#things could obviously be a lot worse but i reserve my right to complain

[whimperaudioconnoisseur]

it should be illegal to have to do tasks during pms week. i’m cranky and my tits hurt i should be fed chocolate and gently caressed by an obedient pet

[iamanartichoke]

I am posting this mostly to get it off my chest, and I'll probably regret it, but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I think the biggest problem I have with Fandom Wank(tm) in regards to positivity or negativity, is what bothers me has literally nothing to do with whether one's positivity/negativity will turn out to be right.

last night I followed a couple of posts and went down a rabbit hole of "series negativity" bashers' posts, bc apparently I hate myself and do not wish to be in a good mental space right now, and the common thread I noticed is that those who are overwhelmingly positive and take issue with criticism seem to be doing so bc they see their own versions of Loki being portrayed on-screen, either as how they've interpreted him as a character in generral or as how they've written him in fics. And not only are they fiercely protective of those versions but they also get validation from the confirmation that their Loki is The Right Loki(tm). Criticism takes the on-screen portrayal (and, subsequently, their own personal versions of The Right Loki(tm)) and says, uh, I can't actually see Loki doing this? I think this is ooc? I think Loki as portrayed here is not consistent with previous portrayals? -

- and suddenly you've got this rabid backlash on your hands where it becomes 'omg stop being toxic,' 'your headcanon is not canon' (look in the mirror), 'this is tom's loki so it's accurate,' 'i see no difference whatsoever in characterization y'all're just deluded and have invented a loki that never existed' (tf????), etc.

And I can't help but conclude that the backlash against criticism/negativity has nothing to do with the criticism itself; it's more to do with the undermining of someone else's validation in how they view this character.

This is purely speculation. There's some mental gymnastics here, admittedly. I could be way off base and I realize that I risk my post being shared and misconstrued and mocked by even posting it publicly. But the only reason I'm writing this - and thus getting it off my chest after my spiral down the rabbit hole - is bc from my point of view, I didn't feel like my experience in enjoying this tv show was being threatened until the discourse backlash over the negativity started spilling onto my dash. Not the negativity itself; the actual discourse. (And, look, there's a lot of negativity that's been posted that I don't agree with whatsoever, and there's other negativity that I may agree with but don't agree that it's an issue, or - my point is, this isn't bc I don't have conflict with the actual arguments themselves.)

Full disclosure: for the first three weeks, I was more positive than not regarding the show. (I think I still am.) I posted about what I liked but I also posted about what I felt was ooc and about the elements I liked less. A lot of my mutuals are not thrilled (to say the least) with the show, so there was already a ton of negativity on my dash and I personally went through a few minor meltdowns on whether or not I was on the right page with my enjoyment when so many others (whose opinions I trust and whose versions of Loki [that I've read] in fic ring true to me) were not sharing that enjoyment.

I did/have been talking it out with friends who feel similarly and I've more or less come to terms with being in the middle. And in the meantime, when I felt like the negativity was not something I wanted to be cognizant of, I skipped those posts entirely. Doing these things allowed me to come to terms with where I was standing regarding my overall feelings on the series, and overall enjoyment with my fandom experience.

And then, mostly after episode 3 (which seems to be the most divisive so far), discourse started popping up on my dash more and more. I'm defining discourse, in this context, as 'wank regarding whether or not Loki is actually ooc, wank over people who enjoy the show not wanting to see the negativity, wanky posts asking people who are critical to reserve judgement until the show has finished airing (but praise is fine)' -

- and suddenly, I feel much more self-conscious about posting my takes. Suddenly I feel much more anxiety about hitting the "post" button when said post is more critical than not. Suddenly I am worried about who, exactly and actually, is reading my posts? Who is going to decide to paraphrase my takes and include them in a 'guess what they're complaining about NOW' post? Who is going to decide to pass around a post I've made only to mock it, as has happened to some of my friends already?

Over the past three days, I have gotten 30+ new followers, and instead of feeling good about it - hey, some of these may be porn bots but still, people are interested in my blog?! - I feel just increasing anxiety about it bc, I mean, I don't know who anyone is or what they're here for.

I do not feel secure in the current fandom environment, is what I'm saying, and the reason I do not feel secure is not because of the negativity; it's because of the wank coming from the people who post about the negativity and mock the negativity and call other fans deluded stans who have a shitty grasp on characterization, story telling, and Loki in general. It's Ragnarok bullshit all over again, only worse.

And this circles me back to my original point, which is that the anxiety and the wank/discourse and whatever else really has nothing to do with the on-screen portrayal of Loki.

For me, personally? It took me awhile to realize it, admittedly, but I did realize that I do not care if what I perceive as ooc actually isn't. I do not care if the final product of Loki - once the entire series has aired - is a different Loki than what I've written and perceived as "my" Loki all this time. It's not going to make me feel like less of a fan or less valid; it's just going to make me feel like I have a perception of Loki that may differ in some ways with "canon Loki" but is still similar enough that I will continue to enjoy engaging with him and writing meta about him and writing fic about him and sharing those things with people who view Loki similarly. Likewise, I am not going to feel less valid as a writer and a critical thinker; it doesn't make me feel like I have anything to prove.

So if the root of the wank is coming down to the negativity making you feel less valid or less vindicated bc "your" Loki matches the show but is being called ooc by a lot of other fans, like, maybe take a step back and consider not taking it personally? Maybe really think about why the fact that negativity exists bothers you so much? Bc I mean, at the end of the day, it's not like Tom Hiddleston himself is going to descend from the clouds with a choir of angels singing and acknowledge any one of us as The One True Fan Who Has The Best Interpretation Ever of Loki. So what actual difference does it make if (we agree or disagree that) he's ooc or not?

Ultimately I'm just saying, there is definitely wank that is ruining the fandom atmosphere and the show in general, and it's not coming from those who are posting their negativity and criticism of the source material.

*Disclaimer that this is how I am perceiving and interpreting things today and possibly in general, but I'm not necessarily saying that my perception is factual to what is actually happening. I don't know what is happening. This is the guess that I've come up with in order to reconcile the fandom discomfort I feel, discomfort which is ruining the show for me, and where it's all coming from.

** Second disclaimer that I have unfollowed those who were participating in the wank, if I was following them in the first place, to the point that it made me uncomfortable, and obviously this post doesn't apply to everyone bc there is a certain amount of just being tired of it that I understand, so if we're mutuals, this doesn't apply to you regardless of where you stand on the wank.

*** Third disclaimer that said fandom environment is what makes me feel like I have to add disclaimers on every fucking thing I say, partly bc people read what they want to read and partly bc I have very debilitating anxiety regarding being misunderstood.

[tanzaniiite]

WAIT FOR ME • OIKAWA T.

requests: CLOSED

warnings: none!

word count: 1.3k

a/n: *sigh* it’s missing oikawa tooru hours

this takes place before oikawa started playing for the argentina team, as of this drabble he’s just there training

“Hey loser, what can I do you for?”

“Ah! I’m wounded! How dare you call your boyfriend a loser?”

Oikawa whined from his side of the phone. You giggled, adjusting your phone to lean against some books so he could see you better. ”I’m kidding~” You teased sticking your tongue out at him. “You’re just as mean as Iwa-chan” He pouted, leaning his cheek on his hand. You hummed while writing down another bullet point to your seemingly endless list of notes, “Well I did learn from the best” You stated. Another giggle left your lips as your boyfriend gasped dramatically while feigning hurt. A comfortable silence fell over the two of you as you wrote yourself a study guide for your upcoming finals and Oikawa watched you, silently admiring you.

“You’re staring” You pointed out without even looking up from your notebook. Tooru, startled, jumped slightly before scoffing. “I was not” He claimed, looking off to the side, a small blush appearing on the apples of his cheeks. You rolled your eyes playfully, “Uh huh, sure you weren’t” You replied. “No offense but I called you to talk to you, not watch you write notes” Tooru stated. “Oo someone’s especially clingy today,” You claimed, “but I guess I can take a break for my favorite boyfriend” You said closing your notebook, giving Oikawa your undivided attention. He smiled widely before frowning,

“Wait.. but I’m your only boyfriend”

“Are you?”

