#i mean at least more testosterone so i guess that’s a win

[the-ichor-king]

uhhh cw for slight tmi- it’s about periods and stuff

I SWEAR MY UTERUS IS TRYING TO FORCE ME INTO LABOR DESPITE ME NEVER HAVING SEX (lmao imagine being a virgin/sar) AND I AM VERY MUCH NOT PREGNANT GFGGHRGGR

[80s4life]

The Wolf In Sheep’s Clothing

Word Count: 4,438

Status: Not Requested

Fandom: Back To The Future 1985

Relationship: Biff Tannen x Female Reader

Summary: As time is altered for a total of 2 weeks (I extended it slightly), you and Marty struggle to get his parents under control, having problem after the next. But, when an unexpected solution occurs, you find yourself willingly okay with it, soon finding the exact reason as to why.

Warnings: language, fluff, Biff being a dick, slight angst, cute Biff

Masterlist Back To The Future Masterlist

Prompts: (from this list @youneedsomeprompts​)

Y/C/S= Your Choice of Sport/ Your Chosen Sport (you don’t have to honestly play one, just choose one you like or one that comes to mind)

{gif and prompts are not mine, gif credits go to @backtothefuturemovies and credits were given above for prompts!}

No one ever said time travel was fun. No one ever said the job was easy. And no one sure as hell told you the consequences that come with it. Well, at least not before you, and your best friend, Marty McFly, had gone dead-on through a barn, sacred a neighboring family of ‘alien invasion,’ run into younger McFly parents, and altered time just enough to fuck you over for a few days.

I mean, who would’ve guessed right? Your mom just so happens to be romantically interested in you, their child. Well, that was at least in Marty’s case. For you, you had just managed to run into the biggest dickhead of the century, Biff Tannen. Or so you thought?

Making your way out of bed, you automatically go to where Marty was sleeping in the garage, waking him along with Doc up. The go-to plan for the day was to go undercover as usual students in the 50′s, secretly following Marty’s parents around, finding out where they lie in this part of time, and try to find ways into manipulating them together once more in time for Marty and you to get back home. Easy enough, right?

Groaning, Marty goes to slap your hands away weakly, mumbling something along the lines of ‘Just a few more minutes.’ You giggle slapping his hands back in an attempt to wake him up cheerily. Mornings weren’t really your forte either, so any upbeat wake-up is better than a pissy, tired, horrible morning. 

Doc, on the other hand, was happy to return the affection, getting out of bed to give a quick hug and kiss to the forehead. Then he makes his way over to the bed, going to tickle Marty’s feet as you go to tickle his sides. Finally, in a fit of laughter, Marty gets up and goes straight for the bathroom. You were going to argue him, having to use the bathroom first, but decide to just leave it be, heading for the makeshift kitchen instead.

You smile fondly as Doc and Marty play around a while later, wrestling about, cracking jokes. It was only just a few hours ago that you and Marty had witnessed the untimely death of the currently very lively man in the house. Witnessing the blood loss, the machine gun in action, and the bullets that whizzed pass with only one malicious intent: to kill. But he’s here now; he’s safe and sound, having many years until that date will arrive.

With the freshly cooked smell of eggs, toast, and pancakes, the boys straighten up, Doc clearing his throat in an attempt to organize himself, and Marty leaving his shirt ruffled as he follows the smell of deliciousness. You giggle as both men of different ages act exactly the same, piling their plates high and digging in, giving thanks through mouthfuls.

///LATER///

After breakfast had finished, you and Marty made your way to the school, not wanting to be late, and, quite frankly, not wanting to miss a second in the disaster we’re in, wanting to fix it as soon as possible. Upon entering, the building erupts in laughter, tears, screaming, perfume, cologne, aftershave, and lots and lots of both testosterone and estrogen. Fucking high school, you smile.

Going to “your locker” right besides “Marty’s,” you both place the books and supplies that are unneeded inside it and take only the things you need for the first two classes, somehow having those together. As Marty catches glimpse of his father, George McFly, he winks at you, moving to catch up to him. Rolling your eyes playfully, you turn back towards your locker, just barely missing a group of young men some ways down the hallway, locking eyes with a particularly taller man, towering almost everyone in the halls.

You pay no mind, however, being blindsided by three girls your age. Instantly, you recognize the one right in front as Lorraine, Marty’s mother. Smiling nervously, your cheeks tint only a little, being unprepared to see her so quickly, not yet having a plan made up on how you could help tackle the situation with Marty.

“Hiya! I’ve never seen you before, are you new here? I’m Lorraine Baines, and you are?” she asks cheerfully, her books clasped tightly to her chest.

Taking an obnoxiously long time staring dumbfounded, you finally realize you haven’t spoken, quickly recovering with newfound purpose and confidence, “Ah, yes! I am new here! Sorry, I’m just trying to get used to this place a tiny bit. I’m Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Well that’s quite alright, you can come with us!” she says once more in a cheery tone, taking you by the arm and lacing her arm around yours, locked elbows. You smiled, knowing exactly where Marty’s cheerful and people-person nature had come from. Walking down the halls, she had asked for my schedule, checking classes to see what we had together, “English, History, and Agriculture- Hey! You should try out for cheer leading!” 

Shaking your head lightly, “Nah, I’m more of a Y/C/S myself to be frank.”

“But...We don’t have that sport here? There are no girls sports at all actually...” Lorraine says confused. You go to cover it up, choosing to say it was a sport you play for fun at home, in the backyard. However, a beefy arm separates you momentarily from her, as the owner of the harm moves to pin her to the lockers.

You were going to walk away, figuring it was some sort of make-out session in the works, but upon looking at her before going, you notice that the man was absurdly unwanted. 

“Get your meathooks off me Biff!” she screams at the man, his huge form towering her much smaller one. Not taking the message, the pair continue to squabble, neither of them being successful in winning. The warning bell sounds over the halls and classrooms, alarming kids to get their asses moving, but it seems whoever this dick is, he feels he is greater than the school, and god forbid, knowledge.

“Hey, you do realize your not making a damn bit a difference, right? She’s not interested! And, quite frankly, it seems as if no one does! Now, if you don’t mind, could you please be kind enough to unhand her as some of us treasure a piece of mind and how to take a hint?” you finish, quite ticked off as the last bell warns, cursing under your breath as you already know your in for detention on the first day.

It finally seems that he’d caught a grip, thankfully, letting go of Lorraine’s arm and she quickly scurries out of his proximity, taking your hand to lead you to the class you both needed to be in. As you go to walk in, you are stopped by the teacher, scolding both you and Lorraine. Looking at her regrettably, she smiles defeated. So you decide to do what’s right, take the fall.

“I’m sorry sir, I didn’t know where to go as I was trying to find where all of my classes were before I ended up lost every time classes switch. I caught up to Lorraine here at some point, and as she was hurrying to this class, she was kind enough to show me where I needed to be,” you finish, sighing guiltily.

“Well, as you’ve taken acknowledgment to your mistake, then you’d be just as happy with detention. After school, on Friday, as the first week is extremely busy. As for you, Miss Baines, thank you for your help. You are off the hook for now,” the older gentleman finishes, nodding to each of you personally before turning around and beginning just one of the classes you’d have today. This is going to be fun!

///LATER///

Finally, after grueling hours of just a few of your classes, lunchtime had came round, giving you a slight break. Catching sight of Lorraine, you smile and wave, going in the direction of Marty, or Calvin Klein, as you’d heard Lorraine go on and on about. You’d known it was him the second she’d said it, the brand not yet known to man yet; or at least in this timeline, it wasn’t.

As time had went on, it was only natural for the peace to be broken, as a newly familiar face was starting to appear more and more, Biff Tannen, as you’d known his name by now. But, instead of heading towards Lorraine, he makes his way over to the table you were residing with George and Marty, sitting himself right beside you. 

At first, you were trying to ignore him, knowing his presence was there, but keeping your eyes trained on either Marty or George, eyes dancing between the two. Biff, being the everlasting child he was, tried to catch you attention, trying stupid ass things after the other: kicking your shins, pulling your ears of hair, flicking your head, and even trying to tug on the 50′s style dress you’d been forced to wear to play your part. 

Only when he goes to tug your hair once more is when you finally snap, turning a furious glare to the hulking figure beside you, shoving his shoulder in a feeble attempt to create distance. He giggles at this, his body not moving an inch at all. “You can’t be serious right now! You don’t know when to quit it, do you?!” you scream, fed up with his shit.

“Well, if you’d give me the human decency of turning your head when I’m trying to talk to you, then I wouldn’t have to pester you, now would I?” he asks in a teasing tone, no doubt taunting you, but all you do is stare him down, getting lost in a staring contest, daring him to say something again. “Alls I wanted to say was that we have detention together. Just thought I’d let you know since you got me in all that trouble this morning.”  

“Why you-!” And with that, he gets up with a shit-eating grin plastered to his face, prancing out of view and back to the table he and his gang usually sit. Watching the whole interaction, George smirks at Marty, the pair giving an unspoken mutual agreement to whatever they had both caught on to, bursting into fits of laughter moments later. 

“You have a longer tolerance than I do, I-I-I’ll tell you that much,” George says, his usual slight stutter back in place, Marty laughing once more. As George joins in again, you couldn’t fight it either, giving into the childish antics.

///LATER///

To say your week had gotten any better than the first day was a lie. It hadn’t gotten any better, and your meetings with Biff at lunch had only gotten all the more common and all the more infuriating. He’d made it his duty to agitate you in any ways possible, even resulting in whispering something nagging in your ear when you weren’t paying attention, usually doing something in your locker.

Either way, he was on the countdown to Friday, it being constantly on his mind, mentally counting down the days, hours, minutes, and even seconds until the two of you were locked in a room alone.

Unfortunately, that day had seemed to come way faster than you’d like, Friday rolling around quite quickly. School had finished, and you were making your way to the front office, awaiting a tiring 2 hours with only yourself and Biff as company for the time being. You hadn’t known where the room was, and instead of spending time looking for it, you gave up and looked for the office instead, the nice front desk lady leading you where you needed to go.

Upon entering the room, there was Biff in his prime, casually spread across his chair, legs crossed atop his desk nearest the windows. Sighing, you ignore him, deciding to sit on the opposite side of him, the front desk lady giving you a sympathetic smile before she closes the door behind her. You look at the wall, head turned away from him like the plague.

You knew it’d only last so long until he’d speak, the time coming way faster than you pleased. Given it was Friday, you couldn’t even do homework or even study in order to block him out as he started to blabber, running his mouth over stupid shit once more. Inhaling through your nose, and exhaling through your mouth slowly, you straighten in your seat, hands clutching the desk so tight, your fists turned white. 

“Biff, Sweetheart, Baby, Doll Face, Hun. Please. PLEASE. Shut up for five god damn seconds. I know you truly have nothing to say, so why do you insist on speaking so much?” you finally say, hands prying off the desk to turn in his direction exasperated. 

“Well, if you’d just talk to me, Shortcake, I wouldn’t have much to say at random,” he answers, copying your actions and posture. With this change in childish demeanor, you give in, laughing at him in an unexpected rush, running your hands through your hair tiredly. 

Although you hadn’t seen it, he’d smiled in satisfaction upon seeing you laugh, the glitter in your eyes much more captivating than it ever was when he looked at Lorraine. He hadn’t barely pestered her since you’d barreled into his life. It was weird, but he welcomed it with open arms. And for the first time, he learned what it was like to have an actual, clammy-handed, closed throat, warm, cheek-tinted, teenage crush. A crush that left his heartbeat loud and fast, breathing ragged and uneven, and his behavior out of character and out of his control. Lorraine was way under whatever level he’d placed you on, holding you up on a pedestal like you were the sun or sky.

Of course, you hadn’t taken notice to his antics, just thinking he was annoying. Just Biff being his notorious self. But, as you finally calm your breathing down, the giggles fading, you decide to give him a chance, knowing that sitting in silence is just going bore you. Smiling warmly, you say, “So what do you want to talk about then?” 

///LATER///

Grabbing your bag, you get out of your seat, giggling at a story Biff had told you. He follows your lead as well, getting his own as he lets out a bark of laughter at a certain part. You guys looked like idiots as you shoved each other down the halls, making your way out of the school as your detention had came to a close. Sighing as the warm sun radiated on your skin with the light, spring breeze, you stretch out any kinks the classroom chairs and desks had left. Biff watched you intently, your small body easily swallowed by his shadow beside you.

The sun was setting and it was getting late, although you weren’t concerned. The boys knew you wouldn’t be home ‘til late due to the detention you had initially despised. Now, you and Biff were side by side, walking peacefully to his car in the school’s parking lot. For once, he was quiet, great company to have. It was something else for sure, but you enjoyed it. As you came up towards Doc’s place, you’d realized that Biff had drove you home like a gentleman, too lost in the conversation to notice earlier on. 

Sheepishly, you itch the back of your neck, realizing your mistake and feeling guilty for making him walk all this way to now have to walk all the way home. “Ah- Sorry...I didn’t realize I’d dragged you all the way out here. Now you have to drive all the way back.”

“It’s no problem, really. I liked it. It’s nice to talk to someone other than the guys every now and then. And to have A female speak to me instead of screaming,” he answers, now being the one who is a bit shy.

“You do know that you bring that on yourself right?” you say teasingly, now leaning your head on your hands, propped up on the passenger side door. “Not every girl would want to kick you in the groin if you showed a little more respect, “ you finish off with a smile.

“Yeah...Yeah I know. I’ll try harder, I swear.”

“That’s all I ask,” you say with a wink, drumming your hands on the door as you take a step back, waving as you start walking down Doc’s driveway.

“Hey!” Biff calls from the car, stopping you in your tracks to turn around, facing him with a smile. “Uhm- Well- The Enchantment Under the Sea Dance is coming up next week...Would you mind being my date?” he asks, stuttering as he feels his cheeks heat up, nervous as hell.

“I’d love to!” you answer, turning back around to walk into the house. Biff does a little fist bump as he puts the car back in gear, excited for what is to come.

///

Marty was a little less than amused with this newfound knowledge once entering the door and going over the events of the day. It was only when Doc had suggested that the date with Biff would keep him away from Lorraine, giving George the freeway to attract her long enough for their True Love’s Kiss. Then, and only then, did Marty give the okay, shaking his head, but liking the fact that it’ll give George some time, being the nerd that you know and love.

///Enchantment Under the Sea Dance///

Checking yourself over in the mirror for the final time, you let out a nervous yet satisfied sigh, feeling like an absolute princess. You never minded dresses too much, although you couldn’t deny the fact that normal pair of shorts, jeans, or even leggings were your first choice. All that mattered was that you liked the dress you were wearing, it fit you; it was your favorite color, length, and strap(less) type to hold everything in.

Walking out, you grab the pair of heels to match, knowing that you couldn’t get away with sneakers in this generation, painfully grimacing at the reminder. Finally standing, you recount when you had gotten the dress just a few days ago, having gone with Lorraine and the her two friends, Babs and Betty. They were very endearing and supportive the whole time, you not having to worry about being “to picky” as they were just the same. You ended up loving the dress given that you’d taken the time without pressure.

As you walked into the main room of the garage, you heard a low whistle of Marty, Doc slapping him on the back of the head for it. Giggling, you curtsy and spin in the dress. Doc, the gentleman he always was, compliments you, “You look amazing, my dear. Let’s hope this boy deserves it, hmm?” 

As an answer, you hug him tightly, knowing that, by the end of the night, he will be nothing but a dead man at home, in a lonely, dark parking lot. Your eyes tear up just at the mere thought of it, clutching him tighter. Marty seems to be on the same wavelength, going to interrupt the moment with great urgency, trying to pass him a piece of paper.

“Marty, if this has anything that involves my future, do not. And I repeat, DO NOT try to hand it to me. Whatever happens, happens young man. That’s how the world works,” he says in a warning tone. You wanted to disagree, but you knew the truth that was laced beneath it, as if it was a punishment. You whimper instead, pulling him in tighter; Marty looking down in defeat, soon switching to anger. In the midst of it, he storms out of the garage, getting in the car to go pick up who you’d hope was Lorraine for the dance.

“Just let him go...” you start, sadness evident, “He’s just not very happy with the outcome of what the future has in store for you. Quite frankly, neither am I.”

“I’m sure whatever the outcome is, that I wanted to go with it, dear. I assure you, I’m fine,” Doc answers in a consoling tone, wiping the tears that had slipped from your eyes. You knew it was just a mask, no one wants death, but you knew he needed to go no matter how much you hated it. So you nod, not having to say much more as a honk sounds from outside.

“That’s Biff...” 

“Have a great time! Make sure the McFlys kiss!” Doc screams, following out of the garage, scolding Biff from behind you.

“Yes sir!” you scream back, saluting him as you take a seat in the passenger.

///

“You look beautiful Y/N,” Biff says after a while, finally working up the courage to speak.

“Thank you Biff. And you look handsome yourself,” you giggle, the car pulling into the lot. 

He shuts the engine, grabbing his keys from the ignition and closing the door, making his way around to you as you let yourself out to straighten yourself out. He takes your hand as he leads you to the entrance of the dance, you sighing in relief as you catch a glimpse of Marty pulling up in a car with Lorraine. Finally, you relax, grasping on Biff a little lighter and with more meaning now as you have the night to yourselves. He smiles down at you as you wrap your arm within his, something Lorraine does with you quite often.

With the party in full blast, you let loose with the music, dancing and joking around with Biff. At some point, however, he says he needs a drink and will be right back. Although, he doesn’t seem to actually come back. You’d thought you’d seen him spiking the punch just as few moments ago.

Just as you were going to in the direction of the hallways to the rest of the school, you notice Match, one of Biff’s friends, storming out of the gym through an exit. Taking your bets, you follow behind him, soon being greeted by a huge commotion of screams, all of them from familiar people. Biff was in a car with Lorraine, her dress pulled and taken off in parts. He was no doubt about to do something stupid, the fact pissing you off, saddening you in some ways as well.

The others that were screaming were also George and Marty, the pair trying to get Biff to stop before he regrets it. He doesn’t listen, unfortunately, until your voice booms over the rest, “Biff!” 

His head snaps instantly in your direction, the situation dawning on him the instant he looks at your face. You hadn’t meant to portray your emotions so clearly, but your face had shown such distraught and hurt. He lied. He had gotten over Lorraine, yet the moment she was alone, he runs right back to her.

With his momentary change of focus, George finally steps in, “You get your filthy hands off of her!” finishing with a blow to the jaw that knocks Biff off balance. 

Marty looks to you sadly, but tries to smile in cheers as George and Lorraine leave together, motioning that he was going to follow them just in case. You nod, looking down now as your play with your fingers. You didn’t know what to do now as the only reason you were really here was for Biff. You weren’t needed for Lorraine and George, you knew Marty had it.

You decide to make your way home then, as there was nothing else you could do. Dances were just drags anyway, nothing worth while. “Your just going to leave? Just like that?” asks a deep voice, his body having gotten back off the pavement and stood by the car he was pinned against.

Without turning, you answer his question with another, “Why not? There’s nothing left here for me is there?”

“And why wouldn’t there be?” Biff asks once more, no doubt ticking you off at his usual teasing tone.

“Well, let’s see. You. You asked me to the dance as your plus one. I came here as your date. We have a good time, we dance, we talk, and then you come up with an ‘Oh I need a drink’ charade, not returning. Then, I come to find my date in the parking lot, about to get his licks in on a woman he was apparently over with! So tell me, what is left here for men here, Biff?” you finish, tears pooling your eyes over the time, although you don’t let the fall, keeping them there.

He looks guilty, you can see it, but you don’t care. Your not in the wrong this time. But, as your blood starts to cool down, you do notice the look in his eyes, the change in his demeanor, and the utter remorse that has overcome him. He has his head down, fists clenched at his sides, body stock still. He doesn’t know what to do, all he knows is that he’d fucked up.

“Or was this your fabulous way of telling me that you love me?” you finally ask, eyes moving to look up at him in a teasing manner.

He hadn’t expected you to speak, head snapping up to meet your gaze in confusion. Being as you’d looked at him with a glint in your eyes, he finally lets everything click together; you’d forgiven him. His face heats up in bashfulness however, as your words resonated within him as well, hand going to itch the back of his neck again.

You giggle, walking up to him now, hands going to his collar. Pulling him down, he gazes at you in amazement, his own hands falling to rest on your waist. Then, you crash your lips to his, pulling him ever closer. It takes him a moment to get the hang of it, soon pulling you closer to himself as well. Lifting you slightly, he sets you on the hood of his car, the height difference a definite stretch for him. But he wouldn’t have it any other way, you were perfect. Just the same as he was perfect for you.

[simptasia]

HOLEY MOLEY!!!! Thank you so much for answering!!! TRANS CHARLIE TRANS CHARLIE!! I love your ideas so much! But no i was wondering you talked about clair and Hurley but how would everyone else react? And by everyone else i meal like Jack and Sayid and locke etc

you're welcome! heavens, i haven't really thought about it because in my mind only a few people find out. lemme think

ya know, in my heart i know better because 2004 but i just can't bring myself to imagine my beloved lost characters as transphobic, at least not maliciously. more like confusion and variations of "i didn't expect that". so theres gonna be a lot of variations on a theme here

so lets begin our parade of this version of charlie who wants to come out to everybody..... i didn't do everybody, i gave up after a bit (to be fair theres like 30 main characters, i’m tired and they’re all basically being awkward hjfkjh)

jack's lived a cookie cutter cisheteronormative life so while he's heard of trans people, he's assuming that means like, ppl who do drag. but he understands quickly. and jack has an urge to be helpful so he tries to offer medical advice and do the whole "if you need anything" thing, as if he has anything specific to offer? he's trying (charlie: not unless you have some testosterone hidden away in your backpack there / jack: [glum] sorry)

i can see locke tilting his head and nodding. locke feels this burst of empathy and and says something like "ya know, charlie, i won't pretend to understand what you've been thru, who you are, but i know you've seen hardship. a lot of pain. anger. but you've become more than that. so for what it's worth, i'm proud of you" charlie has conflicting emotions, cuz he wasn't expecting that. locke continues "and don't let anybody tell you what you can and can't do. or be" kind eyes, kind smile, moving lost background music, lost wins a glaad award

sayid raises his eyebrows like "oh?", nods and says "that's good". the concept doesn't phase him as much as the others (look i tried to think of something unique but its hard)

sawyer laughs because he doesn't believe charlie. then charlie looks totally serious. sawyer looks charlie up and down, puffs air out his nose and says something like "huh! takes all sorts". he may or may not make some tasteless jokes/comments. charlie would respond with quips about sawyer being a backward redneck. because they are both bitches

with kate, okay the next phrase is said in like, an impressed tone: "wow, i never would have been able to tell" "thanks, i guess". it's not the best response but at least it's not negative. claire had a similar response, like looking at charlie like "oh wow" because. yeah, dude passes for cis pretty damn well

sun doesn't know what kind of reponse charlie is looking for so she says "that's good!" and then an awkward pause before she starts talking about certain foods that will naturally raise testosterone. she read about that sort of thing when she and jin were having trouble conceiving so that works out. charlie thinks this is sweet. and also starts eating more garlic and spinach

sun translates for jin and looks at charlie with furrowed brow puzzlement and then he asks sun for clarification, thinking it's a mistranslation. when its clear it's not, jin says "good". charlie feels awkward

hey you know that bit where sun tells daniel she's pregnant and daniel is polite but clearly doesn't know what to do with himself in this situation? like that but with charlie. awkward polite fumbling. and he's like the only one who uses the term used at the time "oh, you're transsexual? that's, that's interesting, yeah. i'd heard rumours but i never really. thought about it? i suppose it makes sense because some of your lyrics [goes on a mini rant about the hidden meanings in a sad song charlie wrote. dan's spot on btw]"

at this point you've probably picked up that it'd mostly just be "oh, that's good"s and confused polite fumblings. 2004 was a time when people were still pretty ignorant about this stuff but society, at least on surface level, was trying to get better about it. so you get a bunch of well meaning liberal minded people. somebody says something like "oh you must have been born charlotte then?", and other things that are just curiosity but make charlie cringe a little

and maybe some parts get more serious than others but i honestly do not have the strength. and this isn't something i write a lot so i'm at a loss at how to make this all interesting so just. here ya go. i think that dan one is the most interesting one i wrote. and i have no idea where that locke stuff came from but it felt right. i have this more elaborate back and forth in my read regarding charlie and claire but that's something i'd wanna put in a proper fic, not throw it together here and now in a response. annnyways

i think the main reason charlie wouldn't come out to everybody is out of fear of being mocked, abused, that sort of thing. but he also doesn't want them looking at him and not seeing... him anymore

it's rather sad, really. but i do think a fair chunk of the lost characters would be good people about this. and most importantly, the people charlie cares about most, his parents, liam, claire, would all be lovely about it, i feel. and as i said, i just couldn't imagine any of the lost characters i care about being that kind of abusive to charlie. the worst i can imagine is some bullshit from sawyer. because i love sawyer but he is an asshole who's a product of his time and environment. but even then, i can't imagine it too... severe, ya know? sawyer has a good heart too. basically i'm idealistic <3

thank you for your time

[nerdified]

Procedural Notes: Patient #3 (FKA Hugo Jensen)

NOTE: [At the time of this audio recording, Mr. Hugo Jensen (NKA Norville Nerdlinger) has just begun the process, and is restrained. The identity of the speaker is unknown. This transcript is reproduced here in order to assist with identification of this man, who has since disappeared, absconding with an undisclosed amount of the process agonist. Efforts to locate him have, to date, been fruitless. If anyone knows anything about this man or his whereabouts, please report the information to Central Command.]

