembling as the sobs he’d been holding in finally came to the surface. Ant didn’t flinch or pull away. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Spider, pulling him into a hug that was so warm, so grounding, Spider thought he might just melt into it.

Spider buried his face in Ant’s shoulder, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely. And maybe he was. Ant’s arms were strong and sure, his presence steady and comforting in a way that no one else’s ever was. He didn’t ask questions, didn’t demand explanations—he just held Spider, letting him cry until the tears slowed to a stop.

When Spider finally pulled back, his face flushed and his eyes puffy, Ant gave him a soft smile. “Come sit down,” he said, guiding Spider over to the couch.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, Spider’s head resting against the back of the couch as he tried to collect himself. He wasn’t sure how to explain the fight with his mum, wasn’t sure if he even wanted to. But Ant was here, and that was enough.

After a while, Spider cleared his throat, his voice hoarse. “It’s my mum,” he said quietly, staring down at his hands. “We had another fight.”

Ant didn’t say anything, just nodded, his eyes fixed on Spider with that same quiet understanding he always had.

“She keeps going on about how I’m wasting my life,” Spider continued, his voice growing more bitter with each word. “Like, no matter what I do, it’s never good enough for her. I’m not good enough.”

Ant’s brow furrowed, and he shifted a little closer to Spider, his hand resting gently on his shoulder. “You are good enough, Spider,” he said firmly. “More than good enough.”

Spider let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “She doesn’t think so.”

“Well, she’s wrong,” Ant said simply. His voice was calm but full of conviction, and it made something inside Spider’s chest tighten. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Least of all her.”

Spider glanced over at him, and for a moment, their eyes met. Ant’s gaze was steady and reassuring, and Spider felt a warmth spread through his chest that had nothing to do with the house’s temperature. Ant always had a way of making things feel... simpler. Like it didn’t have to be so complicated all the time.

They fell into a comfortable silence again, the tension from the night slowly easing as they sat there together. Spider wiped at his face with the sleeve of his jacket, embarrassed at how much he’d let himself fall apart, but Ant didn’t seem fazed by it. He just stayed close, his hand never leaving Spider’s shoulder.

“Do you wanna stay over tonight?” Ant asked quietly after a while, breaking the silence.

Spider blinked, caught off guard by the offer. He hadn’t been thinking that far ahead, but now that Ant had mentioned it, the thought of going home—of facing his mum again—made his stomach twist uncomfortably. The idea of staying here, with Ant, where things felt safe and uncomplicated... It was more tempting than he wanted to admit.

“Yeah,” Spider said, his voice soft. “I’d like that.”

Ant smiled, a small but genuine smile that made Spider’s chest feel a little lighter. He stood up and offered Spider a hand, pulling him to his feet. “Come on, then,” Ant said, his tone lightening a bit. “Let’s get you set up.”

Spider followed him through the house, his heart still heavy but a little less so with each step. Ant led him to his room, and as soon as they stepped inside, the familiar smell of Ant’s laundry detergent and the faint scent of cologne hit Spider, grounding him in the comfort of this space.

Ant rummaged through his closet, pulling out a spare pillow and blanket. “You can take the bed,” Ant said, throwing the blanket over to Spider. “I’ll take the floor.”

Spider’s heart did a funny little flip at the gesture, but he shook his head quickly. “Nah, mate, no way. I’m not kicking you out of your own bed.”

Ant raised an eyebrow. “You’re not kicking me out. I’m offering.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not taking it,” Spider insisted. “We can share. It’s no big deal.”

He tried to sound casual, but the words felt a little heavier than they should have. They’d shared a bed before—plenty of times, actually—but there was something about this moment, about being here in Ant’s room after everything that had happened tonight, that made it feel different.

Ant gave him a long look, but then he shrugged. “Alright, fine. If you’re sure.”

Spider nodded, and they both kicked off their shoes before climbing into the bed. It was a tight fit, not that either of them minded. Spider felt the warmth of Ant’s body next to him, the familiar scent of him wrapping around him like a comfort blanket.

For a while, they lay there in silence, the dim glow of the bedside lamp casting soft shadows across the room. Spider’s heart was still heavy with the weight of the fight with his mum, but being here with Ant made it feel... more bearable. Like maybe, just for tonight, he didn’t have to think about it.

“You okay?” Ant asked quietly after a few moments,Ant’s voice was soft in the quiet room, barely a whisper. Spider could feel the weight of his gaze, the concern wrapped around those two simple words. He turned his head slightly on the pillow to look at Ant, their faces only a few inches apart in the dim light.

“I don’t know,” Spider admitted, his voice raw. “I mean, I guess so? I’m better now, I think.” He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “But I don’t know how long that’ll last. Every time I think things are getting better with her, it’s like... it’s like I get pulled back in. And I just... I can’t keep doing this.”

Ant didn’t say anything at first, just shifted closer, his eyes steady and full of empathy. His hand found Spider’s under the blanket, their fingers brushing lightly before Ant took hold of it, giving a gentle squeeze. The gesture was simple, but it made Spider’s chest ache with something warm and sweet. He wasn’t used to feeling so... cared for. Not like this.

“You don’t have to go through this alone,” Ant said softly, his voice like a balm to the rawness Spider felt inside. “You’ve got me. And the others, too. We’re all here for you.”

Spider swallowed, feeling his throat tighten again, but this time it wasn’t from the anger or hurt. It was the opposite, a strange mix of gratitude and vulnerability that made him want to both pull Ant closer and push him away, scared of what it meant to rely on someone so much.

“I know,” Spider whispered, his hand tightening around Ant’s. “But... it’s hard. Sometimes it feels like no one else really gets it. Like, everyone’s got their own stuff going on, and I don’t want to—”

“Burden us?” Ant finished for him, raising an eyebrow. “You know that’s not how it works, right? We want to help. I want to help.”

Spider gave a shaky laugh, rolling his eyes. “Why are you always so annoyingly nice, huh?”

Ant grinned, the corner of his mouth lifting in that familiar, lopsided way that always made Spider’s stomach do a little flip. “It’s just how I’m built. You should know that by now.”

Spider shook his head, but he couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. Ant’s hand was still in his, warm and solid, and Spider let himself relax into that feeling, like it was an anchor tethering him to something real and good.

For a while, they just lay there, the quiet of the room wrapping around them like a soft cocoon. Spider closed his eyes, his breathing slowing as the emotional exhaustion of the night finally began to catch up with him. He felt safe here, in this bed, in this house, with Ant beside him. It was a strange feeling, but a welcome one. Like he didn’t have to keep up his guard for once.

Ant shifted a little closer, his body a warm, solid presence against Spider’s side. “You know, Spider, you don’t have to be so tough all the time,” Ant murmured, his voice soft but sure. “It’s okay to let people in.”

Spider’s chest tightened at the words, and he swallowed hard, blinking up at the ceiling. “Yeah, well... easier said than done.”

“I get it,” Ant said quietly. “But you’re already doing it. You came to me tonight. You let me in. That’s something.”

Spider let the words sink in, the truth of them wrapping around him in a way that made him feel both vulnerable and safe at the same time. He wasn’t used to this—wasn’t used to letting someone see him like this, raw and exposed. But with Ant, it didn’t feel scary. It felt... right.

“Thanks for being here,” Spider whispered after a moment, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t think I could’ve handled it on my own tonight.”

Ant smiled softly, his thumb brushing over Spider’s knuckles in a gentle, soothing rhythm. “You never have to handle it on your own, mate. I’m always gonna be here. No matter what.”

Spider’s heart swelled at the words, and for the first time that night, he felt like he could breathe again. He turned his head to look at Ant, their faces so close now that he could see every detail in the soft glow of the lamp—the curve of Ant’s jaw, the way his lashes cast delicate shadows on his cheeks, the warmth in his brown eyes that made Spider’s chest feel tight with something he couldn’t quite name.

“Ant...” Spider began, his voice barely above a whisper, but he didn’t know how to finish the sentence. Didn’t know how to put into words the gratitude and affection swirling inside him, too big and too complicated to articulate.

Ant just smiled, his gaze soft and full of understanding. “I know,” he said quietly, and Spider believed him. Somehow, Ant always knew.

For a while, they just lay there, their hands still intertwined under the blanket, the room filled with a peaceful, comfortable silence. Spider felt the tension drain from his body, his eyelids growing heavier as the warmth of Ant’s presence lulled him toward sleep.

Just as he was on the edge of drifting off, he felt Ant shift beside him, his voice low and quiet. “Spider?”

“Mmm?”

“I... I’m really glad you came to me tonight.”

Spider blinked his eyes open, surprised by the soft vulnerability in Ant’s voice. He turned his head slightly, looking at Ant through the haze of half-sleep. “Yeah?”

Ant nodded, his thumb brushing over Spider’s hand again, sending a shiver down his spine. “Yeah. I like being the person you come to. I... I want to be that for you. Always.”

Spider’s breath caught in his throat at the quiet confession, something warm and tender unfurling in his chest. For a moment, he didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to respond to the quiet sincerity in Ant’s words. So instead of speaking, he shifted closer, pressing his forehead against Ant’s in a gesture so gentle it almost made his heart ache.

“Thanks, Ant,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “For everything.”

Ant’s eyes softened, and he smiled, his breath warm against Spider’s skin. “Anytime.”

They stayed like that, their foreheads pressed together, their hands still tangled beneath the blanket, until Spider’s eyelids grew too heavy to keep open. As he finally let sleep pull him under, he felt a deep sense of peace settle in his chest, knowing that no matter what happened tomorrow, Ant would be there.

And for tonight, that was enough.

[athina-blaine]

50 Types of Kissing Writing Prompts: #36 - Starting with bunny kisses before moving on to soft kisses.

This got away from me.

~

“Ask me again.”

“Jon, you’ve practised these questions about 20 times just on the way over. I don’t think-”

“Just ask me again.” A beat. “Please.”

Martin let out a lengthy sigh, the kind that came from deep in his belly. It echoed down the corridors of the school hall alongside their heels clicking on the vinyl floor. “Right. Okay, so, how would you describe your teaching philosophy?”

Jon took a deep breath, chest puffing up. “My teaching philosophy is that all children are unique and deserve to have a stimulating educational atmosphere. I want to provide a safe environment where students are encouraged to share their thoughts and take risks.”

Martin smiled, trying not to giggle, but Jon’s voice inflected the exact same way every time he’d say “risks”- a sort of huffy pitch. It was hard not to be amused. “Very good.”

“Ask me the question about resolving conflicts in the classroom.”

“How do you intend to resolve conflicts in the classroom?”

“I would isolate the nature of the conflict in question and strategise accordingly. Compromise is the ideal resolution but in the event one cannot be reached, I will contact a higher authority than myself to mediate and help find a solution.”

“Perfect.”

“You don’t think it makes me look weak-willed?” Jon asked, brows furrowed with distress. “The part about contacting another authority figure? What if they want me to be able to handle the problem by myself?”

“I think it’s fine. You’re new. Shows you won’t let your ego get in the way when you need help.”

Jon let out a low breath, nodding slowly. His chest collapsed until he was nearly hunched over, and he tugged frantically at the strap of his briefcase. Martin had lent him that briefcase since it matched his nice navy blue jacket- he also figured it would help Jon feel more professional.

Martin wanted to say as much, lavish Jon in compliments on how scholarly and refined he looked, but every step they took closer to the school’s administrative office seemed to wound him up tighter and tighter until that briefcase strap threatened to fall apart. If Martin said Jon looked good now, Jon would just argue with him, citing the scuff in his shoes he hadn’t managed to buff out, or quadruple-guess the way he’d tied up his hair or something. The last thing Martin wanted to do was make Jon self-conscious; he’d just have to save all his gushing and lavishing for after the interview.

Martin’s restraint didn’t seem to matter, though, as, without warning, Jon stopped dead in the middle of the hall, digging into the recesses of his case. “I-I should practice the lesson plan one more time, the entire lecture phase is-”

“Jon.” Martin clasped his hands on Jon’s shoulders and turned him around. Jon stared up at him, eyes owlish and glossy with muted panic. “Please. Relax. It’s a part-time home economics class, not tenure for university English lit. You’re funny and charismatic and intelligent. They’re going to be begging you to take the job. The nice lady on the phone said as much.”

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t make promises you have no possible way of keeping,” Jon said, a sliver of ice snaking through his words. Martin lifted a pointed brow, and a dark stain flushed Jon’s face. He looked away. “No, I … Sorry. I don’t mean to snap.”

“It’s okay to be nervous.”

“It’s not that, it’s …” Jon sighed, shoulders sagging. “I just want this to work. I … need this to work.”

Martin tilted his head. This wasn’t the same frantic energy Jon had been carrying with him since he’d gotten off the phone with Principal Williams last week. This was something heavier. More sombre.

“Can you tell me why?”

“It’s silly.”

“Maybe.” Martin shrugged. “Most things are.”

Jon still wouldn’t meet his eyes, staring down at their warped reflections in the floor. Martin waited, rubbing his thumbs over the jut of Jon’s shoulders.

“I just …” Jon started, then paused to breathe. “I don’t know whether or not I can still … function out here. Outside of the Institute. It’s been so long and … what if I just … can’t?” His voice lowered to a dull murmur. “What if I can’t make the adjustment?”

Humming, Martin stroked his hands up and down the length of Jon’s arms. He pressed a kiss to Jon’s forehead. “I don’t think that’s silly.”

Jon sighed through his nose, tickling Martin’s collarbone. Slowly, Martin pulled away.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Okay, so. Let’s pretend you don’t get the job. Which won’t happen,” he said quickly when Jon’s head snapped up. “You are absolutely getting this job. But let’s just pretend you don’t. What do you think will happen after that?”

Jon’s brow furrowed with quiet confusion. His mouth flapped for a long while before, softly, “I … don’t understand?”

“Here’s what I think will happen,” Martin said, cupping Jon’s face between his hands. “We’ll go home. We’ll order a pizza, half cheese half-Mediterranean. We’ll flip on the TV and finish that nature documentary series. We can polish off that bottle of wine and I’ll rub your feet.” Martin leaned in close enough to press his lips to the bridge of Jon’s nose. “And then we’ll try something else. I actually think that animal hospital nearby is hiring.” Martin smoothed a thumb over his cheekbone. “You’d make a really cute vet tech.”

Jon’s lips twitched, eyes brimming with some complicated emotion. Martin smiled, holding his gaze until Jon turned away, face warming again.

“It’d suck if you didn’t get this job,” Martin said. “You’d be fantastic at it and they’d be stupid to turn you away. But, whatever happens, you’ll be fine. We will be fine.”

Silent, Jon stared somewhere between Martin’s chest and his neck. Then, he swayed forward, leaning into Martin’s sturdy weight, and Martin wrapped his arms around him, pressing his face into prim, professionally styled hair. They stood like that for a long while, breathing each other in. Good thing Jon had them show up about a half-hour early for the interview, just in case.

When they parted, Jon opened his eyes again, calm and bright.

“We could also get killed by a rogue satellite,” he murmured. Martin’s eyes widened. “Just, you know, as a worst possible thing that could happen. Rogue satellite. Right on our heads.”

Martin snorted. “I don’t think I phrased it quite like that, but, yes, I suppose we should consider that a possibility.”

Jon took a deep breath, held it, and let it out slowly, just as Martin taught him. He rolled out his neck, cleared his throat, and tilted his head up. “Alright. Kiss me.”

Martin blinked. “Um. What?”

“Kiss me.” A beat. “For luck. Obviously.”

“Oh. Obviously.” Martin tried to smother his twitching smile. “I didn't realise we'd started doing that."

“Yes.” His eyes became pleading. “Please?”

Martin rolled his eyes, but kissed him, a chaste pressing of their lips. Jon’s eyes had slid shut and he took another deep breath.

“One more?”