You teased laughing slightly when Tooru gaped at you. “You better not have any other boyfriends Y/n, I’m the only one!” He shouted his eyebrows furrowing. You couldn’t help but laugh at his jealousy even though there was nothing to be jealous of. “Tooru please, I barely managed to bag you. What makes you think I’d have other boyfriends? Especially when I love the hell out of the one I have already” You explained looking at your boyfriend with love and admiration. Oikawa, who was blushing hard now, scratched the back of his neck. “Psh you bagged me from the moment you yelled at me to stop being a narcissistic asshole in front of our whole homeroom” He countered. You nodded recalling that day like it was yesterday. A mischievous smile made its way onto your lips,

“Mhm, you are a glutton for humiliation”

“Ew Y/n, please have phone sex with your boyfriend when I’m not here”

Your roommate gagged. “Dude shut up” You laughed, throwing your pillow at them, causing them to laugh as well. “Hm, phone sex sounds appealing though, I’m down” Oikawa chimed in, smirking slightly. You laughed harder as your roommate physically looked sick. “We get it, y’all are horny for each other. God, I’m so single” Your roommate huffed, getting up and gathering their things. “Love you~” You cooed, as your roommate opened the door to leave. “I love you too” Oikawa echoed, giving kissy faces to your roommate. Your roommate rolled their eyes, “Yeah yeah. Oikawa bring your ass here already, this girl misses you” They said leaving to go to the library.

“So you miss me huh?”

“Hell no, what gave you that idea?”

You asked rhetorically, going back to writing your notes. The silence that fell over you two was comfortable once again. Tooru would be lying if he said he didn’t miss you too. It was hard being in two completely different countries but at least you two weren’t that far apart. You were studying in America while he was training in Argentina. It was nine hour flight which wasn’t too bad in comparison to a day long flight to Japan. He was thinking about flying out for your birthday but he obviously wanted to keep that a surprise. Your roommate was helping him work out all the kinks.

“If it makes you feel better, I miss you too” He whispered reaching up and holding the promise ring, he wore around his neck, in his hand. You didn’t look at him, afraid you would break if you did so. Taking a shaky breath you replied, “I.. I miss you. Like a lot– fuck” You cursed as a tear managed to slip from your eye. Oikawa watched you silently and it hurt his heart to see you upset. If he could reach through the screen and hold you close, he would. You wiped your eyes but the tears just keep falling. “This is so stupid. Like why am I missing you? You’re so annoying” You stated laughing slightly, still rubbing your eyes.

Tooru exhaled out his nose in amusement, “I am pretty annoying” He agreed. You sniffed, “Right?! So there’s no reason for me to be missing you..” You paused as you started to cry more, “but I do, I miss you so fucking much” You cried, covering your face with your hands. The brunette was struggling to stay strong for you. He knew you didn’t care if he showed emotion in front of you, cause he’s done so so many times before. But he felt like him crying right now would only make you feel worse, and that’s the last thing he wanted to do.

“Come on cutie, it’s okay. Your semester is almost over and soon you’ll be able to fly to Argentina. Then we can spend your winter break together” He explained, knowing damn well he wasn’t going to wait until December to see you. You let out a long groan before looking at the camera with red eyes. “You’re right, it’s only one more month, we can do this” You claimed grabbing a tissue to wipes your eyes and nose. Oikawa smiled slightly, “See? That’s the spirit. We’ll be in each other arms and I’ll be able to hold you, kiss you and just love on you” He exclaimed which made you giggle.

You nodded, “Yeah, that’ll be nice. Sorry for the waterworks, how’s.. um how’s practice going?” You inquired, wiping your eyes. “It’s going good, can’t complain. But my body is killing me, I’m seriously missing your legendary massages” He whined, looking up at you through his eyelashes. You snorted, “Legendary? That’s a bit of stretch” You laughed. “Um, no it’s not!” Tooru exclaimed furrowing his eyebrows.

“Uh, yes it is. I almost dislocated your shoulder that one time” You replied crossing your arms over your chest. Your boyfriend rolled his eyes playfully, “And that was the best massage I’ve ever had, ten out of the ten” He claimed. You laughed loudly, “Sure baby, whatever you say” You said. The two of stared at each for while, just looking into each other’s eyes. You groaned, breaking the silence, “Fuck! I miss you” You pouted leaning on your hand. Oikawa gave you a sad smile, “I know cutie, I miss you too” He stated. You narrowed your eyes, “This is your fault y’know. You and stupid attractive face, and your dumb adorning personality” You huffed.

“Stupid attractive face? Dumb adorning personality? I think there’s some contradictions in there”

“But it’s true. God, I should’ve just studied in Argentina”

You claimed laying your head down on your desk. Tooru scrunched his face in confusion, “Why would you do that? You dreamed about studying in America” He asked. “Yeah I know but–” You started. “But nothing! Don’t mess up your dreams for me. I’m not going anywhere Y/n, I’m going to be right here. Please don’t make your decisions based on me” He pleaded giving you a serious look.

“Okay, I was just think aloud. Don’t get your panties in a twist”

“Ha ha. But I’m serious babe”

He stated. Your love for him just continues to grow everyday. You can’t believe you were able to snag a man this great. “Serious about what?” You asked, glancing at your clock before facing him.

“That I’m not going anywhere.

I’ll be right here, waiting for you”

tanzaniiite © 2020 — all rights reserved. do not repost, modify, or copy. do not plagiarize. thank you.

[nicknellie]

@chickwiththepurpleguitar requested: flarrie hurt/comfort something? Maybe Carrie’s losing her voice and needs to perform soon so she can’t talk to Flynn so they just communicate with notes and pointed looks but Flynn knows what she means cause they know each other so well?

This is so cute and I love it so much. They would 100% be able to read each other’s expressions like an open book. I had a lot of fun writing this, thank you so much for suggesting it! I think I might have aged them up a bit because I gave Flynn a car without really thinking, but honestly I don’t know how that works in America so it might be completely plausible. Anyway! I hope you like it!

I Can Wait

“What did the doctor say?” Flynn asked the moment Carrie opened the car door and plonked herself in the passenger seat. She was rewarded with a glare like a laser beam paired with an absolutely furious pout. Clearly it wasn’t good news and Carrie was none too happy about it. “Is it serious?”

Carrie shook her head and sighed quietly. Instinctively, Flynn reached across and took Carrie’s hand between her own. She watched as Carrie defeatedly tipped her head back and closed her eyes, obviously frustrated, and then she pulled her hand from Flynn’s grasp and dug around in her handbag for her phone. She quickly pulled up the notes app, tapped out a message, and brandished her phone in Flynn’s face.

Doctor says I need to rest my voice for two days.

Flynn frowned. She could already tell that this wasn’t going to be a fun two days for Carrie – she relied so heavily on her voice, whether that was for singing, bossing people about (though she would never admit that’s what she so often used her voice for), or just quiet calm conversation that was usually reserved for Flynn’s ears only. Carrie needed her voice and as far as she would be concerned she’d had her best tool and weapon snatched away from her.

“Poor thing,” Flynn said, stroking Carrie’s hair. She watched as Carrie breathed contentedly, soothed just that little bit. “Did they say what made you lose your voice?”

Carrie typed out another message: Using it too much, which is stupid.

Ah. Flynn should have been able to guess that. For the past two months, Carrie had been working herself to the bone for the biggest show of her life so far, a performance with her band set to take place in front of at least two dozen record execs and managers for an incredibly exclusive crowd. Along with the other devoted members of Dirty Candi, Carrie had been rehearsing almost non-stop – when she wasn’t singing she was composing, when she wasn’t composing she was dancing, when she wasn’t dancing she was working on costumes, when she wasn’t working on costumes she was getting some sleep with the one or two spare hours in her day. She had thrown herself headfirst into her work and was still yet to resurface.

That was the thing about Carrie, something Flynn loved dearly. She never did things in halves. If Carrie wanted something she would seize it with both hands, she’d drive herself harder and faster than any sane person was willing to just to reach her goals. Sometimes it paid off; other times she sang so much that she ran her voice dry.

“So that’s it?” Flynn asked. “You can’t say a word for the next two days?”

