#life update: I had three interviews this week

[causeimanartist]

Totally not projecting onto Bruce, nope

[matan4il]

Daily update post:

I have to start this one with the sad news that the hero who saved others by stopping the terrorist yesterday, despite being stabbed in several places (including in the neck), has passed away. His name was Uri Moyal, he was 51 years old, he leaves behind a wife and three kids. Yesterday, the number of wounded was still not fully clear, today it's confirmed that in addition to Uri, the terrorist managed to injure 2 more people. In the pic below you can see Uri holding up a lifetime achievement award. At his funeral today, his daughter Sapir mourned him: "Thank you for being a dad, who was also a teacher for life. There is no one who knew you and didn't fall in love with you."

The German press has reported (so far I've only managed to find this English source) that this week, the antisemitic, genocidal slogan "From the river to the sea" has been found painted in Arabic on the site of the 1972 kidnapping and massacre of 11 Israeli athletes by Palestinian terrorists. I'll point out that recently, the grandson of one of the murdered athletes was attacked (he had several bones in his face broken) in Berlin by an Arab anti-Israel activist.

A terrorist attack was prevented from happening, when two Palestinians, carrying a big knife and a sword, were arrested on their way to a Jewish community in the middle of the night. They're currently being questioned.

After Canada and Sweden, now Australia has also announced that it will renew its funding of UNRWA. I may sound like a broken record, but this is morally broken. They KNOW that UN agency is complicit in countless crimes of helping anti-Jewish hate and violence, the IDF evidence uncovered thanks to the war are just the tip of the iceberg when we're actually talking about decades of complicity, and resuming the funding without any changes, without even an investigation into this being completed, means these countries don't even care about looking as if they care about Jewish and Israeli lives. It's beyond ccontemptible. So. Canada, Sweden and now Australia, whenever these countries' heads tell you that they care about human rights, know that this includes, "but not for Jews."

And because I mentioned the long, long complicity of UNRWA (and many in charge of or dealing with it), here's the CEO of the NGO UN Watch explaining it better than most can, because they have been working for years on calling attention to the wrongdoing of UNRWA:

There's this common lie spread by the anti-Israel crowd, that everything was just peachy between Jews and Muslim in the Middle East, until Zionism came along. This is a blatant erasure of repeated discrimination, persecution, forced conversions, expulsions and massacres perpetrated against Jews living in Muslim majority countries for centuries. The ethnic cleansing of the entire Middle East of Jews (other than in Israel) is only the climax of that long history of antisemitism under Muslim rule, exactly like the Holocaust is just the climax of the long history of antisemitism under Christian European rule. And yesterday, I came across another reminder.

I was listening to an interview with Rabbi Abraham Cooper, an American rabbi, about the discrimination he had recently suffered during a trip to Saudi Arabia. I'd read the headlines, but hearing him tell it in his own words (in amazing Hebrew, might I add) really drove it home. He was heading a US delegation meant to inspect the state of religious freedom in Saudi Arabia, when he gets a phone call from the Saudi Ministry of Foreign Affairs, telling him that the Saudis have laws which must be respected, and which dictate that no one but "the members of our religion" (meaning, Muslims) can walk around publicly displaying signs of their religious identity. In other words, Rabbi Cooper was told to remove his kippah (the head cover religious Jews wear). Rabbi Cooper asked the official on the phone, whether he was sure, and tried arguing against this decision. When the demand was reaffirmed, Rabbi Cooper responded that he wouldn't take off his kippah for the Soviets decades ago, and he wouldn't be taking it off for the Saudis, either. That meant he had to leave, and so the delegation had to end its visit. This isn't a small incident of anti-Jewish discrimination in the 1930's, in an Arab country where no one would even bat an eye at that. This is a Saudi official, speaking to an American Jew, in 2024, during an official visit, meant to check the state of religious freedom in that country, while Saudi Arabia is doing its best to present a more tolerant, modern and progressive image for the world. And this still happened. There is a long tradition of antisemitism in the Middle East, it doesn't simply disappear even when Jews were forced to, and the attempts to deny it with the excuse of "But Zionism!" are antisemitic, too.

This is Hadar Gadol.

He's an Israeli author, a practitioner of alternative medicine, and as a reservist, he serves as a casualty officer (an army official who lets a family know that their loved one was killed in combat, in Israel a casualty officer also continues to work with and support the family after the initial notification, kind of like a social worker appointed by the army). In January, IDF soldier Mark Kononovich was killed. A few weeks ago, as party of taking care of the family, Hadar took Mark's dad Alex on a tour of the last army post where Mark and the friends who died with him had slept. In the middle of that, Hadar got a heart attack. Alex happens to be a doctor, he recognized the signs, administered some first aid, and made sure Hadar would be taken to the hospital to receive the treatment he needed. This is Hadar after being released from the hospital, visiting Alex to thank him (you can also see Mark's younger brother in the pic):

During this visit, Alex told Hadar, "You took our case as very close to you, you felt it like we do, very close to the heart." I have no doubt their bond is gonna be there for years to come. Hadar is actually not the first Israeli casualty officer I've heard of, who collapsed and was in need of hospitalization since Oct 7, just the latest. I think that in a way says something about how acutely Israelis feel the pain of the massacre, whether we personally lost someone or not.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[eds6ngel]

✎ when i kissed the teacher | part five

summary: with summer break starting, it's time for you to pack up your things and leave hawkins elementary. so, will you be able to find a new job? and will you ever reunite with steve, the man that not only started this whole mess, but that you also love?

part one ♡ part two ♡ part three ♡ part four ˚⋆｡˚ full masterlist.

warnings: dad!steve. singledad!steve. 90s!au. fem!reader. use of y/n. swearing. mutual pining. slow burn. a lil bit of hurt. tons of fluff by the end. mentions of food. job interviews!! slight age gap [r is 25, steve is 29]. roommate amy being the best friend we all need. no more warnings as this is the finale!! [3.6k].

Finishing up your last week at Hawkins Elementary was not the easiest. Not only were you met with multiple days of children’s tears, hours spent reassuring them that everything was going to be okay, but the other teachers began to judge you. You would enter the staff room to dirty looks and ignorant comments. But, of course, adults bullying co-workers wasn’t fire-worthy, was it?

You packed your classroom up last Monday, the white walls, once covered in student’s artwork and decorative pieces, now bare. It made you feel melancholic and nostalgic simultaneously. Almost three years ago, you were walking into that first grade classroom for the first time, ready to made your dedicated space feel like home.

And now you were leaving, much earlier than anticipated. This should’ve been your second home for the rest of your life. But, now it was going to belong to someone else. Someone else was gonna fill the walls of student artwork, of decorative pieces, of their own little trinkets to display appropriate parts of their personality. It should’ve been you. It should’ve always been you.

Your permanent record was updated the day of your departure, the job search becoming increasingly difficult by the hour. Teaching positions cropped up everywhere, especially since you lived so close to Indianapolis, a mere twenty minute drive.

Yet, so far, none had even given you an interview offer. Many point blank stated that your record was the issue, the others you could definitely assume by their rejection wording.

The sound of your apartment door opening disrupts you from your job search, and from you continuing to stare into space.

Your roommate Amy arrives home with a paper bag full of groceries in hand, the fruit collection peeking out of the top. “How is your wonderful afternoon going?” she cheerily asks, a smile on her face, placing the groceries onto your kitchen counter.

You huff, placing your head in between your hands, “Shit. I’m not getting anything, Ames. I’m gonna have to resort to becoming a fashion retailer or something. I’m running short on money to split the goddamn bills with you.”

“Well,” she smirks, pursing her lips and creeping up to you, whipping a sheet of paper out from behind her back, “I may have a solution for you.”

You take the sheet of paper from her, inspecting the cover as it reads: TEACHING POSITION AVAILABLE. $30,000 ANNUAL SALARY. SECOND GRADE TEACHER. FULL-TIME. ERNIE PYLE SCHOOL 90.

“Ames, this is such a prestigious school! Aren’t they in, like… the top ten in Indianapolis or something?”

She hums, “Mhm, which is exactly why you should at least put an application in!”

You groan at her optimism, “I have a permanent mark on my record. They’re gonna turn me away the second they see it!”

She heads back to the kitchen, beginning to un-pack the groceries, mumbling out, “Well, you never know.”

And, she wasn’t entirely wrong. Even if it was a one in a million chance, a chance is still a chance.

“Screw it,” you thought, you were gonna put a damn application in. The highly likely rejection was just adding to the list by now, it wasn’t even a sharp sting in your heart like it used to be anymore.

Why not take a chance?

And, my God, was that chance worth taking.

It was a Sunday afternoon, you relaxing on the couch reading your favourite book, when all of a sudden, the landline phone rings.

Amy was currently out on a date with her boyfriend, so you had the house to yourself. You put your bookmark in its place, moving from your comfy position on the couch with a groan, walking over to grab the phone from its stand placed on the wall. “Hello?”

“Hello. Is this Miss. L/N?”

“It is her, yes,” you reply, the voice of an older-sounding man speaking down the phone to you.

“Nice to hear from you, Miss. L/N. I am calling from Ernie Pyle School 90 regarding your application for the second grade.”

Great, another rejection to add to the overgrowing list.

“We do see that there is a strike on your permanent record, but we also do take notice that you have a lot of other qualities we admire here. So, we would like to bring you in for an interview, if that’s all right? That way, we can get a good idea of your character and what the strike really entailed from your perspective. Does that sound good with you?”

You had to knock yourself back into reality as the words are spoken down the line. They were actually offering you a fucking interview.

“Umm… Yeah! Yeah, that sounds amazing, thank you! When would you like me to come in?”

So, two days later, you were dressed up in your smartest attire, walking into the brown-bricked building, the school a lot smaller than you had anticipated.

An older man, who seemingly matched the voice on your landline, greeted you at the entrance, the school empty for the Summer Break.

He directed you to his office, you neatly placing yourself on the chair in front of his desk, sitting appropriately, trying to appear as professional as possible.

“So, I’m sure you’re aware of the interview process from your previous work listed on your CV, so if you wouldn’t mind telling me a little about yourself,” he begins.

You breathe out, smiling at him, “Of course. I grew up in Indiana, more towards the north in a quite rural area. Growing up as a child in the seventies, I really felt under-appreciated as a student, as if I wasn’t valued. So, that’s where my love of teaching started to grow. I wanted to lead the next generation of students in a way that I felt, and many other of my friends at the time felt, would’ve been beneficial.”

“Well, as someone who has been working in schools since the seventies, I can see why you thought that way,” he chuckles. “It seems your generation has been the leader of change. Okay, we all know that students can become a handful at times. So, tell me, how would you deal with a stressful situation?”

“Well, firstly I would find the identifier of the situation by calmly asking the child what happened, as that helps me form a route to solve the issue. At my previous school, I had a student who got pushed into the mud and his favourite t-shirt got ruined, which made him extremely resentful and angry towards a boy. I got him a spare t-shirt to change into and promised I would scrub it out as best as I could during lunch break, which I followed through with. I then brought the two boys together, asking the other boy why he did it and he said that his friend allowed him to do it the previous day, so I taught the lesson of consent and how our feelings towards a situation can change from moment to moment. The boy apologised, the other boy accepted that and rode through his emotions. And by the end of the day, his t-shirt was just like before, mud stain-free. I’ve found that it’s much better for myself to understand the reasons behind something, instead of resorting to a lack of control over my own emotions and lashing out at one or both of them.”

The principal smiles at you, replying, “That’s a wonderful answer, thank you for that. Now, as you brought your previous school up, I do have to ask you about the strike on your permanent record. It says here that you, quote, ‘Broke student confidentiality,’ so I was hoping you could talk me through that situation. We here at Ernie Pyle like to overview a situation before immediately judging, much like yourself with stressful situations. So, please, go ahead,” he directs you.

You breathe out, trying to present your answer in a non-biased viewpoint, “There was a student’s father that I can confirm we both mutually did have feelings for each other. I set my boundaries in place last Christmas as he did try to ask me out, but I told him exactly that: student confidentiality. But, the school’s Easter Brunch rolled around, he helped me tidy up my classroom whilst the kids were on recess, and we kissed.” You purse your lips, having a sinking feeling that this was not going to secure you the job, “I would say he initiated it, but I also leaned in, because as I said, we both did have feelings for each other, so that part of my brain took over. However, I did pull back fairly quickly and asked him to leave promptly. The kiss was caught on the security cameras, and since it happened, I got fired for that reason.”

You bite your lip in nervousness, anticipating the rejection. However, you were presented with a far more mature answer that you were expecting.

The principal presents a thoughtful expression, “Hmm… I see. You said that you stated your boundaries before, yes?”

“I did sir, yes.”

“And that kiss was initiated by the male parent, to which you reciprocated for a short amount of time, before eventually pulling away, removing yourself from the damaging situation?”

“Correct, yes.”

He looks you in the eyes, leaning forward in his seat, “And have you contacted this parent outside of the school hours, whether that be after school, during school breaks or over the weekends?”

You shake your head, “I have not, no. The only time we spoke after school hours was when he aided me in running the school’s Christmas Fayre.”

“I see…” he pauses for a moment, “I’m going to ask you one more question before making my decision, if that’s all right with you,” to which you nod with a smile. “You worked at your previous school for three years, and I’m sure you’re aware that we really value applicants that have that prior experience. So, what skills have you learnt or improved as your time as a teacher of elementary school children?”

You look off to the side, sighing happily at the memories of your previous students. You turn your head to look back up at the principal, your answer coming confidently to your brain, no fears present. “I’ve learnt how to time manage and be organised. I would schedule my day in the morning to have certain worksheets and items stored in accessible places for me to switch over in between recesses and lunch breaks. Also, not all kids learn at the same pace, so I have to factor in extra activities for the children who complete their work a little faster than some of the other students. But, I think the most important thing I learnt was empathy. Children are just smaller, more innocent versions of us adults. I’ve found that many adults believe they must control their children, but I’ve learnt from my experience as a teacher that it’s better to approach every child with warmth, kindness and love. I’ve heard lots of children say that they hate school as young as five years old, and I want to be the one to change that. I want my students to feel safe and loved in my class, and for them to have it be one of their favourite parts of their day.”

He leans back in his chair, sighing out as he takes his glasses off, “I’m just… Wow. I am truly amazed by your answers, Miss. L/N. They are absolutely phenomenal. These are the exact values we like to promote here at Ernie Pyle and you would be a great addition to our team.”

Was he actually kidding? This sounded like an acceptance…

He sits in his chair with his eyebrows furrowed, a thinking look on his face, “However, I do run into this issue of your strike… But, I’m willing to find a way around it. Willing to put in some extra rules.”

You nod, perhaps a little too eagerly, “Anything. I’ll take on any extra rules you require.”

He looks at you once more, “Okay, I’m willing. These are what your rules are gonna be: You cannot speak to any male parent alone in your classroom, whether that be with their child present or not. If they ask you a question whilst dropping off their child, you must direct them to Mrs. Lane, who is going to be your teaching assistant. As well as this, obviously following the previous rules, no parent can aid you in any after school activities, events, or anything of a similar nature. If you need guidance with an event, you must ask another member of staff to aid you. These are the rules I’m offering you, okay?”

“Of course sir, I completely understand.”

“And I’m going to be super strict with this. If I even see you step slightly out of line, I won’t hesitate to add another strike to that record of yours. Do you understand?”

“100% sir. Absolutely,” you respond.

He smiles, raising from his seat, you copying his action as he extends his hand out to you, saying the words you’ve been waiting to hear for a long time: “You’re hired. Welcome to Ernie Pyle.”

You walk into the front door of your apartment, your hair now a disheveled mess from the windy storm forming outside. Amy looks up from her seat on the couch, re-runs of old episodes of Friends playing on the TV mounted on the wall.

She simply snorts, “Jesus. You look like shit.”

You shut the apartment door behind you, replying with a chuckle, “Yeah, tell me about it.”

She stands up, walking over to you where you had dumped your purse onto the small table where the pair of you eat, “So, how did it go?”

You decided to play with your best friend’s emotions, sighing solemnly as you act sad, mumbling out, “Turns out I have to start taking care of kids five days a week again…”

She furrows her eyebrows, before gasping, putting her hand over her mouth in shock, “You got it?”