Martin obliged. Jon’s eyes remained closed, his chin still tilted up. Martin provided another one without prompting, and then one more, for good measure, soft and indulgent. They were rubbing away at Jon's lip balm, but Martin's lips had been feeling a little dry anyway. The tension bled from Jon’s shoulders, and Martin parted with a breathy sigh.

“That’s all your lucky kisses for the year,” Martin said, earning himself a chuckle. “Spend it wisely.”

A cough drew their attention. An older woman stood idle by one of the classrooms. Through both of their embarrassed spluttering, Martin managed to note her and Jon had tied their hair in similar fashions.

Oh yeah. Jon was going to fit right in.

The woman stepped forward. “Mr. Sims, I presume?”

“I- uh, y-yes, ma’am.” Jon’s face was burning but the woman smiled.

“Glad you could make it. Mrs. Williams seemed really impressed with you after your phone call. Shall I walk you to her office?”

Jon nodded, squeezing Martin’s hand hard enough to break it off and take it with him. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh, none of this ma’am stuff. We’re going to be coworkers, yeah?" She held out her hand. "You can call me Janice. I teach maths.”

“Yes, m- Yes, Janice. It’s a pleasure to meet you." Jon accepted her hand. "Um, you can call me Jon.”

After their quick handshake, she indicated towards the hallway. Jon nodded and looked over to Martin. “I, uh … guess I’ll meet you by the car?”

“Meet you there.” Martin gave his hand one more squeeze. “Good luck.”

Jon smiled, a delicate, fluttering thing, before he slid his hand out of Martin’s and allowed Janice to lead them down the hallway.

“So, you’re from London, yeah?” she asked. “Grow up there?”

“No, I’m from Bournemouth. I moved to London after I graduated uni.”

“Oh, really? I think I’ve got a cousin who lives by that area. Always wish I’d have lived somewhere more coastal.” She turned to him, her teeth pearly white. “I have to say, we’re all a little curious about you. Don’t have many city-people here. We’re really excited to have you onboard.”

“Oh.” Even from this distance, Martin could see the way Jon’s face flushed. “I … I see.”

“I’m sure the others will want to ask you all sorts of questions, but don’t let that put you off, the staff here is as sweet as can be. They’ll get used to you soon enough.”

Jon glanced over his shoulder back at Martin, looking fit to burst. Martin waved, sure that his own expression was as sappy and affectionate as could be.

Yeah.

They’re going to be just fine.

[knickynoo]

Do you have any thoughts on Marty and his self esteem issues? In most of the trilogy, I feel like Marty ranges from experience a lot of insecurity at best, to like a considerable amount of self loathing at worst, (like pls Marty, Doc getting struck by lighting was not your fault? You’re not Thor?) . And there’s the whole chicken thing, so I was curious if you had any thoughts on where it stems from, how it’s affected him etc etc? Okay lmao that’s it, have a great day !!

Hello! Do I have thoughts?? Yes. I do.

So, one of the things I like so much about Marty as a character is that...he's kind of an enigma of sorts? Like. Here's this kid who skateboards, rocks that denim jacket and the cool sunglasses, plays guitar, has a pretty girlfriend, etc. You take all of that, and it should reflect a really confident, popular person. I mean, with all the stereotypical "cool guy" attributes considered, Marty should have Ferris Bueller-level confidence and charm. He should be strutting around, smooth-talking everyone, laughing in the face of danger, and possessing unshakeable self-esteem. But he does/has none of those things because, as we all know, Marty is A Mess (affectionate). And yeah, a lot of it seems to stem from self-esteem issues, which we do see sprinkled throughout the trilogy. Where's it all coming from? Well, a lot of places, most likely...

• FAMILY: Probably the biggest factor. Though I'm sure George and Lorraine were sincerely in love for a while at the beginning of their relationship/marriage, I think it's fair to assume that any real spark between them had pretty much fizzled out by the time Marty came along or when he was a young kid. Take a loveless relationship between a meek, subservient man and a woman who drinks away her feelings, factor in a 17-year-old boy who's probably never had any real semblance of parental stability in his house, and it's highly likely that kid is going to have some issues. It's really difficult to believe in yourself & feel secure when the norm is having parents who are wrapped up in their own worlds/rarely interact with each other, seeing your father get emotionally (& physically!) pushed around by his supervisor, and watching your mom cling to alcohol and sink into depression.

• Plus, there are the separate relationships George and Lorraine have with Marty. Granted, we don't see much of it, but what we see at dinner is probably a good example of a typical interaction. George is quick to steer Marty away from any situation where he may face rejection or hardship. And yeah, he may think he's protecting his son, but this strategy is actually pretty harmful. I can imagine that any time Marty is feeling nervous or let down, and goes to his father seeking encouragement, he's only left with the impression that it's better not to take any risks at all because he might fail anyway. Instead of being built up, any potential self-worth is being chipped away at by George.

And as far as Lorraine is concerned, I get the impression that she's (more often than not) critical and judgemental of Marty. She's not shy about airing her strong dislike for Jennifer, during which Marty stays completely silent and unresponsive. Perhaps Marty's general default around his mom is silence, due to him having learned a long while back that he's better off keeping his mouth shut. I can see Lorraine lecturing Marty often, picking apart every little flaw she may see in him (friends, grades, attitude, etc.), especially when she's had too many drinks and especially when you consider that Marty is probably her most "difficult" child. Sad as it may sound, I can't picture Marty walking away from very many interactions with his mother feeling good about himself.

• GENERAL ANXIETY/NEURODIVERGENCY: Marty is an easily flustered, anxious guy. And whether that stems from his home environment or genetics (I mean, look at George), I don't know. But he definitely seems to be a sort of nervous, hesitant kid, particularly in the first movie. I also, like most of the fandom, headcanon Marty as having ADHD. And like...if that's the case for him, it certainly isn't helping at all with the self-esteem stuff. He's written off as a slacker at school, told he'll never amount to anything, and probably struggles a lot to keep up in his classes and survive in an environment that almost definitely doesn't offer any form of support or accommodations. That would be a big blow to his self-worth as well.

People with ADHD also tend to be very critical of themselves, worry about what others think of them, and have a hard time with rejection. Hence, the one rejection at the audition followed by, I'm just a big, stupid failure and I'll never ever be good enough. My world is crumbling, I should just give up everything forever =(((

(What do you mean those weren't his exact words??)

• BONUS: Marty might also face a decent amount of social isolation/teasing due to his friendship with Doc, which would take a toll on confidence too. Also, I just...don't think that Marty has many friends??

When you take all the above factors, Marty's self-esteem issues make a lot of sense and, if not for Doc, would probably run a lot deeper than what we see in the trilogy. ALSO!

• Marty blaming himself for Doc getting hit by lightning in the DeLorean: I've seen a few people comment on this and how they think it's ridiculous that Marty felt guilty but...it's always made a lot of sense to me, actually. No, Marty didn't cause the lightning, but he did set off the chain of events that led to Doc being there at that moment. If he'd had the inner strength/self-control to walk away from Biff outside of the dance, he could have just joined Doc on the roof with the almanac and they'd have been on their merry way. And even if Biff had continued to challenge him, or even followed him, Marty likely could have created a diversion or gotten an adult at the dance to help and still made it up to the roof before the worst of the storm hit. But because he couldn't stand being called a chicken, he ended up taking a door to the face, had the book stolen back, and had to go on that little side adventure to retrieve it, which led to Doc needing to save him. So yeah, I'm actually team Marty on this one. His choice did lead to Doc being catapulted into the Old West, lol. I'd have been consumed with guilt too.

• The Chicken Thing: I'm not going to go into too much detail (HA!) because this is already ridiculously long, but I will say that I don't go by the more popular headcanon that says Marty's sudden inability to handle being challenged is due to the updated timeline taking effect and "altering" him. Essentially, that Marty growing up with a confident, successful father made him have higher expectations put on him, and so he was always striving to prove he could live up to them.

I actually don't think any ripples from the new timeline catch up to Marty yet during the course of the trilogy. (I tend to headcanon that as happening gradually in the coming weeks and months after he gets home). Instead, I think that Marty's inclination towards becoming feral at the words "chicken", "yellow", etc. is because of his life in his original timeline. Growing up with a jellyfish for a father, it makes sense that Marty would want to distance himself as much as possible from being associated with weakness. He'd want to prove himself that much more because everyone around him would probably think he's just like his cowardly old man.

And though I know it's not really possible (because they weren't planning on a 2nd or 3rd movie), I think a case can be made that there's a glimpse of the "chicken thing" in the first movie, in the scene of Marty and Lorraine in the car at the dance. I mean, he gets all upset and tells her not to drink, but then she calls him a square, uses the classic peer-pressure tactic of, everyone's doing it, and he caves instantly and takes a swig. Could be because he doesn't want to be thought of as a square, or could be because he's desperate to calm his nerves a bit. Either way, Marty doesn't seem to fare too well when challenged or put under pressure, so I lump this scene in as a "chicken" moment.

I...need to stop. I set out to write a quick response to this. Like, a paragraph or two. But this question activated Hyperfocus Mode, and I blinked and now it's 2 hours after I started and I have AN ESSAY.

Thanks for the ask! *goes to lie down*

[gothamcitycentral]

Please tell me about you ideas for Poison Ivy episodes in as much detail as physically possible. I want to hear about the traumatised teenager.

I’d be delighted to.

Her debut goes through virtually the same motions as her 2004 counterpart. Her and Barbara mess with some polluting corporations, she gets mutated, starts causing trouble as Poison Ivy, gets busted by Batman and his new self described sidekick, Batgirl, and is shipped off to Arkham. She’s surprisingly calm about everything, mainly because she’s still in awe of how her powers could help the environment.

Then she gets a late night visit from Barbara. Eventually Barb asks if she’s going to hurt people. Pam says she’d only ever hurt someone she had to.

Barbara asks if she’d hurt her.

Pam could hardly take the question seriously.

Barbara lets put a choked, “Yeah”, wipes her eyes, and leaves Arkham.

That was the last visit Pam had. From anybody.

In her next appearance, Ivy’s isolation was getting to her. Her only interaction in the Asylum being which guard was delivering meals. They were never all that charming. The only break from routine being random nonsense from another Arkham patient. The separation from either plant life, the sun, or both seeming at have drained from her physical health. Not that there was anyone to notice. She keeps on replaying her conversation with Barbara over and over again in her head, trying to figure what she said wrong.

Then there’s a mass breakout seemingly caused by the Joker. Then some crocodile man is making sure she gets out.

In some weird, probably unhealthy, attempt to feel better, she’s starts tearing up another corrupt corporation. Which would be fine if it didn’t mean a lot of innocent workers and civilians being hurt. But with so many villains just having escaped, Bruce misses the info on Poison Ivy.

However, Batgirl doesn’t, and since her and Bruce are having communication issues at the moment, she handles it herself.

One fight scene later and Batgirl is held by Ivy’s vines, she realizes there’s only one way she isn’t dead.

She takes of her cowl.

Pam can’t even respond beyond a confused, “Barbara…” before she drops her. Then, she starts realize what she almost did.

She was trying to kill her best friend.

Neither of them can stumble out a reply before they realize Batman had showed up on the scene. Pam gives a last look to Barbara before escaping.

Barbara doesn’t try to stop her.

Her next episode starts with Killer Croc, just, casually picking out items from a small grocery/convenience store. Then he just leaves with them, stopping supervillains isn’t in the single cashier’s job description. He then takes them to a seemingly abandoned green house, where Poison Ivy is staying. The only sign of her habitation being a plant based hammock and a charcoal grill Croc dragged in.

Waylon is trying to be some what comforting, but he can’t do much with Pam refusing to talk to him, so they kinda just sit in silence. Which is easily better than her being alone.

Eventually Pam does start talking, leading to her having a breakdown, cursing her powers that she would have once dreamed of having. Her mutation made her parents abandon her, land her in Arkham, and made her almost kill her best friend. She says she wishes this never happened, that didn’t have wear leaves for clothes. She starts tearing them off, but they just keep regrowing.

Killer Croc stops her by throwing a green hoodie in her face and saying, “Then don’t.”

Pam pulls away the jacket, it has “Legalize It” in bold letters.

It’s oddly calming to wear.

Then she shows up in the Red hood arc. Since Waylon started keeping on eye on Jason he’d been visiting the green house with him. She and Jason get along surprisingly well, and it’s satisfying to have someone to just rant about their anger to someone other than Croc. They’re by all means grateful for his comfort, but sometimes they just want to be mad with someone.

Her next main focus in S3E8, where Batgirl finds Poison Ivy trying to mess with another corporation. She tries to take her in but Pam explains that she isn’t trying to hurt anyone, only stop a toxic dump directly into the rivers outside Gotham. She asks for Barbara’s help, “For old time’s sake.”

She can’t bring herself to refuse.

It’s awkward, admittedly, at first. But by the end of it, Pam asks if Barbara hates her.

She says of course she doesn’t.

Pam asks if they’re still friends.

Barbara says she doesn’t know, but she holds Pam’s hand and says, “But I want to try to be.”

Of course that isn’t her last appearance, but from then on she isn’t the main focus, and she acts as an ally of the Bats.

[mandoalorian]

Sugar and Spice [Maxwell Lord x Reader] - Chapter 4

Summary: When you are evicted from your apartment by your toxic ex boyfriend and have no place to go, who do you turn to? Alone in the city as the countdown to Christmas begins, you find yourself applying for a job as the assistant of the world’s biggest entrepreneur; Maxwell Lord. Little do you know, he has other intentions for you. No doubt about it, this Christmas will truly be like no other.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: Eventual smut, mentions of a previous verbally abusive relationship, typical 80s misogyny (but very little of it), mentions of food and drink, alcohol consumption. This is a sugardaddy x sugarbaby fic soooo… a daddy k!nk too oops.

But in this chapter - SMUT (finally lol), spanking, protected p in v (no condom but female reader is protected), discussion of bondage and use of toys etc. A little bit of angst amongst the general Christmas fluffiness.

Author’s note: Oh my god finally chapter 4 is out. This is where it starts getting exciting guys! As always I hope you enjoy. PS- some of you might have seen I’m doing a December Writing Challenge. I still have a few spots for requests open so if you’re interested just click HERE, read the rules and submit a request!

MASTERLIST | SUBMIT REQUESTS

PREVIOUS - CHAPTER FOUR - NEXT

You considered the date had gone well. You and Maxwell exchanged pleasantries and learned a lot about each other. Well, he learned a lot about you. All you learned about Maxwell was that he was extremely closed off from the world. Despite being an ego-centric businessman, every time you asked him a question about his private life, he'd change the subject in the charming manner of a politician. You yearned to learn more about him. You wished he could just give you a little crumb of his childhood or even his adolescence. But nothing.

Despite this, the journey back to his penthouse was intimate, with every touch and brush against skin creating a fire in your stomach. When you stepped into his luxury apartment that looked over the whole city, you had no idea what to expect. You were in awe. "Your home is beautiful." you smiled as Maxwell padded over to his minibar and poured out two more glasses of champagne. He loosened his tie and took off his suit jacket, throwing it on the sofa.

There was something about the way he rolled up his sleeves, exposing the golden skin of his strong forearms. You loved seeing him in this light. Not pristine, not perfect. Just human. A little tired and a little tipsy.

"Oh, this isn't my home," Maxwell replied and you shot him a confused look. "My house in the suburbs of DC, this is just a place I own in the city for when work gets busy. Easier to commute this way." Of course Maxwell Lord had more than one place of residence.

"I imagine your home is like a palace." You expressed with a grin, before taking a sip of the champagne. It tasted a lot more expensive than the one you had drunk earlier at the restaurant, but you weren't really surprised. You swiped your tongue over your lower lips, savouring the sweet liquid, and Maxwell felt his cock twitch in his suit pants. Trying to ignore how much your simple actions turned him on, he opened his mouth.

"What's your home like?" Maxwell asked curiously, and you scrunched up your nose.

