#pretty good at 1-1 conversations but awful in bigger group setting

[daily-hanamura]

[burnedbyshoto]

I really hate you

— Shinsou knows he shouldn’t trust villains. Especially villains who make his mind spin and stomach twist in joy. But there’s something about you that keeps him coming back for more.

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pairing: pro hero!shinsou hitoshi x villain fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut, a little bit of juicy plot, pro hero!au, reader is a villain, betrayal, biting, marking, collaring, cursing, hate sex, rooftop sex, body liquids, angst

word count: 8,180

a/n: i like deception :) being a chem TA is pretty fun, except when im in lab for 8 am until 4 pm. listen,,, I also really liked this prompt I made last night because the one I had before wasn’t spicy enough for me anymore. I hope you enjoy though! like comment and share for the algorithm (jk been watching too many tikytokys)

kinktober day 8 main kink: collaring

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When the sun sets, and the moon is high in the sky, and the chill of the bitter cold winds raise ceaseless goosebumps on your arms, and the only people who are up are drunken businessmen and tiresome students, it is a common belief that this is when the freaks come out.

The freaks come out to play at night.

You are one of these freaks.

Heh.

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Shinsou nodded at his friends as he walked through the doors of the agency he worked at. Despite the power of his quirks ability, he was an underground hero (unless the ultra-rare occasion where they needed his quirk in the limelight); he was stationed within a large, well-known agency and was one of the founding heroes there at that. His ability to be hidden from the bright lights of the world were both easy and challenging; most of the world knew him as the kid from UA’s Sports Festival that went toe to toe with nearing number one Pro-Hero Deku. It both irked and embarrassed him when that event was brought up; on the one hand, it was true! He had nearly beat Midoriya during that final stage. Yet, on the other hand, their memories seemed to recall some crazy quirk-fueled fistfight where Midoriya had broken his entire body in the duration of their fight. 

‘No,’ he often found himself responding back to the gentlemen and ladies who would awe at his school-day adventures, ‘there was a fistfight, but Midoriya handled it without using his quirk except to snap him out of my quirk.’

They always looked embarrassingly horrified by their faulty memory when they pulled the clip up on Youtube, their bows quick in apology before they made off. 

But people recognizing him from that was rare as it gets, fortunately even with the large agency stapled to his alias, he was quite good at his job—a shadow in the night, an urgent whisper to the villain freaks who roamed the night.

“Ah, Shinsou-chan!” Kaminari pouted, his body draping over his purple-haired friend as Shinsou moved to change from his regular clothes into the black triple-weave kevlar of his hero suit. He had once sported a black cotton-like costume akin to Aizawa, but after many, many gun shootings and stabbing incidents, he figured he needed something sturdier. 

“What is it?” he asked, rising up from his bent position so that Kaminari couldn’t take advantage of his slouched form. 

Shinsou’s tired, purple eyes met the exhausted pair of Kaminari.

“Today was so hard,” Kaminari sighed, his lip still put into the stupid pout, and he slumped onto the bench behind Shinsou. His feet were spread before him, fingers drumming onto his directional equipment. “Since it’s winter, the night comes sooo much earlier now. I swear some weirdos really appear out of the woodworks when the night comes! Like just before I was going to make my way back here, I swear I saw Aizawa-sensei hanging out on the rooftops like some super-secret ninja, right?”

Shinsou frowned. He knew his mentor turned friend was actually on vacation at the moment in Hawaii. Something he thought, at the very least, was long overdue. 

“Aizawa is in Hawaii right now,” Shinsou quickly spoke, his hands buckling the belt on his pants, before moving to lace up his boots. 

“Oh fuck, I told Todoroki he was in Seoul,” Kaminari cursed, the palm of his hand hitting his forehead. 

“Good going, who knows what weird message or gift he’ll end up sending to Aizawa now,” Shinsou couldn’t help the small smirk from spreading on his face at that note.

After being accepted into the Hero Course over in UA, Shinsou couldn’t help but be initially disappointed when he was placed within Class 1-B — Class 2-B at that point — simply because his mentor was with Class 1-A. The initial disappointment didn’t last very long when he got to know the rest of Class 2-B better, and he saw that while 2-A possessed raw talent, 2-B were more well-defined with a much bigger take-no-shit mentality that he appreciated more. That and 2-A were being strangled by a new villain of the month far too often, and Shinsou just wanted nothing more than to graduate from high school. 

Still, his lack of enrollment in Class 2-A didn’t mean that he didn’t see the rambunctious, nearly intolerable group of twenty in class 2-A. As a matter of fact, he thought he saw them a bit more than he’d like. Aizawa was his mentor, so he understood seeing him around, but for some reason, 2-A was never too far away. As soon as Shinsou was admitted into the Hero Course and the two hero classes had weekly meals together, which meant that to him, just the slightest bit, 2-A felt like an unwanted, annoying, ugly stepchild.

So no, Shinsou could not tell you 2-A’s inside class jokes, but he knew a lot more about the forty other hero students than he’d ever like to admit. 

And through his knowledge, he knew that the ever so powerful Todoroki Shouto was an idiot, probably a bigger one than Kaminari.

“I hate that you call Aizawa-sensei just…” Kaminari trailed off, a disgusted shiver running down his spine as if it sickened him to remove the single formality.

“Aizawa,” Shinsou said once more.

“Stop.”

“Aizawa.”

“Hitoshi!”

“Aizawa.”

“PLEASE!”

“Shouta.”

Kaminari hit the floor, his chest heaving with fake, bitter sobs while Shinsou couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of his over-dramatic friend on the ground. He had to admit, Shouta felt weird on his tongue too.

“Stop making a huge deal about how Aizawa and I are closer than you are,” Shinsou half-joked half-told-the-truth.

He was more than well aware of his mentor’s former students trying to become even closer to their beloved homeroom teacher. All doing it in their own ways, all relatively unsuccessful because unknown to them (but not Shinsou), Aizawa already loved them all thoroughly, not that he’ll ever tell them.

“I DIDN’T MEAN TO SHAVE OFF MITTENS FUR!”

Oh yeah, that had lost a lot of love points for Kaminari.

Sighing softly, Shinsou placed his newly replaced coiled capturing weapon around his shoulders, and his artificial vocal cords mask onto his chest until he was off on patrol.

“Why’d you think you saw Aizawa?” he asked again, trying to finish the conversation so that he could leave. It felt like it was going to be a long night if Kaminari confirmed where his thoughts were already trailing. 

“Hm?” Kaminari finally looked up from his puddle of tears on the floor, tears streaking all over his face, small charges of electricity humming off it. He blinked once, twice, his eyes shooting to the ceiling as if the answer was there before his fist came down to hit his open palm in a flash of realization. “Oh, I remember! There was this person, obviously not Aizawa-sensei, standing by the edge of a building watching everyone below. Hair whipping in the wind and his capturing weapon fluttering around them!”

Just as Shinsou thought.

“Where did you see her?”

“Her?!”

“Where, Kaminari?”

“Uh… well, I guess by Gramps convenience store. Don’t tell me this is some super sexy megafan of yours! Wait… do tell me, or… no, I’ll get jealous if you’re having rooftop sex with — eh?! where are you going?! Hitoshi?!”

“My shift started two minutes ago,” Shinsou explained, one of his hands lifting in a wave as he exited the locker room, his heart hammering quickly, knowing just who he was going to need to track down tonight.

…

..

.

It was dark.

Shinsou’s eyes squinting as he hopped from one rooftop onto the other, his capturing device assisting him in clearing the dooming crevice. He wasn’t exactly the most physically threatening, and unfortunately, that also meant he wasn’t exactly the greatest at parkour type movements, although he was getting better. Maybe had he started to ask for earlier shifts, where he would be out when the sun was, he could get better faster.

It was tricky with only the moonlight to guide him, but that’s what he could get at the moment.

As he scuffled through the gravel rooftop of one of the abandoned buildings, Shinsou found himself squinting at the figure in the distance. The one perched near what Kaminari oh so fondly refers to as Gramps convenience store.

He studied the form of the picture still person, noticing if it wasn’t for the slight wind through your hair and twisting capturing weapon around your neck, he would think you’re a statue. But he knows better now, he’s known better for quite some time now. 

“What’re you doing out here, y/l/n?” Shinsou found himself speaking the moment he stepped behind you, hands shoving into his pant pockets.

You didn’t move, nor did you respond, your body still completely still while peering down at the empty world fascinated on who knows what.

“Y/l—”

“How can I help ya, Mindjack-senpai?” you interrupted him, your gaze still not removed from the world below the building. “I hear it’s supposed to be a busy night tonight.”

Shinsou paused, his brows scrunching at your words.

It was plain to see to Heroes that you were a villain, you did what you wanted when you wanted, whatever the price, but if there was one thing Shinsou had learned with this rather weird cat and mouse game the two of you played time and time again was that you didn’t lie. 

What was happening?

“A busy night?” Shinsou questioned, his quirk still unactivated, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to Brainwash an answer out of you anyways. “Where at?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Mr. Hero?” you teased slowly, and Shinsou had to deny the way that the way your head finally turned to lock eyes with his made his stomach clench.

It meant nothing.

Nothing at all.

“You know what happens when you slight me,” Shinsou couldn’t help but warn, the bandages on his neck rising under his command. But your eyes blinked slowly, lips spreading into a lazy, cunning smile.

“And you know what happens when you underestimate me,” you returned, fingers gliding against his old weapon — yes, old weapon. Just two months ago, just before your last arrest, you had viciously stolen it from him, your foot crushing his vocal cords while you managed to pry the weapon from his broken fingers. “Anyways, Mindjack-senpai, it’s a bit unethical of you, a hero, to be threatening me in such a way! I’m just a poor girl waiting for the love of my life to show up.”

“And have they?”

You blink, a soft giggle escaping your lips as you nod, “I got him right where I want him.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Shinsou snapped despite the lick of warmth against his chest and cheeks. “I’ll have you arrested again.”

Now, this has you turning from the edge of the building, you sit on the ledge of the building, fingers supporting your head as you stare at him without fear. Shinsou really fucking hated how fast you riled him up.

“Arrested? But Mr. Mindjack-senpai, didn’t you know?” you ask, the taunt evident in your voice, the twinkle in your eye devastatingly bright. “I’m a changed woman. I’m what you call a hero now. You wouldn’t arrest an innocent heroine, could you?”

“You’re hardly innocent,” Shinsou responded back smoothly and deftly, not at all yet entirely impressed by you. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” 

He blamed his deep impressions of you on the stupid black and purple attire you wore.

“Well, you know as well as I do that I just got out, but I feel like except what happened two days ago, I’ve really changed,” you emptily promise, pushing off the ledge, sauntering closer to Shinsou until he felt the tip of your nose brush against his. “I’ll make sure to think about you whenever… bad feelings come up.”

He prays you don’t see the scarlet flush on his face.

You’re already back at the ledge when he blinks, and he watches you raise two fingers to your temple in a mock salute as you wink at him.

“You didn’t hear it from me, but two blocks east, seven blocks south from the heart of Tokyo is where you’ll find trouble,” you inform him, dropping the salute as you turn to run.

But Shinsou wants his damn weapon back.

“Y/l/n, wait!”

“Yes—?”

You froze at the ledge, your eyes spacing out, and Shinsou sighed, moving to collect his weapon from you until you suddenly dove off the building, a burst of cheerful laughter on your tongue.

“Oh, I forgot to tell ya!” you screamed from the next building over, your fingers threading through the alloy metal cloths. “I got some earbuds just for when you’re around! They make your voice into electrical signals just for me! So guess what?!”

Shinsou didn’t need you to complete that sentence in order for him to realize what you had just gotten your hands onto.

As long as you wore those, his quirk was useless against you.

Despite knowing that a villain held the key to his demise as a hero, he chuckled, running a hand through his short purple hair.

You really were something.

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Shinsou never took himself as an especially suspicious person.

He figured he had days where he was suspicious of some people the correct amount, especially when they had the most painted on emotions he’s ever seen. Some days he was overly trusting and blamed tight smiles on something acute to nerves. Without meaning to brag, he felt like he was healthily suspicious of people, unlike others he knew who wouldn’t dare to interact with anyone new or would spill their darkest secret to anyone who would listen.

But there was something entirely, conspicuously suspicious with how you were behaving.

Winter had long passed, the long winter nights and graveyard shifts of endless freak encounters had worn a hole in his patience and boots. The spring season was beginning to end, and the warm days and nights of summer were setting on his skin.

Six full months of you, the first-ever villain he had fought as a Pro Hero, the first-ever villain to have openly flirted with him and to have him flirt back, being suspiciously… kind. 

Every shift of his, he would find you waiting for him on one of the regular rooftops. Every time he would check in with the database to make sure you weren’t wanted for some crime to find that you were innocent. Every time he would feel pissed off because you wore those earbuds that rendered his quirk useless and you somehow mastered the capturing weapon within weeks.

Now Shinsou didn’t pout, he really didn’t, but there were moments where you would appear from behind him, finger swiping down his spine as you effortlessly twirled around him, a stupid sly grin on your face as you held onto the collar of his hero costume.

“Don’t pout, Mindjack-senpai, I’m here now,” you’d purr each and every time.

He loved the dangerous purr to your voice, the way your eyes hooded over, peering at him through your eyelashes, but he knew better. He had to know better. It wasn’t that villains were terrible people per se; he’d learned a lot of villains were just thoroughly sick of being mistreated (and he had wondered what would have happened if he had been denied from UA… would he be one?). He knew that for the most part, you were quite harmless, merely sticking your nose where it didn’t belong, living a life to your personal laws and rules.

It didn’t make you evil, merely dangerous.

But he had a job to do where even if it was justifiable to beat the ever-living shit out of your sister's abuser, nearly murdering him in rage and refusing to calm down when Shinsou had arrived on the scene with the use of his quirk didn't hold up well in court. It had started this long chain of events where you had absolutely hated him for a time as you were forced to stay overnight in a jailhouse. And many horrible days afterward where you performed what Shinsou had thought to be illegal actions only to find that no, they weren’t. As a matter of fact, entirely legal because Japan had yet to update their codes. 

Long after he had discovered this, you had returned to actual crime, your physical ability growing by leaps and bounds as he ran after you after catching you doing something dangerously illegal. Shinsou was a proud hero and was incredibly proud of the impact he made as a Pro Hero, but it was clear as day, even to him, that he often let you slip through his fingers. Like a child opening their cupped fingers and wondering why the water had left.

He wasn’t sure what it was about you that made him act this way, but he certainly didn’t wish to find out.

“So what’s on the schedule today, Mindjack-senpai?” you asked, appearing from the shadows of the rooftop, not scaring Shinsou in the slightest as this was always where you greeted him. “Are we saving the Prime Minister today? Stealing — I mean, protecting those stupid bedazzled eggs in the museum? Perhaps solving an unsolvable case?”

“Smooth,” Shinsou snarked, his tired purple eyes piercing through your bright ones that seemed undoubtedly excited. “How many times do I gotta tell you that there aren't that many actual case assignments? Besides, most team-ups happen in the morning when I’m asleep.”

“Being a hero is so boring!”

“You’re not a hero.”

“Am too!” Shinsou snorted, turning on his heel and began walking away, listening to your footsteps running after him to keep up with his long paces as you cried that out.

“No.”

“Yes!”

“No.”

“Yes!”

Shinsou stopped, his eyebrow raised in slight forced annoyance but much more amusement, when you spun in front of him, hand on his chest, cheeks puffing with your heavy breathes.

“Look!”

Tilting his head back, Shinsou grunted when your phone was shoved in his face. “What is this?”

“Hero Commission Regulation Handbook, page fifty-four, Article three, sub-article twenty-three,” you chirped, turning your phone back to yourself so that you may read it correctly. “It states that besides attending hero school like a bunch of nerds, civilians have the option of securing internships with approved Pro Heroes and work side by side with them for six months! Once finishing their internships, said Pro Hero must simply sign my licensing papers and bam, a hero I’ll become.”

“And which sniveling hero did you get to do your dirty work?” Shinsou scoffed, not at all buying the notion that you of all people wanted to become a hero. A vigilante at best, an anti-hero much more realistically, and staying a villain as default.

“You,” you smirked, winking at him before turning on your heel and sauntering off, knowing full well the patterns of his routines. 

Shinsou sighed, but he let a familiar smirk fall on his face as he walked after you, enjoying the way you glanced back at him with your wide clear eyes. But that suspicious, gut feeling didn’t leave his core, no matter how sweet and beautiful he found your smile. 

“So, Mindjack-senpai, who are we apprehending today?”

“You want me to sign your paper this entire time, and you’ve been addressing me as senpai?” Shinsou commented, his weapon shooting off to a nearby building, snapping straight in his hand when it was ready. “Where are your manners? It’s Mindjack-sensei to you.”

He didn’t wait for your response, choosing to swing off the ledge of the building with no hesitation, but a part of him wished he could have heard the sound of your laugh he only seemed to hear through the streaming, far away air.

…

… 

While usually, Shinsou didn’t have actual cases during his patrols, this job, after all, was much more spontaneous than anything else, today was different.

Today was different altogether, really.

First off, he showed up to work when the sun was still up just to get his meeting intel down in time for him to be out on the scene in time. He had nodded plenty, silently taking in Creati’s information on the drug cartel they wanted to in the next few weeks take down for numerous charges. The creation of dangerous, illegal drugs, prostitution rings, robbery, and murder being the main ones. It was some bigger stuff, so they needed all the evidence they could get.

Shinsou stared at the faces of the more prominent names of the cartel, studying every crook, nanny, and scar on their faces as Creati simply ended with where they focused down onto where their drug creating facilities were at, but still needed confirmation. “They’re pretty difficult to get to without knowing where they are,” Creati admitted, handing him a GPS. “You’ll need this.” He would be the first to start evidence gathering; after all, his old classmates would begin tomorrow.

So he had left, going to the first hideout and finding out it was completely empty. Not a single spec of evidence remaining, not a secret door or trap to get him to where they could be hiding from sight.

So was the next.

And the next.

And the next.

Something sat weirdly in his stomach as he began walking towards the final one on his list, and he froze when he saw lights shifting and moving from around the building. Quickly, Shinsou hopped to higher grounds, his phone already out, ready to take pictures. He lay low to the rooftop, practically army crawling to get to place to place as he neared the windows on the rooftop, allowing him to peer in onto the building he was scouting to find precisely what he needed. 

The entire building was a drug production spot.

His eyes scanned the building floor, singling out ten of the twelve main heads on the cartel, and he smirked. Perfect.

“Whatcha doing here, Mindjack-sensei?” your voice whispered millimeters from his ear, and Shinsou bit his tongue harshly to keep the instinctual scream from ruining his covert operation.

He snapped his head over to you, eyes slightly furious, eyebrows knitted tightly as he looked to see you leaning toward him. You were in a different outfit today, completely black, drowning you out in the night. He blinked; even the capturing weapon he had still been unsuccessful in stealing back from you was pitch black.

“What’re you wearing?”

“Do you like it?” you asked, straightening up and twirling for him as if you were wearing a magnificent dress and not personally created ‘hero’ clothes. “Ah, I hoped you would! Sorry, I had to get rid of the purple. I just felt it made me look too cute, right? I know I can’t have villains falling for me like you had me falling for you!”

Shinsou did not blush, no he didn’t, “shut up.”

“So what are we looking for today?” you asked, pressing down onto the floor beside him. Your arm touching his as pressed your face towards the glass. “Is this a stakeout?”

“Less stakeout, more information gathering,” Shinsou grumbled, typing some needed notes onto a file on his phone. It seemed to him that there was plenty here for the drug making charges. “We’re trying to get their bigger names caught in the action.”

“Oh, I thought heroes just burst in whenever they wanted, that’s what they do in the movies. Plus, you always threaten me with being arrested with no evidence,” you giggle, shifting closer to the glass, smile wide on your face.

“After saying that, say goodbye to me signing off that paper of yours,” he grunted, slipping his phone back into his pocket while you scrunch your nose at him. Shinsou couldn’t help but stare at you as the palms of your hands supported your chin as you hummed some song he couldn’t recognize.

“Ne, Mindjack-sensei, did you get the big boss?” you asked, your finger pressed against the cold glass, and Shinsou frowned, returning his head to the glass.

Right where you were pointing was, in fact, the head of the cartel. He was horrendously scrawny, holding no sense of fear or malice, and Shinsou wondered what his quirk could be that he was in charge of an operation such as this one.

“Oh, his right-hand man came too! All twelve are here!” you cheered quietly as Shinsou took documentation on his phone, and that suspicious rock in his stomach finally made sense at this second.

“Y/l/n?” he asked, head turning toward yours, tired eyes glinting with emotions he didn’t know how to handle.

“Mhm?”

“How did you know there were twelve main members, and how’d they look like?”

Silence.

Shinsou’s lips pulled back into a snarl, his canines glinting as he locked eyes with yours that were wide with shock and disbelief.

“How’d you find me—?”

He watched you lean away from the glass, fingers shooting to your earpieces. And with the inkling of suspicion sprinting through his veins, the purple-haired hero still found that he moved too slow. 

BOOM!!!!

He blacked out when his body flew with the explosion.

...

..

.

Ringing.

Pain.

Numbness.

Shinsou could only hear ringing in his ears as soot and ashes fell down from the sky, falling on his body, coating his gaping, open mouth as he tried to breathe, trying to calm himself. Was he bleeding? Was he dying? Where was the explosion from? Were you okay?

His eyes blinked heavily, altogether so irregularly that Shinsou couldn’t help but feel he was out of his body when you reappeared in his sight. Your hand pressing to his cheeks sympathetically, eyes truly hurt as you shook your head, hand grabbing into his bloodied pocket to take his phone.

“I’m sorry,” your voice seemingly whispered, just loud enough for him to hear you through the ringing from the explosion. “You weren’t supposed to be here, Mindjack… these are the scumbags that hurt my friends and family. I couldn’t let them live. Plus… I didn't have a choice, they were competition.”

He spluttered, the warm goo of blood and saliva choking out of his mouth as he convulsed on the ground, his eyes watching as you went.

“See you later, hero.”

He tried to yell at you to come back, that you were a coward, a fucking menace that he would destroy the next time he saw you, but his voice failed to work. Nothing was working except his pain receptors, his heart that kept shoving blood into his lungs that he kept spitting up, but he saw flashing white and red lights as unconsciousness sank its jagged teeth into his neck.

An ambulance was here.

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It took four months to recover from the accident.

His hearing had been fucked up. Not even medical quirks had managed to save his hearing entirely. But hey, it did get him the chance for Bakugou Katsuki to come to his room, called him pathetic, and showed off his own hearing aid that he had needed since his quirk had damaged his own hearing. Not to mention that for the past four months, he had been teaching him sign language just in case.

He wasn’t alone, it seemed.

But it was four months, and he had recovered fully.

The hearing aid he required in his left ear still made his ear ache in pain, and he found that he liked it much better shoved in the back of a draw than anything else. But he knew it was dangerous to be a hero without his full hearing. If it hadn’t been for Bakugou’s trial through this all and the help of Hatsume Mei to create a more appropriate hearing aid for heroes, he wasn’t sure if he would still be here — working that is.

But today — or well, night — was a new day, and he was going to push ahead. He could do this, no sweat, no problem. 

Well, that was until an all too familiar figure sat perched on a ledge on his usual route, legs swaying in the air as uncontrolled rage bubbled in his chest. It wasn’t entirely your fault, but a large part of Shinsou was embarrassed to have been caught up in all of this because of you. He had trusted you above all else even when his instincts yelled at him not to because he knew what it was like to be painted as a villain, and he had hoped by letting you in more, you would have changed. He thought you had.

But you hadn’t.

Not one bit.

…

…

You sat at the edge of the building, already having heard the loud crunch of Shinsou’s shoes against the gravel rooftop, but you didn’t turn around. You didn’t know how to face him, how to tell him that you were both sorry that he got caught up in your schemes, but that you weren’t sorry for what you had done. Those bastards had it coming.

“Give me one good reason not to push you off the building,” Shinsou growled, probably much louder than he intended. 

Instead of answering, you shrugged.

You hadn’t brought the earbuds that would keep you from being immune to his quirk, and you slightly feared what would happen if you gave in to the whispers of his words. Would you blackout in a daze before coming back to normal only when placed in the prefectures jail? Would he actually attempt to kill you? You had no idea.

But you turned on the ledge, looking at his tired purple eyes that shook with his anger and betrayal. You had done a number on him.

“So, now you can’t seem to respond back to me?” he laughed bitterly, his teeth bared into a way too fierce smile, one that made your heart thump and sent a shiver down your spine. “What game do you think you’re playing?”

You still didn’t answer as you planted your feet back onto the rooftop and stood up, watching as his binds flared to life. Dancing and weaving around him in a dangerous coil of fabric, like a frilled dragon lion lizard extending its skin in a warning.

“Should’ve taken you down with that first time I found you,” he spat, his eyes narrowing as you took steps toward him, and the weapon seemed to snap at you. “Did your sister pull the same bullshit on him as you did me? Is that why he became ‘psycho?’”

Now that one nearly got the response out of you as fury thrummed through your veins as you were suddenly nose to nose. You couldn’t help it, but you knew there was no point in explaining your reasoning for doing what you did because he would never understand; he couldn’t. 

So as his eyes flashed dangerously from your eyes, his breathing coming down harshly against your upper lip, the hatred he had for you (that was probably reignited from a year ago and make it double) simmered between the air between you and him. You couldn’t resist.

Your lips pressed against his in a simmering hot kiss. 

Shinsou shoved you away, as quickly as you had pressed your mouth against his, but you were back on him before he could utter a word. Only that this time, he kissed you back with scalding, burning heat. 

You never really knew how much smaller you were to Shinsou until you were on the tips of your toes to kiss him, his hands practically burning you as they gripped onto your hips, pulling you so close there was hardly any room to breathe. His kiss was hateful, spiteful, and full of unspoken passion the two of you had never addressed during the period that was good. It had been so good, but he was a hero, he would never understand.

His teeth bit harshly onto your lower lip, and you hissed, your fingers burying into his hair and tugging at the root of his hair as his tongue came and pressed dangerously against yours. His tongue was hot against yours, he was undoubtedly much more hotblooded than you were, and with his emotions heightened, he exhausted what. 

Tongues clashed against one another, but it wasn’t even a battle of dominance; it was a battle to find who surrendered. There was to be no joy or excitement for whichever tongue prevailed, just the burning of the tears falling down your face and the acid taste on your tongue as he suckled on your pink muscle.

Your eyes were partially opened, watching his angry yet blank purple eyes meet yours, neither one of you allowing yourself to give in to the pure elation and sensation this was bringing. No, he wouldn’t allow it, and you wouldn’t have it.

The stubble of his beard scratched into your skin repetitively, feeling like sandpaper against your own skin as the kiss deepened, consuming the both of you on a whole new level as your crotches ground roughly against one another. Hisses and groans couldn’t stop pouring from your collective mouths, both of you hating yet craving more from this all. You couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if he spoke to you like this, would he do something to you while you were like this? So when his massive, thick hand made contact with the underneath of your ass, scooping up your leg so that your covered cunt could now correctly grind into his hard cock, the weapon you stole from him a year ago bound around his neck, choking him, collaring him.

“I like my bitches chained up,” you mocked against his lips, but somehow, someway, Shinsou liked it. 

You groaned loudly at the way Shinsou gasped for air against the makeshift collar, your grin widening as you nodded your head, pulling away from his mouth as the grin became a smirk. “Didn’t think you wanted to talk when we were fucking?” you lied, teeth biting onto his lower lip and sucking on it as your hips oh so artfully bucked against his covered cock. You could feel the growing slick in your panties beginning to feel uncomfortable with the lack of proper friction, and your head lolled backward when he slammed your core against his, devilishly grinding against you.

He picked up your other leg and dropped the both of you to the floor, the uncomfortable gravel stone floor digging painfully into your back, but you could care less. Shinsou’s mouth was already back on your body, scratchy, scraping kisses placed on your neck, making you moan out, legs wrapping around his waist as you cant your hips upward to grind into him.

Unamused with the lack of his hands on your body, you took his arms that were planted at your shoulders and pressed his heavy palms on your breasts, avoiding the pissed look in his eyes as his teeth marked you painfully. You actually shrieked in pain. The feeling of his teeth tearing through the skin on your neck, while his finger kneaded and pulled at your covered breasts. It was unashamedly painful with how he played with your breasts. He seemed to grow happier with every sound of distress you made.

Fisting your hands back into his hair, you pulled him back to your face level, your eyes fluttered at the way his clothed erection carded perfectly between your sopping wet cunt. Blood stained his mouth, making his teeth slightly orange in tint, and you clicked your teeth in partial anger and pain as your neck throbbed. Slamming your lips back against his, you almost gagged at the taste of iron that soared through your senses as his tongue wasted no time to seek yours out. His lips and fingers were so ardent, manipulating your every body movement, cry of pain and pleasure as thrumming hatred for the stupid, stubborn hero above you still coursed through your veins. 

Sweat began to form at your temples as your lips gilded against his, your hips snapping up to meet his grinding hips, and an airy response keened from his mouth as you moaned loudly.

His incessantly grinding hips were making your legs shake with stimulation, your whines and whimpers for more opening like a flood gate as you finally stuck a hand between the two of you and shoved his pants to his knees. You dropped your legs from around his waist, and he assisted you in ripping your pants off from one side of your body, the fabric still clinging to your right leg, but you could hardly care. All you wanted was for him to plant his cock into your blazing heat and to fuck you, to claim you here on this rooftop that started and would end it all. You wanted him, his cock, and him.

“Fuck me,” you begged into his ear, and his back shivered with your words. You hooked your leg around his waist, carding his hot, throbbing cock against your soaked pussy, as you rolled your hips. “I want you to fuck me, fill me with his cock, and cum deep within me to show me just how much you fucking hate me.”

You cried out when his hand shot down to his cock to line it up with your squeezing, dripping hole, his mouth once again covering yours, kissing you aggressively, fueled with an emotion you could taste as bitter hatred. Your legs trembled as the tip of his cock continued to press against your entrance, not entirely entering it, not giving you friction to send you into a euphoric end. You could help the snarl that passed through your lips, your eyes angry beyond repair as the head of his cock continued to deny you. Whenever you tried to grind down, to force your walls around his cock, he went down with you, he wouldn’t allow it, and your cunt clenched against nothing as he gave you nothing.

Shinsou wheezes out a bitter chuckle, his hand raising his cock from between your soaked folds to slap his heavy, thick, and long length against your throbbing clit.

Hatred and desire soak your body, and you needily rub your clit against his cock, your hands shoving up his shirt to feel the scarred pattern of his back as you give him new ones that were produced by your nails.

“Don’t tease me, hero,” you snapped, fingers tearing into his skin to draw blood. “You fuck my pussy so good, right now, or I promise next time you’ll go out with that bomb too.”

That seems to do what you want because before those words settle on your nerves. His cock penetrates deeply within you, bottoming out entirely as your head thrashes back against the gravel of the floor, throbbing pain from that entirely ignorable because fuck, his cock was stretching you out. He was so thick, so fucking veiny that you could feel the pulsating veins on his cock pressing against your puffy, sensitive walls. You scream his name as the pleasure-filled pain pulses within you, your hips thrashing, wildly bucking in your attempt to calm from the sudden placement of his cock.

“Why are you so fucking big?” you splutter, a whining pitch to your voice as you clawed at his back, trying to separate your joined bodies but also trying to get even closer. “It’s so big, my walls feel like! Oh fuck, Shinsou, it feels like Imma split in two!”

It seems that Shinsou holds some great pride over those worse, because he growled deep in his chest, and his hips begin to fuck into you. It sends your hands to the base of his neck, clutching onto his skin with hope as you scream in pleasure, eyes rolling to the back of your head as the wet squelches fill the air and tickle your ears. The head of his cock keeps dragging against your spongy wall, brushing over your g-spot over and over again as if he knew where it was, as if it was common knowledge as he fucked you further into the gravel floor. It didn’t even hurt anymore, your skin singing with joy as his cock fucked you stupid.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck me!” you whined, and Shiinsou made an approving noise. 

He grunts as your cunt flutters and clenches around him, his balls hitting your skin in possibly bruising force and speed. And his pelvis crashing against your stings ever so slightly, but has you begging for more, sobbing for more.

Your vulgar words and moans are unstoppable at this point, your legs and thighs trembling as they are still circled around him, sometimes assisting you in coming up to meet his driving, drilling hips. You whine into his ear, your mouth pressing blind and sloppy kisses against his slick with sweat neck.

It’s when both his hands bring your hips up to him, his cock finally bottoming out entirely within you, does the most primal moan rip through your mouth. You convulse underneath him, trying to move as the head of his cock buries against your cervix, poking your womb with power and speed that has you swearing behind the blackness of your vision that this sensation brings. You can see the entire galaxy, the world lighting up when his cock leaves the thin wall, and you gasp, shocked that the heat and slick of your cunt is still going. You tremble underneath him, wordless cries pittering from your mouth while he bites on your earlobe.

You soon readjust to the numbing pleasure, the bruising pleasure, and pain that comes with his cock slamming against your cervix. The way that he thrusts up into you, stretching out your walls far more than you were ever used to.

 A pathetic cry escaped your lips when he rolled over so that you were now on top, your body bouncing as soon as it could against him. You keened and whined, feeling the top of his cock licking your cervix, and you spluttered.

“Fuck this angle, this angle and your cock!?” you stammered, fists curling into his collar as you rode him, his hips snapping up into yours with that same animalistic power and speed.

His pace is irreplicable, near maddening with every successive thrust of his hips. Each snap, each wet noise sends you close to the edge, your inner walls clenching and milking his length with greater power as your senseless cries fill the night sky. His grip on your waist will leave purple bruises later tonight, you just know it, but the fire in his eyes as you lock fazes is enough for you to be okay with it.

Its intensifying, deepening, fire erupting in your core as your cunt throbs.

Sweat, tears, and spit fall from your face, and Shinsou surges upward, kissing you with everything he can. It's a maddening escape of lust and need and hatred being exchanged, saliva spreading between you, covering your hot faces with slimy coldness, But you keep him close, your mouth drinking him in more, begging for more as your tongue sinks into his mouth.

His fingers rake down from your back. Past the curve of your clapping ass and onto your powerful thighs that helped in your action to claim his cock. Your joined mouths, both parted in silent screams, wordless begs for more, branding curses that spoke of his hatred for you, your hatred of his job.

Fuck this, fuck that, fuck, fuck, “fuck!”

You held each other impossibly close. Despite the barriers of shirts and armor separating your chests, you swore you could feel his hammering heart flush against your chest. A steady, consistent beat reminding you that this was a one-time thing, that this was yet another bomb with only one explosion to it.

“S-Shit!” his voice finally managed to escape from the makeshift collar, and you nearly sobbed at the sound of his gravelly, husky voice. 

You still hated him, you really hated him and his stupid deep voice. 

Your back arches as the control you had on collar suddenly slacks, as if you had never had it there, and his own noises of sex, of hatred, of pleasure fill and echo in your ear. You can hear him mumbling something in your ear, your head pathetically nodding, tears streaming down your face only you can’t seem to figure out why. The throbbing pressure in your stomach made you near uncomfortable as his cock sank and disappeared from your cunt, your walls' vice grip becoming tighter and tighter and tighter.