You smile widely and giggle, “Yeah, I got it.”

She screams a little too loudly, lifting you off the floor in a hug in excitement, squeaking out, “Oh my God, this is amazing! I told you you would get it!”

You part from each other, you playfully rolling your eyes, joking, “Yeah, yeah. You were right again.”

She smirks overdramatically, “Of course I am. When am I ever wrong?”

You chuckle as she jumps up and down, still in shock at your news, “Holy shit, holy shit! You have to call Steve!”

You part from her again, looking at her with a confusion expression as you let out a “What?”

“Steve. You know, the guy you’ve been crushing on for almost a year?” she says with a smile, “You have to call him!”

You sigh out, pinching the bridge of your nose, “Ames, they just put a bunch of extra rules in for me because of that whole situation. I don’t think they’d be very happy if I suddenly start speaking to him.”

Amy groans at you in frustration, “But, Y/N, he’s not your student’s dad anymore. What are they gonna do? Fire you by association? If anything, that’ll make them more at ease as you’ll be taken, so less likely to become flirty with other student’s dads!”

You let out a long breath, thinking over your best friend’s words, before shaking your head, “Nope! Nope! I’m not doing it, Ames!”

She nods eagerly, “Yes you are!” she teases, running back to the living room and grabbing the phonebook from off the bookshelf, before returning to grab your hand, dragging you onto the couch as you plop down. She shoves the phonebook into your lap, pointing at you, “You’re gonna look up his last name and I’m going to watch you pick up that phone, dial his number and call him. Okay?”

You huff, your breath blowing the hairs out of your face as you complain, “Fine! I’ll do it.”

Amy smiles widely, clapping her hands together and shouting, “Yay!”

You open the phonebook, flipping through until you reach the letter ‘H.’ You scan through the names, reaching the correct starting letters. Hare-, Hari-, Harp-, Has—

“Uh.. Ames?” you say, blinking rapidly, her humming at you, “It’s not in here.”

“What do you mean it’s not in there?” she questions, walking over and sitting next to you on the cream-coloured couch.

“His last name is Harrington. Look,” you point to the page, “It says Harps, and then skips on to names beginning ‘Has.’ He’s not fucking in here.”

“You’re not joking with me? You aren’t making up that name to not call him?”

You look her dead in the eyes, “I’m not kidding. He’s not in here.”

“I mean, he must be one of those rare people who really values privacy. Had his name removed or something,” she replies.

You huff, rolling your eyes and slamming the book shut, placing it back on the bookshelf, “I guess the Universe is telling me really not to go through with it, huh?” you direct at your best friend, turning around and storming into your room, closing the door forcefully behind you.

You would be lying if you said you weren’t at least a little bit disappointed… Okay, maybe more than a little.

But… maybe not all hope was lost.

You and Amy took turns taking on the weekly adulting tasks, splitting the boring household chores between the two of you.

You had travelled into Indianapolis, grabbing your weekly groceries for the two of you. You were browsing the selection of cheeses, deciding which one would taste the nicest in relation to your budget. However, a tall man was leaning over you, trying to reach an item located above your head. However, once he spoke, you recognised that voice from anywhere

“I’m so sorry, I just need to grab—” The man looks down at you as you look up at him, your eyes connecting in an intense gaze, “Holy shit… Y/N?”

“Steve?” you breathe out, trying to register the fact that the man you thought you would never see again in your life is standing right in front of you. He’s wearing a Wham! t-shirt, light blue jeans, and a denim jacket in a similar shade. And my God does he look gorgeous.

And he thought the same about you as you stood there in your yellow, flowy dress. Perfect for the warm Indiana summer, and perfect for you. It hugged you so well, in all the right places. It made you look breathtaking.

“Um, hi! Hi… How— How are you?” he asks, blinking rapidly as he tries to form a sentence, his body still shocked from not only how beautiful you look, but the chances of you two meeting in the same grocery store out of your towns.

“I’m doing good, how have you been?” you respond, trying to keep the conversation as casual as possible.

“Pretty great, yeah…” He pauses for a moment, staring at the ground, afraid he would blush if he looked at you again, “Alena’s great too, by the way. Just in case you wanted to know…”

You nod, “I’m glad you two are doing good. I know that me leaving and all probably took a great toll on her, and I wanted to say sorry—”

However, he interrupts you, “Wait, you left the school?”

You sigh out, realising that Alena must’ve not shared the news with her dad, most likely too nervous to tell him that it was because of his actions. “Yeah… I got fired. They caught us kissing on the security cameras and you know… student confidentiality, you know all about that shit.”

“Shit…” he breathes out, sinking in the fact that his actions were the reason for your job loss. “I’m sorry. I never should have kissed you. It was completely my fault and I—”

But now, it’s your time to interrupt him. You giggled, “Steve, I promise, it’s okay. Besides…” you look up, smiling, “I may have found a better teaching job that pays more anyway. You kind of saved me in a way.”

He chuckles awkwardly, “Yeah… I suppose I did…”

The two of you laugh together before the air falls into silence again, the sounds of regular shoppers and beeping machines filling the atmosphere.

Steve was the one to speak what seemed to be the thought lingering on both of your minds, “So… Does that mean I can ask you out again?”

You decide to tease him, “Depends what’s in store, Harrington.”

He laughs at your comment, “Well, I was thinking I pick you up, I take you to a fancy restaurant, and then we shoot the shit, see where the night takes us… Not in a sexual way of course! I just mean in general…” He mentally face-palms himself. Why did he have to phrase it like that?

You giggle at his ramblings, “I like the sound of that,” you smile up at him, your heart fluttering all the more faster, “When are you thinking for?”

“Um… Friday night, seven o’clock at your place?” he asks.

And you verbalise the answer that he’s been wanting to hear for almost a year, the two of you finally being allowed to love each other: “It’s a date.”

and that's the end!! i hope you all enjoyed this five part series, i had so much fun writing it!! now... where do we go from here?

so, if you've checked out the masterlist to this series, you may have noticed the 'spinoffs' section. that's because i'm giving you guys leverage over the future of this little au!!

so, what spinoffs would you like to see? steve and r's first date? them officially getting together? first outing as a couple with alena? even future down the line? it's totally up to you, these are merely suggestions!!

i will be opening my asks back up next week for this series only, so i can't wait to see what scenarios you guys come up with!!

as always, thank you for dedicating your time to reading this entire series, it means so much to me!! ♡

taglist: @livsters @bakugouswh0r3 @nix-rose @ihatepeanutss @cats00089 @suitelif3 @clincallyonline17 @crowssixof @starkeylover @eris-rose-86 comment if you wanna be added/removed from the spinoffs taglist!!

[hyunnows]

WHO YOU GONNA CALL? | TAPE #1

A series of tapes describing Namjoon's life since joining the Supernatural Investigation Unit.

PAIRING(S) | Namjoon x reader

THEMES | cop!au, x-files!au, ghostbusters!au, cop!Namjoon, cop!reader, youtuber!Seokjin, youtuber!Taehyung, ghosts, conspiracies, cryptids, the paranormal, and the supernatural are main subjects

WORD COUNT | 1.1k+

RATING | pg

NOTE | im so excited for this series im ngl--not sure how frequently i will be updating yet but i think once every two or three weeks? I dont want to take it too seriously (especially since it will probably flop) but oh well... also i know i should have posted this before halloween but it would be too close to the release of 'a love so beautiful' and i want to try to release fics consistently again so i have to keep these a bit spaced out. any this was a new style of writing for me, so i really hope you all enjoy this <3 if you would like to join the taglist, feel free to rb, or reply letting me know--or you can check out my taglist form as well <3333 have a great day/night!

Series M.list | Navigation | Taglist

“So how did it all begin?” A man in a dark suit looms over the metal table, his words echoing off the brick walls and two-way mirror as he adjusts the large camera.

A more timid man sweats under his stare, looking into the camera’s lens awkwardly. “Well, it was the day of my promotion,”

“You’re going to kill this interview,” the brunet mumbles to himself, fixing his tie for the third time. “You’re going to do great and get promoted. Then you’ll finally be a detective.”

He huffs as his tie becomes undone, reaching for one of his clip-ons instead before putting it back down. “You have plenty of time Namjoon, you can correctly fix your tie. A real detective wears real ties.”

He stares in the mirror, continuing to prepare himself. “I’m going to ace this interview. They’re going to like me, I’m going to be likable. Calm, put together, and ambitious—but not too ambitious, I’m going to be grateful for the opportunity. I’m going to get the position, and make mom and dad proud.”

“At least, I thought it was a promotion,” Namjoon almost sulks, arms crossing at the memory. 

“This isn’t a promotion interview, Officer Kim. You’re being transferred to the Supernatural Investigation Unit,” Chief Yoon sighs, leaning forward. “I’m sorry to have misled you.”

“The Supernatural Investigation Unit?” The suited man repeats, leaning toward Namjoon.

“Yeah, everyone called it the X-Files though, like the show.”

“Continue.”

“The thing is, we don’t really have the budget to keep the X-files up, but we don’t have enough to take them down either. I need you to debunk the work going on in there, so we can submit a legit request to get the unit removed.” Mr. Yoon’s voice rumbles out, the crinkles by his eyes appearing as he looks at Namjoon with a serious look. “Listen, if you get our evidence, and I’ll get you a promotion, deal?”

“Obviously I wanted the promotion, so I agreed.”

“Is that the only reason you were chosen to fulfill this job?” the interviewer asks, the same monotone voice filling the room.

“I wish, but it was because of my past,” Namjoon sighs, “I used to be really into ghosts. I wrote reports on it, took video evidence, documented everything so that I could find proof about them. Back then, I also had a YouTube channel with my friend–we were pretty popular at the time. Anyway, I ended up writing a book on it before deciding to leave it all behind to become a serious detective.”

“And are you a detective now?”

“No, look at me,” he gestures to the modified hazmat suit draped across his figure. “How many detectives do you know that wear ghost gear and thermal goggles?”

The interviewer looks at him, unamused and urgent for him to continue his retelling.

“I look up our old stuff and see that new copies of my book are for sale, and that the channel is still up and running–both with my name still on them. So I decided to track down my friend and have a chat with him.”

“Yah! I’m getting the door, stop nagging at me!” Namjoon taps his foot impatiently, hearing the all too familiar voice approach the door. “How can I help–Namjoon? What are you doing here?”

“Hey Jin, I was hoping I could talk to you about the book and the old channel.”

The older man nods his head in recognition, opening the door to allow the taller male in. “Have you seen how well they’re doing? The book is selling pretty well and the channel is blowing up pretty quickly these days,” he says, too enthusiastic for Namjoon’s liking.

“That’s actually my problem,” Namjoon starts, dodging all the odd equipment and supplies scattered around Seokjin’s floor. “I’m sorry, what is going on here?”

Seokjin motions for Namjoon to follow, walking into the nearest door to the left. Upon entering, the cop is met with a makeshift lab filled with beakers, random devices, steam, and many other chemicals Namjoon can’t imagine to be safe. Not to mention one slightly tidier corner of the room with a camera facing a small desk, a corkboard up behind him. Namjoon immediately recognizes the set-up. “This is where we’ve been operating from recently.”

“We?”

“Oh, right. I have a new partner, give me one second,” Jin sticks his head out of the room, inhaling a large breath and bellowing, “Taehyung!”

“Stop yelling!” A younger guy grunts as he enters the messy room.

Seokjin grins, “This is Taehyung, mechanical genius, and my partner.” Taehyung gives a small smile and wave, removing Jin’s arm from his shoulder with a shrug. “Back on track though, what’s going on, why are you here?”

“I need you to erase me from those videos–take them down, even. If you really need to keep them, private them. The book too, I want my name off of it. They’re ruining my life, they’re–”

“Haunting you?”

“Really?” Namjoon groans, a dour expression on his face at the attempt to joke. 

“We argued for a bit, and he refused and pried until he found out about my transfer. That didn’t make anything better for me.”

“How so?”

“Instead of understanding where I was coming from, he just kept telling me how ‘this was my chance to live my dream’.” He deflates a bit. “When we were kids, everyone made fun of us for being the ‘ghost kids’. Even our teachers, parents, and everyone thought we were crazy. I remember my mom telling me how she wanted me to be normal so bad.”

“I take it you come from a not-very-accepting neighborhood?”

“Not at all. Those people didn’t like anything abnormal in the slightest. You should have seen how happy everyone was when we left for college,” Namjoon laughs dryly. “It was really messed up for some dorks like us growing up.”

Namjoon straightens himself in the uncomfortable metal chair. “We both wound up going to college together, I took criminology, profiling, and forensics. He took a medical path, with a few courses in human behavior and psych, I think. We were in a robotics club in high school and took engineering for a bit before dropping the class.”

“During college, we still made our videos and stuff. We made the book then too, 300 pages of paranormal bullcrap we put together over a few years. Because of our educations, we considered ourselves to be a pretty credible source for the paranormal.”

“Why did you stop?”

“I got tired of being seen as a joke. I wanted to be important,” his face is void of any emotion as he recalls the day he told Seokjin he would be leaving for the police academy and packed up his things. “So, I joined the police force. I did a few years as a mall cop, then started getting assigned more important cases and assignments slowly. Then one day, I was getting ready to be Scully to somebody’s Mulder.”

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[tcwmatchmakingau]

Date Night Pt. 3

Summary: Yen Ori'ken finally found her calling as a matchmaker. The work was involved and fulfilling. After helping Rex find his own perfect match, the Captain calls in a favor for one of his brothers. Yen knows she is up to the task, but this trooper proves to be her most difficult client yet.

A/N: Alright, y'all. This chapter has been rewritten so many times I can't even. Two seconds before submitting it earlier, I realized I didn't have the depth I wanted and did a lot of heavy edits and what was supposed to be the final chapter got split into two. So, now Pt 3 is more an intro to Yen and Dogma.

Pairing: Dogma x OC (Yen Ori'ken, RTL Matchmaker Extrodinaire)

Warning: SFW. Mentions of Umbara, general exploration of guilt and anxiety but nothing specific/no details.

W/C: 4,860

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Tapping the papers gently on her desk to help them fall into place in their folder, Yen smiled, satisfied that another day of good work was done, her tasks all checked neatly off her daily to-do list one by one, falling into line like synchronized swimmers. She even managed to knock a few things off her weekly to-do list, and the week had only just started.

Yes, things in her little world were neat and tidy, kept that way through meticulous organization and perseverance.

And a large part of that was thanks to Right to Love.

Matchmaking had been the family business — at least as her grandmother told it. But that was decades ago, and it wasn’t much of a stable career back on her home planet. So when she graduated from Coruscant University with a degree in Business Administration and a minor in Sociology of Humanoid Species, she directed her attention toward making her mark on the business world instead.

One corporate desk job and three stints with start ups so immature the CEOs should have been wearing diapers led Yen to her wits end. One would think the realm of business would be orderly but somehow the entire enterprise operated on chaos, caffeine and petty spite.

No wonder so many companies relied on the war for profits.

It disgusted her down to her core how many seemingly well-to-do firms were war profiteers, no matter the regulatory handwaving by the Senate to grant capitalist exceptions that protected them from that title. And did these companies at least benefit the citizens of the Republic? No, of course not. Not unless you were wealthy and wanted a new speeder.

Yen had been about to quit her fourth job in as many years, more willing to face poverty in the capital than work for those self-important assholes again when her grandmother reached out. Apparently, the matchmaking community was still small enough, and the endeavor of Right to Love so large, that word had reached her Mid-Rim planet.

“Just think about it, love. You were a wonderful apprentice here, and it could be a way to continue our work. I know you have your fancy office job, but do consider this? At least for me?”

At that point, there really wasn’t much for Yen to consider other than how to best update her resume. Once she got the job, the rest of her post-grad life fell into place — she had a decent apartment, a job she enjoyed, and even made friends in the office.

Most importantly, in the six months since, she was proud to have matched ten happy couples.

It wasn’t a numbers game; more a critical analysis. A breakdown of information cleaned from clean profiles and messy interviews to put together a picture of a whole person — not just the wants they admit to, but the flaws and quirks they don’t — in order to pair them with a compatible match.

And Yen was quite good at it.

At least, that’s what her spotless record attested to. Despite not having the same amount of experience as some of her colleagues, Yen had been able to find each one a match they were happy with and currently dating.