Did you tell him about the tiny boxed up apartment you were getting evicted from? Did you tell him about your awful ex boyfriend turned landlord who was just so dreadful to you? You shrugged. "It's okay." you told him, but it came out as a defeated sigh. Nevertheless, Maxwell chose not to question it. You figured he probably didn't even care that much anyway.

"Follow me." he told you, placing his half drunk glass on one of the marble countertops and walking through the dining room and down a hallway. For a penthouse, it sure had plenty of rooms.

At the end of the hallway, there was a door that stood tall, isolated from all the other doors. On the wall, you noticed that there was a silver keypad of sorts. Maxwell tapped four numbers and the door unlocked for him. You felt nervous as you wondered what was in the room ahead. To your surprise, it was simply just a large dimly lit room with a long table and about a dozen chairs positioned around it. No art on the walls, no elaborate statues. Not like the rest of his apartment, or even his office at work.

“You could do with a Christmas tree in here,” you said. “Maybe some string lights and a singing dancing snowman toy.”

“A singing dancing snowman toy?” Maxwell raised an eyebrow and you nodded, unfazed. With every second Maxwell spent with you, he felt his admiration grow tenfold. He had truly never met anyone like you before. Everyone Maxwell Lord had met was either terrified of him, or had questionable intentions. You, however, seemed pure of heart. You didn’t care who he was or what people said about him. Sure, deep down, you were aware, but at the end of the day - this was just a job you needed. That didn’t stop you from wondering what it would be like if it was more than just a job. “This is where I have my meetings.” he informed you, snapping you out of your thoughts. “Take a seat.”

Cautiously, you found yourself scoping around the table as Maxwell collected a stack of papers from a cabinet. You had opted to sit at the head of the table, finding yourself comfortable in the large leather seat. Maxwell couldn’t help but smile to himself when he saw you sitting there, in his seat. Whilst he would normally tell any other person to abruptly move, he simply kept his mouth shut, sliding into the seat next to you. He separated the papers in two piles and placed one before you and one before himself.

“Why did you take me into your meeting room?” You asked, pushing your glass of champagne to one side and examining the papers. “Oh, it’s a contract.”

“Yeah, it’s uhm,” Maxwell cleared his throat. “Legalities and stuff. I just want to go through it with you so we can make sure we’re both understanding of what your employment entails, before this arrangement proceeds. Open to page six.” You did as you were told and found the start of the terms and conditions.”Read.” He commanded.

This was what you had been waiting for as, until now, you had been unsure where exactly you stood in this. Sure, you were aware of the traditional meaning of a sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship but Maxwell Lord had subverted all your expectations so far. There was no way to assume what his intentions with you would be.

You straightened your posture and followed the words on the paper with your index finger. “Upon signing this contract, I, party B, agree to the proposals made by party A, Maxwell Lord the fourth. There’s four of you?” You raised an eyebrow but Maxwell didn’t answer, instead, gesturing his hand in a way that could only mean for you to resume. “Section 1a; bondage.” The word came out as a croak in your chest. The first point he had made was bondage? You felt your cheeks warm up and Maxwell’s eyes burned into you intently. “Subject consents to tying up and being tied up by the other party.”

“Is that okay?” Maxwell asked.

You took a moment, trying to comprehend what was going on and what situation you had found yourself in. You were just now learning that one of the wealthiest men on the planet wanted to tie you up and be tied up by you. You looked up at him and sighed, exasperatedly. “Yes.” you told him and Maxwell smiled, turning the page. You followed his action.

“Section 1b; sex toys.” And there was that lump in your throat again. Strangely, you didn’t feel nervous, despite the circumstances. Maxwell Lord created a warm and safe environment. “Subject consents to the use of dildos, vibrators, butt-plugs…” The list went on and on. After taking another beat to contemplate what was being asked of you, you signed the papers. There was something about the discussion of all of this that created an enhanced sexual tension in the room. You squeezed your thighs together, trying to annoy the prevalent feeling of your panties as they dampened. “Maxwell?”

“Hm?” He hummed. You noticed his hair was a little disheveled and his pupils had dilated too, although you told yourself that might have just been from sitting in the dimly lit room. Little did you know, he had been palming his growing cock underneath the table. Seeing you sitting in his chair, at the table where he conducts his meetings, was such a turn on. If he could have it his way, he’d wish to bend you over the table and fuck you from behind. But this was more important.

You fidgeted with your fingers a little and bit your lip. “All of this stuff is quite new to me… I mean, I’m not exactly- I don’t really know-”

Maxwell placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. “It’s okay. Anything you need to make this process easier, just let me know.” He assured you and you nodded your head. For a moment, the softness in his voice made you feel like you had known him forever. Like he was the closest person to you. That you could trust him. But damn, his gentle demeanor didn’t stop you from craving him. This was so unfair. Upon every instance that you spent time with Maxwell Lord, you wanted him to pin you against a surface and leave a trail of kisses down your body.

After getting through eight pages of terms and conditions relating to the intercourse side of the arrangement, you found yourself almost at the end of the contract. “Section 12a; public appearances.”

Maxwell nodded his head. “Maybe it’s better if I explain this part to you myself.” Maxwell told you and you nodded your head. “As you might know I have quite the reputation to uphold. Now, I’m not sure how long this arrangement between us will last but I have one last public appearance scheduled this year. It’s a Christmas gala at the White House. I’d like you to come with me.”

“As a date?” Your eyes widened and you felt butterflies swarm in your stomach at the prospect. It was that feeling you just couldn’t escape. You didn’t understand it, but part of you yearned for it so bad.

“No.” Maxwell replied sharply, and you shuffled around in your seat uncomfortably. The butterflies died.

“Oh.” You looked away from him feeling embarrassed for even asking.

“No one can know about us and our arrangement. I’m only initiating this contract to get my hellish mother off my back.” Maxwell admitted.

“So I’m just an excuse to get your mother to stop pestering you?” You frowned, feeling genuine hurt.

“Everyone in my life is simply a tool to accelerate my own success.”

There it was. This was the Maxwell Lord you read about in the tabloids. Selfish, inconsiderate, greedy and egotistical. You felt slightly disheartened, like his comment had ruined your whole night. At the restaurant, he was nice and caring, and with every gentle touch, you had felt an overwhelming excitement. But this was cold off him. Silence filled the room as Maxwell watched you intently, waiting for you to say something. It was like he didn’t even realise the consequences of his own words. You sighed, skim reading the rest of the contract and quickly signing your name on every page without further discussion, before pushing the papers back to him and standing up.

“Whatever.” you shrugged, downing the last of your champagne in one gulp.

“So you agree to everything?” Maxwell quizzed. “I’ve never had a business deal go so well.” He grinned. Right - because that’s all you were to him. A business deal.

“Mhm,” you muttered, leaving the room. Perplexed, Maxwell chased after you.

“You’re leaving already? I was going to invite you to stay the night.” He shot you one of those charming smiles you saw on the infomercials and you felt your stomach twist.

“I’m good.” You snarled, about to open his front door when he placed his hand over yours.

“The gala is this Saturday. I will see you there, yes?”

You wanted to be strong and pull your hand out of his and leave his penthouse with your head held high. But instead, you bit your lip and turned around to face him. There were only inches between you two. You could smell the champagne in his breath, and the musky fragrance he wore as he looked down at you. You placed both of your hands on his chest, not breaking eye contact once, and slid them down to his belt.

Maxwell felt his precum drip down his erection just from your mere touch. He cursed himself for not wearing underwear, hoping his seed hadn’t stained his tailored pants and revealed his arousal to you.

“I am not a business deal, Mr Lord,” you whispered seductively, fluttering your eyebrows and loosening his belt. “I see how you treat your assistants. Fuck them in your office and don’t even give them a tissue to clean themselves up with. You make them leave your office without a second to comb through their hair or reapply their lipstick. You will not treat me like that. I want you to remember that my commitment to this is a favour to you. You need me, and so you will treat me with respect. Do you understand?”

Maxwell gulped, hard. He wasn’t used to talking to him like that. But you were right; he did need you, more than he cared to admit. “Yes.” he told you, and you curled your lips into a smirk before unbuckling his belt and tossing it to the floor.

“Good.” you replied, raising an eyebrow. “Now, Mr Lord, I want you to take me back into that conference room and bend me over the table.”

He raised his hand, big and warm just how you remembered, and cupped your cheek, his thumb swiping across the high of your cheek bones. He tucked a little bit of hair behind your ear. “Oh sweet girl, you think you can take me?” he taunted, his eyes darker than you had ever seen before.

You lowered your hand down to his bulge and palmed him through his tailored pants, excitement filling you when a whimper escaped his lips. “Gonna have to find out sooner or later.” you goad with an urgent need to quell the aching heat in between your thighs.

You and Maxwell spent a moment, gazing into each other's eyes, thinking about what was about to happen. You were glad you had finally gained the courage to not only speak up for yourself, but also initiate the sex. You wanted him to know that you were not prepared to just be one of his meaningless fucktoys. Maxwell knew from the very beginning you would be different to the other girls, different to his assistants. He took your hand and pulled you down the hallway and back into the conference room. 

You waited for him to undress himself, but instead, he simply rolled his sleeves back up to his elbows and unbuttoned the first few buttons of white shirt. He pulled your black dress over your ass, groaning when he saw the lacy black thong you were hiding underneath. “Bend over.” he growled, moving one of the chairs out of the way so you could do as you were told. 

Wanting to give him a little show, you jiggled your ass a little, teasing him. He brought his hand down to your ass and spanked you hard, the rings on his fingers scraping against your soft skin and leaving red marks. “Oh daddy,” you pouted. “You don’t like that?” you asked with a fake innocence dripping from your tongue. You knew damn well he liked it, judging from the way he was palming himself through his pants.

“Take off your panties.” Maxwell growled as he quickly worked at his zipper. To your surprise, he didn’t get undressed at all. Instead he brought out his hard cock and began to stroke his length. You turned around, and leaned your back against the table, admiring his manhood. You went to get down on your knees, desperate for a taste of the precum that was already dripping down his length. “What are you doing?” Maxwell hissed, bringing you back to your feet and turning you back around, pressing you against the table. “You wanted me to fuck you, right?” 

“Just wanted a little taste of you first, daddy.” you moaned as he spread your legs apart and positioned himself at your entrance.

“Think you can get away with being a tease?” He hissed when he felt your wetness, as he dragged his cock up and down your folds. “Think you can tease daddy? You can suck my cock when I tell you too. Understand?” He smacked your ass again, earning a yelp from you.

“Yes, I understand.” You whimpered.

“Good girl,” he cooed in your ear, sending chills down your spine. “Looked so pretty tonight in that fucking dress. Look even prettier like this, bent over my desk, just for me.”

He slowly eased his tip inside of you, his large hands finding your waist as he steadied you in place. “More.” you begged as he held himself in the same position for a few minutes. He tsked, before pushing his whole length inside of you in one swift thrust. You let out a cry as he stretched you out, the feeling of euphoric bliss washing over you. Maxwell was about to lose it completely. The way your walls clamped around his cock, almost milking him without the slightest movement. You felt so delicious around him. He didn’t want to move. He wanted to stay seated in you forever. “More!” you cry out again, desperately needing him to move.

“What do you say?” he chastised.

“Please daddy.” you murmured. You couldn’t see, for facing the other direction, but Maxwell had a wicked smile on his face. He loved to be in control. This is exactly what he had wanted since he met you. What he thought about when he called you from his office, what he thought about when he showered and before he slept. And now it was finally happening.

“Fuck, so tight,” you felt the grumble in Maxwell’s chest as he bottomed out of you before thrusting back in. You let out another whine, pressing your cheek against the cool oak of the table. He began to build up a rhythm as he slammed harshly into you. With every thrust, the obscene noises of his balls slapping against your pussy fill the room, along with the wet sounds from your arousal. The grunts and gasps coming from him only make you even wetter as he bends over you, his hands coming over your still clothed breasts and squeezing them. “Nngh, feel so good. I won't last.” he tells you, biting down on your shoulder. “Are you close?”

You hummed a quiet “yes” as his rhythm sped up, hitting your sweet spot with every thrust. It wasn’t long before you felt your walls begin to flutter, and the moment you felt his cock twitch inside you, you came undone, your cunt clenching around him.

“Are you safe?” he gasped, bits of his dark blonde hair falling out of place as sweat laced his forehead.

“Yes Max,” you squealed. “Cum inside me.”

And with those three words, Maxwell spilled his seed inside of you with just a few sloppy but erratic thrusts. You curled your hands into a fist as your orgasm drove through you. For a few seconds, you could hear nothing but Maxwell’s panting as he slowly pulled out of you. You moaned at the lost feeling of fullness but before you could turn back around, he had already tucked his softening cock back into his pants and zipped himself up. Shakily, you pulled away from the table and turned to face him, your eyes still glazed from your orgasm. You wanted to kiss him… but the man hadn’t even taken his clothes off to fuck you. You couldn’t understand why. 

You leaned into Maxwell’s chest, slowly unbuttoning the rest of his shirt when he stopped you, pulling his hands away from you. “C’mon baby girl,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and rough. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” He swung his arm around your waist, just like when he walked you to the restaurant and made sure you wouldn’t slip on the ice, and slowly walked you to a bedroom.

He sat you down on the king sized bed and immediately you laid back as he sauntered off into the en-suite bathroom. The sheets were white, and of the softest linen you had ever felt. It was like you just sunk into the mattress, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. You felt yourself drifting off into a sleep as you wondered why Maxwell didn’t take off his clothes or even let you take off his shirt. You thought that, perhaps you were reading too much into it, and there would always be next time. This was only the beginning of your endevour with him.

You stirred when you felt the coolness of a washcloth rub softly against the inside of your thigh as Maxwell cleaned up his cum that had been dripping out of you. “I don’t think I’ll be able to walk tomorrow,” you mumbled and Maxwell let out a small chuckle before deciding he was finished and discarding the washcloth. “Can I stay here tonight?” you yawned tiredly, stretching out your arms.

“Of course.” Maxwell replied. “Make yourself comfortable.”

“Mmm, can you tuck me into bed?” You beckoned him further.

Maxwell stood there, watching you and contemplating your words. Never in his life had he tucked a woman into bed. It was rare he even gave them aftercare after sex, but your words earlier had resonated with him. You were different, and so he’d treat you differently. Besides, he could never deny you. He pulled on the duvet and you clambered underneath it. Then he pulled the blanket back over your body. You hummed happily. “Comfortable?” he asked.

“Yes,” you smiled. “Max, one last thing,” you called.

“Yes?” his fingers were already on the light switch.

“Won’t you sleep with me tonight? I mean- come next to me. And we can cuddle.”

“I don’t cuddle,” he sighed. “Besides, I have my own bed.”

“This isn’t your bed?” you questioned.

“No, this is a guest room.” he replied matter of factly. “You’ll be okay. I’m just three doors down if you need anything. Sleep tight.” he said before turning off the light and quietly closing the door.

“Goodnight Max.” you whispered before falling asleep.

Taglist: if you want to be added let me know! (if your name is crossed out it means I can’t tag you)

December Magic: @kiwi-the-first​ @100layersofdaddyissues​ @mrschiltoncat @honeymandos @thisisthe-wayson​ @this-cat-is-dea​ @blonde2bomshell

Permanent: @goth-topic ​ @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria ​ @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @nerdypinupcrystal​ 

[checkurwindow]

we can’t do this

Book: Open Heart

Warning: one or two swears, lots of angst. Rating: General Pairing: Ethan x F!MC Word Count: 2500+ Author’s note: Sequel to ‘denial’. I’d advise you to read the first part here before reading this to avoid any confusion. More notes about this fic is in my reblog.  While you’re at it, take a look at my masterlist!

“We wish you a merry Christmas...”

The words trailed off her lips, almost soft enough to be drowned out by the sound of her boots crunching against the snow. It was uncharacteristically quiet for her.