[BEGIN TRANSCRIPT]

Quiet, now. It’s no use struggling.

I’m not going to hurt you. Quite the opposite.

I see that look in your eyes, like you don’t think I could hurt you. You’re probably right. I’m not much of a fighter. But I know what you think of me, and other guys like me. I’ve been listening to you on the phone, you know. Hacked your telecommunications. What was it that you called me, on that call with the client yesterday?

Oh, yes, I remember. A walking pocket protector. I’ll admit, that was a new one for me. I’ve had “pencil-neck” and “four-eyes” and the good old-fashioned “nerd” lobbed at me before, but “walking pocket-protector”… Heck, it’s got a little poetry to it!

Shh. I know, it feels strange. It’s a little unsettling, at first, I’ll agree. But you’ll get used to it. It’ll go easier for you if you just relax and quit fighting it. In time, you’ll even begin to like it.

I’m sorry about the gag. Unfortunately, it’s just the beginning of the process, so I have to leave it in for…twenty-three more minutes, at least, if my calculations are correct.

Ha! Who am I kidding – my calculations are always correct.

I can see from your eyes that you hate my guts right now. That, too, will change.

You see, what’s about to happen to you isn’t out of the ordinary, or even very noteworthy. As far as I can tell, it happens to a lot of guys, especially those that zip through their twenties and then hit that speed bump called thirty, bank accounts empty and career opportunities shot. Those of us who didn’t win the genetic lottery couldn’t get by just on our looks and our charisma, like you did.

I remember how it felt when I was in high school, and guys like you were all A+ students and perfect jocks, too… gosh, it’s enough to make me swear.

But no. You couldn’t leave well enough alone. You couldn’t just be a jock, be good at sports, and leave the academics to the rest of us. We didn’t ask for much, you know. We just wanted to be left alone in our science labs, and in our tutorials, in our lives.

There's no escaping guys like you. You’re everywhere, and you’re spreading. For a time, we ignored it. Figured it was some kind of anomaly. But it wasn’t – it was a trend. And despite the fact that we didn’t see it coming, we are now prepared for its end.

Like I mentioned – it won’t surprise most people to see you change. Maybe a few of your close friends will worry about you. Express some concern. But by that point, you’ll already have accepted your new self. You’ll be able to say “This is just who I am,” and it’ll be their choice how to proceed. That’s a side benefit, by the way, of the process. You get to find out who your real friends are – and, spoiler alert: they’re not exactly big football fans.

You have to be prepared for some major shake-up in your life, though. The good thing about the process is that it won’t faze you in the slightest. Everything will be gee-whiz gosh-darn super-duper spiffy keen neat-o, if anyone asks, and for you, it will be.

Now, I know those terms are a little outdated. We’ve had to make a bit of an adjustment to the process in your case. The earlier version wasn’t quite strong enough for you, so we’ve had to over-compensate in a few directions. You won’t just be a little bit nerdy, you know, a couple of odd quirks, some new hobbies. For example, Derek – well, that’s his dead name, he goes by Derwood now – Derwood can sometimes get by in normal society. He even kept a few of his old friends. He’s just more into things like superhero movies, and he’s left behind all knowledge or passion for sports. I think I even saw him reading a comic book the other day, come to think of it.

But that’s not going to be you. Oh, sure, you might develop a taste for superhero movies, but if you do, it won’t just be a passing interest. You’ll become a rabid fan. I believe…obsessive…is the operative word, in fact. Yes, you see, that earlier version of the process would have worn off, and you’d have been back to your old self in no time, which would wreak havoc on your psyche, not to mention put our entire operation in jeopardy. We can’t have that.

It looks like some time has passed, but not quite enough for me to remove the gag yet. Do you feel your perfect white teeth shifting around in your gums, almost impatiently? Nod once for yes.

You don’t have to nod at all, not if you don’t want to. I don’t need you to confirm for me what I can already see happening in your eyes. Speaking of your eyes – how’s your vision? I can see you starting to squint every now and then. Trying to see past that blur? Don’t worry. I’ve already got your glasses, right here, for when it gets too bad for you to see. Talk about your Coke-bottle lenses - my calculations again predict that you’ll settle somewhere around…hm…negative six diopters, which is even worse than mine.

To put it simply: you won’t even be able to read the big E on the eye chart without your glasses on.

I know, you’ve never been to the optometrist in your life. You never needed to. And don’t think about getting contact lenses, either. I mean, go ahead and try, if you really want to embarrass yourself.

Oh, I can see it now: timid, nerdy little guy like you, shuffling into the doctor’s office – you say you want to get contact lenses, and they get you in the back for a fitting. They show you how to do it, you know, hold your eyelids apart and then just plop the lens on there. But you have to do it three times before they’ll let you leave with them, and you won’t even be able to get one in, because you’ll keep blinking it out. I wish I could be there to see it, honestly – you, all frustrated, trying to swear, but only able to say things like “Fudge!” and “Gosh darn it!”

It’ll be so beautiful. I’m getting teary just thinking about it.

I’m glad you’re starting to settle down a bit. Let me know when you need your glasses. Maybe while we wait, I’ll get started on your hair. That trendy fade has got to go, and so does that scruff on your face. At the start, you’ll have to shave a lot, but as the process continues, you’ll start producing more of a 5-alpha reductase enzyme. This will convert your testosterone into dihydrotestosterone, or DHT, which will actually miniaturize your follicles. Kind of like using a shrink ray on them! Oh, and there will be no taking of inhibitors, like finasteride or anything like that – our process contains a potent agonist, with an affinity of 0.25 to 0.5 nM for the human androgen receptor.

It’s all very scientific, I assure you. And with the miniaturization of your follicles, your sebaceous glands will begin to over-produce sebum, which results in – you guessed it! Acne. Pimples. Zits. I know you’ve never had to deal with that before, so I’m just preparing you for it now. Pizza-face, I think the popular nickname is. Get ready for a lot of that.

Let’s see…what else can I tell you.... Gosh, this is kind of like the orientation for a new job, isn’t it? Ah, yes. I know. Speaking of jobs...

Yeah, this is the tough part. It’s all very natural, I assure you. Just like with your friends, your co-workers will come to see you in a different way. I know you have quite a few cutthroat underlings who would eat one another alive to get your corner office, and the moment they sense you’re not as much of a threat as you used to be, they’ll swarm.

I give it two weeks, tops, until you’re gone. If you choose that road. Or you could make it much easier on yourself and resign. You won’t be financially ruined – not with all that new information surging through your brain – you’ll be an asset to the right company, the right department. Maybe IT will take you. Or accounting. Maybe you won’t work corporate. Maybe you’ll work retail.

God, that’s cruel even for me. I wouldn’t wish retail on anyone, even a jerk like you. But there’s no telling what could happen. For all I know, once the process has completed, you could end up one of those Geek Squad guys at Best Buy! Have you seen the uniform they have to wear? It’s company-mandated dress code. You’ve seen them, haven’t you? White, short-sleeve, button-down shirt. Black polyester clip-on necktie; black, pleated trousers; black lace-up shoes…and white socks. Yes, white socks, kept completely spotless and bright. All this is enforced, too, with routine inspections, to make sure you’re being compliant!

You see, there’s really an infinity of possibilities for you. If anything, this is a new chance for you – a fresh start. I know it feels scary, all this change. But change is the only constant. Everything is always in flux. Heck, every seven years, your entire body regenerates – every cell is new and different, so why shouldn’t your personality and identity change, too?

It’s logical, isn’t it? Nod once for yes.

Good! You’re starting to come around, aren’t you? Like I said, it won’t be so bad if you just accept it. If you don’t fight it. That sudden urge to position your tongue up behind your teeth when you say ess. Eth. Eth. How your voice keeps breaking, and in the most unfortunate ways, and at the most unfortunate times – all of this is being etched into your muscle memory as I speak to you.

There isn’t much longer now until I can remove your gag, and I can see that the physical alterations are beginning. Too bad all that hard work at the gym all these years is so easily eroded by our process, but then, those muscles were mostly for show, weren’t they? Well, no longer. It isn’t exactly sarcopenia, but it’s close. You’ll be at least one and a half, possibly two, standard deviations below the relevant population mean, and no amount of exercise will restore your former abilities.

Yes, the ropes are looser now, because you’re much smaller. Rapid onset muscle deterioration. You could struggle out of them. Maybe you could even escape. You could try. But there’s no way you’d make it very far without your glasses. Who would believe you, anyway? What would you even say?

Like I said, you might as well give in. It’s not so bad, once you get used to it. And you’ll have me. I’ll be with you for the whole beginning process, so you can acclimate to your newly nerdy life. You won’t be able to continue living in that luxe apartment you’ve got – no, you’ll be moving into a nice little basement apartment I’ve got fixed up for you, in the suburbs outside the city. The landlords have just got it refurbished, with some nice wood paneling, and there’s a spare twin bed that should be just your size! There’s also tons of room on the walls to put up all your posters. You won’t need much room for anything else, really. You definitely won’t be needing that enormous closet of tailored, fitted button-down shirts, or all those sneakers, definitely not those expensive Under Armour boxer-briefs. What a waste. No, the new you is way more frugal with his money, seeing as he’s paid so little of it. The new you doesn’t even think that much about clothes, or fashion.

This must be a lot to handle. Maybe I should have a little mercy on you.

Tell you what. I’ll let you choose your underwear. How’s that, pal? That make you feel any better? Nod once for yes.

See, I’m not that bad. That’s right. So, here. You can choose…Hanes, or Fruit of the Loom?

Oh, I see. You thought I meant what kind of underwear. Haha, no. You’ll be wearing tighty-whities from now on. Sorry, them’s the rules. Besides, you won’t need much support…down there, if you catch my drift!

Don’t look so horrified. You won’t even notice that it’s gone. Mostly. You’ll still have some length, just, you know, not a lot. You won’t be able to call it a “cock” or a “dick” ever again, either. Oh, look how cute – you’re blushing just hearing me say it! You might call it something else, like your ding-a-ling, or your wiener.

Okay, okay, I can tell you’re getting embarrassed, you’ve gone all red and blotchy in your cheeks. We don’t have to talk about the … “no-no place” anymore, little buddy.

All right. Here’s your glasses. I’ll just set them on your nose, for you…there. Wow, they sure do make your eyes look tiny!

I can tell you’re getting near to the end of the process, and I’m curious to see how big your two front teeth have gotten. From that bump in your upper lip…gosh, it looks like you might be giving Bugs Bunny a run for his money!

You’ve really been behaving better, so I’ll bring you a mirror, okay? So you can see for yourself. I must say, it’s already quite the improvement. I wasn’t expecting your hair to turn so red, or get so curly. Maybe if you can’t get a job at Best Buy, you could run away and join the circus as a clown!

I’m just horsing around with you, pal. Don’t pass out on me. You promise not to scream? I hate it when they scream. Nod once for yes.

You’re a little excited, aren’t you? It’s okay. You can tell me. I bet you get a little more excitable than you used to. Maybe you even get a little clumsy, with the loss of all that hand-eye coordination. Trip over your own two feet and go sprawling.

But who knows. There’s so much potential.

And you’re just the beginning, too. Let’s just say that my proposal for introducing you to the process wasn’t well-received by Central. What do they know? They have this power, and they don’t use it. Well, you snooze, you lose, by golly! If you have a gift, you use it, otherwise it goes to waste.

Anyway. Enough of the supervillain speech. You don’t need to know anything more. It’ll probably be wiped out in the massive crush of nerdy trivia about Star Trek and Star Wars that’s going to download into your brain soon, anyway.

So, this is it. Are you ready to see? Nod once for yes, and I’ll pull the cloth off this mirror here.

Alrighty, dweeb, you asked for it. Here goes.

Say salutations to the new you!

[END TRANSCRIPT]

[moonflower-31]

I Won’t Forget You - Spencer Reid x Reader

Masterlist

(Part 1) 