Carrie shrugged defeatedly. In that small gesture, Flynn saw how truly crushed Carrie was feeling. Maybe two days wasn’t really that long, but in Carrie’s mind it was two days being unable to work on songs at all, not to mention she would be unable to direct Dirty Candi’s choreography with anything resembling ease if she couldn’t speak to them. In her mind, it would be two days closer to her show and two days completely wasted.

“Hey,” Flynn said, finding Carrie’s hand again. “We’re not going to let this get in the way of anything, okay? You’re still you – you’re the most capable person I’ve ever met. If anyone is going to find a way around this it’s you. Okay?”

After a moment, Carrie met Flynn’s eyes and offered her a small smile. She leaned forward and pressed a gentle, chaste kiss to Flynn’s lips before impatiently tapping the steering wheel which Flynn took to mean ‘let’s get out of here’.

Flynn knew that getting Carrie to rest completely would be impossible – she suggested it as they drove back to Carrie’s house, but Carrie sat there with her arms crossed, pouting petulantly and shaking her head until Flynn had to accept that she wasn’t going to take any more steps back than she needed to. So when they arrived back at Carrie’s place, Flynn followed Carrie through to the home studio where Carrie immediately went into the back room and started working on costumes.

It would have been easy for Carrie to get somebody else to work on Dirty Candi’s costumes – after all, she had more than enough money to hire a professional to make most of them, and if worse came to worst she could have just bought them from anywhere. But Carrie liked doing things independently so almost all of the band’s outfits were handcrafted by her (though Julie always helped when she had the time). It broke Flynn’s heart a little to watch Carrie at the sewing machine, threading bright pink fabric through it, launching herself back into preparation when she really should have been taking a moment or two to unwind.

“Do you want anything?” Flynn offered.

Carrie looked up from her work briefly and raised an eyebrow – ‘like what?’

“Water?” she suggested. “Or tea? How about honey and lemon, that’s meant to be good for sore throats, right?”

Carrie gave a quick smile, which Flynn interpreted as ‘yes please’, and not a moment later her head was back down and she was working again. Flynn hurried out of the studio to the Wilsons’ kitchen and busied herself preparing the drink. She mixed the honey and the lemon juice in with the hot water and brought it back to Carrie – she was rewarded with a bright smile and a brief hug before Carrie, unsurprisingly, got back to work.

For a while, they simply sat together in silence. Flynn texted Julie to fill her in on the diagnosis and how Carrie was doing while Carrie got on with bits and pieces she needed to do. In a way, Flynn thought, this would be good for Carrie. She was always complaining about the little jobs she never had time to get done, but now she couldn’t do much else she would be able to get on with them.

Flynn was just considering heading home and leaving Carrie to it when she was unceremoniously hit in the face with a paper aeroplane. She blinked in surprise and then looked at Carrie who was smiling innocently.

“What happened to just asking when you want attention?” she said, rolling her eyes.

Carrie just raised a judgemental eyebrow – ‘seriously?’

“Oh, yeah, that. What is it, then?”

Carrie mimed opening the paper aeroplane she’d thrown, so Flynn did. There was a message inside, scrawled in Carrie’s loopy handwriting.

I have a meeting with a manager later but it’s over the phone.

Flynn scrunched the paper up into a ball and threw it back at Carrie who caught it easily. “You’ll have to cancel,” she said apologetically. “You’re not breaking the doctor’s orders for this.”

At that, Carrie batted her eyelashes and smiled hopefully, and Flynn immediately understood what she was getting at.

“You want me to do the meeting for you,” she said disbelievingly. “I have no idea what I’m talking about! I’m not even in Dirty Candi!”

Carrie picked up a pen and grabbed another sheet of paper, hastily scribbling down another note and chucking it in Flynn’s direction. It hit the floor a metre or so away from her and Flynn kicked it towards herself, which probably took longer than if she had just stood up and collected it.

Put it on speaker phone and I’ll write down everything you need to say, it’ll be fine. Plus you’re our marketing team, you know how to make us sound good.

It was true. With Flynn’s help, Dirty Candi (and Julie and the Phantoms) had grown in popularity enormously with a fanbase well into the thousands even though they’d hardly played any live venues that weren’t spirit rallies or open mic nights.

“You’re sure?” she checked, and Carrie nodded. “Fine. When’s the meeting?”

Carrie held up five fingers.

“Five hours?” Flynn said.

She shook her head.

“Five days?” she tried. “That’s plenty of time, you’ll be able to talk by then.”

But Carrie just shook her head again.

Flynn sighed. “It’s five minutes, isn’t it? You’ve given me literally five minutes warning.”

Carrie smiled smugly – ‘now you can’t back out even if you wanted to’.

The meeting went surprisingly smoothly. Flynn blagged an awkward explanation as to why she was on the phone instead of Carrie and the manager didn’t seem to mind. There were a few awkward pauses when Carrie was taking a while to write down her response, or when Flynn was struggling to decode her unnecessarily ornate handwriting, but they got there in the end. When they put the phone down Carrie was smiling, so Flynn took that to mean she thought the meeting had gone well.

It was only then that she checked the time and realised how late it was getting.

“I should probably head home,” she said reluctantly.

She and Carrie had moved to the living room and sat themselves down on the couch, but instead of getting up and leaving Flynn laid back and rested her head on Carrie’s shoulder, getting more comfortable. She felt Carrie wrap her arms around her waist and press a feather-light kiss to her cheek. It made her heart flutter – it was good to know that Carrie didn’t need her voice to make Flynn lose her mind. In fact, this quiet solitude, no sound between them but gentle breathing, was more than enough to make Flynn’s heart beat too fast.

Flynn didn’t know how long they’d been sat there together when she heard Carrie sniffle. She had tried to cover it up and muffle it, which had made it more obvious if anything. She turned her head awkwardly in time to see Carrie turn away and sniff again. Though it was dark and neither of them had bothered to turn a light on, Flynn didn’t miss the way a single tear rolled down Carrie’s cheek.

“Hey,” she said, wriggling until she was sat in front of Carrie, cross-legged, holding her hand. “Care Bear. Come here.”

Carrie didn’t need telling twice. She practically fell into Flynn’s arms, crying quietly, her tears soaking through Flynn’s jumper. Flynn gently ran her fingers through the ends of Carrie’s hair and down her back, holding her close to calm her down.

In truth, she had been half expecting this since they got back from the doctor’s, it had just been a matter of time until it actually happened. Carrie worked not only to improve herself and get further than everyone else, but to distract herself and make herself feel like she was making progress. Flynn knew her well enough to have guessed that when she immediately set about continuing prep for her show it meant she was trying to make herself feel useful, like she could avoid the elephant in the room and actually do something.

It was just to hide how low and wasteful she was really feeling.

“I know this isn’t ideal,” Flynn whispered softly once Carrie had calmed down a notch. “I know you want to be able to carry on like normal, but you’ve got to see that you’re working yourself too hard. It might feel like a setback, but you’ve been working at this for months – you’re more than ready. These two days won’t change anything. Surely you can see that?”

Carrie just exhaled, somewhere between a sob and a sigh. To Flynn that meant ‘no’.

“Well, I’m right,” she said. “You’ve done one day, you can do another. Then you can ease yourself back into rehearsals and I promise you’ll smash it when the actual show comes. You still have two weeks left, that’s plenty of time.” She squeezed Carrie that little bit tighter. “You’ll be amazing.”

Carrie didn’t say anything, for obvious reasons. She didn’t respond at all – didn’t get her phone out and type out a message, didn’t even meet Flynn’s eye to say something in that silent language only they would understand. She just held onto Flynn like it was all she could do. So Flynn held on in return, telling her she wasn’t alone and she never would be, not if Flynn had anything to say about it.

The next thing Flynn knew, it was morning. The sun was streaming in through the living room’s enormous glass windows and she was still lying on the sofa, having just woken up, blinking sleep out of her eyes. She stretched and felt her joints crack satisfyingly, then shook her head to wake herself up.

Carrie was already awake, changed out of yesterday’s clothes (something Flynn hadn’t done since she hadn’t intended to stay the night – she would have to steal something of Carrie’s, which always made her feel a little giddy) and sat on the sofa next to Flynn, pen in hand, writing something.