Her hand lightly brushed against the railing next to her, quickly retracting back when her nerves registered the low temperature of the surface. The sudden movement made a lump of snow that had previously sat calmly on top of the railing to fall to the ground before her feet.

Another clump fell, this time many meters further, the sound of it meeting the river below the bridge where she stood disrupted the short period of calmness that washed over her for the first time in quite a while.

The cold was starting to numb her fingers, making them feel stiff and frozen; though she was more distracted by the fallen snow that had unsurprisingly seeped through the thin layer of clothes she was wearing, which were now painfully scrubbing against her clammy skin.

“...we wish you a merry Christmas…”

The sky hung above her like a blackout curtain, the stars nearly invisible behind a thick layer of clouds. Surroundings only dimly illuminated by the faulty streetlights that lined either side of the road, she focused her vision on the small clouds of air that escaped her mouth with each shuddering breath in between each line of the song.

The song wouldn’t, couldn’t leave her mind, always lingering at the back of her head, even though Christmas was long over. If one would consider a week long, that is.

She paused longer this time before continuing the next line. Bringing her soaked sleeve to her face and rubbing her stinging eyes, she tried to clear her vision from the tears she’d been struggling more and more to hold back the further she strayed from the city.

“...we wish you a merry Christmas…”

She leaned against the metal bars in front of her, the only things preventing her from plunging into the rushing river below.

Amid the peaceful environment she isolated herself in, she could hear the sound of the people in their homes not too far away. The cheers and celebrations from the people celebrating the new year with friends, family, the people they love.

Imagining it like it was taking place right in front of her eyes, she saw how everyone stood close together, bright sparklers in one hand, bubbling champagne in the other. She swore she could hear their laughter and drunken giggles. She smiled as she thought of them shamelessly slurring their favourite songs at the top of their lungs next to the old karaoke machine they only got out of the closet for times like these, her favourite times.

But she wasn’t them. Hell, she wasn’t even the one awkwardly lingering at the corner of the room, envious of all the fun everyone else was having with their friends but too afraid to join in. No, she was standing there, in the cold, with nobody by her side.

Tugging on the green leather jacket, the only thing she brought with her, she brought it closer to her chest. She was sure that it was the one thing she could never bring herself to let go of. It was the one thing of his that she still held on to, and yet it still failed to protect her, to give her warmth, a tiny feeling of not being so alone in the numbing weather. She laughed at the irony of that damn jacket being the polar opposite of what he was to her.

A glance at the watch on her wrist that was half-hidden by her sleeve told her that it was 23:54, 6 minutes until midnight, a point in time that symbolised a new beginning for so many people, but was just yet another moment that had lost its spark to her.

“...and a happy...new...year…”

Her voice gave in, barely managing to pronounce those 5 little words, and her legs soon followed.

With her back now turned to face the barrier, she let herself slide down as slowly and gently as her jittery legs would allow--which admittedly, wasn’t a lot anymore. She more or less plummeted into the snow on the rough floor beneath her soles. And though her breath was caught in her throat for a moment as she felt the full extent of her body’s impact on the bitter cold, there wasn’t any movement to indicate she was getting up anytime soon.

A tear fell from her eyes. She didn’t feel it, she didn’t feel a lot, but she could still register that it was hot in contrast to the seemingly never-ending shower of snow that slowly fell on and around her. Another tear slipped out and she mindlessly watched as tear after tear dripped down her cheeks and fell onto the thick bed of snow.

Before she knew it, her face felt warmer than before, the wet tracks down her face warming her despite the sobs that shook her body more than the cold ever had. She shut her eyes as tightly as her weakening body would allow her, it was a desperate attempt to stop and she knew it. And so she let go. She let the shaking and the sobs and the cold take over, letting her legs go limp and fully enclose themselves in the snow, her hands fell to her side instead of tightly clenching them inside her pockets. She let herself be exposed to whatever poor soul was roaming the streets on the outskirts of town at that time of the night and had the displeasure of witnessing the in the state she was in.

Bells rang loudly in the air, signalling the start of the new year. The formerly pitch-black sky behind her was now filled with the loud and colourful explosions in the form of New Year fireworks. She didn’t want to start the new year just yet, still too caught up in everything that happened last year. She only wished she could turn back time.

The last time she saw him was bad, horrible, but that feeling wasn’t as bad as the one she was feeling right now.

The last time she saw him was...so long ago. At least that’s what it felt like. In reality, something she wasn’t too sure she was even apart of anymore, it had barely been half a year, yet it felt like an eternity ago.

As the fireworks died out, so did she. It was like the memories of him were slowly moving past her along with the previous year.

She started walking back to Donahue’s, simultaneously the best and worst place for her to be headed at that moment. On one hand, everyone was there, all her friends, colleagues, and superiors from edenbrook were at the local bar ringing in the new year. It had become somewhat of a tradition, the forever busy doctors came together and were a family for that blissful little period of time, drinking, chatting, dancing the night away. She smiled at the thought of her friends making fools of themselves and being as rowdy as can be.

It was a long way back into town, but the freezing weather and the adrenaline and numbness wearing off were a more than helpful incentive for her to hurry into the packed establishment and warm herself with the burning feeling of all sorts of alcohol sliding down the back of her throat.

By the time she walked in, her tears had dried and she managed to conjure up as convincing of a smile as a person who had just broken down at the side of the road could. Her friends welcomed her with open arms and shot glasses full of questionable liquids, minds not focused enough to wonder and ask why she had only stumbled in well after the clock had struck twelve, much like an opposite-cinderella.

It was just after 1:45 in the morning. Of the 8 that were originally there, only her and Sienna were left, the others had gone back home not too long ago but Sienna insisted on staying with her.

She had been silent for a while now, unlike the rest of the bar. Many patrons had gone but the ones that were left looked to be far from it. She sat silently as Sienna told stories about almost anything, she had been loosely paying attention. It wasn’t that she wasn’t interested, she really was, but her night hadn’t been the most celebratory.

It wasn’t looking like the night could get worse than it already had, but then the door opened, the bell at the top ringing and the swoosh of the door closing behind them clear. The same couldn’t be said for the countless drunk Bostonians who had come and gone throughout the night.

A few seconds passed and firm footsteps cut through the chatter of the crowd before her intoxicated mind had registered that someone walked in, and it took even longer for her to look up and realise that he had walked in.

It was barely half a second after it dawned on her that it was actually him that had just entered her line of sight and not another one of those dream scenarios she experienced in the weeks after he left.

In the haze of the moment, she wasn’t sure who looked over first but they had caught each other’s eye. She swore she saw him physically stop in his tracks and freeze up at the sight of her, and suddenly she felt more intoxicated than she had been all night, like she got high just off the sight of him, if that made any sense.

It was like the most cliche fairytale dream she had ever seen; the room seemed to fade away and a spotlight shined down on the two of them, like two lost lovers reunited at last. And if she were honest, that’s all she hoped for, to be in that situation where she could run into his arms, his only-for-her warm embrace that she couldn’t get enough of, and just melt into him after being apart for so long.

Instead, she settled for staying put and pretending like her mind wasn’t racing, with the exception of the glances she sneaked in when she thought he wasn’t looking. But as her luck would have it, he was, every single time.

Sienna got up to leave, advising her to at the very least say a friendly goodbye to him before she left, if nothing else. She reluctantly nodded her head. Thinking she had everyone fooled that she was fine after he left was a stretch, especially when it came to Sienna Trinh. It was almost like she had a sixth sense for spotting it.

She stood up and walked over to the bar, careful to steer her vision away from where he sat at the very end of the bar, a glass of his usual top-shelf whiskey in his palms. Ordering one last drink before she faced her fears, she walked over to him, looking in his direction but not quite meeting his eye.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” he replied in his usual toneless voice.

“Let’s sit over there,” she said, “I’d like to talk.”

He nodded, following her to an empty corner booth at the very back, almost fully secluded from the rest of the room.

They walked, sat down, and stared at each other in silence, unsure of what to say to the other.

“You went away for what? A month or two?” She lied, she knew exactly how long it had been. Hell, if she really concentrated, she probably knew it down to the second.

“Something along the lines of that, I can’t really remember,” he lied too. The guilt that was constantly eating away at him made it damn near impossible for him to forget.

That voice, his goddamned voice. It felt so good to hear his voice again, like it set off delayed New Year’s fireworks inside of her, and the bastard didn’t have the slightest clue that he had that kind of effect on her.

She let out something of a cross between a laugh and a scoff. Ethan, not being able to hear her inner thoughts, furrowed his brows and his hands started fidgeting, inching closer to her glass, concerned that she had drunk a little too much.

Lost in her own thoughts about him, she almost didn’t hear him when he finally broke the silence hanging eerily in the air between them.

“I’ve missed you.”

“I miss you too,” she replied back, almost too quickly.

Surpassing any expectations she held regarding what would happen when he walked in, he hastily leaned over the table separating them and pressed his lips against hers. Her body tensed at first, but eventually returned the kiss.

Are you kidding me? Her head practically screamed at her internally. That was all it took? For him to say that he misses her and just like that she’d forgive him and forget about everything that had happened that past year?

Finally making a logical decision, she pulled back, drawing in a breath from the loss of contact despite being the cause of it.

“Ethan,” she breathed out, all the air suddenly disappearing from her lungs, “we can’t do this.”

The look of hurt and pain that showed on his face almost made her want to take back what she had just said, but she knew better than that, “I can’t do this. Not after everything that’s happened.”

“Rookie…” He trailed off in a pleading tone.

“I begged you,” she recalled that dreadful moment in time, forever branded into her memories.

“I’m sorry. Please, I-”

“Why did you leave me?” She said bluntly despite her quivering lips and watering eyes.

“They needed my help an-” he tried to make things better, soothe her conscience, and at the same time his too.

“Why did you leave me?” Never in a million years did she ever think that Ethan Ramsey, world-renowned internal medicine doctor, would have commitment fucking issues.

She had hoped. She wasn’t religious but she hoped to god that he would be different with her, that it would be different with him, that it would be different despite him. It never did happen, no matter how much she tried to convince herself that it did. Maybe that’s why she had broken down that much after he left, because it meant that they weren’t good enough, that she wasn’t good enough for him to want to stay and try, maybe that’s why she couldn’t bear to risk it by being together with him again.

Maybe that’s why she stood up and cupped the now tearful Ethan’s face in her hands and placed a parting kiss on his lips, as he had done the same for her so long ago, muttering a soft apology and a soulful goodbye. Then she let go. She let her arm drop back down to her side and walked out while she was still thinking clearly enough to not go back on the promises she made to herself.

[sola-whumping]

Umbran, Febuwhump: Hidden Injury

Gabrial dragged himself out of bed. He couldn’t rest too long and let Caretaker get suspicious. He was tired and achy but he couldn’t afford to take a break.

He had gotten hurt dealing with one of the newer pets he trained and sold, this one was brave and fought. They had bitten him and been muzzled for their trouble.

He’d train them out of it, maybe have them wear a sharp muzzle for a few days as revenge- that is, after their three days of isolation are up. Until then he would take care of himself and keep the incident quiet.

Gabrial made his way to the bathroom, pulling out the first aid kit again. No matter how he cleaned the wound or what he wrapped it with the bite mark was still swollen and painful and looked like a mess. It looked infected.

The wound on his shoulder felt hot, even as he cleaned it out once again with cool water. It wept puss and still bled occasionally, both of which being a bad sign. Gabrial put Neosporin in the wound and wrapped it up with gauze before securing it in place with bandages.

He knew he would have to tell Caretaker eventually but he didn’t know how to go about it without sounding dumb. All he could do for now was take care of the wound, clean it often and try to disinfect it.

He put a long sleeved shirt on over the bandages and a jacket over that to disguise any swollen skin.

===============================

Caretaker was suspicious. They had been watching Gabrial for the past few days and they knew something was up. They knew he was hurt, but they also knew Gabrial wouldn’t let them help.

It was obvious Gabrial had injured his arm somehow, clear from the ever weakening state of the limb and the less frequent use. Especially over the past two days.

They knew they had to be careful about any assistance offered, otherwise Gabrial would simply reject it. They had already supplied him gauze and bandages and Neosporin as well as tweezers to get debris out of the wound. But without knowing what the injury was they couldn’t give him as much as they would like.

It was getting frustrating, watching him hide it. Watching him weaken without knowing what they could do. They wanted to avoid a fight, that was just more stress on Gabrial, but something had to change.

===============================

Gabrial felt hot. He felt hot and dizzy and like he would pass out. He was achy and cold and sick and weak. He hated it and he knew now that his shoulder was infected. He would get caretaker, he would tell them- but later. For now he was tired and he wanted to sleep.

He finally laid down to take a break, exhausted. He curled on his side in the bed and just focused on breathing. His shoulder hurt. It hurt so bad he was breathless.

How did he let it get so bad? How did he let his pride come before his health? He had just wanted to avoid a fuss- and besides, he had taken care of it so why wasn’t it getting better?

Gabrial shifted uncomfortably. He just wanted to be healthy, was that so much to ask?

===============================

When Caretaker could smell sickness in the air they knew something was wrong. They set down their book and quickly made their way to Gabrial’s room.

They opened the door and saw Gabrial laying on his side, hazy with fever. The poor creature trembled of cold and was trying to bury itself under the blankets, which would only cause him to overheat faster.

Caretaker rushed to his side with inhuman speed, carefully lifting him off the warm bed and examining his face. He was warm to the touch and it was clear whatever wound he had was infected.

Caretaker carried Gabrial their med room, a place that wasn’t contaminated with whatever he was sick with. Caretaker needed a clean environment to start and it wasn’t the first time they had to deal with a passed out umbran.

They carefully took Gabrial out of his jacket, and then out of his shirt. They saw the bandages and left to get more before preparing to deal with whatever was underneath. They didn’t even wince at the state of the injury, they just shook their head and sighed.

Gabrial was a mess, and Caretaker was torn between worried and fuming. The only reason Caretaker was here was to take care of and play medic for Gabrial. If they couldn’t do their job and Gabrial wouldn’t ask for help then what was the point?

They knew the wound was infected so they didn’t hesitate with taking care of it. They had all the supplies they needed, already tucked away in different drawers so it wasn’t a struggle.

Now that they could see the injury the hard part was over. They only needed to keep him alive now. That, and make him cooperate when he woke up.

✨Masterlist✨

Taglist:

@haro-whumps @poisoned-by-royalty @sunset-avenuer @wide-awake-but-comatose @whumpsy-daisies @misspelledwitch @string-of-broken-hearts

[cbspams]

D-0: The Arena

Buckle in because this is a long one.

CW: Canon-typical violence, mentions of blood and murder

It's so quiet in the hovercraft, like no one wants to breathe. In complete darkness, there's no way to know how long they've been smoothly gliding in the air. Maybe it's been minutes, hours. Probably not days though. Felix can't imagine the Arena being too far, since they're supposed to be broadcasting today. Plus, in the Capitol, no one ever travels very far outside it's circular bounds, so there's no reason to hold the Games so very far away.

His arm hurts a bit, but that's probably some kind of placebo effect. The trackers are supposed to have a numbing agent, to make sure the tributes are at their tip top shape. Whatever that means. Felix wonders if he could pick out where they pricked him. Probably not, the trackers are teeny and the needles they use so thin.

Someone takes a breath, shuddering and unsure. A sign of weakness to be preyed on. It only raises the tension in the darkness. Felix wonders if the Careers are calculating now where the sound came from, if they can pinpoint which district area. His fellow Eight tribute shivers next to him, a near imperceptible movement to anyone else. There's a small temptation to reach over and grab her hand but... There's no point in that now.

Instead, Felix closes his eyes, letting darkness flood darkness and waits for the inevitable rumbling that signals their descent into the arena.