There’s vigor, untapped lust, pent up frustration as he rolls you both around, pushing you back into the gravel and dives his length into your wet, loud cunt without mercy. You were overworked, over thrilled, the pressure of your coming orgasm snapping into your every fiber of your being, your toes curling, and drool seeping from your lips as he growled. 

The noise seemed to resonate deeply in your own chest, and he pressed his sweaty forehead against yours, pathetic, needy noises escaping your lips as you stared into his angry, lusting eyes. And as he buried his teeth into your bottom lip, his nose scrunched in an aggressive snarl, he spoke with finality:

“Cum.”

You weren’t sure if you had suddenly fallen under the persuasion of his brainwash, or he just knew you were overfilled with pressure, but you went rigid in his hold, your eyes rolling backward, and your vision going white. You came in powerful waves, electric stimming vibrating through your entire body as your spongey, wet walls clamped around him, and Shinsou came in a guttural groan. His hips snapping into your with five last, robust, resounding thrusts until your trembling abdomen and thighs were stilled with his crushing weight.

 You could feel his hot cum pulsing and thriving deep within your cunt, and you panted heavily, your body feeling alarmingly weak as the both of you lay there. A puddle of cum, tears, drool, pain, longing, and hatred.

He lays on top of you, his chest heaving with his breathing, and you felt frozen beneath him. The pain of the gravel roof no longer adds to your pleasure but rather is stabbing you in pain. It’s quiet as you lay there.

He’s quiet.

You’re silent.

“Why’d you do it?” he asked suddenly, interrupting the silence that you hated.

“I can’t tell you,” you admit, voice thick and heavy with untold emotions.

“You know I’ll have to arrest you, right?” Shinsou spoke softly, but he didn’t move to capture you, and you didn’t move to run.

What was the point? It wasn’t as if there was ever a fighting chance for the both of you. The world would have never allowed it, so why bother?

“I don’t think you hate me enough to arrest me right now, sleep on it,” you softly chided, your eyes staring up into the universe, begging to know why they made you a freak?

“Not right now, you spent all my energy,” Shinsou admits, rising up from you, his soft cock removing itself from your humming core, and you looked away to keep from staring. “I really hate you though, y/l/n. I don’t like liars or pretenders.”

“Convince your cock of it next time,” you couldn’t help but fire back, your upper lip curling in your anger and hatred at the sound of his zipping pants.

Silence and a beat follow your words.

“I’ll tell you this now,” Shinsou spoke, turning on his heels, his tone was cold, distant, like a stranger who could care less for you. “Don’t let me see you again. If I do, I promise you, I’ll send your ass to Tartarus. We’re no longer on good terms.”

Anger, hatred, and fury course through your veins as you stand up, legs weak, but spirit wounded as you pull up your pants, uncaring of his cum leaking from your slit. 

“Don’t you dare show your face to me again! Next time I won’t save your fucking ass when I blow something up!” you snapped, the tears running down your face uncontrollable although your voice never gave it away. It didn’t have to though, he turned around one last time, and his eyes met yours, and the two of you glared and simmered. 

But, he didn’t bother to respond back as he disappeared into the shadows of the night sky.

You collapsed onto your knees, exhaustion finally catching up with you, and you realized his capturing weapon you had stolen was finally taken back by the rightful owner. You fell forward, the tears and silent sobs muffled by your bitten lip as you stayed on that rooftop for an hour. Crying like a freak.

Truth be told, you weren’t even sure if you ever hated him.

...

..

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Incoming Text…

Incoming Text…

New Text Message Received!

From Unknown:      ↳ Good job, y/n. Phase one is complete.

[the-bau-quinjet]

But with you, it’s different...

So, I’ve combined two of my great obsessions: Criminal Minds and Taylor Swift. Pretend the reader is Taylor Swift in the sense that she wrote and recorded the songs, but that’s it. Also, the songs are all out of order and not from the albums so just pretend that’s okay. I don’t reference the albums, but individual songs and yeah. It’s honestly kind of a mess, but also makes me happy. This is part 1! I have most of it written, so I should be able to post the other parts pretty soon. I think there will be 3 actual parts and then a short epilogue! Last thing, Spencer is a little out of character. I (try to) explain that later!!

Summary: Reader is a famous singer with a murderous stalker. Spencer has to go undercover to protect her. 

warnings: mentions of murder, anxious reader

Word Count: 7940

You weren’t expecting anything out of the ordinary to happen tonight. It was just the usual Saturday night. Honestly, you were looking forward to having a boring two weeks off. You absolutely loved touring and performing and seeing your fans, but it was going to be great to have some time just to write again. Writing music has always helped you de-stress and get your emotions out, and you were supposed to finally have a chance to do just that. However, the universe had different plans. Plans that involved the FBI.

This was your second night in DC. It was the first of some of the bigger cities on your tour where you were doing two shows, so you are even more exhausted than normal. You really only just started the US leg of your tour, but the two weeks off was well earned from the Europe, Asia, and South America legs.

 As you begin to perform the second to last song, you start to feel the familiar sadness you get when finishing a show. It’s almost as though the adrenaline rush from the excitement of so many screaming fans is wearing off and you can’t help but feel a bit sorry that the fun is coming to an end. After so many performances though, you’ve learned how to hide the emotions and give the audience your best fake smile. The last song is where you have some real fun, so just make it there.

 As you duck off stage to change for the final performance, you can’t help but notice the small group of people conversing, quite tensely, with your security team. They don’t look like the normal fans who would try to sneak backstage, too official. You make eye contact with one of them. He looks to be about your age, but you’ve never been great at guessing. There’s something about him that makes you want to find out exactly who he is right now, but you can’t. 

You’re left wondering about his identity as you run back onstage for the grand finale. You feel a genuine smile appearing as you feel the heat from the fireworks and listen to the happy cheers from the crowd. You’re last song goes off without a hitch, but you’re exhausted. There’s nothing you want more than to just shower and sleep, but there’s always a buzz about the cast and crew that prevents anyone from leaving right away.

 “Thank you for a great second night DC! Goodnight!” You shout into the mic as you duck back offstage to ride out the post show high. You are still chatting with some of the dancers you’ve become friends with when Carrie, the head of security, comes up with one of the men you saw arguing with her earlier.

 “Y/N? Can I talk to you for a minute?” You turn, surprised to see the stern man standing behind Carrie. “Yeah, sure.” You turn to excuse yourself from the dancers, wishing them a goodnight before turning back to Carrie.

 “We can go do your dressing room, that’s where the others are waiting.” Carrie says with a nervous smile on her face.

 “The others?” You ask confused, jogging to keep up with the brisk pace she has set for you and the stern man. “Who are we talking to?”

 “I’m sure you have a lot of questions. We will explain everything as soon as we meet up with the rest of the team.” The stern man spoke quietly, but with confidence as he followed behind you and Carrie. Before you could ask anything else, you were being ushered into your dressing room, coming face to face with the other two people you saw arguing with Carrie earlier. The first one you notice is a woman with jet black hair and fierce eyes. The other is the tall, lanky man you made eye contact with.

 You’re a little excited to get a closer look. He looks a little awkward at first glance, but you can tell he’s a sneaky sort of attractive underneath the perfectly placed tie and the comfy cardigan. Before you can get too caught up in how good looking these three strangers are, you turn to the stern one and ask “Who are you, and what are you doing here?” Your tone clearly indicates the confusion you’re feeling. 

 “Ms. L/N, my name is Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner. I am the Unit Chief for the Behavioral Analysis Unit at the FBI.” You can feel your eyes go wide as he shows you a badge with his picture and title. Before you can respond, he begins talking again. “These are SSAs Emily Prentiss” the woman gives you a reassuring smile and slight wave, “and Dr. Spencer Reid.” The sneakily attractive one nods his head in your general direction.

 The woman just introduced as Emily chimes in “we are here because we believe there is a killer targeting fans of your music. We have been tracking murders for the past two weekends. The first was in Louisville, Kentucky, then Columbus, Ohio, and then two right here in D.C.”

 “I was just in Louisville… and Columbus.” You feel yourself beginning to get dizzy as you try to comprehend what the agents are telling you.

 “Yes, and now you’re in DC.” The boss man is talking again. “We made the connection this afternoon as you had two shows here in DC.” The room is starting to spin as you listen to the man talk. “After more digging, we found each victim had purchased a ticket to your show. Additionally, they all had social media accounts dedicated as fan pages to you.” Agent Hotchner continues speaking as you nod along, trying to comprehend how this was happening. You don’t even realize you are tuning him out as you begin to sway on your feet. You can see his mouth moving, and the growing look of concern on his face is the last thing you see before the world goes dark.

 --

 You can hear a faint beeping as you begin to wake up. For a moment, you are blissfully unaware of the murders before the memory of meeting the three agents comes back to you. You instantly sit up and look around, trying to figure out where you are. You can see a very muscular bald man through a window, talking to someone in scrubs.

 Scrubs. A nurse. You are in the hospital.

 Your heart rate begins to calm down before skyrocketing again when you hear “Ms. L/N?” from the other side of the room. Turning with wide eyes and a scared expression, you throw your arms up to defend yourself from the unknown voice.

 “Sorry! Sorry, uh- I didn’t mean to scare you! I’m Dr. Spencer Reid.” Instantly you relax again at the familiar face. You drop your arms back to the bed, shifting into a more comfortable position before asking “Okay, Doctor. What’s wrong with me? Why am I in the hospital?”

He looks at you with a sheepish expression, rubbing the back of his neck before he admits, “Oh, I’m not that kind of doctor. I’ll go get a nurse or someone. Try to think back on what you remember before waking up here.” He shuffles out of the room as you try to replay the conversation with the other agents.

 Well, it wasn’t much of a conversation with them doing all of the talking, but still. The unknown man from outside your room window and the nurse he was talking to come into the room with Dr. Reid. The nurse begins checking your vitals as she asks you some questions.

 “Hi there. It’s good to see you up. How are you feeling?” She wears a small smile.

 “Oh, um, I feel fine. I think. I’m just confused about how I ended up here. I remember talking to the agents at the arena, but that’s it.” You close your eyes as you try to remember more, but nothing comes to you.

 “That was only about 45 minutes ago, dear.” The nurse’s kind voice helps settle you. “You fainted while the agents were talking to you. They brought you here. You should be good to leave in a few minutes as long as your vitals are good.”

 “Thank you.” You return her kind smile as she marks information on your chart before leaving the room.

 “Ms. L/N, this is SSA Derek Morgan.” The Doctor Agent is talking again.

 “Please, call me Y/N.” You rub your head, continuing to try to remember more about your condition. Before either man in the room can speak up, a new thought occurs to you. “If I fainted, why doesn’t my head hurt? The floor in my dressing room is not soft.” You look between the two men for an explanation.  

 The doctor shifts his weight from foot to foot a blush appearing on his face as Agent Morgan speaks up. “That is because Pretty Boy over here” he claps a hand onto the doctor’s shoulder “caught you before you hit the ground.” “Oh, um… Thank you.” You can feel the blush beginning to form as you think about his arms being around you.

 “It was no problem, really. Can we ask you a few questions?” He moves on quickly. “Oh sure thing Dr. Reid. Or Agent Reid. Agent Dr. Reid?” You can feel the blush growing as you ramble.

 “Just Sp-Spencer is fine.” He cuts you off before you can continue suggesting different honorifics. “What do you remember from what Agent Hotchner was telling you?”

 “He said someone was mur-murdering fans of me.” Tears spring to your eyes as you think about it. “That someone was killed in Kentucky and Ohio and then two people here in DC.” You squeeze your eyes shut, willing the tears not to fall.

 Get a hold of yourself.

 You feel a new weight on your hand before hearing Spencer begin talking again. “Take your time.” You open your eyes to see him patting your hand delicately. He moves back after you take a few deep, calming breaths.

 “I’m sorry. I just feel awful knowing people are dy-dying because of me. Is there anything I can do to help?” You choke on the words a bit, realizing the full gravity of the situation.

 “Do you recognize any of these people?” Agent Morgan pulls out photos of three women and one man, handing them to you to sift through. He seems to be staring at Spencer, but you just focus on the pictures. You can feel the tears building again as you realize who they are.

 “I do.” You take another breath before continuing. “I haven’t met them before, but they are all really active on different social sites. I try to talk to as many fans as I can ya know? They are why I am where I am. Is that why they were killed? Oh god. No no no no.” Your breathe increases in speed as you think about everything that is happening.

 “Hey, hey, hey, none of this is your fault.” Spencer is patting your hand again as he tries to calm you down. Just then, the nurse comes back with some paperwork for you to sign in order to leave.

 “You are free to go Ms. L/N. Just sign these forms and hand them in at the desk on your way out.” She exits the room swiftly.

 “Would you mind coming back to our office to finish talking?” Agent Morgan asks.

 “Of course not. Anything I can do to help.” You turn in the forms before following them to a black SUV. Spencer opens the door for you to get in the back before he slides in next to you. You don’t even have the brain power to consider why he isn’t sitting in the front. You just grab his hand and squeeze it, unable to get the thoughts out of your head that this was all your fault.  

 “This is not your fault. You had no idea what was happening, and now that you do you are trying to help.” Spencer looks at you reassuringly as he squeezes your hand right back. You simply nod back. You don’t trust yourself to speak without crying. You just need to calm down before you get to the office.

 About 15 minutes later you pull up to the FBI building that houses the BAU. They must’ve brought you to a hospital near Quantico. They lead you through security up to the fifth floor. You walk through a set of glass doors, passing a few desks before entering a conference room. “Do you need anything? Coffee, water?” Spencer asks as Agent Morgan leaves the room.

 “Oh, um, no I’m okay for now.” You stare at your hands as you go to sit down. “Actually, could I get a jacket or something?” You gesture to what you’re wearing as you ask. You haven’t had a chance to change yet, meaning you are wearing a black, sequined romper that is basically a leotard with how short it is. Perfect for performing, but not exactly FBI attire. “Of co-course! I’ll be right back.” He practically runs out of the room.

 A few minutes later, he pushes the door back open. “Here’s some clothes you can change into if you want. Or just a sweatshirt.” You look up from your position in the chair, rising to take the clothes.

 “Thank you.” You look from the clothes to him realizing you need to change, but are in a room full of windows in an unfamiliar building.

 He catches on a few seconds later, leading you out of the room. “The bathroom is this way!” He squeaks out as you both walk down a hallway outside the glass doors you came in. “I’ll wait here to show you back.” You smile as you brush past him, whispering thank you as you close the door.

 You instantly take off the romper, sliding on some FBI sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt that smells like vanilla and new books. The scent is oddly comforting. You would think a standard FBI sweatshirt would smell new, but this scent is calming your nerves. You fix your makeup as best you can before heading out of the bathroom. Spencer is a few feet away talking to a beautiful blonde woman. She looks effortlessly gorgeous. She smiles as she notices you, waving you to join them.

 “Ms. L/N, it’s lovely to meet you, although I do wish it was under better circumstances. I am SSA Jennifer Jureau, but you can call me JJ. The rest of the team is waiting for us to join them.” She smiles kindly, but you are frozen in place. You feel like a deer caught in the headlights.

 Spencer grabs your arm lightly, pulling you out of your trance. “It’s okay. Just breathe.” He whispers as the three of you start walking back toward the conference room you were in earlier.

 He lets your arm fall back to your side before guiding you back into the room behind JJ. You freeze again upon entering the room. You recognize Agents Hotchner, Prentiss, and Morgan, but are surprised by the other two faces. There is an older man with salt and pepper hair smiling kindly at you. He reminds you of your father. Then there is a very bubbly blonde, in a very colorful dress and matching glasses.

 They introduce themselves as SSA David Rossi and technical analyst Penelope Garcia. The unit chief begins to describe the case again, going slower this time given your earlier episode. “We believe the unsub is targeting fans of yours who he believes is unworthy of your attention. He worships you and views his victims as people who are not devoted enough to you.”

 You can’t decide how to respond, so you wait for another agent to continue. “Do you know of anyone who might be overly obsessed with you? Maybe they sent you letters that were a bit more personal than normal?” At this point, you decide you are done being controlled by this situation. What happened to those people is awful, but you can’t change it. You need to be strong to help prevent it from happening to anyone else.

 “I haven’t finished my fan letters from this week yet. I try to go through as many as possible, but there is only so much time in a day.” At this point you are pacing. Walking around has always helped you with thinking things over. “There is one letter that sticks out from three weeks ago. That was before the murd-” you stutter on the word. “Before anything happened though. Could that be relevant?” You ask, looking hopeful. If the agents are surprised by your change of attitude they don’t mention it.

 “It might be. What did it say?” Agent Hotchner asks, the same stern expression adorning his features.

 “I don’t remember all of it, but it looked like it was written on a typewriter, so it stood out. It said something about how they wondered if my hair smelled like peaches after I finished a show. I thought it was weird because my shampoo is peach scented, but how could they possibly know that? I figured I must have met them in passing, you know. I meet a lot of fans just walking around the different cities. Something just felt weird about this letter though. Like a bad feeling. I mean, my hair doesn’t really retain the scent of my shampoo all that much. So how could he know that unless he knew what shampoo I use? But actually, I use a personalized shampoo so I can change the scent every time I but it- it must’ve been a lucky guess, right? Maybe I just look like I would use peach scented shampoo” You feel like you are talking a mile a minute, but you can’t get yourself to stop. You practically fall back into your chair as you finish rambling about the letter, looking up to see unmistakable expressions of concern on the agents’ faces.

 “What? What does that mean? Oh god- How does he know my shampoo smells like peaches?” You look between all the agents as they seem to be communicating with just their eyes. You resort to taking calming breaths again. They’ll fill you in eventually, you need to breathe. You drop your head between your thighs as you push your chair away from the table. Breathe in for 7 seconds, hold for 7, and breathe out for 7. This always helps calm you down before a show.

 You choose to ignore the agents quietly talking to each other again as you focus on slowing your heart rate back to a normal pace.

 “Ms. L/N?” You look up exasperatedly, “Please, just call me Y/N.”

 “Then you can call me Penelope!” The woman has such a kindness to her that you can’t help but smile back at her.

 “What can I do for you Penelope?” She seems a bit surprised, but she responds in kind.

 “I just wanted to ask if you wanted some coffee. Or water or anything?” You smile at her kind gesture, rising from your seat.

 “Actually, some tea would be wonderful. But, please, let me come help you. These guys seem like they need to talk and it would probably be easier if I wasn’t in the room.” You smile as you walk out the door, leaving the agents slightly stunned at your observational skills in your distressed state.

 Penelope follows you out and leads you to what you assume is the break room. “We don’t really have much tea, but I know where the good doctor keeps his private collection.” She whispers conspiratorially as she searches through a small cabinet. “Aha! Here it is.” She presents you with a pretty impressive collection of teas. You opt for the simple peppermint. You have always found peppermint tea the most soothing.

 She hands you a mug before gesturing to the Keurig on the counter. You place the teabag in the cup, selecting the largest cup on the machine, and brewing hot water for your tea. The two of you don’t say anything while it steeps. Penelope speaks up when you move to sit down at the small table.

 “I just have to say, I am a huge fan of yours.” You can’t hide the smile that forms on your face. You have always loved meeting fans. They are just so sweet and you appreciate them beyond belief.

 “Thank you so much!” She seems a bit relieved at your response. “That’s honestly so nice to hear right now. I kind of feel like a mess.” You gesture to the oversized clothes you’ve got on.

 “Please, you look so gorgeous right now. It’s amazing. Your music is amazing too. I absolutely love Begin Again! It’s so romantic!” She gushes over the song.

 “Honestly, that one took me forever to write. I was in a pretty bad place after a bad breakup, convinced I would never love again. Dramatic, I know.” You roll your eyes at yourself. “But then I saw these two people in a café, and they just looked so happy. The idea of a new love forming so casually right in front of me was beautiful.” You smile thinking about the couple, wondering if they are still together.

 “Wow, so you can really right about anything?” She looks while asking the question.

 “Pretty much. I mean, they won’t all be good. It could be the tiniest moment or a huge thing in my life. Inspiration comes from everywhere. A lot of songs actually draw from multiple experiences, not just one thing. I could totally see myself writing a song about you.”

“No way! That would be insane.” You smile at her enthusiasm.

 “I’m serious! You just give of this energy that is so positive, it’s hard to remember ever being sad. I think it would be about how confident you are. Something like…” you trail off as you begin to hum, setting up your phone to record. “You’re the only one of you, baby that’s the fun of you. And I promise that nobody’s gonna love you like me!” You hum a few more bars before ending the recording.

 “That was insane. How do you do that?!” She has a wild kind of excitement in her eyes.

 “I don’t know. You just inspired me.” You grin at the shocked expression in her eyes.

 “Sing it again!” And you can’t help but give her what she wants.

 You hum a bit more of a melody that could work before jumping into the words you already said. You add a few more here and there, but nothing concrete. In your focus on singing, you don’t hear the door open behind you.

 “I’m the only one of me, baby that’s the fun of me. Oh oh oh. You’re the only one of you, baby that’s the fun of you. And I promise that you’ll never find another like me.” “I don’t doubt it.” You turn in shock to look at the person behind you, seeing none other than Spencer Reid in the doorway. You don’t notice the flush of embarrassment on his cheeks that you heard his comment, just like he doesn’t notice the matching expression on your face. Penelope though, she notices. And, she can’t wait to tell Derek.

 Spencer clears his throat before speaking again. “We’re ready for you to come back in if you’re up for it. We want to talk to you about a plan to keep you safe.”

 “Sure thing.” You grab your tea from the table before you and Penelope follow Spencer back to the conference room. You sitting cross-legged in your seat. You feel much calmer after chatting with Penelope. Song writing has always been cathartic for you, and it is reassuring that hasn’t changed.

The agents waste no time getting down to business. “We believe the unsub has broken into your tour bus. If the letter was from him, it would explain how he knows about the peach scent.” Agent Rossi starts.

 Agent Morgan continues, “It’s an easier target than a hotel room or your personal home since fewer people would be securing it.” You nod along with them. You are determined to stay strong through this.

 “We want to completely ensure your safety, so we think it best to send an agent to stay with you while we work on the case.” Agent Prentiss chimes in. You feel like you’re going to get whiplash looking between all their faces.

 “Since we haven’t ruled out people on the crew, we want this to remain as secret as possible. We will inform the head of security on your team, but other than that the agent will be undercover.” Agent Hotchner, stern as ever, appears to be studying your reaction.

 “Okay.” You sigh. “Okay, I can handle this. I’ll be fine. I’ll have an agent with me. Who’s going undercover? Do you have a cover story planned?” You look at Agent Hotchner with nervous eyes.

 “We wanted to plan the cover story with you to make it as believable as possible. What are you planning on doing for the next few weeks?” You consider what your plans consist of. Honestly, nothing but songwriting.

 “I plan on mostly working on songwriting. I usually go to cafes, parks, or anywhere really with people for inspiration. If I already have an idea, I’ll write from my hotel room or from home if I’m there. If any of you have any musical experience, then we could make up a cover story about a new writing partner. Nobody would really question it because I write with new people all the time.” You glance around the room to see if anyone is willing to take you up on your offer. Nobody says anything for a minute. They are communicating with looks again.

 Penelope chimes in “Reid knows how to play the piano!” You can’t help but latch on to the statement as you turn toward Spencer.

 “Really, that would be so helpful! I normally write to piano or guitar and then add any additional instrumental later in the studio. If you can play, then the story would look even more believable!” You are actually getting excited about this idea working out. You finally feel like you’ve helped them with something. They probably could’ve figured it out without you, but still.

 “Yes, I can play. I mean, it’s just mathematics if you think about it.” Spencer responds quietly, like his mind is somewhere else.

 “Reid, if you feel comfortable with it, that story sounds like great cover.” Reid nods at Agent Hotchner. “Great. You can go to your place and grab some clothes and anything else you’ll need.” He says to Spencer before turning his attention to you. You watch as Spencer walks out with the rest of the team before turning to meet Agent Hotchner’s eye. “It’s best if we stick to your plans as closely as possible. If the unsub is someone who works with you, he will likely notice if you start changing your behavior too much.” You nod in response, mentally going through everything you do from day to day.

 “Agent Reid will stay with you in your hotel room if you are comfortable with it. That is the safest arrangement since he will be close by if anything happens. We will also have agents tail you when you go out in public. We’ll have a rotation of agents in the rooms around yours each night to allow Reid to rest as well. He knows how to contact us, but we will program our numbers into your phone as well for backup. Do not hesitate to call any one of us if something feels even remotely wrong, no matter the time. Do you understand?”

 Again, you nod in response. It’s a lot of information to take in and honestly, you’re still thinking about sharing a hotel room with Spencer.

 “We will need to see the letter you mentioned earlier if you still have it. We would also like to go through the fan mail you currently have and any new mail that comes in. If you see anything else that feels off or seems suspicious, tell Reid or call one of us. If you remember anything else, tell Reid or call one of us.” He gives you a questioning glance to ensure you are following.

 “Basically, tell Reid everything. Got it.” You try to remain lighthearted even though Agent Hotchner’s serious expression hasn’t waned in the slightest.

 “It’s good to see you’ve got a good attitude about this. It’s hard to remain calm, but it will help limit any suspicion on the part of the unsub. We don’t want to escalate his plans. Do you have any questions for me?” He gives you a reassuring look as you contemplate everything he’s told you.

 “What does unsub mean?” you blurt out, surprising both of you. “Sorry, that was loud.” You cringe. “I just meant, why do you call the criminal, unsub?”

 You can see the faintest of smiles on his face as he replies, “Right, we can get pretty wrapped up in a case. It stands for unidentified subject. We try not to assign nicknames or anything to the perpetrators as it can affect their behavior.”

 “Right. Behavior.” You try to sound like you understand, but honestly this is so much different from all the detective shows you’ve seen. Apparently, Agent Hotchner notices and explains more.

 “We catch criminals by analyzing their behavior and trying to predict what they’ll do next.”

 “Like psychology? Nature vs. Nurture and mental disorders?” You ask, suddenly very curious about how this all works.

 “Yes, just like that, although we normally go a little deeper.”

 “So what can you tell about this unsub? That way I know what to look for.” Agent Hotchner seems pleased with this question.

 “The unsub is a man, likely 25-40. Age is the hardest thing to predict, so don’t follow that guideline too strictly. He likely suffers from antisocial personality disorder stemming from negligent parents and has always had trouble interacting with people. He is highly organized, which usually indicates high intelligence, but in this case could be due to the time he spends alone planning. His lack of social skills has resulted in him only working menial jobs. He won’t have worked anywhere for more than a few months before finding a new job since people find him odd or off-putting. He has always felt as though he deserves more because of his self presumed high intelligence. It is possible you met him in passing and any act of kindness toward him resulted in an obsession with you. He doesn’t have the courage to approach you, so he watches from afar or online. That’s how he found his earlier victims. Since you don’t have any shows in the next few weeks, his MO might change slightly. That’s why we want to be so cautious and make sure we can ensure your safety.” You sit quietly for a moment, trying to picture anyone who fits the description. You try to meet the people who work with you, but you certainly don’t know everyone. You were honestly hopeful the description would point you toward a suspect, but you’ve got nothing. “I can’t think of anyone like that, but now I know what to look out for. Thank you Agent Hotchner.” “Please, call me Hotch. Do you have any more questions?”

 “Just one, you said earlier that maintaining a sense of normalcy will prevent us from escalating his plans. What plans exactly?” You were nervous to ask this question, wondering if you really wanted to hear the answer.

 “We don’t know exactly. It is possible the unsub has been trying to work up the courage to talk to you, but since you won’t be doing shows, it is unclear how he would make contact. Reid and the other agents will be looking for anyone who appears to be in a lot of the same places you are. If you notice anyone more than one time in a day, don’t hesitate to-“

“Tell Reid or call one of you. I got it.” You smile at him again. “Thank you again.” He nods as you both exit the room. Spencer isn’t back from picking up clothes yet, so you aren’t sure exactly what to do. Penelope notices you searching the room and waves you over to her. She is talking with Agent Morgan.

 “Y/N! I was just telling my Chocolate Thunder about the song you started earlier. I just need to know, what does this fine specimen inspire you to write?” She sounds so excited you can’t bear to let her down. You study the man in front of you, searching for something to sing. You don’t know why, but there’s a certain sadness in his eye. He hides it well with his masculinity and the clear smirk on his face, but you know he’s been through some shit.

 You don’t want to kill the mood though, so you stick to something a little lighter than past pain. “Well, Pen, I have to say he looks like a heartbreaker.” This only encourages the smirk on his face. “The type to love ‘em and leave ‘em.” You have had a song in the back of your mind for a while so why not break it out now. Penelope shrieks as you start humming, drawing a crowd. Again, you set up your phone to record. The rest of the BAU agents crowd around Morgan’s desk as you start singing.

 “Magic, madness, heaven, sin, saw you there and I thought, oh my god, look at that face. You look like my next mistake.” That draws a few chuckles as you continue humming. More words pop into your head as you think about past relationships and what the media loves to say about celebrities. “Screaming, crying, perfect storms. I can make all the tables turn. Da dada da da, Keep you second guessing like, Oh my god, who is she. I get drunk on jealousy.” You hum some more, really getting into the flow of the song. “Cause darling I’m a nightmare, dressed like a daydream.” The group claps as you end the recording.

 “That was actually pretty impressive.” Agent Morgan smirks at you some more.

 “Well, to be honest I’ve had the melody in my notes for weeks, but I just couldn’t think of the right words.” Yet again, his smirk grows.

 “I guess I’m just that inspirational.” You choke back a laugh as you roll your eyes. You hadn’t realized the size of the crowd you had garnered. You can’t help but knock him down a few pegs.

 “You know what, I changed my mind. Agent Morgan’s song would be called I Knew You Were Trouble.” The entire group laughs at that one, but all the sudden you actually have another idea.

Before long, Penelope is asking you what songs you would write about the entire team.

 “Start with Hotch!”

 “Well, Hotch is so serious. So it’s kind of hard. His face just screams ‘I’ve been through it and dealt it out’. Maybe something like… your string of lights is still bright to see oh, who you are is not what you did, you’re still an innocent.” Even as you half sing it, the one line feels like it could lead somewhere big. It’s not quite right, but it’s a start.

 “That’s so cool. Do me next! And please, just call me Emily.” You nod at her as you think back over your previous interactions.

 “Alright, don’t get mad but something just popped into my head and I can’t un-hear it. They say I did something bad, then why’s it feel so good. Most fun I ever had, and I’d do it over and over and over again if I could.” The smile on her face told you everything you needed to know, but so did JJ.

 “You absolutely nailed it. That is Emily to a tee.” JJ chimed in. “I’m kind of scared to see what you can come up with for me!” Your head is swimming with lyrics and melodies, but it has been so long since you’ve had this much fun writing music with a group of people. It’s become such a solo activity for you, but these people just have so many stories to tell.

 “Okay, let me think.” You pause as you observe JJ. You can tell that she is such a sweetheart from the few hours you’ve known her, but you know you would be intimidated if you went to high school with her. “Sorry to be blunt but, you’re so gorgeous, I can’t say anything to your face. Cause look at your face.”

 “Why thank you!” JJ smiles as you defend the lyric choice.

 “I know you are so sweet and I of course don’t mean to say you are just a pretty face, but you really do have a pretty face.” The group chuckles again and nods in agreement. “Oh, wait! I’ve got another one. You took a Polaroid of us, then discovered, the rest of the world was black and white. But we were in screaming color.” That one came out of nowhere, but it felt right.

 “Beautiful. Okay, okay! Rossi’s turn!” Penelope says right as the man walks out of his office.

 “My turn for what?” He looks skeptical of the group, but in a loving way.

 “Y/N is coming up with song ideas for everyone! She just did Morgan, Hotch, Emily, and JJ! She did mine earlier. So it’s your turn!”

 “Well then by all means, be my guest.” You close your eyes as you think through the words swimming in your head.

 “While, Rossi, you have a kind aura. You seem like a parent to this group of rowdy children. Reminds me of my dad.” Again, the group laughs. You begin humming, lightly patting the desk in front of you as you think back on memories of your own parents. “I don’t know why all the trees change in the fall, but I know you’re not scared of anything at all. Don’t know if Snow White’s house is near or far away, but I know I had the best day with you today.” This tune was softer than the rest, more emotional. Everyone stops laughing as they listen to the soft melody you created.

 “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to kill the mood.” You feel slightly awkward with the new found silence.

 “Please, bella, that was beautiful. You really know how to read people.” Rossi hugs you as you blush, thanking him for the compliment.

 “That only leaves the resident genius. What would you write about Reid?” JJ poses the question and suddenly all eyes are on you. In all the commotion with the other songs, you didn’t notice Spencer exit the elevator. He walked in soon enough to hear the question. Deciding not to interrupt the conversation, he hangs back to listen to your answer.

 You can feel the blush heating up your face, subconsciously hugging the sweatshirt he gave you to wear earlier. After all the short melodies and lyrics you’ve come up with, you are way too tired to put your feelings toward Spencer into words.

 “I’ll be honest, it’s been in my head all night.” You begin to hum, knowing this would be a song about how you felt when you first saw him backstage, to when you spoke to him in the hospital room and all the little moments since then. “Your eyes whispered have we met…” you fill in for lyrics you’ve yet to write by humming. “All I can say is it was enchanting to meet you.”

 “That was beautiful.” Spencer says from behind you. You jump in surprise, nearly falling out of your chair. You didn’t even realize he was in the room.

 He looks sheepish as he apologizes for scaring you. “Are you ready to go?” He asks, reaching out a hand to help you up. The rest of the profilers share a knowing look as you rise from your seated position. They all wish you a goodnight as you and Spencer enter the elevator to head to your hotel. The ride to the parking garage is quiet. You keep humming that same melody, looking for the right words to fill in the blanks.

 Spencer leads you to another black SUV opening the passenger side door for you to get in the car. He tosses his bag in the back before getting in and starting the drive.

 “Penelope said it was my turn, did you do songs for everyone?” Spencer beaks the silence. You turn in your seat to look at him before responding.

 “Kind of. Mostly just ideas of songs. Morgan’s was the most put together, only because it was a song I already started. I recorded the whole thing though. That way I won’t forget any ideas. I can play it for you when we actually start to write some music!” You are honestly surprised by the range of ideas you have.

 “Wh-what? You actually want me to help you write songs? I th-though that was just a cover.” All of the sudden Spencer seems nervous and shy. You put the ideas swimming through your head on pause so you can devote all your attention to him.

 “Spencer, don’t worry about it. You don’t have to come up with any profound lyrics or brand new chord progressions. But, since we are going to be spending a lot of time together, you do have to talk to me. Otherwise it would just be weird.” You try to lighten the mood. You can tell by the way he relaxed his shoulders it worked a little. He nods in agreement as he parks the SUV in the garage dedicated to the hotel you are staying in. You take the elevator straight up to the 11th floor. It’s honestly reassuring to be able to lead him somewhere after everything that happened in the past few hours.

 You dig around in your bag- that somehow followed you on your journey from the arena to the hospital to the FBI building and now back to your hotel- to find the room key. No matter what you try, you can’t seem to slide the key card into the slot in the right way. Every time you try, the little light glows red before beeping indicating the door is still locked. After the fifth try, you are about ready to scream.  

 Suddenly, you can feel the heat from Spencer’s body as he slides up behind you to take the room key. He slides the card into the door, wiggles it around, and then slides it back out. To your surprise, the light glows green and the door unlocks. You must be exhausted to be this shocked at the fact he opened the door. You can’t even seem to force your feet to move. You just stand there like a fool, mouth agape.