One client was so impressed, he’d asked for some … additional help in getting another clone trooper comfortable with the process. Yen typically didn’t get so personally involved — it was hard to stay clear headed and objective if clients became friends. However, Captain Rex’s normally even tone had a hint of something … unsettled in it when he called earlier.

Clearly, her assistance was needed, and if it meant the captain would continue recruiting for her and spreading the word among his brothers of her expertise, then tonight’s small exception would be worth it.

With one last look confirming everything was in its place, Yen locked up and made her way across the city to an intimate little café. Her choice of location, one she knew would be welcoming to the men, but off the beaten path and quiet enough to allow a private conversation.

The journey wasn’t long, but she was late. Captain Rex was sitting at a table outside, facing her, dressed down in “civilian” attire. Yen was glad to see the deep bags under his eyes seemed a little brighter. In fact, his whole person seemed more relaxed, relieved. She tried to silence the small part of her that felt a little proud that her matchmaking may have contributed to this change from the first time they met.

Opposite Rex sat another trooper, his back to Yen. That must be the reluctant brother.

“Hello, sorry I’m late,” Yen said, as she came around the table to greet Rex first.

Ever the gentleman, the captain rose as Yen reached out her hand. ““Not reason to be sorry, we were early. It’s good to see you again, Yen.”

“Good to see you, too, Rex,” she said sincerely, squeezing the captain’s calloused hand before turning to the other trooper. Unlike Rex, he wore his casual fatigues. More striking than his choice to wear a uniform during off-hours was the intricate V-shaped tattoo that bisected his face. “And you must be the man Rex insisted I meet. I’m Yen Ori’ken.”

The trooper’s handshake was stiff and firm, and his eyes never once left hers. “Dogma, ma’am. And apologies. I told the Captain that this was unnecessary, but he pulled rank.”

Yen raised an eyebrow and leveled a look at Rex as she sat next to him. “Did he now?”

Rex raised his hands in surrender. “I just wanted the two of you to meet and have a conversation.”

“You can’t order someone to go see a matchmaker.”

“I didn’t. I gave Dogma the choice of desk duty for a month or one evening with good company and good conversation since he refuses to schedule his interview.”

“Oh, so your paperwork is done?” Yen asked, turning back to Dogma, who gave a small nod.

“Yes, ma’am. The Captain submitted it fifteen rotations ago through the holonet portal.”

Closing her eyes for just a moment, Yen held in a soul-deep sigh. She really should be used to the mental gymnastics clones employed to get their way. Even the commanding officers were guilty of it.

Sometimes they’re even worse, she thought, remembering Daria’s struggles with Commander Neyo. Taking a deep breath, Yen put her professional smile back on, softening it just a bit for the man across from her who sat straight and still as a board.

“Well, the good thing about being a civilian is that your captain can’t pull rank on me. This won’t work, it can’t work, if you don’t want it to. And I’m not looking to risk my record or reputation because one man is too afraid to tell his commanding officer to stay in line. So, Dogma, I leave the choice up to you.”

He looked at her like she was speaking Huttese. “Ma’am?”

“Yen, please,” she smiled softly. “Look, forget Rex for a second. Forget everything, in fact. Just take a moment to think about what you really want. Do you want to meet someone and have a partner in your life? Or do you want to continue as you are?”

The silence that settled wasn’t tense, but it weighed on the trio. Dogma looked down to the tabletop as if it held the answers he was looking for. He looked almost lost at her most simple question.

 After a few more beats, he finally looked up. His body was still rigid, but now there was a softness in his eyes as he met hers again.

“I think I’d like to try. For a partner, that is. My brothers … they all look so happy when we’re on planet now.” Dogma paused, like he was trying to find the right words but then the softness drained from his eyes again. “But I’m not leaving the 501st.”

It took all her strength to keep a satisfied smile off her face, but Yen could see from the corner of her eye that Rex didn’t exercise the same control.

“No one is asking you to,” she said. “Plenty of troopers are still enlisted. And obviously your legion still spends a bit of time off planet and that hasn’t been a problem for their partners. That’s where I come in. I’ll take what I know of you and find someone complimentary in our system.”

At that, Yen reached into her purse to pull out a small datapad and stylus.

“Naturally, that means I’ll need you to be completely honest with me. Lying to me means lying to a potential partner, and that does not end well. Further, while my record speaks for itself, I am not actually a miracle worker. You may go on dates that don’t end in a relationship. You may even have bad dates. Please don’t think of these as failures. They are opportunities for me to refine my parameters and try again. Understand?”

Dogma nodded, but his face had lost some color at the mention of failed dates. It was a risk to mention, especially with a nervous client. But one thing Yen had come to realize about clone troopers is their uniform preference to have all the data and face new situations as prepared as possible.

Still, it was disconcerting that Dogma’s mouth kept opening and closing like a fish trying to breathe on dry land.

“Are you okay, Dogma?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

It had left his mouth before she even finished her question.

“Strike one,” Yen said, brandishing her stylus in admonishment. “I said I expect complete honesty. Don’t lie to me again, trooper.”

Dogma’s eyes narrowed at her, nose crinkling slightly. “I didn’t lie, ma’am.”

“Dogma.” Rex’s tone was nothing like Yen had heard before. Must be his captain voice. It worked instantly and had his subordinate leaning back into his seat.

“Fine,” he spat. “I am intimidated by the idea of a date. My experience is limited and I have no training.”

Yen nodded. “Many of your brothers were — and are — in the same boat. And us natborns aren’t really trained in this, either.” She offered another small smile, relieved to see Dogma’s durasteel spine start to soften. She waited for him to relax a little further into his seat before continuing. “We’re all just winging it and trying our best. Some are just better at hiding their nerves.”

Dogma looked unwilling to accept the revelation, but when Yen met his eyes hoping to convey her sincerity, he stared back like he was holding onto a lifeline.

Opening up to civilian life, accepting change and chaos into their worlds that, while dangerous, had been so orderly, was a challenge for many troopers. Nothing unusual or unfamiliar for her to navigate. And yet, Yen couldn’t help but feel that something deeper was at play.

Well, the only way to solve that mystery is to dive right in.

Sitting back with her datapad at the ready, Yen let herself slip fully into work mode. “Are you alright with a few questions to start?”

Despite the rocky start, Dogma was impressively forthwith and thorough in his interview answers, sparing not even the less flattering truths about his personality and habits. Unlike other troopers, he didn’t withhold any information, even about his arrest for killing the traitorous Jedi Pong Krell.

That bit of information certainly caught Yen’s attention, though she fought to keep her surprise off her face. Everything about Dogma screamed regimented order. The thought that the man in front of her could have not only defied orders but turned against a commanding officer was almost unthinkable.

All that to keep his brothers safe.

The curl of Dogma’s fists into the tablecloth was the only physical clue he gave as to how much the incident still impacted him, prompting Yen to mark patience as a necessity in his potential matches.

As the trio ordered and their food arrived, Yen’s questioning became less formal, allowing Rex to hop in with commentary and anecdotes of his trooper, as well as a few stories that brought a tint to Dogma’s copper cheeks and she couldn’t hold back a teasing smile as the trooper turned the tables on his captain, playfully exposing how awkward Rex had apparently been leading up to his first date.

As the night progressed, Yen found she was enjoying herself more than she had in a while, the banter between them flowing naturally.

She had a good feeling about this client. And as she went home that night, she felt in her gut she would find a match worthy of such an exemplary soldier.

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She was lucky she so often neglected physical exercise. Because just a little more strength in her grip and Yen really believed she could break her datapad.

Six dates. Dogma had been on six dates in two weeks and not a single one had passed muster to earn a second date.

If it was a lack of chemistry or incompatibility, she could understand. But the man was a damn vault. Every time Yen attempted a post-event interview to get to the bottom of where her analysis went wrong, he stonewalled her.

It just didn’t work out.

No, I’d prefer not to give it another try.

I’d rather start over than continue with this match.

Between his past and his general hesitancy signing up for her services, she knew she had to tread carefully with him, though she could recognize that the first date she set up was optimistic. That match being particularly outgoing and outspoken. The hope had been that a bright, extroverted energy would compliment Dogma’s introverted and quiet nature.

And maybe she corrected too far with the second, a much more softspoken match, one who would let Dogma take the lead and set his own pace.

But the last four? All perfectly lovely women, who happened to be comfortable being paired with a man who was still enlisted and had personalities that seemed compatible with Dogma’s.

So no, short of them all talking about their exes or their expectations of marriage on a first date — which she didn’t think had happened but couldn’t confirm — Yen could not understand what had gone so horribly wrong.

And from the interviews conducted with the matches, she knew Dogma wasn’t the problem. Apparently, he was a delightful date, well-mannered and respectful. A few had mentioned that he seemed nervous and stiff, maybe not the most forthcoming with conversation, but that was pretty standard for some troopers. All five were in fact quite upset to find their date hadn’t gone as well as they thought and that another wasn’t in their future.

The most frustrating thing was, Yen believed it. From all her own interactions with the man, Dogma had proved to be a grounded, driven man who was reserved but kind. Definitely an academic mind, almost like an old soul, which she supposed was ironic considering he was a clone.

So while the trooper may not be everyone’s cup of tea, there was an enigmatic yet comforting aura to him that certainly had its own appeal.  

With nowhere to put the blame for the failures and no insight into what the heck was wrong, Yen was officially stuck. At this point, honestly, she didn’t even care if Dogma found a partner. Forget a relationship. She’d feel accomplished if he asked for someone’s comm frequency at this point.

Even worse was the backlog this fiasco was causing. Checking her to-do list was something that previously gave Yen a sense of focus and direction. Now, a sneer curled her nose and lips as she looked at the unchecked boxes that mocked her as her anxiety sparked.

“Oh, the scary face.” Daria leaned against the entrance to her office, raising her offering of iced caf. “So you do need an afternoon pick me up.”

“I never said I didn’t, just that I was too busy to leave.”

“Uh-huh.” Taking the seat across from her, Daria slid the drink to Yen. “Who’s pissing you off this time?”

Yen leveled a flat look at her friend.

“The 501st trooper? Again?”

Sucking down the biggest gulp of overly sweetened caffeine she could, Yen nodded. “Yup.”

“And he’s still being pigheaded about it?”

“Yes! It doesn’t make any sense! I’ve reviewed his application and interview answers at least four dozen times by this point! I know I’m setting him up with solid candidates and he refuses to give me one objective reason why he won’t consider any of them.”

She slid down in her seat that now felt too big to fill. “Maybe I’m just losing my touch …”

“No, no no no.” Daria pointed one finger right into Yen’s face, leaning across her desk to scold her properly. “We are not doing that ‘woe is me’ osik.”

“Osik?” Yen asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Bantha fodder.”

“Yeah, I know. I didn’t know you speak Mando’a.”

“Well, I do. Or I’m learning,” Daria explained, and if Yen didn’t know her friend so well, she may not have noticed the flustered way Daria’s fingers began fidgeting with the neatly lined styluses on the desk. “Regardless, we’re focusing on you. And what you need, my dear, is to go undercover.”

“Undercover?” she asked, her tone flat as a credit chip.

“Ok, not undercover. But you know what I mean. You need to see what’s happening firsthand.”

“Dar, please. Do not make me verbalize my refusal to go on a date with a client.”

With a roll of her eyes and a huff, Daria returned Yen’s attitude pound for pound. “Yen, please. Give me more credit than that. I’m not saying date him. I’m saying spend a little time with him so you can fill in the blanks. Think of it like field research.”

Yen leaned back in her chair, succumbing to her old habit of swiveling it aimlessly as she sipped her iced caf again. “Field research, huh?”

In the end, it really didn’t take long for her to consider Daria’s advice more seriously. As the workday drew to an end with still fewer tasks being resolved, Yen couldn’t take the uncertainty anymore. She caved, and rather quickly, too, for her tastes.

It took everything in her to break her personal code and send the message to Dogma asking him to meet up. She could hear her grandmother’s voice, chastising her the entire time, bemoaning that good matchmakers do not get to know their clients on a personal level.

It was that unspoken and unrealized disappointment that ensured Yen clarified no less than three times that this outing was a solution — unconventional though it may be — that could help her better match him and most certainly not a toe beyond professional boundaries.

Fortunately, Dogma didn’t leave her agonizing in limbo long. His reply came promptly, agreeing to her terms and leaving the planning to her.

Perfect. I just need to get to the bottom of this conundrum, and I can get things back to normal.

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Dogma fiddled with the cuff of his sleeve for the fourth time in as many minutes, though the perfectly pressed seams were already sitting properly on his wrist.

He should have said no.

She was going to ask. Again. About why his dates keep ending in rejection. Why he hadn’t connected with any of the matches she set up for him.

She’s going to find out he lied.

Dogma had no kriffing idea what he wanted from a partner. He’d asked every brother he trusted when he found out Captain Rex was going to drag him to finally meet with the matchmaker they all kept praising. And those karking idiots couldn’t come up with a single answer.

It must be his curse, or the cosmic repercussions for his actions to be reassigned to the chaotic quagmire that is the 501st.

That’s what the Force was, right?

In the end, Kix was the only one to give him any sort of suitable advice. If you don’t feel a connection to your date, that’s ok. Just move on and try again.

The dates Yen set him up on were all lovely but … he just didn’t connect with them. He couldn’t.

Pouring salt in the wound was the way Yen would look at him with so much sincere kindness in her eyes after each disappointing evening. Looking at her like that, he couldn’t say the truth he knew deep down: he’s defective. He’s not meant for a partner. He’s barely meant for the battlefield now, but at least there he has his brothers to help him.

He wondered how long until she gave up on him, until she learned the truth.

The small seed of optimism that coaxed him into trusting the system around him still urged him to keep up hope. But that little voice had shrunk and grown quieter since Umbara. It didn’t matter that his brothers all agreed his actions were justified, or that he was considered a hero now. The betrayal was still there.

But not just Krell’s. His own haunted him just as much. Sometimes more.

Despite all the extenuating facts, Dogma still broke the ultimate rule, the foundation of a soldier’s code of honor: Trust in and listen to your commanding officer.

Even Captain Rex hadn’t been able to pull the trigger. But he had. And in his heart, he knew he didn’t shoot to protect anyone. The only thing he felt in that moment was rage … and pain. And he took that out on a prisoner of war.

Now, the guilt was what he operated on. He knew that it was preventing him from connecting with anyone. But how could he tell that to Rex, his brother who somehow still believed he deserved anything beyond the chance to make amends?

How could he tell that to Yen, to this civilian woman who owed him nothing but was clearly working her hardest to do right by him?

He couldn’t. So he didn’t. He went through the motions, and tonight he knew his lies would catch up with him. He hated the dread he felt, almost wishing it could be over now.

“I should have guessed you’d beat me here.”

Dogma hid his startled jump by turning at the sound of Yen’s voice, impressed she managed to get so close unnoticed. He must have been too far into his own thoughts.

She clearly came straight from work. Her dark hair pulled back and into a neat twist, leaving only her straight cut bangs out, cutting a military straight line across her forehead. Her outfit was simple but professional, all dark colors and gold accents perfectly tailored to her form, her bag tucked neatly under her arm. Everything about her was neat and orderly, as it was each time he saw her.

There was a small, pretty smile on her lips as she looked up at him expectantly.

It took him a beat too long to realize he never answered her.

“Just like to be punctual, ma’am.”

“Yen, please. And so do I, which is why I got here five minutes early. So now I’m wondering how early you got here.”

Her tone was light, playful, and yet Dogma still felt like he was facing a test no one had ever instructed him for.

“Sorry, ma- Yen, I mean,” he said, his arms automatically falling into an “at rest” position behind his back as she took the lead and began walking across the plaza, her eyes never leaving his. “I haven’t been waiting long,” he lied.

“No need to apologize. It’s kind of fun not being the one to wait for once,” she said, her smile widening. “So, as I said in my message, I’m a bit stuck in picking your next match and since our post-date interviews haven’t yielded any new information, I wanted to meet up and touch base.

“Of course, ma’am.” He gave a short nod and fought to hide his confusion as Yen’s smile fell from genuine to stale.