“Good morning,” Flynn yawned. She laid her head on Carrie’s lap; Carrie sighed, inconvenienced, but didn’t move her away, instead reorganising herself to accommodate her girlfriend. “Did you sleep okay?”

Carrie nodded and gave Flynn a pointed look – ‘yeah, how about you?’

Flynn waved a dismissive hand. “You know me. I can sleep anywhere. What are you writing?”

In reply, Carrie picked up another bit of paper, scrawled a lengthy message, and handed it to Flynn before getting back to her work at hand.

I was thinking about what you said last night and I hate to admit it but you were right. I’m trying to write another song, but not to perform at the show. Maybe for another performance or not at all. I’m doing what you said, taking a step back for a bit.

Flynn smiled up at her, unsurprised to see that Carrie was blushing and avoiding eye contact. That message was about as close as Carrie ever came to pouring her heart out; admitting that she was wrong and Flynn was right was always a frustrating thing for her to do, but it was one of the purest ways that Carrie showed her love.

“What’s the song about?” Flynn asked, lifting her head up and trying to read to words at the incredibly awkward angle but to no avail.

If possible, Carrie blushed even deeper. In response, all she did was tap Flynn’s forehead twice with the end of her pen (which was garishly decorated with bright pink feathers and very tickly) and got back to writing.

Flynn felt her own face light up. “It’s about me?”

A tiny smile tugged at the corners of Carrie’s mouth and she nodded. Flynn shoved herself into a sitting position and tried to read over Carrie’s shoulder, but Carrie hugged the paper to her chest, scowling as she hid the words from view.

“Oh, come on,” Flynn whined. “I want to read it!”

Carrie just shook her head emphatically. Flynn assumed it meant ‘not yet’.

“When can I read it? Or hear it?”

Carrie scribbled down another note: Not until after the big performance, and even then it’s only if that goes as well as you think it will. Otherwise I’m shredding this song and you’ll never hear it.

Flynn laughed and rested her head in Carrie’s lap again. A moment later she could hear the scratch of Carrie’s pen against the paper again. “Okay. I can wait that long.”

*

Taglist (if you want to be added or removed just let me know): @ace-bookworm @williexmercer @willex-owns-my-heart @itstiger720 @the-reckless-and-the-brave @that-one-newsie @bluedarkness @lookingthroughmirrors @teammightypen @salty-star @julieandthequeers @lmaohuh @sunnysbright 

[old-hyper-super-clover]

"I like you the way you are."

Mammon × Camy (MC) short story

Here's the first request story for my summer event! (Or at least kinda, actually I was the one to ask for permission to write this... xD)

The MC Camy belongs to my dear friend @sketch-guardian. I really hope I did this fluffy duo justice, it's a lot of fun to write those cuties (*´▽`*)

(links to: summer story Masterlist/ request rules)

Have fun~!

„We´re going to the beach?“

“Ya bet we do!”

Mammon was standing in Camy´s room, grinning all wide and excited as he told his human the news. “We annoyed Lucifer until he´d let us go, so now we´re having a vacation in the human world!”

The human girl gave a hesitant nod. She wasn´t the biggest fan of the beach, but seeing her favourite demon this happy was already enough to go along with the plan regardless.

As the words kept bubbling out of Mammon like a waterfall, he noticed Camy wasn´t really sharing his enthusiasm, so he took a step closer to the girl sitting on her bed, making sure to lock eyes with her.

“Whatever ya worry about, don´t. I´ll make sure you have the time of your life, okay? It´ll just be you, me, swimming hand in hand to our heart´s content… Alright?”

He beamed a smile at her, through which he missed the subtle flash of fright that went through her expression. Then, Camy curled her lips in a reserved smile as well.

“Alright. As long as you´re with me, I´m sure it will be great.”

-----------------------------

The inhabitants of the House of Lamentation are known for causing a ruckus. That didn´t change, even in the human world. Lucifer had his hands full with keeping his brothers out of trouble whilst not arousing too much suspicion with all those humans hanging out at the beach themselves.

As much as Mammon wanted to partake in this ruckus, he wanted to spend this time with Camy even more. He was waiting for her to come out of the summer cottage they have rented, feeling more nervous by the second.

The reason? Well…

Camy was known to wear hoodies, like, all the time. Mammon wasn´t one to complain about that, the hoodies made cuddling even cosier, after all. However, now that they were at the beach, the sun shining down strongly and the ocean waiting for them to take a swim, Camy would come out of the hotel in swimwear for sure.

Hence, the boy was nervous as frick. N-Not in a creepy way! But, ya know… Mammon had fallen for Camy big time, so obviously it would be a big deal to see her like this. Then again, he did not want to appear creepy, so he tried staying calm, but oh man, was it difficult to stay calm when he was so excited to hang out with her for the whole day, also his mind keeps switching back to the swimwear issue and his weak heart can honestly not cope with-

“Mammon? Are you okay?”

I would have loved to write out the kind of noise Mammon made when he heard Camy´s voice behind him, but this level of “Aaasdfdssdh” is not part of my vocabulary sadly. But what I CAN describe is the jump Mammon did while pressing out said noise.

“C-Camy! You´re finally done!” He laughed immediately after to distract her from his flushed red face – which lost its colour again when he turned to look at her.

“Uhm… Is something wrong?” Camy tilted her head, seeing Mammon´s almost shocked expression.

“N… No…” The demon mumbled as he was looking at her outfit: a shirt with sleeves all the way to her elbows, paired with some long jeans. “But, uhm… Isn´t it kinda warm in those clothes?”

The girl gave a shrug. “It´s fine. I´m not really planning of staying in the sun for too long anyway. Also I´m used to hot days from my homeland, so there´s no need to worry.”

“Oh, okay” Mammon replied, trying to ignore this tiny sting in his chest. Instead, he tried to focus on the cute smile on Camy´s face as she asked him to go search for a sun lounger together.

--------------------------------

As Camy didn´t want to go swimming, the two took a stroll along the seashore instead. At some point, however, Mammon had to take a little dip into the cold ocean water as his demon body wasn´t really used to the summer heat.

“Aaaaah… That´s way better…!” The boy was grinning from ear to ear as he floated in the water. “Oi, human, you sure you don´t wanna join me?” He peeked over to Camy.

She had rolled up her pants to at least put her feet into the water and was bending down to inspect the sand. “Yeah, I´m good” she answered, then turned around stretched out her arm. “Look! This seashell is super shiny on the inside.”

A little grumpy over her stubbornness, Mammon's face was forming a pout as he started to inspect the shell in Camy's hands.

"You're seriously interested in some crap that's swimming in the-" he stopped, eyes going wide as he saw the shell's shininess. "Woah. It's pretty."

A smile spread on Camy's face as she mustered Mammon's sparkling expression. "Right? And the outside has this cool, purple gradient. I've never seen one like this before..."

"There are different kinds of shells?" Mammon asked, to which Camy gave a nod. She explained as much as she could about them -- and suddenly, Mammon was digging in the sand, too.

The girl gave a little laugh. "What was that about 'some crap' earlier?"

A small tsundere blush showed on Mammon's cheeks.

"Well, I've never looked at them this closely before..." he pouted. "But everything sounds so interesting when you're the one talking about it..."

Now the blush had jumped onto Camy's face. Being a bit too flustered to respond anything coherent, Camy continued her search after mumbling a tiny "I see".

----------------------------------

The pair was really successful in finding a fair share of various beautiful shells in all forms and sizes. Mammon had mentioned wanting to show them off in some way, so Camy suggested they could make cute jewelry out of them.

The second Mammon's brain comprehended that would mean matching accessories with his human, he was sold. The demon had dashed back to the vacation home almost immediately to grab his phone so they could do a bit of research on the topic.

So Camy was waiting at the beach... Waiting for a weirdly long time. The scorching summer heat made it almost painful for her, even under an umbrella. Grumbling, the girl looked at her clothes, then over to the sparkly, refreshing sea. She didn't tell Mammon, but Camy was actually wearing swimwear under those clothes...

The girl let out a big sigh. She ached to dive into the cool water, but her stomach turned at the mere thought of undressing herself in front of all these people that looked so much... better... than her...

The intrusive thoughts kept nagging at her for quite a while, only being disrupted when Leviathan approached the girl.