 “Why?” Spencer turns to look at you with a confused expression. “Why couldn’t I… How did you…?” You just point to the door. He places his hand on the small of your back, guiding you into the room. He places his bag just inside the door before he turns around to close the door and lock the deadbolt.

 Even after he led you into the room, you turned around so you could keep staring at the door. You don’t even realize you started crying. Spencer guides you to the bed and tucks you into the blankets. You know that you are going to wake up in an hour because you never sleep in pants, but you just don’t have the energy to fight him on it. He turns off the lamp, but before he walks away, you grab his arm.

 “Can you stay?” You have never heard yourself sound so frail. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing the tears to stop. Spencer looks conflicted, but ultimately sits down next to you, his back against the headboard. You lay next to him in the dark, not quite touching. Once your breathe calms enough that you can talk without bursting into tears, you ask “how do you do it?”

 “Do what?” You smile at the sound of genuine concern in his voice.

 “How do you deal with this kind of stuff all the time? I feel like I’m falling apart. I want to be strong about it, so I can help. But then all of the sudden I can’t keep it in anymore. I just… how do you make it seem so easy?” You feel sniffly again, but you try to focus on your breathing.

 “It’s not easy. I hope it never becomes easy. It’s gotten easier, of course, but the minute I stop feeling everything is the moment I let them win. To feel pain in situations like this is human. Somebody wise once told me our best defense is our ability to empathize. It’s a completely natural reaction to experiencing something so traumatic. 70% of adults in the U.S. have experienced some type of traumatic event at least once in their lives. That's 223.4 million people. It would be...” He trailed off.

 “It would be what?” You angled your head up to look at him even though you couldn’t see him in the dark.

 “Oh, it’s nothing. I tend to ramble. I’m sorry.” He sounded so dejected, you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching for his hand. You had to shift on the bed a bit to reach his arm, so you ended up leaning your cheek against his thigh, tossing your arm over his lap in a sort of make shift hug.

 “I like it. It’s calming… and informative.” You couldn’t help but smile into his leg. “People who complain are just jealous.” That actually makes him laugh, but it doesn’t sound like a happy kind of laugh. More like a self-deprecating one. “I’m serious. You are clearly smarter than everyone else is, and you are sneaky attractive. There is a lot to be jealous about.” You dig deeper into his lap as you squeeze his hand in yours. The last thing you remember before falling asleep is the feeling of Spencer running his free hand through your hair.

--

You wake up slowly, eyes adjusting to the dark. You can just make out the numbers on the bedside clock to be 4:37. You must have fallen asleep talking to Spencer. Your head was still resting on his lap, his hand in your hair. You untangle yourself from the sheets to rid yourself of the extra layers that woke you up. It takes a few minutes of digging around in the dark to find one of the t-shirts you normally sleep in. In that amount of time, Spencer, still sleeping, rearranged himself to be laying on the bed rather than leaning against the headboard. You stopped for a minute to observe his sleeping form. He looks so at peace compared to the furrow of his brow and the glint in his eye that normally mean he’s thinking too hard.

 As soon as you lay back down in the bed, Spencer gravitates toward you. Before long, your head is resting on his chest, his arms wrapped around you. You breathe in the scent of vanilla and new books; the rhythmic pattern of his chest rising and falling lulls you back to sleep.

Part 2

tag list:

@mac99martin

[sconnie-doesnt-know]

Chapter 2

Characters - Reader, Ransom Drysdale, assorted OCs 

Word count - 3100

Warnings - Drinking, language, sexual content

A/N - Hope you enjoy the next installment of my Ransom series. Still setting things up in the chapter, but we’re moving along. For a while, there will be a good amount of heavy drinking and the questionable choices that go along with that, just FYI. Remember this is fiction and the acts are not recommended. They will also be acknowledged later if you are concerned. 

Feedback is wonderful, & if you notice any errors please let me know!

Dividers made by @firefly-graphics​

Chapter 1

You order drinks plus shots. 

“To another fucking week,” you salute with Whitney. It burns, and it’s sweet, and you just want it to act fast.

“Yeah, another one.” She grabs hers, salutes, and tosses it back back. She cringes for a few seconds, but once she recovers, she picks right up with half of a conversation you weren’t having. “So, are you gonna take someone home tonight?”

“You’re more worried about my sex life than your own.” You shake your head at her.

“After what that asshole did to you, you deserve all the good fucking. I’m just trying to find a good dick to help you forget.”

“Wow, that’s sweet in a weird way.” You shake your head again, but smile this time.

“Well, it’s true. I also don’t want to feel bad if I ditch you later for my own fuck buddy.” She wiggles her eyebrows like a cartoon villain. At least she’s giving you a warning this time and not just disappearing on you later.

“Jesus, Whit. Yeah okay.” You can’t help but laugh with her. “It’s just,” you survey the group around you, “You never really know what you’re gonna find at the end of the night.”

“Uhhh, yeah. That’s what having a one-night stand is...Oh hi.” She offers a dazzling smile to a cute guy pushing next to her at the bar.

You wait a few seconds for her attention to return before you mutter, “I am well aware.”

“So pick a partner and do-si-do. Come on, cowgirl,” she nudges you, nodding to the guy in the fraying straw hat next to you. Nothing seems to deter her.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” you giggle. 

She smiles and shrugs. A few minutes pass as she looks you over, studying you.

“You’re being weird about this.”

“I know.” You nibble on the straw in your glass for a moment before getting to where your mind’s been stuck for hours. “So hey, that guy we hung out with? Ransom?”

“No.” She shakes her head hard from side to side, a slightly manic giggle coming out between the repeated, “No, no. No.”

“What?” you try to sound casual, indifferent, but she knows you too well. “I just want to know what his deal is.”

“You don’t,” she insists, shaking her head.

“Why? Did you sleep with him?” 

“No, I haven’t.” She pauses for a moment, you can see she’s actually thinking over her answer. “He’s just gonna get what he wants from you and push you away.”

“You do realize that’s exactly what you’ve been telling me to do? So I should screw someone, but not him...because that’s what he does?”

“Yeah.”

“Wait, are he and Michelle a thing? I don’t want any extra relationship drama.”

“Psshh, yeah, god knows you’ve had enough of that.” She stares off into the middle distance before shaking her head and focusing again. “No, they’re not together either, but please? Please? Just promise me you’re not interested in Ransom.”

“Okay, but why?”

“I don’t know, I guess I don’t really think you’re his type.” She lets the words hang, and you’re unsure how to interpret them until you finally settle on hurt. You physically recoil a bit when the sting of her words hits.

“Wow, ouch. What the hell does that mean?” You look down into your lap, looking yourself over really quickly and not finding anything major sticking out.

“I just don’t see it. Trust me, and tell me you’re not being serious with this.” 

Even with her strange and kind of harsh reaction, you can’t get rid of the swooping feeling you get in your stomach just thinking about him. So, you try to purse your lips to control the uncomfortable smile trying to break through. You want to assure your friend, but can’t lie to her either...at least not well. 

“I’m totally not,” you finally say with an awkward laugh behind it. Again, failing miserably to play off nonchalance. 

She sees it all and knows you’re full of shit. “No one will have any respect for you if you fuck around with him.” She says, matter-of-factly.

Where this is all coming from, you have no idea.

“You’re being mean and cryptic and I don’t like it. I’m not even saying that anything’s going to happen, but that sounds a little extreme, Whit. Come on,” you whine.

She rolls her eyes. “It’s not. Just find someone and ask him to buy you a drink. Look around, you can pick anyone, but I am not enabling you and Ransom,” she quickly adds.

You try to lighten the mood by teasing her about having standards, but can’t find much ground to stand on when she brings The Ex into the discussion. She’s really on a roll tonight and pulling no punches. It’s not what you wanted or needed from the night. You came out with a mission to have fun, so you take a deep breath and decide to be the bigger person.

“Hey Whit?”

She keeps her eyes on the bar in front of her, letting you know she’s still somewhat annoyed at you. “Yesss?”

“This week sucked. Let’s get trashed.” You sling your arms around her shoulders and shake her until she laughs with you. Her party-friend is back in action.

“Fuck. Yes.”

You struggle to go along with Whitney’s plan for your night, especially when the Cowboy and just about every other guy she pushes your way fail to keep your interest. Not that you’d never had a one-night stand, but just that lately they’d been pretty awful experiences and you wondered far too often lately what a life of celibacy would look like. It’s much easier to dismiss the guys and remember that at least your vibrator can get the job done.

Before last call you give in and you text Jeff. Yes, the Jeff with whiskey dick who left you high and dry last time as Whitney reminds you with a giggle. He sounds genuinely happy to hear from you again and promises to make up for last time which makes it seem worth it to give him another shot. He’s tall, fit, with long fingers and if you remember correctly, a decent enough dick.

He manages to stay hard this time around, and he takes his time feeling you up, but the two of you can’t find a rhythm that works. You finally bat his hand away and rub yourself off while he pumps sloppily into you. Afterward, he leans in for a kiss and you turn away to give him your cheek. Getting dressed, you give him a few non-committal answers when he asks about seeing you again, and at the end of it all, you’re most grateful that you didn’t take him to your place. 

You spread out alone in your own bed and think over Whitney’s words.

Whitney knows more than a few of your dirty secrets; the friendship between you two had blossomed quickly with your guard easily let down. She never really judged you, at least not openly, which left you swirling in doubt for days, obsessing over what would probably end up being nothing. 

What made you not his type - looks? Money? Another woman? She never really had a filter, but she was being so short on the topic of Ransom which made you think even harder, rooting through some more recent bad memories.

“Am I a bad person?” you ask Carrie during the week.

“What? No!”

You accept her answer with a nod, silently thinking.

“I wonder if I should just take a break.” When Carrie looks at you funny, you clarify, “Like, maybe I am finding these losers because I am not all that great myself? These guys are all just…”

“Babe, you’re meeting them at bars...with Whitney.”

You heave in a deep sigh, “I know. And she’s not that bad.” A humorless laugh escapes. “Maybe I am aiming too high or something?”

“There’s no such thing.” You see her shoulders shift, fire in her eyes and protective mode activated like she’s done a few times in staff meetings. “What happened?” she asks.

“Nothing. Just thinking.”

Whitney laughs when you tell her you’re thinking of taking a break.

“Was Jeff that bad? I thought you said he was good with his fingers.”

You look around, even if Whitney has forgotten she’s in public, you haven’t. No one else reacts though, thankfully.

“You’re such a bitch,” you sigh. She fakes offense which you ignore. “No, he wasn’t that bad, I just want to find a nice guy. I don’t know.”

Her already buzzed gaze moves somewhere over your shoulder, “Oh whoa, stop that thought. There’s a guy behind you that looks like he wants to bend you over right here. So,” she drags out, “How about we see how that goes and forget about Jeff, and nice for a while.”

She adjusts her own posture, subtly popping up her tits and tilting her chin down to offer him and enticing smile.

‘Jeff isn’t the problem,’ you think to yourself, but she’s already moving forward with her plan for your night. You toss back the shot she places in front of you and turn to check him out.

It’s not happening, even as tipsy as you currently are, this guy with the ironic mullet hovering next to you and trying to get handsy is not getting into your pants. You know it, Whitney knows it (even if she continues to flirt with his friend), hell - the people in the space station know it… but Mullet Guy is oblivious. It’s embarrassing. 

You sit there with your hands over half of your face, wishing he’d leave you alone, when you feel a tap on your shoulder. Turning, you see a familiar pretty face surrounded by blonde hair.

“Do you need some help?” Michelle asks, eyeing the guy next to you.

You’re surprised she even recognized you, let alone approached you, but you’re desperate to take the help where you can get it. “Oh my god, yes.” 

She gives you a knowing grin, “You’ll find some of us in the corner booth in the back.”

“You sure?” you ask, still thrown off by the interaction and nearly stumbling off the bar stool. “What about Whitney?” 

“I’ll get her,” She gives you a little nudge. 

You slip past the guy hopelessly hitting on you, mumbling and hoping he doesn’t follow and head down the aisle alongside the bar until you reach the large, corner booth. A few faces look familiar, but when he looks up you consider turning back. Judging by his smirk, there’s no chance of that happening.

You raise your voice to be heard over the noise of the bar, “Um, Michelle sent me over,” your nerves turning it into a question rather than a statement.

Ransom raises an eyebrow like he’s about to ask a question, but nudges the people next to him to make them get up and make room for you.

“Oh, no that’s...I’ll just sit on the end.” You try to politely wave them off, but they’re already up.

“Come on in, sweetheart,” he invites you, arm thrown over the back of the seat and your heart beats double-time with just how much you want it wrapped around you. The two people who vacated their spots shift impatiently and you clumsily sit down and start to scoot over under your knee bumps into his, making you immediately stop and apologize.

“You here all alone?” he asks, swirling his drink, the ring on his pinky finger flashing in the light.

“Nah,” Michelle reappears and speaks up for you as she sets down a few glasses onto the table, “Whitney’s here, but she’s got some company. This lucky lady,” she points to you and continues with a light laugh in her voice, “Was just looking miserable with some idiot not taking a hint.”

“You should’ve just told him to fuck off.” Ransom says.

You look over the crowd, finding Mullet Guy waiting for you back at your seat. His eyes droopy from the liquor and Whitney swaying with his companion. 

“I know, I just don’t like doing that. Plus, uh, I think Whitney is trying to fuck his friend.”

“So leave her. She’s a big girl and can handle herself.”

After that he continues the conversation he was having with the others before you arrived, and once again, you sit there silently watching. 

If you can call anyone the leader in the group, it is Ransom. Watching the way the other guys at the table defer to him and how he responds to what they say makes it obvious. He knows it too, practically sitting here holding court at the big square booth. 

The conversation isn’t all that interesting, at least not to you. Some kind of pissing contest the guys are having involving some sports stats. Every now and again you hear them say something so blatantly wrong, but you don’t know them well enough to correct them. With the underhanded comments and passive aggressive insults, you can’t help but wonder if any of them are actually friends. Eventually, your attention wanders over the rest of the bar patrons.

“Am I keeping you from something?” Ransom startles you with how close he is, body still but eyes roaming. You suck in a deep breath, smelling the alcohol and his cologne which makes your mouth water.

“N-no, sorry,” you struggle to come up with an excuse for zoning out, “Just looking for Whitney.”

He tips his head, “She’s right where you left her.” You follow his line of sight, finding her easily. 

“Oh. Yeah.” 

The way his face goes impassive unsettles you, like it was the wrong answer. “We’re boring you. That’s alright. Let’s talk about you.”

“Not much that you’d be interested in, I think.” Whitney’s assertion that you’re not his type replays in your head

“I don’t know about that. I have a lot of interests.” He stares at you with this look on his face, like he’s listening to something funny, but his eyes are serious. It’s intimidating when combined with the way he’s lounged so comfortably next to you, taking up the space like he owns it and yours. His tone, and the little tickle from his fingers against your shoulder feels like flirting, and now your inner voice begs you to remember how to fucking flirt. ‘For the love of god, shake off the nerves and flirt with this gorgeous creature.’ You take a deep breath and try to sink into it.

“What do you want to know?” You ask, setting your elbow on the table and propping your face on your palm while you turn even further toward him.

One side of his face lifts almost into a smile. He starts with a few basic questions, finding out you’re not from the city, how long you’ve been around. He ignores what you ask in return, continuing with his rapid-fire questioning.

“How do you know that little brat?” he asks with a tiny flick in the direction of the bar.

“Whitney?” you chuckle and he nods, “Friend of a friend; she practically became attached at my hip once we started going out together.”

“A quiet little mouse like you and her? Really?”

“I promise you, I’m not always so quiet,” you challenge.

“See, now that is interesting. Think I’d like to see that,” he answers, eyes giving you a quick up-down in your seat.

In the seconds it takes for you to process that he is indeed flirting and you need to respond, the moment is broken by a high-pitched voice.

“There you are! You fucking ditched me.” Whitney practically howls at you. You feel like a child who got caught out after curfew as you see her eyes move between you and Ransom. “What’s happening here?”

The alcohol has settled enough to remove some of your tension. With that and her overdramatic reaction, trying to control the urge to giggle at being caught is impossible, so you bite down on your lips to keep the grin from your face. “Nothing,” you answer, poorly faking innocence.

Ransom’s eyes stay on you, you can feel it, but he talks to your friend, “We were just getting to know each other better.” He turns to look at her, “Sit down with us,” his tone almost sounding like an order.

“Getting to know each other?” she asks you pointedly. 

You can’t understand what her problem is with him, especially since he’s her friend. At this point, you’re too intrigued. It’s not like there’s any point in trying to deny that you’re attracted to him with half your body leaning into him like he’s a magnet, but for some reason you think you see real disappointment in her eyes. Biting your lip, you take a peek at him to find him waiting for your response; he’s already smug with the attention.

“Yeah.” 

“What about your break?” she spits out.

You feel too many people looking at you, but you can’t answer, too shocked that she’s put you on the spot like this.

“Remember?” she asks like you’re forgetful, “You’re taking a break because you’re looking for a nice guy.” She over-enunciates as she stares daggers at Ransom.

“Why don’t you get the stick out of your ass, Whitney. I’ve been nice all night, haven’t I sweetheart?” The hostility between the two makes your back go rigid, anxious for the moment to end and the spotlight to be directed anywhere else.

“I’m fine,” you tell her as firmly as you can.

She shakes her head at you, but sits down anyway, jumping right into flirty conversation with Eric who is sitting at the end of the booth, notably there without the girl from the other weekend.

“Hmm,” Ransom hums right against your ear, making your skin tingle. “I think someone just got in trouble.” He’s clearly amused and not sounding remorseful at all.

He makes a move then. It’s slight, but you feel him tuck you a little further under his arm. Part of you is glad Whitney is distracted, but the other part wants her to notice it and realize she might be wrong.

“I…yeah,” you stumble over your words, confused and flustered between the two of them. Chest tight and pulling in short breaths and stomach swooping with excitement, you internally scream, begging for him to make it worth it.

[the-badger-mole]

Traditional Part 3

   Zuko woke first the next morning. He stirred the banked fire and set about making breakfast. As he was setting on a pot for tea, he heard someone else emerge from the tent. A moment later, Chief Hakoda settled beside him and yawned. 

“You’re up pretty early,” Hakoda observed. “We have another hour before we needed to get up.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you, sir,” Zuko apologized. Hakoda waved him off. 

“Not your fault,” he said. “I’m a light sleeper is all. Kya used to complain that she had to tie herself down when she slept so she wouldn’t accidentally wake me. She was a really heavy sleeper. I once got out of bed, tripped into a pile of pots and ripped one of the rushes off the wall, and she barely moved.” Hakoda let out a chuckle, but Zuko could see a flash of sadness in his eyes. “The kids take after with that, you know.”

Zuko did know. After he had joined the Gaang, Zuko began observing how the group operated with a growing sense of horror and confusion. How had they managed to evade capture for so long? And how would Zuko keep them safe? He was grateful for Toph’s presence. Her sensitivity to vibrations in the earth made it unnecessary for him to try to implement night watches. Still, Zuko was glad for the guards who stood by Katara’s bedroom door at the palace. If someone attacked her while she was sleeping, she’d never know about it. In the Fire Nation, it was traditional for the Fire Lady to sleep in her own room. Zuko wasn’t sure if all royal couples followed that archaic rule, but once they were married, Zuko was determined never to let Katara sleep on her own if he had a choice. She could sleep as heavily as she pleased as long as he was around to protect her.

“I’m a pretty light sleeper, too,” he told Hakoda. A shadow of a smile passed over the older man’s face. Silence fell over the pair, and Zuko would have liked to imagine it was the sort of comfortable, companionable silence he’d enjoyed with Iroh, but the truth was his mind was racing for something, anything to say to Hakoda that would raise his esteem in his future father-in-law’s eyes. 

“I heard a bit of your conversation with Sokka last night,” Hakoda confessed, startling Zuko from his thoughts. 

“Y-you did?” Zuko went over the conversation in his head. He hadn’t noticed Hakoda or Bato paying any special attention to them. He didn’t think he had said anything that could be interpreted as an insult. He glanced at Hakoda nervously and found the man smiling slightly, but warmly. 

“I know I shouldn’t eavesdrop,” he said. “But honestly, I didn’t have much of a choice. The wind was blowing in my direction.”

“It’s...fine,” Zuko shrugged, unsure of what else to say. If nothing else, at least Hakoda had heard that he loved Katara and wouldn’t force her into marrying him if she didn’t want. He cleared his throat nervously and waited for Hakoda to say something. 

“You know, I wasn’t as surprised as I should have been when you and Katara started dating,” Hakoda tilted his head back and looked up at the stars in the still dark sky. “When I found out, I suppose I should have felt something like anger or fear. And I did, but mostly I felt strangely like I was expecting it.” Hakoda shrugged with a thoughtful hum. “Maybe in a way I was.” 

“You don’t want her to marry me?” Zuko asked. Hakoda was confusing him. 

“It’s not that,” Hakoda said. “I have a lot of the same concerns as Sokka. You have proven yourself to be a fine young man. I think under different circumstances, you would be just the sort of man I always hoped Katara would find. Supportive, but not overbearing. Kind and compassionate. You’re a bit awkward and withdrawn,but no one’s perfect.” Zuko felt his face heat up and he ducked his head. 

“Um...”

“I didn’t mean to insult you,” Hakoda assured him gently. “I only meant that Katara has always been outgoing and forthright. And a bit awkward in her own way.” Hakoda smiled fondly. “I do understand why she chose you. You two suit each other. Maybe that’s why I wasn’t surprised. I suppose all of this has been a very long time coming.” 

The pair lapsed into silence once again. The water Zuko had put on the fire had started to boil. He took the pot from the flame and added the dark, pungent tea leaves  to steep. 

“I think I knew where things were heading at your coronation,” Hakoda continued. Zuko looked up in surprise at that.

“What do you mean?” he asked. Hakoda gestured at him vaguely. 

“I mean I think I knew you two would end up here eventually,” he said. “The day of your coronation, during the celebration banquet afterwards. You two kept finding reasons to be near each other. She wanted to make sure you weren’t in pain, or you wanted to introduce her to some advisor or general. She had accidentally gotten two cups of punch and thought you’d like the other. You wanted her to try some Fire Nation delicacy.” Hakoda shot Zuko an amused look. “I didn’t admit it to myself just then, but it was a bigger shock for me that Katara ended up with Aang and you ended up with...er...the young woman with the knives?”

“Mai,” Zuko supplied.  Hakoda nodded his head, accepting the answer. 

“Well, I was surprised at the way things shook out. Looking back, I think I would have been more unhappy if Katara had married Aang. I’m worried for her now, but she was never truly happy with him. You make her happy.” Hakoda said the words as if it were the first time he’d understood them. He smiled at Zuko again, warm and full. “I know you’ll look out for her, just like I know she’ll look out for you. Still, I worry about this arrangement.”

“Sir, I would die for your daughter,” Zuko said fervently. Hakoda chuckled and motioned for Zuko to settle down.

“Easy on the sir stuff,” he said. “Hakoda is fine. I know you would die for Katara. You proved that already. But I hope that you remember to live for her, too.”

“...sir?” Zuko blinked in surprise. Hakoda sighed and sat a bit straighter.

“Zuko, I know you are the Fire Lord, and that comes with a lot of responsibility. Katara understands that probably better than almost any woman you could have married. She grew up with me for a father, after all. But love is...love is like a flower. If you don't nurture it, it'll die. You make my daughter happy, and, under the circumstances, I couldn't ask for more.”

“I...” Zuko swallowed hard, feeling overwhelmed, confused, and touched at the same time. He was at a loss for words. Hakoda’s smile turned a bit melancholy. 

“Katara is a leader in her own right,” he said. “She puts everyone before herself. She did it for us. She did it for Aang. And, I suspect she does it for you and your people.” Zuko remembered walking into her office late at night to find her poring over proposals for justice reforms and public social programs. There were times she went whole days without sleep. Hakoda was right. Katara did put everyone else first. 

“One leader to another,” Hakoda interrupted Zuko’s thoughts. “One husband to another, I’d like to give you a piece of advice.”

“Please.”

“Even though you have a duty to your country, you will also have a duty to your wife and family. Sometimes those duties come in conflict with each other. When it is your choice- and it will be your choice more often than you think- you should put them first.” Zuko swallowed hard suddenly imagining the family he and Katara would make someday. Someday soon. 

“I will,” he swore. Hakoda clasped his shoulder.

“Good man.” He nodded towards the steaming teapot sitting by the fire. “Now, I think we could both use a bit of a warm up.” Zuko poured them both a cup of the strong brew. Hakoda took a sip and sputtered. 

“That is...bracing!” he declared, coughing a bit. A warm blush spread over Zuko’s face as he murmured an apology. No matter how many times his uncle tried to teach him, he could never get the knack of brewing tea. 

.*.*.*.*.*.

By Bato’s reckoning, they were about a day behind whatever had left the drag marks that Zuko had found. Once everyone was up and dressed, they broke down camp and prepared to continue the hunt. Sokka took folded the blankets and furs, and then he and Zuko broke down the tent while Hakoda and Bato plotted their course for the day. The older man made their way back as they were securing the tent in a pack. 

“You two work quick,” Bato said. “I’ll give you that. Well, that’s camp maintenance. I guess this means you both get a point.” Sokka pumped a fist in the air, until Bato continued, “That still puts Zuko in the lead.” 

“Aw, come on!” Sokka protested. “I did way more than he did! I sharpened all of our weapons.” 

“I made the fire,” Zuko pointed out, more invested in messing with his friend than in winning the point.

“I broke down the tent.”

“I helped,” Zuko said. “I also made breakfast.”

“You should lose points for that tea!” Sokka refused to be outdone. “You could use that to peel paint!” Hakoda and Bato laughed at the pair. The scoring was left  as was, to Sokka’s chagrin. But it didn’t matter. Soon they found fresher tracks and Sokka identified the animal they were after, earning him another point and tying him with Zuko.

Part 1, Part 2,   Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

[ask-jumblr]

Proposed blog changes: move to Reddit

While I enjoy personally blogging on tumblr, it has many disadvantages for this blog’s format... For some time, I’d been thinking about moving this blog to another platform and I keep coming back to Reddit.

What does this mean?

I’m going to wait 7-10 days for people to comment on the idea of a Reddit move before doing absolutely anything.

If you have used Reddit as a regular user and/or as a community moderator: Do you think it would be a good fit? Do you have any tips?

If you don’t have a Reddit account or would want to make a separate one: Would you be willing to make a new account to engage with this community?

If we proceed, think on: What are some ground rules we might want to set for users? for moderators? What might be a good name? Would you be interested in being a moderator?

The ask box is staying open, and I will still be queueing asks. However, it may take me a while to catch up, I will not be reblogging asks, and I won’t be trying to keep a super consistent queue. The ask box will remain open unless and until there is a clear transition plan.

I intend to keep my personal tumblr. I like it here--I just don’t think here is the right home for this blog.

Why Move to Reddit?

1. Better community tools around banning

It’s hard for me to stop someone from using this blog to spam and harass others. (1) On Tumblr, my only tool is blocking. In Reddit, there are some more nuanced tools. (2) On Tumblr, it can be tricky to message people to discuss their behavior, and any resulting warnings or consequences. On Reddit, there are some built-in tools for making sure admins and moderators can reach out in these cases.

2. Better community tools for informing new users

On Tumblr, there isn’t a great way for me to introduce new users to how this blog works. On Tumblr, I can’t pin a post, I am limited to a fairly tiny description on the homepage, and people on mobile can’t always find the pages for rules, guidelines, explanations, archives. etc. On Reddit, there are better ways to inform new users of how the community works, including community descriptions and pinned posts.

3. Better mobile interface

I am yet to hear any concerns about Reddit mobile limiting features. If I’m wrong about this, please let me know.

4. Easier collaboration for moderators

Reddit is built for multiple moderators and approving posts/comments in ways that Tumblr just isn’t. There are whole systems for approving outside posts, for moderators to chat as a group, and for reminding people of rules.

I am not expanding the moderating team on Tumblr, but with a move to Reddit I would try to bring in some new moderators. This would have some added bonuses:

Content can come out faster!

More perspectives and fewer insulting goofs when handling Jewish people who aren’t me! I so often don’t know about different Jewish groups, perspectives, and overlapping identities. With a bigger team, more perspectives and identities could be represented.

No weird conflict from me of Should I answer a question on a post I’m also moderating?

5. Less Repeating Ourselves

We get a lot of repeat and semi-repeat questions, but archiving and search are pretty awful on here. I never know whether people have seen those similar asks and still want answers to their own question, or whether those asks were enough.

Often, on mobile, people can’t view the archive I’ve been building. I’m under the impression that a subreddit’s pages are still viewable on Reddit mobile.

Tumblr’s search is also terrible--I regularly can’t find a post on here that I know exists. I’ve played around some with Reddit's search and have found that it actually works.

6. Better Conversations on questions

When reading this blog, people rely a lot on the notes. In Reddit, the platform is the notes. While up/downvoting have some downsides, I believe that we can find ways to work those out.

7. Retain anonymity from ‘outside’ identity

I know that many users appreciate their account being separate from their life ‘outside’ this corner of the internet. For some users, this is an important safety concern. For better or worse, Reddit is known for being separate from ‘real life’ and its connected internet activity like Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Linked-In. While brings me to my next point...

8. More functional balance of anonymity and privacy

I very, very often, wished I could just message an anon to clarify. For understandable reasons, that just isn’t possible. However, taking the anon feature away would make it much, much harder for people with sensitive questions to send them in:

On Tumblr, people can’t send in an ask from a ‘sideblog’ created just for that purpose. If I turned off the anon feature, people would have two choices for relative anonymity from their main blog (A) message me with a sideblog using the tiny chat and hope I post it or (B) make a whole separate account with another email address.

In Reddit, option A (message a mod) is a little easier. The chat function simply works better.

And Reddit provides a much improved parallel to option B (new, separate account). Reddit allows one person to make multiple, independent accounts under the same email. In other words, you don’t need another email address to make an independent account to send in a question.

9. Not any worse?

While Reddit is notorious for being unchecked, Tumblr is also a cesspool of Nazis...

Some Final Notes:

There are already some corners of Reddit with features similar to this blog, but they aren’t an entirely question-based environment like this blog. This blog was in part made (spoiler alert?) to be a non-terrible version of “God Save Us From Your Opinion” on Facebook. Reddit would be a much better platform than Facebook or Tumblr for that purpose.

This blog was also created* to provide an outlet for the many asks that I and other Jewish blogs get on tumblr. Moving platforms would...not be ideal for diverting those asks...thoughts?

* mild clarification edit

[schmokschmok]

everything changes, nothing perishes

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Relationship: Jon Sims x Martin K. Blackwood

Characters: Jonathan Sims, Martin K. Blackwood, Gerry Delano, Georgie Barker, Melanie King, Tim Stoker, Sasha James

Wordcount: 10.000

Freeform:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Alternate Universe - College/University

Romantic & Platonic Soulmates

Brief Georgie/Jon

Amicable Breakups

Trans Melanie King & Martin Blackwood

He/Him & They/Them Pronouns For Asexual, Nonbinary Royalty Jon Sims

HOH Tim Stoker

The Mechanisms Are The Archivist’s College Band

Summary

It’s just like Martin to get a soulmate who’s already bound to someone else.

A "the first words your soulmate says to you are written on your skin"-au but the twist is only a twist if you haven't read the first installment of the series (which is not necessary but appreciated).

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28395876

Complimentary Georgie/Melanie Fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25056415 

CN: Alcohol (mentioned), Canon-/Fanon-typical Martin Loneliness, Food (mentioned), Toxic Parent-Child Relationship (Martin’s mother)

 #1

Just got drunk and walked in.

It’s kind of a funny story, Martin supposes, what with the admission of alcohol being the catalysator and the cocky confidence of the script. When he was young, he thought about this sentence a lot, even though his idea of ‘getting drunk’ didn’t correspond to reality. (He still thinks a lot about it, but it’s not as rose-tinted anymore. Or at least he likes to think it isn’t.)

He never pictured a face or an actual voice to accommodate the words. But he thought about the tone, and the inflection, the way someone might say it with anger or arrogance or the intensity of a really great punchline.

The stories he made up were full of bravery and heroism, of drunk shenanigans and questionable decisions, of happy accidents and laughter. Fantastical in places, but realistic most of the time.

On better days he imagines a whole group of people close to him – friends – waiting for him in their favourite pub or on a patch of grass in front of the college he’s going to attend soon or in the flat of one of them. He imagines them chatting and retelling stories animatedly, laughing and talking over each other in enthusiasm and comradery. And one day there would be someone new, someone Martin would not have seen before. And in the moment, Martin would get into earshot, they would say it: Just got drunk and walked in. And it would be the start of a story about the lack of courage and the finding of it on the bottom of a bottle. Or the beginning of a tale about someone trying to do good, being all on their own, however. Or it would be the end of an adventure of nerves and worry.

Martin can see himself with someone equally as anxious as him. But he can also see himself with someone cockily declaring that they drunkenly walked into a place they shouldn’t have been in as well.

On worse days he imagines hearing the words in a crowd, only in bypassing, the source of countless daydreams and nightmares swallowed by the masses of people going on about their day without ever realising he was there in the first place.

One thing stays the same though in all of his imaginations and phantasies. In every single version Martin can think of, he falls in love with the voice before seeing their face first. It doesn’t matter if the words are yelled in arrogance and vanity or muttered self-consciously and kind of self-deprecatingly or hesitantly contemplated. He falls in love so fast and hard he stops breathing for a second then and there.

He had years upon years to build up enough expectations to know it only needs a little shove to snowball all of his fluttering endearment into the devastating, all-consuming love he was always destined to feel.

Martin is a romantic at heart and it doesn’t matter that all of his what ifs are futile and unrealistic, he’s in love with the idea of having a fairy-tale romance and that’s enough as it is. With all its daydreams and the gentle warmth in his stomach.

 #2

He doesn’t want to be lonely, really, he tries his best not to be. But it’s hard and he doesn’t know how to change it. When he still lived with his mother, she complained a lot about him being home all the time when he wasn’t working. (He shouldn’t think too much about it, she also complained a lot about him being away too much – no matter if he was out working or meeting up with somebody who could turn into a friend.)

The first two years in college didn’t change that fact at all. He was friendly with most of the people he met in his department and at the events he attended. But he wasn’t friends with them by any means. And that had always been the problem, hadn’t it? They thought he was a good lad, a nice chap, a dapper mate, a “we should hang out sometime!” and an “it’s lovely seeing you here!” but he’s not interesting to talk to. People don’t remember him because: While he can hold small talk relatively well, conversations with him tend to be one-sided. He asks the right questions, listens and reacts appropriately to the things people tell him, but he doesn’t reciprocate, can’t counter a story with a story because they’re either too personal or too embarrassing or don’t exist at all.

The first person talking often enough to Martin to make him share a few selected stories here and there is Gerry Delano. They share a single class and find themselves sitting next to each other, sharing and comparing the notes they made during the lecture. They haven’t met up outside of their shared class before, so Martin’s pleasantly surprised when Gerry asks him to come see his band the up-coming weekend.

 #3

He’s late. Because of course he is. One time. One single time he gets invited to something, so naturally he has to put in overtime. He’s at least an hour late, maybe even a little bit more. The text he shot Gerry to let him know that he’s late sits unread and unanswered in their chat and Martin feels awful.