“I know you’re doing it out of respect, but I’d much prefer you call me by my name,” she said, her tone firm but not angry as far as he could tell. “I’m not your commanding officer. In fact, for tonight, it would be best if you think of me as a peer.”

“A peer?”

“Yes. I didn’t fully explain in my message, but this isn’t just to meet up. I wanted to see first-hand what a date with you is like. This way, I can have better insight when picking your next match. That can’t work if you keep treating me as a superior.”

A date?

It wasn’t real. It was just for professional purposes.

And yet Dogma couldn’t understand the rush that rose through him like a wave at the prospect of a date with Yen. Even a fake one. Out of all the civies he’d met — through Right to Love and in general — she was by far the easiest to talk to. The kindest, too. He kept all the soft smiles and the gentle encouragement she gave when he told her his story locked in his memory.

He always felt supported by his brothers. But the way she guided him that night was something he hadn’t experienced before or since.

“Is that okay?” she asked, looking as if she believed he would actually say no.

He had to remind himself that technically, it wouldn’t be out of bounds for him to refuse. And he ignored the incessant thought that said he should, that this couldn’t be regulation behavior. But she was offering, looking at him expectantly for an answer but unassuming beyond that.

Like a bolt, Dogma realized that’s what made him feel so secure around her. Yen expected nothing from him but himself. And she was the first person to do so.

He realized he liked that very much.

“Yes, it’s okay.”

“Wonderful! I hope you like light shows. There’s one tonight in the plaza, set to a Pantoran opera. It isn’t too long, so I figured it would be perfect. Ready?”

Yen didn’t wait for an answer. She took his hand without another word and began pulling him through the crowd to the opposite end of the plaza.

That same wave of gentle support washed through him, just like when he spoke to her after each date, and he reveled in it. Nothing had ever soothed him like this. Even before Umbara, Dogma struggled with his anxious nature, retreating into the order and boundaries of the regulations to guide him. Nothing could go wrong if he was acting as he was supposed to.

Or so he thought. Umbara showed him how limited the regulations were, how confining. And worse, how fallible the structures of power could be to corruption. Without those pillars, his anxiety had grown worse.

His brothers helped where they could. Kix, Maker bless him, had researched medication and breathing techniques to help him in acute situations. Captain Rex was always patient with him. And while Jesse still kept a bit of distance, Fives’ exuberant friendship did wonders alleviating remnant guilt, even if he wanted to punch the ARC trooper more often than not.

But this? The feeling of Yen’s skin on his, the natural warmth that oozed out of her cut to his core, silencing the thoughts that came unbidden to plague his mind. She was a quiet power — neat, organized, controlled. And yet so damn soft as she forged ahead without worry. At least, none that he could see.

He wasn’t sure if she expected people to follow her or just became accustomed to it. Probably the latter. He couldn’t see her demanding anything. And yet, it was so natural to fall into step just behind her. More so than the captain, or even the marshal commander. He knew on that first night that he could trust her.

She would never lead him somewhere unsafe.

As the crowd grew thicker, Dogma lengthened his stride until he pulled up to Yen’s side. With only the barest of thoughts, his hand dropped hers to rest gently on her lower waist, pulling and pushing with as little pressure as possible to help ease her movement through the mass of people, his own body angled to take the brunt when bodies would collide with theirs.

Recognizing what he was doing, Yen pulled herself closer to him, throwing an appreciative smile at him before turning back to watch where she was going.

He never really had someone he could trust his battered heart to before, so being able to help her back, steer her through this crowd with her approval had notes of pride and satisfaction harmonizing with the now ingrained sense of calm.

There was something else, too. Something more foreign, but …

Oh.

Kix said to wait for a connection. Fives said he would just know. Dogma felt so stupid. Of course he wouldn’t just know.

But then again, maybe he did. Maybe deep down, he knew from that first meeting that Yen was someone special. And none of the matches she found could compare.

[goaliekisses]

So no, Malkin’s actual 1,000th NHL game wasn’t accompanied by a celebratory vibe. Instead, it was another game played without his parents, one in which he wasn’t the star attraction but rather a supporting actor.

This isn’t how it should have been for Malkin. But just as he was once inexplicably left off the NHL’s own list of its 100 greatest players — a decision that none other than Mario Lemieux called “a joke,” a snub that Malkin said “hurt me deeply” — Malkin was left to play his historic 1,000th game largely in the shadows, which is where he’s spent much of his career.

And Malkin, probably more than any all-time player, certainly more than any player to do as much as he’s done, deserved a day in the spotlight for his 1,000th game. He certainly deserved to feel better about making it to this grand achievement.

“I agree,” Malkin said a few weeks ago. “But it’s not my control.

“Maybe you can write?”

During Malkin’s first season, we spent many days getting to know one another by engaging in short, seemingly unimportant conversations. Topics ranged from what he ate for breakfast to why he used such a short hockey stick. Those short talks led to deeper dives down the road.

More than a decade later, on my second trip to Moscow to visit Malkin for work, he stopped one of our interviews to thank me for “writing Geno stories.”

“You’ve been good for me,” Malkin said.

Actually, it’s Malkin who has been good for me. He’s been there for me, too.

Around a year ago this time, I was sick and couldn’t work because of the sudden onset of Functional Neurological Disorders. At the same time, Malkin was finishing his recovery from a second major knee surgery. Monitoring his comeback attempt from afar, mostly through updates from Gonchar and Malkin’s wife, I realized my condition would not afford me the chance to see Malkin’s return game. So I did something I try not to do too much and reached out directly to Malkin during a season — to wish him well, but also to let him know how happy I was for him to be back doing what he loved.

I could barely speak but couldn’t write, so I sent him the best video I could.

A Penguins employee sent me an email the next day. In it was an explanation that Malkin had received my message, but was focusing on his own recovery at the time.

A few days later, Malkin reached out himself. He explained he didn’t know how to respond to seeing a video of me stuttering and shaking. He said it rattled him. He said he was worried about me. He also offered to “help in every way.”

I couldn’t let him, of course. We’ve probably too often inched too close to the line that should divide a reporter and an athlete. To accept help financially from Malkin would have been wrong.

Still, I’d be lying to say his gesture didn’t mean the world to me. In fact, it largely inspired me to be public about my disorder and attack it — just as Evgeni had always attacked things in his life.

He didn’t cede to either Ovechkin or Crosby upon arriving in the NHL, but rather Malkin challenged them — and for a brief spell surpassed both — in their three-man arms race to become the world’s best hockey player.

He’s worn his heart on his sleeve after professional setbacks, whether they be injuries, tough team losses or personal failures to produce up to his standard. He’s taken fair criticisms and turned them into strengths, which is how Malkin went from not knowing the names of some teammates in his first few years to now being alongside Crosby now as a Penguins leader.

What we see isn’t often what we get with Malkin, because he uses his “Geno” character as a form of protection. Some people are lucky enough to have witnessed Evgeni, and that guy is a proud, loyal, determined, funny and caring emotional player and person.

Despite all the imperfections surrounding his 1,000th game that could imply otherwise, Malkin has always been more than The Other for the Penguins and for Pittsburgh.

can’t believe r*ssi is attacking us like this

[plasticfangtastic]

Can We be Lonely together? Epilogue

a Homelander x Stalker! Reader fanfic

This is a GN reader reader fic

Author's note: too self indulgent not to write an epilogue, thanks for reading and am looking forward to making more fics for this fandom, this is Bi Homelander content if y'all read this as fem or non male reader. prev. chapters in my blog under the my fic tag or can we be lonely together? tag will be making a masterlist fairly soon tho.

R18+ mild smut, exhibitionism kink, gore, murder, dub con, dirty talk, surprise butchlander, butcher x reader, 3-way?, amoral protagonist, unreality.

Epilogue

Breeze sang in the ample halls bringing whispers from the balearic sea, a top the mountain overseeing endless azure, greens and neighborhood roofs the world seemed so far away to him.

So many absent walls in this villa, the house was airy and open, blurring the idea of inside and outside with is design.

Cream coloured linen danced against the wind to the seas secret songs, the sun leaving no corner in the shadows, sandy granite warm under the sun, evergreens could be seen from all windows, cascades of green coloured the view, and a pair of cats slept in a guest room.

There was not a sight disturbed by ugly grey buildings, just mountains and sea– left him feeling as Zeus on the top of mount Olympus, inside the airy home only the dull sound of oak ceiling fans pushing the breeze disturbed the halls.

No longer did the steps of strangers disturbed the dull accismus of this temple by the hill, camera crews left most of the home untouched, it had been a busy and exhausting week for Homelander.

Walls had been sparsely decorated, remnants of a past life clung on smooth oatmeal walls and indigo blue wood beecher paneling accentuating one living room of three-- paintings he had grown attached to and the occasional marble statue laid around, but now there were photos of a man one could hardly recognize.

With each new image, time had eroded wounds off his face, there was a glimmer on his features that had never resided there.

Garden pots had been shuffled around for the perfect frame, now he would've had to move them much to his annoyance.

It was the most anticipated interview of the decade, it had gone smoothly, Oprah had been delightful, manly tears had been shed and hair raising stories were shared, she had found him approachable above all.

After a year of silence the whole world was kept on edge awaiting for his return.

The trial hadn’t even televised but they were plenty of updates by the hour circling around-- more than sufficient. Now he had a full schedule, he was to be in the cover of GQ magazine, had some big podcasts lined up for an appearance, and Vogue to model for… it would be so strange to do without his suit.

Homelander sat with his legs dipping into one of his infinity pools, his loosely fitted honeycomb shirt draped around his shoulders like a poor’s man cape, his hair had grown a tad longer, salty seas had turned his flaxen locks almost wavy and a dark thick stubble began adorning his face.

His tablet resting behind him buzzing with a new email, the wrinkles around his eyes sank as he squinted from the blinding wet mirror, distracting enough that your step barely registered.

“You looked quite handsome in the suit this morning…” You spoke gently– I think the people are gonna love your new look… between the tan and the beard you look… sumptuous.” 

“I should’ve shaved. They’ll think I look like a complete slob! I bet they’ll say I let myself go.”

You joined him by the pool as the hot Mediterranean sun stood above you, pulling his head closer to yours for a flurry of butterfly kisses.

“You look stunning, mi sol. Either way… lunch is ready… Ryan called and said him and Jaythaniel’s family just made it to Disneyland, don’t forget to pick him up tonite.” You said softly squeezing his thigh–  he said he’ll call after lunch.” 

He nodded absentmindedly.

“You don’t think Theodore is going to wake up?”

Worry clung to his tongue, his ears picking up the soft lull of his son’s snoring, Blender making biscuits on his sides but the child slept deeply, you could tell he had entered deep REM stage, you shook your head much to John’s relief.

“I can’t believe we are doing this… you spoil us too much.” He kissed your ear before lifting himself and dropping into the pool.

The sun sparkled harshly against the glass tiles, the sky more blue from below, your sinuous reflection watching him until he emerged, the tired breeze doing very little to dry him, you followed him giddy as his wet footprints led you to the wine cellar.

 It had been an expensive endeavor to have all of this installed… several 3x3 plastic acrylic panels of 32 mm thickness, a high tech locking mechanism plus humidity and temperature control systems had to be installed independently of a good enough contractor who could reinforce the flooring with a steel mesh and coat the cement flooring with resin just to make it impossible for their friends to dig, there had been many logistical nightmares from finding the right contractors to finding a spot for it, it was easy to sell the strange boxes as a sex thing– blaming having super-abled kids increasingly longer list of powers that made it hard for dear ol’ daddy to get off… especially when the word ‘soundproofing’ had been mentioned, or his super strengths which led to some nasty laughs and a bit of murder later down the track, the last thing that mattered had been costs.

No amount of sound ever escaped the wine cellar, the zinc plates coating the walls prevented Ryan and himself from seeing in or out, Theodore was young enough to listen to instructions, if not it was your turn to discipline the toddler.

Opening that door was always a surprise, bringing him almost as much joy as that first christmas day as a complete family.

As they took the stairs he could smell mullet wine and lebkuchen– the tension in his muscles still fresh as he entered a home that had only existed in childish fantasies, awkwardness that never seemed the fade as the strangers hounded him with questions, but he had had you, Ryan and now Theodore for much needed emotional support, it had been almost perfect as it had been intense, it had been strange to hear all these stories of a woman he had murdered, who had only suffered, it was stranger how her only sister had not blame him for the nature of his birth, still grateful that he had found her even if it took forty years, grateful that something more than a pristine corpse was left behind.

Her body refusing to decay inside that pine box.

The cellar door beeps, and cogs turn inside the heavy metal door, fluorescent lights sung awake by the entrance, bringing much needed light to the dark sub-basement, only the three small lights inside the boxes lighten the area for most of the day.

A woman shuddered, flinching as more light hit her eyes, hiding beneath the bolted desk, you walked past Homelander carrying today's menu, there was something enjoyable about the challenge of creating an ever changing menu that was nutritionally balance, delicious and required no cutlery. The disheveled woman approached eagerly at the floating box, awaiting for you to place her meal, intentionally keeping her starved, this had been his decision for this particular guest-- to see if she would go mad. Due to the lack of windows she had no concept of time after all while the lights were on a timer, they were programmed to be irregular enough to cause confusion. To visit at random intervals and feed her whenever he remembered.

Homelander and John wanted to watch her scoof down her meal, to see her choke and tear up as she filled her cheeks and swallowed greedily– but their attention was reserved for guest number two.

“If I knew I had you getting all wet and bothered for daddy, I would’ve worn something nicer” His voice dry, barely lifting his head from the bed.

Homelander helps himself to the mini bar cracking open some pale ale for the world’s largest paper cup, humming a tune as he prepped today's round of meds while you set his meal.

“Got you pale ale… unless you’d like some peach bellinis?” 

Homelander opened the cabinets, rows of neatly organized sex toys, booze and cleaning supplies were displayed– sex toys solely for decor, you both had committed to the bit, much of these had never been used nor did he want to, you had no need for vibrators when his hands did the job so perfectly. He took out a cattle prod, then pressed a code unto a small hidden panel making sure the guest couldn’t peek.

The inner latches came apart, the door hissed open.

There was no need to consider escaping, it was futile, the door upstairs was thicker than the glass, and no amount of yelling got anybody’s attention-- but he didn’t try killing himself either, for the last time he’d tried he had been here in no time, he had a chip monitoring his vitals at all times, and the camera on top of his room watched over him.

You also helped in that department.

Homelander entered first, you placed the food on the floor for Homelander to give Butcher his back.

Almost encouraging him to jump him.

“Would it kill you to wear pants?”

Homelander chuckled as he turned around with Butcher’s meal, wearing nothing but his wet shirt clinging to him tighter than his suit ever did, and black briefs.

“Would it kill you to agree to my offer?”

“Not going to play house with you, stupid cunt.”

Butcher didn’t argue with the meal, taking the food off his hand and sitting by the bolted table, the chair also bolted which made for an awkward fit.

“You got three months left William… these meds might get you one more… it's already been weeks… you want to spend the rest of your days here watching her starve to death or you want to be with Ryan? He wishes to see you. Be there for him… you just have to be with us.”

Butcher bared his teeth, mutterign curses under his breath as he gave him his back.

You entered the room taking the cattle prod  tucked under his arm, Butcher ate ignoring him, throwing the tray towards his face, forever amused as to how he never bothered to dodge it, John rolling his eyes as the plastic dropped around him.

“I’m being generous after what you did to Dolores… that was… well… you lived up to your name.” 

“Said I’ll get even.” 

He had made Dolores into the antithesis of her craft, it had stung, to witness her unrecognizable being-- a DNA test confirming its identity. Close casket was the only choice.

Homelander watched him eat as you prepared yourself, undressing in the corner, fresh bruises adorning your thighs, handprints where he had held you solidly against his mouth.

Closing the door behind, locking Homelander and Butcher inside one box, giddy he jumped into the thin futon.

“Here I thought we were having the world’s most disappointing threesome… all thirteen seconds of it.”

He took a sip of the ale, it was utterly delicious but he wouldn’t let Homelander hear it from his mouth, this his only joy while stuck in this box. He turned to you watching as you opened the door on guest number 1, then back at Homelander already squeezing himself, a wet suther escaped his lips as your nude frame approached her, Butcher buried his brow.