"Camy! You're waiting for Mammon, right? It seems Lucifer told him to go get something from the store. Mammon urged me to tell you before leaving."

"Oh okay. Thank you, Levi! I'll just... keep waiting, then" she replied, eyes already drifting over to the water again...

------------------------------

Mammon was pretty pissed. He couldn't even remember doing that thing Lucifer had scolded him for, so why did HE have to go out to buy groceries that BEEL ate?!

He knew Camy would be waiting for him to come back, so he grabbed those onions and whatnot in the speed of light and hurried back to the beach. Panting from almost running home, he frantically scanned the sun lounger area for Camy... but couldn't find her. Also looking over the rest of the beach, there was no sight of her, either. So instead Mammon went up to Satan and annoyed him until he'd spill the information he needed.

... But Satan also didn't know? And after running back to the cottage to search there, there was still no Camy?? And she wouldn't pick up the thirty calls he'd already left her?!

Mammon's panic mode activated. He went to look everywhere all over again, from one end of the beach to the other. Just so holding himself back from literally turning around stones to search underneath them, he was about to go crazy as he reached the other end of the beach.

But then, as he passed a large boulder, he locked eyes with a girl in swimwear, half of her body submerged in the water...

The second he realised he was staring at Camy, Mammon let out a panicked scream. And simultaneously, once Camy understood Mammon had just found her as she was taking a swim, she was screaming, too. So while one was stumbling backwards into the sand and the other yeeted herself into the ocean, they were squealing out their panic from the top of their lungs.

It took a moment for both to somewhat recover again, but Mammon was the first one to look back at her.

"C-c-camy...! I was... You were..." His brain was running with way too much speed for his mouth to form the right words. Meanwhile Camy had emerged from the water just enough to breathe out of her nose again. She glanced at the demon in great embarrassment.

"You're... Swimming" Mammon then said.

Camy frowned. "... It was too warm, so I thought I'd manage to take a quick dip before you come back, but..." She mumbled as a response. "You were faster than I thought..."

A little silence came over them, with Camy trying to figure out how to save herself out of the water and Mammon trying to understand why she wouldn't swimming together with him earlier.

"Uhm..." The human spoke up after a while. "Y-you can go back to the loungers, I'll dry myself off and meet you there."

Mammon's response was a confused blink. "But if you're already in the water, I might as well join ya and we'll-"

"N-no!" Camy blurted out with a bit too much force. She immediately gained a worried stare.

"Camy...?"

So she grew sick of hiding those painful feelings. "Look, Mammon, I'm... not confident about my body. I don't like showing much of my body, especially since all you demons seem to be naturally good-looking... It's not that I didn't want to swim with you, it's just... I don't want to torture you with, well, the sight of me."

Her hands were cramped around her waist, and the more Camy spoke, the more she wished to submerge into the water again and never come back. It got even worse when Mammon wouldn't answer for what felt like eternity.

So eventually, Camy turned her narrowed gaze to look at him, only to find an expression of pure disbelief on his face.

"Camy" he finally called out.

"... Yes?"

Then Mammon stretched out his hand. "Come out of the water" he prompted, a sad ring to his tone. "Please" he added when Camy wouldn't react.

"B-but I don't want you to dislike m-"

"Trust me."

Slowly, Camy reached for his hand and got pulled out of the water softly.

She immediately had to endure Mammon's gaze, pressing her own eyes shut to not having to see his disappointment. The next thing she felt, however, was how Mammon's arms wrapped around her.

"S-stupid human" the demon mumbled against her head. His face was painted in the brightest blush as he tried to squeeze all his adoration for her into this hug.

"Mammon..." Camy blinked in surprise. "Y-you shouldn't hug me, I'm-"

"I don't care" he interrupted her. "Whatever it is, cut it. Actually, I should keep hugging ya as a punishment for saying such stupid crap."

The girl felt her eyes tearing up, but as Mammon really did not seem like loosening his embrace any time soon, she sheepishly wrapped her arms around him, too.

They listened to the mellow crashing of the waves, calming down more with every breath.

At some point, Camy felt Mammon shake his head.

"Really now..." He huffed. "I felt something was botherin' ya n' started thinkin' I hurt ya by accident..."

"What? No!" Camy gave him a little squeeze. "You're not the problem. It's just that I feared that you would... you know... be disappointed..."

"Camy" Mammon pulled back to hold her by her shoulders. "I like you the way you are."

They stared at each other until Mammon had to hide his rising embarrassment over his own words. "L-like, I... I think you're beautiful" he mumbled. "A-and...! As long as ya are healthy and happy, th-that's really all that matters, right?"

They hugged once more, partly because Mammon had to hide his face once again. But finally, Camy understood he was meaning it.

"Thank you, Mammon."

He gave a nod. "Make sure ya always remember that! And now... It's time to take another swim!"

With that, he tackled her into the water.

The girl was squealing, all puzzled, but Mammon wouldn't let her escape.

"I promised ya, it would be just us two and the water, right? And the Great Mammon is one to keep his promises!"

And as he grinned at her, Camy looked back with sparkling eyes.

"Yeah" she mused. "That's why you're so great."

[moonbeambucky]

Hey Neighbor (Part 4)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 2652 Warnings: none

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: A huge thank you to my wonderful beta Sam @buckyofthemyscira​ Feedback is always appreciated!

PART 3 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

The past few days have been exactly what you wanted a month ago, peacefully silent, yet somehow it doesn’t feel right. You were able to finish your paper in record time, fully concentrating on your work but part of you missed the incessant music from next door.

There was an odd comfort knowing Bucky was home playing, and with the knowledge of his musical talent you now wanted to hear what he would come up with. Getting to know him briefly was… well, it was something. It could have gone a lot better if you didn��t stick your foot in your mouth.

Bringing up the music related noise was one thing but how you ever managed to bring up the noise of his “nighttime activities” made you wish you could have vanished into thin air, never to be seen again. You had done your best to avoid Bucky ever since, rushing out of or into your apartment as quickly as possible. You weren’t sure how you could ever face him again but you couldn’t deny that a small part wanted to.

Facing your shared wall you imagined where Bucky might be, picturing him on his couch, lounging across the cushions of the soft leather as he leisurely plucks away at the guitar strings, sounding out a melody. Or was he more focused, sitting upright and gliding his dexterous fingers across his keyboard? Was he at his computer editing his melodies? Was he thinking of you?

The silence was deafening. With your palm pressed against the wall you began to lean in with your ear, hoping you could hear anything. With a slight gasp you jumped back, there was noise but not any coming from next door. Your phone buzzed against the coffee table, with Steve’s face illuminating the screen.

“Hey Steve!”

“Guess who I saw going into Sweetgreen?” The strain in his voice clued you in to the right guess, Lillian. “Yup, and she wasn’t alone … yeah she’s still with Jason, for now,” he muttered under his breath, expecting her to cheat again.

“I’m sorry Steve. You know you deserve better than her, right? I know you know this.”

Steve sighed heavily. Even though he knew what you were saying was right, seeing his ex still hurt a lot.

“Thanks Y/N, I do know that, doesn’t mean I’m going to torture myself though and go in there so is it cool if I pick us up something else? I’m in the mood for carbs.”

Chuckling at Steve’s admission you couldn’t help but agree, salads were great and all but all this Bucky stress you’ve put on yourself definitely makes you crave heavier foods.

“Tacos?”

“Mmmm, yes tacos! Extra guac please Rogers!”

You set your table in preparation for Steve to come over with food, remembering to throw your wallet on the table to give him money. The last time he came over you had forgotten, being so caught up in reliving the terrible memory of your interaction with Bucky. Steve might have been right, if he handled talking to Bucky maybe you wouldn’t be so worried about running into him.

“Sam tells me you guys spoke,” Steve said, digging a tortilla chip into the container of guacamole.

You chewed quickly to swallow the bite you had taken. “Why do you always ask me a question mid-chew?” you joked. “But yes, we did speak and…” your voice lifted with anticipation as Steve’s eyes widened, waiting for you to continue. “He gave me the number for Elena Rodriguez. She’s head of the social work department and…”

“Oh my god Y/N please just tell me!” Steve begged.

“I set up an interview with her next week!”