------

Each tribute is released one by one, escorted by a Peacekeeper. In order, from One to Twelve. So naturally, Hyunjin goes first. He glances back, makes eye contact with the girl from One and Yang Jeongin from Two and Bang Chan from Four. Nods his head ever so slightly as he's escorted out. A kind of reaffirmation. Deep down, he's grateful they nod back, or at least Chan does. Jeongin's eyes soften just a touch, which is about as good as it gets with a Two tribute. Then, Hyunjin goes down the ramp of the hovercraft, across the landing strip into a small, pristine while building. From here, he will walk down and down and down, until it feels like if he walks any further, he'll end up in the molten core of the earth.

The Peacekeeper turns him to his left and the metal doors slide open soundlessly, still with the orderly glide of Capitol doors. Hyunjin steps in and the doors shut behind him. The tribute uniform this year is... white. Pure, unadulterated white. How unusual. Normally the Arenas favor darker colors, manipulations of shadows and light. But perhaps they want more of a show this year, more excitement. White is a clean color after all, it's much easier to stain.

Hyunjin touches the fabric carefully, narrowing his eyes. The outfit is comprised of a sleeved shirt, a skin tight jacket, slim fit but flexible pants. They even give him a pair of combat boots, also white and laced with white. There's a total of four pockets, two on the jacket and two on the pants, but they run deep and zip up so at least there's that. The Gamemakers really are cruel this year. Anyone with a wearable token will stand out like there's no tomorrow. There's something particularly audacious about this outfit too, because Careers are often the ones drenched in red first. Are the Gamemakers painting them as targets? Do they expect them to lose?

What a joke.

------

Seungmin slips on the jacket and zips it up high, but not quite to the top. It's a bit snug there, and he needs full range of motion for his neck. He stretches this way and that to test how far he can extend himself, but these clothes were designed to be moved in. That's good at least. It'll make it easier to run. White though... He doesn't like that. Not at all. Seungmin had spent an extraordinary amount of time at the camouflage station, ready to hide anywhere but if the Arena is only one color... Well, that's suspicious and dangerous. There's less places to hide in that sense.

Still, this isn't completely out of the scope of his analysis. There was a year where the Arena was made of ice, pale whites and blues and hints of yellow from the fake sun. So he had prepared as much for a sort of monochrome space. Inconvenient, annoying, but not inexplicable. Likely the Arena this time won't be pure snow and ice, there's no reason to watch tributes freeze to death in this thin outfit they've been given. It's very boring, and the Gamemakers are dedicated to making these Games anything but.

The doors slide open again and Seungmin nods a greeting to Wendy, who has pale blue woven into her blond braids today, with matching blue eyes that pierce through him. She smiles sweetly and reaches out to straighten out his collar. He's put it all on correctly, she knows, so there's no point in checking that. Instead, she fixes the tiniest of details, brushes his hair out of his face, lingers a bit at his earring. Only one, a tiny ring made of wood and metal. There's nothing special about it of course, because otherwise it wouldn't have been allowed. But it is special, to Seungmin, and maybe even to Wendy as she stares at it with almost longing. She bids him good luck at the sound of the first buzzer, a warning to get on the circular platform at the corner of the room. He bids her farewell in true Seven fashion, with a clasp of his hands over hers and pushing her hands back to her chest before releasing. Now, there will be no friendly face, no kind voice.

------

Chan doesn't like the platform. No one does but... It's unnaturally smooth. He's so used to the waves of the ocean, the rockiness of the earth, and this platform is anything but. It's an odd anxiety inducing thing, to be in an environment so sterile. But the Arena might not be. Maybe the Arena will have some kind of advantage for him, an ocean or a sea replica. Even though that's dangerous in it's own way. Chan would know better than anyone else that the sea can be as unforgiving and cruel as it is accepting and kind. He takes a breath and steps onto the circle carved out, turning and nodding at Karina, who touches her hand to her neck and then extends it outward to him before bowing slightly. He smiles at that and does the same as the glass tube descends around him. A ritual of the sea, to give him comfort. He prays he can say thank you to her later.

The ride up is short, no more than sixty seconds. Perhaps even less. There are only thin strips of light on the way up, and by the speed of the platform, they flash by quicker than Chan would really like. He can only imagine how disorienting it must be for someone who's really frightened. But soon the lights flash their final and brightest and Chan has to squeees his own eyes shut to protect them. As soon as the platform stops moving though, he peers out, cautiously at first.

[ Oh and what a grand space we’ve created for you today ladies and gentlemen! Feast your eyes upon this brand new creation! ]

His eyes widen and it’s only years of strict self control that prevent him from dropping his jaw too. The Arena is white, pure and simple. But not because of snow, not because of dense cloud cover. No, it’s pure white because it is a room, a circular one with the Cornucopia in the center as it’s grand eye catching splash of color. This year, they’ve clustered everything close. Too close for Chan’s liking. But all the packs are striking colors, bold reds and blues and greens. Some are even patterned, stripes and dots. Chan glances to his left then to his right, spotting the other Careers and… again he is reminded that there are no rules here. He is reminded to be grateful that he was chosen to join. Because now, he has far more of a fighting chance than before. Gritting his teeth, he stares directly at the long spear on the edge and clenches his hands. It’s almost time.

------

Jeongin knows there’s the sixty seconds to wait until they can sprint off their platforms. In those sixty seconds, he has to calculate. There’s a set of throwing knives, those are for Hyunjin. A sword, deadly sharp and thin, for his partner tribute from Two. A spear, undoubtedly for Chan from four who’s greatest strength lies in his accurate aim and forceful throw. Jeongin himself narrows his eyes, glossing over a handheld scythe, a bow with a quiver of arrows, a machete. He decides that a dagger will do, because he has always prefer to be personal with his kills. It’s more satisfying that way.

He views the other tributes, determines that he has to take down the strong first. This first day is when they’re all in peak condition. The longer he waits to deal with the more powerful, the more trouble it will be. First would of course be the kid from Ten, who stirred up such a storm among the Capitolites. Then maybe the kid from Eight, Five. Seven is smart, but he seems like he’ll rely more on surviving than killing. Chan said to watch out for Three, but Jeongin has to pick and choose his own targets first.

The seconds count down, until Jinyoung's voice rings out, grave and yet as cheerful as usual. The voice of an entertainer. Jeongin lets it sink in his ears as he zeroes on on his weapon, does a last minute calculation to snag a bag from the edge. It'll keep the other tributes near him from being able to get resources, which means they'll either have to go without or die trying to get into the inner circle.

[ Let the 78th Hunger Games, begin. May the odds be ever in your favor.

10... 9... 8... 7... 6... ]

It's showtime.

------

[ 5... 4... 3... 2... 1 ]

The cannon booms and everyone is sprinting. There's no way out of it, you need something from the Cornucopia to make it even the first night. The precious few packs scattered around the edges would be targeted first, for anyone who wasn't a career. Changbin doesn't bother thinking about that though. Thinking was a luxury for the sixty second grace period, now it's time to run like hell.

His aim is for a medium sized pack, located not quite at the edge but far enough from the middle that it's lower risk. It's isolated, so for now he'll have to ditch potential weapons. Maybe there's some grace of the Gamekeepers here, because his platform was located between a scrawny Twelve tribute and a frightened Six, both of whom stumble at first getting off the platform. A fatal mistake, but one Changbin fully intends to take advantage of.

At the same time, he keeps an eye out for the Careers, for Ten and the few other threats around. As expected, One with his long legs reaches the center area of the Cornucopia first. Changbin forces himself not to flinch when he sees him pick up a couple small throwing knives, rearing his hand back and whipping it forward with so much force that it lodges itself lethally in the Eleven boy's eye. Changbin redirects his attention, ducking low to snag the pack he was aiming for and slinging it over his shoulder before performing the sharpest hairpin turn he can to sprint off. The Arena isn't open spaced like it normally is. No, there are hallways, placed in uneven intervals. He races down one of them just as he hears the shrill shriek of another tribute, and as he twists down a turn, he catches a glimpse of a spray of bright red painting the wall.

------

Jisung darts down the hall, turning this way and that down the twists. In his mind, he memorizes, left left right left right. There's no echoing in the hallways, which feels odd because the floor seems hard and tile like, even if it's also smooth like laminate. It must be something between the shoes and the floor, something causing the lack of friction. Basic physics. Jisung snaps himself out of it, taking two more turns (right right) and pauses to catch his breath. He warily keeps an eye out on both ends of the hallway though, just in case. Now that things aren't a blur racing by anymore, he sees... Doors? Some of them are obvious, with door knobs and embellishments. Some of them are near invisible, just a clean outline against the wall.

Natural curiosity tells him to try and open one, caution tells him to crouch down and figure out what the hell is in this bright yellow bag he grabbed. Caution wins out of course, so he crouches and unzips the backpack. It’s not big, so he doesn’t expect much out of it. A small bottle for water, some bleach drops, a couple sticks of what looks like jerky and…

Jisung lifts up the last item in confusion because it’s not something you see nearly ever. It’s a spray can, yellow paint, no markings. The rest of the items are standard, likely in every pack. But this, this is unusual. There has to be a reason for it right? They don't do jokes in the Games, not like that. Jisung narrows his eyes, turning the can over and over, trying to peel away the sticker. But there's nothing, and the sticker doesn't budge. Bizarre. Very much so. Jisung twitches as he spots something, a flickering out of the corner of his eye. He zips up his pack again and starts walking slowly, keeping his eyes peeled for anyone or anything.

------

Minho shakes the can, narrowing his eyes. He doesn't really know much about this but don't paint cans usually contain some kind of marble or something inside? That would make a rattling sound right? But there's nothing, no sound, not even the feeling of sloshing liquid inside. It just feels, full somehow.

He looks up, staring at one of the doors. It's the kind you see often in the Capitol, silent, gliding on electromagnetic whatever. The kid from Three could probably parse it out easily, but Minho's on his own. He approaches it slowly, grimacing at the blood trail left on the floor. But he doesn't dwell on it too long, since it'll get cleaned up in about five minutes. It's like the floor absorbs blood or something.

The door itself really doesn't seem to do anything. Unlike the ones in the Capitol that merely open by movement, this one stays firmly shut even as he approaches it. He hesitantly reaches a hand out, only allowing his fingertips to touch and then jerking them right back afterward. But there's no shock, no odd sticky residue. Nothing alarming. So cautiously he presses his hand against the door and then sweeps it across, brows furrowed as still, nothing happens. If it's not the door, then maybe there's some kind of panel on the edges. Antiquated but the Games are nothing if not awfully inconvenient. He moves slowly but carefully, crawling every inch until... There. A little notch.

He presses his fingers against it firmly but it doesn't budge. Well if it's not push, maybe it's pull? But when he tries, it still doesn't move. He growls softly under his breath, staring at it, studying the shape (nothing special about that), the color (still white), the size (about the size of a shirt button). He squints at it, thinking. Maybe...

-----

Well well! It seems like another one has figured it out. Minho of District Ten has brought out his spray can and is looking at it. I do believe he'll be figuring out the secret to our doors soon enough! What's that? You want a hint? Well, if you watch him carefully spray the little button notch outside the door with the can he was given... Voila! The door's open and he gets... Ahh, fresh water. A lucky first choice for Minho from Ten ladies and gentlemen!

Oh? What's this? Chan from Four and Hyunjin from One have decided to explore down a hallway together, both carrying packs and weapons of choice. Did you see Hyunjin earlier with those throwing knives earlier? A truly instant and stunning execution of skill. And Chan's forceful toss that skewered Jiho to the wall? Incredible! These two are surely on the hunt now, all the others better watch out...

Three is making their way easily around this maze, having figured out the mechanisms to the door first. Changbin and Yooa are slowly but steadily making their way outwards, exploring rooms. Changbin especially seems to be attuned to the doors, pausing frequently to open them and take what's inside. Sadly it seems Yooa is not as fortunate, and caught an unlucky room just now. Perhaps they'll be able to make alliances easier with their expertise.

Ah! Felix from Eight has just found a room packed with food. He can't stay there though folks, because unfortunately the room will shift and it does not lock, so if he stays then he may get caught by someone he doesn't want to be caught by. Besides that, this is simply too much food for a single tribute to carry, and as we all know, speed is of the essence! Yes, he's going to be smart and specifically take out the long lived items: dried fruit, smoked meat, and oh? I believe that's some kind of vitamin powder? He'll need to find water for that. And off he runs... Hopefully he won't run into anyone else.

Perhaps this is feels right at home for Two. Jeongin and Mimi certainly seem to think so! Just look at how relaxed they are, setting up camp and inventorying items at the Cornucopia. Very different from how they were earlier, Jeongin slitting the throat of Seunghee from Eleven and Mimi gutting Jine from Six. That image of their twin smiles will forever live in the history books, won't they folks? They seem to be discussing something, let's take a closer look...

[ Jeongin: If it comes down to it, we can just kill them and then Rock Bottom it Mimi, don't be so worried about it. ]

[ Mimi: Sure. But for now, rotation system right? ]

[ Jeongin: Yeah. I don't want to sit here waiting all the time, as soon as they get back I'm heading out. Arin, you gonna come with? ]

[ Arin: Sure, I could use the exercise. Hey, did we find any food? I'm starving ]

[ Mimi: Nah. There's bottles and containers but no food. Probably scattered in the Arena somewhere. ]

[ Arin: Hopefully Chan and Hyunjin bring something back, I am not going to starve on my first night here. ]

Well well, aren't they just so prepared! While these Careers get themselves settled in, let's check in on our resident Brainiac shall we? How many of us were screaming when he nearly kicked the bucket earlier! He managed to limp off but now he's very much stuck dealing with this terrible leg injury. He's currently hiding in a room that, my my, looks like the entrance of a fantasy novel! It appears to be a dense forest, filled with foliage he can hide behind. Perhaps he'll find something to help treat his wound there, you certainly don't want to let it get infected!

Oh? Our little mystery boy from Five has just found a room completely filled with darkness. Due to the quality of our cameras, you can see there is a barrier separating that space to where Jisung is in the hallway. Perhaps there's something not so nice in that room. Will he enter? He seems to be thinking about it! He's leaning forward and-- Oh! A narrow escape from some absolutely massive claws! Nearly got his head torn off there. As it is, it seems like his cheek was caught a bit, those look like some nasty gashes. Ah, but he's smart, he's taking off his shirt and not his jacket to press up to the wound! That way he will still be able to hide his body among the background, because sadly these clothes do not break down blood like the floor does.

What an exciting first day! There go our cannons, projections of each dead tribute on the white walls. Eight dead, an unusually low number but... That just means there's more to come folks! Tune in for tomorrow's recap, and as always, may the odds be ever in your favor.