You had ignored her for weeks, fed her irregularly while feeding Butcher on schedule. She survived on saltines and peanut butter, only receiving proper meals on the occasion but never did either of you touched her, or spoke to her.

She squealed as the tip hit her breast, too weak to do more than just scream, he had been so distracted by Homelander he hadn’t noticed the crowbar by the entrance… he could’ve sworn it was his own.

“Families should always have a mommy and a daddy… grandpa and grandma… cousins… but I don’t have any uncles… nor does Ryan have uncles… ahhh” he tugged harder hand fondling the dripping tip of his hardened member– just like that pumpkin.”

His skin crawled at the sight of the awoken thick member as he pulled it out his tight underwear, with a wet snap.

He turned to you, watching her face split red as you smacked her face with the cattle prod, she clutched at her cheek, blood spilling from the sides of her fingers, a distressed mess tried escaping you. You grinned as you felt Homelander excitement, his chest flushed as you gave a parry of messy heavy swings, she cried and as she covered her face you shocked her hands off until your eyes met, turning limp while Butcher’s heart accelerated, craning her neck, she opened her mouth leaving it frozen mid-air as you took to the crowbar.

“Pick a number of teeth … or Pusher will take the whole jaw” he whispered as he laid long languid strokes on his cock, rubbing his thumb on the glistening tip– or you can say yes”

A curved tip pressed right behind her upper chompers.

“One…?” You muttered– that’s not going to excite you right, mi sol?” 

Homelander pouted, slowing down his hand, focusing on the base with short lived pumps.

“Break her jaw– let’s see how long she’ll last before she starves to death… she might dehydrate first, no?” He scoots patting the empty spot on the bed encouraging Butcher to join him— make it clean babe.”

You take the tip out her mouth and get in position to tap her jaw.

“We’ll visit in a week… hope you last my dear William.”

Butcher stood up, still with enough energy in him to fight, he might be dulled by the meds, exhaustion and his captor's cruel tactic.

“Kill her you wanker just bring some fucking fabreeze.”

You grinned mockingly, breaking more than her jaw, her body thud and her voice returned smashing her skull repeatedly caving into a pancake. Homelander groaned, edging himself as your vicious attacks drew your victim closer and closer to death, legs moving on their own, pressing his forehead against the wall, the sight of your bloody torso didn’t just titillate him, he craved the sight, knowing the glass stood between you two, knowing how far away you were and just how untouchable you were was better than any x-rated video, your ragged panting, the sweet sweat falling from the tip of your chin, blood specs bejeweled your body, was too much.

You had become more than he had ever imagined, you pressed your behind against the bloodied wall as you caught your breath.

Butcher could only try to ignore your sick kinks.

Homelander will bring as many innocent people he could and make him take part of their scenes, he whined as you got out the cage, walking painfully slow towards his– ignoring him in favor of the minibar, his hand stopped with a sneer, turning to see that Butcher had skulled down the last of his ale.

“You know he’s being nice asking you… I could just make you say yes…”

Butcher looked back at the mass, almost flinching as the woman was back on her feet, her face a torn mess but there she was still eating the last morsels of the chunky yiros with her torn jaws, for every bit of garlic sauce that dripped down her hands there was an equal amount of chunky blood spilling unto the ground.

Deepthroating the yiros more than eating it.

Her face just hanging by red ribbons, one eye swollen and bulging while the other just hung out of her socket, clumps of broken scalp swinging with the weight of her once straight hair, now dirty and matted.

She turned to see him sensing she had been watched and her face had no bruises.

He looked back at Homelander then back at the corpse now immobile, rotting, fluids escaping its bloated body, gangrenous pus seeping thru its sunken eyes while the skin darkened and dried, now his nose picked up on the revulsion, he looked at his drink and figure out that there was no drug in him– Homelander was back in his bed, his cock tucked in and not a sight that he had moved once, his toothy grin more real than the full cup fizzing in his hand, your breath warming Butcher’s ear.

Months, weeks, days, hours… he had no clue how long he actually been here, this was an illusion… some of it… tragically you two were disgustingly real.

“You want to break me into compliance?”

The white glow of your eyes not as menacing as Homelander's lasers, he took a short sip of his beer letting it dry his tongue, feeling the warm building in his stomach.

Hot fingers creep from around his hips, exploring the softened torso, he is still strong and firm under the weakened body, the illness making it hard to maintain his shape, hot water dampened his shirt, nails bruising trails as he trapped him, pressed tight against the leaner man, craning his neck to place his chin on the older man’s shoulder– no doubt floating to do so.

Before he could protest further, before he could do more than curse under his breath and wriggle, your teeth met the underside of his chin.

Intertwining your hands with his free one, no doubt he could snap your wrist but a little red light shone next to his head, telling it wouldn't be a good idea.

Homelander closed his iron grip around Butcher’s neck, leaving him gasping, feeling his pipe collapse slightly.

Your tongue licked his neck, your touch more gentle, more tender but to his shock Homelander only purred, you both stared at each other lovingly, Butcher’s neck nothing but a barrier between you two, you climbed to meet his lips, while your loved was manhandling Butcher lower so Homelander could give you wet, loud and messy kisses.

Arching him much to his displeasure, the beer spilling down his arm.

Squeezing harder on his neck, Homelander eyes are coloured a pretty dark pink, he grunts pressing Butcher into him, begging for friction.

You two kissed the older man missing his lips, feeling him shudder, kissing the blanket of goosebumps all over his body.

You loved him more than anything.

You would make him happy in all the ways that your body could.

And sometimes things are easier to do when he just communicated them, usually that would involve murder but now it was this.

Butcher had no idea what he had to say yes to. what exactly you two wanted out of him, and he had yet to spot the hidden vial of V in the cabinet.

John giggled as Butcher's hateful glare tried to burn him.

“Is okay… you’ll be the one fucking me…” he needily purrs– right, pumpkin?”

“Just let all that hatred out… make him cry…” you whispered into Butcher’s ear– make him your bitch.”

It had been his own mind that picture the blonde’s cock, that had been his own worst nightmare, but as he felt those needy kisses– be it the beer on an empty stomach, your powers or the tumor pressing on the smart sections of his brain he chortle at the thought, straining his neck to see the desperate flush on the blonde, his grip loosening, allowing him to turn just enough.

This could also be a part of this illusion.

“You just wanted to be daddy’s cute little slut?” he spat– my cum dump?”

Homelander let out the most obscene moan from within the depths of his core, you felt the heat rising from your own loins as you heard him.

Butcher tugged at your scalp, yanking you away from him.

“Both of you are such weird needy bitches… is okay… I’ll make you both into my good little whores.”

Breathy moans, both men eager to see this new game of yours play out, you would make him happy, please him, take care of all his needs… it was easier when you also felt just a tenth of that spark the first time you met William.

Unlike the last ones before these brother’s you would never grow out of love… you had so much to give after all… and he had so much to give you still.

What a bad thing you two were.

[soccerpunching]

Bestieeeeee 😻,

What is your worst IE headcannons?

I'll tell mine back 💅💅💅

I may be too out-of-touch from the fandom to know what people would consider bad and worst but I do have some that others may have an issue with! AND I WAS JUST ABOUT TO ASK YOU ABOUT HEADCANONS TOO, BUT YOU GOT ME FIRST! AND I WOULD LOVE TO KNOW YOURS VERY MUCH!! (although I haven't watched most of ares and orion so i may not understand some for now, I would love to hear them still!!)

This ended up a long post, I'm making this cut...

I'll start with a tame one (may also be really boring), but this one needs my other hcs for anyone to understand the actual one I want to share. Here's a "brief" list of the others (happened between og series and inago):

Gouenji has unparallel knowledge of ALL Disney, Pixar, Dreamworks, and Ghibli movies and will defend the female characters with his life. (This is why I thought he probably knows MLP as I said on the last ask)

He's not a fan of social media and does not use anything outside of inalink and private messaging. Not bcs he's cool, he just doesn't understand them. Much like in honosuto with the laptop, initially with inatube, and him always forgetting his useless phone.

Yuuka convinced him to make an inatter (twitter) and inagram account bcs she does not want anyone to steal the @ and that she also wants to be able to tag him on her posts (and of his teammates/friends) so they can keep the memories. He saves all the pictures he gets tagged in and sometimes prints them out to keep in an album he designed (he's very good w crafts). I still can't believe honosuto came up with those social media names (except for inagram)

He only cared about the bare minimum use of social media so he only ever retweets in inatter (never made his own tweet ever; but he does reply on some that addresses him) and only posts his creations on inagram with no caption or a few words about what he made (made takoyaki, felted a bunny, crocheted a penguin, made cupcakes, etc.).

He only has three kinds of inatter rts: about soccer, about making art, and tweets of his friends and family. Yuuka made his bio in both of them. He also became good at taking pictures of his creations thanks to Yuuka.

However, he is mildly updated with internet language bcs that's all he hears from his sister and her friends and from his own friends in the group chat that he only talks in when he's mentioned. He assimilated most of the phrases they use in chats.

Having said all this, he almost has no social media presence. You're lucky to see his page updated after two weeks. He doesn't reply with strangers either unless it's a kid who loves or interested in soccer.

He also doesn't share much in interviews. Very bare minimum of answering questions and always answers in short sentences and just poses for the camera shortly before he bounces. His favorite answer to questions is "oh that's private" not bcs it's private but bcs he doesn't want to talk that long unless youre asking him about his opinion on human rights-- something that his agent and/or soccer club prevented the press from ever asking him again (an hc drop another time). But anyway, he always had strong opinions and doesnt hold back in expressing them (og series and inago) and that's trouble for the club sponsors so they make a lot of effort on stopping anybody from having the opportunity of asking him anything outside of his personal and athlete life.

And the last context here is that Gouenji is autistic, but we already know that.

Okay so now time for the actual bad HC I want to share... which is how Gouenji came out as bisexual to the public

This started with an inatter thread of a person criticizing Anna (Frozen) for her actions in the first movie that reached Gouenji's timeline. Gouenji answers with 7 tweets worth of respectful paragraph of why Anna shouldn't be criticized bcs of how she was brought up, bcs of her isolation, and bcs of her grief, etc. So, everybody lost their mind, etc etc. AND NOW, at the midst of all this, a soccer fan asked him the question below that he answered without thinking much about:

This blew up and his notifications gets flooded with questions about his sexuality and questionable taste that he really didn't mind answering if it wasn't blowing up his phone.

He was out with everyone in his circle that he forgot the world didn't know he's bi. So, he fixed that by tweeting "yes, im bisexual" on his timeline. He logs out and then decided to wait a few months before logging in again.

This didn't sound as fun as I amped it up to be but I think it's a terribly bland HC that I find kind of funny

BUT THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THAT ASK!! I VERY MUCH WANT TO HEAR YOURS!!!

[metamorphosisff]

|Chapter 11| Where There Is Thunder

Staring at the phone does not make it ring.

This I know but I can’t help but will my phone to sound with an incoming call from Xavier. That night his sister called to reveal that their dad had suffered from a heart attack. He had collapsed while getting ready for bed. Ever since, Xavier had been back and forth between both jobs, the hospital, and his parents house. It’s been a week since I’ve last physically seen him and I wished I could pull him into a hug. The few times we have managed to talk on the phone showed me there was a lot he wasn’t saying. He was understandably stressed out, running on fumes, but he did not know how to put himself first. He was more concerned with being strong for his mother and sister. That’s why I resolved to be strong for him. 

Tearing my eyes away from my phone, I attempt to get back in the mindset needed for job hunting. The process was so draining and it honestly made me feel like a failure more often than not. So far I’ve been to three interviews but I have not heard back from anyone yet. Until I did, I was still filling out applications in hopes that something would stick. Having a schedule that consists of both day and night shifts left me always scrambling to find time for myself outside of sleeping. I had to use this time as productively as possible. Right as I was updating the filters on Linkedin my phone began to ring.

Glancing at the screen I let a small smile grace my lips. It wasn’t who I was expecting but I was happy to talk nonetheless. “Hey, Jazz.”

“Birdie!” Jazz hollered in greeting. “How are you darling?”

“I’m well,” I answered honestly. Outside of the job situation, I did not have a lot to complain about. For the first time in a long time, things felt like they were looking up for me. I was leaning into that and seeing where it took me. “I think I’m happy but it’s such a foreign concept to me that I’m not quite sure.”

Jazz laughed as she said, “Then that definitely means you're happy. When it feels like the other shoe is supposed to drop? That is doubt trying to rain on your parade but we’re not having none of that.”

“No we aren’t,” I readily agreed.

“And how is Mr. Clipboard?” Jazz asked.

“He’s…going through a bit of a tough time right now. His dad had a heart attack earlier this week so he’s been dealing with that,” I replied.

On top of making sure his grandparents were doing okay in the interim. He made sure a few of his older cousins stopped by even if they weren’t willing to spend the night like he did. Something was better than nothing though and this way gave Xavier some peace of mind though it wasn’t the most effective method. I couldn’t explain all of that to Jazz though because the intricacies of his family dynamic wasn’t my story to tell.

“Damn, I hate to hear it. I hope his father is alright and him too. Medical emergencies can wear you thin,” Jazz says, echoing my earlier thoughts.

“Yeah, I’m keeping an eye on him. How are you doing though? How’s the job?” I questioned.

“These ladies are something else I’ll tell you that but I’m already known as ‘The Regulator’ because I don’t play that. I run a tight ship in that front office,” Jazz said, in a tone that let me know she meant business.

“I could not imagine it any other way,” I chuckled. 

“Neither can I,” Jazz cracked. “They keep me on my toes though. It’s nice, feeling like I have a purpose again.”

“I’m happy to hear that Jazz, I mean it. Having a purpose feels elusive to me some days. Hearing you say that renews my hope,” I said.

“Well amen to that. I knew I had to reach out to you. Felt it in my bones,” Jazz said. 

Though we kept in touch daily through texts it had been awhile since we heard one another voices. It made all of the difference. Jazz was one of those genuine spirits you only came across once in a lifetime. I am grateful she has come into my life the way she has, making herself comfortable only in a way she could that makes me comfortable too. 

“I need to be better about calling too. It’s a bit challenging when I'm sleeping when everyone is working and working when everyone is sleeping but it’s doable,” I said, knowing from experience. Until recently, Xavier and I spoke at length daily, not being able to go a day without hearing one anothers voices. Even now he went out of his way to make sure to speak to me, never letting one day go by without at least a text conversation between us.

“What’s important is that you think of me. That matters to me the most. Just keep me in your heart Birdie and it will all be fine,” Jazz hums.

“I will,” I promise.

“Good, now let’s talk about what you’re going to wear to my ball next month,” Jazz said, switching to the next subject.

“Your what?”

“My ball. Next month. Me and my house will be walking, and as one of my honorary daughters your attendance is mandatory not optional. Yes, you can bring a friend, now let’s focus. Outfits. What is that closet looking like?”

For the next hour Jazz and I switch to Facetime so that she can review the handful of club attire I own. After deciding that none of it will do, she promises to mail me something once I get my size. Her only sole request is that for the night of the ball I take my braids out so my hair can be out, wild and free. Being that she is dressing me for free, I quickly agree. With that squared away she heads back to work and I head back to the living room with a renewed drive to finish job hunting. 

Just got home baby. 

I think you’re sleeping but I wanted to let you know I’m in.

Actually, I’m just leaving work. I got called in to cover. 

Come over. My place is closer.

Okay.

I have been waiting to lay my eyes on him for the past week but I haven’t wanted to seem pushy. Xavier was already being tugged in several directions, needed by so many people that I did not want to add on. All I really wanted was to be there for him how he was always there for me. An ache resided in my chest when he was near– an acuteness of his presence really– and it was even more profound when he was away. I don’t know when Xavier had become this important to me but I didn’t have time to analyze it. Something in me wouldn’t settle until I was able to look into his eyes without a screen between us. It only took me twenty minutes to get into his neighborhood from the train. I stopped at the bodega down the block from his building and got us both breakfast, before making my way over. Texting him when I was in the lobby, I wasn’t surprised to see him waiting by his door when I stepped off of the elevator. 

My steps quickened on their own at the sight of him and before I knew it, I was launching myself into his arms. He caught me effortlessly, wrapping his arms around my waist tightly as he buried his face in my neck, and inhaling deeply before placing a small kiss on the hollow of my collarbone. We stayed like that for a few moments. It allowed me to feel the tension slowly leaving his body as his shoulders dropped in my embrace. As if he had been waiting for this moment just like I had been. After a beat, he walks us into his apartment backwards and locks the door.