Part 2 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader 

Warnings: Murder Case descriptions and mild language  

Tags: @dra-reid 

~~~~~~~~~

Now you were incredibly nervous. More so than three weeks ago when you took the final exam. 

"Come on, (Y/N/N), you passed the damn test! Of course they want you to shadow the BAU." Gabriel tried to assure you, lying lazily on the sofa of your shared apartment. He munched on a bag of potato chips, reminding you to get on him about that later. 

"You don't know that, Gabe. Just because I passed the test doesn't automatically mean I'm a good fit. Sure, I've wanted to be a part of the BAU for as long as I can remember…"  

You sigh and rub the back of your neck with a nervous hand. "B-but that doesn't mean I'm the best candidate. My chance of success here is barely 15% at the most compared to the hoard of agents who applied for the BAU shadowing opportunity." You paced back and forth, gesturing wildly towards your best friend as you tried to calm your desperate nerves. 

"Girl, calm your tits." You turn your head, looking into the gorgeous brown eyes of your other roommate. "You and Gabe both passed. You both have great opportunities. That's more than I've gotten worth in tips for the past 3 years." Iris insists, shoving Gabriel's legs off the couch so that she could sit. Gabriel rolled his eyes and purposefully put his legs in her lap. This then began a small fight between the two of trying to win over the other. 

"(Y/N), real talk, was it me who got a shadowing opportunity to be a fuckin' profiler's protégé?" He asks, sipping on what felt like his third coke of the morning. 

You exhaled annoyedly and shook your head, giving into Gabriel's little attempt at giving you a 'lesson'. "No… though you did get offered a job. An undercover one too. I'm not even gonna get paid half of what a real profiler makes." Exasperated, you sigh and groan in front of him, biting the inside of your cheek. 

It wasn't that you didn't believe that you got accepted. No, you knew that you probably had planted some bias in Agent Hotchner three weeks ago that had helped you get accepted. No this was more doubt of 'what if I get placed on Dr. Reid's team?' 

Recently, although you had tried everything to dream of something--anything else, the handsome doctor had been firmly cemented as the star in your nightly adventures. And each morning you'd woken up with a bright red face. So that question of yours? The idea that this whole 'crush' business couldn't get worse? It got worse. 

And unfortunately, Gabriel picked up on it. 

"So what I'm getting paid more? Your job has more branches to reach out to. I can only go so damn far. And that means I can pay more rent for you." He insists. "Something tells me this ain't about the job though." He teases, wiggling his eyebrows flirtatiously and flashing his whiskey-colored eyes. 

You rolled your eyes, blushing immediately at his inquire. "N-no… no this is only about the job."

"Uh huh, sure it is. It totally isn't about a certain Lover Boy you met that could potentially be the agent you shadow." He teases, swirling a pointed finger at you. 

Iris slaps his arm. "Oh hush. If she don't want to talk about him then that's fine. She's fine without a damn man on her arm." She insists, finally getting Gabriel's feet off of her legs. "Damn it, Gabe! Again with the crumbs?" Iris complained, swiping at the potato chip crumbs that had accumulated on the sofa. She pushed a strand of her dark brown hair behind her ear, trying to clean up the mess Gabriel had made around her. 

Gabriel just shrugged. " That's only 'cause you're only into girls, Iris." He insists, popping another chip into his mouth and crunching obnoxiously. "And yes, again with the crumbs." He says sarcastically. "But seriously, (Y/N). Just go. You'll do fine, I'm sure. There's nothing you and that mind can't do. Be sure to get me that pretty boy's number though. I wouldn't mind gettin' me some Chocolate Thunder." He playfully growled, winking at you. 

You groaned and chuckled. "Fine fine, I'll see what I can do. Try not to destroy the place while I'm gone?" You beg, grabbing your small bag and being sure to re-check your hair in the microwave reflection. 

"No promises! Have funnn!~" 

You rolled your eyes again and snickered. You quickly say your goodbyes and leave the apartment, hoping that the day wouldn't be as bad as you thought it would be. 

○●♡●○ 

You really felt the 'butterflies' now as you stepped out from the elevator. You swallowed nervously and picked at the button at the end of your blazer sleeve. 

What would Spencer even say? Would he be happy you were the one who was accepted? You hoped so. He seemed to enjoy talking to you when you met. You now wished you had the confidence to have asked for his number or to perhaps meet up for a chess game. He seemed like the kind of guy who would prefer a chess match to going on a date.

You took in a deep breath. You needed to calm down. You were going to be fine. You'd gotten this far. There was no going back. 

You exhaled the long breath and finally pushed through the glass entryway to the bullpen of the BAU. You took a moment to take in your surroundings to hopefully be able to differentiate between which offices were who's once you met their owners later as you assumed you would. 

Then, when your legs decided to work, you turned your attention to the familiar face walking towards you. 

"Agent (L/N). It's a pleasure to see you again, this time as a graduate." Agent Hotchner greeted, extending a hand for you to shake. You bit through your nervousness and took his hand, shaking it earnestly. 

"Likewise, Agent Hotchner." 

"Hotch is fine. You have a desk in front of Dr. Reid's, you should have a licensed badge and holster there as well. You already know Agent Morgan and Dr. Reid, correct?" He asks, flipping through your file. You nod in response. 

"Yes sir. We spoke the day I took my final exam." 

"Good. Come with me, I'll introduce you to the rest of the team. You understand the parts of this job is like that of an actual profiler?" 

"Yes, I read it over in the job details, sir." You answered, following Hotch as he began to guide you into the bullpen. 

Almost immediately you gained the attention of three heads. One more following a blond haired woman who entered after you did. 

"Everyone, this is Agent (L/N). She's our shadow graduate. She will act as a profiler just like the three of you. She will be shadowing Agent Prentiss. I'll leave you all to get to know her. We're reviewing a case in twenty minutes." He alerts before he turns on his heel and starts walking towards his office. Guess that was Agent Hotchner for you. 

"So, we meet again baby girl." 

You roll your eyes playfully and turn towards Morgan. "So we do. Do tell me how you survived without me, Agent Morgan." You teased, winking at him. See? You could flirt. 

Spencer looked up at you with a wonder. He had been told you were the shadowing Agent, but he hadn't prepared himself for how you would look on your first day. Your clothes fit you perfectly. And he could see the slight indent on your cheek, signalling you were biting the inside again. It was adorable to him. How was he going to focus with you around? 

"Good to see you again, Dr. Reid." You greeted, snapping him from his slight haze. He jumped slightly, blushing momentarily. 

"U-uh yeah. Yeah you too. And just Reid is fine." He nods towards you, effectively raising your nerves another level. 

"So you’re the shadowing agent. At least we'll have less testosterone around." A woman with dark brown hair greets. You assume her to be Agent Emily Prentiss from her eyes. She was the agent you'd be shadowing. 

"Right." You agree, smiling with a slight giggle. "And your Agent Prentiss, right? And the woman behind you is Agent Jareau?" You guessed. Your memory was unbeatable sure, but sometimes you got names wrong. Some names might've changed within the last memory you saw them and when you see them again. 

Prentiss smiled. "Yep. Emily or Prentiss is fine with me. But she goes by JJ within the team." Prentiss gestures behind her, showing you the blond woman who waved at you sweetly. 

"Hi." She greets, extending her arm. You take her hand and shake it. "I'm JJ. You can call me that if you'd like. Jareau is fine too, if you prefer it." She assures. 

You nod in understanding and let her hand go. "Thank you. I'm glad I'm not outnumbered by men. Even if one of those men has a higher IQ than me." You snicker. 

Spencer looks up almost as if he was summoned, looking at you in interest. Morgan glances from you to Spencer, wondering what exactly you'd meant by that. "And what is that supposed to mean?" He asks, a teasing smile finding a place on his face. 

"O-oh… sorry. I don't mean to brag. I have an IQ of 167. And I can read at a maximum of 10,000 words per minute." 

Morgan grinned. "Ooh, she's coming for your title, Pretty boy." Morgan teased, shoving Spencer’s shoulder. Spencer rolled his eyes at Morgan’s teasing, more focused on you. You might not have as fast a reading speed as him, but you were quite intelligent. You enjoyed it when he began to explain certain statistics. He wondered what he'd done to earn your attention. 

"He's right, she might try to take your place as resident genius, Reid. You might want to be careful." Prentiss teased, a slight smirk on her lips. 

"Guys, really, He's the genius here. I'm just some newbie agent here to shadow one of you for a year to see if this is the field for me. That's all." You assure, raising your hands in front of your chest in surrender. 

"Oh we know. Teasing just our thing. Especially with Spence." JJ assures back, resting a hand on Spencer’s shoulder. She carried a file in her hand. Probably the next case, you guessed. You wondered if you'd even get to go on this case, considering how brand new you were to this. 

Spencer sighed and you giggled a little. "And I'm sure he enjoys it. Did you know that affectionate teasing can actually be beneficial? It can help you gain insight into who you really are and gain access to your excesses. It's actually interesting to think about." 

Morgan rolled his eyes and groaned while Prentiss shook her head. "Here we go, another one of him I gotta deal with. Derek groaned sarcastically. You giggle and smile again, glad to get the rest of the group to stop teasing Spencer as much. 

"What can I say? If I find something matches a situation, why not give out the info? It might help. How many times has Reid's insight been helpful on cases?" You asked. 

Reid blinked a few times at you, staying remotely silent as he waited for his teammate's responses. Were you really defending him? After you'd barely even met him? 

"Plenty of times." JJ interjected, smiling still just as brightly. 

"See?" You point out. "Sometimes having some extra facts up there can help with problem solving." 

"Yes, being able to draw on that information is what helps me to find solutions to a multitude of problems while we're on a case." Spencer finally spoke up. 

You grin at him. "It really does. It's how I finished the test so early. That and studying. That's kind of unavoidable." 

You giggle slightly after finishing your response, hearing a quickening click of heels rapidly approaching you and your little chat circle. You turn around and smile at the very eccentric blond haired woman who had appeared behind you. 

"You're Agent (L/N), the new shadow, right?" She asks, smiling at you brightly. After you nod she smiled even brighter. "I'm so glad you're here. I'm no longer drowning in testosterone!" She exclaimed, making you laugh heartily. 

"True true. And you are… Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia, right? I've read about you." You guess. And you assume you guessed right as soon as Garcia's eyes widened with surprise and glee. 

"Oh you already know me! That's great!" 

"Hey, by the way how do you know of us already? I think I would probably have forgotten everybody's name if I just looked up news articles." Morgan asks, shifting his weight off of his desk. 

"O-oh… uh…" you stutter. You'd forgotten to tell them of your hyperthymesia. Well, better now than never. "I have a condition called hyperthymesia. It's a disorder where I can't forget anything. Well, mostly anything. I still got the infancy amnesia like everyone else, but that's it. I can tell you exactly what I wore to school on my tenth day of kindergarten. And what I learned."

Morgan and Prentiss widen their eyes. "Really? You can't forget anything?" Morgan clarifies. 

"Yep. It's all up here." You assure, pointing to your head. 

"That is like, so cool. I wish I had it. No wait, no I don't. I'd never be able to forget the invasive information I have to learn about all our unsubs." Garcia rants, making you giggle. 

"Yeah, you don't want it." 

"Why choose the FBI? Especially with your condition?" Derek asks, giving you a questioning brow. 

"Look, I know I'm never going to be able to forget anything about these cases. But I want to help people. Not like a police officer. But really save people. And put the killers and rapists in prison so no one else is hurt. I've always wanted to profile, so here I am." You say sternly and almost inspiringly. Morgan thankfully backed off afterwards. 

Spencer's smile never left his face as he listened to your reasoning for choosing this line of work. Sure, he'd heard it before, but he liked hearing it. Spencer soon after stood up as soon as he saw Hotch leave his office, waiting for the announcement. 

"Everyone meet in the conference room. We'll be leaving in 40 minutes." He announces. You sigh and start to grab the badge and holster from your desk, assuming you wouldn't be going. 

"You too, (L/N)." He continued. 

You widened your eyes and didn't even think to fight the smile that crept onto your face. Morgan smiled at you and nudged your shoulder. "Look who's coming on her first case on her first day. You got a go-bag ready?" He asked. 

"I have one packed just in case in my trunk. Hotch told me to be prepared." You answered back a tad sheepishly. Morgan grinned back at you, semi-impressed. 

"Good. Now come on, can't start without you." 

You smile brighter at Morgan’s comment, adjusting your badge and holster before grabbing your bag again to head into the conference room. 

Once inside the room, you find the man you recognize to be SSA Agent David Rossi already seated. He stands and smiles at you. "You're the new agent, right?" He asks, reaching out his hand. 

"Yeah, I am. I'm Agent (L/N). It's a pleasure to meet you, Agent Rossi. I've read your books. You're a great author." You greet. He smiled warmly back at you. 

"Welcome to the team. Hope you find this to be the field best suited for you." He says kindly as he takes his hand back. You nod to him. 

"I sure hope so too." 

You then both take your seats; you soon finding out that the only seat left available was next to Reid. You fought the incoming blush and took your seat, thanking JJ for the electronic tablet that she placed in front of you with the information of the case. 

"How'd you know?" 

You blink and turn towards the source of the sudden voice, smiling when you see Spencer turned slightly toward you as he flipped through his paper copy of the case. Guess he wasn't one for technology. 

"Know what?" 

"That teasing in the affectionate format can be beneficial to overall mental health? I haven't considered researching it." He asks. You sigh slightly in relief. 

"Oh, well… I have a Bachelor's degree in psychology, and I took a minor in social science. I did a little more research of my own. It was never an assignment, I just enjoyed it and wanted extra credit if my teacher would give it to me." You giggle. Spencer nodded in understanding, looking from you to the case again. 

"No technology, huh?" You observe. He looks back up at you and nodded with a slight laugh. 

"Yeah, I prefer books and paper. My phone is the least modern one that my phone company would sell me." He says, pulling it out to show it to you. 

"Interesting. I'm kinda indifferent. I love reading though. Whether online or otherwise. Especially poetry." You express. 

Spencer smiles at you again, letting out a soft, half laugh before he turned his attention to JJ and the case she was presenting. 

"The bodies of three men over the course of the last 3 months have been found in the lower parts of Illinois. The most recent one of John McAllister just one week after the last one. The Galesburg PD office connected the pattern and has contacted us for our assistance." JJ informs, turning on the screen behind her and showing the images of the three men. 

"Each man was found castrated, beaten, and without signs of a struggle. They also share the same hair color; dark brown." She adds. 

"This unsub is castrating them post or antemortem?" You ask. 

"Fortunately post-mortem. It seems to be our unsub's MO. Each man had differing injuries, but all were castrated." JJ clarifies. 

"This unsub is bringing down men who all seem to be built physically. Men who could defend themselves. This unsub might be after the power aspect of these kills." Rossi points out. 

"Perhaps… if you take a look at how each body is placed, it's almost careless. Like the unsub didn't even try to hide the bodies." Spencer adds, looking up at Morgan who spoke up next. 

"Could we be dealing with a female unsub? Or is this a man who has a harsh view of masculinity?" He asks. 

"Is there any other connection? Perhaps places they visited? People they knew?" You ask. 

"There isn't anything yet. Garcia, can you take a look at each of the victim's financial records and anything that puts them somewhere that the other victims also were?" Hotch asks. 

"I'll do that and get them right back to you as quick as I can." She answers, her face in the corner of the screen in front of all of them. 

"Good. We'll discuss the rest of the file on the jet. Wheels up in 30." 

You can't help but feel a little giddy. This was your first case! You just hoped you packed enough clothes for however long this case was going to take you. 

"You ready?" 

You turn your head and smile at Reid's presence behind you. He was holding onto the strap of his messenger bag and looking at you as you both packed up to get on the jet. He looked cute in a dark cardigan and black tie. His shirt underneath it all was navy blue, pulling together the look nicely. 

"Yeah, just a little nervous. But I'm sure it's just those damn butterflies." You teased. He laughed and shook his head. 

"I'll see you on the plane." He says with a bright smile before you two parted ways for a brief while. Now all you had to do was get your go bag from your car and get to the Jet in 28 minutes and 32 seconds. Easy, right?

[myhockeyworld87]

Bubble Wrapped - Part 1

Word Count: 2,683

POV: Reader

Warnings: Language

Notes: Ok so here is basically our introduction to the Bubble Wrapped story. I have no timeline for this thing or even if it will continue, you guys let me know. As a background, this story will be about life inside Hotel X. In case you don’t know the teams inside Hotel X are the Bruins, Capitals, Flyers, Penguins and Lightning. So here we go, Happy Reading!

You'd been shocked when Hotel X had been picked as one of the hotels for the NHL to stay at when they resumed play in Toronto. Even more so when you were asked if you would take over the management of the place over the next several weeks. "Listen (Y/N) we know we are asking a lot. You'll have to live at the hotel with all the players as the NHL is really trying to keep everyone in this little bubble."

 "I understand. I've already talked to Carly about putting different measures in place when the Maple Leafs came to us before submitting their proposal." Carly was another member of the hotel staff, that served as one of their concierges. She knew the ins and outs of the city and could get tickets or dinner reservations on the drop of a dime. That was all before COVID though. Now, some restaurants were still closed and shows hadn't resumed yet. What once was a bustling city, had come to a dead stop over the last several months, though things were starting to get back to normal; well the new normal that is.

 "So we heard." You hoped the blush that crept up your cheeks couldn't be seen on the zoom call as that had become their new form of communication with you. "You've dealt with the players before, we know you can handle it. Though this time it'll be completely different with five or six teams staying there." Most of the players had always been super nice to the staff, though there were a few that could be demanding at times. You prayed they'd all push their egos aside, at least while in the hotel, though somehow you doubted that. "I think you're familiar with the NHL's protocol on their reopening, but we'll email you everything once we get it. Start putting together the staff that you want. Just some core people that you'll need."

 "I've got the right people in mind, don't worry."

 The call went for a bit longer going over specifics. The only benefit out of the whole thing was that they were giving you the Presidential Suite to stay in. Honestly, it was the least they could do; you thought. Of course, the called ending with them saying, "Don't let us down."

 As soon as it ended you called Carly making sure she was on board. "I'm just saying Car that many hockey players in the hotel; the testosterone is going to be flying around."

 "So what you're telling me is you've already packed an extra-large box of condoms."

 "Carly!" You shouted at your friend. "That's not what I was saying at all."

 "Come on (Y/N), I know you're one of Seguin's regulars when he's in Toronto."

 "I'm one of them because I can keep my mouth shut." It was true that when Tyler was in town during the summer or on a road trip the two of you always hooked up. Sort of a no strings attached relationship, though you did talk from time to time. "Besides he's not even going to be in Toronto. He's in the Edmonton bubble."

 "Oh, I didn't realize." Carly despite being from Canada was not a hockey lover, though she did appreciate the men who played the sport. "Well, maybe you should call him and get the scoop. You know find out who we need to be aware of."

 It wasn't a bad idea, not that you were going to ask him who to sleep with, but maybe it would help get a handle on who was going to be problematic, as there was no way you wanted to let the owners of the hotel down. You had a lot riding on this and after all, you couldn't put bitter rivals in one hotel and not expect some drama. "You're right. I am going to call him."

 "Ooo good, let me know what he says and if we should get more than one box of those condoms."

 You shook your head at your friend before hanging up and dialing Tyler's number. "Hey beautiful, long time no talk," Tyler said and you could almost hear the smile in his voice.

 "Hey Ty, how's quarantine life going?"

 "Ugh, don't get me started. I was not meant to be locked in my house without hockey for this long." Tyler wasn't meant to stay put anywhere too long, including relationships.

 "Well, hockey's almost back so there's that."

 "Yeah, I'm pumped about it, though I wish I was staying in Toronto instead. I know some fun that we could get up to since I have to stay in the bubble." He paused and you could clearly tell he was running different sex scenarios in his head. "I'm assuming your working at the hotel."

 "Yeah, it's kind of why I called. I'm one of the ones trapped in the bubble with you guys."

 Tyler groaned. "So, you called to ask me who you should hook up with? Cause babe, I'm not sure I'm willing to share you like that."

 "Shut up Ty, you know we're not like that. You couldn't stay faithful to one woman if you tried." Part of the reason the two of you got along so good, was the fact that you called him out on his bullshit.

 "I might if I could drag you with me everywhere." You giggled at the insinuation of being taken everywhere just so you could keep him satisfied. "You're definitely gifted with many talents (Y/N)."

 "You're not so bad yourself, but we're getting away from why I called."

 "You mean you didn't call to have phone sex with me," and you could hear his pout.

 "No, I didn't call for that. I was just curious if you had any idea who was going to give me problems while we're in this so-called bubble. I'm trying to be preemptive here."

 "Ok, but if I give you some information you at least have to promise to send me a pic of your tits." You mentally rolled your eyes at him; the boy was a horndog.

 "Fine, now spill some tea."

 "Spill some tea, what is this a gossip blog or something."

 "You're avoiding the question Ty, and I'm putting on a sweatshirt." He groaned.

 "Alright, don't get your panties in a bunch…or maybe do." It never ended with him. "I don't know a lot about some of the younger guys that are newer in the league, but my guess is they're all horny little bastards. Hell, I was when I first got in the league."

 "You still are."

 "Touché." He answered before continuing on. "So, like I probably don't have to mention the rivalries to you, but like Caps and Pens hate each other, the Flyers and Pens hate each other. Doesn't everyone just hate the Pens?"

 "I think you either love them or hate them."

 "That's true," he agreed with your statement. "The Flyers and the Caps hate each other as well and don't get me started with who hates the Bruins. Wow, who really put them all in your hotel?"

 "I'd like to know that as well." It seemed like whoever did, had a warped sense of humor and you were now going to be stuck handling the mess that they'd made. "So, basically what you're saying is that it'll be an all-out brawl at times that I'll have to clean up after."

 "Sorry babe, but I think it could be. On the bright side, we're supposed to stay on our own floors."

 "Like that's going to happen." Maybe you should designate elevators or something because you could just see Alex Ovechkin and Claude Giroux getting in one at the same time and by the time, they got to your lobby they'd both be bloody and beaten. "Anything else I should know?"

 "You seriously want me to go there?"

 "I mean...if you want to." You certainly weren't going to ask but if he offered the information you'd tuck it away for later that's for sure.

 He sighed heavily, "You know I hate this, but like Tom Wilson gets around that's for sure and I've heard that Travis Konecny does as well. If I'm being honest there's maybe been a girl or two that's compared us."

 "Really?"

 "That doesn't mean you have to be one of them, though if you are…you better tell them I'm better."

 "Don't worry Ty, I'll sing your praises. I promise." Obviously, you wouldn't be doing that but it didn't hurt to stroke his ego a bit. "Anyone, to avoid?"

 "Marchy!"

 "Dude, he was like one of your best friends. Why would you say that?"

 "Because I know him. Stay away he's trouble." The fact that you could almost see the look on his face as he was telling you was comical.

 "Fine."

 "Oh and stay away from Carter Hart." The name sounded familiar.

 "The goalie from Philly? Why?"

 "Because you'll corrupt him." You burst out laughing and Ty joined you. "He's too innocent for you."

 "Dually noted, as I do not want to be known as the corruptor of innocents." You searched your mind thinking of anything else you could ask since you had him on the phone. "What about Crosby?"

 "Sid?" and he just couldn't stop laughing; you could even hear him try to catch his breath.

 "Why is that so funny? The man is hot Tyler, whether you want to admit it or not."

 He got serious as he asked, "Who's hotter him or me?"

 Thank god you weren't on FaceTime, so you could answer him without your features giving you away. "You are Ty, of course."

 "I thought so, but like the guy is hockey twenty-four seven. There's no way he's going to be thinking about getting laid."

 "That's disappointing."

 "He's about the only one that I'd give you permission to fuck, only because I know it would be impossible for you to accomplish, even given all your talents." You could hear the mischievous tone in his voice.

 "Hmmm, are you willing to bet on that?"

 "What? Like bet, you'll fuck Crosby in the bubble?"

 "Yeah." Did it really sound like such an unattainable accomplishment?

 "What's the wager?"

 "Winner flies out when this whole COVID shit is done and is the other's sex slave for twenty-four hours."

 "Oh, you are on, baby. I can already see you handcuffed to my bed in some skimpy lingerie." He cackled at the thought and it fueled your resolve to win this bet.

 "Don't be so sure about that."

 "And how am I to know that you actually slept with him?"

 Well, this would be tricky. "Well, it's not like I'm videoing it."

 "No, but that gives me ideas for when I win." Maybe you should be rethinking this gamble.

 "What do you want his underwear?"

 "Nah, you could get that in the laundry. But I'm sure you could sneak a pic of him sleeping." God that sounded creepy but if it meant you had Ty as your slave for a day, it'd be worth it and you'd never show it to anyone else but him and even then you weren't going to send it to him, though he didn't need to know that now.

 "Ok, it's a bet then."

 "Too bad we can't kiss on it."

 "Oh, you'll be doing more than kissing when I win, Seguin." Mentally you started packing sexy outfits to take into the bubble with you while thinking of all the things you'd have Tyler do the next time you saw him. "On that note, I better get my ass to work and make this hotel ready for these guys."

 "Fine, I'll let you go as long as you promise to FaceTime me at some point during this bubble thing."

 "I'm sure I'll have a night open for you at some point." You teased.

 "Woman, you better."

 "No worries Ty, you're still my main man; when you're in town."

 "That's right baby, good luck."

 "Thanks for all the info, Ty. We'll catch up soon and good luck in the playoffs."

 You were just about to hang up when you heard him yell. "Don't forget my titty picture."

 All you could do was shake your head and click end call, though you being a woman of your word, you snapped a quick pic and sent it off to him; to which he responded with a drool face emoji.