------

[ TIMELINE DAY:HOUR:MINUTE:SECOND ]

00:00:00:00 GAMES START 00:00:00:30 JISUNG RUNS INTO HALLWAY 325 00:00:00:47 JEONGIN GETS HIS FIRST KILL 00:00:00:48 CHAN GETS HIS FIRST KILL 00:00:01:13 HYUNJIN GETS HIS FIRST KILL 00:00:01:24 CHANGBIN RUNS INTO HALLWAY 273 00:00:01:24 FELIX RUNS INTO HALLWAY 927 00:00:01:25 SEUNGMIN RUNS INTO HALLWAY 817, INJURED BY ARIN 00:00:01:30 MINHO CHALLENGES JEONGIN BEFORE ESCAPING INTO HALLWAY 692 00:00:02:56 JISUNG TAKES INVENTORY OF HIS PACK 00:00:05:27 CAREER PACK TAKES INVENTORY 00:00:07:26 MINHO DISCOVERS THE SPRAY CAN OPENS DOORS, FINDS CLEAN WATER 00:00:27:17 CHAN AND HYUNJIN GO HUNTING 00:00:45:28 CHANGBIN OPENS HIS FIRST DOOR, DISCOVERS WEAPONRY 00:02:37:17 FELIX DISCOVERS ROOM FULL OF FOOD 00:04:28:52 SEUNGMIN EXITS THE JUNGLE ROOM 00:07:51:27 HYUNJIN KILLS A DISTRICT 9 TRIBUTE 00:11:14:35 JISUNG GETS INJURED FROM A MYSTERY CREATURE 00:13:45:14 FELIX NEARLY GETS BEHEADED BY A TRAP ROOM, ESCAPES MOSTLY UNHARMED 00:16:06:07 CHAN SAVES HYUNJIN FROM POISON JETS 06:18:29:17 JEONGIN NEARLY BREAKS AN ARM, ESCAPES WITH A DISLOCATED SHOULDER. POPS IT BACK INTO PLACE BUT RETURNS TO THE CORNUCOPIA FOR TREATMENT. 00:17:02:18 SEUNGMIN BARELY MISSES JEONGIN, BOTH ARE UNHARMED 00:17:38:01 MINHO RIPS A CREATURE'S ARM OFF, TAKES POISONED CLAWS AS WEAPONS 00:18:27:19 CHAN HAS A CLOSE CALL WITH SOMETHING UNIDENTIFIABLE 00:20:17:28 MOST TRIBUTES SETTLE IN FOR THE NIGHT. CAREERS LOCATED AT THE CORNUCOPIA. CHANGBIN IN ROOM 182. JISUNG IN ROOM 9182. SEUNGMIN IN ROOM 827. FELIX IN ROOM 915. MINHO CONTINUES TO ROAM, SEEKING SOMETHING. 00:24:00:00 CANONS FIRE ANNOUNCING DAILY DEAD

[engimono]

@liedux​: [ cheer ]  bc why not :)    //   sent from:   ultimate affectionate gestures compilation

                IF ONLY HIS LUCK WAS MORE DEPENDABLE !

     With a couple  gifts  safely stowed away in his jacket pocket, Naegi was determined not to  squander  the free time made available to them. Already had the emotional burden of several deaths begun to weigh heavy on the remaining students and in the wake of Kirumi Tojo’s execution, most of them felt  dispirited  by the trial’s proceedings. They’d lost yet another classmate and to learn of her  righteous  motives afterwards hadn’t been an easy  epiphany  to digest.

     The absence was  painstakingly  felt during following morning’s breakfast, whether the others made explicit mention of it or not. In particular, despite the supreme leader’s  notorious  reputation, Ouma’s brief moment of grief in the immediate wake of Tojo’s punishment struck him as  sincere  and overlooked by the others. The exact extent of their relationship might have been a little  ambiguous  but the  motherly  comparisons hadn’t escaped his notice. Tojo clearly meant something to Ouma and especially after the recent  altercation  with Harukawa shortly after, the last forty-eight hours certainly hadn’t been the  kindest  to the supreme leader. It didn’t matter whether the other student  declined  his invitation or not; what mattered was that Ouma knew that he wouldn’t be excluded from the chance to partake in a temporary distraction.

     For the first hour or so, Ouma was  nowhere  to be found. As he walked the academy’s halls and spoke in passing to the other students, the topic of whether they’d recently seen Ouma was broached but the question was always left without a  reliable  answer. No one seemed to have any idea of where the supreme leader was and after doing one final lap around the courtyard to clear his head, Naegi privately  mused  about whether Ouma’s disappearance was an  intentional  bid to isolate himself. Despite his growing  reservations  about his venture, however, another  possibility  was considered and chosen as his final destination. Grim connotations notwithstanding, the room was still worth a visit –-- if only to pay  respects  to Tojo’s memory.

     Whether it was due to a stroke of  luck  or pure  coincidence, however, the decision proved to be a worthwhile pursuit and instilled a  pleasant  sense of surprise within him upon entering the room. Without any preconceived expectations, Naegi found himself in the company of the very person that had been the  focus  of his widespread search. Unfortunately, the environment itself was far from  ideal.  

     ❝  O-Ouma-kun, hey. Sorry, I didn’t mean to  bother  you.  ❞   The apology spilled from him before he had a chance to censor it, a little  bashful  from the fact that their spontaneous encounter had actually been preceded by an hour or so of  aimless  wandering. A pause passed between them as his eyes scanned the entirety of the room, lingering on its  ornate  decorations and furniture while footsteps brought him closer to the supreme leader. Without Tojo to put the utilities to good use, the room felt  empty  and  underutilized.   ❝  I didn’t think anyone else would be in here but I wanted to stop by after what happened. It felt like the  right  thing to do.  ❞

     A smile was managed in spite of the situation,  warm  and  supportive  as hands retreated into his jacket pockets. Confession or clarifications about Ouma’s relationship with Tojo were neither asked for nor required. Assumptions had been made based on  conjecture  and unconfirmed suspicions but Naegi had  faith  that the sentiment was shared, nonetheless. Ouma hadn’t visited the room  haphazardly,  not with its heightened significance. There had been a  purpose  to the visit and it was Naegi’s belief that it was tied to a  connection, one that had unfortunately been severed with Tojo’s untimely death.   

     ❝  I, ah, hope it’s okay but I wanted to give you this. Seemed a bit too  challenging  for me at first but I thought that you’d get a kick out of it ---- either on your own time, or with someone else.  As for the caramels, well, it might not be as good as Tojo-san’s cooking was but I hope you like them anyway.  ❞   The milk puzzle and a box of sukiyaki-flavoured caramels from the Monomono Machine were presented, a gesture of both  commiseration  for the loss of their classmate and  comradery  for the future. In spite of their  rivalrous  dynamic in the courtroom, Ouma was still cared for and the present occasion was one reminder out of  many  to come.   ❝  If you’re feeling up for it, we could also hang out in the game room or the AV room to watch a movie. We don’t have to talk about things if you don’t want to but maybe we can find something to pass the time.  It might help take your mind off things, you know ?  ❞

[foreficfandom]

Mystic Messenger - Domestic Disputes And Bad Habits (mysme x MC)

--- Zen ---

He hadn’t lived with anyone for years. After running away from home, he struggled with housing, sometimes couch surfing and sometimes he had legitimate leases. And when he lived with others, he was usually the ‘messy roommate’ because leaving home at a young age meant little opportunity to learn how to manage a living space. 

Even now, his apartment is relatively clean largely by virtue of him not owning a lot of stuff. He doesn’t cook so no dishes to clean, he doesn’t own loose knick knacks to spread around. 

When he housed you for a couple days prior to the first RFA party, he had quickly cleaned his apartment of empty beer cans and loose socks, which made it look like he was a man who kept a clean house. But unfortunately, that wasn’t the case, and by the next afternoon you noticed random articles tossed over chairs and upon the floor.

That was fine when it was only his space, but when the two of you began living together, Zen quickly had to learn that it wasn’t acceptable to shed his clothing upon the floor all the time, especially when the laundry basket was right there. No, Zen, get your loose socks out of the couch cushions. Zen, stop piling up empty cigarette boxes on the nightstand. Zen, once you’ve unwrapped the sheet mask from its plastic envelope would it kill you to throw it away, instead of leaving it on the bathroom counter?

He’s consistent when it comes to chores like doing the laundry and taking out the trash. But asking him to hang up his jacket instead of letting it crumple in the corner? It’s like getting blood from a stone. 

After a while, you finally get him to pick up after himself. “It’s our home, now,” you said. “Not just yours.” A promise that said he wasn’t alone, anymore. And he took it to heart.  

--- Yoosung ---

It may seem like his depression-ruled lifestyle seemed to change overnight, but that wasn’t the case. Sure, he did regain a lot of his motivation and energy, but simply getting a new lease on life won’t overrule years of neglecting yourself.

You’d text him in preparation for a date, only to arrive and find out he hasn’t even left his bed since he replied with an ‘I’ll get ready!’ More than once your dates had to be rescheduled because Yoosung had been stuck in bed, or still in his pajamas on his desktop. 

On the third time you voiced your complaints, Yoosung got a bit defensive. He couldn’t help it, it’s hard for him to maintain a tidy schedule after so long lacking the proper will. 

It was a terse discussion. Your first couple fight, if you will. “Yoosung, are you sure you’re okay? You don’t want to seek professional help?” “No, MC, I’m fine. What could a counselor possibly help me with?”

It was Yoosung’s own initiative to finally google some nearby therapists during a particularly slow morning. He didn’t tell you he’d been seeing someone until four sessions in, since he struggles with the idea that he might need help. You hug him tightly and treat the both of you to tasty pastries at a cute bakery. 

Yoosung took his therapy to heart. He started slow, working on self-affirming mindfulness and motivating himself to tidy his living space. Then he worked on his time management, which helped his schooling and energy both. 

Within the year, both you and Yoosung saw progress. He felt better, which made his life better. More time to live. More time to spend with you.

--- Jaehee ---

Domestic arguments didn’t arise until you moved in with her. Before that point, Jaehee and you meshed so gracefully, it was damn near magical. 

Even moving into her place and having to carry around heavy couches and unpack a million boxes didn’t dampen that honeymoon phase. You loved witnessing Jaehee’s hidden strength as she tugged your mattress down seven flights of stairs. 

But within a week of living with her, you noticed that you and her ... clashed when it came to interior living. You kept using up the hot water before Jaehee could take a shower. She would misplace your possessions thoughtlessly. The both of you thought each other as messier. 

It was like a new roommate situation. At first, the two of you tried to calmly talk these things out. But new issues would arise after the old ones were resolved. She didn’t like how you tossed your coat across the desk chair, or left the living room lamps on during the night. 

“It’s my apartment, MC!” “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought being your co-owner at the cafe we co-manage meant my co-money go into our co-rent!”

Jaehee went to work in a huff, leaving you to your own devices. Alone in the apartment, you decided to do some regular chores, and as you rested for a minute you absorbed the living space - you could see Jaehee’s touch in ever corner, thoughtfully and carefully labored over. It really almost seemed like your mindless efforts were invading her space.

When Jaehee returned that evening, the two of you tried to apologize at the same time. “Oh, sorry, you go -” “No, you, sorry for interrupting -”

“It’s just ... MC, I want to apologize for treating you like a naughty guest. You’re my partner now and deserve more say in our home.”

You made up and eventually the apartment evolved into a true home between the two of you. A perfect representation of your love.

--- Jumin ---

The dude can be shockingly conservative. In the beginning, it only manifested in him being somewhat of a prude. “I wish you wouldn’t wear that particular dress to the social. You look more beautiful when you show less skin.” “... you mean you’d personally prefer I didn’t show much skin, right?” “Yes? What was wrong with my previous sentence?”

But sometimes he’d be watching the news and blurt out, “I’m not sure if marriage between two men should be recognized by law.” Which leads to you trying to convince him that he’s being very unethical. 

He usually ends up saying something like, “I’m sorry, love, I’m rather uneducated when it comes to this issue,” and leave it at that. Because he’s not some right-wing jackass or anything, he just grew up in an isolated Christian family and never really got to socialize beyond that. So he never learned about viewpoints that challenged what he heard growing up.

It can be infuriating, though, especially with issues you’re concerned about. Because Jumin just kinda tries to compromise by taking a non-stance, since he just doesn’t have a strong opinion on things like reproductive rights or colonialism. It’s partially due to his sheltered background, and partially due to being raised to literally be conservative in his life dealings.

But after seeing you becoming more and more frustrated, he digs a little deeper and realizes that he’s kinda being an ass.  Eventually he begins to say things like, “I think you’re right, MC. Demonizing drug abusers is antithesis to their recovery. They deserve sympathy instead.”

But a pleasant surprise is his appreciation for climate conservation. He likes to donate and fund green power initiatives because he believes in preserving the environment and preventing nature exploitation. You join his efforts, and he finally understands how important it is to have solidarity from your significant other.

--- Saeyoung/707 ---

Being merely twenty-three years old (not to mention his neglected upbringing) leads to some rocky relationship problems. His self-doubt and anxiety can go wild during his worse days, making him revert back to his colder personality and try to push you away once more.

It doesn’t manifest as just him ignoring you. His mind can make him do some really round-about sabotaging. One day, you open the kitchen cabinets to see it all the objects thrown within haphazardly. You confronted Saeyoung and it took hours before he coldly confessed that he was considering throwing away all your favorite foods, before realizing how fucked up that would be and quickly replacing it all again. 

He knew it was his mother’s influence talking. And the thought made him sick. 

Sometimes, you responded to his darker days with loving patience and lots of hugs while he allows himself to break down. Sometimes, you choose to distance yourself a bit. Either way, Saeyoung’s mood eventually evens out. The two of you talk at length about why he feels the way he does, and why he’s propelled to do these things. As time goes on, his dark moods pop up less and less.

On a lighter note, Saeyoung can be a pretty messy dude. Partly because of his underlying mental issues, partly because that’s the type of guy he is. He doesn’t shower as much as you like him to, and he tosses trash just ... everywhere. If his bunker wasn’t so big, the clutter he alone produces would bury you both. No wonder he needed a ‘maid’. 

Yeah, it takes more than a few pushes to make him stop being a slob. He eventually owns up, but not without some effort. Everyone living in the house is grateful. 

--- Saeran ---

It took many months before Saeran felt stable enough to start integrating into normal society, and even longer before his daily schedule began to stabilize beyond surprise breakdowns, spreads of bad days spent holed up, or horrible dips in moods.

Saeran would always live with dissociative identity disorder, and during the first few years it could get tough. Both ‘Suit’ and Ray would be triggered seemingly without warning, and sometimes last for days. Ray did anything he could to earn your affection, ‘Suit’ defected his fears by trying to provoke you. 

Therapy and medication was an ongoing process. You and Saeran went through more than a couple of therapists before finding the ‘one’. Medications had to be tried then dropped because of side effects, or lack of effectiveness. There were long periods of months in-between where all he could do was hope this new treatment would be more effective than the last.

‘Suit’ once got particularly violent with you, not hitting but shaking you by the shoulders and screaming in your face, “Just say it!! You hate me ... you want to hurt me!!”

You found 'Suit’ later, crying and curled up in a corner. After long coaxing, he confessed that he was so afraid you were eventually going to hurt him, so he was pushing you to see if you’d do it. 

And Ray’d do things like blow away all his saved up money to buy you gifts in a desperate show of affection. Just because the two of you were living in a safe, stable environment doesn’t mean old haunts wouldn’t pop up.

Saeran eventually got better and better. Looking back now, Saeran is so much happier. He never lets you forget your amazing influence on him. “Thank you for saving me, my love.” 

--- Jihyun ---

He’s the perfect example of a loving boyfriend. After his two years spent in a therapeutic journey of self-discovery, he returned ready to be a reliable partner. And for the most part, he lived up to it, barring some moments where he accidentally gets sucked into bad memories.

Insomnia is the most common problem. Settling down to sleep means his mind gets easily swamped, and when he does manage to sleep he wakes up during the night and gets overwhelmed with memories once again. Some nights are worse than others.

He tries not to get up from the bed to avoid waking you too, but you eventually develop a second sense for his insomnia spells and you can feel it when he’s struggling. Then he feels bad that he’s affecting you this way.

See, that’s his problem that he can’t resolve on his own. He thinks of his problems as obstacles that bother others, and not the obstacles themselves. This prevents him from finding ways to truly resolve them. 

“I’m sorry, MC. Go back to sleep.” “... Jihyun, how many nights has it been since you’ve slept properly?” He measures it by the nights you’ve been kept awake too, and you stop him there.

“Don’t you see? It’s not about me. Think about your own health.”

And that’s not easy for him. He had obsessed over being a figure that offers unconditional love for so long, it’s hard to shed it. He thinks of his mother and his eyes grow wet. 

He and you find a relationship therapist, and it helps a lot. Jihyun’s two years of self-discovery did wonders for his mood, but it took a bit of professional aid to really unravel the really complicated stuff. 

He feels his state of thinking shift gradually, and it makes his life less cloudy, less stuck in those bad memories and regrets. Instead, he goes to sleep every night thinking about how much he loves you and his family. His heart falls asleep feeling light instead of heavy. 