Eventually, he reaches The Anglerfish, the small student bar just off the campus that hosts open mic nights and concerts for student bands. Gerry’s band is supposed to play tonight as the closing act; the after-act for a bigger student band Martin’s never heard of – The Mechanics? The Mech– something something. Apparently, they have a longer set than the other bands so Martin could be lucky to only have miss one or two songs of Gerry’s band.

Martin hasn’t listened to a single song of any of the bands that play tonight, so he’s not sure what to expect from the evening. Muffled music spills out of the slightly ajar windows, but he can’t make out a genre or any specific instruments, so he reaches for the handle of the door and takes a deep breath, for the last time relatively alone, then he opens the door and goes into the dimly lit entry way.

The first thing he hears are the chattering voices of people standing off to the bar and sitting at tables lining the walls, but when he dives into the crowd, simultaneously scanning it for Gerry’s lanky figure, he hears it.

“Just got drunk and walked in,” declares a voice loudly and with a manic kind of arrogance. Martin freezes in place. This is all wrong.

But he doesn’t get the chance to dwell on the fact that he heard the phrase etched into his upper thigh verbatim from someone he can’t even see, because the crowd doesn’t stop moving. Despite Martin’s need for the whole world to take a fucking breather, the people behind him shove him into the room and he tries to get air into his lungs again, but he only manages a few shallow breaths before the voice carries on and Martin realises that it has to be the singer on stage who said the most fateful words of Martin’s life.

The voice is gruff now, deeper and drunkenly confident.

Careful not to bump into too many people, Martin navigates through the crowd, trying to catch a look at the stage. In spite of his height it proves difficult and he goes further into the bar, diving into the crowd, while absolutely forgetting why he came in the first time: To meet Gerry who wanted to see the band Martin’s currently enraptured by, before playing with his band.

Finally, he manages to find a place at the far-right side of the publicum – close enough to see the stage but far enough to not stand in the way of the fans that came specifically for the band.

The song’s still going, and Martin scans the stage briefly. The band’s bigger than he expected and if it weren’t for the sheer presence of the person standing front centre stage, clutching the retro silver microphone with only one hand, Martin’s sure he’d have to look at every member of the band to determine who he’s looking for.

Adjusting his glasses, he attempts to take in every detail he can but he’s pretty far off and he can’t see everything he wants to. The things he can see are their long brown hair, dishevelled and laced with braids to keep it from falling into their face, goggles perched on their head like a headband; the dark brown skin of their face and hands and the lower half of their left arm; the black paint around their eyes, rampant like ivy roots; the black nail polish on the hand holding the microphone; the white linen shirt underneath the muddy brown waist coat, a dip hem skirt in the same soily brown over fishnet stockings and heavy brown boots with at least four or five centimetres of heel.

Their voice sounds like it’s made to narrate and yell and sing and– well, talk, actually. It sounds like a voice Martin would love to talk to and listen to and wake up to and– shit. This is bad and, did he mention, this is all wrong.

A narration begins and Martin realises all of a sudden that it took one measly song for him to lose all dignity and sense of appropriateness and instead win all of the love at first sight he dreamt of but didn’t anticipate to, well, suck so much.

He can’t have a crush on someone like, like that! Someone beautiful who carries themselves with ease and swagger and confidence. Until now he thought he could do this, you know, meeting his soulmate and instantly falling in love and maybe even talk to them like a civilised human being. But he was wrong, god was he wrong! He can’t talk to that ethereal being in fishnets. This is, wow, this is so far out of his comfort zone, he involuntarily takes a step back.

The only reasonable explanation is that he must have misheard the narration, must have missed a quintessential detail of what happened. Or it’s a very strange coincidence, his soulmark isn’t the most non-sensical sentence, there’s probably plenty people out there being able to say the exact same sentence. He just hasn’t met them yet.

Still, he can’t avert his eyes, he’s transfixed on the stage, listening to the, to be embarrassingly frank, horribly hot voice laying down the events leading to Oedipus’ Trial of Wits. Everything except the stage steps back and Martin’s brain singles out the band. The elbows touching him and the feet stepping on his don’t feel as real anymore, or maybe he’s less real in this weird interspace of knowing your soulmate or crushing on a complete stranger with the intensity of a thousand burning suns.

But there is no way to know, is it? He can’t go back and enter the bar again, consciously heeding the sentence that caused his distress. The only things he can think of doing are either getting to know the singer, who introduces himself as Jonny d’Ville just a few songs later, which is pretty creepy and Martin doesn’t want to do that – or he has to attend the next concert (or next concerts?) to determine if he merely misheard which doesn’t seem like a better alternative, if Martin’s honest.

So, still unsure what he should do next, he focuses on Jonny d’Ville and the way he gestures while narrating and singing like he’s winding his thoughts forth; the way he sits down during the songs he’s not involved in; the way he can’t hold back when Marius von Raum sings the part of Herakles and he mouths the words excitedly before jumping back to the microphone to sing the part of Zeus; the way he uses a single drumstick to beat the drum and holds the harmonica; the way he draws a steam punky gun and flourishes it like a natural extension of his arm.

“I’ve been looking for you!”

Gerry’s voice is so close to his ear, that the sudden proximity startles him more than the actual talking to him, or at least that’s what he tells himself. He’s not far gone enough to admit, even if it’s just to himself, that he was captivated by the band so much that he didn’t even realise that they neared the end of their act.

“D-Didn’t you get my text?” Martin yells back, leaning back, out of Gerry’s personal space. “Had to put in overtime and when I got here, I couldn’t find you.”

Gerry waves dismissively and shouts back: “Well, I found you at last, we’re up next!” He grins self-consciously and nods towards the stage. “Don’t really wanna get up after them but the crowd’s hyped up so maybe they’ll accept us as one of them.”

Even though his gaze flickers to the stage multiple times, Martin succeeds in looking at Gerry and smiling encouragingly. Then he says: “You’ll do amazing, Gerry. Don’t worry.”

While Gerry opens his mouth, the last notes of Elysian Fields carry through the bar and applause rings out. Jonny d’Ville takes a step forward, basking in the applause of the crowd and chugging water from a half litre bottle. As the applause dies down a bit, he lifts the microphone up again and exclaims: “Thank you! Thank you! Now, we are aiming to put that on CD, ehh, sometime around July. It won’t be exactly the show that you saw, this is, well, this is the debut. This’ll be refined and processed, et cetera, et cetera.” He bows outlandishly. “But if you want to help with that occurring – and you know you do – there is a crowdfunding, an indiegogo page, uhm, for this, uh, CD, there’s lots of,” he fumbles for words, “lovely perks from dice to patches and all sorts of brilliant things. So, go there, give us all your money.” The crowd laughs. “And then we will make a CD and we will send you the CD and you can listen to this to your heart’s content, uhh,” the crowd cheers again, “but thank you so much for coming!” He gives a few more thanks, then he says. “We’re going to, well, we’re going to leave you, uhm, with one quick final song and I think you probably know which one. So, sing along if you know the words.”

And the crowd knows the words.

Involuntarily, Martin steps back, overwhelmed by the sheer energy that erupts because of the people around him jumping up and down, yelling the lyrics to Drunk Space Pirate.

After that, it doesn’t take too long for The Mechanisms to clear the stage off their instruments and The Black Eyed Keays to set up their own act. Gerry comes out, hand gripping the neck of his electric guitar harder than necessary, knuckles lighter than the rest of his tan hand. His band is composed of five members including him, Martin’s yet to meet them.

Before he can start really looking at the other four musicians, he can see Ashes o’Reilly coming through the makeshift curtain separating the backstage area from the public. They goe straight to a woman standing off to the side, while politely dismissing people congratulating them and trying to involve them into conversation. As Martin averts his eyes because it seems like a private moment, he sees Jonny d’Ville leaving the backstage area, pulled through the curtain by Raphaella, their hands intertwined.

Something in Martin halts, something that had been on edge for the last hour or so, something that seemed to only be satisfied by the crushing reality of his potential soulmate holding the hand of someone other than him. (They could be friends, Martin knows that, he’s not that dense to think that everyone holding hands has to be romantically involved with each other. But it doesn’t stop him in the slightest of thinking that he wants to be in the place of holding Jonny d’Ville’s hand. He doesn’t even know the real name of the guy and already wants to hold his hand. Pathetic. And definitively creepy.)

Shaking his head to remind himself that he’s here for Gerry and The Black Eyed Keays, he turns away from Jonny d’Ville and Raphaella stopping at the bar, but out of the corner of his eyes he catches sight of Raphaella wrapping her arms around Jonny d’Ville’s waist.  

 #4

As far as Martin can tell, it’s going well for him, wonderful even, just perfectly fine. He realised today that he hadn’t spent too much time wondering about The Mechanisms or Jonny d’Ville in the past few months and he’s rather proud of himself for not obsessing. His shift ended a tad early today, he didn’t have any costumers that grinded his nerves, the night provided him with a good eight-hour long sleep, and he didn’t even have nightmares.

This is the literal incorporation of a good day. Martin doesn’t have too many of them, so he tries to really bask in the feeling, who knows how long it’s going to last.

On the way out of the Ceaseless Watcher, he picks up two cups – one filled with black coffee and one with a herbal-fruit tea blend – and starts walking to the patch of grass in front of the Jonah Magnus’ University where he’s supposed to meet Gerry. Careful not to spill coffee or tea or burn himself, he clenches one of the cups between his forearm and his chest, while he fumbles for the phone in his pocket.

For a second, he contemplates coming to a halt to text Gerry that he’s on his way, but he doesn’t want to stop, being in the momentum already. While concentrating on proper (or at least somewhat comprehensible) grammar and typing the right letters, he’s paying a little less attention to the way as he should. Of course, he notices the change of underground from the hard-stomped way underneath the trees to the openness and softness of the grassy patch. But, actually, that’s about it. It’s not too crowded because it starts to be too cold outside to properly hang out, so he doesn’t even have to navigate through groups of students.

The thing is: Martin doesn’t really think something (or someone) could cross his way, so he doesn’t even try to pay attention to the area around him. And that’s why he doesn’t reckon with the incredibly inauspicious sounding crinkling when he steps on something that is decidedly not lawn.

Martin stops dead in his track, draws a shaky breath and wants to say anything (like an apology probably), but the only words leaving his mouth are a softly whispered: “Oh no.”

The words of apology are stuck in his throat and he doesn’t dare look up from the sketchpad he stepped on unintentionally. Right on top of a study of the two statues in front of the academic museum of arts is a rather perfect imprint of the sole of his boot. Martin swallows.

“You cannot be serious,” drawls a voice that makes heat rise in Martin’s cheeks – out of shame and recognition all the same.

As if the voice had snapped Martin out of a stupor, he rushes to say: “Oh, god, I am so sorry.” Shoving his phone into his coat pocket and setting down the two cups, he crouches and starts to wipe at the now slightly damp paper, more apologies tumbling from his lips.

“Alright!” The voice cuts him short, impatiently. “Stop it. It’s alright. Don’t bother.”

Two hands reach for the sketchpad, taking it out of Martin’s hands without further ado.

“I’m really sorry,” Martin says again, still not daring to look into the face of the person he just ruined the day for. Instead, he’s looking at their hands – one of them pulling the sleeve of a jumper or hoodie out of the sleeve of their coat and over their other hand to gently dab at the paper that already starts to get wavy where Martin’s boot hit it.

The person who is definitely not Jonny d’Ville (because Jonny d’Ville is a stage name and Martin doesn’t know who the human being in front of him is) retorts curtly: “I gathered as much.”

“Is it …”, Martin interrupts himself, shifting his weight so that he’s sitting on his heels instead of the balls of his feet. “Was it important?” He scrunches his nose. “I mean, I didn’t– didn’t destroy, like, a project for a course you’ve been working on for months, did I?”

“No,” they reply but their tone suggests otherwise. “It’s not … It’s nothing.”

They stop dabbing at the paper and Martin realises that they’re looking at him now and that it would be the polite thing to look back. It costs him approximately a metric shit ton of effort to lift his eyes and meet theirs. But he manages. (Just about.)

Martin regrets his decision to meet their eyes at approximately the same time that he can start making out the details of their face that he hadn’t been able to see in the dim light of The Anglerfish and the distance between him and the stage. It’s the exact same moment that Martin realises that they are as beautiful as Martin thought they would be. In a more reigned in and moderated kind of way – their hair confined in a bun, their face not painted with ivy roots but dotted with circular scars, and their outfit more suitable for daily use – but nonetheless beautiful.

“It doesn’t look like it’s nothing,” Martin says softly, and he doesn’t know where he’s getting the courage from. (Probably nowhere, he’s not exactly thinking as it is. And ‘not thinking’ is not the same thing as conjuring up courage.)

A scoff slips past their lips and they reply: “It is, though. And even if it wasn’t: I don’t see how this could be of any concern to you.”

Martin averts his eyes and looks down at the two cups he placed next to the place where the sketchpad had previously lain. The shock of already having his foot in his mouth is probably the reason why Martin just goes on: “If I want to make it up to you, I need to know just how bad my clanger was.”

His gaze flickers back to their face and takes in the steep corrugation between their drawn together brows.

Slowly, they say: “You don’t have to make it up to me.” They look almost appalled at the thought, and Martin’s not sure if he should be offended on his behalf or theirs. (Does he look like someone who ruins peoples work and then walks away? Or did nobody ever thought about righting their wrong when interacting with them?)

“I know I don’t have to,” Martin retorts, then he backpaddles and tries to correct himself: “I mean, you don’t seem like someone who’d enforce rectification but … I want to.” He swallows around the lump in his throat. “Make it up to you, that is.”

“Oh,” they say softly, and Martin thinks that they seem like they didn’t even notice they said anything at all. Absentmindedly, their left hand fiddles with the hem of the maybe-sweater-maybe-hoodie sleeve still pulled over their right hand.

“This was absolutely and entirely my fault,” Martin says when they don’t speak up again. “So, if it would be alright with you, I would like to, I don’t know, buy you a coffee?” The blush on his cheeks intensifies because he knows what this could look like. But someone like them would never even consider that someone like Martin could hit on them, so he tries not to dwell on that thought for too long. “I work at the Ceaseless Watcher, so, you could drop by and get a coffee on the house?”

Martin attempts a smile but it’s a rather weak one. The palms of his hands are clammy and a little numb, but he doesn’t dare wiping them on his trousers to get rid of the feeling.

“Are you working on Thursday?”

In all honesty, Martin didn’t reckon they would actually agree. Much less on the first go. (Such things don’t happen to Martin. He is never lucky enough that things just work out.)

“I– uh, yes,” Martin rushes to say before they can think about changing their mind. “Five to eleven.” An owlish blink in Martin’s direction. “P.M.”

“Good,” they say, both hands now lying flat on their sketchpad. “Then I will see you on Thursday.”

Martin takes this as his cue to stand up and leave, and it takes him almost ten whole minutes until he realises that he doesn’t even know the name of the person he had just met. And it takes him almost five more minutes of self-loathing and -pity until he remembers that they will see each other again. Next Thursday.

Maybe one time everything can work out for Martin. Just one time.

#5

It doesn’t work out for Martin.

It doesn’t work out for Martin, so obviously and severely, that Martin genuinely thinks about hiding in the employee’s bathroom so that Jane can take over the register and deal with the slowly trickling in students of the Jonah Magnus Institute.

Jon (that’s his name, Jon without an H, it’s short for Jonathan, narrowed eyes at Martin’s name tag, Martin) has a girlfriend that is beautiful like a flower meadow in full bloom underneath the blue open sky. But they don’t just look great together (and they do, Martin’s perfectly and painfully aware of that fact), they seem to get along greatly, too. (Which is good! It’s not like Martin’s begrudging someone’s happy relationship or anything. It’s more like … he envies it? Envies the apparent ease and comfortability that come with knowing someone intimately for a long time. Envies the way they lean into each other and share private smiles. Envies the look of contentedness and trust when they look at each other. – Or maybe he’s overanalysing things he has never been part of. Eternally condemned to an etic approach to romantic relationships.)

Today, however, Martin wants to flee the scene because Jon looks livid and Georgie’s attempts to calm him down seem rather futile. They’re barely in earshot when Jon hisses: “I still don’t understand why you invited her along.”

“It’s not every day that you meet your soulmate,” Georgie replies soft spoken and with an exasperation that implies that it’s not the first time she has said this sentence to him. “And I won’t let you antagonise her just for the sake of it. At least get to know her. If she’s as bad as you think she is, you get to tell me that you told me so and I’ll back off.” She smiles at him. “Deal?”

But she doesn’t wait for him to answer, instead she turns to the counter where Martin’s been standing the whole time, trying to look like he hasn’t been eavesdropping, and greets him: “Hey, Martin.”

“Hi.” Martin tries to smile through the awkward glances Jon shoots him. “What can I do for you?”

“Two latte macchiatos, one decaf, one regular, and one white coffee,” she replies. While he’s ringing up her order, she continues: “And maybe if you could answer me this: Do you think Jon’s approachable?”

Martin stops dead in his tracks and Jon splutters: “Georgie!”

“What?” Her gaze flickers between an indignant Jon and the redder and redder growing face of Martin. She tilts her head in confusion and furrows her brows.

Jon hisses: “You can’t rope Martin into your schemes, you wretched thing!”

“Why not?”, Georgie questions before Martin gets to have a word in this. (Not that Martin would actively try to intervene when they’re obviously fighting about something important. Something Martin doesn’t want to think about while they’re still standing right in front of him.)

“Because,” Jon starts to say, but Georgie’s bulldozing on: “Martin is the newest addition to our squad and you brought him in, so, if anyone knows if you’re approachable or not, it’s him.”

“Martin is not a part of our friend group,” Jon says bewildered, then the realisation that Martin’s right in front of them sinks in. But the words are out in the open and the damage is already done.

“Jon!” Georgie exclaims, her voice filled with outrage (or at least something that comes close to outrage).

Martin smiles weakly and says: “It’s okay, Jon’s right. We’re not friends, or anything.”

It’s true, even though Martin had hoped that they could become friends. Or at least acquainted. Sometime in the future. (But Martin has to admit that Georgie thinking that Martin belongs to them in any kind of way – it felt nice. Nicer and bigger than it should probably have.)

“Oh,” Georgie says, brows even more furrowed than before, and a look of contemplation on her face that Martin can’t decipher. Then she shakes her head and Jane calls out for Jon and Georgie to collect their drinks.

They continue their argument while walking away, and Georgie sends him a soft smile and a wave over her shoulder before they grab their coffees and head for a table near the front of the café.

Martin tries not to look at them too much, or at all even, but he must have failed embarrassingly, because he notices Jon’s displeased face before he realises that someone has entered the café and beelines for the table Georgie and Jon sit at.

And that’s the moment Georgie’s and Jon’s conversation hits him full force. Jon’s soulmate has come into their life. Jon‘s soulmate has come into their life and the soulmate in question has just entered The Ceaseless Watcher. Which means one thing: Martin is not Jon’s soulmate.

Martin laughs lowly and self-deprecatingly and thinks: It’s just like him to get a soulmate who’s already bound to someone else. If he’d tell his mother, she’d probably tell him he had it coming without ever specifying why.

 #6

“Sounds exhausting,” Gerry says, both arms on the counter and more slumped against it than standing upright.

Martin shrugs his shoulders and says: “That’s just uni life.”

“It’s not,” Gerry retorts, pulling a face. “I’ve been lying on my bed the whole weekend, working on a few new songs. What you’re doing is the Martin way of life and, no offence, but it sounds exhausting. Three out of ten, wouldn’t recommend.”

“I kinda … take offence?” Martin’s voice goes up way too much at the end of the sentence, and Gerry waves his hand dismissively. “Did you just come by to insult me?”

Gerry grins and extends his arm to ruffle Martin’s hair (which is not something Martin expects other people to do and that’s why he doesn’t really know how to react to it), before he says: “Nah. Don’t. If it’s working for you, go ahead. – I’m here because my roommate and their girlfriend broke up, so I’m waiting for them to, I don’t know, cheer them up, I guess.”

“Oh,” Martin says eloquently. “I’m sorry?”

Gerry shrugs. “It’s alright, I think. They didn’t sound too upset on the phone.” Then his gaze falls on the giant clock on the wall behind the counter. “Should be here soon. Could you please ring up one regular latte macchiato and one decaf?”

Nodding, Martin punches the order into the register and Gerry reaches for his wallet. Then Martin steps over to the coffee machine to prepare the two different shots of espresso and heat and foam the soy-oat milk blend.

They exchange a few more quips while Gerry carries the hot beverages to a table next to the wall and gets back to the counter because they don’t want to disturb the other patrons by talking too loudly.

Gerry’s about to go on a tangent about the breaking of his G and B strings, when the bell above the door chimes and someone enters The Ceaseless Watcher.

Without intent or his own volition, a bright smile plasters itself onto Martin’s face, before he even turns towards the door – pavloved into customer friendliness – and sees Jon walk into the café. His smile falters a bit, but he manages to uphold it and greets: “Hey, Jon.”

Jon nods in reciprocation and says: “Martin, Gerry.”

“Oh, you know each other?” Martin asks, already one finger on the register to punch in Jon’s order, but Gerry’s hand makes an abortive gesture.

“Jon’s my roommate,” Gerry explains with another gesture towards the table where the two latte macchiatos wait for them. “Didn’t know you were acquainted.”

A blush creeps up Martin’s neck and he forces an embarrassed groan back down his throat. He’s torn between processing the information that Jon and Georgie broke up (apparently) and the realisation that Gerry used they/them pronouns for Jon.

“Well, we are,” Jon replies curtly and frees Martin from saying anything at all. Jon already turns to leave the counter when Martin squeezes out: “Jon, could I– would you– just a moment?”

Jon nods and Gerry walks to their table to give them a moment of privacy. But Martin doesn’t continue, because the questions that pile up in his mouth and block the way for the thing he actually planned to ask try to fight their way over his lips. Did Georgie and you really break up? Is it because of your soulmate? Are you alright? Is Georgie alright?

“Yes, Martin?” Jon looks vaguely annoyed. (Or maybe Jon looks obviously annoyed, but Martin doesn’t want to accept it because he’s a hopeless romantic and thinks that even if he is not Jon’s soulmate, Jon is still his and that must mean something, right? The universe wouldn’t be as cruel as to present Martin his soulmate only to make them hate him, right? – Yes, of course, Martin knows that soulmates don’t have to be romantic or even platonic, that a shared soulmark only means this person will have an impact on your life and that it is on them to find out what kind of impact that is. But Martin wants it to be positive. He desperately craves for it to be positive force in his life. And he doesn’t know what he’s going to do if this thing ends up being a giant fluke.)

Martin clears his throat and tries to ignore the burning behind his eyes.

“Just,” Martin swallows down everything that doesn’t have any place being in his mouth, “Gerry used they/them pronouns for you and … I don’t want to misgender you?”

Jon’s face doesn’t tell Martin anything. If Jon is pleased knowing that Gerry uses the right pronouns; if Jon is annoyed that Gerry made a capital t Thing out of Jon by using gender-neutral language; if Jon doesn’t really care either way. Jon just looks at him. It’s a bit unsettling.

“If you don’t want to talk to me about this, I get it,” Martin continues softly when Jon doesn’t say a thing and only studies Martin’s face. “You don’t have to. But I would like to, you know, respect it if you preferred a specific set of pronouns.”

Martin shrugs to shove the weight off his shoulders, but Jon’s stare turns disconcerting. Uncertainty making its way into Martin’s chest, until Jon says slowly: “I use he/him and they/them pronouns. At the moment it’s the latter.”

A nod in acknowledgment earns Martin something akin to a smile, the smallest of uplifts of the corners of Jon’s lips, and warmth spreads through Martin’s cheeks and chest.

They lift their hand in a wave goodbye until they seem to realise that they’re not actually leaving but rather sitting down at the table Gerry’s still waiting at, and duck their head in something Martin wants to call embarrassment.

For a few minutes while nobody walks up to the counter and everyone seems to be busy except Martin, Martin takes a plate out of one of the cupboards and places two pastries on it. Then, after a few pacing steps forward and back again and too much hesitation, he walks over to Gerry and Jon and places the plate on the table.

Jon opens their mouth to say something and Martin can see the questioning look on Gerry’s face. But he cuts the discussion short by blurting out: “On the house.”

In an attempt to mask the anxiety already spreading through him, Martin smiles his brightest smile, turns around and walks away. (Which: Who does something like that? Jon must suspect that Gerry has told Martin something Martin shouldn’t know about. Or they must think that Martin is an absolute court jester. And given Gerry’s face, at least Gerry suspects that Martin is not acting out of sheer courtesy.)

(Martin desperately wishes for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.)

 #7

Georgie and Jon are broken up for good, or that’s at least what Jon says to Martin. This is remarkable because of two things: First of all because it means that Jon is actually talking to Martin except for, you know, ordering coffee or awkward small talk while Martin prepares the beverage. And secondly because Martin didn’t think their split would actually last. Georgie and Jon are, even if it sounds impossible, the perfect pair and Martin isn’t sure how they managed to not be soulmates.

Since Martin tried to clarify Jon’s use of pronouns, Jon has significantly warmed up to Martin and Martin isn’t sure if it’s because of this or because Jon can’t spend as much time with Georgie anymore. (It’s not like they actually take a break from seeing each other. Gerry told Martin that Jon and Georgie went to an outing together on the same night they broke up.) Either way, Martin’s suddenly confronted with a Jon who asks him low-voiced how he’s doing and who hesitantly wants him to have a good day.

“He/him day,” Jon says instead of a greeting. He wipes sweat from his forehead and tries to tug every stray strand and wisp of hair behind his ears or underneath his hair tie – rather unsuccessfully.

Martin throws a glance behind Jon to assess the situation in the café and if he can risk leaving the counter for a moment. When he deems it safe, Martin says: “This reminds me … Wait a moment, I …”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, but instead walks into the little storage room in the back of the shop to fish a little box out of his bag and come back to the front of the café. A small blush blooming on his cheeks, Martin smiles at Jon and says: “Hey, Jon.”

Jon furrows his brow as if he hadn’t realised that he skipped an essential part of the conversation, then replies dutifully: “Hello, Martin.”

“So,” Martin begins, “I’ve been thinking. We’ve been talking about your pronouns and …” Martin trails off and presents the little box he retrieved from his bag. He opens it and showcases two braided bracelets, one in salmon pink and one in teal. “I heard about pronoun pins and bracelets? Had some yarn laying around and thought … if you want to, you could use them to indicate your preferred pronouns?”

At the end, Martin’s voice trails off and he sounds a lot less sure about his idea. His uncertainty is a mix out of ‘did I overstep’ and ‘am I too much’, but the way Jon’s furrowed brows melt into something entirely else lets Martin think that he’s not as much a burden as he feared.

Cautiously, Jon reaches for the bracelets, stopping mid-air to throw another glance at Martin who can’t stop himself from making a weird combination of nodding and shrugging.

Jon takes the two bracelets out of their box and Martin throws the empty box into a drawer underneath the counter. He runs them through his fingers, feeling the texture of the yarn and the structure of the fish braid pattern. Pocketing the salmon pink bracelet, he extends his right arm with the teal-coloured one towards Martin, asking: “Could you tie it?”

The uncoiling of the knot right underneath Martin’s midriff makes Martin smile and he takes the bracelet out of Jon’s hand to tie it around Jon’s wrist. He miscalculated quite a bit with his own wrist as reference, but he is able to comfortably wrap the bracelet around Jon’s wrist two times, before he ties it into a loose knot. The colour looks nice against the warm undertone of Jon’s skin and up-close Martin can see the smaller and bigger moles scattered across his lower arm.

Martin’s not sure if it is he who lets go of Jon’s arm first or Jon who takes his arm back, but he knows that he looks up from where he held Jon’s wrist just a few seconds ago and catches sight of Jon looking at him. It’s not a look Martin can decipher. As so often, Jon looks like he’s trying to make sense out of something Martin has said or done. (Or maybe he’s trying to make sense out of Martin as a whole. The same way Martin is still trying to grasp the essence of Jon.)

“This is really nice,” Jon says, and it sounds more like he’s turning every word three or four times before releasing it into the air between them; like he’s somehow forcing the words out after analysing and approving them, because they don’t want to be heard. But the way he cradles his wrist and the bracelet with such great care and a little disbelief shows clearly that he’s serious. Jon’s eyes snap upwards to look at Martin again, and Jon adds: “Thank you, Martin. That’s really,” he draws in a breath, “considerate.”

Not sure if he should dismiss Jon’s words or not, Martin ducks his head and turns towards the register: “Decaf or Regular?”

“Surprise me,” Jon replies with a shrug of his shoulders. Martin tilts his head in confusion and Jon clarifies: “Gerry and Georgie think I drink too much coffee, but I don’t necessarily like them interfering with my life choices, so we made the deal that every time we drink coffee together, we order one decaf and one regular and it’s a surprise who gets to drink the decaf.”

Chuckling lowly, Martin retorts: “That’s a nice tradition.”

Jon pays for his coffee and Martin turns around, reaching for the decaf beans, safely out of Jon’s sight. For the taste, he adds much more ground coffee than Elias normally allows him to use and sprinkles a bit of cocoa powder on top of the milk foam. Then he hands Jon the final product and smiles.

Their fingers almost touch when Jon takes the mug out of Martin’s hands and he starts to walk away for two and a half steps, before he turns back again and asks: “When does your shift end?”

“Oh,” Martin throws a glance at the clock behind him, “in about an hour? Why?”

Jon shifts his weight and replies: “I thought I could use a walk, and that, maybe, you could use a walk, too?”

This seems to cost even more surmounting than thanking Martin, but it fills Martin with warmth and the hope that Jon doesn’t hate him. (He should know by now that Jon doesn’t hate him, they’ve been friendly for quite a time now, but the fear that Jon [or anyone, really] could suddenly decide that Martin is too much and too overbearing is prevalent.)

He swallows all that down and says: “Yes, I’d like that.”

 #8

When Melanie and Georgie get together, Martin’s not entirely surprised. Actually, he’s not surprised at all because Jon himself has told Martin that Melanie had asked him about his feelings for Georgie. (I don’t get it, Martin, do I look like I would begrudge them their relationship? Do I look like a fragile thing that needs to be coddled? No, Gerry, shut it.) But part of Martin wonders if Jon’s really as alright with the situation as he makes it out to be. As far as Martin knows, Jon and Georgie had been dating for quite a while, and Melanie is Jon’s soulmate. It must be a horribly awkward situation to be in.

Somehow this hasn’t kept them from hanging out as a group, though. Melanie and Georgie are lying in the shadow of a tree, while Sasha and Tim rampage through the water, and Jon and Martin, they sit on the small landing stage, their feet dangling in the water.

Jon’s hand is resting right next to Martin’s and it would be so easy to reach out and grab it, to intertwine their fingers and just enjoy the weight of Jon’s hand in his. But they have never done something like this, Jon is an untouchable entity in the night sky, beautiful like the milky way but foreign and unjudgeable with his disconcerting stares and assessing questions and brutally honest words. And a mere mortal like Martin can’t just reach for the hand of a natural phenomenon like Jon Sims.

So, he takes his hands into his lap instead to keep himself from doing something ill-considered like taking Jon’s hand anyways.

For a moment, they watch Sasha and Tim, but when they head back to the picknick blanket Georgie and Jon had brought and where Georgie and Melanie are leisurely sitting, Jon indicates that they could go back to the others, too. So, they get up and walk back to the others. (Martin’s hand twitching to reach for Jon’s.)

“No way! You’re lying!” Tim’s voice is barely more than a whisper, while he’s scrubbing his hair as dry as possible with a towel.

Sasha’s hand reaches out for Tim’s ankle to direct his attention to her, and she says while signing simultaneously: “Nobody can hear shit of what you’re saying.”

“Louder?” Tim asks and it’s obvious that he tries to adjust his volume. But Sasha shakes her head. “Louder?” Sasha shakes her head again and Tim waves dismissively, before he continues to towel dry his hair.

“What’s going on?” Martin says, sitting down next to Sasha, quietly marvelling at the fact that Jon sits down next to him even though the space doesn’t necessarily allow it.

Melanie’s cheeks redden (a foreign and unsettling sight, if Martin is honest), and she seems to think about her answer for a moment, before she finally extends her legs, showcasing multiple sets of names written on her skin. Sasha’s, Tim’s, Georgie’s and Martin’s. But most prominently right in the middle Jonathan Sims in the same curvy scripture as the rest, but instead of a felt tip marker, it seems to come from under Melanie’s skin.

“Oh,” Jon says right next to Martin and Martin thinks: Oh, indeed.

That is, however, where the similarities between Jon and Martin end, because while Martin starts to panic at the obvious evidence of Melanie’s and Jon’s soulbond, Jon says: “Georgie, this is your handwriting.”

“Yes, it is,” Georgie replies cheerily, before pointing at the crook of her arm. “And you know what? That’s Melanie’s handwriting.”

“Congratulations,” Jon deadpans, but Martin can feel the rigid line of Jon’s shoulders relax.

Just for a moment, though, because Georgie says: “And you know what that means, Jon! There’s still someone out there waiting to be found by you!” And Jon is as tense as before.

“I hope not,” Jon replies, and Martin can’t help himself hoping that Jon is right. Because Melanie turning out not to be Jon’s soulmate doesn’t automatically turn Martin into Jon’s soulmate. Martin doesn’t even know what’s written on Jon’s body, and even if he knew he’s not sure he could remember the first thing he ever said to Jon.

Georgie only smiles, used to Jon’s antiques and clearly mentally occupied.

“You’re making such a big deal out of it,” Tim says while turning his C.I. back on. The volume of his voice adjusting to an appropriate level when he’s finally able to hear himself again. “Out of anything, really. Why don’t you just enjoy the knowledge that somewhere out there is someone who enjoys talking to you, like, without any obligation.”

Out of Jon’s sight, Georgie starts a countdown (three – two – one!) with her fingers, and as if she had given Jon a sign, he goes on a tangent about determinism. Martin has never been as in love with Jon.

Oh.

Oh.  

 #9

MartiniKolada: sos

MyKeaymicalRomance: what did you do?

MartiniKolada: i had an oh. oh. moment MartiniKolada: you know where you think oh. and then it hits you like oh. but it’s italic and the italicity of the moment hits you right in the face??

MyKeaymicalRomance: i don’t think italicity is a real word

MartiniKolada: italicness then??

MyKeaymicalRomance: maybe italicisation?

MartiniKolada: does it really matter???

MyKeaymicalRomance: probably not lol

MartiniKolada: as i was saying MartiniKolada: i just had the mortifying realisation that i think i love jon?? like, not likelike but lovelove?? and idk what to do, like, what WILL i do next? burst into a song or into tears??

MyKeaymicalRomance: oh, well, i think it’s probably too early to tell him

MartiniKolada: “probably” he says

MyKeaymicalRomance: well, what do you want me to say?

MartiniKolada: idk???

MyKeaymicalRomance: do you want me to come over after my class?

MartiniKolada: yes pls ))):

MyKeaymicalromance: k

 #10

It’s October, and their semester break is over in two weeks. Martin’s already dreading having to go back to courses and classes because he’s not sure if the last few weeks of seeing Jon almost every day are over if they both have to pick up work again. (The good thing is that the others will come back from their visits home. Martin doesn’t know how it happened, but he’s grown close to Gerry and Jon’s squad and actually misses them.)