Steve’s eyes crinkled with his excited smile though it faded shortly after as you nervously mused about fitting the internship into your schedule.

“One step at a time,” Steve offered with a small laugh.

He’s right. One step at a time. You didn’t even go on the interview yet, you might not even be hired for it; the thought of which worries you even more, but you remind yourself to breathe and take things as they come.

The elevator ascends slowly, filled with your eager coworkers looking to join the rush home. As it lets off on the ground floor, everyone dashes to the heavy glass doors as you leisurely stroll to the security desk.

Mr. Lee had a big smile on his face as he seemed to be in the middle of telling Steve a story. Slowly you approached the desk, seeing Steve smiling down at something in his hands.

“That’s what I said but Howard was ahead of his time. A comic book movie…” Mr. Lee chuckled. “It didn’t work in ’47 but it sure would be a hit now.”

“Oh, what’s this?” you asked.

Steve held up a sealed copy of a comic book, Kid Colt, which you were unfamiliar with.

Leaning over the desk towards you Mr. Lee spoke, “Tony found that for me in his father’s things. That’s how Howard and I met. He wanted to make a movie outta this. Stark Pictures. He never did though, the whole thing became a big tax write off.”

“I didn’t know you knew Howard Stark.”

“Oh yeah,” Mr. Lee boasted humbly, “Since I was seventeen. He was a good man. You know he was so proud to finally be a father. He worked a lot, probably more than he should have but he had Maria and the nannies bring little Tony over to the office. Tony Stank I’d call him. Oh boy, you could smell those diapers from a mile away it was so bad.”

Hearing Mr. Lee talk about the head of your company so freely like this made you laugh. It also made Tony Stark seem a bit more human. As far as you knew he was a workaholic who may or may not be seeing Pepper Potts. You’ve caught the way she looks at him though, with an extra twinkle in her eye or how she hesitates for the smallest moment to gather herself before going into his office.

“Tony Stank, that’s amazing,” you laughed, wondering if Pepper has ever heard this story before. “Well, have a good night Mr. Lee!”

Steve came around to the front of the desk standing tall, filling out his blue uniform with his broad stature. It was unfair how he could pig out on food with you and not show any sign of it. Meanwhile, your stomach has been rumbling all day from last night’s dinner.

“I’m on the late shift today,” he frowned.

“Poor Stevie,” you joked, wiping an imaginary tear from your eye. “Not that my night will be any better, I’ve got a shit ton of laundry to do.”

“Enjoy the sweaty laundromat then.”

“Oh I will,” you said sarcastically.

The steady hum of the running washing machines drowned out the sound of the newscast coming from a small TV mounted on the wall. It’s muggier inside than out, and even with the door open you can’t escape the permeating smell of cheap soap and mildew.

The wash cycle is nearly over so you move from the metal chair you had been uncomfortably sitting on, listening to music to pass the time, and lazily stroll over to the machine that is spinning your clothes. Quarters jingle in your pocket as you walk, ready to be placed in the dryer as you wait some more. You hate laundry day.

It’s crowded too, with all the chairs taken and other people leaning against the wall. A few kids were running around screaming, not helping their tired mother who looked too exhausted to even reprimand them as she folded all their clothes.

No one looked happy to be there, not even the attendants who had to apologize to the screaming man who didn’t understand why he couldn’t use one of their reserved machines. It was a cut throat world on laundry night, with other patrons fighting to stake claim for the next free machine.

A loud buzz lets you know your clothes are done, you wheel a basket over and open the door. The shadow of the clearly impatient person waiting for your machine blocks the dull light from the fluorescents above so you hope to grab everything quickly without dropping anything on the dirty linoleum floor.

“It’s all yours– oh.” Your mouth hung open, not expecting to see Bucky standing beside you. “H-hey.”

“Hey Y/N. Didn’t want to startle you,” he sheepishly said. “Uhmmm, is this free?” Bucky gestured to the obviously open machine.

You nodded quickly. Not knowing what else to say you stared awkwardly at the basket of damp clothes and said, “I’m gonna dry these.” Smooth.

Turning around you let out a deep breath and worried over what would happen next. It would be extremely rude to ignore Bucky and continue to listen to music. He hasn’t done anything wrong to you, not this week at least, but you were too scared to risk saying something stupid, again.

It would take at least a half hour for your clothes to dry so you put on a brave face and decided to walk back towards Bucky. Dressed in casual black shorts and a white t-shirt, his smooth, toned arms were crossed over his chest as he leaned against a support column, squinting to read the poorly transcribed closed captioning on the TV.

“Hey neighbor,” you said, offering a small friendly wave as he turned his head.

Bucky smiled, standing upright as he turned to face you completely to greet you back. He looked genuinely happy to see you, which made you feel even worse for how you left things.

“I’m sorry if I made things weird the other day. I didn’t mean to,” you blurted out before your brain gave any thought to see if this was a good idea.

Bucky chewed on his bottom lip, the gaze of his ocean blue eyes staring right through you. “Don’t worry about it,” he said with a cavalier air.

“So how’s the music coming along?” You were truly curious, having not heard any sound.

“It’s not bothering you, right?” Bucky winked.

“No, not at all,” you smiled softly. “Are you still working on that one piece?”

Bucky asked which one and you hummed the tune. Closing your eyes you missed the way his own lit up in delight hearing you repeat his melody.

“I know I complained about the noise but honestly it was so beautiful,” your voice lightened and he felt the weight of emotion even through the simple way you described it. “Maybe that’s why I couldn’t focus.”

Bucky adjusted his weight, needing to ground himself after your words made him feel as light as air. His music meant so much to him, working tirelessly to bring to life the sound he envisioned in his mind, to know that the unfinished piece had such an effect already made his heart swell with pride.

He developed his music like a chef crafting a recipe. Each instrument was a different ingredient, carefully selected notes were gathered on the counter, waiting to come together in a symphonic skillet. The flavors of music combine, heating up together the piano is covered in the spice of an electric guitar, with the drumming rhythm simmering beneath the surface as the sound of strings are poured generously over the top.

In the end the dish is a delicious feast for the ears but here you were, happily devouring the unfinished ingredient in its raw form.

“Yeah…” his voice came out breathless. Catching himself Bucky cleared his throat. “It’s actually for an upcoming video game. I can’t say which, but it’s part of an emotional scene when the main character finds his family is gone.”

“I can sense the depth of it.”

“That’s not even the best part,” he explained as his face grew with a wide smile. Bucky became lost in describing the emotion of the violins that would come in. “They’re the voice of the character and when he’s lost everything I have them coming in, crying out in pain. It’s sharp and strong, and beautifully tragic.”

Listening to Bucky describe his music resonated in your soul. You saw the complete love and passion he had for it and once again you felt terrible about asking him to stop.

“I’d love to hear it, if that’s okay.”

You looked at him with hopeful eyes, and Bucky smiled, nodding before he spoke his answer. He couldn’t wait for you to hear everything together.

You passed the time by getting to know each other a little more. Bucky has a younger sibling named Rebecca who moved west to work as an avian veterinarian in a bird sanctuary.

“My parents are lost without them around,” Bucky joked. “Do you know how hard it is to try to explain how to use Skype to them over the phone?”

“Oh believe me, I know. Somehow my mom always calls at the worst time to have me explain the most basic function on her phone that she already knows because we’ve gone over it a million times but…” You threw your hands up as Bucky joined in with your laughter.

When your clothes were dry Bucky gave you some space to fold them alone which you appreciated, not wanting to showcase your intimate items in front of him. He was still a stranger, sort of, but you were glad you were getting to know him.

Checking the time you realized it was on the late side and you still needed to shower before bed. Your clothes were packed neatly into a laundry bag, well most of them were at least. One sock managed to get eaten by the dryer to your dismay, and you hoped its pair was somewhere on your floor having fallen out as you prepped the laundry.

Slinging the bag over your shoulder, you gripped the bottle of detergent with your other hand and walked towards Bucky.

“Hey,” you called out to Bucky who lifted his head from his phone. “I’ve got a few things to do tonight still so can I take a rain check on hearing your music?”

“Yeah, of course.” Bucky did his best to mask his disappointment but he understood. He noticed the slump of your shoulders, balancing the laundry bag high on one side and letting your other limb hang low with the weight of the heavy bottle.