 The next couple of weeks were a literal whirlwind as you moved into the hotel's presidential suite and got things ready. Beds were moved out so that some rooms that had two queens now had one king in them. The hotel was disinfected from top to bottom. If felt like you were wearing a hazmat suit all the time during this process. A week before the players arrived the NHL staff did, making sure everything was in order and making sure you had things set up for daily COVID testing. Of course, you had everything well in hand and organized per their instructions, though with a few tweaks that made the process more efficient. Overall, they seemed impressed with everything that you had done.

 All that preparation lead up to the big day, July 26th, when the teams moved in. The league had them spread out so that no two teams were checking in at that same time. Tampa Bay was the first in as they traveled the furthest. "You look nervous. Why are you nervous?" Carly's voice came up from behind you as you saw the bus pulling in through the gates.

 "There's a lot riding on this Car, and if anything goes wrong; you know it's going to be my head that rolls."

 "You're going to do great; this whole thing is going to be smooth like a bubble." She started to giggle. "See what I did there…bubble." You rolled your eyes at your friend but did let out a little snort of laughter at her pun. "Well, here they come."

 You straightened your jacket and smoothed down your skirt, before throwing your mask up to go meet your first arrivals. "Gentlemen, welcome to Hotel X." You tried to speak a little louder than normal hoping the mask didn't muffle your words. "We're excited to have you all here. I'm (Y/N) manager here during your stay, anything you need, feel free to call me any time of day." More of the guys filtered in while you spoke to Coach Cooper and a few of the players.

 "Anytime huh?" you heard someone mumble in the background and a couple of the guys snickered. It was hard not to roll your eyes as you knew they were focusing on them with your face partially covered. Someone else said, "She can manage me anytime." That was until someone cleared their throat, effectively silencing them.

 "Now if you'll follow me, let's get you all checked in." Tables lined with a welcome packet and lanyard with their ID on it, were off to the side and you were able to shuffle them through with pretty good speed, then sent them off to their rooms before they had to head to testing. Your information was inside every packet, in case you were needed at any point during their stay. It seemed like you no sooner got them in and the area disinfected then the next team, the Capitals, were pulling in, and so the day went on until all five teams were safely ensconced in the hotel. Thankfully you made it through that process without any problems, even though the Bruins flight was late and the Flyers were pulling in right as you got the last players through.

 It wasn't until dinner, that you encountered your first dilemma, getting a text message from Alexis, who was coordinating the meals. It was a simple message, Get to conference room 3. NOW! As fast as your heels could take you, you headed down to where the Capitals were supposed to be having dinner if you remembered the schedule correctly. You never expected to see what you did though when you entered.

[goldenlaquer]

Heyy, could you write some nsfw headcanons for kondo, abuto and kamui? Love your blog

Abuto’s was already done here!

This is going to be long ;)

Gintama NSFW Headcanons:

Kondo Isao:

Like the sexually-deviant gorilla he is, Kondo wants to rut. 

But the human side of him wants to take it slow, to love, and to cherish.

Well, whichever side wins out in the bed, there’s one undisputed fact: he’s a very eager lover. 

Kondo can’t believe that there’s one woman willing to lay with him (or at least a woman who doesn’t need payment by the bed stand after the deed is done and/or a woman who still has all her teeth) and you betcha he’s going to praise just about every deity and you for the golden opportunity. That’s right, Kondo is a praiser.

and a grunter. Loud. L O U D, especially towards the end. You know you fucked him good if it feels like there’s a surround-sound system in bedroom. 

Remember at the beginning, when he revealed he had erectile dysfunction? Yeah, well over the course of 300-some odd episodes, after all the abuse and maiming and freezing and burning-- Kondo’s dick is cured and as resilient as graphene. Kiss goodbye to the erectile dysfunction. No, literally. 

It seems like I’m writing him as some antsy teenager ready to get sum, but it’s exactly that with him. Perhaps its the influence of living in a males-only compound-- all that testosterone floating in the air makes Kondo desperate for you. 

He may be the clown of the Shinsengumi, but he’s the brawn, all height and glorious muscles that feel insanely good pressed up against you. He likes it when you run your hands down his back, feeling the scar-riddled surface, and loves it when you grab him by the ass when he’s deep inside you. 

Kondo looks at you, his eyes serious as the both of you pant while coming down from the high. “I love you.” Every time after, without delay, he means those three words. 

Then proceeds to conk out. 

Okita Sougo: 

Good people of Tumblr, this shithead is the absolute worst.

OK, everyone and their mommas already know just how much a dominant freak Okita is because Gintama has been entirely transparent with us. Riding crops, collars, leashes, and ropes-- his entire franchise is sadism until the day he dies.

Sharp tugs to your nipples and bites to blade of your collarbone, Okita is determined to make sure every pleasure is mixed with a bit of pain, an intoxicating mix to make you more submissive and receptive to his harsh advances. 

But there’s no fun in you being so submissive right off the bat. No, Okita wants you to rebel against your bonds and orders, so that the thrill of putting you under complete submission is that much better. 

The collar and leash I was talking about? He wants you on your knees, working his cock with your pretty mouth, and when the pace isn’t to his liking, he can just pull that leash and force his length down your throat. The cherry on top is when you gag on his cock. 

Shibari. Need I even say it? Especially when you can’t see what he’s doing and you’re lying there, bound, and entirely helpless to his ministrations-- that’s when Okita goes down on your cunt and works you open with his  fingers, tongue, and cock, torturously slow and controlled.

The gag doesn’t come as often as you think, he’d much rather hear your pleas and struggles. A nice soothing sound to his sadistic soul. And in response, he speaks filthy, filthy language in a low, mirthful voice that’ll go straight to lower belly. 

Aftercare? The ‘Prince of Sadist’ title is brushed aside in favor for ‘Sou-chan’, and he’ll utter some teasing remarks that’ll totally be offset by the gentle way he unties your bonds and leads you to bathroom to clean off the sweat and cum. He’ll act like it’s nothing, those little things, but they mean to world to you. 

Kamui: 

I headcanon he’s a virgin, Kamui is just too obsessed with growing stronger and fighting that he completely forgoes the hormonal urges to fuck a willing woman in favor for putting his fists through someone’s chest. I guess you could say he invested all his experience points into strength. 

So when he comes into your bed, Kamui knows nothing except whatever he overheard from his Yato clansmen’s locker room talk. You’re going to have to give him some guidance.

Kamui is a devoted student, his face somber for once as he rakes his blue eyes over your body and lightly brushes his fingers against your skin, exploring, mapping, and marveling. To you, it feels pleasant and gentle...

... until it isn’t.

In a flash, the tide turns from nice and simple to bewildering and heart-racing, his hands clamping down on your hips to tug you flush against his aching front as his face breaks into a smile that makes your thighs clench. “I’ve got it now.” He declares. Got it? What has he got? He’s still a virgin-- oh. Kamui is a quick study. 

Abuto had once wisely said, Yato men are well-endowed; Kamui is no exception and when he’s easing into you, all you can do is writhe and struggle to take in his dick.  

He moves with an age-old instinct, and when you give a particularly loud moan when he does something right, Kamui targets that area with fervor. Easy. Simple. Who said sex was hard?

Doggy style, because Yato are more beasts than men, but where he’s pushing your head down to the mattress or futon and pulling your hips up to meet his thrusts. Just like Okita, Kamui favors you under his complete whim, to do as he pleases.

It’s a plus to his male pride whenever he showcases how easily he can snap you into two, but he just won’t do it; it’s a power trip for him. From the way he effortlessly holds you up against the wall, from the way he traps your hands together far better than any cuff or rope, and from the way he can easily put bruises into your skin, especially around the thighs and waist (those are the marks that proves he’s taken you for himself). 

Kamui stops until you’re passed out. And when you wake up again, he continues. Years of not doing anything to his libido has made his appetite voracious, and it’s your fault-- so you better get to it. 

Filth, absolute filth. Anyways, I’m thinking that when I finish up all my requests, I’ll open my ask box for actual, short story request for a limited time. 

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of wildfire relief, @ithinktoomuch4438 donated $10 and requested wincest mpreg. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post.

They hole up after the Leviathan are gone in a hotel, not a motel; a quiet, well-lit room, not a dingy mold-fest; a high-rise downtown instead of a squalid outskirt. Dean sits on the king-sized bed with his knee jogging restlessly, and he keeps putting a hand down to stop it but when his shattered attention comes back his knee's bouncing again. The carpet is a lush navy blue. The bedspread is silky-soft. Sam's been gone for ten minutes. Dean can't concentrate on anything, but he's split between what happened before, and what will happen when Sam gets back.

He keeps looping back. Last night, last week, last month. Six months ago. A year ago. That first time, in that motel when they'd just killed Brady and Sam had had the idea to say yes, to Lucifer, and the horror of that thought had made Dean so—bitter, so horrified, and then that had somehow cracked a wall, that had been keeping them an arm's length from each other. He puts his hand over his face. A wall. Walls keep being their problem.

They'd waited so long. They'd been so careful. Sam had held him, in that bed that they'd wrecked, and he'd kissed the top of Dean's head where Dean was tucked in against Sam's chest, and for a moment despite being the older sibling and despite all the hell that waited for them, Dean had felt—safe. Like a hal should, in a man's arms. It was something he'd never expected to get. There was a lot that he knew he'd never get.

Sam comes back. "Did anyone see you?" Dean says, instead of kissing him in relief.

Sam shakes his head, and then says, unnecessarily, "No. No, I don't think—if anyone's watching us they're being quiet about it. And we've got the hex bags, Dean."

Dean rubs his hands over his thighs, chewing his lip. Sam's stuck, apparently, over there by the door—god, this room is big compared to their usual—but of course that was the point, that this wasn't their usual, that anyone who might know their habits or who might track them wouldn't expect this. Not that Dean knew who might be tracking them, anymore.

They'd gotten rid of Dick Roman, and the Leviathan with him. The plan, just like they'd talked about—to rescue Kevin, the weird little prophet, with Crowley and Meg helping, and Castiel—crazy, stupid, ridiculous Castiel—right there at Dean's side ready to kill Dick, doing right after he'd done so much wrong. He and Dean had stood together, right outside where they knew Dick was waiting, and Castiel had taken the prepared bone out of Dean's hand, and he'd said let me, and Dean had said, no, dumbass, I'm the one—and Cas had touched him, had slid his hand right down Dean's chest to his stomach, and had held his hand flat there, and looked at Dean with eyes that shone. I'll do it. I don't want either of you to be hurt.

They'd been alone, in the hall. Dean had frozen, his grip loose around Cas's wrist when he'd meant to yank Cas's hand off his body, and he'd said, What? but of course, he'd heard, even if he couldn't quite—understand it, right then. Cas had smiled at him, very sweetly because Cas without any of his marbles was about the nicest guy Dean knew, and he'd popped out of existence, and Dean had run, had crashed through the door into the plant with Sam and Kevin running up too, and watched Cas stab Dick through the throat with the blessed bone and then the world had—throbbed. Cas had looked at him and smiled and then there'd been an explosion and then Dick was gone, and Cas was gone, and then Crowley showed up and smirked and disappeared with Kevin and then Sam had been gripping Dean's shoulder, holding him back from the strange spatter of black in the lab, and he'd said did we—did we win? Dean had almost touched his stomach but held back, thinking that it couldn't be—that it wasn't possible. Sam had pulled him in, hugged him with his hand tight and soft in the short bob of Dean's hair, and Dean had said, feeling very distant from himself, Sammy, we need to leave right now.

They're a state away. The car's kinda wrecked again but Dean can fix it, later. They don't know where Kevin is, where Crowley's taken him, and Meg's in the wind, and Castiel's gone along with Dick. They can figure that out, later. He'd sent Sam to the store, while he checked in alone to this hotel under a simple alias, and he'd texted Sam room 412, hurry, and he doesn't know if Sam had hurried but here's Sam, standing with his back to the hotel room door with a bag in his hand, and his face—Dean looks, finally, at his face, instead of staring at the bag like he has been, and Sam… He's never seen that look, on Sam.

"I got three kinds," Sam says.

Dean licks his lips. "Guess you probably didn't get any booze," he says, and Sam huffs, forehead creasing, and finally Dean feels like he can stand up, even if his legs feel kind of weak, and Sam presses his lips together but crosses the room in a few quick steps and dumps the bag on the bed and then wraps Dean into his arms, his mouth at the top of Dean's ear. A shudder goes through Dean before he can hold Sam right back, his hands gripping inadequately at the back of Sam's jacket.

"We're gonna figure it out, okay," Sam says, quietly. Dean puts his forehead to Sam's shoulder, hiding away in the warm dark that's there. "We'll—we'll talk about it. But let's just—find out, first. Okay? We need to find out for sure."

Logical, sensible. Typical Sam plan. Dean ignores it, for a minute. He wants to just—stand here, leaning his weight where Sam can carry it. Sam drags a gentle thumb over the back of Dean's neck, and waits with him. Patient as a monument. Dean listens to his breath, slowly lifting the chest Dean's leaning against, and counts in his head. A minute. He gets a minute.

Sam really did get three different kinds. Dean lays them out on the nice white bathroom counter, while Sam leans in the doorway. "Jeez, how much piss you think I got in me," Dean says, kinda to himself but kinda not, and Sam's mouth curls up on one side in the mirror, even if it wasn't at all funny. He gets himself a glass of water, drinks it down like a shot, and then unzips his jeans, shimmies them down off his hips and kicks them into the corner of the bathroom. "You going to help?" he says, and it comes out kinda mean even if he didn't really—but jeez, he can't piss by himself?—except that Sam apparently takes it as an actual request, and comes forward, and unboxes the first test himself, and reads the instructions out loud, and shows Dean where to aim. Dean's left disarmed, nervous enough that his hand shakes. Sam looks at him, and braces his hand over the back of Dean's neck, big mitt fitting there warm and dry, and then he kisses the bolt of Dean's jaw just where it meets his ear, and stands behind him, and holds the test steady, right over the toilet. It's left to Dean to pull his panties down, just enough, and pull out his soft clit, and aim, and he thinks for a second he won't be able to do it, his body's clenched so tight, but then he hears Sam sigh very quietly, the breath of it touching Dean's shoulder, and his clit flexes that tiny bit and he produces a stream of pee, wetting the test right where Sam said to. Sam's hand disappears and reappears with the second test, and then he does it again, then there's nothing left but to wait, while the results appear.

Halmen tests are slower than tests for women, according to Sam. According to Sam, it's something to do with halmen's increased testosterone, fouling up the markers. According to Sam, it'll be twenty minutes before they can really be sure. "You're babbling," Dean says, and Sam bites his lips between his teeth and looks away. Somehow Sam's nervousness has calmed his own, at least for a second. Like a seesaw. When one of them's got a solid handle, the other's a wreck, up in the air. Dean washes his hands and then leaves the bathroom, with the tests lined up on the counter, and pulls off the rest of his clothes, and digs for fresh ones in his duffle.

"I'm sorry," Sam says, behind him.

"Not your fault," Dean says, automatically, and then pauses, a clean tunic just dropped over his head and swinging around his hips. "Well, actually—" he says, looking over his shoulder.

Sam really does look sorry. Dean sits on the end of the bed where he'd been waiting before, and Sam comes and sits—not beside him, but on the little loveseat under the window. Night, and the moonlight spilling in over Sam's dark head. Sam drags his hands through his hair, hunched.

"How," Sam says.

Dean snorts. The line arrives in his head—when a mommy and a daddy—but he can't get it past his throat. "You know," he says, instead, and tips so his fingers tuck under his bare thighs. Sam glances at him, then away.

Last month. Or—before. Two months ago. Sam had been insane, had been barely holding up under the weight of all those blackened memories, and then he wasn't insane anymore. Cas healed him—put himself in Sam's place, and gave Sam back to Dean. Bittersweet, but more sweet than bitter, with Sam back at his side, looking at him and being at last, entirely, one hundred percent himself. More himself than he'd been since he fell into that hole at Stull. Dean had waited to get a hundred miles from that awful hospital before he kissed Sam, and felt the relief like a kick in the head when Sam kissed him back, and meant it. They hadn't talked about it really, then. It had been enough to be back together.

He hadn't taken his pills. It hadn't occurred to him, in the chaos of almost losing Sam, in the relief of getting Sam back. His last heat had been when half of Sam was still blocked up behind the wall; the one before that, when Sam didn't have a soul, and it was a shark's unfeeling smile that offered to help Dean through it. He'd taken his pills both times and the heat was a muted, soft thing, just his cheeks flushed and his temperature high and his own wanting, but Sam hadn't come near him, and they'd had better things to do.

With Sam back—a hunt, to get Sam's legs back under him. Another, that went better. They fell into bed together each night gladly, making up for lost time. Sam kissed him sweet, and not sweet, and playful, and rough, and Dean gave back as good as he got, and when one day he woke up flushed with the sheets soaked under him, he didn't even think about it before shoving at Sam's shoulder, getting him awake, and watched Sam's eyes sharpen and his nostrils flare, and that first time, the first raw real time between them, Sam rolled him underneath and took him on his belly, with Dean's hands fisting helplessly into the sheets, and Sam's knot caught inside and tied them tight and it felt so good, so right, that Dean had actually for a few seconds cried, his body lighting up with what it had wanted so long, Sam's mouth at the back of his neck and his big frame covering Dean's, the sweat risen between them and the solid thickness inside just—perfect.

Still. It shouldn't have—done anything. Dean had been in heat, but Sam had said, in their quiet talk after the—well, the fourth time, because they were too busy to talk much before that—he'd said—

"I think it was Cas," Sam says. Dean picks up his head and Sam's sitting forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands laced between them. At Dean's look Sam shakes his head. "Not that—come on. I don't mean it was Cas, I mean…" He draws in a big breath, blows it out noisily. "I've just, I've been thinking about it. Like, racking my brains, here. It's the only thing that makes sense."

What Sam said, in the bed that day, with Dean's head pillowed on his arm and Sam's hand warm and reassuring on Dean's hip: don't worry, okay? About… I mean, we can't. I know we can't. Before, when the angels told us about how we were a—bloodline, for the vessels. I went to a doctor and I—I thought, if we win somehow, if we don't just die, then there can't be any more. We can't give them another chance. I didn't know what you were going to do but I figured, even if you did someday have a kid, then better to have another vessel for Michael than it would be to have another vessel for Lucifer, so I… Well, like I said. I went to a doctor and got the snip. So. No swimmers to worry about, okay? It's—we'll be fine.

That day, Dean had felt—hard to describe. Unbearably sad, his hormones making it worse; unbearably tender, for the way Sam had been alone, thinking about that, and made that decision alone, too.

Right now, he says, "Cas."

Sam shrugs. "He's healed me, you know? He brought my body back from the cage and it was—perfect, right? Just like when he brought you back, and you didn't have any scars or anything. I didn't either. And I mean, I guess surgery's a scar. If it wasn't then—he healed me when I was soulless, he healed me back at the asylum. It got undone, somehow. It's the only thing that makes—"

He cuts himself off, from repeating himself. Dean chews the inside of his lip, looking at Sam's bent head. "You still feel the same way?" he says. "About—?"

His voice sounds weird. Sam looks up, sits up. Dean closes his eyes, not to see Sam's face.

"I think…" Sam says. He says, then: "Tell me what you think."

"I think you were right." Dean shakes his head, then lies back on the bed, and folds his arms over his eyes so his forearms block out all the light. He talks past them into the room he can't see. "I think it's nuts. I think that if—if we're this long descended bloodline, perfectly bred to be the perfect vessels like that Cupid said, and if we're soulmates like Ash and Joshua said, then whatever kid we might have would be like—the uber super duper mega vessel, something that could hold—anything. Lucifer or Michael, or like. Friggin' God, probably, if he hadn't bailed. I think if you were a crazy angel or a shithead demon, then any kid that could do that would be like the holy grail, right? Or the evil grail. And even if you didn't use the kid as a vessel then you could probably do something else terrible. All those nasty spells the demons know? Sacrifice, and—and whatever, bloodletting and crap—and if you had an ingredient like the ultimate Winchester kid, then who knows what crazy shit you could do. Opening up Purgatory probably wouldn't even be the half of it."

Silence, for a while. "I didn't even consider that," Sam says. "I just kept thinking, if someone got the baby, you'd—we'd do anything. They could make us do anything, just to get the baby back."

Dean drops his arms, lifts up on his elbows. Sam, looking at him, shrugs, his mouth tipping in a not-at-all-happy smile. Dean bites his lip and jerks his head a little, and Sam doesn't respond for a few seconds before he stands up, and comes over, and sits beside Dean, and makes the opportunity for Dean to tug at him, and get him to lay down too. He sighs, when they're close, but he folds his arm around Dean's back and tucks Dean's head under his chin, and Dean grips his shirt and tries to forget hearing the word baby in Sam's voice. It makes too much bubble up in his head that he'd long ago put away, never to think about again.

It's why they're here. Hiding, in this hotel they've had to blow a credit card to afford. If Cas was telling the truth and wasn't just being a total nutbar, then what's in Dean's belly could be a bomb. A nuke. Something that could have all of heaven and hell and whatever's in between looking for them. But—

Sam's hand slides down his back, to his hip. Finds the hem of his tunic and rucks it up, and slides up his bare skin back over the curve of his hip, to his waist, to lay flat over his belly. He's never been a supermodel, his whole life. His chest's flat, but he's always been kind of—soft, and his stomach's no exception, with this little curve there at the bottom that he used to be self-conscious about, when he was younger. As far as he can tell there's no difference to it, now. He'd held his stomach, in the passenger seat while Sam drove them here to this hotel, and he'd thought, he couldn't tell. Seems like he should be able to tell.

Sam's fingers are gentle. He squeezes the softness, there, and when he speaks it's a little muffled, with his mouth pressed to the top of Dean's head. "I keep thinking about it," he says. Like a confession. Dean presses his forehead against Sam's sternum, aching. "About how it'd be."

Dean grips Sam's wrist, between their bodies. He pushes it down, making Sam's hand slide under the bunched-up hem of his tunic, and when Sam's fingers slide over his clit they close around it, immediately, instinct taking over. Dean hitches in a breath and starts opening Sam's belt, quick, even as Sam pushes them both over, Dean on his back and Sam rising up over him, broad and heavy and the only thing Dean wants, right now. His clit's already hard and Sam's fingers slip down between his legs, dip in where he's wet, and Dean drags his heels up, spreading his thighs to make room while he tugs at Sam's jeans, the button fly popping open, his boxer-briefs starting to swell, heat under Dean's hand. Sam fills him with two fingers, kisses him—teeth behind it, no finesse—not now—and Dean gets Sam out of his briefs and squeezes, feeling, pulling—guiding—not that Sam needs it, with how open Dean is, how needing of him. Sam tugs his fingers out and braces that hand on the back of Dean's thigh, the wet fingers dragging hot and slippery there, and Sam kisses Dean again, and again on his cheekbone, and then his breath's hot at Dean's ear as he braces and lets Dean's hands guide him—in—and Dean holds his hips instead, lifts, and Sam splits him wide, driving in, home. Dean grunts; Sam makes a low sound, hand sliding under the back of Dean's neck, into his hair. When Sam finally starts fucking him it's steady, hard, jolting almost, the curled position enough that he's threatening Dean's cervix every time he slams in, but Dean holds him tight and close and takes it, wants more, wants it deeper, wants it never to end.

It ends. Sam comes first, shuddering between Dean's thighs, and he stays inside and with fingers he wets with his own spit he jerks Dean's clit like a little dick and Dean clenches so hard and ripples so deep that Sam makes a pained sound, but Dean wraps his legs around Sam's hips and doesn't let him pull out, wishing that he were in heat so that Sam would knot up inside him, mindlessly greedy, and so Sam applies his mouth to Dean's throat and carefully starts working his clit again, squeezing steadily with his whole hand, his hips crushed in close, and the second time it ripples more slowly, a wave deep in Dean's pelvis, his fingertips numb and hot, his mouth open and gasping into Sam's hair.

Sam kisses him. He lifts up, keeping his hips in place, and cups Dean's face, and then drags his hands down—his throat, his chest. The hem of his tunic, pushed up, and up, until Dean lifts his arms and Sam can drag it entirely off, and then Sam sits up and lays his hands on Dean's belly, and Dean puts his own hands over the top of Sam's, and looks down at that instead of at Sam's face.

"Did you ever think about it?" Sam says.

A million years ago, learning how to mix formula into a bottle. A stint of babysitting, in junior high. Holding Mark's newborn niece, when he'd been living with Mark because Sam was in hell and so he had to attend a baby shower, to be a normal person like Sam had asked him to be, and stroking his knuckle softly against that dumb, fat, silky cheek, and having something inside clench, empty.

Sam's dick slips out, finally. Sam makes a quiet noise in his chest and Dean feels—wet, open. He opens his legs and Sam climbs off of him, and disappears for a second, and Dean stretches out, feels the worked tendons in his thighs, before Sam reappears with a handful of tissues and cleans him up, unromantic but thoughtful. Very Sam. He stripped off his clothes, too, and he's beautiful. Dean thinks it sometimes, in moments like this. His little brother, not at all little anymore. His muscle, and his smooth tan skin, and their shared tattoo, and his eyes as he lays back down, with Dean, with his head propped on his hand—and his hands, broad and long-fingered, and how the one not under his head fits so well on the curve of Dean's hip where it swells up out of his waist, and how much Dean loves that Sam likes to rest it there.

"Are you freaking out?" Sam says.

"Not right this second," Dean says.

Sam smiles at him, and it's very small but it's the first real smile Dean's gotten all day. Somehow that sobers Dean up. He says, "It's been twenty minutes," and watches Sam's face while he acknowledges it. He says, "Sam, we can't have a baby."

"I know," Sam says.