[sparklegemstone]

Taking a break from work so time to write up more of my Loki trailer thoughts since all the cool cats around here seem to be doing it :-D.

In chronological order:

1) Personally I was 'meh' about the trailer starting with the Endgame scene just because I think the Russos did a terrible job matching the tone of that scene with the tone of the original Avengers film's conclusion and I want the Loki series to feel like a continuation of Avengers.  Alas, the Endgame scene grates on me as feeling inauthentic to the story it's supposed to take place in.  But I certainly understand the practicality of needing to put it in to give the audience the context for when/how this new story with Loki is taking place.

2) But five seconds later on the other side of the wormhole…yay, Kate Herron fixed the tone!  This feels much closer in tone to when Thor and Lok depart for Asgard at the end of Avengers.  Excellent job Kate.

3) Was so pleasantly surprised by Owen Wilson's portrayal!  Very different than any of the comedic characters I strongly associate the actor's acting style with.  I like his character a lot with what we've been given so far.  It's instructive reflecting back on the potential concerns I had and that were being discussed in the fandom when we were working with scraps and rumors that we now know don't have merit: things like 'Hiddleston is only there to narrate the series' and 'How comedic in tone is this going to be if Waldron from Rick and Morty is hiring Owen Wilson?'.  Ah the good old days of baseless speculation.

 4) I mentioned the frequently low camera position in another post -- it does a poor job of conveying how Loki carries himself, tall and straight and elegant.  It makes him seem more ordinary, but maybe that's the point -- equalizing him with Mobius rather than it being an Asgardian in a non-Asgardian's presence.

5) The way Loki goes from locked down and not letting any sense of what's going on his head slip to Mobius (what I feel is in-character for Loki) to suddenly being a lot more open with what he's actually feeling and having less guarded, more friendly/casual attitude toward Mobius is weird to me.  I think it's a cut just for the trailer and hopefully it will make more sense in context, but Hiddleston's acting here and the way he has no qualms about being physically guided out of the elevator by Mobius is one of the points where it felt more like Hiddleston playing a different character than playing Loki to me (and lacking Loki's costuming doesn't help that perception certainly).  Which I know is nitpicky, but I was just curious to see to what degree this would actually feel like 'fresh off of Avengers' Loki and so I'm paying close attention to what feels in and out of character for me.  Does Mobius say something to really throw Loki for a loop that would cause him to drop his guard like that?

6) "Glorious" -> YAASSSS that's the Loki I wanted to recognize.  He's back!  I'm still having a hard time wrapping my head around how blessed I am, but we've got him back for more screen time.  Also, with him back in Stark Tower and the later image of post-apocalyptic Manhattan, I am super intrigued by the possibility of Loki (and me too!) experiencing different ways things could have played out on Earth, if he'd succeeded in his conquest for example.

7) Loki's going to learn about what happened in the main timeline and the choices he made in the future?!  That's huge!  Should be a fascinating character moment.  This bit of Loki turning away from the projector gives me a lot of hope that the writing in the show is actually going to explore, honor, and authentically run with where Loki was as a character at the end of Avengers and the context of what he experienced rather than Marvel just plopping the "general" character of Loki into a genre-fied crime thriller show basically disconnected from the events of Thor and Avengers so they can say they made a Loki show.

8) Do I like Loki in the beige detective jacket?  Nah, not really.  But I do appreciate that even with the earth costume they kept Loki's style of being completely covered up.  Also creates contrast with him not being in control when he's in the TVA prisoner jumpsuit that has short sleeves.

9) Thought that was Nat on Voromir at first because of the purple environment.  Been reading some thoughts on how that's probably not Nat, and while the theories make sense, if that's true, why would Marvel put in a shot of a character that looks so much like Nat that it would cause confusion and maybe get her fans' hopes up?

10) I agree with @delyth88​ on the D.B. Cooper scene.  Didn't think I'd want Loki looking like Hiddleston, but I don't mind it / it's not taking me out of the scene as I might have expected.

11) The fight choreo and edit into the twirling -- I already discussed this before, but the physicality of it is giving me human-strength!Loki vibes.  If instead the guy he's fighting is also super strong, wouldn't the plastic or metal disc thing between them break upon impact?  Also the fact that it seems implied that Loki would get hurt by jumping out of the plane w/o Heimdall’s help to catch him.

12) The twirling -- is Loki legitimately, celebratorily, uninhibitedly happy?  I feel like we've never seen him like that since the Thor cut scene before they all made that fateful trip to Jotunheim.  I read a theory that the roman numerals on the building in this frame might mean he is in Pompeii the year the volcano erupts, which is interesting.

13) Loki saying "Brother”,  “Heimdall", coordinating with at least Heimdall, traveling on the Bifrost -- HOPE!  BEAUTIFUL, WONDERFUL, HOPE!  I was honestly expecting the show to make no mention of anything connected to Asgard, except maybe segueing into Thor 4 at the very end, so the fact that Loki is (indirectly) interacting with Heimdall -- calling Thor "Brother" (even if not to Thor) !!!!!!!!!!!! -- interesting!  

14) The idea of him being D.B. Cooper is very fun! (though I didn't know who that was in advance).  It's very easy to pretend that Loki is real and has been an unidentified part of our history all along.

15) I do not like the last scene with comics!Loki suddenly being brought to life.  In fact I had a very kneejerk dislike of it the first couple times I watched the trailer (so many watches ago :-P) because it presses a very personal button of mine, which is how the MCU is moving toward becoming more spectacle-driven and comic-book-y and therefore away from the grounded, character driven storytelling that I enjoy about the MCU.  I'm here for the character of Loki that I love as he is already established in the MCU, not the comics versions of the character.  Also, IMO the acting is out of character for MCU Loki and more goofy.

That said, I'm hopeful context will help a whole bunch here as @iamanartichoke​ has said.  Given all the timey-wimey multiverse shenanigans, it's probably not even Avengers!Loki anyway, and I'm certainly not going to begrudge the many fans who are excited to see comics references on screen.

Overall impression?  Very excited, very hopeful.  Would I selfishly want a story that's just a direct continuation of the Avengers and hyper focused on the exact context of the character of Loki as he was in Avengers, fleshing out the off-screen bits and up-until-now only implied emotional impact of what Loki experienced between the end of Thor and the start of Avengers, digging into his relationships with the Black Order, and family, reconciling with his heritage?  Uh…duh ;-).  

But you have to give an audience what they need as opposed to what they think they want, and from a craft perspective, this has to be its own story.  The Thor and Avengers stories are their own stories, they're told, they're done, even if certain emotional threads were left hanging / implied / off-screen that we as very detail-oriented Loki fans would like to see dealt with explicitly.

But given that this was always going to be its own story, I'm very hopeful that the series has an explicit creative goal of telling a story that also does a great job with emotional continuity and exploring the fallout of Thor and Avengers and what that means for Loki's character; of honoring, picking up from, and running with Loki as a character in the context of who he was when he surrendered to the Avengers and where he goes from there.

The Marvel Studios executives could have easily decided to make an isolated story featuring Loki that general MCU fans that don't think overly deeply about the character would have been very happy with and probably it would be very successful, and I would have gladly taken that over nothing.  But I'm optimistic that that isn't what we're getting and that they chose to ground their story in the specific context of Loki's character.  We'll see!

[fuckyeahharryhart]

PART 2 HARRY HART FAN FICTION Because they better give him a good story for the last Kingsman. In case they don’t, I wrote something myself.

PART 2

FAN FIC

KINGSMAN III: REDACTED

MULTI PART SERIES:(My version of Kingsman 3)

Harry Hart x Original Character

Warnings: Reference to violence

Word Count: 5,900

OVERVIEW: After the events of Kingsman, The Golden Circle, Harry, Eggsy and the rest of the survivors rebuild their agency to it’s former level of integrity. A new player arrives unexpectedly, carrying memories of the past that will change the future of Kingsman.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Harry and Eggsy try to discover who this new players is, how they were at the right place and the right time, and what they know about kingsman. A marksman of that caliber isn't someone to take lightly.

------

Bloody hell. Harry's hand was still stinging with heated pain from having his key fob, of all bloody things, shot out of hand. His knee was out of sorts from dropping, face down, to the pavement. Hearing gunshots ring out from, not one, but two different directions did not improve his mood or his state of mind.  Continuing to roll as he hit the ground, he switched to his side so he could draw his weapon. But first, he turned toward the direction of the original fire. That was the shooter who caught his interest. A marksman with the precision to shoot a key fob from that distance, within centimetres of his hand without (well without significant) injury was someone not to underestimate. He could make a shot like that. He had plenty of times at the Kingsman shooting range. But that was aiming at a non-moving target in a controlled environment, under the best of circumstances. The only other time he fired a shot that exacting was in Cambodia. While wrestling a certain Agent Whiskey for control of a firearm, he was able to free Eggsy from a lasso looped around his neck by shooting clean through the rope. He assumed landing that shot was 1/4 luck, 1/4 technique and 1/2 his sheer force of will.

Very few marksman possessed the natural talent, training and skill to land that shot. Even less in London proper and he was almost certain that all of those individuals even close to that level, were under Kingsman’s employ.

Under the cover of shadows and partially hidden by a gate column, he spotted the shooter. At the same time, the shooter spotted him and they made split second eye contact. Obviously, the shooter did not want to be witnessed judging from the displeased look that he had noted. But rather than ducking out of view, they kept their stance, provided cover fire until the area was cleared and the threat was gone. And then, without a moments hesitation, the person holstered their weapon and turned abruptly in the opposite direction and began to walk off with long, measured steps. He and Eggsy dusted themselves, gestured to the other, nodded and made off in opposite directions in the attempt to cut the person off at the path. As he smoothed down his suit and adjusted his cuffs, he was quite certain that he was never going to enjoy a peaceful evening again.

——

She didn’t waste valuable seconds checking her phone, grateful that she took the extra time to map her locations in her head. Quickly referring to her orientation, she saw three viable options. Directly in front of her was the Royal Academy. Though it was vast and beautiful and filled with courtyards and eaves, arches, doorways, ideal to drop a tail, it was also closed and quiet. There was no crowd to get lost in. A single person moving in that space would surely be noticed.

She weighed her two other options against each other. Both were about equal in distance. No more than a 10 min walk in either direction. To her right was Mayfair. Situated in the heart of the city, it was one of the most expensive and exclusive areas of London with swanky five-star hotels, shops, restaurants, bars and pubs. Bond Street was sure to be packed with people enjoying the nightlife. Perhaps in another lifetime she could enjoy an evening out in such a place. Not at the moment.

On the plus side, the streets were more random, intersecting at odd places, without the usual grid format. That gave her more exit options. They would less likely follow the same path. Downside, as much as she would enjoy an elegant evening out, she was not appropriately attired. Of course, there would be the usual strong of tourists and visitors that would be similarly inappropriately attired. Even though she would blend in with part of the crowd, she didn’t want to stand out in anyway. Plus, if she needed to tuck into a shop or a restaurant, she wanted to blend with the locals and not the tourists. And she wasn’t going to do that with her nondescript outfit.  Or, she would find herself in a situation where someone would ask to take her jacket. She would have to politely refuse because of her shoulder holster and her gun. They would insist. Then it would become an uncomfortable situation for everyone involved. Awkward and uncomfortable would be hard NOT to notice.

A ten minute walk to her left would drop her in ever trendy Soho. A little louder, a little more rowdy and relaxed, Soho was more happy hour than cocktail hour. The way there would have more traffic, both car and pedestrian, but it was also more direct and brightly lit. More importantly, she would be able to blend with the locals, not just the tourists. Maybe even slip into a pub or bar for the glass of wine she so desperately could use. There would be more viable places to manuever, evade, and find cover. More opportunity to lose a tail. And less likely for a messy confrontation.

Though she didn’t stick around long enough, she was fairly certain that the two men were following her.  She kept in mind that they were trained with the same skills and likely had the same natural talent and instincts as she did. Part of her plan was to move slightly against instinct, find the ideal move and then, proceed with something slightly different. But they had to be thinking the same thing.

Shit. The shooters might still be in the area. Depending on whether or not they had backup, if this was an isolated threat on a personal level or if was on an organisational level, she couldn’t be sure that the coast was clear in that direction. When in doubt, take precaution. There were too many unknowns, too many unanswered questions and her preference was to get away without further contact. Since she couldn’t do it clean, she wanted to avoid any additional messiness.

Typical, she thought, making her way through the last of the shoppers and the first of the evening revellers. At the moment she was making progress and feeling more in control of her circumstances, some prick with a gun comes in and has to spray bullets over all the blocks that she spent the last month building. With care and precision, she arranged and rearranged, stacking and re-stacking, until she had created a platform where she could make her move. All her variables were in place. She calculated the possible outcomes and was so close to having a plan. There was some satisfaction, knowing that she had put an equal damper on their scheme, but when success of their plan meant the death of two people, and her plans would only work if those two people were alive, It didn’t leave her much of a choice.

Evasion was as much about mindset as it was movement. She took a mental pause, reset her outlook. Plans only fail if you allowed them to fail.  Plans change and hers just did. Focus on clearing out first and then she could regroup and consider her options. If she let her frustrations distract her, she would end up missing details and she had not come this far to make bad decisions. Even in the smallest circumstances, she learned how to turn off emotions, cutting off thoughts and inconvenient emotions. Unfortunately, it was usually the thoughts about the situation she was in, that caused troubling emotions, such as her frustration at the turn of events. But if she walled off those thoughts for the time being, she would be more likely to operate with logic and clarity.

To her advantage, she had a head start, she knew the situation she was dealing with, two known variables on her tail, one unknown threat that could possibly be armed and still in the area. Likely, all three of them knew the area so there was no upper hand in that case. Two would be on foot, probably split to cover more area. It was to her disadvantage that there were two of them, but would be easier to confront them individually if it came to that.

She assumed that they also saw her as a threat. Regardless whether or not her actions had saved their lives, she was still an unknown, an armed and dangerous, one at that. She had to expect hostility, possibly aggression if confronted. It was a situation she would prefer to avoid.

Her steps were light and relaxed. She paced herself neither too fast, nor too slow. Rushing would call attention. She avoided looking around overtly, but she used her periphery to scan the people and places around her. On the plus side, two handsome men in Saville Row bespoke would definitely turn heads. Especially the tall one, who stood inches over the average person. They couldn’t take off their suit coats either. Not with their own weapons and shoulder holsters.

She took a quick left off the main road. A few blocks over and then she could make another turn toward Soho and break up the straight line she was currently traveling. Maybe stop in Central for a quick diversion. Stay on the move. Be aware of her surroundings. Those were her two priorities. Casually checking her 360 along the way by using any reflections she saw, footsteps, noises she heard, neck stretching every few steps to check blind spots. And for a little while, she did just fine.

That is, until she found herself caught in a standing rear choke hold. Fuck.

———

Wherever the hell this person had materialised from, Harry thought, these were not the customs of a novice agent. From weaponry, tactics and evasion, their actions were one hundred percent on point. They should be only a suggestion in the wind by now. The single reason he was able to catch them unaware was because of new Kingsman tech. Just developed, airborne nano GPS trackers. Designed to mark a large group of targets from a distance, they were tiny particles, almost invisible by the naked eye. Programmed to navigate toward the wavelengths of infrared radiation emitted by the human body, specifically at the signature of 12 micron.  Best for outdoor use, or in large open spaces, these capsules were broken and released into the air where the prevailing wind would transport the nano GPS transmitters and attach to the nearest known radiation signature. The tracking range could vary depending on the windspeed, air density and how many capsules were released. They were handy to track large crowd movement, not typically used to track a single person. But it was all he had on hand. Since the street was empty at the time, they had a good chance that some GPS attached. Using the process of elimination to rule out unintentional attachments, they could isolated the movement they were looking for. They were looking for someone who moved like a spy.