Now, however, he concentrates on the fact that Jon asked if he would like to stay overnight because Gerry’s away and he doesn’t want to be alone tonight. He said It’s eerily quiet and Martin didn’t need more to say Yes, I mean, yeah, no problem, I’d love to. Because: It’s not like Martin regrets agreeing to Jon’s request, it’s more that Martin’s utterly overwhelmed with the thought that he is going to spend time sleeping in the same room as Jon. (Embarrassing, right?)

“You seem distracted,” Jon states and reaches for the mousepad to pause the film they’re watching. Or in Martin’s case: attempt to watch.

It’s not a new development that Jon and Martin sit on Jon’s bed, huddled close together, to watch a movie or play a two-player game Jon has found on his hard drive. But it being old news doesn’t prevent Martin from marvelling at the way Jon’s thin frame fits in neatly with the curve of Martin’s fat stomach and thigh. And the way Jon seems to melt into Martin over the course of one evening, almost liquified at the end, nestled into Martin in a manner that Martin couldn’t recreate if he tried to; absolutely unretractable when Martin tries to reconstruct how he could find himself in a situation like this.

“A bit,” Martin agrees, studying the cursor now resting on the nose of the protagonist. “It’s nothing.”

“If you don’t want to watch a film, we don’t have to,” Jon says and it’s only because they’ve been spending so much time together that Martin recognises the defensive tone of Jon’s voice as concern. (A few months back he would have definitively thought that he had done something wrong and that Jon is annoyed with him. And the knowledge that the anxiety coiling underneath his midriff is with great certainty unfounded and only fabricated by his own brain makes warmth spread through his whole chest.)

“No, it’s alright, really, it’s nothing,” Martin repeats placatingly, already reaching for the mousepad to unpause the film.

But Jon catches his wrist mid-air and says lowly: “I hate when you do that.”

“What?” Martin’s hand sinks until it hits his stomach, but Jon’s hand remains wrapped around Martin’s wrist as if he needed to keep Martin by his side; as if Martin could somehow muster up the volition to get up and go.

Jon’s gaze is entirely on the junction of their skin, probably focusing on the way Martin’s skin tone clashes with the salmon pink of one of the two bracelets Jon’s wearing tonight. (Or probably not because Jon doesn’t really care for things like that.)

“Well,” Jon says to Martin’s wrist, “when you say it’s nothing even though it’s clearly something.”

Self-consciously, Martin contemplates for a hot second telling Jon the truth. That he just likes being with him even though Jon doesn’t feel the same way as Martin. That he likes how they fit together like matching salt and pepper shakers. That he likes the firmness of Jon’s hand around his when Jon excitedly grabs Martin’s hand and forgets to let go again. That he likes Jon’s distracted (and to be honest distracting) soliloquies and overexcited monologues.

Being honest, however, isn’t worth the awkwardness that will most likely be the result of confessing his feelings, so Martin deflects: “That implies that you’re always telling me right away when something’s bothering you. But that’s not what you do, is it?”

Jon pulls a face. “No.” He sighs. “No, it’s not.”

Without thinking, Jon shifts the weight of Martin’s wrist in his as if he’s trying to feel for Martin’s pulse. For a moment, they’re both silent, dwelling on thoughts they’re not ready to share, yet. Or maybe only Martin’s not ready to share, yet, because Jon concedes softly: “You’re right. So, if I were to share a matter that has been on my mind lately, would it be more encouraging or pressuring for you to hear about it?”

Martin weighs both options, partially occupied with the way Jon’s still holding onto his pulse. Then he concludes: “Both, probably? I mean, it could be both.”

“Do you want me to tell you anyway?” Jon asks, lifting his gaze and focusing on Martin’s face. (Jon has this incredibly unsettling habit of looking at people at precisely those moments it’s the most disconcerting, gaze unwavering and the only thing betraying his own nervousness is the way he fiddles with the hem of his sleeves or the jittery tapping of his fingers against the fabric of his trousers.)

And since Martin can’t refuse Jon anything, he nods.

“You know, this is probably ridiculous and you’re going to make fun of me, endlessly,” Jon says, a barely visible crinkle appearing between his brows, “but Georgie said that she doesn’t understand why we haven’t kissed, yet. And it’s been on my mind ever since. Should we be kissing, Martin?”

Martin almost chokes on air. “What?” He must have misheard. Or misunderstood. Because it’s absolutely impossible that Jon said this particular string of words without any hesitation.

“Well,” Jon says, obviously growing uncomfortable, “I told her that she should stop being presumptuous, because if you would want to kiss me you would say as much. But Georgie said she wouldn’t be surprised if you were to think that I’m kiss averse as some asexual people are and that you were ‘too bashful’ to ask for clarification.” Jon breathes in and out, once, then twice. Martin’s trying hard not to mcfucking lose it. “We’ve been dating for quite some time now and I hope you’d feel comfortable enough to ask me things like that instead of assuming my stance. However, I do see now that I should put my own house in order first rather than waiting for you to say something.” The crinkle between his brows smooths out. “So, the quintessence is that I would like to kiss you, Martin, and that I would like to know if you were amenable to this idea.”

Owlishly blinking, Martin tries to make sense of all the admittedly beautiful but absolutely impossible words that Jon has said just now. He’s not sure which part he should be concentrating on and his thoughts crash into each other, tumbling onto his tongue, only to get buried underneath a new load of thoughts just a nanosecond later.

The thing that actually makes it past Martin’s stupor is: “We’ve been what?”

Jon furrows his brows again and replies slowly: “Dating.”

“And you didn’t think I needed to know that??” Martin’s voice cracks, eyes wide and cheeks reddened. The pressure of Jon’s fingers around his wrist loosens and Martin wants nothing more than to hold on dearly, but at the moment he can’t do anything but stare at Jon’s face that shifts slowly into a look of embarrassment.

“Well, I thought– I didn’t,” he groans lowly. “I thought you knew.”

“How should I have known?” Martin doesn’t really want to argue about this, but the words tumble out of his mouth, absolutely unstoppable. “Did you send me a formal enquiry? Ask me to be your boyfriend while we were doing incredibly romantic things like shopping groceries? I would have said yes, don’t get me wrong, this is not a ‘I don’t want to be dating you’ because I do very much want to date you.”

Martin’s breath goes hard, and he attempts to focus on the blush that bloomed on Jon’s cheeks sometime around the mention of Martin calling himself Jon’s boyfriend and that deepened further when Martin stressed that he wanted to be Jon’s boyfriend as well. But then Jon’s smiling. Not a barely visible lift of the corners of his lips but a genuine smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes.

“I think,” Jon says, shifting the weight of Martin’s wrist again, so he can intertwine their fingers completely, “that everything we do together is inherently very romantic. Even grocery shopping.”

“Oh, my god,” Martin tries to hold back a giggle and fails, “you’re a sap! This is unbelievable. This should be illegal.” He wriggles his other hand out of the almost non-existing space between them and cups Jon’s hand in both of his. “You can’t just spring the fact on me that we’re dating, only to change your behaviour a hundred and eighty degrees and say things like, things like that!”

“I’m only adapting,” Jon replies, lifting Martin’s hands and pulling them in close. “I thought we were taking it slow because you never made a first move, and I didn’t want to be too much.”

“Then we’re in the same boat, huh,” Martin says while he’s watching Jon pressing small kisses on Martin’s knuckles. “So, what do we learn from this, Jon? Don’t talk to Georgie about those things, come talk to me.”

Jon snorts. “You’re one to talk. I can’t count the times Gerry told me to ‘go get my man he’s pining again.’ It was embarrassing.”

“Imagine how embarrassing that is for me?! I was literally gay on main while he thought we were already dating?!” Martin makes a suffering noise at the back of his throat, but Jon doesn’t stop pressing small kisses into his knuckles, so it’s not as bad as it could be. “We need to cut ties with Gerry but that shouldn’t be a problem, right?”

“No, that’s feasible,” Jon replies. “Very sensible.” He puts down their intertwined hands. “A thing that would be very sensible, too, is telling me about the reason you were distracted earlier.”

“It seems ridiculous now,” Martin says, but Jon nudges him with his shoulder to prompt him to go on. “I just thought about how hard it is to sit next to you and not kiss you.”

Jon lifts himself up on his elbow and murmurs: “That is a lie, Martin K. Blackwood.”

“Only half of it,” Martin replies softly, before he closes the gap between them and kisses Jon with as much care as he can conjure.

(The light shove Martin gets when he asks “so, we’re boyfriends now, huh?” is definitely deserved.)

[ryttu3k]

I want to have them all on Tumblr, so. Here are my reaction posts, in order, for Resolution of the Daleks and season 12, part 1!

Resolution of the Daleks

Thoughts on Doctor Who - Resolution! Spoilers, obviously!

Okay, negative first, just to get it out of the way. Doctor Who, I really appreciate that you consistently have queer minor characters and queer couples. Just super casual and all, as it should be. Now can you please stop killing off half of said couples? Angstrom's wife, Frankie, now this young guy? It's really not cool.

Don't think the voiceover worked. I feel the prologue would have worked better with just visuals.

Again, Yaz didn't have much to do. The Doctor got a ton of action, Ryan and Graham both had significant interactions with Aaron, Yaz was... just kind of there. I'm hoping that when the show comes back in a year, now that Ryan has largely dealt with his issues, Yaz will get more attention?

UNIT was killed by Brexit?! Fuckin' rude!

Okay, on to the positive!

The Dalek was, frankly, fucking scary. Despite knowing that the Doctor would beat it, obviously, it caused huge swathes of damage and racked up a... rather high body count. Like it felt like a proper threat. Also, its ability to stop the TARDIS tracking it and stuff. Lin's terror felt extremely genuine and it was just nice and horrific overall, like - if it wasn't for the Doctor, it would feel like a genuine threat to the entire Earth.

(Also, it shut down the wifi. On New Years Day. What a monster!)

Oh man that Dalek laughter. Creepy as fuck. The Doctor dragging it in via hologram to dare it to laugh in her face? Fucking iconic.

"I've learned to think like a Dalek." Oof.

Doctor vs Dalek. Not just the physical aspect, but the mental part - the Doctor recognising the seriousness of it, but also having that element of cockiness ("Oh, mate") because, frankly, she's dealt with bigger threats. She's right when she points out that the biggest problem will be if regular humans try to engage it!

Elements of Dark!Doctor when she asks the team - almost desperately - if she gave it enough chances, if she was nice enough. Because the Doctor can get fucking scary around Daleks and she knows it. She's nice. She's friendly. But she's also the Doctor, and the Doctor has done some really damn questionable things to stop the Daleks, and she knows that. Fantastically done and I still desperately want some proper Dark!Doctor.

Really liked the parallels between the Doctor using scrap to make her sonic screwdriver, vs the Dalek using scrap to make its armour. The Doctor makes a tool, the Dalek makes items of war. Of course, well, the Doctor is probably more dangerous just with a swiss army sonic than a Dalek blaster...

I love how the whole, "Dads are complicated... so I've heard" bit could refer to either the loom thing or the Doctor having actual parents or the Doctor being a shitty dad themself XD

Graham was so excited to show off the TARDIS! Like he's just going, "How cool is this?!"

There were some legitimately funny moments! Graham's chair, "I suppose... we'll have to have a... conversation?", "Junkyard chic"... UNIT was killed by Brexit like that's so awful but. But in a kind of funny way.

Okay, now the unsure. Ryan, Graham, and Aaron. Ryan and Graham have sorted out their issues - but Aaron is still such a big overshadowing part of it that it's a bit of a shock when he comes back in. As someone with a similarly shit biological father, I was completely empathising with Ryan in the coffee shop conversation. And I do understand why they wanted reconciliation, so they showed Aaron as acknowledging his bullshit and Ryan ultimately choosing to forgive and save him.

But it's just... not that easy. It's not all going to be perfect just because they stopped a Dalek together. Aaron's neglect hurt Ryan really badly, and it just felt... too easy? Like it helped that Aaron was genuinely contrite, and that he had that good stepfather talk with Graham, but just... yeah, not sure how I feel about it, honestly.

The Doctor's first words to him being, "You weren't at Grace's funeral. Ryan waited for you, you let him down" were so, so good. Like the Doctor is just going "fuck you I'm his father now". Like tbh I think she was 100% prepared to yeet him off the TARDIS and be done with it. Like damn don't emotionally hurt one of her crew.

Some wonderfully savage lines, though. The Doctor's, "You're almost making up for your parenting deficit!"; Aaron and Ryan's, "Is that how you talk to your dad?" "I don't know, he's not been around"; Graham's fucking smirk when Ryan pointedly calls him 'Gramps'.

I did see a suggestion that would have made it much better - instead of the Dalek capturing Aaron, it captures Ryan. First, it ups the threat in the mind of the Doctor and Team TARDIS - this isn't some dickhead, this is one of them. And instead, it's Aaron who reaches out to Ryan, Aaron who risks his life, Aaron who has to come through for Ryan, instead of the other way around. Also would have tied in beautifully with, "Family isn't about DNA, or a name. It's about what you do, and you haven't done enough."

Also, 'srs tech skillz'. With a Z. Doctor why.

In conclusion, I am going to fight Nigel Farage for killing UNIT.

-

Spyfall part 1

Current response to Doctor Who: making a near-literal SDKFJHGSDASDKFH sound, grabbing a cushion, nearly throWING THE CUSHION.

More intelligent commentary when my brain comes back online.

-

Okay. Am calm. Am good! We're good.

MAJOR SPOILERS for Doctor Who: Spyfall, part 1!

So yeah I actually literally screamed (kind of... scream-laugh-holy-shit-yes). Like, even before Dhawan finished speaking the, "Or should I say spy... Master?" line because of the way he had said 'spymaster' in full in the line before and there's nothing that grabs my brain like that one word in that one context. It wasn't quite as mindblowing as the Utopia reveal, since, let's face it, it's only been a season since we last saw that magnificant arsehole, but still.

(Actually, since I didn't watch Twelve's run, the last time I saw them was exactly a decade ago in The End of Time, broadcast New Years Day 2010. And I still fucking cry over, "Get out of the way." So. That may have been why I literally screamed lmao)

I mean. It's the Master. I can't not. They're my favourite jerk. This is probably slightly concerning.

Anyway. Comments!

The good

Episode was just flat-out exciting. It reminded me both of the Three and Ten eras, a bit? Fun gadgets, fancy suits, and what ends up being a giant game! Did start wondering when they were talking about spies and codes and stuff. It's basically a puzzle that's been set up for the Doctor to solve. Plus, the way she was pretty much enlisted into it! Thirteen and Dhawan!Master might end up having a more Pertwee-Delgado-esque dynamic, maybe? I would be down for that!

(My introductory episode to the Master was The Mind of Evil. Let's just put it that way XD)

"I'm her best enemy." <3

I mean, in retrospect, isolated house full of high-tech stuff and a wall full of books about the Doctor... oh honey. Long, looong game of playing Spies and Conspiracies just for, apparently, the sheer funsies of it. Oh, honey. They're such a disaster and I love them.

The reveal scene, Jodie's acting. The way she just... freezes and hunches in on herself. She's been hiding her past more than other Doctors have in the past, and suddenly, here is her past!! Right here!! Laughing and joking and right there in front of her! And she's just like, "Ohhh shit, I was not ready to have this conversation again..."

Yasmin and Ryan's dynamic. I do like that they split up the usual combos of Thirteen-Yasmin and Graham-Ryan for once, because I do like seeing the way they play off each other! It makes them feel more cohesive as a group. I liked Ryan trying to comfort Yasmin after her experience.

Post-reveal, I'm now wondering if the weird zappy forest thing is the Master's TARDIS? Something to do with changing and processing DNA into something else? Something based around neurons, with the electric travelling system? Am also wondering what happened to Yasmin while in there, since she seemed to be processed in some way, and I'm wondering if she had part of her DNA rewritten as well - or maybe if she's been replaced entirely, like she's currently piloting an alien version of her own body while her actual self is still in there. They did already do that with Flesh!Amy, though.

Once this arc is over, I think Thirteen is definitely going to have to sit down and tell the Fam who the hell she actually is. Graham is having some serious questions, and the Master was definitely egging that on, pre-reveal.

How much do I love that even in a tux, the Doctor still has the culottes and boots? A lot, that is how much. Also, how much do I love the Doctor in a suit and on a motorbike? A lot, that is how much.

"I've had an upgrade." <3

Thirteen playing Snap. It's okay, Thirteen, you still win my heart <3

"Worst! Uber! Ever!!"

"Kisses!" Yes, we know ;) They've been texting! Someone write me a WhatsApp chat fic with plenty of subtext and double meaning, I require it. Also, memes. You know it's true. The Master isn't a Time Lord, they're a Meme Lord.

"Everything you think you know is a lie." Season hook? :o

The hmm

Main concern is how they're handling the Master's characterisation? Last we saw, they were so ready to jump the Doctor ship. Now it's back to games. Kind of wondering if that means the Master is just at the point of being resigned that they and the Doctor just don't work and so is going back to games because at least it makes them happy, but I'm happy to wait until next week to see how things play out!

Did see a suggestion that this is the Master from one of the alternate universes (or at least that seems to be the general consensus on why there were multiple maps), so not actually necessarily the same version as Missy. Alternatively, this could actually be a pre-Missy version! Maybe between Simm!Master and Missy, since we never actually see that regeneration?

Actually, if this is the one immediately before Missy and this two-parter ends with the Master regenerating and we actually do get Thirteen and Missy together on screen I may cry.

(Like I'm aro-ace and agender but I'm still so gay for both of them. There is no word other for this emotion other than 'I'm gay'.)

I kind of wish someone had double-checked the name of the company because VOR running the world is. Is. "Right now, VOR is more powerful than most nations." Just. *pinches bridge of nose* Like okay you know how we say 'oh yeah just google it' 'yeah I googled it' are they really gonna say 'yeah I just VO

'I'm going to V

I can't say it. I can't.

Apparently the Australia scenes were filmed in South Africa. Kind of assumed it wasn't really Australia as soon as I saw actually greenery in the background h e h.

Highkey wish I could have seen Missy and Thirteen together. Dhawan!Master is very fun so far but. Missy and Thirteen. See comment above about the Master's characterisation!

...ABC are you really going to keep to Thursday night broadcasts even after the UK switches their Sunday nights / our Monday mornings? Well that's a good way to guarantee I'll be watching them online first! I was happy to wait twelve hours or so so I could watch it with Mum, but like hell I'm going to wait three and a half days!

In conclusion, am dead, send help, is it Monday morning yet?

-

Spyfall part 2

Thoughts on Doctor Who: Spyfall, part 2!

GALLIFREY LOOOOORE.

Oh man I'm hyped. We got a teeny teaser to the Timeless Child way back last decade but now we may actually get to see what the fuck is going on. And hell, if nothing else, at least the discovery is being teased to be so devastating it did undo Missy's characterisation. If this incarnation of the Master is after her, at least. Still not necessarily anything to suggest that. The Master will likely be recurring over this season, so we'll find out more, at least!

God, the Master is so fucked up. Like. He's seen something apparently so massively traumatic that he had to destroy his own planet and legitimately does look broken by it? Unless he was acting, but I did not get that impression from the message at the end. And the only way he can think of to get the Doctor's attention is to start his old tricks? Not sure if it's better or worse for him to be pre-Missy tbh.

It's just... such an interesting dynamic. Also I really want to read into the whole... scene where the Master asks the Doctor to kneel and call him 'Master' in front of everyone - then, when she does (defiantly! Stubbornly!), he... kneels to be at the same level as her. Like, "I'm going to play these BDSM-esque power games with you but when it comes down to it, I still consider us equal."

Anyway the Master is def a service top.

This comment from Tumblr user upslapmeal:

"'why would it stop? I mean how else would I get your attention’ what did I say about the Master being like a cat knocking things off shelves"

I mean. Yeah.

"Contact." Old school.

The Companions! They get a capital C because they were rad as hell. I love them all deciding that what they do next is: carry on to save the world. Like they're all heroic af without the Doctor and it's so good.

"Don't make me do a soft-shoe shuffle!"

And questioning at the end, oooh man. There are some Implications there, yeah. They've found out some surface information, yes, but no real hint at the deeper trauma. And given what this coming season is hinting at, I strongly suspect we will indeed be getting that deeper trauma and maybe even Dark!Doctor. Gallifrey does tend to bring it out of them...

The whole on-the-run thing seemed to definitely be a callback to Sound of Drums. Uh, what's that going to do long-term? Send out a worldwide message saying, "Sorry, our bad, they're fine"? I mean, last time that happened... okay, Jack was already with Torchwood and so is used to Not Really Existing, but Martha definitely couldn't go back to fuckin' medical school. She ended up at UNIT and then went independent. They did not return to their normal lives.

Barton: needs a goddamn punch. He killed his mother what the fuck. On the plus side, at least he seems to have thoroughly destroyed his career? Be interesting to see if he reappears later, you don't go from the most powerful person on the planet to massive pariah overnight without Repercussions.

On to our guest characters! I hate to brag but I guessed who Ada was as soon as I heard her first name and saw her outfit. I mean the computers theme was already there, who else would she be? :D And I admittedly didn't know who Noor Inayat Khan was except in passing, but still. Little upset about the erased memories (Donna ;_; ), but I can see why the Doctor did it and like... this way, I'm glad they were able to avoid the implications of, "Ada only developed computing because she had already seen the future." Like people said that with Rosa Parks even though the Doctor said explicitly to only ensure there were enough seats filled and the act itself was all Rosa, so they may have wanted to play it safe.

I... really want to comment on how Ada definitely was crushing on the Doctor (and really, who wouldn't?), but she was a real person so I shall avoid those implications. (But really though!)

Doctor how many times have you been in someone's liver. This is some Magic School Bus Inside The Human Body bullshit and I love it.

Doctor's recording: "First of all, you're not gonna die! Second of all, don't talk back to the screens, obviously I'm a recording and I can't hear ya. Third, don't panic. Especially you, Graham."

Graham, panicking: "I'M NOT PANICKING!"

Doctor's recording: "Yes, you were! And I did just say, don't talk back to the screens!"

Graham: "????!?!!"

I want an entire series of the Master having a really infuriating seventy-seven years on Earth. Please.

Comments on continuity issues regarding that, "It's worse than Jodrell Bank!" "Did I ever apologise for that?" "No." "Good." exchange XD;; Like people are going, "Continuity error!! It was the Pharos Project, not Jodrell Bank!!" and like. Pharos was a project. Jodrell Bank is an observatory. You can do projects at observatories. Also, you can refer to projects by location, too. Am I referring to the Canberra Deep Space Communication Project or Tidbinbilla Station? Both! They refer to the same thing! In the Whoniverse, they likely did the Pharos Project at Jodrell Bank, and just had some lighthearted bantz about that time where the Master killed the Doctor, no biggie.

So, onwards to... an apparently unrelated episode for next week! Also, the Kassavin? Still there. Like. The Master only gave suggestions. They still have all those agents everywhere! They're still ready to act! And yeah, now they have the Master in their hands, so... I wonder if they'll make the Timeless Child a long, ongoing arc, and have the much more immediate threat of the Kassavin as the season finale?

-

Orphan 55

Thoughts on Doctor Who - Orphan 55!

...whew.

First thought: anvilicious, but some anvils need to be dropped, because, uh, have you seen the world lately.

It feels like quite a brittle episode? Even beyond the immediate tension of 'there are large angry creatures trying to kill everyone', there's just this sense of... like, tension. There's the tension between Benni and Vilma, which at first is kind of a sweet tension then becomes a life-threatening and sad tension. There's the tension between Roger Parslow Silas and his dad, with Silas not being taken seriously (although I do think him running out while they're in life-threatening danger is a bit much). The obvious and major tension between Bella and Kane that drives the whole episode, yes.

And there's also the tension amongst Team TARDIS! The episode starts with the Doctor still in Some Kinda Way about last week, and I felt a bit of tension between Yaz and Ryan? She seemed rather unimpressed by Bella, at any rate. I do like how organic the relationship between Ryan and Graham feels, at least. "It ain't the aliens that are gonna kill me, it’s worrying about you!"

Set and costume building, I felt, was kind of... eh? I liked how Tranquility itself looked, but the tunnels looked Very Generic, and some of the looks I felt didn't really work. Silas and his dad's green hair just looked very obviously fake, and I saw a description of Hyph3n-with-a-three looking like a cross between a Jellicle Cat and John Candy in Spaceballs (which... yeah, honestly). And I'm not sure about the Dregs, although I did initially have the thought that whatever the original inhabitants of the planet were, they must have been humanoid was amusingly accurate...

"I just pulled this out of a friend of mine! >:("

"Oh! ...We do not make any judgments on our guests and fully support any way you choose to enjoy yourself here at Tranquility Spa! ^_^;;"

"... ... ...It wasn't recreational! o.O"

God you could feel Hyph3n-with-a-three's embarrassment...

"If I had crayons and half a can of Spam, I could build you from scratch!" Excuse me I am at least Tofurky.

Also a logical issue on the whole journey to find Benni, because frankly, it just wasn't... sensible. Okay, bring a kid. Father of the year right there. Okay, bring an old woman. Granted, she could have insisted because it was her man-friend they were looking for, but surely she would have known she would slow them down? Her 'heroic sacrifice' felt very wasted, because dammit, she could have survived if she had stayed in the Dome where it was at least a bit safer!

"At least three eighths of a plan, right here! ...Two eights. I'll be honest, all I've got is the letter 'P'..."

So the Doctor is almost at the point of passing out from oxygen loss but hang on, let her first indulge her curiosity...

The sheer existence of orphan planets is very depressing. The sheer fact that there's at least fifty-five is very depressing.

There's an interesting comment about how straight after discussion of the reveal, the first shot of the preview is the Statue of Liberty. Very Planet of the Apes! (No apes next time, just Tesla vs Edison!) Also feeling a strong connection to Midnight (stunning resort on dangerous planet with a very personal enemy), and I saw a comment about Thirteen unintentionally The-End-Of-The-World-ing the Fam (and making a connection between 'very angry trees' and the Forests of Cheem). Bit of Ravolox. Bit of... fuck what was it... Curse of Fenric.

Although, we know that the Earth will eventually be consumed by the sun, and it was done in a way that was like... it was its time. This was not its time, was a colossal fuck-up on a planetary scale (and the Doctor continues to be 'eat the rich'), but it's also only one potential future. Which is good, because that got dark. Even more than The End of the World, even more than Utopia, even more than fuckin' Frontios, because this is the near-future. The shots we saw of the destruction were modern day! That was the Dome of the Rock you saw getting bombed!

"Be smarter than what made you." PAGING THE GOVERNMENT...

Going to put it on a solid... maybe 7/10? Some really good elements in there, but also some clunkers, and unfortunately not a patch on the same writer's It Takes You Away, which was one of the strongest of the last season.

-

Nikola Tesla’s Night of Terror

Thoughts on Doctor Who - Nikola Tesla's Night of Terror!

Opinion before episode: man, Tesla's cool. Opinion after episode: man, Tesla is fuckin' cool! :D That was a well-done personality-based historical, absolutely - I think it's my second-favourite personality-based historical only to Rosa (there are other pseudo-historical based ones set in the past that I love, but they're not personality-based; the Human Nature duology is a good example).

But yeah, Tesla just came across as a really, really cool character. Genius and he knew it, yes, and the real Tesla did have some questionable views (sexism, mostly), but otherwise the archetypal Idealistic Genius who wants to change the world for the better. Contrast with Edison, who was... a businessman. With, like, a really punchable face. Still pretty intelligent, but... very, very punchable. I've read about the Tesla-Edison feud before and always sided with Tesla, and let's face it, so did the writer XD

Good mix of character combinations - with a lot of characters, it's easy for someone to get sidelined, but this managed to handle Thirteen and the Fam, and Tesla, Dorothy, and Edison, pretty well. There were some neat combinations, like Ryan and Dorothy bonding over the sense of adventure, and Graham and Edison's confrontation; I also really loved the whole conversation between Thirteen and Tesla on the joy of just... creating. There's actually a very nice overlap between arts and sciences.

Antagonists - not bad? I feel a lot of people were expecting the Racnoss, and there was such a similarity that I would have liked at least a throwaway line about how the Skithra were related or something. Ooh man she definitely brought out Dark!Doctor, though. Teleporting the queen back to the ship, specifically so she can be fried? I mean, she might have survived it. Might. And just that fantastic little change of expression when the queen asks the Doctor if she's ever seen a dead planet before! Whittaker pulled that one off.

There's a very interesting compare and contrast between the Skithra and Edison, I found. Thirteen has her speech about how once the Skithra are gone, they won't be remembered. Caput. Forgotten. They left nothing behind. Compare and contrast to Edison, who was openly accused of using other people's work, but who's able to learn from his mistakes, end on an even(ish) setting with Tesla, and who does get remembered. Which kind of stings, honestly, if you look at Tesla's actual history.

Like. Apparently that, "The man just didn't understand the American sense of humour," line was an actual historical line, according to Tesla's own records. The absolute main reason for the difference in fame and recognition is that Tesla was a genius who didn't know how to market. Edison was a marketer who could invent a bit. So in conclusion Edison is a dick and Tesla needs more respect, the end.

Favourite lines and scenes:

Tesla: "Is - is this your own design?" Thirteen: "I made it! Mainly out of spoons! :D" Tesla: "You're an inventor! :D" Thirteen: "I have my moments." Tesla: "I knew it! So you... so, you can understand how it feels, you know, when you have an idea, and - and to make it real. I don't think there's any greater thrill!" Thirteen: "I couldn't agree more." Tesla: "You... you spoke of aliens. People here laugh at the very idea." Thirteen: "But not you." Tesla: "Well, apparently I'm not like other people. It can be difficult, you know, to feel no one else sees the world the way you do. It's like you're, uh..." Thirteen: "...out of place."

Graham: "Yeah, still. I bet you'd jump at the chance to have him back working for you, wouldn't ya?" Edison: "Yeah?" Graham: "Yeah!" Edison: "How d'you figure that?" Graham: "'Cause I had a supervisor like you at my old depot. And men like you don't pay a bloke that much attention unless you think there's a payout comin'."

Thirteen: "I wouldn't go killing me and Yaz. 'Cause Yaz... can tell you what this is." Yaz: "It's a camera!" Thirteen: "Bingo!" *FLASH!*

Edison: "I couldn't figure it out either." Tesla: "The internal dimensions transcend the external." Thirteen: *GRIN* Edison: ._.

Thirteen: "You do realise, it's killing Edison that they want you and not him? ;D"

Graham: "Don't worry. This ain't our first rodeo!" Ryan: "We've never been to a rodeo." Graham: "...you're not helping, Ryan..."

Thirteen: "And what are you queen of, exactly? A stolen ship and second-hand guns? A queen of shreds and patches. You're not a ruler, you're a parasite." Queen: "And what are you? So clever, stealing onto my ship, taking what I claim as mine. But where has it got you? No weapons. No armour. No escape. Just the desperate hope you might change my mind." Thirteen: "No, we are way past that. I gave you your chance." Queen: "A chance to be like you?" Thirteen: "A chance to evolve. But you were too stupid to take it. When you die, there'll be nothing left behind - just a trail of blood and other people's brilliance. No one will even know you existed."

(Side note: I love that this speech was actually in front of the companions. They're starting to see that things are Not Okay.)

Thirteen: "Don't give up." Yaz: "Whatever anyone says." Tesla: "Well, let them talk. The present is theirs. I work for the future... and the future is mine."

Favourite incorrect lines:

Thirteen and Tesla, firing at the ship: "VIBE CHECK!"

-

Fugitive of the Judoon

I'M GONNA... NEED A HOT MOMENT TO PROCESS THAT...

-

WELL I. UH. OKAY.

lmao I'm serious I don't even know where to begin.

Uh, some very disorganised comments on Doctor Who - Fugitive of the Judoon!

I squealed when I heard Jack's voice then saw him in the flesh. I gasped audibly when 'Ruth' broke the glass. I yelped when we saw the buried TARDIS. I MAY HAVE SCREAMED A LITTLE WHEN 'RUTH' INTRODUCED HERSELF.

(Also can we talk about her outfit. That was on point.)

I'm getting a very... very early vibe? She didn't know what the sonic screwdriver was, and that was introduced with Troughton. Since we saw the Hartnell-Troughton regeneration, she must be pre-Hartnell? Maybe a Doctor whose memories were rewritten to the point that they thought the Hartnell incarnation was the earliest? Not to mention that was a pretty old-school-looking TARDIS!

Alternatively, maybe between Troughton and Pertwee? Either option has some inconsistency - if she's post Troughton, she should have known what the sonic was, although it admittedly did look very different. Plus, her TARDIS is already its police box shape, which was implied to have set in the junkyard. Also, we never actually do see the regeneration between Two and Three, and it could explain why Gallifrey was after her - she escaped after her trial after The War Games!

Definitely early, though.

Alternatively alternatively, Thirteen actually does say 'time is swirling around me'. Maybe an alternate timeline. Something to tie back to the Timeless Child?

"I've lived for thousands of years, so long I've lost count. I've had so many faces. How long have you known me? You don't know me. Not even a little bit."

That wasn't just aimed at the companions. I feel that was aimed at the Doctor themself.

(Related: the response from the fam was flat-out beautiful. Doesn't matter who she was or who she'll be. They know her now, and they love her.)

Just. Wow. Wow.

Really cool note from Twitter - disguised name was Ruth Clayton. Ruth = 'friend, companion'. Clayton = 'of the Earth'. She literally named herself 'friend of the Earth'.

"You're probably a bit confused right now."

I mean. Yeah. Confused and intrigued and what.

"Don't do points! I do points! Points are my thing!"

Jack. Jack. Smooching Graham, hitting on all the companions, getting into Shenanigans! The Lone Cyberman - I wonder if that's a totally different crisis that isn't even related to the current Gallifrey-Timeless Child one? The more important part is Jack's presence - the presence of another time traveller with a... unique relationship with the universe. The actual warning could be a red herring, but Jack showing up anywhere in the first place is a sign that something is happening with time?

Orphan 55 had a timeline that may or may not have been the 'real' one. Being only a potential future kind of doesn't work with what we know of established DW continuity, so I'm liking the 'alternate timeline' theory, maybe?

Ryan: "I liked him. Kind of cheesy."

Yaz: "But good cheesy."

Thirteen, smiling: "That's Jack."

Graham just standing there going, "He kissed me tho? ...Wasn't bad, actually."

"Is she safe?" Jack, honestly, is she ever safe?

"When she needs me... I'll be there." Oh yeah, he's so coming back later this season.

Also, Judoon, chameleon arch, the Master, Jack - getting big season 29 vibes here and that's a big thumbs up for me because that's my favourite season. We just need Martha to make an appearance now!

...hehe honestly, between Jodie's entire existence, and now, in the span of five episodes, introducing Dhawan!Master, Gat, and now Jo Martin as the first black female Doctor, and reintroducing Jack, one of the most overtly and openly queer characters on the series, the 'Doctor Who is too PC!' bunch are going to be so mad XD

"A platoon of Judoon... near the moon." / "Look at you, your platoon of Judoon near the... that lagoon..."

Man. The close-up in the very first shot of the watch. Nice tie-in.

"The Doctor never uses weapons!" "I know! Shut up! >.>"

Where do the Kasaavin come into play? Is this something they've done by integrating themselves throughout time and space? Maybe they're fraying the fabric?