Dean closes his eyes but when he expects grief it doesn't come that way. It's—tangled. Slow and strange, a weird mix—sadness, wistfulness. Anger. Relief. Fingers trace over his temple, tuck his hair behind his ear, and he reaches up and catches Sam's hand, holds Sam's knuckles against his mouth.

"Do you want me to go check?" Sam says, and Dean doesn't at all but he says, "Yes," and lets Sam take his hand away, and waits on the bed, curled on his side, while Sam's weight leaves the bed and his steps are barely heard against the carpet, and the light switches on, and then there's a pause, and then the light switches off again.

A longer pause. Dean opens his eyes and there's the windows, with the night outside, and the moonlight, and the waiting city with its neon and glitter. Sam sits by Dean's hip, puts his hand right back in its place.

"I've been thinking," Sam says, after what might've been an hour.

"That's not news," Dean says.

Sam squeezes his hip. "It couldn't be forever. Heaven and hell—we're too… important, not to sound big-headed about it. We can't disappear forever, because they'd hunt us forever, and they'd find us, because they always do. But we could manage—a year. Maybe."

Dean looks up, frowning. Sam's watching his face, obviously trying to gauge his reaction.

"We have all those sigils, from the cabin," Sam says. "Somewhere else—Oregon, or Colorado. A cabin or a house, that we could take off the map, and no one could find us. No one could know."

Quiet. Dean tries to think through it. "A year," he says. Depending on when they disappeared it'd be—maybe six months, and then another six. Enough time to—god, to fall in love. To break his heart. And then what?

"It's not—enough," Sam says. He abandons Dean's hip and finds his hand, and holds it, in pure defiance of everything Dean's ever said about being a sappy bitch. Their fingers lace together and Dean holds on, tight. "But if you don't want to—" Delicate, like if the word abortion doesn't sully the air then somehow it doesn't count. "If you don't want to. We could—try. We'd have to plan it, just right. We'd have to do it perfectly."

He's being very careful, his eyes on Dean's. Careful or not Dean's brain has already switched gears, thinking ahead. Perfectly, Sam says—fuck that, it'd have to be a miracle. The house, and the hex bags, and when it came to later—when their luck ran out—the decision, they'd have to make. The size of that loss. Even knowing—

"Dean," Sam says.

Dean realizes he's got one hand on his stomach, the other so tight around Sam's that his knuckles hurt. He lets go with the one but not the other. This is—insane. Insane. The idea of it floats as delicate as a blown bubble, glinting barely seen in the air. He sits up and Sam's watching him, waiting. Sam says, "We don't have to decide today."

"I know," Dean says, but he's decided. He feels almost sick but it's—decided. Sick and light-headed, not a good combo. He can't stop touching his stomach. He thinks, in a whole careful sentence inside his head, this is a crazy idea, baby, and like that it's—concrete. It's done.

The grief will come later. For now his chest feels full, like there's champagne under his ribs and it's fizzing to get out. Insane plans are where the Winchesters do their best work, after all.

"We'll have to burn those tests," Dean says, firmly.

Sam looks at him big eyed for a second, and then laughs, a little breathless, a little worried. "We will," he says, and then he laughs again when Dean pushes him back and crawls into his lap, the laugh less worried and more careless, free. Sam's always had a soft spot for insane plans, too. Dean grins at him and Sam cups his cheek, smiles back. "Tomorrow," he promises, and Dean nods, and thinks with giddy fear about the future waiting, after tomorrow.

[monstaxdirtywonk]

Love Syndrome

Member : Wonho X reader

Genre : Fuff, some angst, some smut

Synopsis : A girl obsessed with Neurology takes an experiment on dating Hoseok, who has no idea this is a joke to her. Her experiment will turn against her when she’ll actually start falling in love...

 You weren't like the other girls. Maybe this will turn out to be one of those memes online but no, you truly meant it. As a kid, you despised dolls and castles, pink and unicorns. You showed a great interest in mechanics, cars (mostly destroying them and notice their parts), puzzles and balls. Truth be told, you were proud of yourself and how independent you grew to be. Your friends were crying every once in a while for that hottie blondie who broke up with them, while you did your best at comforting them. Relationships were an unnecessary drama, one you did not want to take part in. You’re fine the way you are! An academic career is in front of you, traveling the world and finally, being what you always wanted...a woman of logic, of sense, of credibility. No drama, no annoying clingy boyfriends, no crying sessions. No. No. No. You know what's best in life and that’s what’s your way. 

Your friend Val was over for support. There’s been a month since she broke up with the ex and still can’t let go. After hours of fake sentimentalism, you’ve had enough.

“You know what...I’ve got the perfect solution for you.”

Val raised her teary eyes and looked curiously to your side.

“You can get a dog! Yes that’s perfect, I should’ve thought about it sooner,

“okay thank you for trying to make me laugh but it’s not helping.”

“This isn’t a joke. it’s a real solution and a much more practical one than me just telling you sweet nonsense of ‘comfort’. Dogs, when in contact with humans, release a chemical in our brain called oxytocin, just like when you are with your partner. Instead of having the side effects and ups and downs of a relationship, a dog is much more devoted and drama free. Boom, you’ve got double win.”

“I swear sometimes I feel like you’re Sheldon from Big Bang theory in a female form.”

“Thank you for that compliment but I am not as good as the flawless mastermind Sheldon himself is.”

“You know what, Ima leave before we fight, the least thing I’m looking for is this.”

“Okay fine but think about it.”

You said as you made your way to the door along her. Val grinned and left without a second word. I mean you were right, even you thought of adopting a cute poodle. It’s much better than ‘adopting’ a boyfriend. Plus dogs are always happy when they see you. Maybe a dog is a good idea.

You checked the watch and it hit you.

“Damn, I’m late!” you exclaimed and took your purse heading out of the door.

----

‘When in love, you experience a rush of hormones to the brain — including oxytocin, the “love hormone,” the “pleasure hormone” dopamine, and sex hormones like estrogen and testosterone. ‘

You aren’t the type to believe in coincidences but if they exist, this can’t be one. Out of all those subjects, did they have to talk about love’s effect on the brain today? Unbelievable. But interesting at the same time, no wonder everyone’s so invested in this called ‘dating culture’.  

“Y/N, we’ll be in the cafeteria downstairs. Don’t be too late.”

“I won’t I promise.”

The proffessor looked at you intensely. You noticed and moved your head upwards.

“Actually I’ll close the class! Sorry about that but I have my lunch break.”

“Ah totally. I’m so sorry Mr.Jones for ‘eating your time away’” You laughed at your own pun and he did too.  

You slow-run to the exit and the moment you reached the door, you collided with someone and your books fell to the floor.

“Oh I’m sorry I can’t believe I’m so careless at times.” his voice, a sweet sound contrary to his muscular physique.

“No, it’s my mistake actually. I wasn’t looking straight, per usual.” he laughed and colected your books.

“I mean, you didn’t have to.”

“It’s the least I can do for bumbing into you like that. My Hulk self should be a little more careful since I might knock out someone.”

You laughed genuinely after a long time. He noiticed and smiled in satisfaction.

“So, you’re studying Neurology?”

“Ugh? Ah yes I do! It’s very interesting. Some might find it boring but it’s so exciting to learn about the wonder our body, our mind is.”

He was staring at you in awe. Probably thinking of you as a terrible nerd. Judging by his looks, he seemed the gym guy, totally off your valley.

‘I’m sorry. It gets boring for some.”

“No. Not at all. I admire those that are so passionate with what they’re doing. I would just like to add something more to your sentence.”

“...and what’s that?”

“the wonder our body, mind and soul is.”

Normally you’d think of it as lame. Actually it was cheesy but he is a pleasant surprise. It was unfair to judge him based on his looks after all.

“I guess.” you answered semi-sure.

“Now you might excuse me but I gotta go. It was nice talking to you.”

“Bye” you waved cringing at the silly child-like act.

----

The library was surprisingly empty for a uni with so many students. You took advantage and went there to study further for your upcoming exams. Suddenly a voice interrupted your train of thought and you were this close to cursing.

“Hey!” someone shout out in excitment, earning himself agressive shhs from the few students sitting there. He murmured a sorry and came your way. It was the guy that bumbed into you a couple of days before.  

“Hey” you answered as quietely as possible.

“So..” he said obviously nervous by his hand movements and red tint on his cheeks.

“I forgot to tell you my name and that was rude, wasn’t it?”

You didn’t answer because it wasn’t rude.

“I’m Hoseok.” he extended his arm for a hand shake.

You felt his pulse rising to dangerous vibrations. He was nervous for sure. Maybe you’re reading into it too much...

“Nice to meet you Hoseok, I’m Y/N.”

“You know I feel sorry to interrupt you but I’d like to offer you a drink, as a way to apologize.”

“You don’t have to! It wasn’t anything disastrous.”

“Is that a no?” he asked with puppy eyes, eager for an answer. You didn’t want to let him down, plus he seemed like a nice guy.

“You know what, let’s go but I’ll pay for my drink.”

“I insist.” you smiled at his stubborness.  

----

“So..” Hoseok said while stirring his coffee.  

“yees..” you answered looking back at him with curious eyes.

“I was thinking...if you’d like us to grab a snack/drink from time to time.”

You nodded hapily. You wanted a new friend especially when it’s someone as good and funny as Hoseok.

“Ah yes totally! I’d love to be your friend. You’re so funny and all!.” you replied and touch his arm playfully.

Hoseok sighed and his face seemed a bit dissapointed.

“Oh so you view me as a friend?”

“Yes...isn’t that what you wanted too?”

He moved closer and took your hand in his. It was a brave move and even tho his eyes were uncertain, his body language said otherwise.

“I mean, actually dating. You and me, more than friends.” he said and left your hand, letting you to decide on your own.

This came out of nowhere. You weren’t expecting this to be said so fast but here he is, right in front of you, asking. Hoseok had every charateristic a girl would want. Funny,smart and what seems like high levels of testosterone judging by his muscular body and prominant jawline. But, you didn’t know if this was enough. Relationships aren’t for you and you don’t  want to take time off your studies. You don’t even have feelings for him in the first place. You don’t have feelings for anyone, they are pointless attempts of nature to make you birth offsprings and save the specie from dissapearing.  

He studied your face for any expression that might suggest your answer but there was none. You were lost in those rapid thoughts and didn’t know what to do. When you finally came out of it and saw his pleading expression you shouted out

“YES” you bought your hand in front of your lips to shush yourself.

Hoseok smiled the brighest and most beautiful smile you’ve ever seen. His eyes were sparkling in hapiness and felt relieved to hear you, his cheeks rosy again. His beauty made you forget, the horror you just said. Did you just said...yes? How can you do such a thing? You don’t even have feelings for him. 

You sighed and he noticed.

“Don’t feel pressured. We will take things as slowly as you want them to be.”

Little did he know that wasn’t it.  

“Ah thank you Hoseok for being so understanding. Now I gotta go because … I gotta go. See you later.”

“Talk to you later” he said

“Oh and I forgot, can I have your phone you know...”

Typical couple things  

«Yes» you said and wrote your number down.

----

“What do I do when we walk side by side?”

You asked Val while holding a notebook in your lap, making small marks to study later.

“Just be natural! Don’t study for a date too”

“How can I be natural? I’ve got no idea what’s up with all this dating thing you guys do like it’s breathing or something. I will watch Netflix series once you’ll leave, those stupid crybaby ones, to find out more.”

“Ugh, okay you hold his hand too? maybe?”

“hold..his..hand..too..” you repeated while writing it down. It’s not that hard after all, unless he takes things further which he said won’t be happening.

“Now you can leave or you can leave because I’ve got very important things to do.”

“Very important aka watching Netflix.”

“Exactly” you nodded while laughing.

“okay I’m not gonna stay any longer either you know...i’m prone to crying.”

“Yes I know plus your PMS makes things even worse, I mean it’s normal you know with all those chemical and hormonal imbal...”

the sudden sound caught you off guard, Val really didn’t seem like the type that wanted to learn. You sighed loudly and moved to the couch. You truly made a mess. You didn’t want to hurt him with saying no, but if you say no now, it’ll hurt him even more. It’d be best if he didn’t have feelings but according to his body language and days he’s been exposed to your pherormones, he is in and deep. It might be beneficial tho, it’s not the most humanatarian idea but you can make the best out of a bad situation. Maybe, if you live through a relationship, you’ll be able to grasp why it means so much to others. An experiment.

It won’t hurt anyone, right?

[foulserpent]

youve talked a little about ned’s transition, how did that go for him?

at a young age he was like ‘im a boy’ and his mom is like ‘okay son’, and when he got a little older (10-ish) hes like ‘yeah i am definitely a boy’ and his mom is like ‘ok i know a guy lets get you some fantasy puberty blockers’. so he held off on getting the actual fantasy HRT for a bit bc it was a little expensive, but taking the blockers prevented him from his growth spurt and kept him under 5 ft (like most bosmer men), and also meant he never had to get any form of top surgery.

he Did opt for an alchemical HRT rather than using magic to just completely change his body, partially bc the latter is more difficult to find help on (and also usually EXPENSIVE if you dont do it yourself), partially bc hes very happy with his body (irt gender dysphoria at least) with just HRT. only thing hes disappointed with is that hes got facial hair thats only slightly more dignified than a pubestache (came from his late father’s side of the family) and not even fantasy testosterone could save him from that. but hes got great body hair otherwise so you win some you lose some.

so yeah i mean i dont really have transphobia be a thing in any major way (like theres lack of understanding in some cases and like ‘casual cissexism’ i guess if thats a word we’re still using, but its common to be transgender and no ones getting hate crimed) so he had a very smooth experience. also helped that niviiran was his best friend throughout childhood and shes trans too.

[fandom-star]

Transgender Pride Month Challenge

So, I'm an admin on a trans meme/info account on Instagram, and one of the guys on there sent this to our chat, so I thought I'd do it on here.

1. My name is Elliott or Ell. I am asexual and bi/panromantic (both fit me so I use both) and I am a transmasculine non-binary person.

2. The only proper coming out I've had was with my mum. I don't feel like putting it here, it's somewhere on my blog. Most of the time I've either given my friends my Tumblr knowing they'd figure it out or I've just dropped a thousand hints in group chats! I dunno, I just prefer coming out like that with people I know will be okay with it.

3. I've probably always had an idea, at least since I was about 8, but after the age of 10 I kind of went into a fair bit of denial and threw myself into being a fangirl. I eventually realised I should look into it in May 2018, when I first identified as a demigirl.

4. I am not on hormones. It's probably something I'll look into doing maybe in my mid twenties for half a year, maybe a year, to get the extent of the effects that I want, but I don't think I'd stay on for much more than a year.

5. My support system is mostly my friends. 

6. My chest, my deadname (mostly seeing it written), sometimes my voice, sometimes my height.

7. When I decided to change my name (July 2018 when I was exploring the possibility of being a trans guy) the one thing I knew was that I wanted to still be able to feasibly use the nickname Ell. So I basically looked around online for names with that sound in them. I ended up with about five or six and wrote down the pros and cons of them all. The only con on the name Elliott was that there was a guy in my form class with the same name (Elliot), whereas the others usually had about two. So I chose Elliott.

8. I haven't had much of a transition journey. I had my hair cut short in July 2018. Had my first irl coming out in September 2018 as non-binary to a friend who figured it out. July 2019 I changed my name. July and August 2019 I came out to my mum (if you followed me then you'll know what that story is and why it was over two months). November 2019 I went to a comic con with my friends which was my first time being openly non-binary in public, and I also bought my first pronoun badge there. Later in the month, my mum bought me a pronoun badge. December 2019 my best friend bought me my first binder. And some point before September 2020 I will have come out on my personal Instagram.

9. I don't think I have any regrets. I feel like I shouldn't have any, because everything I have done has brought me here, and I'm happy where I am. Maybe I regret backing out of coming out on Instagram last month, because I was gonna try coming out on 1st of July, but with everything happening I felt like it was a really inappropriate time.

10. My binder is a blue half tank from GC2B. His name is Robbie. I can't be bothered to take a photo!

11. My definite transition goals are to legally change my name and gender (but only when the UK legally recognises non-binary people, until then imma confuse people by having a masculine legal name but being legally recognised as female!) and have a chest reduction. As I said earlier, I'm definitely considering testosterone, but the two effects I definitely want from it are facial hair and a deeper voice, both of which I could probably achieve to an extent without the involvement of T. (I basically have the ability to grow a beard naturally, but I never have because mum's worried about me being bullied or whatever if it gets too much.)

14. I am single and have never been in a relationship. I know, I know, the shock and the horror of a 16 year old having never been in a relationship, but I'm permanently anxious about everything, and I don't develop crushes very often and the last two I've had have been on friends, one of which doesn't live near me and I've never met in person, so.... Yeah, and that means I can't really say whether people knowing I'm trans or not has had any difference in them being attracted to me.

15. Obviously, I'm not completely out right now, but when I do come out I will be quite open about it. There's no real way to be stealth as a non-binary person, so that's not really a possibility. Even on the trans masc side of things, I don't think I'd ever be able to be stealth nor do I really want to be. For one, my transition plans don't exactly allow for it particularly, but also, while being referred to as male is highly preferable to being referred to as female, if I can have control over it, I won't be seen as strictly either.

16. I think I stand with the majority when I say that the only concern I can think of around transitioning is transphobia. Especially with my classmates, because while some of them are amazing (hello the whole five of you here) there's a lot of casual transphobia and explicit mockery of non-binary people at my school. It's one of the reasons I really hope our pride group continues when I start back at Sixth Form in September, because I feel like we could do a lot to combat that.

17. I mean, I guess I basically went over fear of rejection in 16, but I guess I could extend on that by explaining why I don't really mention my dad in regards to all this. Basically, I haven't come out to him about anything regarding my queer identity. This isn't necessarily because of him being explicitly homophobic or transphobic (he's never said anything homophobic ever and seemingly supports my going to pride events), it's mostly because our relationship is somewhat distant. We don't have an awful lot to do with each other outside of sharing interests. And he tends to be averse to anything "new". So, yes, I fear that if I came out to my father about being non-binary he would react by either ignoring it or me or not believing me.

20. September 2016 vs Today, June 2020

21. Something I'm most proud of relating to being trans... ooh! Probably the time I went out for lunch with my mum and my granny (who is basically deaf) and being called "sir" and "young man" by two different waiters while mum went to the toilet. The reason that's such an amazing moment for me is because I was feeling extremely dysphoric about how long my hair was getting, so I wasn't even making any attempt to look at all masculine. 

22. Things that make me euphoric are binding, people saying my name, listening to recordings of my voice (a lot of the time it sounds a lot more androgynous than I expect) and seeing photos of myself in cosplay.

23. Music. Very generic! Um... I have a Spotify playlist of songs to listen to when I feel dysphoric. Speaking of Spotify playlists, most of them are based on ships or characters. My username is seltudoor. I have a rather large record collection and an old record player/radio/cassette player that used to be my dad's that I think is from the 80s. Everything else you know! Classic rock, Sinatra and all that.

24. Freddie Mercury is the love of my life (HA!) and my role model. I have put into words why somewhere on my music blog, but I can't exactly remember. It goes a bit deeper than that he wasn't afraid to be true to himself. I also have an entire post about my trans role model Lou Sullivan that I made last June. In short, he was the first trans man to medically transition as an openly gay man who was also a badass, though I mainly say that because towards the end of his life (he died from AIDS complications) he wrote that, although the medical system didn't recognise him as a gay man, it seemed as though he was going to die like one.

25. Weirdest fact about me. Hmm... not sure I have any weird facts. My bookshelf organisation has two aspects to it that I don't think I've seen anyone else have. I group them by genre and order them by publication date from earliest to latest.

26. Things that cross my mind a lot. The fact that I should really be doing some writing instead of reading another fanfiction or watching another YouTube video that spoils most of Merlin for me. I don't know really.

27. You can win my heart by having a presence that makes me feel like I can happy stim in front of you whilst we watch something together, by accepting the fact that you will probably come second to my fandoms/obsessions a lot of the time, by allowing me to be touchy and clingy at random moments for often a long period of time, by not judging that I can't do "normal everyday things" and helping me with them and by being weird. 

28. My mum, @maestrowave​, @in3ffable-husbands​, @fandom-0bsession​ and everyone else in my active group chats on Instagram, @britpop-bowie​, @esperata​ and some other people.

29. I don't know what I'm most scared of. 

30. I think I'm mostly happy. I have great friends, my education is probably headed in a direction that will allow me to progress into an industry I've wanted to work in since I was 9 and in two years' time I will hopefully be at uni and able to experiment with my transition without worrying about what my parents think.

[tessatechaitea]

Black Canary: New Wings #1

Nothing says Seattle more than a fishnetted woman in a blond wig and bustier preparing to kick your ass.

I remember being excited about this series when it came out but I can't remember why I felt excited about it. Is that a metaphor for life? Why can't I feel the joy in the remembrance? I look at it now and just think, "This looks fucking boring." And that's me being boring! Usually I'd say something like, "If this comic book were an imaginary genetic disorder, it would be reverse Prader-Willi Syndrome because I don't want more of it ever." Holy shit that was terrible. Especially since "reverse Prader-Willi Syndrome" is probably Angelman syndrome. And this comic book isn't that at all because it doesn't make me happy or thirsty. I never actually said I was funny! The words, "I have a great sense of humor named Marcus," never passed my keyboard. That's what you chose to believe! But that other thing you believed, the one where I'm a terrible person who would make light of serious genetic disorders for the sake of a truly terrible metaphor? Yeah, that's true. I own that one. "Black Canary" is an anagram for "Crack by anal." I'm suddenly more interested in this comic book because it must secretly be about doing crack through your butthole or else why would that anagram exist? I just realized what I've been doing wrong my entire life. It's more fun to live by Coast to Coast AM midnight caller logic where you believe every thought that enters your head must be true rather than have to live within the confines of reality! The issue begins with the host of a Seattle radio station asking callers this question: "Does migrating gang activity threaten Seattle's Asian neighborhoods?" Probably! I bet it's all that anal crack coming up from Southern California! If you're not a American, I added that so you understand where all the gangs migrate from in the United States. Seattle is too overcast and wet to come up with its own gang activity. Nobody would be threatened by The Puddle-Jumpers or The Caffeine Splashettes or Pike's Place Bass Solos or The Ardent Un-Umbrellaists or We Love Trees, Bitch. At first I was going to be upset about the "migrating gangs" comment because I'm the stereotypical Californian who wound up living in the Pacific Northwest. But it's not totally my fault since my divorced dad moved up here and I spent a lot of time up here and I fell in love with it up here. So I guess that's one thing I can think my father for! The radio host calls for the people in the Asian community to rise up and kick gang ass to help make their streets safer. And he doesn't just talk the talk! He kicks the ass the kicks the ass! Why doesn't that work like "talk the talk"?!

I don't know how the drug dealer managed to give his money to the buyer and get his ass kicked to boot. What a lousy businessman.

Even though I don't recognize her name, I'm glad to see a woman is writing this comic book. That probably means we won't have more than two scenes where Black Canary is wearing a towel or kicking ass in her underwear. Oh wait! I'm a male infused with male gaze! I meant to say, "I'm sad to see a woman is writing this comic book. That probably means we won't have more than two scenes where Black Canary is wearing a towel or kicking ass in her underwear." Whew! I almost betrayed my gender for a second! I must be low on testosterone! I'd better go out on the street and "accidentally" bump into a guy smaller than me so I can start some shit! Okay, I'm back! Did you know small guys are pretty tough? Also, do you think I need to make an appointment with a dentist if several of my teeth feel lose? Do they just naturally stiffen back up if I stop wiggling them with my tongue?! I sit staring at the page following the one I scanned for several minutes. I don't know if it's just too confusing with all that's happening or the kick of testosterone my body just received from the fight. It could also be head trauma from totally winning the fight.

The terrible business man drug dealer is a black guy working for a white supremacist Neo-Nazi. He calls the radio host a China Doll which seems weird although kudos to him for not being gendered in his racial slurs, I guess? According to the footprint patterns on the ground, they were also practicing a dance while wrestling over drug money. The drug dealer admits to having lost his money in a drug deal for the third time this week because I don't even know how that happens. He hands the money to the buyer to let the buyer make the change? Nearby, Dinah can't sleep because the birds outside of her window are too loud and maybe the dancing going on under her window but she looks to the sky when she sticks her head out of the window so what am I supposed to believe? She decides to read some relaxing literature about the feminist politics of housework and then gives up to go practice her judo. That's a fucking lot going on in one page!

Later, Dinah does her budget for the month and discovers Green Arrow is spending too much money on boxing glove arrows. Apparently being a Seattle vigilante doesn't bring in much cash and Dinah has been paying all the bills with her Sherwood Florist flower shop. I guess Oliver Queen didn't have any money in 1991? Maybe Crisis on Infinite Earths wiped out his bank account and he wouldn't get it back until Zero Hour? Anyway, Dinah is pretty pissed with Oliver's spending habits.

I know Dinah is chastising Ollie for being a brutish pig here but technically he wins the argument because she describes his sexing as hot.