This person, whoever they were, made all of the decisions that he would have and then added some surprise evasion tactics that he wouldn’t have thought of. They surely would have gotten away if not for the trackers. It wasn’t absolutely necessary that they locate the person. But they were an unknown entity. He wasn’t sure if they were an adversary, an ally, or a neutral player. Neutral players were not known for being experts at tradecraft. That left adversary or ally. With the events of the past two years and the most recent destruction of Kingsman by the Golden Circle, unanswered questions usually returned on their own, carrying an unfavourable answer.  Granted, the person saved their lives, but they already knew too much of Kingsman. Knew of threats of which Kingsman was not aware. So when chance invited him to make a move, to quietly sneak behind the person at the last second, he took it.

——

This is not why I spent four weeks planning, she fumed silently. Her mood was grim. Of course it would be at this exact moment that she registered the slightest contact from behind, like a passing breeze brushing against her. But she knew displaced air when she felt it.  Based on her position, facing forward, added to the position he was in, directly behind her, also facing forward, that would have to equal a rear standing choke hold. Instantly, she countered, dropping her chin to her chest like it belonged there, denying him the chance to press his forearm against the front of her neck. A chokehold had two purposes, either to crush the windpipe, resulting in death. Not the outcome she was looking for. Or, to cut off blood to the brain via the carotid artery, leaving her unconscious. Which wasn’t much of a consolation prize. Either way, she had just about 12 seconds to act. Since both options were less than desirable, she shielded her throat as best she could and waited for the window were she could counter like a small, but fierce animal.

The strength of his grip said that he wasn’t going for either option, but told her he using the hold as a restraint. So, she had that going for her, she thought darkly. Yet, he still had the capacity to follow through on either option. There was no give to his grip. Twisting out of the hold was not an option without more leeway. Not one to be held in a vulnerable position, her goal was to escape. Several ways presented themselves, few of which incorporated an unrestrained elbow or kick to the groin. Her aim was not to incapacitate, regardless of how satisfying that may be, but to extricate herself.

Based on sheer size and strength, she was highly disadvantaged. But, as a woman in the field, only relying on your strength, you’d get beaten every time. Women didn’t have to fight harder. They had to fight smarter. Not only did she have to use her size and weight to her advantage, she had to use his size and strength against him. With the obvious discrepancy in height, not that she was short. Five foot nine made her taller than average, but at 6’ 2”, he was also taller than average. Her best option? Leverage. Literally.  Use him as lever. It was the move where he would be at a disadvantage and she would have the clear advantage. There was some consolation to be found, knowing they were also expert spies, but not enough to spare herself the embarrassment of being caught. Summoning her nerve, one deep inhalation, she thought, and she would be ready.

He smells nice.

The thought landed without warning. It didn’t merely land. It hit her. It hit her hard and with feeling. Her concentration stuttered. It was the scent of wood, leather, spices and a hint of something warm, rich and slightly sweet, like a velvety dark chocolate. And then there was a breath of something unexpected. A note she couldn’t identify. It was him, she realised. That was his smell. It was a good smell. A masculine smell. She was suddenly aware of his wool suit against her chin. She noticed the pinstripes against a navy as dark as the sky. The crisp white of his French shirt cuffs and the gold of his cufflinks that held them in place.

Her senses were wide open. They always were on hyperdrive when she was out in the field. That was expected. She relied on them to send her signs that she didn’t have the time to look for. But now, they were receiving all the wrong signals and sending all the wrong messages. Intensely. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the shadow of his hand. His large, wide palm was warm on the back of her neck.  By pressing her neck forward and down, it was this hand that locked the chokehold in place.

What the hell? she thought. She felt the strength of his forearms underneath her own palms. Her hands were gripping him so tightly she could feel the cords of muscle through his sleeve. Suddenly, her body became all too aware of his own. The sensation of him, the entire length of his body against hers, awakened her own. He wasn’t just standing behind her, he was bearing the whole of his body into hers. Thus, she was counter balancing with equal force. Generating heat and pressure between them.  Realising how close, how intimate, how physical, literally, their contact was at that moment, overwhelmed her reason, her logic, her objectivity. And most of all, she was aware of the man behind her. Not as a target, or a mark, or a tail or a problem to be solved. It was him. It was Harry Hart.

He must have sensed a slight shift in her energy because once that random, startling thought struck home, she didn’t dare move until she knew where it was heading and what she was going to do with it. She probably stopped breathing. Maybe that’s what he noticed because all of a sudden she felt dizzy and lightheaded. Maybe he was holding her a little tighter than she thought. He must have noticed a change because just as suddenly, his grip loosed by a fraction, not enough to escape, but enough to jar her back to the present. He was confusing her and she was angry at being confused.

She was on pause and someone had just hit the reset button. Instantly, she made her next move and she went into action fully committed. There was no hesitation in a move like this. To her advantage, their height difference meant that he had to lean down slightly to get his forearm around her neck, which shifted his center of gravity slightly forward. With his tight grip, she pushed against it, creating the energy of opposing forces to gain momentum. With her neck guarded by her chin, she quickly dropped down to one knee, gripped tightly onto his wrists and forearms, leaned back into him to get the tiniest bit of additional momentum, and then bent forward as sharply as she could from her waist, throwing the full force of her weight into the move and tucking in as tight as possible. Sure enough, with his weight already off center, using her body as a fulcrum, a pivot point, and using his height as a lever, she forced him to tumble over her head.

Normally, after a move such as this, that put her at a tactically advantageous position, she would either evade or go in for an attack move and neutralise the threat. This was not the way she wanted to introduce herself to these two men, but it looked like fate wasn’t giving her any options. She was not prepared for this situation. She didn’t have claim over the next move.  It could be either of theirs. Brushing her hair away from her eyes, she cursed herself for not having a hair tie, of all things. She paused for a moment. Her cap got knocked off during her manoeuvre. Wonderful, all these identifiers, now facial features, and the damn hair. She should handover her passport and smartphone and just get it over with. How did this evening turn so sideways?

She took a mental pause. Footsteps. His colleague. Who didn’t know what he was walking into. She quite certain it did not look like afternoon tea.

When she heard the brushing noise of a weapon being pulled out of its holster she went back on high alert. They had most definitely past the “direct contact” portion of the evening. As much as she did not want to do them harm, she was more than willing to talk, she equally, did not want to be on the interrogation end of a gun. She had another split second to decide her course of action. Two was much more complicated.

All three of them knew the rules of weaponry in the field and in engagement. Never pull a gun in a circumstance you’re not willing to use it. Never aim at a target you’re not willing to shoot. It wouldn’t have been her first choice, but when she had a lethal weapon aimed in her direction, it left her with few options.

She never had an opportunity to use it before, but it was ideal for this circumstance and what she had planned. She palmed her carbonfiber graphene tactical knife, short, less than 5”in length, from its discreet sleeve at her hip.  It’s description stated, “A device for specific close quarters combat manoeuvres in very focused special circumstance scenarios with high impact.” This circumstance would fall under that category, she thought.

The upper hand was all she needed to gain, to have a moment where they would be forced to listen to her. Grace, eloquence… She tossed those out the proverbial window. Her words would have the hardest strike. The most impact. Not her knife, not her gun, not any weapon. Now was not the time for finesse.  Once again, she had to turn shitty odds in her favours before the man she just flipped could reorient himself.  She wanted to be sorry that it had come to this, but she was just making her counter move. It didn’t matter if it was personal or not. This part, at least for her, was the business aspect of her work. Similar to negotiating a deal, but using weapons and lives as bargaining points.

The knife firmly in her grip, she raised the blade and held its lethal edge against his carotid artery with enough pressure to be VERY uncomfortable, and almost, but not break skin. He was smart and followed the direction guided by pressure of her blade hand and rose with her to a standing position. She stood behind him, angled slightly toward one side. He knew that any counter move on his part, which there were many he could take, and in this case his strength and mass would be at his advantage. She was in a very vulnerable physical position and he could take her down easily. If it weren’t for the knife at the side of his neck. The blade was very small, very light and most of all, it was very, very sharp and designed for close, personal combat.  Easy to handle, low pressure point. Which meant, whether or not his move disabled her he would, no doubt, be pulling away with nothing less than a very serious neck wound.

“Stop.” she called out firmly. “Gun down on the ground.”

The man who was under her knife, indicated, Do what she says.

He placed his gun on the ground and stood with his hands in the air.

She knew he was weighing his options, just as she did her own.

Her voice was clear and just loud enough so he could hear her where he stood.

Seriously, like this was what she needed. Did they really have to go through all this fuss?  Spies could be exhausting.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

She kept her voice conversational. Of no consequence or concern and certainly not threatening.

“Do you have enough time to disarm me and get help for your friend, Harry, before he bleeds out?”

She felt the slightest flinch when he heard the sound of his name. Not Arthur or Galahad. His given name.

“You’re quite fast, Eggsy, but not that fast.”

Now Eggsy’s turn as his eyes narrowed both suspicious and surprised. Not Galahad. Not even Gary, but Eggsy.

Ok, making progress, she thought. She had just shown her first card. She knew exactly who they were. Not just their code names. Their real ones.

To drive her point home.  “Just the tiniest amount of pressure on his carotid artery, thats all I need. 68 seconds until he loses consciousness. My knife, which you probably can’t see from where you are standing, but he can certainly feel,” she nodded her head toward Harry, “is designed to pierce fast and deep. If I had a regular blade, he might come out clean, but not with this one. Please, sincerely, think twice, for his sake, about making any sudden movements.”

Good. Neither of them made an attempt to move. Not even a twinge. She continued. She didn’t know how long the odds would be in her favour. At this point, she was playing fast and loose. Something she rarely did and she was not used to. One of her biggest strengths was her ability to prepare. This was not a scenario that she had imagined.

“I know either of you could disable me, but not without me doing a fair amount of damage first.”

It wouldn’t be her first choice to do harm, but she was in no mood for additional fuckery and she wanted to make it abundantly clear that, though she was no match for them in terms of brute strength, she had plenty of ways to dominate a fight using strategy. She wasn’t stronger, but she could be smarter. She wasn’t above shedding blood to prove that she was not to be underestimated.

“I didn’t start this fight, but I’m more than happy to finish it.”

She added, “You see how well trained I am. You should be asking yourself why i haven’t killed him, or either of you, already.”

Did they really have to be so obstinate? Obstreperous. Truculent?  They should have been asking themselves that question after she took the first shot. They could very easily be dead right now if it were not for her.  She needed to prove to them she was not a threat to their lives. Against all of her training, she laid her second card down.

 “And ask yourself,” she repeated. “perhaps why, then, I would let him go.”

Very carefully, very slowly, and very deliberately, she softened the pressure against his neck until the blade was no longer making contact. She continued to draw it far away from him, far enough to clear so not to do any damage, before she began to lower it. She took a few steps back, hands up, the knife still visible in her right, but with a carry hold, not an active grip.

Imagine her surprise when Harry turned on her, twisted her wrist until she had to drop the knife. Not without force. She resisted the split second she saw what was happening. She knew in this case, she didn’t have an immediate out, but that didn’t mean she had to make it easy for him. Rather than conserving her energy, she fought him and fought him with force, until she saw his face grimace with the effort.

Good, she thought.

She made some pretty satisfying contact before he was able to push her all the way back against the red brick warehouse. The wall gave her less room to maneuver. She landed one last, very satisfying kick to his shin. It wasn’t a fancy move. There was no technique involved. She just put all her grit behind that single kick and the connection she made was very gratifying, despite her situation. She hoped it left huge bruise to remember her by. It was obviously painful and hurt him enough that he shoved her away fairly hard. The back of her head knocked into the bricks with a force that she wouldn’t have considered gentlemanly.

Well, she did have a knife to his carotid just a few moments ago, she countered. She supposed turn about was fair play. This time, he was able to get his forearm across her throat and braced his right wrist with the circle of his left hand. Standing arm bar hold. She had no counter this time, seeing since Eggsy had his gun again and it being much harder to escape a bullet than a choke hold. So, that move did not have the impact that she thought it would.

She knew they had to have this conversation, but she was pissed. At them, but she admitted, begrudgingly, that she was mostly pissed at herself for letting her guard down. To be fair, they really had no idea who she was. And until they did, she would remain a threat. But she still had one more card. She was just waiting for the chance to use it.

——

What the bloody fuck had just happened? Harry Hart was not one to get caught off guard. But he was miffed that it happened this evening. Not only once, but three bloody times, and he had just quite enough of whatever fuckery was happening around him. First, the key fob, then the chokehold, then the bloody knife. Well, my dear, he thought, two can play this game. He wasn’t above fighting dirty. Sometimes the situation insisted on it. It seemed as if this was one of those times.

As soon as she let down her guard sufficiently enough for him to act, he twisted her arm, forcing her to drop the knife. But she wasn’t making things easier for him, or for herself, for that matter. Even though he clearly had the upper hand, she fought him the entire time. She, too, apparently wasn’t above a little dirty dealing when she landed a kick to his shin. A very hard, directed kick, not meant to disable, not in an attempt to escape, a kick just purely meant to cause him pain. A bit more than cheeky. He finally pushed her, maybe just a tad harder than he anticipated, until her head knocked back and hit the warehouse wall behind her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eggsy had taken the opportunity to retrieve his gun and provide cover. Her eyes quickly darted in the same direction, confirmed the same thing that he saw and then stared at him furiously. Whether the fury was directed toward him or to her change in circumstance, most likely both, he could not be certain.

Making sure his arm bar would prevent any further roughhousing, Harry spoke, adopting almost the same conversational tone as she had. She wasn’t sure if he was matching her tone to respect her or mock her. This time she felt free to show as much aggression as she felt like. There was no consequence at this point. She tossed her damn hair out of her face.

——

As she flipped her hair to the side, Harry, by instinct, began to document her features so, if needed, he could provide a detailed description of her should it ever become necessary. Tall, 5’ 8 1/2 - 9. Slim build, but athletic, lean muscular rather than simply thin. Age was hard to determine, she looked both very young, but her eyes, they were both wise and melancholy. A look that only came with time and experience. Her eyes seemed to say that they had already seen too much. She was anywhere from mid twenties to mid thirties. He noticed that her eyes were grey. Grey, and they had a slight almond shape to them. Tilted just enough to give her an air of mystery. Dark lashes, dark hair and much of it. Long. Wavy. It was shiny and looked very soft. Dusky fair skin with just an undertone of warm olive. Cheeks pink, with displeasure, he thought, or embarrassment, certainly not because she was flattered by the attention. Her mouth was small and delicate, her lips pressed together in a firm line. Also pink. She was quite becoming. Beautiful even. He tried to determine her ethnicity, but found himself unable to place her exotic, yet subtle, delicate features.

Harry caught himself.  He wasn’t just documenting her features. It wasn’t bloody like him.These were not the most appropriate thoughts for the moment.

She noticed him noticing her. She didn’t know what he was noticing, so she grew even more frustrated. She obviously didn’t care about keeping her expressions to herself any longer. It was quite loud and clear what she was thinking. It was written all over her face.

He came back to his words. In his calm, deep voice, he asked her three simple questions.

“Who are you? Who do you work for, and why did you shoot at us?”

A firm set to her jaw and with equal composure, she answered his questions without hesitation, but in her own order.

“I” she emphasised, “didn’t shoot at you.” she added under her breath, “I was aiming for your key fob.”

“I work for no one.” She halted, her eyes pulling their full attention to hers.

She laid down her last card.

“My name is Gwendolyn Mycroft.” she took a meaningful pause. “My father saved your lives.”

Glancing between the two of them, she saw that, as she intended, she had hit home. She added.

‘So, I suggest you release me, and let us go to a place where we can discuss this in a more civilised manner.”

She saw that both of the men were in a state of shock. She could understand. The evening hadn’t gone the way she expected either. She waited for a response that was something other than a blank stare.

“Do you like scotch?” Eggsy asked.

Well, that was a good of a start as any.

-----

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