My mind is blown. I can't wait for the rest of this season :D

-

[Part 2 - Praxeus to The Timeless Children]

[animeniacss]

What I Want- BadBoy!Taehyung x Reader - Chapter 1 - Up and Out

Synopsis:  You are an innocent, excitable new girl, moving all the way to Korea due to your dad’s new job. As you anxiously learn about the new world around you and how you’ll make your mark, you stumble into none other than bad boy Kim Taehyung and his band of six crazy friends. He seems to be bothered but you, something he doesn’t even understand. Will you be able to tolerate the shenanigans of Taehyung and his rowdy friends, or will you fall victim to his charms just like everyone else?

Featuring Jihyo and Dahyun (TWICE) as your friends, and BTS members as Taehyung’s group of friends.

Genre: Romance, BadBoy!V, BadBoy!BTS, High School Romance, Drama

Length: approx. 2.6k words

Chapter 1 - Up and Out 

           Being good was boring. Being good meant going to class on time, listening, and taking notes, studying! Yeah, no thanks. It was much more fun to be spontaneous, smoking behind the school campus during break hours, playing video games until midnight instead of scanning through a useless textbook, and yeah, starting the occasional food fight in the cafeteria when the teachers weren’t looking. Now that was fun, and it made things more exciting. That was exactly what Kim Taehyung was about, bringing more fun to his school other than those boring pep rallies, sporting games, and god awful school dances.  No, he was going to make school fun in a different way, his own way.

           You, being a bright-eyed new girl, had no idea about Taehyung and his god awful reputation. All you knew was that you were a bright-eyed, innocent girl who recently moved to Korea from your childhood home. At first, it bothered you, not wanting to leave your friends whose bonds were over 16 years in the making or your school that you were almost done with. Not only that, but you barely knew any Korean! Sure, your grandmother would speak to you in Korean when she would come to visit, but that was always very basic conversation and you always managed to reply in broken sentences and half-English remarks. But that wasn’t important, your dad had gotten a new and better job through his company, requiring you all to pack up your well-established lives and move across the globe. It was a bit unfair, yes, but as you began to learn the language with your mother, who was just as lost in the language as you were, you began to enjoy it. Not only that, but you tried to pique your interest more by watching some Korean dramas on Netflix, listening to Korean music, and learning whatever you could about your soon to be home. It was interesting, it was amazing! By the time you boarded the plane, you couldn’t wait to go!

           The trip to Korea was exhausting, but you spent the entire time chewing off your little brother’s ear, who was trying to ignore you and play his Switch, but you kept being persistent, all the way until you landed. You were guided off the plane, your father using his fluency in Korean to help guide your family into cars and to your new home. It was nice, something your father was able to negotiate with his boss in exchange for uprooting his family. You were eager to look inside and see what new memories would be made here! As you headed into the house, you and your brother raced to find your new bedrooms. Lucky for you, you ran track in middle school, so you were faster. This nabbed you the bigger of the two rooms.

           “No fair!” Your brother shouted in annoyance, but you smirked at him and closed the door in his face as your response. You looked around, seeing that the new furniture that was ordered had begun to arrive already, as your new bed and dresser were set up. All you had to do was wait a few days until your luggage from home arrived in the next few days and you would be able to set up. But what you did have, you put out. About a few days’ worth of clothes, a few pictures of friends and family, and letters covered in tear stains from the hour or crying you and your best friends did before you left. As you set things up, you hear a noise outside. It seemed someone had come by, as you heard indistinct chatter coming from underneath your window. Setting down the last of your things, you grab your belongings and head downstairs.

           There you see your mom, letting in a few different people, older women about her age. They’re greeting her, smiling as they try their absolute best to communicate, your mom giving broken greetings in Korean and the others giving broken responses in English, all leading up to a good laugh between them. Behind them were a few teens, two girls about your age. They seemed sweet.

“Honey! C’mere and meet our new neighbors.” Your mother said, glee in her voice. You made your way over to see two girls about your age standing beside one another. Both girls were very pretty, one with short and wavy brown hair and the other with long blonde hair. They smiled at you.

“Hi!” The brunette girl said in Korean. Despite your excitement, you were nervous about being judged for your Korean. You blushed, shyly saying hello in shaky Korean. “I’m Park Ji-soo, but you can call me Jihyo.” The other girl, the blonde, gave a grin as she held up a peace sign in front of her face.

“And I’m Kim Dahyun.” The other girl said. “What about you?” You responded, giving a smile. “Sorry my uh….my Korean isn’t very good still.”

“Good thing you have us to practice with.” Dahyun grinned. “We both live on the block, so we’ll be happy to help you out.” You were silent for a second, trying to process what she had said. Dahyun and Jihyo chuckled a bit watching your eyes move from side to side and your lips mouth what Dahyun had said to you before your eyes finally went bright and a smile formed on your lips. You got it.

“Thank you!” You replied happily. “Do you guys also go to high school?”

“Yeah, we do.” Jihyo smiled. “So we can help you get adjusted there too.” You smiled, glad to know that you made two friends who were so nice to help you out while you were adjusting. As the three of you sat in the living room, your mothers in the kitchen, they fill you in on what school was like, and what kind of kids to expect. You were listening, fortunate that they were speaking some English to you within all of the Korean to make understanding just a little bit easier. It was fun getting to know these girls, they were kind and respectful, and Dahyun was a riot when she got going with the crazy personality you learned she had.

By the time you girls knew it, it was time to go home to rest. You said your goodbyes, exchanged phone numbers and watched as they left with their mothers. Your mother closed the door and smiled.

“Well, that was nice. Seems we got lucky with some good neighbors, huh?” You nodded in agreement. “Alright, it’s pretty late Tell your brother to get to bed, you both have school first thing tomorrow and the last thing you need is to be late.” Agreeing, you headed upstairs to relay mom's message.

“But I’m not tired!” The ten-year-old shouted in annoyance.

“Well if you don’t go to sleep I’ll be sure to tell Mom and she’ll break your Switch.” You said simply. Your brother groaned, knowing you were a girl of your word.

“Goody-goody.” He muttered as he made his way into the bathroom to get ready for bed, and you did the same. Tossing on a pair of old pajamas, you slid onto your bed with your temporary blanket and covers. As you got ready to fall asleep, you heard a ding from your phone. Turning to look at it, you see it was from Dahyun. You had been put in a group chat with both her and Jihyo.

Dahyun: It was nice to meet you! :D Jihyo and I can meet you tomorrow morning so we can all go to school together! J

You: Okay! See you tomorrow! Goodnight!

Setting your phone down, you curled up in bed. On your door hung your new uniform for tomorrow, and it made your heart pound a bit. You were really excited to go to school tomorrow, despite all of your fears about it. As you thought about what the experience would be like, you fell asleep.

The next day, your alarm woke you up right on time. Groaning, you stretched in your bed and hoped desperately that it was a weekend and you could sleep in and rest. But nope, your parents were already up, making the same loud noise they always do, and your brother’s footsteps pounding up and down the hallway too. Groaning again, you eventually got up and made your way into your bathroom. Combing your hair, brushing your teeth, and putting on your makeup, you went back into your room and slipped into your new uniform. You had to admit, it looked pretty good on you, the skirt wasn’t too short, the blazer wasn’t too tight around the chest, and it flattered you well. I feel like I’m in a Korean drama. You thought to yourself, spinning around in your mirror once before you heard your mom calling your name. As you headed downstairs, you weren’t surprised to see Jihyo and Dahyun down there, standing in the kitchen with your mom. She was making some breakfast and offered the girls some fruit, which they both happily took, before turning to you.

“Hey.” You said happily, heading to the table and grabbing a piece of toast, than spreading some egg on it. “I’ll eat this on the way. Bye, Mom!” You waved to your mother, heading out the door with the girls, your brother trekking behind, as the elementary school was a stop on the way to your high school. After dropping your brother off, you and your friends made your way to the office of the high school. You introduced yourself to the principal, who spoke some English, so it made the conversation much easier on you. You got your ID badge, your schedule, and a map of the school before you were on your way.

The school was bustling, full of teenagers pushing, shoving, listening to music as they perched themselves up against a locker, muting out the rest of the world. Friends threw arms around one another, grinning as they spoke about teenage problems like homework and love. You could only hear pieces of information as you made your way to your classroom, which fortunately you shared with Jihyo, and found your locker, which was in the bottom row of the homeroom lockers. It was a bit weird, being in a school where nobody knew you, and you didn’t know anybody. For as long as you were in school, you were always the one eagerly welcoming the new kid, showing them around and helping them get adjusting to their new life, and here you were. Now you were in their shoes, and you could understand why some people were hesitant to open up to you at first. It’s intimidating. You stepped out into the hallway, where Dahyun was approaching from her classroom next door.

While you were finishing up with settling in and adjusting to the slight feeling of anxiousness within your body, someone else was entering the school grounds. Someone who, with every step, he took closer to the building, had more and more eyes staring in his direction. He was unsure if these looks were out of fear, or attraction, or both, but he honestly didn’t really care. Running a hand through his hair, he stepped into the building. As he was getting his bearings, he felt a hard slap on the back. It was another guy, a bit smaller than him, but with full lips and a grin on his face stretching from ear to ear.

“So you’re finally back, Taehyung? How was that three-day vacation?” He asked. Taehyung replied with a shrug as the duo made their way down the halls of the school.

“It was whatever. How were the three days here without me, Jimin? Did you all fall apart like last time?”

“No!” Jimin said quickly. Taehyung raises an eyebrow, and Jimin pouted. “Well…Namjoon-Hyung broke that really cool statue in our room.” Taehyung snickered a bit at the thought of his Hyung. Yeah, that sounded like something he would do.

“What else have I missed?” He asked curiously.

“Nothing. I think a new girl started in our year, though.” Jimin said. Taehyung pursed his lips together, grinning as they walked deeper into the school.

“Really?” he asked.

You watched as students slowly began to disperse into their classrooms, saying goodbye to friends and kissing lovers goodbye. You waved to Dahyun as she headed to her class, talking with another friend as well as they disappeared into their class. As you and Jihyo were about to do the same, a voice was heard at the end of the hallway.

“Oi!” You blinked, turning to Jihyo. Her face immediately dropped, a hand going over her face. She looked annoyed, her thumb and forefinger rubbing the bridge of her nose.

“What’s wrong?” you asked curiously.

“I thought he was suspended for the rest of the week.” She muttered.

“Wrong!” You heard that voice chime again. It was deep, sultry, and it surprised you a bit. Turning your head, you became face to face with a brunette, leaning over Jihyo with a hand on her shoulder. He was grinning, his gummy smile fitting with his face despite his hard and tough appearance. “Did you miss me, Jihyo~?” he cooed, smirking.

“God no. What do you want?” She asked.

“I just came to introduce myself to the new girl.” He cooed, stuffing his hands in his pockets, and his eyes fell immediately to you. You stayed still, not sure what to say. “Well, hello there, cutie.” He said. “What’s your name?” You hesitated, but before you could give it to him, Jihyo took your arm.

“Her name is none of your business. Now go away, don’t you have a class to skip?” She asked. Taehyung snickered, shrugging.

“Maybe.” He said. “Why? Want to join me and have some fun, Jihyo my dear~?” Jihyo scoffed in disgust.

“You’re absolutely disgusting. Let’s go.” She said to me, and she led me inside.  You glanced back at Taehyung, who snuck you a wink as he headed down the hallway, his friend following behind him. Jihyo sat in her seat up in the front of the room, and you stood in front of it, waiting for the teacher to come in and assign you a seat. “I swear, do not talk to him, okay?”

“Why?”

“He and his gaggle of friends may be super popular with the girls, but they’re all bad influences. They smoke, they skip school, and they get into fights…Just steer clear of them, okay?” You saw how serious she was being, and nodded.

“Okay. Okay, Jihyo, if you’re so sure, I trust you.” You smiled happily. Jihyo gave you a kind smile and leaned back in her seat. Just then, the door opened and the teacher walked in. He was an older man, a bit rounder and balding on the top of his head. He had glasses on, which he pushed up the bridge of his nose with his index finger. He approached you, and you introduced yourself to him, as well as your entire class. He sent you to your seat, two seats behind Jihyo. She turned to you and smiled a bit, before facing forward and listening to the lesson.

During the lesson, you did your best to pay attention to. However, it wasn’t long before your eyes started to wander. You were a decent student, but god was it hard for you to pay attention. Your eyes wandered to the window, where you could see some bits and pieces of the outside. From one of the corners, you saw a few figures of some boys. They were laughing, playfully shoving each other, and goofing off as they headed out of sight. Out of them, you noticed Taehyung, his head in a headlock from a taller boy, who had a piece of some kind of food in his mouth. From what you were witnessing, they didn’t seem like bad people.

But what something seems like isn’t always the same as reality. At least, that was something you were taught.  

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[sunsetofdoom]

Dathomir Headcanons for SWTOR Era

(AKA, Sunset tries to make sense of Filoni’s fucking world-building, which mostly seems to have been made up of “you know what would be cool” conversations with no thought to how anything would practically pan out)

so. Nightsisters. Are a thing, in Clone Wars. Rattataki women who inexplicably inter-breed with Zabrak men without producing any cross-breeds.

When did they come to Dathomir? I’m calling it at least a little before KOTOR era- a group of Rattataki settlers shows up in the northern hemisphere of Dathomir, looking for a place to settle.

You know who’s not happy about this? The native Zabrak population.

Dathomiri Zabrak are isolated, with varying levels of tech- some groups moved to the south with rocks and twigs in their farming communities, some stayed on the northern continent and have settlements with one (1) broken ass holocomm and a shuttle that could, probably, make it to the next planet over.

“Oh, cool,” say the Rattataki, “we’ll take that.”

Conflict ensues. The Rattataki, by way of having bigger sticks and more contacts with the outside galaxy, win. They make Dathomir’s first real connection with the greater galactic community in hundreds of years, when they contact the Empire to sell the conquered Zabraks into slavery.

“Fuck yeah.” says the Empire, thinking about all those statues that they inexplicably need to have built by sentients and not droids

The northern continent of Dathomir is now run as a Rattataki colony, making their money by selling the natives to the Empire.

Off-planet, on Ziost and Dromund Kaas and a few other Imperial planets, there are now communities of Dathomiri Zabrak either in slavery or newly freed, bitter but living their lives. They instigate gang wars with Rattataki immigrants, who are mostly baffled about this.

Dathomir is a planet naturally high in Force-sensitivity, like Tython, Ach-To, Korriban, and Jedha. This manifests as Dathomiri Zabrak who are born on the planet being low-level Force-sensitive, to the point where it’s normal- instead of an occasional extremely Force-sensitive child and everyone else being null, it’s spread out across the whole population.

Thankfully, it isn’t enough to meet the requirement for Sith training, but there’s still an awful lot of incoming Dathomiri acolytes in those first few years. Mostly, they die.

Back on Dathomir, the conflict between the Rattataki and the native Dathos settles into a tentative peace. The northern continent is subjugated; the southern, isolated. The Rattataki don’t really want to launch an assault against the southern continent, with its crazy farmers and rancor herds. Sure, they’re nominally unarmed, but have you ever faced down a line of pitchforks aimed your direction? No thank you. The Rattataki colony is good with their slaves.

After a few years of peace, though, Rattataki women get bored. Female-separatist communities go further and further south, tempting the border of peace, forging their way into the swamps where the ambient Force-sensitivity is highest. Esoteric Rattataki religious rites mutate into ritual and magic that actually works, because of the strength of the Force in the swamp caves.

You know what the problem is with female separatist communities? No men means no babies.

And they sure as fuck don’t want Rattataki men

Hey, those Zabrak are starting to look pretty good....

The separatist communities launch raiding parties into the southern continent, kidnapping male children. They set them up in a community in the mountains, tended by slaves from the north.

Their ‘magic’ is still hit-or-miss, but in their many attempts to fuck over the southern population, they end up sending a plague that decimates the birth rate. Dathomiri women now carry a male fetus to term only about 10% of the time. This, combined with the witches’ reputation for baby-stealing, makes southern Dathomir a society run entirely by Zabrak women. 

The Rattataki are pretty content with their system; they use the boys for breeding stock, pay the southern women’s government for any boys they’re willing to sell (not many, they’re precious). They toss Zabrak girl babies south and Rattataki boy babies to the north.

The Datho population calls them the Night-Sisters; their trickster deities are the Night-Brothers, two men who married the stars. The Nightsisters of legend are their enemies, the predatory birds who steal boy babies. These names get garbled over time- by Clone Wars era, the old myths have been all but lost, the Nightsisters turned from terrors to death-gods to be worshipped.

Over the next few thousand years, the southern Datho population re-balances, but is kept planet-bound and primitive by the Nightsisters. The Rattataki colony to the north eventually packs up and leaves, but the Nightsisters stay. Why would they leave? They’ve basically created their own paradise.

[pb1138]

A Reunion, Chapter 4

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 5

Cassandra didn’t see Varric until the next evening. There were only a handful of people in the Great Hall today, Varric at his table and a few workers redoing some of the flooring. She walked over to him and cleared her throat. “I am surprised to find you alone, Varric.”

He glanced up at her, his quill still scribbling away. “The Inquisitor asked to talk to Hawke about Corypheus.”

“That is most practical.” She hesitated before gesturing at the seat beside him. “May I sit?”

He gestured to it with his unused hand, brow knit in concentration. She sat and allowed him to finish whatever he was working on, which only took a few minutes. Once he set his quill down, he sat back with a sigh and looked at her. “So, can I assume you’re here for more of the story?”

“I could come back later if you—” She started to stand but stopped when Varric held up his hand.

“No, no. This is good actually. Hawke doesn’t like talking about the Deep Roads. It just upsets her.”

“I would imagine it does, if what you told me the first time was true.”

“It was, but there’s a little more to it.”

Xxxx The Deep Roads xxxX

They made good headway into the Roads before they came across a caved-in route. Varric offered the four of them up to find another route, which Bartrand allowed. The rising hostility from him hadn’t escaped neither Varric’s nor Hawke’s notice. As they scouted ahead, she fell back to walk beside him, Fenris and Carver clearing the way ahead of them.

“So Bartrand seems a pleasant fellow.” Her tone was light, cheery, a stark difference than when she speaks to her brother. With Carver, she sounds drained, tired, annoyed, and he can’t say he’d blame her.

He snorted. “Not a word I would’ve chosen. But something’s up. He’s being a bigger ass than usual.”

She sighed wistfully. “Maybe he’s fallen madly in love with me but knows my heart is a prize ne’er obtained, and as such he is acting out in an attempt to distance himself from me and my affable nature.”

Varric chuckled. “The day Bartrand has a pleasant feeling is the day I grow a beard.”

They both snorted, catching the attention of the others. Carver rolled his eyes and pushed ahead, though Fenris’s gaze lingered on Hawke. She didn’t notice, however, as she adjusted her pack on her back. Varric studied the way the elf looked at their friend, and a pang of jealousy hit him. Confusion was fast to replace it, because since when was Varric the jealous type? Since when was he jealous regarding Hawke? Fenris looked back ahead, and Varric settled down, pocketing that new piece of information for detailed study at a later date.

Clearing his throat, he stuffed his hands in his coat pockets. “So, never, huh? What, is Bartrand not your type?”

“Unfortunately for him, no.” She halted for a moment and leaned down to her hair up into a high ponytail, securing it in place with a red ribbon made of silk. He waited for her, the others not noticing their pause.

“What is, then?”

“Hm?” She looked at him, her exhaustion becoming evident in her eyes. It had been nearly two weeks since they left, and still she had barely slept. Down here in the Deep Roads, she was beginning to look something of a ghost.

He nudged her as they walked. “Your type. What’s your type? Tall, dark, and handsome? Scrawny and stupid? Foreign princes with eyes as clear as ice, jawlines for days, and exotic accents?”

She laughed, giving his shoulder a playful shove. “Maker’s breath, Varric. We’ve spoken to that guy maybe twice! He’s pretty, yeah, but,” she sighed wistfully, her tone lamenting, “he’s married to the Maker. How can I possibly compete with that?” The two of them chuckled, and she took a drink from her canteen. “No, I don’t really have a type if I’m honest. I like anyone and everyone. Just not assholes like Bartrand.” She raised her voice. “I’ve already got one angry shit in my life who won’t leave, I don’t need another.”

Carver scoffed and threw up his middle finger over his shoulder. “I love you, too, sweet sister of mine.”

“Anyone and everyone, huh?” Varric chuckled, nodding thoughtfully. “That explains The Blooming Rose, then.”

“Hey, don’t judge. Serendipity and I have a special bond. She takes care of me.” She laughed once, softly. “But, alas. I’ve no love in my life. There is this one guy I’m pretty interested in, but I don’t think it’ll go anywhere.”

The jealousy was back, stabbing him in the gut. What in the Maker’s name was going on with him? “Oh? What gives you that impression?”

She made a point of trying to look invested in the stalactites hanging overhead. “He’s still hung up on his ex pretty badly.”

His…ex? She couldn’t mean him, could she? His heart fluttered at the thought, but before he could think of a teasingly witty remark, an arrow flew past their heads, and they were thrown into yet another fight against Darkspawn.

Varric hadn’t found another opportunity to continue their conversation, though he certainly hadn’t forgotten it. They’d found a way around pretty easily, the most trouble being a cavern full of dragonlings and a rather large dragon. Hawke had taken a bad hit to the shoulder, and without Anders there, she would have to handle the pain. Even potions weren’t enough to cure it completely, and despite her brave face, everyone seemed to see how badly it was bothering her. They’d started guarding her better, flanking her from all sides, and Fenris even insisted he carry her satchel despite her protestations.

They arrived at the thaig a day later, and nobody knew quite what to make of it. Bartrand was bewildered, confused, and Hawke was mostly in awe. Varric couldn’t blame her. He’d never been in a thaig before, but he’d seen renderings and drawings of them, heard stories.

Bartrand and the hirelings were busy exploring the main cavern, studying the strange red spires and the like.

“Let’s scout ahead, see what else this place might have in store for us.” Hawke shouldered her staff and grinned lazily at her companions.

Fenris frowned. “You are still injured, Hawke. Perhaps it would be best if we remained with the group.”

“Indeed, Sister. The last thing we need is you falling in battle. I’ll not be responsible for telling Mother I let you die.” Carver sneered at his sister.

She sighed and rubbed her face. “I’m fine, honestly. Maker knows I wouldn’t dream of leaving our poor mother at your mercy.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t snip back, surprising them all.

“Well then. Let’s go see what dusty treasures we can find, eh?” Varric beamed at his friends.

On their way out of the main cavern, Hawke stopped and exchanged her random tidbits and treasures for potions from Bodahn. They talked for a while, Bodahn thanking them once again for finding Sandal, and though Hawke was a sarcastic person by nature, she was genuinely polite and almost pleased to speak with them. As they walked away, Hawke patted Sandal on the shoulder and gave him a cocky grin.

They halted at the top of a staircase and pondered the potential of a room not far away. It was pretty much unanimous that there would be nothing of true value, but it was worth a peak. They hadn’t made it more than six or seven steps before some 10 Shades appeared and began to attack them. Varric took up position in front of Hawke to help protect her as her casting was much slower than usual. Fenris and Carver flanked the horde, each of them sparing no expense. Just when it seemed that the fight was nearly over, a statue a few feet to Varric’s left came to life, though neither he nor Hawke seemed to notice it. With one fell sweep of its huge arm, the two of them were thrown against the far wall as if they weighed nothing more than feathers. Fireworks burst in front of Varric’s eyes, and though he could see what was happening before him, the images held no meaning, no significance. It took him a long moment to regain his senses. Fenris and Carver were both fighting with nearly all their strength against the monstrosity, and Varric groaned. It took him another moment to realize there were no spells being cast, no thunderstorms being summoned, no fireballs thrown, nothing.

“Hawke?” He coughed as he sat up, his whole body burning with pain. Panic began to well in him as he looked around, and when he finally spotted her a few feet away, he almost couldn’t breathe. Crawling over to where she lay, he looked her over for injuries. “Hawke?” Her head was bleeding from the back, but she was breathing if barely.

The sound of fighting behind him died out, and within seconds the others were sliding over on their knees to assess their fallen leader. Fenris dug in his satchel and pulled out a potion, ripping the cork out with his teeth. Wordlessly, Varric helped adjust her so she might be able to drink, and Fenris poured the thick liquid down her throat.

“Damnit, Sister, you’d better wake up, or so help me I’ll kill you.” Carver’s fists were clenched at his sides. As much as the two of them hated one another, some small part of them did love the other, somewhere way deep down.

They all waited on bated breath. Over the course of a few minutes, the bleeding stopped, and her breathing evened out. With a collective sigh, they relaxed, and Fenris and Carver both began to tend to their own wounds. Varric stayed by her side and took her hand in his. Under his breath, he sighed, “Always keeping us on edge, aren’t you?”

“Someone has to.” Her voice was weak, as was the smile that ghosted across her face. She turned to look up at him but winced.

“No, don’t move. You’ll just hurt yourself more.” He chuckled, more out of relief than anything else.

She sighed but obliged, dropping her head back to the ground. He helped coax another potion into her, and they watched as Fenris and Carver bickered over the proper way to bind a particular wound. “What a bunch of old biddies,” she whispered. The two of them snickered, and Fenris and Carver both turned to them bewildered which only made them laugh harder. Hawke held her side, obviously in pain, but for some reason that just urged her to laugh harder. Once they settled down, she was nearly crying, but her spirits seemed lifted. They sat in a circle for a while, sharing a loaf of bread among the four of them, Hawke drinking another potion. They talked about small things—what the thaig had in store, how shitty Bartrand is, what they would do with any money they found, and it was peaceful and happy. Even Carver seemed to have pulled the stick out of his ass for a while, and it was almost possible to imagine the two Hawkes as loving siblings. Almost.

Once Hawke felt well enough to walk, they returned to their mission and entered the new section of the thaig. It was remarkably well preserved, barely a scratch in the tall walls. Hawke had taken to using her old staff as a walking cane, a soft “tink” of metal on stone echoing off the walls around them, her newer, fancier staff hanging off her back.

They came to a new antechamber, large, sharp stalactites hanging precariously from the ceiling, a side wall blown through from a cave-in.

“I think there’s a chest or something up those steps.” Hawke gestured with her staff ahead of them and looked at Varric.

He nodded and adjusted Bianca on his back. “I think you just might be right. Let’s go.” He led them up the stairs but paused. It wasn’t a chest. It was a stone slab, and upon it lay an idol of some sort. He walked over to it. “You see what I’m seeing?”

“Is that…lyrium?”

“It doesn’t look like any kind of lyrium I’ve ever seen.” He turned behind him to where his brother had just entered the room. “Look at this, Bartrand. An idol made out of pure lyrium, I think. Could be worth a fortune.”

Batrand whistled. “You could be right. An excellent find.” Something was off in his voice, but Varric thought nothing of it.

Hawke went to pick up the idol and it sparked and glowed beneath her touch. “Not bad. We’ll take a look around, see if there’s anything further in.” Hawke tossed it to Varric, and a strange sensation flowed through his body, a warmth unlike any he’d felt before. Reluctantly, he turned and tossed it to Bartrand, and the warmth was gone.

Bartrand looked at the idol with a strange glint in his eyes and turned towards the door. “You do that,” he growled beneath his breath.

Varric turned back to Hawke and began to say something when she looked towards the door. Her eyes went wide. “The door!” The four of them ran to try to catch the door from closing, Hawke sliding down the banister to make haste, but to no avail. The resounding thud of the stone sliding into place echoed all throughout the chamber.

“Bartrand! It’s shut behind you!” Varric joined Hawke to try to heave the stone back.

From the other side of the door, they could hear Bartrand’s sinister chuckling. “You always did notice everything, Varric.”

Hawke and Varric shared a look, concern written across her face as she leaned on her staff. Bewildered, Varric thumped his fist against the stone. “Are you joking? You’re going to screw over your own brother for a lousy idol?”

“It’s not just the idol! The location of this thaig alone is worth a fortune, and I’m not splitting that three ways.” There was a pause, and for just a moment Varric thought he could hear a sort of ethereal whispering before Bartrand called, “Sorry, Brother.”

“Bartrand!” He punched the door again, voice rising to an angry yell, “BARTRAND!” But he was gone. “I swear I will find that son of a bitch—sorry, Mother—I will kill him!” Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose and turned towards his friends. “Let’s hope there’s a way out of here.”

“Well, we’re in it now. This all part of your plan, Sister?” Carver scowled at Hawke, his arms crossed over his chest.

She scoffed at him, leaning forward on her staff. “Yes, Carver, this was all part of an intricate plan. Cave-ins and injuries and golums and betrayal, yes, absolutely. What, do you want me to apologize for not giving you the program beforehand? Well, just to be clear, I am fully expecting to come across at least a few demons and darkspawn before we reach the surface. Gasp. I know! It’s insane!” She glared daggers at him, hand sparkling where she held herself upright. “I don’t know what it is you want from me, Carver, but go look for it over there.” She gestured with her hand towards the back exit. He shook his head at her, teeth and fists clenched before he spun on his heel and stormed his way up the stairs.

Fenris did better to hide his anger at the situation than Carver had. He turned and followed the younger Hawke with a heavy sigh. Hawke looked down at Varric, her brow knit in concern. She reached over and put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Varric. About Bartrand. And Carver, but mostly Bartrand.”

He looked up at her, into her crystal eyes, and part of him softened at the regret he saw there. He patted her hand and did his best to offer her a smile, though he knew it wasn’t quite all there. “No, Bells, I’m sorry. I’m the one who dragged you down here.”

She snorted, and the two of them set off. “Varric, you couldn’t drag me anywhere if you tried.” The two of them shared an empty laugh as they climbed the stairs.

Xxx

The path back to the surface was long, but after the rock wraiths it was almost no problem. In truth, the worst part was carrying all the gold they’d taken. About a week from the surface, they were sitting around a small campfire in a cave off the main road. Fenris had managed to find a small nug warren about an hour ago and now a rather large one was currently roasting over the fire while Fenris sat in the corner, cleaning and salting the carcasses of two others to make jerky.

They were laughing over some joke Varric had told, Hawke holding her healing side. Carver was the first to catch his breath again, and he moved to adjust the nug in the fire. “Garrett would’ve loved that one.” Hawke’s laughter cut out as if he’d punched her. Carver, for once, seemed to realize he said something wrong because he grimaced. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

She didn’t say anything, moving her legs out in front of her. Varric quirked an eyebrow at the newfound tension in the air. Fenris paused and tilted his head. “Who is Garrett?”

“He was—”

“We don’t talk about him.” Hawke cut Carver off sharply, voice steeled.

Carver scowled. “No, we don’t. We never talk about Garrett. And why is that again, Sister?”

The air in the cave dropped to below freezing in the blink of an eye as Hawke’s fists clenched. “Don’t you dare.” Her teeth were grit, fists clenched tightly in her lap, sparks dancing across her fingers.

“Oh, that’s right, because you got him killed. Just like Bethany. It’s all you’re good for, killing everyone who ever loved y—”

In the blink of an eye, Carver had been thrown back against the wall. Hawke was breathing heavily, her hand outstretched from the spell she had just cast. Fenris was standing in front of Carver almost immediately, guarding him from Hawke’s fury.

“Bells—” Varric was reaching out to touch her shoulder but the look she gave him sent an icy chill down his back. He withdrew quickly, and he must have looked at her wrong because shock flashed across her face before pain took over. She clambered to her feet, took her staff, and dashed out the cave.

Fenris looked at Varric, bewildered, before they turned to Carver. “Are you injured?” When Carver shook his head, Fenris scowled, lifting him by the collar. “Then what in the name of the Maker was that?”

Carver scowled back, pushing Fenris away from him. “Why don’t you go ask our glorious leader.”

Varric held his hand up to Fenris and shook his head. “I’ll go. You stay here and guard the idiot, make sure the nug doesn’t burn.”

Fenris nodded back to him, and Varric left after Hawke, Bianca slung on his back. He found her sitting against a derelict staircase, her knees drawn to her chest, tears streaming down her face. When she heard his footsteps, she wiped her eyes and turned her face away from him.

He hesitated, unsure of how to approach her, of what to say. Finally, he walked over and sat beside her, close enough to feel her presence but not to touch her. After a long time, she leaned over so her head was on his shoulder, her arms going around his arm. He worked to keep his breath steady so she was comfortable and reached over to pat her hand on his arm. “I’m here if you want to talk about it,” he whispered.

She shook her head and gripped his sleeve tighter. “N…No. I don’t talk about it…about him.” Her voice fell to barely a whisper, yet somehow it carried enough grief and pain within it to make Varric’s heart shatter. “I can’t.”

“That’s alright, Bells. We can just sit here, yeah?” He laid his cheek upon her head and placed his hand over hers.

They sat like that for a long time, nearing upon an hour before she pulled away from him. It was a slow movement, hesitant, like she didn’t want to let him go. “Thank you, Varric.”

Before he managed to get a word out, she was on her feet, a hand going to her staff. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear—” And there it was, the unmistakable sound of metal against metal, a fight being fought. They shared a look before they were running, staff and Bianca both at the ready. They arrived just in time to see Carver being overwhelmed, Fenris’s skin glowing as he fought off his own small army a ways away.

“Sister!” Carver’s voice was pained as he called from the fray, and she could just barely make him out amongst the Darkspawn.

They sprung into action, Varric knocking bolt after bolt as Belladonna cast vigorously. Their added assistance turned the tide, though the battle was far from easy. It dragged on for far too long, and by the time Fenris struck down the final creature, Carver was sitting against the cave wall, Hawke was leaning on her staff surrounded by lyrium vials, and Varric was making the rounds, pocketing any loot and gathering up the salvageable bolts.

Hawke took another, small vial of lyrium from her belt and downed it, then righted herself and made her way over to Carver. “Fenris, Varric, you guys hurt?” She knelt beside her brother who was clutching at his bleeding side and swatted his hand away to start healing him.

“It’s nothing to concern yourself with, Hawke,” came Fenris’s dour reply.

“Psh, you know it takes more than a few ugly mugs to take me down, Bells.”

Hawke smirked as she finished up dealing with Carver’s injuries then pushed herself to her feet with a pat on his shoulder. It didn’t escape Varric’s notice that she did so with a slight stumble, their time down below the surface clearly beginning to wear on her. She made her way over to Fenris and began healing him despite his protestations, and Varric had to pause to smile at the scene. Much like her namesake, she acted very frequently like a mother bird, and they her children. Her hawklings, as it were. Despite the broody elf’s struggles, she made quick work of healing him, but it obviously took a lot out of her. Her breath came strained, winded as she spoke. “I think we should try to find some more defensible ground for the night to set up camp.”

Fenris nodded solemnly and began picking up some of the heavier bags while Varric set about snuffing out the fire. “I never was one for camping near Darkspawn, anyway. Takes weeks to get the smell out of my hair.”

Hawke snorted as she gathered some of the lighter packs and offered her hand to Carver to help him off the ground. “And goodness knows we can’t have that. Your horde of women will be beside themselves.”

They shared a chuckle while Carver scoffed. “Get a room,” he grumbled.

Hawke’s ear twitched and she side-eyed her brother. His voice sounded…off, and he was carrying himself strangely as though he were still wounded, though she didn’t see any injuries beyond the ones she had already healed.

They pushed further into the Roads and came to a wide cavern and a bridge. Hawke paused to survey the area and a realization hit her.  “This part of the Deep Roads looks familiar.”