Dinah heads up to the Quinault Indian Reservation to get some mystic wisdom from Aunty Wren, an elderly Native American woman. Her advice is "Ask the douchebag for help." It comes across as a critique of Black Canary being too prideful to ask for help because she's a strong woman who doesn't need anybody. But I like to think the point of the advice is this: if Oliver isn't helping out, ask him to help. If he doesn't help out after asking him to, you now know he's a useless piece of unforgivable shit that needs to be thrown in a dumpster. If I don't think that then I have to think this: Oh, sure! Blame the woman for needing to be too strong! How about blaming the man for being a grown ass man child that won't take responsibility without being told to take it after which he'll only grouse about how much he's being nagged. But then again, I don't need any more reasons to dislike Green Arrow than this one: he's a fucking Robin Hood cosplayer with stupid facial hair who fights against modern weapons with a bow and arrows. Aunty Wren introduces Dinah to Gan Nguyen, the radio show host vigilante. He's also an Asian translator for the Quinault. Gan and Dinah flirt a bit while getting to know each other before heading back to Seattle on the ferry. While Dinah is in the toilet, Gan gets jumped by some gang members who have been looking for him. Dinah changes into Black Canary, kicks some ass, and saves the day. Later, Gan is all, "I know it was you who saved me but I won't say that explicitly! Just so you know you can tell me if you want to tell me and I won't say anything but I know and you know I know!" Dinah is all, "Yeah, yeah. Whatever." And that's almost the end except for an epilogue that's some pretty damn fine and insightful writing about our country and what the fuck has been going wrong (and gone wrong) with it.

Fucking hell that's good stuff.

Black Canary: New Wings #1 Rating: A. This is why I'm sad comic books are no longer really affordable. In 1991, this comic book was $1.75 which was easily cheap enough to pick it up and see what it was about. Doing so let me read a really great story with a point of view and something to say. If this were on the shelves today at $4.00, the only people giving it a chance would be Black Canary fans. That's a fucking shame and the main problem with print comics today. They're just too fucking expensive to take a chance on anything that isn't already in your fandom alley (or by a writer or artist you love). Not to mention how the cover didn't excite me at all! But I still picked it up to see what was going on with Black Canary and apparently past me liked it as much as current me because I got the whole mini-series and at least a few issues of the series that followed it. Well done, Sarah Byam!

[wendynerdwrites]

Guess who got a big chunk of writing done for the first time in months? This gal!

Okay, so here is a rough first chapter of a Metalocalypse fanfic, Dethcomics:

"Gentleman… It seems Dethklok is looking into joining the world of comic books. A call has gone out seeking artists and writers to create a Dethklok graphic novel."

"This could be catastrophic! Every new Dethklok industry venture manages to upset the balance of trade, but a band-sponsored book spreading their messages further?!"

"At least with their music no one can tell what Nathan Explosion is saying. But written in black and white?!"

"Exactly. To elaborate, I have called in expert in comics, Professor Varveil Molfirbygai."

The Professor, skinny and acne-ridden, comes forward, pushing his square-framed glasses up  the bridge of his nose. "Gentlemen, Dethklok have already rejected the proposals by Brian Posehn, Brian Piludo, and Grant Morrison for their books and are tearing through artists one at a time. At this rate, no one in the industry will be left but Rob Liefeld and Devin Grayson. Apparently their contradictory demands and unrealistic expectations have even been characterized by Alan Moore as 'too far out'. Marvel, DC, Image, and Dark Horse have all blacklisted them, leading to the band to launch their own independent publishing house. This could potentially upset the delicate balance of power within the industry. And God help us if the title is snatched up for screen adaptation by Sony or - ugh - Hulu."

"What can we do to nip this in the bud?"

"It seems that Nathan Explosion's new wife, Abigail Remeltindtdrinc and Charles Offdensen have taken a more direct role in monitoring the project. They may prove a stabilizing influence…"

~_~_~

"Ugh, Dildos!" William Murderface hurls his whiskey bottle to the corner of the game room. "These artsy-fartsy types are a bunch of egotistical, emotional dildos!"

"Ja, likes how obsessives and arrogants can yous gets?" Skwissgaar adds, shredding silently on his Gibson. "And sos delicate!"

Toki, leaning back from the Mortal Kombat machine, sniffs. "I's kinds of liked that Yoorerd Way fellows…"

"HE DIDN'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT ROCK!" Nathan roars from the foosball table, engaging in a fierce battle with Pickles.

"Maybe we should just write it ourselves, y'know." Pickles suggests, "And get, I don't know… Toki, you draw things, right?"

Toki brightens. "I'S DO!"

Skisgaar scoffs, "All's he's draws is girly, fluffy tings like happy bunnies and womens withts de tits covered."

"Toki is even less metal than that Brenden Smalls douchebag! Heh, Brenden Smalls, what did he ever create for anyone?" Murderface adds.

"I cans draw brutal!"

"I'm sure you can, Toki, but I'm afraid that still isn't happening," a firm, female voice calls out.

The room falls silent as Charles and Abigail enter the room. 

"Guys, Abigail may have found someone to write and draw the book," Charles announces.

Abigail blanches slightly, somewhat uncomfortable. "Maybe, if I can convince her."

"Her?" Murderface asks, somehow sounding simultaneously dismissive and aroused. "We can't let ladies make stuff for us!"

Abigail cradles her temple. "See?" She says to Offdensen, "I told you!"

"Why would we wants chicks arounds us?" Skwisgaar asks.

"Guys, we already put out the announcement. You've blown through nearly every acclaimed graphic novel creator in the business. Fans are getting impatient. So if we can get Abigail's friend to do this for us, you will be on your best behavior!"

"Maybe we should give this chick a chance, you know?" Nathan offers, offering his wife a sympathetic look.

"Oh, you're only saying that because your lady suggested it!" Murderface howls, taking a new bottle of alcohol from a Klokateer with a tray. "You're totally whipped, Man!"

Abigail's eyes burn. She smarches over to the couch and yanks the bassist by the ear. He cries out.

"Listen, you talentless sack of piss, this whole project has been taking time away from recording. And you know how I feel about that. You're going to be a good little boy and do as I say, understand?!"

"YES, MA'AM!"

Abigail releases him, leans back, clears her throat, and smooths her blazer. "I apologize for that. I am… not feeling like myself lately. Like I said, I haven't even convinced my friend to do this, I am not even sure I can. But you can all be sure of her qualifications. Her name is Sofia Maldonado, she's been creating comics since she was fifteen. She has worked on titles like The Boys, Swamp Thing, Ms. Marvel, Deadpool, Nightwing, and Batman. She has her own book, The Emerald Pixie, that has been a hit with both critics and readers and has been nominated for four Eisner Awards, winning two."

The band looks at her as if she is speaking Chinese. She sighs.

" Uh, 'Emerald Pixie'?" Nathan inquires, "No offense, Honey, but that doesn't sound very metal."

"The Pixie has retractable ten inch fangs."

"Oh, uh, that's cool, I guess."

"I mean, it can't hurt, I guess." Pickles adds.

"Is she hot?" Murderface asks.

"Yeahs, is she hot?" Skwisgaar asks.

Abigail turns to Charles. "Why am I doing this again?"

Offdensen pats the producer on the arm. "Guys, please, that is irrelevant. And you will keep things professional, or I am cancelling your vacation to Pornfest this year, understand?"

"What?! Can you even do that?!" Pickles cries out.

"As per my new contract with the five of you, I most certainly can." 

The band all grumbles, except for Toki.

"Cans I's shows her my drawings?"

"I'm sure that will be fine."

Abigail sighs. "Look, guys, this woman is a friend of mine, she is good at what she does, and she does not put up with crap. I am going out on a limb for you with this. One wrong move and she bolts. Understand?"

They all grumble again, but answer in the affirmative.

"Excellent." Charles straightens his tie and clears his throat. "Abigail will call up Ms. Maldonado and see if she is willing."

~_~_~_~

"No."

"Just lis-"

"No, Abby, and also: No. Nope. Negative. Nuh-uh. Nein. Not happening. They've run through almost everyone. Do you know how fucked up you have to be to weird out Alan Moore?! The man worships a Roman Snake God, for fucks sake. I am not descending into that pit of testosterone and excess."

"I will keep them in line, I promise. I managed to get them through six albums in as many years. Now that I'm involved, it will be different, I promise."

"Didn't William Murderface once refer to women as 'Serpents with tits'? Abby, I have reached a point in my career where I am through putting up with shit like this. I have had to collaborate with Garth Ennis and Frank Miller. I even spent an entire hour of my life in the presence of Dave Sims. I have done my time."

Abigail groans. "Sof, Charles Offdensen is offering enough for you to put Eddie through preschool, K-12 private, college and grad school someday."

"Emerald Pixie is selling like crazy and Paramount and Universal have approached me for the rights."

"I'll get you an interview for Collegiate."

There's a long pause. 

"...Really? How?"

"I'm an alum, remember? And the Headmistress owes me, like, seven favors. Your son will be playing in the sandbox with the children of Governors and hedge fund owners.”

There’s another pause. Abigail smiles. For all that Sofia has gone on about hating capitalism and her passion for Leftist politics, since her son was born she’d grown a little hypocritical on that front. Not that Abby could blame her. Sofia didn’t have a lot of support, being a single mom. 

“Maybe I’ll consider a meaning.”

Abigail tries a different tactic. “Please do. To be honest, I could really use a friend around here at the moment.”

It’s not something she’d normally say, as independent as she is. But as she makes the statement, she realizes that it’s true. 

Sofia’s voice becomes gentler. “What’s up?” 

Abigail tells her.

Her friend takes a deep breath. “Okay, then. I’ll take the meeting. But I mean it, Abby, one shitty comment---”

“---I know. But hey, look, you’ve met Nathan, and he’s not so bad, right?”

Technically, Sofia had encountered the entire band to varying extents at the wedding. She’d really only spoken to Nathan, and stared, mouth agape, at Pickles’s bender and slurred Best Man’s toast.

“He’s not too bad, I guess. But the rest? Bunch of crazy gringos.”

“Toki is sweet. Pickles actually isn’t bad when he’s not blackout drunk. Skwisgaar can be decent, aside from the arrogance. And Murderface… Don’t worry, I’ll keep my boot to his neck. I’ll keep my boots to all of their necks. I swear. Please, Sof, do this for me.”

Sofia takes yet another deep breath. “Alright. I’ll be available in a couple of weeks. Book me a flight. And I want my Collegiate interview before then.”

“Done. Thank you so much.”

They say their good-byes. Abigail hangs up and leans back against the pillows of her bed, rubbing her temple. Nathan enters the bedroom, looking a little sheepish. 

“Look, uh, I had another talk with the guys. Murderface is in debt again, so I offered to pay it off, if you don’t, uh, mind. That should help keep him… you know… less Murderface.” He sits down on the edge of the bed and takes her hand. “Did she say yes?”

  “We have a single meeting in two weeks. I’m pretty sure I’m going to draw up a list with Charles about things they are not allowed to bring up.”

“You’re sure this is a good idea, right?”

Abigail smiles ruefully. “No, not at all. But it’s the only idea I have.”

“I hope the guys don’t, well, uh, you know…”

“Sofia talks a big game, but she’s tough and willing to put up with more than she lets on. She wouldn’t be where she is if it were otherwise. If we keep them reined in enough, I think we might make this work.”

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

“Hey, I’s remembers her!”

“Shut up, Toki! Don’t be weird!” Pickles snaps as they watch their prospective new artist drop her bags in the middle of the Mordhouse entry hall and look up at the gargantuan ceiling. 

She is tall and athletic, with bronzed skin, blue eyes, and dark brown hair. She wears boot-cut black pants, a red graphic tee, and a black jacket with pins on the lapel. The band all peers at her curiously as Abigail rushes forward to greet her, ask after her son, and re-introduce Charles.

Handshakes are exchanged, and Abigail ushers the band over.

“Sofia, you of course remember my husband Nathan. This is Pickles, the drummer. Skwisgaar Skwigelf, lead guitar.”

“Hi’s.” Skwisgaar offers, obviously trying not to stare at her tits.

“Toki Wartooth, rhythm guitar.”

“Hello’s artist-lady!” Toki bounces on his heels, clutching sheets of paper. “I’s have some drawings, I hopes you like them!” He thrusts them towards her.

The artist smiles kindly and takes them. “I’ll give them a look. Thank you, Mr. Wartooth.”

“Calls me Toki!”

“Thank you, Toki.”

“And finally, William Murderface, bass.”

“Greetings and salutations, Senoriiiiiita!” Murderface grabs the woman’s hand and presses a wet kiss to it before smirking up at her. “Ole.”

Sofia snatches her hand back and glances at Abigail, who glowers at the bassist. “Knock it off, Murderface, or I’ll have you neutered.”

He squeals and jumps back. “S-Sorry.”

"So's, tells me, comics-lady. Cans we's makes dis comic book a pops-ups book and can we's makes the pop-up dragons breathes fire?"

Sofia takes one look at Toki, then another at Abigail. "I'm so glad to be here!"

[boogiewrites]

A Girl Walks Into A Bar 5

Characters: Declan Harp x Bella Fiore (OFC)

Word Count: 5700+

Summary: Modern Declan harp AU.  Bella and Declan share a little about themselves to each other to both of their surprise. They stay in contact and end up hanging out again.

Warnings/Tags: Language. Drinking. Flirting, but she’s gonna act like she’s not. Same for him. 

Click on my screenname then go to Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.)

You're currently feeling the cold wind against your fingers as you wiggle them out of the truck window as Declan drives you home. You aren't too deep in thought, mainly wondering if you'd bruise and have to explain yourself to your coworkers. Declan clears his throat and breaks the silence.

"So uh...do you hit guys like that often?" he asks with his usual naturally deep tone.

"Not anymore no." your answer with a deep and mildly amused tone.

"That hit made it seem like it wasn't the first time you'd done that."

"It was nowhere near the first." you let out a soft huff of air in amusement.

"You in a fight club or somethin'?" he glances your way, his face playful. "Well I guess you couldn't tell me even if you were could you?" he grins.

"No fight clubs, no." you shake your head.

"So do you do like, MMA or something?' he offers up for conversation.

Alright, Bella, you think, slowly blinking. He's trying to get to know you. Be nice. Being honest won't' be hard for you but being graceful about it might be. "I've taken plenty of self-defense courses but I've never trained to fight or anything." You pause for a moment, considering what to share with him. He'd told you a piece about his past, you suppose it's only fair to share something with him in return. "I hung around a rough crowd when I was younger. Lots of dudes and surging testosterone. The bad sort of metalheads you see in show parking lots that are fighting and crushing cans on their heads and screaming and acting like assholes." you shrug. "So... and I don't mean this in a self-absorbed sort of way, just in a self-aware one. I know what I look like, y'know? And...it used to not be as bad I guess, guys coming onto me and everything, but with the popularity of big asses in the past few years I mean...I've literally got a target on me." you make yourself chuckle. "So I fought a lot growing up, and now...I still have that fighting instinct when dudes touch me like that or won't take no for an answer I just fuckin' go for their throats. So to speak." you say with a weak gesturing of your hands.

"I don't blame you. I was more impressed than anything. You had some good form." he nods supportively and you're relieved. You were afraid he might be judgey about it, find it unladylike. Which was a phrase you hated because of the endless times you'd heard it. Especially from guys you thought were decent, but were just assholes in disguise.

"Thanks. I can kinda snap sometimes. I don't have the best temper." your voice dips lower and he hears the mild disappointment in it. "I can black out and go ham on someone if they push up on me. I mean, it's been years since that's happened but, I've also not put myself in situations where it could happen so...there's that." you say with a shrug as you look out the window. "I guess I just have no patience for men who can't listen anymore. If you touch women without consent and won't listen when they say no in this sort of society today, there's no excuse and I figure they deserve to get their asses kicked."

"And by a woman." he chuckles.

"Especially by a woman." his reaction makes you smile a little and you gaze out the window at the passing street lamps and strobing lights, the hiss from the wet road coming through the cracked window.

"I've been in my fair share of fights too." he says as he keeps his eyes on the road.

"You look like a guy who had been. No offense meant."

"None taken." he shakes his head and smiles. "Unfortunately it leads a lot of people to think I WANT to fight. And I don't. Just...when you try to protect people from bad people, there's gonna be violence to some degree."

"It's admirable of you. At least you're doing it for a cause. Unlike me, I just have a temper."

"Nah, you're doing it to teach people a lesson."

"Didn't take you for an enabler, Declan." you laugh.

"Well I've not seen a woman knock a man out like that in...maybe ever and I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a nice change of pace from the usual way those situations go down."

"If I keep up this reintroduced habit of going out you'll prob get to see it again." you smirk.

"Assuming I'm with you. If not, I'll happily take an after photo." he laughs.

But who would you be going out with if not him? Charlotte was really the only friend you had that you felt comfortable enough with and liked enough to do things with and she was incapacitated. The girls at work were nice, you liked them well enough but not in the way to go and do things with them outside of work. Plus you liked to keep work and personal separate, and all they ever wanted to do was try to pull information out of you about your private life and there wasn't anything to give. And even if there was you didn't want to share it. With your drive to your house coming to a close, you figure you're close enough to avoid painful embarrassment if he reacts poorly, but if tonight was any indication, you didn't think he would. You roll up the window, your fingers sufficiently numb.

"I can probably manage that. I'll pose like a hunter with a deer." you chuckle with a slight smile.  

"If it weren't incriminating evidence that'd be good for Instagram." he laughs with you.

He's a nice person, Bella. Accept it, you tell yourself. Why was telling someone you had a good time and would like to hang out with them again so hard? You weren't even dating or anything in the traditional sense, there was no reason to be so hesitant. Your ineptitude at showing vulnerability in any form was bubbling up and really annoying you. Couldn't even openly tell someone you wanted to hang out, it was as if you were saying you needed them around, which you knew was an illogical jump but your brain made it all the same.

"If you were down with it, if I do end up going out to something like this again...would you wanna go with me?" You propose, turning your face towards him, your eyes a little larger than you'd like them to be.

He glances over and see's your eyes wandering and he wonders if the overly cool way you asked, the lack of inflection, was a way for you to cover up your uncertainty to his answer. He wonders if he'd been giving off a vibe that too nonchalant tonight in his attempt to not scare you off or seem too eager. He hadn't meant to, he had a really great time and hoped the guy hadn't ruined his chances of getting to do it with you again.

"Yeah," he says with a lowering of his brow in an obvious tone, answering quickly. "Yeah I'd like that." he nods, turning his eyes back to the road to turn onto your street.

"Good." you say with a smile he can catch for a moment as the street lamp by your house illuminates it as he pulls to the curb. "I had a good time tonight." you say and want to curse at yourself. How cliche and overdone was that saying?

"I was hoping that guy didn't ruin the whole evening for you." he says, turning slightly to face you, you rest your hand on the door handle.

"Oh, no. They win if you let them ruin your whole night." you look down and smile with a closed mouth. "Take a lot more than that make this night a total wash." you admit, your eyes uncertain but a friendly expression.

"You want me to walk you to the door?" he asks, pointing in the direction of it.

"No that's fine, I got it." you rush out, fingers gripping on the handle. "Thanks though," you say finally pushing it open.  You stand with the door open but not all the way to not let all the heat out. You lean your head into the cabin of the truck. "I did have a good time tonight. Despite the guy..." you say with a huff of a laugh.

"I did too." he gives you a smile that's much more expressive. "We should do it again soon." he insists with a nod of his head.

"Yeah we should." you nod and finally give him a smile that shows teeth. "I'll text you this week sometime. We can....figure something out." you say with large, almost hopeful eyes.

"Sounds like a plan to me."

"I'll talk to you soon. Be careful." you say with a sheepish smile as you pull away from the truck.

"Only because you told me to." he grins, nodding a goodbye at you.

"Night Declan." you say, involuntarily tucking your hair behind your ear.

"Night, Bella." his deep voice hits you harder than you want it to.

You give him a nod and shut the door. He stays until you're inside the house, waving goodbye to him, like a gentleman. You watch him leave through the window in your living room, greeting Robbie's meowing face with a scratch to the chin.

"Yeah, I did have a good time bub," you say, looking back down once Declan's truck was out of sight. "Mama got to knock a guy out and hang out with a very nice man." you say with a smile that you didn't have to hide from anyone. It wasn't like Robbie would tell anyone. -------------- As you had before, you stare at the unsent texts you drafted up. But unlike last week you actually send them this time. You were relieved to find his way of talking through text wasn't annoying. No one letter or one-word answers where they weren't granted, no bombardment of lots of texts at once. He didn't demand any of your time and you picked up and dropped conversations easily throughout the week.

You spent some time on his Instagram, trying to figure this guy out. He seemed pretty straightforward and that seemed confusing in itself. You were so used to people pretending to be a better version of themselves on social media and he was just...Declan. You find the bar's page, which isn't super active and follow it too. You find pictures of Declan in his feed that span back years, lots of pictures with people in the woods, camping and bonfires, and keggers. It seemed he and Mike did go way back. Lots of half blurred photos of him smiling, clearly drunk. A particularly funny one with him holding Mike above his head and Mike's limbs a blur but you could see his mouth screaming. He didn't just take pictures with guys though, which was refreshing. He hugged girls just the same as he did the guys, pictures with kids with kool-aid mouths and big smiles peppered throughout.

His page is mostly him with other people, as opposed to yours which was mostly pictures like what was in your phones photos, Robbie, guitars, and a scattering of selfies. The last selfie you'd posted was months ago, up until the one you'd taken after you got home from the show. You'd shown your hand with your garnet ring on it, tagging the company you'd bought it from and bragging about how sturdy it was to stand up to an asshole's jaw after the phrase, "Got out of the house. Put on my acceptable female form for public consumption". It got some attention, which you didn't really care about it, you just thought it was clever, but you did notice that Declan liked it. And you did seem to care about that.

After you'd posted your selfie from that night, he'd posted one he'd taken while you were at the bar, it was him in the haze of lasers and dim lighting with you barely visible in the background, your back to the camera while you were getting drinks. "Big thanks to @hellsbells for actually getting me out of the bar for once." is the caption. You liked it. ------ You had plans on going by the bar and were even looking forward to it although the only person you'd admit that too was Robert, But your recording session ran long and you had to stay late. He seemed to take it well enough. By the way his face fell, Mike could tell from across the bar that he'd gotten bad news. But you couldn't see that. You told him you'd make it up to him. You got drunk at home alone that night, and to your surprise the next morning you'd ordered a handful of vintage records. Along with an automatic feeder for Robert, a pack of replica Pick of Destiny's and a Bobbie Brown biography. It was certainly not the worst drunk haul you'd ever purchased.

You'd slept in that next morning, waking up around noon and you didn't feel the least bit guilty about it. You're downing a Gatorade, eating dry toast and scowling in your oversized hoodie when your phone dings and you wince.

"Have a good night?" the message from Declan reads.

"I got home after 1 and drank Jameson on an empty stomach. I don't really know if the night was good or not." you send back.

"Ah. Well you seemed to have a good one based on your IG stories..."

"Oh God." you send before going to check.

"I'll wait lmao"

You find you talking over videos on your laptop of 80's hair metal bands. Cherry Pie, overrated but a classic. Van Halen vs. Van Hagar and singing, almost literally, the skills of Eddie Van Halen. "Well at least it's all on brand." you roll your eyes and rub your forehead, chuckling.

"That it is. I have never heard anyone with an opinion so passionate on Van Halen. lol"

"Well that's me in a nutshell. Full of useless passionate opinions. I was already aware I love VH when I'm drunk."

"It was impressive tbh. lol. And I won't hold it against you."

"I mean these explain the Bobbie Brown biography I bought."

"Oh no did you go drunk online shopping? lmao"

"I did. Which means I'm now the owner of a few new records. And a duplicate 1984. Guess I forgot I had an original print of that. Oh well."

"What was the damage?" he inquires.

"Overall not too bad. I got some original ACDC, Some live White Stripes, the Wombats, Rob AND White Zombie...we've had that discussion before lol, and Sam Cooke, aw, how sweet of me."

"Overall not a bad selection. No idea who tf the wombats are tho."

"They're on Spotify. idk if they're you're kinda thing, british indie pop rock. Speaking of, I bet my search history is going to be a mess. I've gone and fucked up my algorithm."

"Oh no how will you ever come back from that? lol"

"Shut up. lol I work hard on my algorithm. If you actually listened to music instead of wearing the shirts of bands you never listen to you'd have a heart and empathize."

"cry me a fuckin' river, Bells lmao."

You laugh out loud and a smile comes across your face for the first time that morning.  "How about you come get schooled by me in person instead of in my IG stories? I have a lot of stuff to listen to coming in soon apparently." you see an opportunity and you take it. You didn't feel up to going out tonight, you already knew that. You'd be here recovering and picking up the house that you'd neglected the past week.

"Only if Robert will be there."

You laugh out loud again. "I see. Invite a man over and all he wants to see is my cat. .... Waitaminute...I thought you were a good guy and it was all a ruse wasn't it? what an ass. "

"they don't call me a pussy hound for nothin'. it's just not the translation people expect"

"i'll get you one of those keychains like in kill bill. also no one calls you that. Mike told me you hadn't been on a date in 100 years."

"well i think a century is a bit of an overstatement."

"by what 1 year? lol"

"ya got me."

"same. big mood. etc."

"So when am I coming over to be harassed further? lol"

"i'm off early Monday since I worked for over 12 hours yesterday, can you get away from the bar that evening? I can make dinner."

"As if I weren't sold already."

"Man's gotta eat. (Me. I'm that man.)"

"Can this lady eat too?"

"of course she can, does she like ragu? I've been wanting to make some pappardelle, what about that?"

"Are you making up words? bc I seriously can't tell. lol"

"It's Italian food you uncultured swine! lol meat and tomato sauce, homemade thick pasta noodles. If I'm not too lazy I'll make garlic bread."

"holy shit are you serious?"

"I don't joke about food Declan. especially not pasta."

"I might not leave if you make all that...but if you're willing to take your chances I am more than down to eat homemade italian food. i don't remember the last time I had homemade food."