“Do you want me to carry that back?” he asked.

“Oh, no it’s okay, I can manage.”

The apartment was only two blocks away, two long blocks but still, you didn’t want to inconvenience Bucky even though judging by the curve of his biceps it wouldn’t be a problem.

Bucky walked with you to the front of the laundromat as you smiled and said goodnight.

“Goodnight Y/N,” he whispered, watching as you walked down the sidewalk until he could no longer see you in the crowd.

The words stayed on his lips like they were always meant to be there and Bucky has a brief flash of a life he’s never thought about.

A warm bed, made even warmer by the figure curled against him. His breath syncs with theirs and he’s at peace. His heart beats to the rhythm of love and his lips purse together to plant a soft lingering kiss on their forehead. A smile secures itself on his face because he’s truly happy; surrounded by the comforting feeling knowing that when he wakes up that person, his love, will be by his side.

The machine buzzes at the end of its cycle dragging Bucky back to a reality that has him gasping for breath. He steps outside for a minute for air, needing to clear his mind of the vision that seemed so real it scared him; for better or worse he can’t quite say.

PART 5

[kittyprincessofcats]

RWBY Volume 8, Episode 14 - The Final Word

Thoughts on the final episode of RWBY Vol 8 under the cut.

Also, I will from now on reblog spoilers for Volume 8, which will be tagged with “RWBY v8 spoilers” if you want to blacklist them.

tw: Since the episode itself had the same content warning, I should mention that I will be discussing themes of suicide in this post.

Also, everything I’m about to say is *my* personal opinion. I’m not trying to tell anyone else that they’re supposed to feel the same way about anything in this episode. In turn, please don’t tell me how to feel about it either.

- I should start by bringing up what I said in my post about episode 13, because all of that is going to become relevant now:

So... that all aged... interestingly.

- Next, I should say that I actually did end up getting spoiled about Penny’s death. I was trying really hard and didn’t go into any tags, but literally one day before this episode was released to the public, Tumblr recommended me two blogs with the titles “Penny deserved better” and “Justice for Penny Polendina”… so I drew my conclusions from that. And while I think those blog titles are valid sentiments, I do wish people would wait a week before putting spoilers in a blog title. But then again, I was weirdly glad to get spoiled this time, because it meant I was more emotionally prepared.

- And now, on to my very controversial opinion about this finale: I… uhm… I actually liked it. There, I said it. I liked it. I’m seeing a lot of takes from people who hated it, and that’s totally fair, but personally, to my own surprise, I liked it. (It’s kind of interesting that last time I said it would be “awful writing” to kill Penny now, then it happened, now the whole fandom is complaining about it being awful writing… and I’m here going “actually… that wasn’t so bad”.) That’s not to say that I’m a fan of everything in this finale, especially re: Penny – but overall, the good outweighed the bad *for me*. (Stressing again that this is just how *I* feel.)

- I think the main reason I feel that way is because I honestly expected way worse. If you read that thing I wrote last week^, you see I expected multiple character deaths. I was incredibly nervous. And after I’d already spent a few minutes genuinely thinking Yang died (because of a badly worded episode 13 spoiler I accidently saw), I had to think about the kind of deaths that would be a dealbreaker for me and make me drop the show. (Let’s say it like this: If either of Bumbleby ever died for real, I would be done with this show immediately.) So, in short, I was terrified of the finale and expected it to be the kind of finale that ruins the show for me (which has happened in far too many fandoms so far) – and it wasn’t. I have mixed feelings about how they handled Penny’s story, too, but this finale didn’t ruin the show for me and I honestly felt way worse after the Volume 3 finale. Maybe that’s because I wasn’t prepared for it at the time, but this time I spent a whole week being super anxious, so when I’d actually finished the finale, I just felt overwhelming relief.

- Okay, so let’s talk Penny: Back in Episode 12, I already wasn’t a huge fan of the idea to make her human (if that even is what she was?), but I think I said I’d reserve judgment on it until we see where they go with it. Obviously, it feels unsatisfying to have the show just kill her off after everyone’s been trying to save her all volume. And of course, it’s never fun to see a favorite character of yours (and Penny is definitely a favorite of mine) get killed off. The way it happened (a character who’s been trying to sacrifice herself the whole volume finally doing so through assisted suicide, even though there could have been several potential ways to still save her) feels incredibly unsatisfying and depressing as well. The “heroic sacrifice” cliché isn’t new, but there’s still a difference between a sacrifice that feels necessary and like it really was the only way (Hazel, Vine) and one that feels more like a character being over-eager to sacrifice themselves even though there might have been alternatives (Penny). So really, I understand why people don’t like this, especially because the narrative, so far, seems to validate Penny’s choice by having her plan work. And that does send the opposite of the “fight for every life”, “no one is replaceable” message this volume had been going for until then.

- And this is why, I think Penny’s death is meant to be awful. Volume 9 might prove me wrong on this, but I think we haven’t seen the end of this storyline yet. For me personally, it’s too early to judge this plot-point by itself because it depends a lot on how they deal with it in the aftermath and how things go from here. (For instance: I hated Pyrrha’s death at first because going into a fight she knew she couldn’t win also felt like a needless heroic sacrifice to me. It was only how the aftermath of it was handled from there that made me be okay with it.) So basically, what I’m asking is: How will the other characters handle Penny’s death now? Will Ruby (or anyone else) get angry at Jaune for agreeing to kill her? How will Ruby grieve in general? And, most importantly: Will the narrative really treat Penny’s choice as the “right” one or will it challenge that view? (And was there maybe more going on that we know because I’ve been reading those “Penny is alive” theories and… oh boy.) So yeah – for me it depends on how it gets handled from here.

- Also, I just want to say that I really appreciate RT putting a suicide trigger warning in the beginning of the episode and I wish people wouldn’t twist that into a bad thing. (I’ve seen some takes along the lines of “If they had to put a warning, that means they were aware it’s a harmful message, so that makes it worse” and… please don’t do that. Content creators putting trigger warnings on things is a good thing. Also, this might be a controversial take, but I don’t think fiction always has to “send a good message and teach you a lesson.” The important thing is that RT were aware that this episode could be upsetting/distressing to people and that’s why they put a warning and the suicide hotline’s number in the description.)

- Anyway, I’ve been rambling for too long. My point is: I understand the criticisms and agree with some of them, but I hope the writers know what they’re doing here and I want to believe that they do. I also love all the theories about Penny coming back (in Winter’s mind, for example) and I think they’re not actually that unlikely. And if Penny doesn’t come back, then honestly, I’m okay with that, too. At the end of the day, she’s a fictional character. I can always go and read fanfictions where she’s alive and lives happily ever after with Ruby and nothing that happens in canon can ever take that away. Canon only has as much power as you want it to have. I can enjoy the canon show and the story they’re telling (even if Penny is dead for good this time), while still also enjoying my AUs where she’s fine. One doesn’t harm the other.

- (Also, let me take this moment to shamelessly promote my favorite cartoon show because I think this is relevant to the interests of anyone who hates the “person who’s been trying to sacrifice themselves the whole time ends up doing just that” story: The main character in She-Ra and the Princesses of Power is self-sacrificial to the point of it being unhealthy, but the show explicitly doesn’t treat this as a good thing. When she tries to sacrifice herself for the greater good in the final arc and says it’s better that way, this is treated as a problem, and the lesson she ends up learning in the end is her life has value, too, and that she deserves to be happy. (The show’s also very gay.)

- I don’t know if brought any of this across properly. Basically… I’m not happy about where they went with Penny either, but I am okay with it. I still enjoyed the finale and will continue to enjoy the show. And I want to focus on the things that make me happy about RWBY and made me happy about the finale, so I’ll talk about the rest of the episode now (while rewatching it because I’ll forget stuff otherwise):

- Have I mentioned I really love the Volume 8 opening? Because I really do.

- That shot of the destroyed whale is still awesome.

- I love how the episode opens with all the fights we left off with (Winter vs. Ironwood, Penny vs. Cinder, Harriet vs. Qrow, Ruby vs. Neo) and cuts between them. Also, the music is amazing!