“So we’re back where we started, and in only 5 days. Not bad, eh.” Varric seemed overly pleased with their progress. Hawke had to admit, she was also rather impressed. She would be even more impressed if they didn’t still have a week left in their trek, but beggars can’t be choosers.

“Think we could…take a break? I feel…wrong.” Carver did, indeed, sound off, but it didn’t quite register as an emergency in Hawke’s mind.

With a teasing tone in her voice, she called back over her shoulder, “I think all our stomachs are a bit tender right now.”

“I’ll wager it was all those dark mushrooms we found.” Hawke could always count on Varric to pick up on her sarcastic remarks.

“No, it’s…”

Hawke turned just in time to see Carver falling to the ground in a crumpled heap. She was quick to dart to his side, packs shrugged off her back as she went. “Carver!”

His face had paled considerably, and his eyes had clouded significantly. His skin was cold to the touch as Hawke cradled his face. “It’s the blight, isn’t it? Just like that templar, Wesley. I’ll be just as dead, just as gone.”

“I’m not going to let that happen.” Coldness had filled Hawke’s veins, her heart pounding in her ears. It was the blight. He was right. But damned if she was going to let this happen again. Not again.

“I’m not going to make it. Not to the surface, not anywhere. It’s getting worse.” Hawke shook her head, tears threatening to spill over her eyes.

Varric came closer to them, his heart aching in his chest. He shared a forlorn look with Fenris before putting his hand on Hawke’s shoulder. “We’re in the middle of nowhere… We can’t help him.” Hawke turned to look up at him, her breath catching in her throat, but he could only offer her a look of shaded pain. Fenris looked similarly hopeless, having set the bags down and standing off to the side, leaning on his sword with his hair in his eyes.

Varric stepped over to Fenris to give them some more privacy, and the two of them walked a short ways away to keep guard.

Hawke was struggling hard to keep it in check, to stop herself from openly weeping. She wouldn’t let her snotty face be the last thing he saw, so she tapped it down. She moved so that she was sitting, his head in her lap. After sucking in a trembling breath, she smiled down at him and stroked his hair. “D’you remember the day you ate that pie that mother made for your birthday?”

A shaky laugh escaped his lips as he nodded. “The peach one?”

“Father nearly whacked you with his staff, made you do the laundry for a whole month and Bethany kept ‘spilling’ things on all her clothes?”

The smile fell from his face. “I miss her so much.”

Tears filled Hawke’s eyes again as she nodded. “Me, too.”

There was a moment of silence before Carver reached up to hold her cheek. “I… I’m sorry. About what I said before. About Garrett.”

She shook her head, a tear slipping down her cheek which he brushed away. “There’s nothing to forgive.” Her head tilted back as she looked up at the roof of the cavern, trying to hold back her emotions. “You were right. It was my fault.”

“No.” His voice was surprisingly hard, given how weak he was. She looked back down at him and was surprised to see him scowling. “You had no way to know.” He winced as if something were hurting him and withdrew his hand. She placed a healing spell to his stomach, trying to stave it off. “I would have done the same, Donna.”

She nodded, smoothing his hair back. “Thank you, Carver.”

The light in his eyes was beginning to darken, and he took a raspy breath. His hand weakly found hers. “You’ll do it, won’t you, Sis?”

She swallowed hard, dryly, and managed a trembling whisper. “You always did ask for the world, Carver.”

His hand over hers squeezed, and a faint smile on his lips. “And you always gave it.” He reached up with a trembling hand and put his hand on the back of her neck, drawing her closer to him. Her tears dotted his cheek as they fell from her face. “It’s just you now. Take care of Mother.”

Fenris and Varric heard nothing for several minutes and shared a concerned look. Before they could turn back to see what was happening, they heard a clattering of metal falling on the ground then Hawke sobbing then her sobs quickly turning to shrieks of agony. They turned, then, and tears sprung to Varric’s eyes. She was leaning over him, cradling him to her, his blood pooling around them with a bloody dagger lying on the floor. Varric moved to go to her, to comfort her, but Fenris’s gloved hand on his shoulder halted his steps. He looked back at the broody elf with an expression of shock and agitation, but Fenris only shook his head slightly. Varric looked back at Hawke, his heart throbbing across his entire body, fingers twitching with the desire to hold her, but he knew Fenris was right. She needed some time. So, they turned their backs to her again and gave her the privacy she needed.

It was nearly three hours later that she stirred and lifted Carver’s head from her lap. She rose to her feet and picked up her staff before wordlessly turning around and heading back the direction they’d come. Varric jumped to his feet and cast Fenris a bewildered look before he ran after her. “Hawke!”

She stopped in her tracks and turned to look at the two of them, Fenris rising to his feet with a confused expression on his face. Her voice was barely audible, wrought with pain. “Stay here. With…with him.”

“No, no way, Hawke. I’m not letting you go back in there alone.” He righted Bianca on his shoulder and puffed his chest out, standing his ground.

She stared at him for a long moment with unblinking, puffy eyes before nodding. “Fenris.” She looked past Varric at the elf. “Would you stay?”

Fenris nodded and bowed his head. “Of course, Hawke.”

Without another word or glance, Hawke spun on her heel and stalked off. Varric scrambled after her and fell into step beside her. He watched her out of the corner of his eye but didn’t try to press it. They walked on for a while before coming to a sharp turn which lead them to an abandoned way station they had scavenged earlier. Varric stood in the doorway and watched as she flitted about the room, breaking anything wooden she could lay her hands on, her staff leaning against a wall. After she had a respectable pile in the middle of the floor, she looked over at Varric. “There was a… a wheelbarrow… thing… down the road a ways.”

He raised an eyebrow at her but nodded, pulling Bianca off his back. “Sure thing, Bells.” It took him nearly half an hour to find the wheelbarrow, but thankfully it wasn’t crumbling like the rest of the Roads. The trip back to her took less than 10 minutes since he knew the way to go, but by the time he got to the way station again, the pile had nearly tripled in size. Hawke was leaned over a rather sturdy and heavy looking table and apparently the last piece of furniture in the whole place. From the tracks in the dust, Hawke must’ve been dragging it. Varric cleared his throat to announce his presence, and her shockingly blue eyes snapped to him. “I uh… I got the thing.”

“G… Good. Yes.” She looked down at the table again. “Would you mind loading the pile into it?”

He set his coat and Bianca against a wall and eyed her as he set about the task. “Sure, Bells.”

By the time he had the wheel barrow filled, she had managed to drag the table almost to the door but stopped to catch her breath, sitting on it. Varric walked over to her and leaned against the table, looking up at her. “You wanna talk?”

A long moment of silence stretched between them, so long Varric might’ve given up if it had gone on any longer. “I…” She clenched and unclenched her fists for another minute before taking a shaky breath. “I’ve gotten them all killed.”

Varric frowned and stood up straight, moving so he was directly in front of her. “Hey, no you haven’t.”

She shook her head and stared down at her hands, clenched in her lap. “All of them. Dead. Because of me.”

“Bells.” She didn’t look up at him, so he ripped his gloves off, reached forward, and took her hands in his. “Belladonna. Listen to me.” Her eyes drifted up to his face, filled with pure and utter sorrow. “You are not responsible for this.”

She shook her head and pulled her hands away from his. “You have no idea.” Without another word, and before he could get a word out himself, she slipped off the table and turned her back to him. She dug in her robes for a moment before pulling out her last giant lyrium vial and downing it. Before he could ask what she was doing, her staff was in her hand and she was casting a spell. The table lifted off the ground, and she followed it outside, leaving him in her wake. He watched her go for a moment before gathering his things and pushing the wheelbarrow after her.

They made good time getting back, much to Fenris’s obvious relief. He had taken Carver’s bedroll and covered his body with it, though Hawke seemed not to notice. The table she was magicking over hit the ground hard, and she doubled over, catching her breath. Fenris watched her then quirked his brow at Varric who just shrugged in response. “Hawke?”

She ignored them and took the wheelbarrow from Varric. They just watched as she built the wood up underneath the table, and realization dawned on them. A funeral pyre. Fenris walked over and gently halted her movements. “Hawke. Allow me.” She seemed surprised, but relented, offering him a weak smile.

She walked over to their stuff and started digging before pulling out a canteen and one of her tunics. Varric watched as she ripped a strip from the tunic and poured water on it, but she froze as she turned, facing Carver’s body. The fabric passed between her hands a few times, but neither her eyes nor her legs would budge. “Hawke.” Varric set his stuff down and walked over to her, holding his hand out. “Allow me.” Her eyes flicked to his, tears on the verge of spilling out before she nodded and passed him the cloth.

It wasn’t long before Carver’s body was cleaned up, and Fenris helped Varric carry it onto the table. Hawke watched, unblinking, the look on her face absolute, indescribable pain. The two men came and stood on either side of her, and Varric folded his hands in front of himself. “Do… you wanna say a few words?”

Hawke paused for a minute before she nodded. “I… Yeah. Yeah.” She took a trembling breath and stiffened, as though bracing herself. “Carver was… a tit. The… the thorn in my side. Hardheaded and stupid and just…” Her voice cracked, and she took another moment to steady herself, hiding her face amongst her burgundy curls. “But he was my brother. My baby brother. My responsibility.” Her fists clenched at her side. “H… I’ll… I’ll miss the shi… Him. I’ll miss him. But… Maybe he’s… maybe he’s with Bethany and Father and…” She couldn’t get the final word out, a choking sob breaking off her words. Varric reached for her arm but she flinched away, and no small part of his feelings were hurt by the action. Instead, she pushed forward toward the pyre and pulled two sovreigns from her pocket, placing them on Carver’s eyes. Varric and Fenris watched as she leaned down to place a kiss on his forehead and whisper something in his ear before she stood back. With a wave of her hand, fire sparked in the wood below the table, and Hawke watched as the flames ate their way up to her brother.

They stood in silence for another few minutes before Hawke abruptly turned and began gathering their things. Fenris gave Varric a concerned look before they moved to help, either man taking the majority of the items so Hawke did not have to. By the time they were all loaded up, Hawke was left with just two packs, her staff, and Carver’s maul which she had taken with an almost reverential amount of gentility.

“Let’s get out of this accursed hell.” She held herself strong as she lead the way, though the way she clenched her fist by her side did not escape Varric’s notice.

[duhragonball]

Dragon Ball Movie 1: Curse of the Blood Rubies

I wanted to cover the movies during this liveblog, so I decided the best way to do that was to try to do them as they came out alongside the episodes of the TV show.   Movie 1 premiered at the Toei Cartoon Festival on December 20, 1986, right after Episode 43 aired on television.   From what I read on Kaizenshuu.com, the idea was that Toei would run these film festivals when kids were on break from school.   So if you were a huge Dragon Ball fan in 1986, you could watch Episode 43 on TV, bug your parents to take you to see Movie 1 in theaters, and then catch Episode 44 a few days later.   But they were screening the Cartoon Festival for at least a few weeks after December 20, so I’m sure a lot of fans saw it later.   Anyway, I’m trying to replicate that general chronology. 

For my part, this was one of the last pieces of Dragon Ball anime I purchased, because it took years for an official Funimation dub to be released in the U.S.   For a long time, the rights to distribute Movie 1 and the first thirteen episodes of Dragon Ball in the U.S. were held up by KidMark, and Funimation didn’t secure the rights until about 2009 or so.   That was when they released the “Blue Brick” box sets, which included the first thirteen episodes, but not the movie.   That wasn’t released until 2010.    So I’ve only seen this thing once before today.

Truthfully, I’m not a big fan of the movie, because it’s a sort of retelling of the original Dragon Ball storyline, only with a new villan and other new characters included.   Several later films would adopt this same formula, most notably “Path to Power” in 1996, but also the bootleg live action films “Dragon Ball: The Magic Begins” (made in Taiwan) and “Fight Son Goku, Win Son Goku” (made in Korea).   And “Dragon Ball Evolution” looks an awful lot like a retelling of the first 13 episodes of Dragon Ball, only with Piccolo as the villain and Chi-Chi as a love interest for Goku.     I get it, it’s a good story, and maybe it’s worth repeating, but I just read the original version a couple of weeks ago.    My favorite thing about Dragon Ball is how the story keeps expanding and moving in new directions, not rehashing the same stuff over and over.

We open with the Toei logo.   When you see this, you know some serious shit’s about to go down.  And the movie does start out with some really gorgeous visuals and animation, mostly setting up the concept of what the Dragon Balls are.

Then we start in the Land of Gurumes, where the local ecology is being ravaged by strip mining.    One little girl named Pansy tries to fight back by shooting a worker with a slingshot, and her father stands up to the royal guards when they try to punish her. 

But the king has stronger henchmen to keep guys like him in line.   Bongo, for example, isn’t interested in any sob stories about the EPA or sick children or whatever.   He thinks the rubies they’re digging up from the ground more than make up for whatever environmental damage is being caused.  Then he jumps in a car with his partner Pasta and they head back to the castle.

Is... Is that Kato?   Well, whatever, Bongo and Pasta report to King Gurumes that they’ve located another Dragon Ball, and he’s pretty pleased to hear that, since he’s starving to death.    According to his ramblings, only the tastiest food can satisfy his hunger, and he’s reached the limit of what the finest cooks and chefs and prepare for him.   If I’m understanding this correctly, once he eats something, it can no longer satisfy him ever again.    So he wants the Dragon Balls so he can ask Shenron to finally put an end to his hunger.   I’m not sure if he means a cure for his curse, or if he just wants to wish for the world’s most delicious food. 

Then we check in on Goku, who’s basically playing out the same story we’ve seen before.   He catches a fish, Bulma hits him with her car motorcycle, but this time, there’s a plane landing in Goku’s backyard.   Goku notices Bulma’s Dragon Ball, and she explains it to him, and then she realizes that whoever’s in the plane is trying to take the Dragon Ball Goku has at his house.  

By the time they arrive, Pasta and Bongo have already left, and they’ve dropped off a gold coin, apparently as payment for Gokus’ Dragon Ball.  Bulma whips out a plane of her own to give chase, and while she manages to take out Pasta’s Dragon Radar, they still get shot down, and Pasta and Bongo get away.  

Bulma and Goku continue their search by car, and they happen to drive by Pansy, who is being menaced by Oolong.   Bulma sees to Pansy while Goku chases Oolong away, but this leads them straight into...

...Puar, and his sidekick Yamcha.   Wait.  

Yamcha and Goku fight, just like they did in the TV seres, but with a bigger animation budget, and then Bulma shows up and Yamcha falls off a ledge, knocking out one of his teeth.   

Later, Bulma and Pansy compare notes in a mobile home.  I assume it’s Oolong’s, since it’s like the one he had in the original story, but Bulma never lost her own capsules in this version, so it might be hers.   Pansy’s plan is to seek help from Master Roshi.    According to her, King Gurumes was corrupted by the “Rich Stones”, which is what they call the rubies they’re mining out of the ground.   I can see why the English dubs refer to them as “Blood Rubies”, since that’s a much more dramatic name. 

What I don’t understand is whether the Blood Rubies actually have some sort of magic power to curse people, or if Gurumes has simply succumbed to plain old greed.  I guess you’d need a magic curse to explain his distorted appearance and insatiable hunger.   But did he eat a Blood Ruby at some point?   Pasta and Bongo want the Blood Ruby mining to continue as well, so why haven’t they been cursed as well?   Anyway, Gurumes is obsessed with accumulating more and more Blood Rubies, even though he already has tons of them in his royal treasury, and even though he’s currently suffering from his hunger problems. 

Bulma agrees to take Pansy to Master Roshi, since they share a common enemy, however, when Roshi meets them, he accuses Goku of plotting to kill him.  Turns out Yamcha was spying on Bulma and Pansy’s conversation, and he hatched a scheme to get to Roshi first and trick him into taking out Goku for him, so that he could secure the Dragon Balls for himself. 

Wait, that doesn’t make sense.  Gurumes has most of the Dragon Balls right now.  Six of them, actually.   What good would it do Yamcha to eliminate Goku now?  Well, it doesn’t matter for long, since Roshi summons the Kinto’Un to see who’s telling the truth.   When Goku proves he’s pure of heart by riding Kinto’Un, Yamcha’s deception is exposed, so he runs away.

Then Pasta and Bongo show up in a submarine and bombard Roshi’s island. Roshi gets pissed about his house being blown up and retaliates with a Kamehameha wave, which drives the bad guys away.    Naturaly, Goku wants to learn it too, and he manages to imitate it on his first try. 

At that point, Bulma notices the Dragon Ball hanging from Roshi’s neck, and he agrees to give it to her if he can touch her boobs.   So Bulma gets Oolong to shape-shift into a fake Bulma and... yeah we all saw Episode 8.   Same thing.  

Incidentally, Bulma got a haircut sometime before they arrived at Roshi’s place.   In the first half of the movie, she looks like this:

But after she arrives on Roshi’s Island she looks like this:

I mean, that’s a lot of hair to lose from one scene to another, isn’t it?  

The gang finally heads for the Land of Gurumes to take the fight to him.   Pansy asked Roshi to help them, but he said no, because as a martials arts master, he’s become too far removed from the affairs of the outside world, or some other B.S.   I’m pretty sure the real reason he doesn’t come along is because he didn’t join Bulma and Goku in the manga either, but he can’t just say that out loud. 

He tells Pansy that she’s already got a fine group of friends to help her, so everything out to work out for her.   This really sounds like a cop-out.   I think we’re supposed to believe that Roshi has wisely sensed that Goku and the others are more than enough to save the day, and yeah, he’s right, but it really makes him look like a heel.  Like, what else does Roshi have to do today?   His house is gone, so I’m pretty sure his schedule just cleared up for the next several days.

There’s a cool scene where Bulma uses Oolong’s shape-shifting powers to frighten off Gurumes’ henchmen, only they end up running into Puar, who was doing the same thing for Yamcha.   See, he’s trying to secure the Dragon Balls for himself because he wants to get over his fear of girls, just like in the original version of this story, you see, so it’s very clever. 

Really, the only interesting parts of this movie are when the new characters do things, like when Pasta attacks Bulma, and Yamcha has no choice but to rush to her defense.   He battles Pasta for a while, and does okay until her mask comes off and he realizes he’s been fighting a girl the whole time.   Then he saves Bulma from a falling rock, and I’m bored again because he saved Bulma from different things back in Pilaf’s castle in the original story.  

Goku has a decent battle with Bongo, who flies around on some sort of hoverboard, so that’s pretty cool.    Finally they all get to Gurumes’ dining hall, and he suddenly turns into a giant monster.

This is what I find really disappointing about this movie.  Gurumes looks like a pretty cool boss villan on the poster, but he spends most of the film in shadow, and when he finally does step out into the light, he’s become a hulkng, mindless brute.   And I’m fine with that development, but I wanted more of what Gurumes was before he succumbed to his mutation.   As it is, I can’t tell if Pasta and Bongo were manipulating him from the start, or if he was the true mastermind of this whole scheme, and he was too twisted and evil to realize it was a fool’s errand.  Well, we won’t get any answers now, because he forgot how to talk.

Goku tries to stop Gurumes with a Kamehameha, but it doesn’t even scratch the guy.  While that goes on, Bulma checks her radar and realizes that the other six Dragon Balls are inside Gurumes’ body.   So he ate them?   Was he that crazed with hunger, or was there actually some purpose to that?  

Bulma decides the only thing to do is toss the seventh Dragon Ball into Gurumes mouth, and summon the Dragon while they’re all together inside his tummy.   And that seems to stop him, so this is the first time Bulma beat the bad guy.   Good hustle, Bulma.   

Shenron emerges, and the whole castle is wrecked, so I would think Gurumes has been completely destroyed.  Bulma and Yamcha are too stunned to make their wish, so Pansy cries out that her people don’t want the Blood Rubies, and she only wants the land restored to the way it was before.   Shenron grants her request, and as the land transforms, all the rubies start floating out of the ground.

Pasta is horrified to see this, because it means the complete ruination of her plans.   Also, I think Bongo might be dead?  Gurumes stepped on him, and he never moved much after that.  Goku hands her back the coin she paid him for his Dragon Ball, and I’m pretty sure that’s all the money she has left after everything that’s happened.  Bulma and Yamcha find each other, because that’s what happened in the original story, yadda yadda, and then...

Okay, so King Gurumes is back to normal?   I guess?   How the hell did he survive Shenron coming out of his body?   His castle sure didn’t.  And why does he look like that?   Was he always that ugly, or is he still changing back?  Maybe he suffered some permanent damage from the curse?   Anyway, he’s still hungry, so Pansy hands him an apple, which he finds surprisingly delicious.   Pansy’s dad gives him shit about it, as if the apple had been the solution to his problem all along, if only he hadn’t been corrupted by his own greed.  Maybe that was the moral of the story, but I’m betting Gurumes has eaten apples before now.   I think he’s ony confused because the curse has finally been lifted.  

But why was it lifted?  Is it because Shenron removed all the Blood Rubies?   Was that all Gurumes had to do?   Just chuck them in a dumpster?   Where did Shenron put all the Blood Rubies?  Did he throw them into the sun?   Did he bury them in some other king’s backyard?    This is how you get Curse of the Blood Rubies II, you know?

The movie ends with Goku running off on his new flying cloud, and thinking about how big and interesting the world it, yada yada.  It’s a decent movie with some breathtaking animation in places, but it’s not very satisfying when it borrows so much from other material that we’ve already seen before.   I really wanted to see more of Pansy, Gurumes, Bongo, and Pasta, but we couldn’t get that because we had to go over Yamcha’s motivation one more time, and remix the story of how Master Roshi gave Goku the Flying Nimbus. 

[shadowsong26fic]

Precipice Deleted Scene!

So, I have an AU outline coming up, sometime in the next couple of days depending on how quickly I finish it. But since that is a) Spite Fic(tm); b) not Star Wars and, in fact, based in a fandom I left a while ago that I’m pretty sure none of you are in; and c) a niche crossover on top of that...

Uh. Yeah. As a thank you to y’all for sitting through my self-indulgent nonsense later, I thought I’d post this! Which I’d been kind of thinking about sharing anyway, even before the Spite Fic(tm) came up.

Below the cut is an early version of Anakin’s half of the most recent Precipice chapter. Parts of this were written back during NaNo, and then bits and pieces over December and January. It’s also part of why this chapter took so long (almost a month as opposed to the 1-2 weeks I’d been shooting for)--the bulk of Padme’s half was actually complete last November, I just had to rework the opening and add a conclusion and a few other editing details. But the original version of Anakin’s half just...wouldn’t come together. And I think part of that was because it ended up feeling kind of redundant--it was Anakin, Obi-Wan, Rex, and Ahsoka meeting up and debriefing, so while some of the information was news to them, pretty much none of it was news to the reader. Also, braiding together the bits and pieces I’d written wasn’t working/the conversation wasn’t really flowing. Plus, the Anakin and Beru scene fit better with what was going on in Padme’s part. I actually made the decision to switch...I wanna say three days before I posted? And it just...flew. So, yeah, there’s that.

Anyway, there are a couple bits in here that I really like, and...well, if any of y’all wanted a look at my Process, so to speak, this actually might give some insight? It’s all pretty rough, and I’m leaving in my notes to myself so you can maybe get an idea of the kind of piecemeal ways I put together chapters.

Feel free to comment/ask questions/offer insights about your own process, if you wanna use this post as a jumping-off point for that!

Anakin, Obi-Wan, and Leia didn’t meet Ahsoka and Rex at Dr. Naar’s--in the interest of protecting their emergency medic, as a rule, none of them went there unless they actually needed his help.

Instead, beyond a brief coded “all-clear,” they waited to properly check in until they were all back at the farm.

[Which was not easy, waiting that long to really confirm that Rex was okay. Not that Anakin thought he wasn’t, exactly--even with everything else that had gone on this week, he’d’ve sensed it if his friend were in serious trouble--but, yeah, there was a difference between knowing and knowing, even with the Force to help. And he had lost too damn many friends over the years to be comfortable waiting for news.] [POSSIBLY CUT. PROBABLY CUT.]

Rex looked more or less okay, which was a relief. He was leaning pretty heavily on a set of crutches, but upright and moving more or less under his own power.

“You all right?” Anakin asked, quietly.

“Yeah,” he said. “Back to normal in a week or two, probably. As long as I don’t do anything stupid.” This last, he said with a somewhat pointed look that was probably supposed to be a Hint, which Anakin blissfully ignored.

“Glad to hear it, Captain,” he said, with a brief hand on his good shoulder.

[TRANSITION]

“How’d everything go?” Ahsoka asked, settling in on the floor, cross-legged.

“Pretty much as well as we’d hoped,” Anakin said. “Padme and Luke are--they’re--amazing. And Padme sends her love.”

Ahsoka nodded. “Good.”

“And with Saw?” Obi-Wan asked.

“About as well as we’d expected,” Rex said, and Ahsoka nodded.

“He’s holding back a little, not interested in a full commitment right now, but he’s keeping lines of communication open,” she added.

“We also ran into a massive hyperdrive, half-built. We blew it up, and managed to pull some data on our way out,” Rex said. “It might tie into some of the leads you’ve been chasing down?” [REWORD A LITTLE]

“Possibly,” Obi-Wan said. “Likely, even. I’m still working on fitting the various puzzle pieces together, but this will probably help. It’s certainly something we should keep an eye out for. If we’re looking at a question of scale…”

“I agree,” Rex said. “I’m not as up on the latest capital ship tech as I’d like to be, but the drive I saw was bigger than anything that’s probably coming out for the next generation or two. Unless it’s not for a capital ship at all, but for something different.”

Not good. Whatever the Chancellor wanted to move en masse probably meant bad things for the rest of the galaxy.

“We should have Artoo sift through the data,” Anakin said. “We still might not have enough for the full picture, but if anyone can get there, he can.” Besides, they had left him with Owen and Beru while they were off on Alderaan, and Artoo had made it very clear that he had been hopelessly bored by the tasks the Larses had found for him, and was looking forward to having something more interesting to do.

Well, that hadn’t been exactly how he’d put it, but that was the gist, anyway.

[EHHHH REWORK A BIT. ANOTHER TRANSITION]

“Anything about the bombing?” Anakin asked. He’d promised Luke he’d find out as much as he could, after all.

“Saw knew who was responsible,” Ahsoka said. “He wouldn’t give us a name, said his friend was probably dead so there wasn’t much point. He wasn’t involved directly, but he was invited along.”

“That’s something, at least,” he said.

“Bail’s network didn’t have much, either,” Obi-Wan added, “other than a possible break-in at ISB around the same time. He wasn’t sure whether the kidnapping or the break-in was the feint.”

“That ties to what Saw was telling me,” Ahsoka said. “And from what he said, the kidnapping was the distraction. Or added bonus, or something. He said he told them to try for an actual target, one that was worth their time. Tarkin or somebody, not the kid.”

“Gerrera doesn’t have many limits,” Rex said. “And it’s even odds or better there’s gonna be a point where even those go away. But at least for now, he has a thing about kids. Pretty sure he’s concerned about setting a precedent.”

Ahsoka nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “He has a kid with him,” she added, for Obi-Wan and Anakin’s benefit. “Couple years older than Leia. He focused on her every time the bombing came up.”

[EHHHH, SOMETHING ALONG THOSE LINES.]

[SOMEWHERE IN HERE GOES THE FOLLOWING:]

“We ran into Infernalis,” Ahsoka said, and the room stilled a bit.

Anakin found himself absently resting a hand on his left thigh, where the prosthetic met what was left of his natural leg. It hadn’t bothered Padme--which he hadn’t really been worried about, except that it bothered him more than his arm ever had. Not for any physical reason, exactly; while it wasn’t quite as high-quality as the arm, the neural mapping in the leg Bail had found for him was good enough that he didn’t have too many issues with phantom pain or other problems that lower-end prosthetics couldn’t help. But there was a difference.

Maybe it was just that there had been problems he hadn’t had the first time--complications, delays, accidentally terrifying Leia the way he had--and he couldn’t completely get those fuzzy, awful days out of his head. Or maybe it was just that Specter bothered him more than Dooku ever had.

It didn’t really matter, anyways. Generally speaking, it wasn’t enough to really cause him problems, except when he let himself start brooding about it. Which happened less and less often.

He shook it off pretty quickly--he didn’t think the others had noticed he’d gotten distracted, or that he’d missed any of the conversation. Good. I’m getting better at this. […NOT SURE ABOUT THIS ONE. ALSO MAYBE MOVE IT?]

“Did you engage?” Obi-Wan asked.

She shook her head. “Not directly. Ship-to-ship combat only. Rex took out his hyperdrive and we left.”

Which was what they were supposed to do, as bitter a pill it was to swallow. They had all agreed, after…after Specter, not to engage any of the Chancellor’s apprentices without backup, if at all possible. And, while Rex would have counted on a good day, he was hurt. Pursuing Infernalis, if they hadn’t been able to shoot him down and take him out that way, might have gotten one or both of them killed. Ahsoka had made the right call.

Even if it meant leaving Saw and his people, plus a planet full of civilians, at risk.

“There are too few of us left,” Obi-Wan had said; and Master Yoda had agreed. And they weren’t wrong, but at the same time… [MAYBE MOVE THE BIT ABOUT LEG/PHANTOM PAINS/SPECTER/WHATEVER HERE?]

“Were you able to warn the others?” Anakin asked.

She shook her head. “We didn’t want to draw attention with a beacon,” Ahsoka said. “But he had a couple evacuation plans already in place, and he’s not stupid. I think he’ll be okay.”

“He knows how to reach out to us,” Rex said. “We’ll find out sooner or later.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “We will hope for the best.”

There wasn’t much else they could do, other than head back as a group and try to hunt Infernalis down, but Anakin didn’t bother to suggest it. At best, heading back would accomplish exactly nothing other than wasted time. At worst, Infernalis had had time to set a trap for them.

[THAT…WENT SO MUCH BETTER IN MY HEAD UGH. POSSIBLY JUST REWORK IT FOR ONE OF THE OTHERS’ POV? AHSOKA MAYBE?]

[mayparkerblogs-blog]

Just Your Average Morning  {Part 4}

I’m seriously loving writing this series so I hope you guys are loving it too! If there are any avengers that you want to see more/less of, or if you have any suggestions, just comment what you want to see below! Your wish is my command! Better prepare yourself for this next part, though, because things are about to get interesting ;) New to JURAM? You might want to read the prologue, part 1, part 2, and part 3 before you begin reading part 4. 

[reminder: Y/N’s thoughts are in italics]

warning: slight mention of blood, sorry if you get queasy around that stuff

avengers x fem!reader

You clocked in for the night about an hour ago, but never fell asleep. The dawning thought of having to start all over yet again kept your mind wide awake. You braided and re-braided your hair twice, shopped for clothes online, finished season five of The Office, and were about to start watching The Darkest Hour when the tv screen suddenly turned black. That’s weird, I wonder if Netflix is just under maintenance or something? You tried turning the cable TV on, but nothing happened. You poked around the back of the TV, looking for broken wires, and finally gave up when all of the lights turned off. You groaned and went to flick them back on, when nothing happened. 

“Hey Friday,” you called out to the intelligent AI, “Is something wrong with the power?” 

“Yes ma’am, it seems that our central power is being-” Friday stopped mid sentence. 

“Friday?” No response. “Friday, did Tony set you up to do this?” Nothing. Your uneasy feeling worsened as time grew and the power still wasn’t on. 

What happened to the power system? Can I try to fix it? If this is just some mean prank Tony is playing on me, he better be glad that I’m leaving. Your nerves began to subside when you remembered that you weren’t alone in the compound. Peter’s still here. Peter’s probably already fixing the problem. I’ll just make my way down to his room and see if he’s in there. 

You threw one of Wanda’s sweaters she let you borrow over your pajama top, slipped on a pair of fuzzy socks, and retrieved a flashlight from the bedside cabinet before venturing out to Peter’s room. As you walked down the ominous hallway you heard a CRASH coming from the kitchen. From around the corner you could also see the barely visible waves of a distant flashlight. Something’s not right, I better call Peter. You fumbled your phone out of your sweater pocket and quickly pulled up Peter’s contact name. Come on Peter, answer. You paced in a small circle as the phone rang once, and then twice. Then, you heard it. Peter’s ringtone. You knew he was close by, but you just couldn't see him. The dim light of the distant flashlight was now closer than it was about a minute ago, and you could hear what sounded like a group of people running in your direction. 

The Avengers must have just returned from a mission and Peter went to go greet them and dropped his phone in the process. Sure, that makes sense. 

A heavy weight was lifted from your chest as all suspicions dropped and you began walking towards the common room and passed Peter’s room, who’s door was cracked open a little bit. As you got closer and closer to your destination, however, something seemed wrong. 

From the sound of it, way too many people are in the common room for it to just be the avengers. Also, that was definitely not Tony barking orders at people. Why would Tony be barking orders at them, anyways? They would have just gotten back from a mission. I’ll try texting Peter. 

You: Hey Peter- it’s Y/N. The power just went out and something weird is happening. I can’t tell if everyone just returned from their mission really early or if it’s a bunch of people here to fix the power outage. Tried texting Steve and Tony, but neither one of them responded. Pls respond so I know you’re ok!

*ding*

Peter’s text-tone echoed through the hallway yet again. 

Now where is that damn phone? 

You heard some disturbed murmurs from the occupants of the common room, but assumed it had nothing to do with the soft ding that resonated from your hallway. You decided that it was a better idea to just find and shut the ringer off rather than let it go off all night, so you searched the surrounding plants, chairs, and small tables. While you were searching for Peter’s phone, however, you accidentally tripped over a chair leg, cause you and the unfortunate chair to come crashing to the ground. 

Shit. They definitely heard that. 

“Down that hallway! Find out what caused that noise! Don’t just stand their, you ignorant buffoons, GO!” You heard a very angry German man scream. 

A stampede of potentially dangerous and armed strangers was headed straight for you, and you didn’t have an escape route. The next room to run and hide into was a while back, and you had no idea where the nearest exit was. Aw fuck! You began to run down the hallway in a desperate attempt to escape from your unwanted guests. The feet which carried you had no idea where they were going, or what the hell they were doing. They just wanted to get away. Then, all of a sudden, your feet weren’t running anymore. Something had attached you to it’s body, and was now hoisting you into the dark rafters. You began to scream for Peter, but something was slingshotted at your face and covered up your mouth, prohibiting any noise from escaping that big pie-hole of yours. You tried to resist the force that was pulling you up and up and up, but you couldn’t break free from the strange rope that was wrapped around you. 

Oh God, what is happening?

Through the darkness, you could see the figure that was pulling you towards him. Or her? You honestly couldn't really tell. Your plan: defend yourself by any means necessary. These home invaders weren’t going to get the best of you. You grew closer and closer until finally, you were being yanked up onto the metal beam the figure was perched on. You began thrashing every limb possible to get away from your captor, only to find out that it wasn’t a captor at all. 

“Y/N, Y/N! Hey, it’s me, it’s me, it’s just me, you can calm down now! Yeah, there you go. Breathe! I’m not going to hurt you. It’s just me. Peter.” 

What the hell is Peter Parker doing up in the rafters? And how did he get there? 

“Yeah, sorry about that. I wasn’t about to let those guys just come and get you. And if you screamed, they would know where we were hiding.” He said in a soft whisper. You looked down to see groups of men in all black below you, unaware of your presence above. 