"Then it's been too long. Come over at like...7 ish? I'll need time for the sauce to cook down."

"gotta put my phone in rice bc i've drooled all over it sorry."

"Text me later so I'll remember to do the dough. I need to get my ass off this couch and clean this house. I've been a neglectful house mother this week. too busy."

"you're MAKING the bread? fuck dude, I'll remind you every hour on the hour for that!"

"Please don't. lol" you laugh and sigh, putting the phone into your hoodie pocket and shaking your head. You let it rest on the back of a couch and are quickly overtaken by a big yawn.

Mike watches this interaction go down, Declan with his elbows on the bar, thumbs moving quickly and ignoring the work to be done to set up for the early crowd. He wipes down glasses then moves onto the tabletops and floors but keeps his eyes on his business partner. He hadn't seen Declan so enthralled in a conversation since he'd discussed the range opening with his cousin Sokannon. Mike recognizes the smile on Declan's face because it's the same one that came across his face whenever he'd think about Sokannon. Although not being together in any official capacity, a few flings and years of friendship together had led him to being smitten with her for some time now. And Mike knew Declan and he knew Declan didn't get giddy, didn't get attached or talk about girls in his downtime. He knew something was clearly starting between the two of you, and he hoped it was mutual because he'd hate to see Declan lose that low key glow he'd had since your so-called not a date, night out. He didn't want him to go back to seeming aimless and dazed, he preferred this preoccupied Declan any day. ----------------------------

You spend the rest of your weekend recovering from drinking yourself under the table on Friday night. You certainly couldn't hit the hard liquor like you used to. After saying you were leaving the conversation to clean, you ended up taking a nap, but at least after that you kept your promise. On Sunday you finish up, do your laundry and prep food for the next week. You get your work in, you run errands and you end up going to sleep with everything checked off your to-do list, which was always a good feeling. You curl up with Robert to go to sleep and admit that you're excited about Declan coming over tomorrow. You ask him if he's excited and he does nothing but purr, so you take it as a good sign.

The only thing you change about your work outfit is going from jeans to leggings once you get home. You have your hair down, as usual, the waves formed from braiding it while it was wet falling around your shoulders. You forgo the leather jacket as you turn on the stove and oven, knowing it'll warm the house up enough to not need it. The men's style band t-shirt is long enough so you won't be self-conscious about any camel toe situation that may arise, and you exchange your plain socks for knee-high fuzzy ones with grippers on the bottom, foregoing the houseshoes.

You hadn't cooked for anyone but yourself in months, as Charlotte had been your buddy to do these sorts of things with. You figure you could do almost everything you could with Charlotte with Declan and that was a reassuring feeling to have someone to be able to do things with again. You didn't know where he'd stand on painting each other's nails and doing face and hair masks, and you certainly couldn't walk around naked with him around but overall the trade-off wasn't too bad. No offense to Charlotte, but Declan was more appealing to look at.

He's less nervous than last time as he drives over to your place. Wearing basically the same thing he had last time, he carries a box of your favorite Ale under his strong defined arm as he makes his way to your door, he runs his hand through his hair, a quick fluff before seeing you through the long thin windows that run up the sides of your front door.

"Hey, c'mon in. I just started cooking." you say, ushering him in.

"God, it smells amazing in here babe." he says, greeting you with a one-armed hug, a quick rub to your back you don't entirely mind. To be coming in from the cold he was awfully warm. You return the hug lightly, a slight upgrade from last time, slowly getting used to this casual physical affection he seemed to be so practiced in.

"Thanks. Your boyfriend Robbie is asleep in his bed in my room if you wanna go see him." you smirk. He follows you with a cheeky stare to your bouncing form as you make your way to the kitchen, grabbing the long wooden spoon from the countertop and going back to warming up the ragu sauce you'd started yesterday.

"I think I'll let him rest." he chuckles. "I brought your favorite." he says, holding the cardboard box out with both hands.

"Aren't you a saint?" you say, half turning and a half smile thrown his way. "Just set it on the table and put a few in the fridge for us, please." you say, motioning to the fridge with your spoon. "You didn't have to do that." you say obviously, shaking your head and stirring the steaming pot in front of you.

"Eh," he says shrugging and taking his coat off. "Wanted to." he says as an excuse. "You're cooking for me and I needed to bring something besides my winning personality to the table. Literally." he lets out a rumbling deep laugh that makes a smirk appear across your face involuntarily.

"Well that's very nice of you, thank you. But I've been looking for an excuse to cook, to be honest."

"I will be happy to be that excuse." he chuckles, sitting in one of the chairs at the table, hanging his coat on the back of it.

"Hold out your enthusiasm until you've eaten." you chuckle.

The house falls quiet while you take things in and out of the fridge, work the dough one last time before throwing it into the loaf pan as the sounds of Use Your Illusion I move through the air.

"This is Guns n' Roses, right?" he asks with narrowed eyes, his head tilted to the side like a puppy hearing an unfamiliar sound.

"Yup." you say with a nod. "Don't Cry." you elaborate. "One of the first ones they wrote actually."

"I think I've heard it before." he says, totally unsure if he had, but he didn't want to look ignorant when you knew so much it was intimidating. "Hard to miss his voice isn't?"

"Oh yeah." you nod. "Bayy bayyyy" you sing with the song in matching gravel and nasal to Axl Roses as you turn your attention to the now boiling water on the stove.

"You drunk order this one too?" he grins.

You let out a soft laugh, wiping the excess flour off of your hands, unknown to you creating two white handprints on your black leggings on your butt as he silent laughs and grins at the sight. He wonders about being able to joke with you enough to dust the prints off of you, thinking it'd be funny. But he decides not to even attempt it. Things were going so well so far he didn't want his natural inclination to be physical to ruin things.

"No I've just been listening to a lot of guitar solo heavy stuff, wanted to hear some Slash." you explain. "Been doing a lot of really basic guitar stuff lately and I wanted to hear something more elaborate."

"That stuff get boring? Since you're good?" he asks, looking at the guitars around your living room.

"Not boring really...just not super stimulating." you shrug.

"You ever get bored with making drinks?" you offer, relating it to something he'd be able to understand.

"Ah. I see exactly what you mean now. I mostly just pour liquor and serve beer."

"No one appreciates a good pour around here?"

"Not enough." he says supportively.

"You'd think people would be more grateful for someone who knows how to give good head." you manage to get it out before you start laughing quietly, your shoulders shaking. (Foam on top of the beer is called 'head')

"Oh she's got jokes." he says with a big laugh and smile that you turn and shrug exaggeratedly at him.

"I do. I have jokes." you nod and laugh before tasting the sauce. You bring the spoon over to him and hold it out. "Taste?" you ask with a sweet tone and almost innocent expression that make his smile spread up to his eyes.

"What jokes you got?"

"Don't you know you aren't supposed to put someone on the spot for a joke?"

"I do now." he grins. He leans forward closer to the spoon.  "But I had to ask."

"Alright...here's a really basic one. How do you know someone's a good guitar player?" you ask with a tilted head.

He pulls back from the spoon and with wide interested eyes he lilts "How?"

"Don't worry...they'll tell you." you roll your eyes.

"Ha." he says with a snort through his nose. "I appreciate some self-deprecating humor." he nods with pouted lips of approval. He leans forward and sips from the spoon and his brows shoot up. "Holy shit dude." he says, grabbing your hand around the spoon and bringing it back his way to lick the spoon and you laugh and his lack of grace about washing the spoon make your shoulders shrug and your eyes crinkle up as you shake your head and try to pull away.

"Down boy!" you laugh, using your other hand to lightly smack away at him.

"Fuck that's good Bella." he smacks his lips.

"It's usually a hit. Except with the vegetarians." you shrug.

"Is that beef?"

"And panchetta." you say, taking another taste. Yeah, it was pretty good.

"What's that?"

"Oh?" you ask, not used to people not knowing about meats with your Italian family. "Its Italian bacon basically, pork belly."

"Bella bacon then." he grins.

"Sounds a bit crude but..." you shrug and chuckle.

"Now you KNOW I didn't mean it like that." he says with a low brow and a teasing tone.

"I do." you smile and test the pasta.

"You just like giving me a hard time then?" he grins.

"Only because you're such a good target." you say innocently with a quick shake of your head.

"Only because you're a fuckin' sucker who walks into it, Declan." he says in a high pitched voice.

"Hey." you turn and point the spoon at him. "Your words. Not mine." you grin and move to the stove to plate.  

"You ARE mean!" he says in faux offense and it makes you laugh out loud. What a good sport he was. A man that could take your sense of humor was hard to find, they either truly didn't get it or took everything way too seriously. And the worst was taking all your dirty jokes as a direct offer to fuck. But Declan seemed to have a goofy streak a mile wide running through that distractingly large body of his.

"Nah. You can take it." you shake your head. "And this is done. Wanna eat and listen in the living room?"

"Whatever you wanna do Bells." He certainly did know the right things to say.

You set up camp on the floor in front of your entertainment system. You put on the Wombats, to see if he did in fact like them, and he did not. You were thankful he was honest about it. A man that wasn't afraid to have his own opinions was nice. As the hours pass, the plates long ago went to sit in the sink and you shared a pint of gelato, which he'd also never had. It was an interesting dynamic, hanging out with someone who didn't know you too well, like Charlotte did. Charlotte knew you when you were a shitty like punk ass teen and knew your family. There's a different sort of vibe when you hang with someone new but it didn't feel uncomfortable with Declan and you couldn't help but notice how he always responded genuinely to things whether they were in agreement or not. A few Ale's down you've sat almost on top of each other, thigh to thigh and arm to arm, holding a records sleeve between the two of you as you look at the art and you tell him trivia bits about the music. He seems interested, and that's more than you could ask for from someone who didn't work in your sort of career.

He notices how much more comfortable you get with him everytime he sees you and he's more than pleased with himself for getting you to warm up to him. You'd come in so cold and now you were sharing a spoon, your arm behind his back as he held a record and you happily rambled about rock and roll. You go off on tangents and he was happy to listen, always learning something when he was with you, and that was more than he could say about any girls he'd met, let alone dated in years. You clearly weren't looking for his approval or wanting him to make your life interesting, you made your own life interesting and you were inviting him into it.

He'd get distracted watching you sit up and bend over and reach out to lift the needle and find the perfect spot on the records. You were well into your remastered High Voltage, you bobbing and grooving with it, lamenting on Highway to Hell being possibly your favorite album ever, and this one being ridiculously underrated and not popular enough with the masses. You move to speak of sex, drugs and rock and roll, and fairly unfiltered, which he appreciates. He finds out you've done more than a handful of shady things in your youth, taking the moniker of sex, drugs and rock and roll a little too seriously and following a crowd that did the same. It was comforting to know you also were trying to move on from a past you weren't particularly proud of, but didn't deny was a part of where you came from. He shared the sentiment and you could tell from his intently listening eyes that he understood.

You wondered if he'd had a similar upbringing with shit head friends but you weren't going to be nosey and ask, that was his business. Maybe after you knew him a little better, but then again maybe he'd just tell you himself. You were surprised at how fast you loosened up around him. You normally didn't share, and not that you were oversharing, speaking in generalities, overstepping the particularly dark parts. But you liked how he listened. You weren't used to men listening to you. They mostly waited their turn to talk. But something about Declan made you feel comfortable, which was more than you could say for anyone you'd met in a long, long time. He didn't seem to have such a hard time being warm with people like you did. It wasn't your natural inclination. But Declan was a good time, good company and seemed to love your food and dare you say, even your company. You tried not to think too much into it as you sat inches from his face in silence for a few seconds too many after noticing how late it was getting.

But as he pulled back, stating, no matter how hesitantly he did so, "You uh...yeah you need your sleep, Bella." he clears his throat and sits back on his hands. "I'll help you clean up and I'll get out of your hair." he says with a nod before clapping his hands together and standing, offering you his hand to help you up. You knew you didn't need his help getting up, and your knee-jerk reaction was to refuse his hand and get up to show you didn't need his offering of help. But you didn't'. You looked at his hand a few seconds and took it in your own as he yanked you up with no problem what so ever as if you weighed nothing. You watch his shoulders shift as he walks into the kitchen with the empty carton of gelato, licking the spoon one last time. You knew you didn't need Declan's help...but you certainly didn't seem to mind it.

@vale0413 @littledeadgirlwalking @jaegeeeeer

[backtothestart02]

25 Days of Westallen Fanfiction: Day 16 - Better Than Christmas

A/N: Can you say...pre-series (the year before PAE in my personal headcanon of this fic) love confession on Christmas that reminds me an awful lot of @wintertruffles‘ fic that she wrote for me last year for the WA Secret Santa exchange, but I swear only has a couple similarities and the rest is very different? I never get enough of this premise. I hope you enjoy my take! Almost 4k words b/c this thing took on a life of its own, and I LOVE IT.

Enjoy!

*Many thanks to @valeriemperez for beta’ing.

...

Iris’ warmth beside him was ecstasy. Her wool sweater with the penguins playing in the snow with winter hats combined with her red sweatpants and fuzzy socks made him think of home and happiness. Sitting with her on the couch, looking up at the Christmas tree with its blinking lights and dozens of ornaments, a few professionally wrapped presents under the tree, and the smell of eggnog in the air as the fire blazed, effectively shutting out the cold. Joe wore a scarf anyway and two layers. Barry wore his typical big red sweater that Iris loved to snuggle into. And God, if Barry didn’t just love Christmas time because of all of those things.

But he wasn’t next to Iris on the couch admiring the beautifully decorated Christmas tree right now. He was in the kitchen baking Christmas cookie with Joe because Iris’ specialty was decorating the tree – and also, her talent in the kitchen was lacking unless it came down to slicing and dicing, which to her credit, she was great at.

Every so often Barry would peak out into the living room and watch her decorate the tree. He’d taken care of the lights and the garland. She would always beg him to help her put up the ornaments with her, but she also wanted him to bake cookies for her and so he was doing the latter as fast as he possibly could. Still, he yearned to see her. He always liked seeing her. She was beautiful, and he was in love with her.

“Hey. Bear.” Joe walked over to him, though he didn’t notice until the man was waving his hand in front of his face. “Earth to Barry?”

Barry blinked, blushed a bright pink and cleared his throat, ducking back into the kitchen just as Iris was turning to quizzically look at them.

“I, uh, I thought we were done, Joe.”

Joe eyed him suspiciously, and Barry wondered if he knew. He’d been careful not to show his feelings for Iris too openly. She’d never guessed, so he assumed no one else had either.

“With one tray, Bear. We have four more to go.”

Barry looked over to the counter and the bare cookie trays spread across it.

“Oh. Right. Sorry, I must’ve just-”

“Son, are you ever going to tell her how you feel?”

Barry’s face went white as a sheet.

“I…um…what?” his voice rasped.

Joe barely suppressed rolling his eyes. He did lower his voice though.

“I know you’re in love with my daughter.”

“What?” Barry’s voice squeaked.

“I’ve known it for a long time, and I approve.”

“Y-you do?”

“Are you kidding me? Who else better to take care of her than the boy I raised, the only man I know who comes close to loving her as much as I do and treating her like the goddess she is?”

Well, she is one, Barry thought to himself.

“There’s no one else I will ever trust her with as much as I trust you.”

“Joe, this is a lot…to take in.”

So much so that he was feeling the need to sit down, and quickly.

Not only had he failed hiding his feelings from Joe, but Joe was eager to get him and Iris together. It was reassuring to know he wouldn’t have to win him over and that at least one person thought he was worthy of Iris as a romantic partner, but it still was happening faster and more suddenly than he’d ever expected it to. Truth be told, he hadn’t expected it to happen at all. Actually obtaining Iris’ affection seemed like a far off dream that would never come true. He certainly never expected anyone to encourage that goal, let alone Joe, Iris’ father and the man who had raised him since he was eleven.

“Look, I’m not trying to overwhelm you, Barry,” Joe said, coming to stand next to where he was leaning against the counter. “I just…I’ve seen how you felt about her since you came to live with us, since before you knew what the word ‘love’ meant.”

Reluctantly, Barry looked up into his eyes.

“And I’m telling you, she has no idea how you feel.”

Barry wrapped his hand around the back of his neck and rubbed the skin there – a nervous habit.

“I…I know,” he said, nearly a muttered breath.

“You have to tell her.”

His eyes flashed back to Joe’s.

“W-What? Joe, no. She won’t- She doesn’t feel-”

“She does.”

A scoff spilled past his lips.

“You can’t know that, Joe. I mean, has she said that she does?”

“No. But-” Barry shook his head indignantly, but Joe continued, determined. “She might not know her own feelings, but she will if you tell her yours.”

“Joe, no. That doesn’t make any-”

“Just tell her how you feel.”

“No!” His voice escalated unknowingly. “I’m not going to risk our friendship over feelings she might or might not have.”

“Is everything all right in there?” Iris called out, and Barry reigned in his temper.

He knew Joe had good intentions, but what he was asking of him was absolutely ridiculous. It just wasn’t that simple. If Iris hadn’t shown interest in him all the years they’d lived together, him telling her how he felt now wasn’t going to change that.

“Yeah, everything’s fine.”

“Are you suuu-” She came to a stop in the doorway and instantly felt the testosterone coming off both men in waves.

“Yep,” Barry said, forcing a smile onto his face. “I just wanted to come help you decorate the tree and your dad insisted I stay in here to bake cookies.”

Iris looked relieved. Barry didn’t know if she believed his excuse, but it didn’t matter. She was going to let it slide, and she was going to get him out of the kitchen. He knew even before she reached for his hand and pulled him toward her that was what was going to happen.

“Give Barry a break, Dad.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you can handle the rest of the cookies by yourself.”

Taking the lead from his pseudo-son, Joe’s face had smoothed over and his frustrated eagerness cooled to more manageable degrees.

“You’re right. Of course. You two have fun.”

Barry didn’t dare look behind him as he and Iris left the kitchen. He could feel Joe glaring a hole into the back of his head.

…

Half an hour later, the tree was fully decorated – well, except for the star. But Joe would put that on later just before dinner. It was their tradition every year, and there was something very comfortable about tradition. It felt safe. It was nice.

Iris plopped down beside Barry on the couch, snuggling close. He tried to relax into her, but his conversation with Joe in the kitchen kept going on repeat in his mind. He hated that it had happened because it was ruining a moment he would’ve otherwise indulged in. If this was the only way he could have Iris, he would take it. It was great. It felt almost perfect.

Is almost enough for you? After what Joe told you?

But Joe was only guessing. He wanted them to be together, so he made himself believe they had mutual feelings for each other. That wasn’t the same thing as actually having mutual feelings.

He guessed you had feelings, though.

Barry ignored that line of thought.

“It’s so beautiful, isn’t it?” Iris said, starry-eyed as she stared up at their masterpiece.

Barry wrapped his arm around her, forcing Joe’s words out of his mind. He was going to enjoy this moment. It only came once a year.

“You did a great job, Iris.”

She snorted and poked his chest with his finger.

“We did a great job.” She continued before he could insist otherwise. “Only half the tree would be decorated if you hadn’t helped me, and you know it.”

He smiled slowly. “I guess my height does come in handy.”

She sat up enough to turn and face him.

“You come in handy, Bear. I won’t have you saying otherwise.”

Oh my God, she’s so close.

Maybe she wasn’t really. Maybe it just felt that way. But everything inside him was aching to kiss her.

Don’t do it. It will change everything. And not for the better.

That voice was annoying, but it was also probably true. He knew he needed to listen to it or he might very well ruin Christmas for both of them. The awkward tension next Christmas if he caused that now just might kill him.

“You have really pretty eyes, Bear. Did I ever tell you that?” she asked, sifting her fingers through his hair.

God, she was going to kill him. She was so touchy-feely with him, so handsy, and so innocent about it. It nearly drove him crazy. If she only knew.

Well, she won’t know unless you tell her. He heard the words in Joe’s voice in his head and knew they were true too.

And therein lie his dilemma.

“Not recently,” he teased, needing to lighten the moment before he went insane, before he got a hard-on with their knees touching, her thighs pressed against his, and her cinnamon fragrance absolutely intoxicating.

“Well, they are,” she continued, unthwarted and completely unaware. “Sometimes I wish I had them.”

He gawked at that.

“W-why? Your eyes are so pretty, Iris. They’re beautiful. I’ve never seen such beautiful eyes.”

He was babbling now, but he didn’t care. How Iris could ever think she was anything but the most beautiful was a mystery to him.

Her eyes twinkled in amusement though, and he knew he’d gone a bit overboard.

“All right, if you insist,” she said, and fixed his hair so it was as it had been before she’d started playing with it. Then she repositioned herself so she was snuggled up against him again, this time with her arm looped through his.

He didn’t know how he suppressed a sigh honestly, but when Joe came in a while later, Barry saw the look on his face and felt the pressure. Joe wanted him to tell her so bad. He didn’t know why the urgency had come on so suddenly, but he knew he was going to be feeling it until he told her. Maybe Joe thought Christmas would be the perfect time to tell? Regardless, he did feel guilty about snapping at the man. So later when Iris was asleep against him and most of the cookies had been eaten, and it was just Joe and Barry watching the Christmas tree and listening to the fire crackle, Barry spoke up.

“I’m sorry, Joe,” he said quietly. “About before. I didn’t mean to-”

“I know,” Joe said, and Barry had a feeling he did. “I was wrong to push. I just want you – both of you – to be happy.”

“We are happy, Joe.”

“Not as happy as you could be.”

Barry opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.

“Look, if you’re not ready to tell her, I won’t push anymore. But please think about it. Maybe it wouldn’t work out, but I really think that it would. I think you owe it to yourself to give it a shot.”

Barry didn’t say anything, but he nodded. Then he looked down at his sleeping Iris and wondered hard. He still felt very strongly about everything he had said before, but in this gentler setting, a flicker of hope came to life inside him, and he wondered if it was possible that Joe could be right.

“I’m going to bed,” Joe said a while later, and came to press a kiss to his drowsy daughter’s face.

“Mm, what? No…Dad-” Iris protested, reaching for him.

“I’ll see you in the morning, baby girl.”

Her arms fell short and she murmured an ‘I love you’ and an ‘okay’, snuggling back into Barry and drifting back to sleep, her hand clutching his warm, red sweater.

Barry and Joe’s eyes met once more before Joe left. A nod, an understanding, and a ‘Merry Christmas’ passing their lips, even if it wasn’t quite midnight.

Barry fell asleep once for about forty-five minutes before coming to again. Iris was still sleeping against him, and he decided that maybe she might regret the arrangement if her back was out-of-sorts in the morning.

“Hey, Iris.” He gently shook her when she didn’t so much as budge. “Iris.”

She moaned a little. “Mmm, no, let me sleeeeeep,” she whined, then sighed contently against him and snuggled closer, the side of face fully pressed into his chest.

Of their own accord, Barry’s fingers tangled in her hair.

“It’s late, Iris.”

“It’s Christmas, Barry.”

“You’ll thank me in the morning after you’ve slept in your own bed,” he said, more firmly this time.

Reluctantly Iris roused herself and lifted her body off his.

“Why are you so eager to get rid of me, huh?”

His eyes widened. “Iris, I’m not. I’m just-”

“I know, I know. Doing what’s best for me like you always do.” She sighed, getting to her feet, running a hand through her hair and straightening out her clothing so she wouldn’t be walking with her seams sideways or her socks slipping off.

“Iris-” he tried, but she waved him off.

“It’s okay, Barry, you’re right.” She yawned. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

He wanted to go after her. He should have gone after her. It was the perfect mood, the perfect lighting. And on Christmas Eve? What better time to risk it all, to risk every Christmas after this one if she really did feel the same?

But she was so tired. It probably wasn’t the ideal time to be making confessions of love.

So, he let her go, and he told himself he should go too. But as luck would have it, he ended up being too tired himself. He pulled a blanket off the top of the couch over him and fell asleep in the light of the Christmas tree.

…

The next morning when Iris came down the stairs, she was struck by the sight of Barry sleeping on the couch. She shook her head at his sleeping form, doing what he’d insisted she shouldn’t do.

Unbelievable.

She knew she should leave him, despite his hypocrisy. But she couldn’t help it. She went and sat on the floor in front of the couch and trailed her fingers up his arm hanging over the side of the couch.

“The itsy bitsy spider…”

“I love you, Iris,” Barry mumbled in his sleep.

Iris chuckled to herself.

“I love you, too, Bear. Even if you are a bit of hypocrite.”

“I love you so much. Kiss me.”

His lips parted, and Iris’ eyes widened. Barry’s eyes were still shut, so he had to still be dreaming. She wondered what he could possibly be dreaming about. The thought suddenly occurred to her that he might be having a wet dream. About her. Her body’s first reaction to that possibility was to get hot all over, and for her a dampness to gather between her legs.

Iris tightly pushed her thighs together, willing the sensation to go away.

That’s weird, Iris. He’s your best friend. You can’t- No. Stop it.

But he really was very handsome – hot, some people might say. Girls in her class, for instance. She remembered feeling some type of way when they would giggle and talk amongst themselves about Barry whenever he would come to meet up with Iris between classes at CCU. At the time she’d decided they were mean girls, unworthy of her best friend, just like Becky Cooper.

But now she wondered… Was it jealousy?

She tried to stomp down the feeling, but she couldn’t ignore what she’d felt last night either. For the longest time she stared into his eyes. It felt like an eternity. And she could’ve sworn he wanted to kiss her. She’d stretched out the moment deliberately just to see if he would. The fact that he hadn’t should’ve proved to her that her suspicions he might like her were wrong, just as they had been her entire life. Surely he would’ve made a move by now if he was actually interested.