“Hi,” he says with a kiss to my lips once we finally pull apart.

“Hi,” I repeat.

“There’s a towel and some clothes for you in the bathroom,” he says, while taking the bags from my hands.

“Okay, I’m going to wash up, and you go eat. You look like you’ve lost weight,” I said with a small frown as I took in the hollowness of his cheeks.

“Definitely not as much as I need to,” he replies, which causes my frown to deepen. “Go shower and then I’ll fill you in.”

I sigh but nod my head in agreement. While he heads to the kitchen, I walk down the narrow hallway, and enter the door on the left. I strip out my clothes before folding them up and putting them on top of the hamper. Turning the water on, I let it heat up, as I use some of his Cetaphil to wash my face. Once that’s done, I pluck my purple toothbrush from the holder, and brush my teeth. With that taken care of, I finally step into the shower, and smile at the sight of the same bottle of Dove body wash that I use at home. Xavier was always thinking of me down to the most minute detail. Knowing he was probably waiting on me to eat, I did not linger, and quickly scrubbed myself from head to toe. Then I dressed in one of his Batman t-shirts, a pair of basketball shorts I had to roll over so they wouldn’t fall to the floor, and some teal fuzzy socks that had cats on them which made me snort. I had told him one day I would own a cat because I found them so amusing. 

Padding out, I headed to the living room where music was playing lowly from the record player. I couldn’t place the song but it was alt-rock in nature and soothing in tone. Like I thought, Xavier had our breakfast plated alongside the bottles of juice I picked up. Sitting down by his side, I kissed his cheek while saying, “Thought I told you to eat.”

“I am, see?” he asks, picking up half of his bagel and taking a dramatic bite out of it.

I playfully rolled my eyes as I picked up a half of my bagel as well. We ate in a comfortable silence, both of us needing a bit of time to decompress before trying to fill each other in. Like always, we ended up on the floor, head to head once we were done. Our hands were linked in the middle and as a group I learned to be Hall n Oates crooned about Sara’s smile.

“How is he?” I asked, running my thumb on the inside of his palm.

“Besides being a little tired, he’s good. Doctor’s want him to change his diet and exercise more to help reduce stress, even encouraging him to pick up a hobby. Jury is still out on that though. He was being all pissy about needing to take the rest of the month off from work,” Xavier said.

“He has to know taking it easy is what is best,” I said.

“If he didn’t my mom made sure of it,” he snickered. “She fried his ass when he started giving the doctor an attitude.”

“Good, sometimes men are too stubborn for their own good,” I said, with a pointed stare.

“Aye I’m…not as bad as my father,” he said, which was true but didn’t negate the fact that he could also dig his heels in when he felt warranted. “He never speaks about what’s bothering him, about what’s happening with his father, his life, nothing. Just keeps it inside.”

“You think the heart attack was a manifestation of the stress he ignores,” I said.

“The doctor said as much. If we don’t listen to our bodies, then they force us to listen. I just hope he does,” he sighs.

“How are things between you two? I know what he said to you before this went down really hurt,” I said.

“We are ignoring our fight as usual and this time my mom asked me not to bring it up due to everything else that’s going on. Said that what matters is that we have each other at the end of the day,” he said.

“That’s not a fair thing to ask,” I said.

“It’s not,” he agreed.

“Also having each other, family or not, is not enough. Not for what he said and how he acted. You do so much for your family, the least he can do is acknowledge it. Acknowledge you,” I said.

I watched as Xavier took a shaky breath, blinking a few times while his stare remained upwards at the ceiling. His hand clutched mine tighter and I gave him the moment to gather his thoughts and shift through his feelings. Biting down on my bottom lip, I swallowed the rest of my rant. My pointing out the obvious probably wasn’t helpful but I was angry for him.

“There’s just something between us…this wall…that doesn’t allow us to see each other how we should. Neither of us knows how to move around it, let alone tear it down,” he sighed, rubbing his free hand over his face which is something he did when in deep thought.

“And it’s always been like this. He’s just so fucking rigid, always composed, and if it’s not in some rulebook completely clueless.”

The frustration in his voice had been brewing for years, potentially decades, and I hated that I could relate to it in some way. In the earlier part of our friendship, I found myself envious of his family because they are so close knit but I’m realizing even that comes with its own set of problems. It’s own set of expectations and disappointments. Family was destined to be something that either made or break you. I had no idea where either of us stood on the spectrum because it seemed as if we were constantly in limbo.

“Have you ever fully told him how you felt about y’alls relationship? The situation with your Granddad aside, it seems like y’all can only be close if you ignore everything else, and that’s not sustainable,” I said.

“Funny, my therapist asked me a similar question a few weeks ago but I never got the chance to have that conversation with him. Life kept getting in the way. He could have died and those would have been the last words he ever said to me. That I’m basically a fucking disappointment like nothing I’ve done to change my life matters,” he said, jaw clenching.

“It does though, regardless or not if he sees it, it matters a lot,” I said, squeezing his hand. I knew what it felt like to have your accomplishments go unnoticed. It was a point of contention between Lonso and I. “You have to know that and believe it before anyone else does.”

“I know. This shit with my grandfather makes me feel like a failure though and it’s crazy because there are other adults involved as well. I don’t know man,” he breathed out, shaking his head. “We have to talk but with this heart attack shit I have no idea when that will be.”

“It needs to be as soon as possible. Babe,” I said softly, earning his direct eye contact. It was the first time the term of endearment fell from my lips and the shine in his eyes guaranteed it wouldn’t be the last. “There is never going to be this magically perfect moment to have this conversation. There will never be a good time to let him know the ways in which he failed you as a dad. You have the opportunity to tell him each day you both draw breath. Don’t take that for granted.”

There were so many things I wished I could say to my parents. So many things I needed to say but I didn’t know if they were alive or dead. No one I knew had seen them in some months, they purposely stayed out of my reach. I might never get the chance to speak to my parents again but Xavier could. Nudging closer, I placed my head on his chest, and he turned to place a kiss to my forehead.

“I’ll do it this week,” he said with resolve.

“And I’ll be here, whichever way it goes.”

His eyes met mine once more, showing both relief and gratitude in his gaze. Tipping my chin upwards with his free hand, he pressed his lips to mine. I placed my hand over his chest and felt his heart beating rapidly. He was the most unsure of himself he had ever been in my presence and I found his vulnerability to be beautiful. It wasn’t something I took for granted knowing how hard it could be. Xavier showed me with every conversation that it could also be rewarding.  I rubbed his chest reassuringly as he fed himself on my kisses. He needed my energy and I poured it into him willingly. 

His fingers found themselves in my braids the same time my leg wrapped around his waist. Shifting his lower body, he made it so that I was now on top of him as my braids gave us our own privacy curtain. His body was solid underneath mine, filled with hard planes and ridges reflective of the strict gym schedule he usually kept. 

I sighed with bliss into our kiss as his lips pulled at mine before encompassing my bottom one in a nibble. My hands rested on the sides of his face, fingers softly brushing over the scruffiness of the beard that was growing in. Wrapping a hand around my hair, he gave it a soft pull that separated our lips so that he could place open mouth kisses on the column of my throat. His other hand had slipped underneath the t-shirt. His fingers began to lazily trail across my rib cage, occasionally brushing against the underside of my breast but going no further than light teases. Never had I been touched with such tenderness or purpose. His tongue flicked my collarbone and my hips bucked in response causing him to groan against my skin. The vibrations of the sound sent a quiver down my spine.

“I don’t want to rush this baby,” he says, kissing his way back up to my lips that are pouting at his words. He chuckles at the sight of it before flicking his tongue against them, drawing my eyes open. “But would it be okay to play a bit?”

“Play?” I repeated, stealing a kiss from him. He captured one back, leaving me panting when I said, “I think I like the sound of that.”

Biting down on my jaw, he groaned in agreement. “Me too. Let’s go.”

I nodded eagerly, earning one of his full smiles, something I didn’t realize I needed to see until I was able to witness it once more. With two moves, he has us upright and stalking to his bedroom, leaving Hall & Oates and family drama behind.

[userholland]

mistake or fate [teaser]

after going through a (less than mutual) breakup, you're pretty broken. hoping to keep you optimistic, your best friend, cindy moon, sets you up on a date with her friend & GED classmate, peter parker. as sweet as he seems, you're not sure if you're ready to move on from your ex, but you're both incredibly single and ready to find someone or even reconnect with old flames. you two start a not-so-real relationship, and it comes with its trials and tribulations like any real one. it's just harder to figure out if it's truly a mistake or plain fate.

PAIRING : college!peter parker (spider-man) & college!fem!reader

GENRE : fake dating!!!, angst, mutual pining, found family

WARNINGS/MENTIONS : non-nwh! so, peter didn't make ppl forget him, drinking, lots of text messages between reader & peter, corny banter and jokes, bestfriend!cindy (no silk), cindy & peter's kpop love, coder!cindy, y/n failed attempts of revenge / reader being a bit unlikeable in beginning oops, peter perfecting his sarcasm

WORD COUNT : 1.4k [full wc: 15k+]

EXPECTED POST DATE : [updated!] mid to late dec ):

𑁍 masterlist 𑁍

Breaking up with your boyfriend, Shaun, was the best decision you thought you made. Only two weeks passed before you caved into your doubts and thought your choice was clearly a mistake. 

No one warned you about the random waves of loneliness, lots of broken crying and copious amounts of free time you received after a breakup. You’d thought your single life would be better since you were the one who ended things, finally feeling like you were standing up for yourself after months of being silent and poker faced.

Although your relationship was almost three years long, it felt like you two were just together to be together. Yes, you did what any couples do– go to movies, go to dinners, make friends with other couples and occasionally go to their cheesy holiday date-parties, but that’s all the relationship was. At some point, you became two people with a label yet nothing sparked you to try different things outside the repetitive routine.

The more the breakup went on, the more you felt your heart being smashed and stepped on deep in your chest. It’s like everyday was pulling another tooth. First, you had to pack your things and move out. Second, you had to move into your best-friend’s apartment while you try to find another place. Third, you needed to quit your job since the commute took longer from your new location. The list could go on, but to summarize: you’re left single, jobless and feeling utterly hopeless.

Nothing else could make it worse.

“There’s something blocking the tracks. We’ll be delayed thirty to forty minutes.” The muffled, monotone voice spoke through the speakers of the subway.

Everyone groaned and sighed in frustration before they took any empty seat or sat on the dirty floors. On the up-side, you were sat on an end seat next to a businessman who barely made eye contact and across from you was an old woman reading a novel, but you expected the small amount of luck wouldn’t last once the humidity slowly travels through the cracks of the doors and make the entire cart a sauna.

You pouted before your phone vibrated on your lap, surprised you had a signal. Well, one bar, but it was enough. 

You plugged your headphones, placing one ear bud in before answering your best-friend’s call.

“Hey Cindy.” You grinned, “What’s going on?”

She huffed, “Subways are backed up and I wanted to go to the new bookstore in Brooklyn.”

“Yeah, I’m on the one to get home and we’re delayed. They said thirty minutes, but you know it’s gonna be at least an hour.” You rolled your eyes.

“The job interview went good at least, right?” She asked in a hopeful tone, walking out from the subway entrance and heading back to the apartment.

You twisted your lips, “I don’t think I’m getting a call back, but it wasn’t for me anyways. A bunch of filing papers and getting coffee.”

“But having an income would help you get out of your slump I bet.” Cindy joked.

“True, I guess I just imagined something different and a little less pathetic.” You huffed, starting to feel the heat seep through the cracks of the full train.

Cindy smiled, “Well, I called to see if you were busy this weekend and since you obviously are, I have a little, nice offer.” She cocked her eyebrow, turning the corner and carefully walked past the crowd.

“Yes, yes, I am. Why?”

“You know my friend, Peter, right?” She hummed.

“The busboy at your uncle’s restaurant? You’ve mentioned him.”

“Well.” She paused, “I know you’ve been down about ‘he who shall not be named’ so… I figured that you’d meet someone new.”

You humored her at first with an awkward giggle, but once she didn’t add to her suggestion, your eyes widened a bit.

“Oh, I’m flattered, but I don’t think I should.” You gulped, scratching your nail against the polyester of your pants.

She pushed her bottom lip out, pouting as you made up your mind.

“But, he really is sweet. Even if you just meet him and talk?” Cindy asked, trying not to sound pushy.

Although you weren’t necessary elastic, Cindy was just trying to be your best-friend which means she’s also your wingwoman. The more you thought about it, the grueling hours that passed thinking about your ex were put to no good use other than eating you from the inside out and you couldn’t take another bite of it.

You took a deep breath, “Um, yeah. Sure, I’ll meet him. You’re right, he does seem nice.”

Your palms were already sweating so much at the thought of making a good yet flirty romantic impression, annoyed at your heart was thumping against your chest (so hard, it felt like it was a good excuse to get out of this subway cart).

She stopped walking, “Really? Eek! That’s so great, I’m gonna text him. When are you free?”

It took you no time to think about it since your schedule was completely free these days. After sighing and pretending as if you had anything else to do, you told her tomorrow night was good yet it felt so pathetic and sad to say. You missed having planned date nights, but they consisted of bickering about the small things and not thinking twice about how stupid they were. It was awful and bitter– you still missed it. Just routine.

The train suddenly budged and a collective sigh of relief blew from the mouths of every passenger. Just as you were back on track to your day, Peter was headed downstairs to the dumpster on the side of his apartment building. Although the two trash bags were filled, he had no problem carrying both down the stairs, even surprising one of his neighbors, Mrs. Calidini, he passed on the stairs. Her brunette hair, white hairs already appearing, were pulled into a top knot as her long and flowy, floral sundress swayed when she turned on the stairs.

“Need some help, Peter?” She caringly asked.

He smiled, “I’m okay. But, I do believe you could easily lift me with them if you had to.” Peter jeered, stopping on the bottom stair as she was going back up.

She chuckled, “That’s right, sweetheart.” replying with her deep, Bronx accent.

After tossing the garbage bags into the dumpster, his phone’s ringtone muffled deep in his pocket. His eyebrows furrowed, wondering who it could, but lifted when he saw Cindy’s contact picture, the one of her sleeping in class, wide on the screen.

“Hey, what’s up?” He asked, wiping his hands on the back pockets of his jeans.

“I have some good news.” She sang, settling into the comfy chair on the balcony of your apartment.

Peter nodded, “You didn’t sign me up for zumba again, I hope.”

“No, better! You know my friend, Y/N? My roommate you’ve met a few times.” She wrapped her short, black lock around her finger waiting for his response.

“Hmm, I remember her singing Whitney Houston at your last birthday.” He smiled at the memory.

“See? She’s already made an impression on you.” Cindy scrunched her nose, curling up in her hair more to look out at the sunset behind the Brooklyn Bridge, “I think you should give it a try… I know your whole thing with Liz and M-“ 

Peter cut her off. 

“Cindy, I appreciate the… offer, I do, but I can get dates on my own.” He sighed, deflecting from having to go down the rabbit hole of failed relationships he’s had. “I mean, what if it’s awkward and we don’t get along. Where does that leave us being friends?”

“Peter, no matter what happens, we’ll always be friends. Y/N isn’t like that either, I promise. But, trying doesn’t hurt…”

She felt pushy, but Cindy had good intentions behind this coupling. After four, going on five years of watching her friend stumble into these head over heels relationships with girls he meets, it’s hard to watch his heart break in slow-motion. He won’t admit how he feels until the straw that breaks the camel’s back. Could be a bad coffee, could be a pencil breaking, she just never knew sometimes which worried her.

Blowing out another sigh, he shrugged, “Yeah, sure. You can give her my number and we’ll… see.”

“There you go. I’m so proud of you.” She mocked, giggling to herself and Peter chuckled intertwined.

“I’m glad my love life is amusing to you.”

[matan4il]

Daily update post:

The number of confirmed hostages has been updated to 229, after the release of four women.

A rocket directly hit a residential building in Tel Aviv today, four people are reported injured.