“How did you get up here? What’s that weird rope stuff? Something that Tony made? Who are these people?” You stared at Peter, dumbfounded. He furrowed his brow and cocked his head to the side like a little puppy dog.

“Have you never heard of Spider-Man before?” He asked. You shook your head no, but realized the name did sound familiar.

“Oh yeah, Natasha told me about him when I first woke up.” 

Oh shoot, you big idiot. He doesn’t know about the whole ‘being shot out of the sky by Iron Man’ thing. 

“Well, that’s me. I’m Spider-Man. And that weird rope stuff that I saved you with is just industrial strength webbing- I made it myself. I only have so much of it in my web-shooters right now, and the rest of it is in my suit. Actually, I’m about to run out, which puts us in an even bigger pickle.” Peter sighed and ran his hands through his hair, visibly stressed out. “Wait, woke up?”

Do I really have time to explain this?

“Well, Peter, I have a secret just like you do. I’ll try to make it quick because the compound is currently under a fucking siege but basically I’m from another dimension and I fell through some wormhole while I was walking down the stairs one morning and that wormhole brought me here and I was in a free fall straight to the ground right above the compound but Tony thought I was a missile and so he shot me out of the sky so then I lost a lot of blood and Steve Rogers had to donate some of his blood to me in a transplant to I could live and we thought I could have the serum but it turns out that I don’t which makes me completely useless and vulnerable in our current situation.” Now that you were currently under attack, you could kind of see why Tony thought it was a good idea for you to leave.

Peter stared at you, dumbfounded. “Wow, Y/N, that’s a lot of information to take in all at once.” He grinned and shook his head and you smiled back at him while the two of you watched the men below you. “Yeah,” you replied, “It’s pretty cra- oh wait, shh, I think they’re talking about something important.” You tuned into the conversation going on between your invaders.

“Mason,” said the big, tall, and very German guy. “If my memory has not failed me yet, I believe you sent in a report that stated the compound would be inhabited tonight, is that correct.”

“Yes sir,” replied one of the soldiers. “I saw Captain Rogers depart for Washington yesterday morning. As for the rest of them, they left in the evening to handle the decoy in Paris. They shouldn’t be returning for at least 18 hours.” How does he know so much about what happens inside the base? Has a mole been working in the compound?

“And the interns?” the German man said. 

“Stark’s interns were sent home before the team departed for Paris, sir. Had me send ‘em all home in the same cab around 12:15 except for one kid, who was supposed to stay later for a special project. According to my data, General Rathmore, the same amount of individuals who entered the compound also left the compound. There shouldn’t be a single breathing lifeform left on this base.” The soldier responded with a lack of confidence.

“Then please do explain to me, soldier, why I heard a telephone ring not once, but twice, and a chair has been knocked over!” The German, who you expected to be General Rathmore, whipped around and shot the soldier called ‘Mason’ in the leg. “Unless you wish to join Mason in his punishment, I expect the rest of you to complete the mission quickly and without error. Squads Delta and Blue, continue the mission with haste. This anomaly has already set us far behind schedule. Crimson, guard the exits. If anybody is in this compound, they will not be leaving tonight. Hail Hydra.” The squads scattered to their various destinations after chanting ‘Hail Hydra’ a few dozen times. “Soldiers,” General Rathmore called out to the departing team, “Shoot on sight.” You gasped and almost cried a little, but Peter covered your mouth before any whimpers could get out. The two of you watched the last of the Hydra agents disappear, leaving ‘Mason’ behind.

You and Peter stared at each other in utter disbelief. “Holy shit, Y/N, what are we gonna do? This is Hydra! These guys are serious! That dude just shot another Hydra dude for no reason! We need to call Tony like right now.” Peter’s voice was shaky with fear and anxiety. You stared at the injured man below while Peter attempted to phone Tony. “The line didn’t even ring.” Peter said with a confused look on his face. “Oh my God they must have cut out communication to anything outside of the base. We can’t warn anybody about our situation. We’re all alone. What do we do?”

Why is Peter asking me what to do? I’ve never fought anybody before, I haven’t even been here for two weeks yet. I’m no Captain America, I can’t lead a mission.  What happens if I get shot, or if Peter gets shot? I don’t even know how to get out of this building on my own.

“Why are you asking me what to do? I’m no hero! You’re Spider-Man! You’re used to this whole ‘saving’ thing.” You stared at Peter, who looked rather disappointed in himself and in the situation. “What I do know is that man below us needs medical help. If we don't stop the bleeding, well, I’m not sure he’ll make it.” You could already tell that Peter was not ok with this idea.

“Are you, are you kidding me, Y/N! You heard the crazy man.. shoot on sight! What if we try to help him and he pulls a gun on you or me? We don't have any suits or gear to protect us.” It came to your attention that you were still only in your pajama pants, fuzzy socks, one of Tony’s old t-shirts you stole from the laundry room, and Wanda’s grey sweater. Peter, on the other hand, only had plaid pants and a stupid chemistry shirt, not even any socks. We really aren’t prepared to do anything. 

“Damnit, Peter, I don't even have a suit! Or armor! Or anything! I don’t know how to shoot a gun and I certainly don’t know how to throw a shield! I don’t have any super strengths or skills, and I’m only above average level intelligence.” Your fear towards the situation turned into frustration.

“Come on, Y/N, you’re plenty smart. You’re probably one of the fastest thinkers I’ve ever met! But, now’s not really the time to talk about that. We’re in the middle of a situation. Whether you have the serum or not, I need you, ok?” You smiled and nodded back at Peter, receiving a smile and rather fierce nod in response. 

You stared at each other in silence, not knowing how to proceed. 

“OK, so, um, here’s the plan. First, we should go to the training room to see if any gear was left behind. That way, you could have something to defend yourself with and maybe we find a more efficient way we could communicate to replace our phones. Then, you can stay in the training room while I go and get my suit from the lab. Once I have it on, I’ll meet you in the training room and we can decide what to do from there. Sounds good?” 

Ok, Y/N. All you have to do is sit in the training room and stay hidden so you don't die while Peter gets his suit and tries not to die while doing so. Can’t be that hard, right? 

“Ok. Sounds easy enough. But before all this, let’s prop the injured Hydra agent up against the wall and try to stop the bleeding. We can tie off the wound with my sweater.” You looked down to see if the man was still alive, but there was nothing below you except a pool of blood. 

“Shit!” you whisper-shouted.

“He probably heard our entire plan.” Peter said.

“Yep.”

“And we should probably get going now, right?”

“Yep.”

Peter shot a web to the ceiling, grabbed you by the waist, and softly lowered the two of you to the ground. It’s now or never. You and Peter slurked past the pool of blood and continued down the hallway. 

After a couple minutes of inching your way through the compound, you only had one more corner to turn before the final stretch to the training room began. Peter spun around and shot a big smile at you, followed by two thumbs up.

“See, Y/N?” Peter whisper shouted as he walked backwards into the entrance of the hallway. “And no problems at all! Like literally, Y/N, this couldn’t have been better! Well, I mean of course it could have been better, like wecouldbeinbedrightnowinsteadofsneakingaroundthecompoundinthemiddleofthenight, but anyways we could have d-died but we didn’t and I’m just so glad we’re-” Suddenly Peter was thrown across the room and slammed against a wall by some sort of strange space-manipulator thingy just as he was turning the corner. 

Oh God. 

Peter groaned as he rolled around on the floor, grabbing at his back. You ran over to help him, but a hydra agent grabbed grabbed you by the waist from behind and started dragging you away from your little spider-friend. You squirmed and jolted the best you could, screamed as loud as humanly possible, until finally, you hit him. Your torso twisted around far enough in away that you could deliver a hard blow to his jaw.

Except it was more than a hard blow. 

You sent the guy flying backwards. You couldn't tell if he was passed out on the floor from pain, or he was too embarrassed to get back up. You stared at your fist in shock, and then turned around to Peter, who was now wobbling over to you. 

“Are you ok? How did he just sneak up on us like that? What was that thing he hit you with? Is your back ok?” You said frantically while checking over your shoulder for more Hydra agents.

“I’ll probably be sore for the next couple days, but don’t worry, Y/N. I’ve been hit by harder things.” Peter chuckled and made his way to the training room, peeking through the window for any hydra goons before entering. The two of you speed-walked to the equipment room and shut the door behind you. Safe, for now. 

“You hit that guy really hard, Y/N. I’ve never seen anybody pack a punch with so much force before.” Peter commented as he searched through lockers and cabinets.

“I’ve never seen me pack a punch like that. Well, I’ve never punched anybody before so I’ve never seen myself punch in the first place.. but I read somewhere that people can get like crazy amounts of strength in crisis situations. Like that one guy who lifted a car to save his dog.” You replied, not looking up from the locker you were sifting through. 

“That wasn’t one of those power anomalies people get from adrenaline, Y/N. That was pure strength.” Peter added. You finished looking through the last locker, which you assumed was Wanda’s, and found nothing. 

“Hey, Y/N!” Peter called. “Come over here, I think I found something for you to use.” You hopped over to Peter, who was staring at something in the corner. Steve’s shield greeted you with it’s familiar star and patriotic colors. Peter turned to you with a sly grin on his face.

“Are you sure you don’t have the serum?”

TAGS

@sataninsatin @markusstraya @tinyclockss @sassyandclassyx

[noona-clock]

Your Friend, Joo Hyuk - Part 10

Genre: AU/Fluff

Pairing: Joo Hyuk x You

By Admin B

Intro, Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, Epilogue

Joo Hyuk ended up staying with you for a full week. You’d half-heartedly tried a few times to get him to leave earlier because you were worried about his job and everything, but he’d insisted on staying until you felt okay enough to be on your own.

To be honest, you weren’t sure how long that would take. You were taking Mickey’s death pretty hard.

So, Joo Hyuk simply convinced you to go back to Korea with him. He made the point you could simply exchange your ticket for the same flight he was on to return back to his home, and you still had the ticket for your flight back to California in about a week.

You were a little wary about leaving home, but it made too much sense for you to go with him. Plus, you wanted to spend more time with him, and if you had to fly halfway across the world to do it, then so be it.

You hadn’t unpacked your suitcase from a week ago, so on the day you two were set to fly to Seoul, you rarely even had to prepare. Your dad came and picked you up again, and you told him of your plans - or, rather, Joo Hyuk’s plans - to move here. He was supportive, of course, but you could tell he was also a little skeptical. You couldn’t blame him because you’d really only spent three weeks with Joo Hyuk in person. But you knew it was right.

Arriving at the airport, checking your bag, and going through security was like déjà vu, except this time Joo Hyuk was with you. And you were fairly certain you wouldn’t get another life-changing phone call while you were waiting to board your flight.

At least, you hoped not.

Thankfully, you both got on the plane without interruption. And the person sitting next to Joo Hyuk must have noticed you two reluctantly parting since your tickets weren’t next to each other because he offered to trade seats with you. You thanked him profusely, and you honestly almost cried because you were so relieved. It would’ve been just plain awful being on the same plane with Joo Hyuk for thirteen hours but not be sitting next to him.

The flight was long, but you didn’t mind sitting next to Joo Hyuk, watching movies, sleeping on his shoulder, and talking quietly about your plans the whole time. In a way... you were glad it worked out this way. Although you still wished things were different, of course.

You managed to sleep some during the flight, so when you arrived in Seoul, you weren’t too exhausted. Just a little.

Joo Hyuk took you back to his apartment, your nose pressed to the taxi window the whole time so you could take in as many sights of the city as you could. You would only be here for a week, and you wanted to get as much done as possible (though you were quite positive you would visit again in the future, but visiting someplace for the first time was always exciting).

You were pretty impressed with how nice his apartment was, and you expressed your regret he would have to leave and move into yours, which seemed old and shabby by comparison.

“I don’t really care where I live,” he assured you, coming up behind you and resting his chin on your shoulder. “As long as you’re there.”

You blushed, nudging him in the ribs gently. “You’re so cheesy sometimes,” you accused.

“But you like it,” he murmured, tilting his head to place a kiss on your neck.

You bit back a smile as you turned around, snaking your arms around his neck and quirking an eyebrow up at him.

“What?” he asked, sliding his arms around your waist.

“I can think of quite a few more things I like,” you told him before standing on your toes and pressing your lips to his.

And... let’s just say, you got your week started off on the right foot.

Your week in Korea was an amazing distraction from the current struggles in your life. You spent almost all day out in the city of Seoul with Joo Hyuk, eating and shopping like your life depended on it. You definitely didn’t leave enough room in your suitcase for all your purchases, but Joo Hyuk said he would bring whatever couldn’t fit when he moved.

You stopped by all the entertainment companies, letting your inner fangirl come out when you saw pictures of your favorite groups and idols. Joo Hyuk was the perfect boyfriend, of course, and didn’t let his jealousy show. He willingly took your picture, and he didn’t laugh or make fun of you.

Joo Hyuk also took you down to Busan for a few days to meet his family

You were extremely nervous to meet them, but they were more than excited to meet you. His mom hugged you about as tightly as your dad had at the farm last week, and she very proudly greeted you in English. Joo Hyuk murmured she’d been practicing just for you, and you almost wanted to cry. You had been practicing your Korean, as well, so you made sure to thank her for her hospitality in her native tongue. Which made her cry.

So, really, the two of you were a big mess. And now you understood why Joo Hyuk loved you so much. Your personality was almost identical to his mom’s!

Before traveling to Busan, you’d been anxious to meet his family and spend time with them, but your three days there were probably the most memorable and fun of your trip. You ate some supremely delicious seafood, went to a fun amusement park, and relaxed some at the beach.

If your three days at Disneyland were the best of Joo Hyuk’s life... you might consider these three days the best of your life. But that was a very strong ‘might.’ Because those three days at Disneyland were amazing.

After your visit to Busan, you only had one more day left in Seoul before your flight back to California. Joo Hyuk asked you what you wanted to, letting you choose anything you wanted. And after thinking about it for a good ten minutes, you decided you wanted to stay at his apartment, order takeout, and watch Netflix all day. It would be a while before you got to do that with him, so you wanted to take advantage of it while you could.

You managed to watch two movies before ordering black bean noodles for lunch, and while you ate, Joo Hyuk brought up a conversation he’d been having with his boss over e-mail throughout the week.

“So that’s what you were doing on your phone all the time,” you teased. You hadn’t asked him about it because you figured it was probably work related.

“He said it would be very possible for me to transfer to an L.A. based company, and most likely they would be able to sponsor my Visa and get me a green card.”

“Oh, good,” you chuckled. “So we won’t have to do that 90-day fiancé thing.”

“I mean... we could.”

You froze, your smile falling. You’d been joking. Obviously. “I think... the job thing is your best option.”

“You don’t want to get married?”

“Not in 90 days!”

“Okay, so I won’t propose when I move in like I planned,” he said with a hidden smirk.

You pinched him, understanding now he was teasing you.

You spent the rest of the day cuddling, making out, and watching half a drama on Netflix. Though you talked more than you watched. You talked about your future plans, mostly, and you tried your best to map out a timeline. He would move in about two months once all the visa paperwork was processed, start his new job as soon as possible, and then hopefully you two could find a new, slightly bigger apartment in about a year.

“What about Disneyland?” Joo Hyuk inquired.

“What about Disneyland?”

“When can we go?”

“I mean, we can go whenever you want,” you answered.

“Can we get passes so we can go all the time?”

“Yes, we can,” you chuckled, tapping a finger on his nose. He was so adorable.

When you began to yawn around 10pm (even in Korea you had a bedtime, it seemed), Joo Hyuk reached for the remote and turned off the television. He stood, holding his hand out for you and helping you up off the couch.

Once you were all cuddled in bed, Joo Hyuk faced you, brushing your hair back from your forehead before kissing you there. “It’s a lot easier knowing I’ll be moving over there soon.”

“Mmm,” you hummed, tipping your chin in the slightest of nods. “I still don’t want to go back, though.”

“No?”

“What do I have to go back to? An empty apartment, a nice workload, and no Mickey.”

Joo Hyuk sighed, sliding his arm over your side and pulling you closer to him. “But not for long. At least the empty apartment part.”

“I know... but, still.”

“We went three months before, we can easily do two months now. I’ll still call you every day. I’ll video chat you every day to check up on you.”

You were tempted to tell him not to and he didn’t have to go to so much trouble, but... You knew it would be difficult to be by yourself. You would have the urge to go to the farm all the time, and it would probably take you a while before you got used to the fact you had no reason to go.

“Have I told you how thankful I am for you?” you said softly, bringing a hand up to rest on his cheek.

He simply kissed your nose in response, and you smiled like a little kid on Christmas morning.

“I’m very, very, very, very, very, very thankful. I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through these past two weeks without you. And even though you didn’t have to fly all the way to California at the drop of a hat... I’m so grateful you did.”

“When I told you all those years ago I would’ve flown to California if I could have to give you a hug after your mom died, I really meant it. But I was 18 and broke. Now I’m actually capable of buying a plane ticket, and I didn’t want you to be alone. You didn’t need to be alone.”

You snuggled into his chest, letting out long, contented sigh as you felt his fingers begin to gently run up and down your back.

“I love you,” you murmured before you could fall asleep.

“I love you, too.”

Your goodbye at the airport the next morning was a lot less tearful than the last one. You still cried some, of course, because you were sad to be leaving both him and Korea. But the fact he would be moving to California permanently in just a couple months did wonders to ease your sorrow.

Your dad came to pick you up at the airport, and you hugged him sleepily, wishing he could carry you out to the car like he had when you were a kid.  You hadn’t gotten any sleep on the flight, and it was now basically the same time over here as it had been when you’d left Seoul. So you still had a whole day ahead of you.

You messaged Joo Hyuk as your dad pulled out of the parking lot, letting him know you had arrived safely. You figured he would be asleep by now, but he replied back almost immediately with a smiley face emoji and an ‘I love you.’

When your dad merged onto the highway, he cleared his throat. You had just closed your eyes, but the sound shook you back awake. “Mm?” you hummed.

“I, uh... The vet’s office called me while you were gone. They... I picked up the ashes.”

Your heart clenched, and you realized you had kind of forgotten about that.

“You don’t have to come pick them up until you’re ready,” he added quickly. “I’ll keep them for you.”

“Really?” you asked, feeling the tears pricking the back of your eyes.

“Of course, honey,” he said softly, reaching over to take your hand. “Take as much time as you need to grieve. And if you want to wait until Joo Hyuk comes back, that’s fine. I’ll keep them safe for as long as you need me to.”

It was then you realized, just like your personality was similar to Joo Hyuk’s mom’s, Joo Hyuk’s personality was similar to your dad’s. They were both incredibly kind and caring guys who would do anything for you. And you would do anything for them.

“Thanks, dad,” you sniffed. “You’re the best. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“You would do just fine, my sweet girl,” he retorted, squeezing your hand. “Especially now you’ve got that handsome fella of yours.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes a little. No matter how wonderful he was, he was still a dad.

When Joo Hyuk called you later that afternoon, you had just woken up from a four-hour nap. So, naturally, you had no idea where you were or what year it was.

“Hello?” you slurred, pressing your phone to your ear.

“Did I wake you?” 

“Well, yeah, but...” You checked the time, your eyes widening slightly. “I’ve been asleep for four hours, apparently, so I probably needed to be woken up.”

“I forgot to warn you about the jet lag...” he chuckled. “How are you?”

“Besides extremely exhausted... I’m okay.”

“Yeah? Good, I’m glad to hear that.”

“Well... except my dad told me he picked up Mickey’s ashes while I was gone.”

“Oh,” Joo Hyuk replied softly. “I’m sorry. Do you... know what you’re going to do with them?”

“Yeah, I just... don’t think I can do it alone. My dad said he would keep them as long as I needed him to, so... I’ll just wait until you get here.”

“Of course, baby. I would be honored to go with you.”

You smiled slightly, rolling onto your back and stretching. “How did you sleep?” you asked.

“Terribly,” he admitted with a sigh. “It’s crazy how quickly I got used to sleeping next to you.”

“Well, the cure for a bad night’s sleep is to get on a plane for half a day. You’ll sleep like a log after that, I’ll tell you what.”

He laughed, and your smile got even wider at the sound of it.

The next two months seemed to fly by, a fact for which you were extremely grateful. You found yourself wallowing several times, so the sooner Joo Hyuk got here, the better.

The day he told you he officially had his work visa, you video chatted him for over three hours. You ate a late dinner while he ate an early lunch, and you celebrated by eating dessert at the same time. He had purchased his plane ticket for exactly a week later, but you were very relieved to learn he had everything pretty much packed up already. He had sold all of his furniture and would be shipping some of his things a few days before he left, so he would only be bringing two suitcases with him. You applauded him, knowing full well you would never be able to move somewhere with just two suitcases.

You spent the week getting the apartment ready and, sadly, saying goodbye to your bed. Even though he hadn’t outwardly complained about it, you knew his height made it too uncomfortable for him to sleep in it. So you bought a new bed from Ikea, the largest size you could find so he would be sure to stretch his legs and still have room.

You also moved most of your clothes into the closet in your office so he could have enough space for his own wardrobe. You two would definitely need a bigger place eventually, but this would work for now. You just had to be very selective about any new clothes you purchased.

The day Joo Hyuk arrived, you hung up a ‘WELCOME HOME’ banner in your living room, and you even went to an International supermarket and bought Korean beer so you could celebrate his first night in his new place. In your place.

Your reunion at the airport was... actually the first normal, ‘run to him and jump into his arms’ kind of reunion you’d had so far. The first time you met, you had hugged, but it had been a little awkward. The second time you met, you’d collapsed into his arms sobbing. So this time, you made sure to kiss him long and hard, smiling against his lips and clinging to him tightly.

It took you guys a couple of days to get him completely unpacked, the things he’d shipped arriving the day after he did. And by the time the weekend rolled around, he was pretty much settled in.

So you decided it was time to finally say goodbye to Mickey.

You picked up his ashes before driving up to the farm. You, obviously, hadn’t been back since the day you’d found out, and you weren’t looking forward to seeing the stables where he should be. Where you still wanted him to be.

Even two and a half months later, you still missed him like crazy and sometimes forgot you would never see him again.

When you arrived at the farm, the owner was there to greet you, hugging you tightly and assuring you to take all the time you needed. And if you needed anything, you could just knock on the door and ask.

You and Joo Hyuk strolled across the field, stopping when you got to the stream which ran alongside your absolute favorite riding path. You’d walked and trotted along this stream so many times, you knew every twist and turn. And it eventually got to the point where you hadn’t even had to lead Mickey at all; he figured out where you wanted to go and just went there.

You’d had some of your happiest times here with him, so this was definitely where you wanted to remember him. He deserved to be remembered in such a beautiful, meaningful spot.

Tears streamed down your face as you opened the tin and poured his ashes into the water. You couldn’t say it out loud, but you said ‘goodbye’ in your heart. You knew Mickey was here right now, and you knew he could hear you.

Joo Hyuk kept his hand on your shoulder the whole time, squeezing it reassuringly and blinking back his own tears. He’d only met Mickey a few times, but he knew how much the horse had meant to you.

Joo Hyuk stopped for burgers and milkshakes on your way home, knowing you needed something to comfort you. When you saw he was pulling into the drive-thru, you furrowed your brow over at him. You hadn’t even asked him to stop and get something, and you hadn’t even known you’d needed comforting junk food until just now.

You had known this before, but this act cemented your thought: you were going to marry this guy. He knew you better than you knew yourself, and you loved him more than anything in the world.

The next few months were a bit of a struggle, but you figured it had to be a huge adjustment moving to a new country, starting a new job, and living with someone you’d only spent time with in person for a total of four weeks. 

It took Joo Hyuk a while to get used to life in America, especially the huge grocery stores and the wide varieties of food available. It took him a while to get used to working in a new office with new co-workers. It even took him a while to get used to living with a girl who regularly treated herself to spa nights and liked to spend an hour doing her makeup on the weekends.

But it was worth it, of course. And something which helped soften the blow tremendously?

Disneyland.

Within the first month of his move-in date, you had surprised him with annual passes to Disneyland. You made it a point to go about once a month, usually only spending one day there. Every once in a while you spent the night at an Airbnb close by, but only when you were both majorly stressed from work.

But then, when you were approaching the year anniversary of your first trip there together, Joo Hyuk revealed he had booked a room for you at the Grand Californian, the same place where you’d stayed.

You guys took your time that trip, wanting to simply soak it all in and enjoy every single moment there. You strolled all around the parks, riding only your favorite rides, eating only your favorite snacks, and taking way too many pictures.

On your last night there, you went to watch World of Color. Obviously! You stood as you usually did during nighttime shows, Joo Hyuk behind you with his arms wrapped around your shoulders and you leaning back against his chest, holding onto his wrists.

You always cried during the romantic ending scene, the one where “So Close” from Enchanted played, and tonight was no different.

Well... except for one thing.

Joo Hyuk took one of his arms from around you, reached into his pocket, and then held out a ruby and diamond ring in front of you.

Your brow furrowed immediately, and you turned around to face him.

“Marry me,” he said softly, so only you two could hear.

A smile immediately came to your lips, tears already pooling in your eyes as you nodded wordlessly. He slipped the ring on your finger, and you practically jumped up to kiss him.

Never in your wildest dreams had you imagined this the day you’d gotten the brochure from your sixth-grade teacher. When you’d written out a letter to a pen pal you didn’t even know yet.

So much had happened to you since that day. So much heartbreak and loss, so much happiness and joy.

And you wouldn’t change any of it because it all led you to this moment.

Epilogue

Tagging @takura-rin , @sweg-imsorrywhatwasthat , @daelicious-jongbulge , @cramelot , and the anons who mentioned this!!! I love you all!

Master list // RULES // Submit a Request! // Read About the Admins

[justjen523]

Miniature Gods

The Gods Children Series   

(Book 1 - Early Years)

     They were practically screaming. All of them. It had become common knowledge throughout the Heaven’s that the former goddess of fate had gifted the twelve a child carved from her very soul. No one had actually seen any of them however making the gossip overflow. The three of them decided to finally emerge and the goddesses squealed in delight at the vision before them. 

     Ichthys, Teorus and Dui had decided to take their precious one’s out for a stroll in the sunshine. Each of them donned a front carrier with their infants facing forward bright eyed and smiling. Dui’s was the same, just designed for two instead of one.

     “Oh my goodness! Lord Teorus, your son is SO beautiful just like you!”

     “Lord Ichthys over here! Can we see him up close? He’s too adorable!”

     “Lord Dui! Your daughters are absolutely lovely! What’s it like having such gorgeous twin daughters?”

     The Trio gladly allowed the gaggle of goddesses to fawn over the newest additions to the Heaven’s. It had never been easier to pick up women since becoming Father’s. It was not meant to last however as the two department heads for Punishments rounded the corner and saw the spectacle.

     “Eh-hem!” All it took was Zyglavis clearing his throat and a severe glare from Scorpio to quickly clear the area. 

     “What’re you morons try’n to do, get us all mobbed to death?”

     “Geeeze. I SO thought becoming a dad would mellow him out but...”

     “I’m perfectly fine as is, it’s only ‘cause you idiots do stupid shit to constantly annoy me.”

     “Scorpio, while this may prove a difficult task for you, you are going to need to refrain from using profanity from here forward in front of the little one’s.” Scorpio stares at Zyglavis with disdain upon hearing something he considers ridiculous and unnecessary.

     “Do not look at me in such a way, I meant what I said. I do not want my daughter hearing such vulgarity. If you feel you are unable then please excuse yourself from the room first. Is that clear?”

     “Tch.”

     “As for you three-”

     “Oh come onnnnnn! You can’t possibly be this uptight with that little cutie smiling so happily.” Unfazed by Zyglavis’ icy cold glare Ichthys saunters up and bends forward to peer into Elliana’s smiling cherubic face. When she starts squealing with excitement Zyglavis finally snaps.

     “Would you kindly refrain from getting so close to my daughter.”

     “Awww, c’mon Ziggy don’t be like that. After all we’re like family now right?”

     “We most certainly are not.”

     “You knooooow, if you keep behaving like that poor little Elly here is gonna grow up without any friends.”

     “I beg your pardon?!” 

     “I hate to admit it but that pain in the...”butt” is right for once Zig.” That was certainly unexpected coming from Scorpio making the other four stare at him in awe and silence.

     “The fuck you lookn’ at me like that for?!”

     “Language.”

     “Whatever. Stop lookn’ at me like I don’t know sh-.....stuff.”

     “Oh I know! How about we all go visit the garden and let our little one’s interact with one another?”

     “I would prefer not-”

     “-Zig, member what I said bout daddy issues and sh-....stuff? You better fix it now before you do somethn’ ya can’t undo.” Scorpio speaks lowly close to the Minister so only the pair of them can hear. Sighing in frustration Zyglavis reluctantly agrees. The five of them head toward the garden together with high hopes.

     When the group arrives at their destination they find that they were not the first or only to have the same idea. Huedhaut, Tauxolouve, Aigonorous and Partheno are all sitting together under a nearby tree while their little one’s experience the outdoors together. 

     “Heeeey there guys! Looks like you had the same idea we did.”

     “Care to join us?” Lou offers with a million dollar smile. The five join the group removing their carriers and gently setting their young one’s together near the others. Unable to walk yet the little group of tiny gods sit cooing and gurgling happily at the sights and sounds around them. 

     “I must admit, that is one group of gorgeous children.”

     “Don’t say it like that Partheno it sounds....weird.”

     “They ARE super cute though right?”

     “Ichthys you make it sound like they are pets or something.”

     “That’s not what I meant at ALL. Look at them! Little mini us’s.” The nine of them observe their precious treasures and cannot refrain from smiling. Their sweet and heavenly appearances coupled with their innocent curiosity make for a wonderful and comforting sight.

     “It’s like she’s here with us.” Dui offers watching his daughters affectionately as they take in their surroundings. The rest say nothing but also smile and nod wistfully as they too stare at the ten perfect miracles before them.

     “Hey you, just where do you think you’re going?” Leon scooped up the tiny force of destruction that was his daughter. Not that he minded, of course she’d be, just like her daddy. She was quick even though she only could crawl at this point. He knew once she learned to walk the real work would begin. 

     “I must say Leo, fatherhood looks good on you. I never imagined you with kids but you seem to be enjoying yourself far more than I would have guessed.” Karno smiled ear to ear at the sight before him. 

     “Yeah, and I see fatherhood has made you into an ever bigger push-over.”

     “Now now, I meant it as a compliment. No reason to get testy.”

     “Who said I was being testy?” Leon smirked at his friend, his daughter trying desperately to crawl up his shoulder. The adorable view had Karno practically beaming. 

     “You’re being awfully brave tonight, what exactly are you hinting at?” When he grabbed her and held her in front of him she lit up like a candle smiling and cooing merrily. 

     “Pffft. Yeah, you know exactly who I am don’t you?” Her little body wriggled around as gibberish spilled from her mouth making Leon smile.

     “Da-da. Dadadadada!”

     “Tell me you just-”

     “I did! Awww congratulations Leo how precious. Looks like she’s already aware that she’s daddy’s little angel.”

     “I don’t know about that. She’s a great many things but she’s definitely not that. This stinker is always causing me trouble.”

     “You say it like it bothers you but lets be honest, you love every moment of it.”

     “What about you? You seem just fine with your situation.”

     “Of course! I always wanted to be a father someday, who knew I’d have my own wish granted for once.”

     “She looks just like you but she sleeps an awful lot.”

     “Of course, she’s happy, content and safe in her daddy’s arms, what more could she want?”

     “You’re too easy going, you know that’s gotta change when she starts walking and talking right?”

     “Nah, something tells me she’s gonna be the sweetest little princess in the whole wide world.” Karno rocked her as she slept cozily in his strong arms before pressing a tender kiss to her forehead.

     “Sweet dreams my precious girl.”

     Krioff and his daughter sat across from each other on the floor simply staring at each other in silence. A rather impressive feat for an infant. She seemed to love just sitting there and watching her daddy do everything. He on the other hand was constantly tending to her every need. No one would have ever guessed he’d actually be a pretty responsible father. Sure his social skills needed some improvement but she absolutely wanted for nothing.

     “Hey, you poop yet? I’m not gonna bathe you till ya do. I ain’t clean’n that kind of mess up.” She simply stared at him wide eyed and curious. It sometimes made him slightly uncomfortable seeing as looking at her was like looking into a mirror. Same eyes, nose, lips and chin. Even her hair was cute little messy tufts of silver that practically sparkled when the light hit it just right.

     “Errr....yur kinda cute or whatever so, just wanted you to know I uh, love ya and stuff.” Suddenly a perfect little grin spreads across her tiny pink lips making Krioff nearly cry at the sight. Nearly doesn’t mean he actually did, just so ya know.

     “Hey, what’s yur deal all of a sudden? You were fine a minute ago.” Scorpio frowns as he pulls a crying Alex into his arms.

     “Maybe he’s hungry?” Lou offers as Scorpio rather awkwardly inspects his son from every angle.

     “Nah, can’t be it, I just fed him before we left. And I ain’t smelln’ any poop so he doesn’t need to be changed.” It isn’t until Scorpio turns him over that the source of the problem is revealed. 

     “H-Hey! Just waddya think yur doin’ ya little fart factory!” The others erupt into laughter as Scorpio scowls and slightly blushes.

     “It seems it was only some trapped gas, I’m sure he’ll be fine now. I do recommend burping him a little longer if he is having gastrointestinal or digestive issues.” Hue offers though Scorpio says nothing in return as he sulkily sits back down.

     “Oh, well hello there!” Hue smiles at the curious silver eyes and blue hair staring at him in wonder.

     “Zyglavis, may I?” The minister hesitates for a moment but then allows Hue to pick her up. She doesn’t seem to mind being held by a stranger as she touches his face making all sorts of incomprehensible sounds.

     “Oh is that right?” Zyglavis finally smiles and relaxes watching Huedhaut have a “conversation” with his little girl. Meanwhile Tauxolouve covers the dozing daddy daughter duo to his left. 

     “Looks like Ai’s met his match.” Teorus teases before practically getting tackled by the twins.

     “Woah! Hey now there’s plenty of Uncle Teo to go around!”

     “Pffft!” Dui bursts into laughter as the troublesome two fight for Teo’s attention. It isn’t till he sees two eyes barely peeping over his knee that he realizes he has company. 

     “Why hello! What are you doing little guy?” Dui smiles lifting the little fella into his arms.

     “He looks a lot like her Ichthys.” Dui offers rocking the little boy in his arms.

     “Yeah, I mean, I totally see me in there too but yeah, he really does doesn’t he.”

     “How is everything going with him?”

     “I have never been happier man. For real, this kid is everything to me. How bout you Dui, what’s it like having twins?” Dui smiles wearily at his friend before chuckling.

     “Honestly, it’s utter chaos. Those two may look identical but they are total opposites in every way.”

     “Hey, look at the bright side, it’ll make it easy to tell em apart right?”

     “That’s the least of my worries haha!” While Ikky and Dui are chatting, a few feet away Hue’s daughter and Partheno’s son are playing side by side. His son picks up a flower petal and puts it on her head making her giggle. Partheno watches affectionately with a knowing sort of pride that his son is already a lady’s man. Hue on the other hand is not particularly pleased. No one is generally allowed near his princess but he had made an exception today. He will always be the most important man in her life.

     Slowly but surely all twelve gods have begun to adapt to their new lives as proud fathers. Remembering the fun they once all had together is reawakened as the next generation meet who would become their best friends, worst enemies and even potential lovers in the not so far off future.