And there was nothing wrong with him not being interested. She certainly wouldn’t want to ruin their friendship. The only person she depended on more than Barry was her dad, and even that was pretty much tied.

No, it was probably better to let this slide and ignore whatever Barry might be saying or doing that could be interpreted differently than what was obvious to the naked eye.

Barry’s eyes blinked open. Hazy with sleep, Barry’s voice was husky. It turned Iris on. There was no getting around that.

“I-Iris?”

She smiled slowly, shoving down the feeling.

“It’s a little hypocritical, don’t you think?”

“Huh?” His brows furrowed, confused, not registering what she was implying.

He’s so darn cute.

“Telling me to get off my butt and sleep in my own bed and then proceeding to sleep on the couch yourself?”

He was silent for a moment, then, “Oh.”

She rolled her eyes.

“And not only that, but before you woke up just now, you were mumbling in your sleep.”

That seemed to wake him right up.

“What did I say?”

She shrugged nonchalantly, though her cheeks felt hot as coals.

“Oh, you know, just the usual…that you love me sooo much.”

He swallowed hard. “Yeah?”

“And that you want me to kiss you.”

She met his eyes. Her mouth suddenly felt so dry. She couldn’t look away from him if she tried. His stare was so intense she thought she’d die if she looked away.

Was he gonna kiss her? Was he gonna kiss her? She thought she’d die if he didn’t.

She didn’t want to speak, didn’t want to break this crystalline, fragile moment, but his name slipped past her lips anyway. Or, at least it started to.

“Bar-”

He leaned over the edge of the couch, most of his body still level enough that he didn’t fall off. And Iris was close enough that he didn’t have to lean far. He didn’t hesitate once he reached her, not for a single moment, and Iris wondered if he’d wanted to do this for a while. If he’d dreamt about it.

His lips were warm and soft against hers. The pressure was sweet and made her feel all tingly. It was the simplest of kisses, but she let him pull back, so he could say something if he wanted to, even though every part of her wanted to grab his face and devour him.

“I do love you, Iris,” he said softly. “I’ve loved you for…so long. And I haven’t told you because-”

“I know,” she said, nodding. “I understand.”

“What about…” he trailed off, then licked his lips. “What about you?”

Iris thought about it, wondered what she truly felt. She certainly loved him like family, though she’d never really thought of him as family, certainly not in a way that would make her see him as her brother or cousin or any other kind of relative. She’d never thought that. But she felt safe with him and protective of him. She enjoyed spending time with him, and she liked touching him a lot. And right now, there were few other things she wanted than to make out with him right here by the Christmas tree on Christmas morning.

“Iris?”

She smiled tentatively, then draped her arm around his neck.

“I think I love you, too, Bear.”

Her small, pretty smile was nothing compared to the thousand-watt one that spread across his face.

“Yeah?” he asked, his eyes bright with happiness. He was so very awake now.

“Yeah,” she giggled, then scooted closer and kissed him again and again and again.

By the time Joe came downstairs sometime later, Barry was sitting up on the couch and Iris was straddling him, kissing him with a fury that stole his breath. And Joe West groaned, causing them to break away.

“Dad!” Iris shrieked, but Barry said nothing, a lazy grin on his face he couldn’t suppress.

“Well, I guess you told her,” Joe said on a sigh.

Iris’ jaw dropped. “You knew?”

He ignored her. “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, Barry Allen-”

“You told me once,” Barry retorted, to which Joe shrugged and headed back towards the stairs.

“Wait, Dad! You don’t have to-” She tried to climb off Barry’s lap, but he sensed the movement and held her in place, making her brace her hands on the top of the couch, startled.

“I really think I do,” Joe said, continuing up the steps. “I’m still tired anyway.”

When they heard his bedroom door shut behind him, Iris turned back to Barry and playfully smacked him.

“I can’t believe you!” she giggled.

He only grinned. “You’re beautiful in the morning, you know that?” He tucked a lock behind her ear, then sunk his fingers into her hair.

Iris shivered beneath his touch. “Only in the morning, Barry Allen?”

“No,” he said and pulled her closer, nuzzling her nose before stealing a kiss. “All the time. Always. You’re always beautiful.”

One kiss after another. Iris sunk into each and every one of them.

“I have a Christmas present for you.” She tried to pull away.

“I like this one,” he said, pulling her in for another kiss.

“I’ll do you one better,” she said, leaning back enough so they’d tumble to the floor if he tried to lean forward.

“What’s that?” he asked, resigned to whatever fate she’d decided to deliver him.

The question sounded simple enough in her mind, and she knew he’d say yes. She was just suddenly very nervous to ask it. Would he tease her? Would she tell her she was being silly?

“Iris?” he asked, concerned, breaking through her self-doubt, and she knew she was being silly. Silly to doubt him ever.

“Will you be my boyfriend, Barry?”

His literal gasp followed by the look of awestruck wonder in his eyes, the unshed tears of a boy in love staring straight at her like she was the reason science made sense.

“You have to ask?” he rasped, and she knew right then she loved him.

She loved him. She loved him. She loved him.

She kissed him hard – but just barely because she was smiling so much.

“I’m so excited, Barry. So happy. This is the best Christmas gift ever.”

Her eyes dazzled when she pulled away, and he was smiling so bright he looked like he might burst.

“Not as happy as I am, Iris,” then stole another kiss. “Not by a long shot.”

And they kissed a while longer as dawn crept into day and sun shone through the front window. And after a while Barry made pancakes and Iris stared dreamily at him as he did.

“My boyfriend, the cook,” she said, not realizing until he turned to look at her that she’d said it out loud. She was too embarrassed to take it back. And the smirk he sent her way melted her insides.

He finished up their breakfast and delivered it to her. Her eyes lit up at the display of deliciously smelling food, but before she could dive in, he tipped her chin up, leaned down and kissed her.

“Better than pancakes,” she murmured against his lips.

“Better than Christmas,” he countered.

She didn’t disagree.

...

*Also posted on AO3 and FFnet.

[hoffkk]

A Legendary Thanksgiving

A Legends of Tomorrow Fanfic

Written by: @hoffkk

Note: I hadn’t posted a fic on tumblr in what felt like forever, and I also had not done a lot of stories in the DC’s legends of tomorrow category.  Thus, this fic was born.  Consider it a little holiday treat from me to you! ;)

Summary: Thanksgiving on the waverider leads to some pretty funny and pretty emotional moments between the legends and to a huge surprise that no one saw coming.

(set in middle of season 3)

********

"Happy Thanksgiving!" Ray toasted to the motley crew around the dining table, sounding even more chipper than usual.

"Happy Thanksgiving!" They gang cheered in response, all except for Sara.  She just gave a weak smile before downing the rest of her wine like a shot of bourbon.

Before she could get caught in another toast or ridiculous game made by Ray and Nate (seriously, she never witnessed a greater torture than Thanksgiving Pictionary... and that means a lot coming from a former assassin), Sara excused herself to the kitchen for a refill.  Entering the spacious galley area, her boots clicked on the tile floor as she made her way to the counter full of beverages.  Grabbing the half-empty bottle of Merlot with her free hand, she carefully began to pour.  As she did so, a light glinting off of her finger caught her attention, causing Sara to glance at the silver ring on her pinky.  For a moment, Sara became lost in thought until she felt a rush of wetness flow over her hand.

"Shit!" She muttered angrily, putting the bottle down on the counter top along with her wine glass that was now filled to the brim.  Quickly, she found some paper towels and began cleaning up her mess, all the while thinking about how humorous it was that someone with her reflexes could make such a bone-headed move.  Once Sara was done with both tending to the mess and scolding herself, she forewent the stem and grabbed her wine glass by the body, lifting slowly to her lips.  Just as she took a sip, Zari entered the kitchen with her own empty glass.

"A little thirsty are we?" She asked wryly.

"What... too much?" Sara replied as a smirk played on her lips.

Zari gave a light chuckle then answered, "As the person who's been seated next to Rory all night, I'd say that that looks like moderation."

Sara's smile got a little bigger as she said, "Here," then gestured for her friend's glass.  When Zari handed it over, she poured half of her wine into her friends empty cup before handing it back.

"Thanks." Zari nodded, taking a sip of the chilled liquid.  When Sara didn't reply and the conversation began to lull, she spoke up again. "Half-full."

"Sorry?" Sara questioned, feeling like she missed something."

"My glass." Zari explained.  "Tonight I choose to see it as half-full.  After all, I am on a spaceship floating through time, eating like a king for the first time in... well... ever."

"Yeah, it's a pretty good gig." Sara agreed, though her facial expression stayed neutral.

"But I sense you don't agree with my sentiment."  Zari noted. "Given your lack of enthusiasm this evening."

"Don't take it personally."  Sara told her.  "My glass has been half-empty more often than not over these last few years."

"Any particular reason for this year?  Zari couldn't help but ask.  

Glancing at her ring again, Sara sighed then looked back to her friend and answered, "You know, you aren't the first newbie in the group.  We've had a few team members come and go... but only one left permanently."

"Yeah, I heard one of the guys mention that before." Zari recalled, thinking back to one of Mick's drunken tales about a dead friend.  "His name was Snark?"

"Snart.  Leonard Snart."  Sara corrected.  "I don't know what you heard, but long story short, he died saving our lives, he was a hero."

"Sounds like a good guy." Zari surmised.

"Not exactly." Sara retorted, holding back a laugh.  "We were actually a lot alike, him and me.  We were both decent people who were dealt unfortunate hands, over and over again, forever trying to escape the darkness around us and trying to be better."

Zari nodded. "So, I take it you two were close then?"

Sara shrugged, "We were... friends, I guess.  We kept each other sane inside this madhouse.  Anytime I started to feel overwhelmed by a mission, Leonard would pull out his handy deck of cards.  We'd play for hours, talking about everything and nothing.  It always made me feel better.  He always made me feel better. Anyway... this is the first time we've actually celebrated a holiday since we became a team--"

"And the first time since Leonard's death."  Zari finished, understanding washing over her.

"Don't get me wrong." Sara began.  "In our line of work, we should be celebrating and enjoying the happy moments whenever we can.  I just can't help but feel like he should be here, you know, keeping Mick in check... insulting Ray... pretending he doesn't care about anything." She finished wistfully.

"I've had a hard time enjoying life, myself, since I lost my brother."  Zari informed her.  "Sometimes are harder than others, but I just remind myself that he wouldn't want me to feel guilty or sad.  He'd want me to move on with my life and be happy.  That's part of the reason I joined this team, to honor him."

"That's very poetic,"  Sara told her.  "but I've never been real big on poetry." She finished as she inhaled a big gulp of wine and tried not to think anymore about Leonard or what he may have wanted.

Before Zari could argue, Nate interrupted, "There you guys are!  Come on, it's time for the contest!"

"Contest?" Zari queried, quirking a brow.

"The pie contest."  Nate explained enthusiastically.  "Ray and I both made pies and are about to have one crusty competition.

"Gross." Sara uttered at the same time Zari said, "Ew."

"Okay, yeah," Nate conceded.  "That sounded better in my head.  But trust me, the pie is going to be delicious.  Well, at least mine is. I mean, Ray made some generic pumpkin pie, which is fine I suppose, you know, if you like that sort of thing, but my pie really takes the cake... peanut butter pie with chocolate ganache and whipped cream icing.  I call it my 'buckeye pie" inspired by my hometown roots and my favorite sweet treat."

"Catchy." Sara said somewhat sarcastically.

Zari smirked then noted genuinely, "That actually sounds pretty good."

"Good?" Nate asked rhetorically. "Try totally amazeballs.  Which brings me back to my earlier sentiment... come on!  All you have to do is try a piece of each an fill out a secret ballot."

"Yeah, as fun as that sounds, I'm gonna pass."  Sara said, swiping the unfinished bottle of wine from the counter. "I'll be enjoying my dessert in liquid form."  She clarified, shaking the bottle for emphasis.

Nate just shrugged then looked to his other friend, "Zari, you in?"

"Hey, I never turn down free pie." She assured him.

"Sweet." Nate smiled, giving her two thumbs up before eagerly making his way back to the dining area.

Once he was out of sight, Zari turned to Sara, "Guess I should get back... you sure you don't want to come?  It could be fun.  You can keep Mick in check while I insult Ray, and we can both pretend we don't care about anything..." She trailed off.  When Sara didn't respond, she bargained, saying, "Okay, fine, you can insult Ray, and I'll keep an eye on Mick."

Finally cracking a smirk, Sara answered, "Very tempting, but I'm pretty full."

"Yeah of bull." Zari stated matter-of-factly.

"I'll be in my room if you need me." Sara winked then waltzed off in the opposite direction of the dining area, pausing in the doorway a moment to take a long swig straight from the bottle of Merlot even though there was still some in her glass. "Later." She called over her shoulder one last time before heading toward the bunks.

Zari shook her head, not sure what to think or do about Sara.  Shrugging it off for now, she decided to let herself think on it while she ate a slice of pie... or two or four.  Man, did she love pie.  Thanksgiving was definitely her favorite holiday.

******

About an hour later, Sara was lying on her bed while an empty wine bottle and glass lay on the floor. She had been staring at the ceiling, thinking about the ghosts of Thanksgivings past: cooking with her mom, watching football with her dad, and fighting with her sister, both playfully and not so playfully.  She hadn't gotten to have a family Thanksgiving like that in a long time. As she casually twisted the silver band around her finger, she wondered if Leonard ever had, given his crappy childhood and all.

As her mind began to race with memories of both Thanksgiving and Leonard, a tear slid down her cheek. Just as another began to fall, a knock sounded at the door.  Sara quickly wiped her face with her hands, then pushed up onto her elbows and called out, "Come in."

Zari appeared and leaned against the doorway with her hands casually wound behind her back.

"Feeling any better?" She questioned.

"Not really." Sara answered honestly.

"I figured." Zari retorted.  "That's why I brought these."  She added as she revealed a deck of playing cards in her hand. "You up for a game?" She added, shaking the deck temptingly.

"Sure." Sara said with a smile as she pushed up into sitting position.  "As long as you're ready for an ass-kicking."

"Bring it on." Zari teased back as she made her way across the small room to Sara's bed. Plopping down on the opposite end, she sat pretzel style and began shuffling the cards.

Two games of Spit later, they were tied in wins when Amaya interrupted.

"There you two are."  She stated in a relieved tone.  "I thought I was going to drown out there in the sea of testosterone."

"Nonsense, you still had Ray." Zari jibed, tossing Sara a wink."

All three ladies laughed, then Amaya walked over to them as she responded, "Deal me in."

Soon all three of the women were playing cards, chatting and laughing as they did so.  After a few rounds, Jax poked his head in and commented, "Thought I heard some actual fun going on back here."

"Oh, you did, did you?" Zari retorted.  "From all the way in the dining room?"

"Okay..." Jax relented.  "I may have been trying to hide when I heard some laughing."

"That bad, huh?" Sara smirked.

"Let's just say that I am officially regretting not going back to 2017 with Stein for the holiday." Jax sighed as he leaned against the doorway.

"Why don't you join us?" Amaya offered.

"Thanks, but I wouldn't want to interrupt girl talk." He responded only half serious.

"We don't mind." Amaya assured.  "Besides, this is way more fun than the shit show out there." She nodded toward the door.  Everyone just stared at her a moment and said nothing as Amaya shuffled the cards.  Looking up at their surprised facial expressions, Amaya felt slightly embarrassed as she went on to add, "I'm still working on my 21st century lingo, did I not use that term correctly?"

Her teammates all chuckled at her response, but Sara was the one to speak up, saying, "No, I'd say that was pretty spot on."

"You in or what, flame-boy?" Zari tossed out, changing the subject back to the original topic.

"Only if we play five-card draw."  Jax bargained.

"Deal." Sara nodded, reaching under her bed for her plastic chips.

Jax smiled and padded over to his friends as Amaya began to deal out the cards.

A few minutes later, Mick came barging in the room with a fresh beer in hand.

"You guys better have a good excuse for leaving me alone with bozo one and bozo two." Mick told them warningly.

"I think you just answered your own question there, big guy." Sara jeered.

Mick just grunted and said, "Touché... but the next time we decide to ditch the dimwits, I'm the first to know.  Got it?"

"Alright Mick, that's enough."  Zari reprimanded.  "You gonna play or what?"

"Or maybe you just want to continue pouting in the corner." Amaya teased.

"Nobody puts Rory in a corner." Mick told them in no uncertain terms as he strode forward a couple of steps.  No one had words for that one, but it didn't matter much because after a moment Mick nodded toward the cards and inquired, "What's the game?"

"Five-card. Think you can handle it?" Jax taunted.  "Just saying, I've got quite the streak going.

Mick snorted, "I'll squash you like the firebug you are."

"Seriously?  Your guys' nicknames for me are literally getting lamer by the minute." Jax whined.

"Quit complaining and deal already." Zari told him.

Jax began to do just that when Mick probed further, "What are the stakes?"

"You're looking at em'." Sara answered, flicking a chip through the air toward Rory.

Mick watched the red chip hit him in the chest and fall to the ground before saying, "Well, Mick Rory don't come cheap.  We're gonna need to raise the bar."

"What did you have in mind?" Amaya asked curiously.

Mick held up a finger, indicating for them to wait a moment then took a long drag from his bottle as he turned and walked out the door and headed in the opposite direction from which he came.

"Ten bucks says he's not coming back." Zari said almost immediately.

"I'll take that bet." Sara replied, remembering that his only other viable option was going back to tweedle dee and tweedle dull.

About a minute later, Mick strolled back in with his beer and a large container in one hand and dragging a chair behind him with the other.  As he positioned his seat, Zari pulled a crisp ten dollar bill from her pocket and reluctantly handed it over to a suddenly chipper Sara who made a big show of holding it up and checking for its authenticity.  Mick ignored them, tossed his container to Amaya, and sat down.

"Cookies?" She questioned,  staring at the tub in her arms.  It was clear, huge, and filled to the brim with the black and white treat she couldn't quite remember the name of.

"Not just cookies... oreos."  Mick amended.  "Original and Double Stuf."

Sara caught Zari licking her lips and shook her head.  How in the world can that girl still be hungry after the meal she just had?  She didn't get the chance to voice this thought aloud though because Jax spoke up next.

"I agree with Amaya on this one.  I'm pretty full myself."  He noted as he finished up his deal and put the rest of the cards off to the side.

"No worries, heat lamp." Mick told him as he took swig of beer.  "You only eat what you win, which in your case... will be nothing."

"Oh, it's gonna be like that, is it?  Well, then... challenge accepted, my torrid twit."

"Jokes on you." Mick replied readily.  "I have no idea what you said."

Everyone worked to stifle a laugh at that, while Mick, totally unperturbed, continued to drink his brew.  With that, the conversation lulled as they set up the new "chips" and began a new round of game play.

Much to Jax's dismay and everyone else's amusement, Mick won the first two hands.  In the middle of their third, Ray hurried into the room and slammed the door shut.  "Thank god, I found you guys.  Nate was seriously getting on my last nerve out there!"

"Oh, really?" Zari queried with a smile.

"Do tell." Sara urged with matching demeanor.

"Yes," Amaya agreed.  "What is Nathaniel up to now?"

Unaware of their amusement, Ray continued seriously, "He's setting up another game. Another one! Can you believe it?  I mean, I admire his holiday spirit and all, but the dude needs to chill.  Between the cheesy games and his bubbly behavior, I think I'm about to O.D. on Thanksgiving."

"Yeah, we know the feeling." Jax commented as he took his turn.

"Seriously, though, I'm glad he's not normally this animated.  Can you imagine being around someone that cheerfully annoying all the time?"

Suddenly all the legends in the room stopped to stare at Ray incredulously.

"What?"  Ray questioned.

"Nothing. Nothing at all." Sara answered for everyone, sparing his feelings.

"Well, you guys can't judge me because you all are clearly hiding from him too." Ray informed them, sensing some hostility from the gang.  "But you can deal me in next round." He added as he dragged a small trunk over from the far wall and plopped down on it carefully.

And the team did just that. They managed to make some more room for Ray and caught him up to speed on the Oreos.  From there, they played another round.  Unfortunately, they didn't even get through one full game before Nate found them.

"There you guys are!" Nate said.

Everyone froze as they peeked over at their spirited friend.  His expression was hard to read.  Was he angry? Was he somber?  Would he hate them all for ducking out on him?

Apparently, Nate didn't realize they had purposely ditched him or just didn't care because they next thing he did was smile and say, "The next game is ready! I call it 'What's in the Bag?' The rules are simple--"

"Stop right there." Sara commanded like the captain she was.  "We don't need the rules, Nate.  We're not playing."

"But you don't even know what the game's about."  He tossed back.

"Don't need to. The thing is..."  Sara retorted, trying to think of a way to gently explain how and why they don't like his Thanksgiving activities. Luckily, or maybe not so luckily, Mick took it upon himself to enlighten Nate.

"Look kid, your pie was great but your games suck ass."  Mick clarified for him.

"Thanks, Mick." Sara responded, tone dripping with sarcasm.

He just nodded and popped a double stuf Oreo into his mouth all in one bite.

Sara rolled her eyes at Rory as Nate finally replied, "I'm sorry if I was overdoing it back there.  The holidays just have a way of pumping me up... and with all the bad stuff going on these last few weeks, I just wanted us to have one good day for a change."

"We get it." Jax said.

"And today was pretty fun for the most part." Ray assured, though not everyone fully agreed, but they weren't about to tell Nate any different, including Mick, but that was mostly because he was busy enjoying his winnings.

"Really?" Nate asked, not really believing them.

"Really." Zari promised.  "And the fun doesn't have to end now."

"Does that mean you wanna play the bag game after all?" Nate quirked a brow.

"No." Everyone called out simultaneously in forceful tones.

"Ouch." Nate said more to himself than to the audience in front of him, feeling the sting from that burn.

"But you can take a break from playing hostess with the mostest and join us for some cards and cookies."  Amaya offered with a sweet smile.

Unable to resist Amaya's charm, and presence in general, Nate grinned and nodded, "I'd like that."

"So," Nate began as he interjected himself into the circle of players.  "What are the rules?"

Sara grinned at his boy scout attitude then proceeded to give him the rundown.  After that, it was all smooth sailing.  They no longer had to worry about hiding or hurt feelings, nor did they have to pretend to enjoy themselves because they were genuinely having a good time, even Sara.

When Nate and Ray first came up with the idea of a friends-giving, Sara dreaded it.  She hated it even more as it was happening in real-time... until now.  In this moment, she was enjoying herself very much as she played her favorite game with some of her favorite people.  It gave her hope, hope that she could still find happiness even with all that she had lost. It also reminded her that not every day had to wind up in total mayhem.

Just as Sara was truly accepting these happy thoughts and Mick was on the verge of his umpteenth win, a loud crashing noise sounded and the waverider tilted and shook.

"Everyone all right?" Nate asked immediately.

The team all gave various answers of yes, then Sara shouted, "Gideon! What the hell was that?"

"We've experienced a minor collision." Gideon stated monotonously.

"No shit." Mick grumbled, staring angrily at his broken beer bottle on the floor as Gideon went on.

"It seems a time pod has connected to one of the empty pod chambers."  Gideon elaborated.

"Time pod?" Zari queried.

"Rip told me about those."  Jax said. "They were for people from the outside who needed to get to ships like ours.  You just plug in the coordinates of the ship into the pod and bam. Literally."

"Gideon,"  Sara called out once more.  "Who found us?"

"I'm sorry, Captain Lance.  I am unable to retrieve the pod's data."  She replied diligently.

"It's okay, Gideon."  She told the ceiling then turned toward her team and said, "I'm going to investigate. Everyone stay here."

"No way." Nate retorted.  "It's too dangerous."

"Nate's right." Amaya agreed.  "You don't know who or what is in there."

"It could be Damien Darhk." Ray warned.  "Or some sort of time pirate."

"With rum." Mick noted.  "Pirates love rum.  Why couldn't I be a time pirate?"

"Mick's comment aside, they make good points.  You need back up."  Zari tossed in, summing up the group's concern.

"What I need is for my team to be out of harm's way." Sara said vehemently.  "It's like you all said, anyone or anything could be in that pod, and I'm not going to risk your lives until I find out exactly what's going on and what we're up against.  So, as your captain, I order you all to stay put.  Got it?"

"Got it." They all agreed reluctantly.

Sara nodded then grabbed a military grade knife from under her pillow and headed to the pod bay.

A few seconds later, Mick stood up and said, "Well," then paused to grab his chair by its legs and pull hard until ripping one of them off.  Once he had a single splintered chair leg in hand and discarded the rest, Mick continued, "What are we waiting for?"

With that, the rest of them secured their own weapons and followed Mick out after Sara, not hesitating in the least.

********

Sara made her way down various hallways toward the back of the ship.  She was almost there when she heard a noise.  Sensing someone was behind her, she whirled around instantly, using a fancy side-step motion to pin her pursuer to the wall with the knife pressed against his throat.

"Uncle! Uncle!" Ray cried out.

"I told you to stay behind me, haircut." Mick reminded teasingly.

"And I told you all to stay put!" Sara whisper-yelled as she freed Ray from her hold.

"Since when do we respect authority and follow the rules?" Nate tossed out, making a valid point.

"Fair enough." Sara relented.  "Just be quiet and stay behind me." She told them before turning around and continuing on with mission at hand.

"Yeah, and you me." Mick said, shoving Ray behind him as he moved to follow his captain.

Ray rubbed his neck soothingly as he led the others in the same direction.

Sara finally found the room she was looking for down a dark and quiet corridor on the left side of the stern.  She led the team inside the medium-sized area to find three more big, metal doors. These ones were air locked.  Sara walked over to the only lit up door, figuring that was the right choice.  Glancing back to see her whole team ready for a fight, she nodded then turned her attention back to the door and placed her hand on the palm scanner.

"Access granted. Visitor Arrived."  Gideon spoke loud and clear then opened the door.

As the lights changed from red to green on the scanner, the door slid open, revealing a lifeless figure crumpled on the floor.

"Oh my god." Ray called out shockingly from behind Sara.

A second later, Mick uttered in surprise, "I'll be damned."

Sara barely registered their comments as she raked her eyes over the dark figure that lie before her. It wasn't a dark figure, but a person wearing dark clothes, a very familiar person.

Her heart was beating about a mile a minute and goose-bumps covered her skin as she softly uttered one, simple yet totally unbelievable word...

"Leonard."