I listened to an interview this morning with the commander of the Search & Rescue Unit of the Israeli army (same unit that, as one example out of many, helped detect and save people from the rubble after the earthquake in Turkey), and here are some of the things that he mentioned:

The work to find and identify bodies is still on going. In kibbutz Be'eri, where over 100 bodies had already been found, four more were recovered yesterday. They're scanning every small community to see what they might have missed. In one house they found 19 bodies, but then they realized one girl who lived there was still unaccounted for, so they're sweeping the whole area again.

Some of the bodies are in such an awful state, after being tortured and burned, that they brought in archeologists to help with the work of handling them, of sifting through organic material, and to generally make use of their expertise.

He corroborated that the Hamas terrorists came prepared with the knowledge of things like where security people lived (so the terrorists took them out first, leaving civilians vulnerable to the massacre), where weapons were locked away, as well as how many people and of what ages lived in each house (so if the terrorists got to a family home, and one kid managed to hide, they'd know to look for that child). Hamas terrorists had this info from Gazans who had permits to work in Israel.

Israeli farmers in the northern and southern parts of Israel, which are being constantly targeted by Hezbollah and Hamas (respectively) rockets, continue to work under fire, risking their lives, for fear that Israel might otherwise run out of certain basic foods, such as milk and eggs.

This is Adi Baruch:

When the war broke out, she wasn't called up for reserves duty, but she insisted. She wanted to help. She put on her uniform and was on her way to her army base when she took this selfie. She sent it to her bf of six years, Nevo Yanay. Fifty minutes later, she was killed by a Hamas rocket. Adi's mom recounted that Nevo was planning to ask Adi to marry him on her bday, so he came to the funeral with the ring, feeling that he had to say the words with which he was planning to propose, even if Adi wouldn't get to hear them.

We're getting close to the end of the war's first three weeks, and whenever someone asks me how I am, this vid from NYC mayor Eric Adams is still what echoes in my head more than anything else:

I am not alright. We are not alright. And the way some people talk about the massacre online makes it clear to me, that they don't understand how something broke here, and how deeply it did. There is a sense of life before and after, like nothing will be the same again. Like we will rise, we will heal, we will re-build, but we will never again be the same people we were before. We are not alright, and even as time will pass, there will be some part of us that never will be.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[bizarrequazar]

GJ and ZZH Updates — October 22-28

previous week || all posts || following week

This is part of a weekly series collecting updates from and relating to Gong Jun and Zhang Zhehan.

This post is not wholly comprehensive and is intended as an overview, links provided lead to further details. Dates are in accordance with China Standard Time, the organization is chronological. My own biases on some things are reflected here. Anything I include that is not concretely known is indicated as such, and you’re welcome to do your own research and draw your own conclusions as you see fit. Please let me know if you have any questions, comments, concerns, or additions. :)

[Glossary of names and terms] [Masterlist of my posts about the situation with Zhang Zhehan]

10-22 → Gong Jun's studio posted a promotional video he did for Deeyeo, announcing a livestream on 10-25.

→ Gong Jun posted thirty-one photos from his trip to Paris. Caption: "Update is late but coming" He commented on this post, "I only had half a day to shoot the plog, so I won’t add it [the city] to my favourites. I’ll take more photos next time I go to Paris. 😁" He also posted six of these photos and one additional one to his Instagram, caption: "C’est la vie😀"

→ 361° posted a video from their offline event with Gong Jun on 10-21.

10-23 → Tissot posted a photo ad featuring Gong Jun. (1129 kadian) They also later posted a promotional video spoken by him.

→ ELLE posted a video of Gong Jun touring Louis Vuitton's original workshop in Paris.

→ GXG posted a photo ad featuring Gong Jun, announcing a livestream on 10-28.

→ The Instagram posted ten photos of "Zhang Zhehan" at the Louvre, proudly parading around Hewitt's fungus-infected finger.

10-24 → It was announced that Gong Jun's drama Rising with the Wind will begin airing on 10-30. This got on Weibo hotsearch.

→ Tissot posted a photo ad featuring Gong Jun. This was later followed by another four photos. (1129 kadian)

→ Gong Jun posted four photo ads he did for Tangle Teezer. (1129 kadian) This was reposted by Tangle Teezer.

→ Rare posted a photo ad featuring Gong Jun. (1129 kadian)

→ Tangle Teezer posted a behind the scenes video from their photoshoot with Gong Jun.

→ The Rising with the Wind Douyin account posted a behind the scenes clip from the show. Caption: "Zhong Chuxi pulls Gong Jun's tie and fills the screen with sexual tension . At this moment, the ambiguity quietly grows…" This was later also posted to their Weibo account.

→ GXG posted two fansite photos of Gong Jun from that day, highlighting their clothing.

→ Fresh posted a photo ad featuring Gong Jun.

→ Net-A-Porter posted a photo ad featuring Gong Jun.

10-25 → GXG posted a photo ad featuring Gong Jun.

→ 361° posted a promotional video spoken by Gong Jun.

→ A music video was released for Rising with the Wind's opening song.

→ Gong Jun attended a livestream for Deeyeo. [full recording]

→ Gong Jun Outdoor Office posted four gifs of him from the livestream. Caption: "The Si in Xu Si is a gentle Si 😎" [translation source]

→ Deeyeo posted four photos of Gong Jun from the livestream.

→ Gong Jun's studio posted eleven photos of him from the livestream. Caption: "Comfortable, simple, and casual. @ Gong Jun Simon lives cleanly and enjoys daily life."

10-26 → The Rising with the Wind Weibo posted three fancam-style promo videos. [1] [2] [3]

→ The Instagram posted a video ad for a photobook that the scam gang opened orders on earlier that day. The publishing website the book was being sold through is a Taiwanese site primarily used by sex workers; the owner of the site also has a history of working with scammers. The listing was deleted from the site barely a day later with claims of it being because of a "huge order amount," however, traffic records for the site showed less than a hundred views. 🤡

→ Weibo Fashion posted an interview with Gong Jun from the Tiffany event.

→ Gong Jun posted a third video of himself camping with a collie, this one of him cooking. Caption: "Listen to the sizzling sound in the valley 👂 Come and record #100 kinds of beauty of the motherland# with me!" This was reposted by his studio, added caption, "The final chapter of camping, @ Gong Jun Simon immersive barbecue ASMR (greedy Defu [the dog] version)", and 361°.

→ Deeyeo posted a clip from their livestream with Gong Jun.

→ Yangyang posted two photos of himself and Gong Jun from the livestream. Caption: "It was a happy chat with the spokesperson Gong Jun. Everything is ready, just waiting for the 'wind' to come~ Thank you Deeyeo🐧"

10-27 → The Instagram posted a promotional image announcing a fanmeet in Singapore on 11-26.

→ Li Keqiang, a recently retired major politician, passed away. The GXG livestream planned for the following day was postponed as a result, and there were worries that Rising with the Wind's airing would be delayed, however...

10-28 → The Rising with the Wind Weibo posted a promotional poster shortly followed by a trailer, officially announcing the show's airing date of 10-30. Trailer caption flavour text: "No matter how difficult the road ahead is, even if the dream seems impossible, never give up! Win or lose, I will always be by your side!"

→ Gong Jun posted the same trailer for Rising with the Wind. Caption: "Investors pay attention to taking retreat to advance. Xu Si enters the game and rises wind the wind on October 30th!" This was reposted by his studio with the added caption, "Lock on to iQiyi and Dragon TV from October 30th, and watch investor Xu Si @ Gong Jun Simon strategize, grow the books, and rejuvenate the country."

→ The Rising with the Wind Weibo posted a promotional still of Gong Jun along with ones of the other main cast members. Caption: "The revival of the national trend is imperative. When we meet at the top, who can compete with us? Be online from October 30th"

→ Gong Jun's studio changed their Weibo header and icon to images of Xu Si, Gong Jun's character is Rising with the Wind, as did the Gong Jun Outdoor Office account.

→ Gong Jun's studio posted a behind the scenes video of a photoshoot for Rising with the Wind. Caption: "Shopping mall game, forge ahead. Investor Xu Si @ Gong Jun Simon will be launched soon~ October 30th, lock on to iQiyi and Dragon TV, and rise with the wind together!" BGM is a slowed remix of Dilemma by Kelly Rowland and Nelly.

→ The Rising with the Wind Weibo posted a fancam-style video of Xu Si. Caption: "The Elite Overlord Xu Si @ Gong Jun Simon is not in his comfort zone, but his ruling zone. Come to iQiyi on October 30th, let’s meet Mr. Xu!" BGM is SexyBack by Justin Timberlake lol.

→ The Rising with the Wind Weibo posted individual promo posters of the show's main cast. Caption: "People come and go, and ambiguity circulates. Turn against the wind and ride the waves."

→ Gong Jun Outdoor Office posted two promo images of Xu Si. Caption: "I've started working 🫡"

→ The Rising with the Wind Weibo posted a promo poster featuring Gong Jun and Zhong Chuxi with a countdown to the airing date. Caption: "We cuddle up affectionately and rely on each other. In the gutter, I am lucky to have you. There are still 2 days left until the urban inspirational emotional drama #Rising with the Wind# starts airing! ... Please look forward to Xu Si @ Gong Jun Simon and Jiang Hu @ Zhong Chuxi’s emotional performance!"

Additional Reading: → tacocat has begun translating the novel that Rising with the Wind is adapted from!

previous week || all posts || following week

[zombeesknees]

life updates

things are still pretty Not Great at work.

had an interview at the eureka public library today. interview itself went well, but the cons of the job (long commute, less pay, only part-time so i'd have to stay part-time at barnes and therefore work more hours per week total/never have a day off again) outweigh the pros so i don't think i'll take it if they offer it to me next week.

still haven't heard back from normal public library, which would be an ideal job (50k+ a year, full-time, office work, ten minutes away from my condo). not expecting to get a call from them at this point.

word completely shit the bed on my computer last night, leading to several hours of panic and desperation as i tried to uninstall/reinstall it several times. thank god for my buddy jason, who sent me an invite into his family plan for office suite, so now i've got access to my novels again.

because of the word debacle, did not get this week's b-list written/submitted in time. wrote it this morning, tho, so hopefully it'll get printed next week.

uploaded the ebook of hazeldine vol. 1 that julie designed for me onto both amazon and b&n. within the next three days, those should be available for purchase. really hoping this brings in a wee bit more money and makes my stuff more accessible for new readers. (julie is gonna continue to format my stuff into ebooks whenever she has time/i have the money to spare for them).

started hammering out details with my buddy rayne to get my own dedicated author website up and running. high hopes with that.

supposed to go to a steampunky party thing at a local oddities shop (the painted wraith) on saturday with my new pal kara (who is VERY into lolita and offered to lend me something from her extensive closet for the event). hopefully i feel up to it; i'm very exhausted and migraine-y today after All of The Above.

then delia is having a going-away bonfire at her family's farm out in the boonies on sunday, weather/mood willing.

i'll be back on here at some point to reload my queue. rn, i'm just Very, Very Tired and trying to cross-stitch more stuff i can sell for extra cash. *le sigh*

[misosick]

dirty little secret - just to waste my time with you | bang chan

pairing: bang chan x reader, ??? x reader genre: uni!au, predebut/idol!au, manager!reader, slow burn chapter warnings: kinda disjointed, besties felix and jisung word count: 900ish

author notes: something something the rushing through each part is a narrative device something i didn't want to write each section into its own chapter. i pROMISE shit goes way down really soon so please keep reading~

taglist: @idunnomanmynamewastaken @freyaniobe @jellyglly (send me an ask if you would like to be added!)

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The next few days give you whiplash, as you follow Minhye and the boys from schedule to schedule: filming to photoshoot, photoshoot to interview, interview to dance practice. You gain a lot of respect for people working in this industry, just trailing in it is making your head spin. You learn a lot about the boys as well, especially Jisung. Good lord, that man never stops talking. You have to ask him to slow down so you can actually understand what he’s trying to say to you, but it’s not the worst situation to be in. Felix has been helping with translations and explaining what’s going on, which has been helpful to say the least. You can see yourself becoming friends with these guys once you get Korean figured out.

Chris, Bang Chan, whatever you’re meant to call him, he’s not relenting. You hear him constantly making remarks under his breath whenever you talk to one of the members, and on a few occasions he’s just said them to your face in front of everyone. Even the boys are starting to wonder what’s happening, but don’t want to ask him too close to the comeback. It could just be comeback stress after all.

Your first few weeks at JYP breeze by, and before you know it, you’re being placed single-handedly in charge of Stray Kids, right before they’re set to make their comeback. You’ve slowly been picking up more responsibilities anyway but being made manager 2 weeks out from release date means triple the work. The kids, as you’ve taken to calling them despite being the same age as them, have been good, helping out where they can, understanding when mistakes inevitably happen, and generally being decent people. The same can’t be said for Bang Chan though. He refuses to even give you the time of day, and heaven forbid you slip up somewhere.

If there’s anything you’ve learned about the ‘new and improved’ Bang Chan, it’s that he will take any opportunity to make doing your job as hard as possible. Once, he shouted at you across the dance room for something playing on your phone while the boys were practicing. Except, they were taking a break and you were showing Hyunjin a new dance video you found that you thought he would enjoy, especially during a particularly hard practice. You left the dance room pretty quickly after that, choosing to hunker down in your office with a hot cup of herbal tea and some paperwork that needed to be sent to Mnet later that week.

Maybe Bang Chan was right, if this keeps happening you weren’t going to last long at all. You’d be lying if you said his words weren’t starting to wear you down. Everyone around you had started to notice as well; you were more sluggish in the office, finding any excuse to get out (even for just five minutes). The last time you’d seen the boys was three days ago, when Minhye asked for an update on their progress. You can’t even remember the last time you’d spoken to your parents or your friends back home because your life had become a cycle of sleep and work. The prospect of working in Korea was once exciting, but now you’re reconsidering your options. Had you wasted your time taking this job?

Comeback season’s hell. Not even figuratively, it is literally hell. You’re barely managing a few hours sleep a night in between co-ordinating and bouncing between music shows, interviews, photoshoots, radio shows and too many rehearsals with Stray Kids. In between all of that, your main job was to make sure content was being made for the YouTube channel and that the boys were getting on V-live every once in a while. The kids were, for the most part, more than happy to oblige your requests, especially at the premise that it was for Stay as much as it was for you.

“Bang Chan-ssi, say something for Stay!” You tried to sound cheerful behind the camera, knowing that there’s a small chance that your voice might be heard in the finished video.

“I’ll do my own video later, Y/N. I don’t need you telling me what to do.” He looks unimpressed, disappointed that you even had the audacity to be in the same space as him at the same time. This is usually how it went between you two. However, you really didn’t have it in you to deal with his bullshit today, these videos needed to be sent to the editing team tonight so something could be published at the end of the week.

“Don’t waste my time, Bang Chan. It’s for the YouTube channel. Just do it, please? I swear, I’ll be out of your hair for the rest of the week.” You looked visibly stressed, and everyone saw it. Maybe that’s why he silently agreed and got on with it. Maybe that’s why he watched as you run your hand through your hair as you reviewed the footage before getting up and heading over to another area of the green room.

“I really don’t know why you’re being so rude to her, hyung. She’s really chill, like she’s actually looking after us. Better than the last manager we had at least. Give her a chance, she’s trying her best.” Chan wished Jisung was a little quieter sometimes, especially when your ears visibly twitch at the compliment.

[hisaacswrites]

Bake Room in Your Heart for Me? Chapter 3

【 Fandom: Call of Duty 【 Main Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish 【 Rating: M for Mature 【 Trigger Warnings: -

Summary:

When Simon first interviewed for The Great British Baking Show, he hadn’t expected anything to come of it. He certainly didn’t expect to win. Despite the chaos it brought to his life, he couldn’t really complain. It landed him the best job he could ask for and a close circle of friends who actually seemed to enjoy his company. It also led him to his biggest fan, one John MacTavish, who’s determined to win him over one baked good at a time. — Or, The baking AU that no one asked for

← Chapter 2 】 ⦿ Chapter 3 ⦿ 【 Chapter 4 →

☆ Read on AO3

【 Chapter Specific Warnings: - 【 Notes: Un-beta'd, as always! Did brainstorm this fic and it's now fully outlined. Have a total of 12 chapters planned, though I may go for 13 for that sweet baker's dozen. No set update schedule in mind yet; will hopefully nail down something consistent once I get into the swing of things.

Bake Room in Your Heart for Me? Masterlist ⦿ CoD Library ⦿ Hayden Isaacs Library

🍰 Chapter 3

"And then he says, 'Do you knead a baking partner? Because I promise I could fire up your oven like no other!'"

Alejandro choked on a breath at Rudy's delivery, his shoulders shaking as he quaked with laughter.

"I swear, Ale, I've never seen Soap so red or Ghost run away so quickly!"

His back to his two gossiping assistants, Simon scowled to himself and forcefully ignored them as he finished the base layer of frosting for the cake he was working on. Relegating Rudy and Alejandro's conversation to background noise, he gave the cake one last spin on the turntable to make sure the sides were perfectly smooth. As he reached for one of his prepared piping bags, a bolt of pain rocketed through his arm, branching from his inner elbow up to his shoulder and down to his fingertips. The sudden pain had his fingers seizing up, and the bag slipped from his hold to land back onto the countertop with a muted flop.

Gritting his teeth against the pain and frustration, Simon pretended that he couldn't hear the pause in his coworkers’ conversation or feel their eyes on his back. It had been nearly three years since the injury that had resulted in his medical discharge from the service, but the damage was done - and permanent. Some days were better than others: he could go a month without any flair-ups from the nerve damage, only then to be in debilitating pain and have a persistent tremor for an entire week.

As he picked up the piping bag again and ignored the faint tingling in his fingertips, Simon tried to put the anger and resentment out of his mind. He had dedicated his life to the SAS. For the longest time, his military career kept him going and to have it cut brutally short by some stupid FUBAR’d mission had been (and still was) a hard pill to swallow. Baking had become his saving grace. His injury had fucked up his already questionable life; having it affect the one thing that he had found to keep him sane was devastating.

Rudy and Alejandro were still laughing about Soap and his "Lack of rizz", whatever that meant, when Simon raised the piping bag to his cake. His hands trembled as he spun the stand and piped his swags but his eyes resumed laser-focused until he completed a full circuit. Putting the bag down and pretending he couldn’t feel his hands shake, Simon took a mental step back to look over his handiwork.

His pulse thrummed in his ears as he stared at the crooked and broken swags of frosting he had just piped and he struggled to not completely shut down. He felt like a precariously stacked Jenga tower, one already filled with gaping holes and leaning bricks. He was teetering on the edge, struggling to remain balanced but helpless in the face of one more piece getting removed. He had no idea if he would be able to stay standing or if he, and everything he had struggled to build and rebuild and fight for, would come crashing down on top of him.

Simon clenched his jaw as he reached for his straight-edged scraper and angrily dragged it across the sides of the cake. The tremble in his hand persisted, causing the edge of the scraper to gauge erratic trenches into the cake, some so deep that they reached through the layer of dirty icing to the cake layers themselves. Setting the scraper down next to the cake with a clatter, Simon gripped the edge of the counter with white knuckles. Shoulders hunched to his ears, he could see his entire arm shaking even as he forcefully tried to keep it steady. His nerves were on fire, and he knew that trying to force his muscles to work the way he wanted to like this was doing more harm than good, but he just wanted to bake, dammit, and-

Tanned knuckles rapped on the counter next to him and Simon blinked, jolted out of his thoughts mid-spiral. Unclenching his stiff fingers from around the counter, he straightened up and glanced over to see Rudy looking at him with a concerned expression.

"All good, hermano?"

Simon could hear Alejandro mixing something behind him, but he could also feel the furtive glances he was no doubt sending their way.

"Fine," Simon grunted in response, reaching for his frosting spatula and ignoring the way Rudy’s eyes darted to the butchered cake.

Rudy watched Simon load up the spatula with frosting, rhythmically tapping his fingers on the counter while his superior started slathering on frosting to fix the gauged cake. The process required little finesse, but Rudy’s sharp eyes could still spot the way Ghost’s hand was shaking and causing the spatula to dig into the sides of the cake.

"You’ve been at these display cakes for hours, Ghost." Rudy said suddenly, "Why don’t you let me finish this one up so you can take a break?"

Simon stiffened, ready to refute the need for a break, when Alejandro chimed in as if they had planned the conversation. "Rudy’s right, Ghost! You’ve been working all morning; let Rudy and I take over for a bit. We’re your assistants. We have to earn our keep, no?"

Simon's brow furrowed as he looked from Rudy to Alejandro, and then back down to his last cake. He wanted to argue, to insist that he was fine and that he would finish out his shift according to schedule, but his eyes couldn't help but catch on the jagged marks and remnants of crooked frosting on the cake. His arm ached, and he knew that even if he took his time, his work would be unacceptably sloppy compared to Rudy's in his current state. He could feel something in his chest crack at the realization, but he refused to let it show, especially with both Rudy and Alejandro still staring at him.

"Alright," Simon agreed roughly, his gruff tone clearly reluctant. "But remember—"

"To pipe the mini carrots on the border, I've got it!" Rudy interrupted, lightly hip-checking Simon out of the way and taking the frosting spatula from him. Simon huffed. Usually, he'd have a witty retort ready to fire off, but he just didn't have the energy today. The pain, both physical and mental, had taken it from him.

Alejandro had clearly noticed, as he was quick to add, "Why don't you just call it a day, amigo? There's not much else to do and we're ahead of schedule for the rest of the week."

Simon thought about arguing, about insisting on finishing out his shift, but... Alejandro was technically right. It was later in the afternoon, and if he just took a break, there wouldn't be much left of his shift to finish out anyways. The cafe had had a huge influx of custom orders this week, so he, Rudy, and Alejandro had been pushing to finish everything ahead of time just in case something else came up. And, honestly, licking his wounds in private over a cup of hot tea sounded perfect. (It wasn't brooding, okay? It was self-reflection.)

Simon sighed, knowing that Rudy and Alejandro had won and hating having to admit defeat. Sensing their manager's resignation, the two assistant bakers shared a grin but chose not to rub any further salt into the wound. Instead, they waved Simon out of the kitchen, barely hearing his grumbled goodbyes as they chatted lightheartedly in Spanish.

Simon let the door swing quietly behind him as he entered the dark hallway that connected the kitchen to the other back rooms, only allowing his shoulders to slump when he was sure he was alone. His whole body had started to ache, his arm most of all, and he could feel the exhaustion settling in over his mind. It was a struggle untying his apron and hanging it from its hook, and, not for the first time, he lamented over his uselessness. He had been one of the best operatives the SAS had ever seen, one of the most renowned snipers in the world, and now he couldn't even pipe a cake properly. His self-deprecating chuckle was dry and bitter as he pulled on his hoodie and settled his backpack on his shoulders, soldiering through the resulting ache that shot through his bad arm. The raised hood and facemask made him feel a bit more secure, a bit more normal, but Simon knew he wouldn't truly be comfortable until he was locked safely in his flat.

Resting his arm in the front pocket of his hoodie as a sort of makeshift sling, Simon walked through the back hallway of the cafe. Price was in today, so Simon figured he'd tell him he'd be leaving early on his way out. Price's office was empty, though, as was the break room, and the bathroom was dark. As he approached the door connecting the back of the cafe to the public area, Simon could hear Price's distinctive rough baritone amongst the rest of the cafe chatter.

Nudging the door open with his boot, Simon entered Cafe 141 proper. It was busy but not packed, the mellow music and muted conversation creating an ambiance that would have been soothing on any other day. Gaz manned the counter with his customary cheeky grin and Simon could see Price seated at the windows at the front of the cafe. It looked like he was having a drink with someone, but it wasn't until Simon was halfway across the cafe that he realized it was Soap.

He paused.

Simon had seen Soap a few times since their first interaction but hadn't actually spoken to him since then. He wasn't sure how to act around the Scot, in all honesty, so it was perfect that so far he was able to stay back in the kitchen and bake while Gaz amused his long-time friend when he showed up in the cafe's front. Simon's luck seemed to have run out, though, as Price was chatting with Soap and looked to be quite enthralled in the conversation.

He weighed his options. Simon really didn't want to interrupt Price while he was in the middle of something, and he especially didn't want to navigate the awkwardness that would be speaking to Soap. Neither Simon nor Price were especially fond of phones, preferring to discuss things face to face, but beggars couldn't be choosers; he'd just head out and text Price that he was leaving a bit early while on his way home.

Mind made up, he wove his way through the tables and patrons towards the front door. He was in the home stretch when a young man, too enthralled with his phone to pay attention to where he was going, shoulder-checked Simon with a muted curse. Simon was able to dodge the sloshing of the coffee mug in the other man's hand, but the owner of the cup wasn't so lucky and he spun to berate the person he had run into. Once he looked up and saw just who (and how tall, broad, and gloomy Simon appeared) it was, the patron seemed much more apologetic and hurried off without another word.

Unfortunately, the damage had already been done.

"Simon!" Price called out, having paused his conversation with Soap at the commotion. "C'mere and meet someone!"

Simon glanced at the door, debating whether he could pretend he hadn't heard Price and make it out of the cafe in one piece. When Price met his eyes and waved, however, he resigned himself to his fate and detoured towards the window table. Looming over Price like a dark shadow, Simon refused to look over at Soap, unsure of what he'd find — or if he even wanted to know.

If  Price could sense the tension between the two men, he skillfully ignored it. "Soap, this dreary bastard is Simon, the head baker of Cafe 141 'nd our baking genius. Simon, this is Soap, a long-term pain in my arse but my favorite brilliant pyromaniac."

Simon cringed at his introduction and could see Soap's cheeks flushing a bright red out of the corner of his eye at his own. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"We've, uh... Met before. Gaz introduced us the other day." Simon nodded in Soap's direction, finally meeting his gaze. The other man was staring at him again, but Simon couldn't decipher his expression. Price spoke up before he could try to read his face, regaining his attention.

"Did ya, now? Tha' would explain some of Gaz's cackling, I'd imagine. Thought his cap might've been on too tight with the way he was carrying on." Price looked over to Soap, taking in how the Scot's blush was intensifying and spreading. The poor man looked to be at a loss for words and Simon decided to cut him some slack, if only to save himself from the conversation as well.

"I'm actually about to head out now, Price," he murmured. "Rudy and Alejandro are wrappin' up for the rest of the day and we're ahead of schedule for this week's orders."

Price's heavy brows lowered, the thin line of his mouth disappearing behind his beard as he considered Simon. It was clear that he knew that there was something else going on–Simon rarely left before the official end of his shift without being dragged out–but he kept his questions to himself with Soap present.

"Alrigh'," He said, tipping his bucket hat at Simon. "Won't be in tomorrow, so have a good night, 'nd see you next week."

Another sharp jolt of pain sparked up his elbow, reminding him to hurry things along, but Simon grit his teeth and managed a gruff "Aye, you as well," in response. He turned to Soap to offer a perfunctory goodbye but was beaten to the punch.

"'Twas good seeing ye again, Simon." Soap said. Quick, easy, and polite. The perfect send-off. Or, it would have been if he had stopped there.

"Yer cake looked delicious today, am glad I got a taste."

There was a pause, Soap looking increasingly mortified and Simon unsure if Soap had meant the double entendre.

"Thanks? I'm, uh, glad you liked them?"

The lackluster response from Simon seemed to make Soap realize exactly what he had said, and he rushed to correct himself. "Ah meant yer cake! Nae like yer cake, cake, but the cake that ye bake! In the oven! Nae tae say that yer personal cake isnae stoatin, tis top tier, pure, 'n ye must work out fer a bum like that, but–" Soap forcibly shut his mouth with a choked noise, the beet red color of his face clashing with the spattering of freckles across his nose. His accent seemed to only get stronger as he wound himself up. Simon thought, in bemusement, that it would have been cute if wasn't taken aback by the word vomit and could actually understand what the Scot was trying to say.

"I just meant," Soap rushed on to say, "That yer special cake, wait, nae, yer cake special fer t'day, the lemon blueberry, was delicious, those layers were sae light 'n fluffy, 'n that ye must be an expert at beating it."

Simon stared at Soap. He could see Price struggling to contain himself in his peripheral vision, but Soap looked so earnest, if a bit embarrassed. Still, he had no idea how to respond to all... that without just piling on the awkwardness.

"Thanks," Simon grunted, backing up slowly before jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "I'm just going to. Head out. Uh, now. Bye." He spun on his heel and made it out of the door in a few long strides, quickly disappearing down the sidewalk. (He wasn't running away, dammit! He had places to be.)

Silence stretched between Price and Soap at their table, the men silent as the cafe chatter continued around them. It was only when Simon was out of eyesight that Price spoke up, leveling Soap with a judgmental stare.

"I've been shot before, lad, and that was the most painful thing I've ever had to endure."

"Absolutely rizz-less," Gaz agreed, appearing from nowhere to nod sagely.

"I dinnae ken what's wrong with me," Soap groaned, tugging at his mohawk with both hands as he slumped in his seat.

[skylarmoon71]

Timeless Wells (Flash) Soldier- Chapter 3

“This is a layout of Star Labs. The interior is larger than most in the state. Very few in the country have the high level tech that we provide. “

“Are we still in an interview Ms. Weeks?” You raise a brow, and her shoulders straighten.

“My apologies. “

You understood that she was above all else hired to be the face for Harrison Wells. Representation was important.

“I know you’re uneasy. I’ve heard about the letters he’s been receiving. But I assure you I am good at my job. Please have faith in my ability.” Her facade begins to deflate.

“I don’t mean to question your capabilities.” You can sense that there is more to this than just securing favor with her boss.

“It’s personal.” you inquire.

“In a manner of speaking, yes. Dr. Wells...Harrison.” She corrects herself.

“When I started out, he was the one who gave me a shot. I’d tried so many other establishments but I kept getting turned down. I couldn’t understand why. My resume was spotless. I had every requirement covered. “

Now her pushy attitude during the interview makes sense.

“Trying to be recognized in this line of work is difficult regardless of whether you wear pants or not. It’s frustrating. I was ready to give up, but Dr. Wells took me on. He gave me a shot when even his executive advised him against it. He believed in me. If it wasn’t for him I wouldn’t have gotten confidence in myself, I wouldn’t have even met my husband.” Her finger runs over her ring with a fond expression.

“That’s why his protection is important to me. Very few people have the kind of power that he possesses and still have their humanity. It’s rare.”

The way she speaks about him sort of makes you want to take a bullet for the guy.

“I’ll do my best to ensure that nothing happens to humanity’s last hope.” You give a soft smile, and she returns it.

“Thank you.”

“No problem Ms. Weeks.”

“Allison. You can call me Allison.”

“Alright Allison.”

There’s a lot that needs to be done. You have yet to meet with Harrison. Officially, you start working in three days. You just needed to gather all that you could about his facility as well as his schedule. He’s a busy man. There’s no doubt about that. As you’re running through the papers, something stands out.

“What are all these blank spots on his schedule?”

“Those are time slots reserved for his personal errands.”

“If I’m going to be running surveillance for him 24/7 I’ll need to know all his whereabouts.”

“Then you’ll need to discuss that with him.”

“Allison.”

She shakes her head.

“I promise I’m not trying to make your job difficult. The fact of the matter is I have no idea what he does in those particular hours. There have been times where he’s gone hours at any given moment. When he gets back he just jumps right into work. It’s not my business to ask a grown man what he does with his time. My job is to keep him updated. That’s all.”

You understand that. It appears you will have to confront him yourself. If it’s something scandalous, it could be the reason behind the threats.

“If you find anything that could jeopardize his image..”

“You’ll be the first to know. As long as he isn’t some kind of serial killer I’m fine with covering up some minor unpleasantries.”

Truth is maybe he has a secret lover that he’s just trying to keep out of the paper. If it isn’t something that will compromise your integrity, then you weren’t going to press.

“So, tell me about your husband.”

You’re still sifting through the documents. Allison fidgets, wearing a slight flush.

“Is it really appropriate to talk about my personal life while you work? “

“Technically I’m not on the clock yet. Right now all of this is complimentary. So, do go on.“

She lets out a soft laugh under her breath.

“You really are a unique individual Ms. Yale.”

“Thank you, I’ll be here all week for your convenience.” You joke

This might actually be the start of a good friendship.