- Elm admitting that Harriet is their friend and that being what finally gets through to her was a nice conclusion to their little arc, I guess. Vine’s sacrifice and his admittance that they’re his friends and he’s doing this for them were touching. Honestly, Harriet is right to blame herself for his death. That said, while this volume made me strongly dislike her, I do hope she now gets an arc about actually dealing with her grief and changing. I think that would be way more interesting to see than still having her be bitter, especially after what happened in this episode.

- Qrow causing good luck to stop the bomb was a nice little moment and honestly makes sense. Good luck and bad luck are just a matter of perspective, after all. What’s bad luck for yourself will be good luck for your enemies and vice versa. So, maybe Qrow technically caused “bad luck” for the bomb? Either way, I like the idea of him realizing that his semblance is more than what he thought.

- Cinder breathing fire during the fight was awesome. I need GIFs of that.

- Blake was amazing in this episode! I love that she didn’t let her grief over Yang consume her, but got up and kept fighting, kicked Cinder in the face and told Weiss to get up. Good stuff!

- I wonder if Cinder’s “You should have never been born” line to Ruby was just a generic “I hate you” line or meant something more.

- Do people honestly think that Cinder betraying Neo was unexpected or like… super unreasonable for a villain? Neo did threaten her – most typical villains don’t react well to their underlings threatening them, so I really don’t see why some people are so shocked or downright offended about this (is it just because they like Neo?).

- Weiss being the last one standing and using Blake’s weapon in the fight was absolutely amazing.

- The tragedy of Jaune sending Nora to bring the Huntsmen and Huntresses back through the portal while not knowing the portal is a one-way deal…

- Cinder knowing that Salem is back because her Grimm arm started hurting was a super interesting moment. And Weiss’ shocked face in that moment was quite interesting, too.

- I wonder if Penny really meant dying when she said “Let me choose this one thing”. To me, it sounded more like she meant choosing the next Winter Maiden. Also, her “trust me” to Jaune is an interesting line. Between that and us not seeing how that conversation goes on, I wonder if there’s something we don’t know here. (*puts on my “Penny is alive” tinfoil hat*)

- I’m glad they at least didn’t graphically show Penny’s death – which is an interesting choice again, because this show doesn’t usually shy away from making deaths graphic and portraying them in all their brutality. So, the fact that we don’t see the act itself and then just cut to Penny’s conversation with Winter was interesting. (But I am glad about it because I didn’t want to see that.) It might honestly just be because of the nature of Penny’s death that they didn’t want to show it too much (and that’s fair).

- “You were my friend.” Gosh, this rewatch is making me cry now 😭. (I also think it’s interesting that Winter calls herself a machine and Penny is now the one who corrects her. It’s a nice callback to Ruby telling Penny she’s their friend and “not just a machine”.)

- I was also just reminded that Penny died thinking Ruby was dead… ouch. This possibly hurts me more than Penny’s death itself.

- People have also pointed out that when Penny transfers the powers to Winter, her aura looks yellow (like Jaune’s) with only some green sparks (like Penny’s). Hmm… I really wonder if there’s more going on here.

- “I won’t be gone. I’ll be part of you.” Who’s cutting onions in here?

- Honestly, the main reason I kind of forgave them for killing Penny was because THAT MOMENT of Winter opening her eyes with the powers while that epic music plays was just amazing to witness. And her fight with Cinder? EPIC. BREATHTAKING. BEAUTIFUL. I’m not even that into the idea of Winter as the Winter Maiden (I honestly thought Penny, the robot girl, becoming the Winter Maiden was a much more interesting plot), but the way it was done in this episode was great. I’m glad we’re finally getting that rivalry between Winter and Cinder, because their arcs parallel each other in so many ways. And I love the symbolism of Winter only getting the powers that Ironwood chose for her after she betrayed Ironwood. I like the idea that she only became worthy of them after turning on Ironwood (which does work well with her Volume 7 arc).

- Oh, by the way, I really hate the “Team RWBY will become the four maidens eventually” theory. Even if it didn’t require characters to die, I just think it would be cheap and way too obvious, and I think it’s boring to throw all the magic powers at the main characters. So, if they only made Winter the Winter Maiden so she can eventually die and pass it on to Weiss, I’ll be very annoyed. (But I hope that’s not where this is going.)

- I’m also just realizing that Cinder asking “How am I supposed to take her power if she’s dead?” about Penny a few episodes ago was foreshadowing… damn.

- Jaune’s sword breaking was a really cool and symbolic moment, too.

- Winter trying to save Weiss from falling and not reaching her in time really got to me. I’m mostly not that affected by any of Team RWBY falling into the void because… come on, we know they’ll be fine. But Winter thinking her little sister just died is… oof. Maybe it’s because I have two younger sisters, but stuff like that really gets to me.

- Also, Winter going through that portal and seeing her family after she just (as far as she knows) lost Weiss… ouch. They never got to all reunite with each other (yet).

- I absolutely LOVED that final scene between Salem and Cinder. They’re both such fascinating characters and I just live for their interactions. Cinder talking herself down (even though she got the relics, so she knows she succeeded at the most important part) was amazing on her part. She did learn from Salem! It’s also interesting that even though she got what Salem wanted, Cinder didn’t get what she herself wanted (the Maiden Powers). I feel like that’s eventually going to become important.

- I wonder if Salem believed Cinder’s lies or not. I’ve seen some interesting opinions in both directions here. (Also, again, I don’t get why some people are so shocked and offended about Cinder lying? I’ve seen so many “I hope she pays for her lies” takes and… really? That’s her biggest crime in your eyes? Lying to another villain?? I don’t think any of you villain-haters feel bad for Salem here, so why… oh. Oh, nevermind, I just understood. They’re not mad that Cinder lied, they’re mad because they wanted Salem to kill her. Gosh, that’s so dumb. Face it, people: That’s not going to happen because Salem still needs the Fall Maiden’s powers. She’s not going to kill Cinder anytime before Cinder opens the last vault.)

- Cinder killing Watts with the staff was kinda funny, tbh. Also Salem’s proud little smirk in that scene kills me.

- “And that’s checkmate.” THAT. Okay, THAT was the best line in the entire episode, I don’t make the rules. What an epic moment!! Gosh, have I mentioned I love Cinder to death? What a queen! This volume really completely changed my opinion on her. I’ve already said that she’s my standout character of the volume, and I stand by that. It was her volume in so many ways and it’s so fitting that she gets to say the last line. It’s also such an interesting line in so many ways: 1) Because this episode is called “The Final Word”, is the only episode in this volume that doesn’t have a one-word title, and the actual final word of the episode is “checkmate”, it implies that “Checkmate” is the real, hidden title of the episode. And that fits so well! They could have easily just named the episode “Checkmate”, but revealing it like this works even better. 2) I also love the chess symbolism in this volume in general. There was a really great analysis about it on here somewhere, but basically: Salem is the king, Cinder is the queen (the king can’t die and barely moves, the queen is out there getting rid of opposing player pieces). And the interesting thing about that here is that the king can’t actually checkmate anyone else, only other chess pieces can. So, it’s very fitting that Cinder is the one who says “checkmate”. Also, in a game of chess, you often have to sacrifice your own pieces to win, which is what Cinder did. 3) I also LOVE the realization on Ironwood’s face when he realizes that he’s been so paranoid about Salem, but he’s actually been playing Cinder all along. (Someone else on here pointed out that there’s something super poetic about Cinder, someone who was very much a victim of Atlas’ systemic problems, being the one to defeat Ironwood and destroy his kingdom. Ironwood was ready to sacrifice all the poor people from Mantle for his own goal, and a poor person who was hurt by people in Atlas is the one who destroyed him. Yeah, yeah, Cinder’s evil and all, but I love it! 4) It’s also really interesting to me that Salem said “This game is not yours to win, it’s mine” to Cinder in the first episode of this Volume, but in the end, Salem ended up being gone for the entire last part of the volume and Cinder is the one who got to say “checkmate.” IT’S JUST SO GOOD.

- And ngl, I’m super happy for Cinder. She really got it all. Yeah okay, she didn’t get the Maiden Powers (and I hope she never does, because one person being two maidens at once is lame), but she got the relics, got rid of her enemies and co-workers (or so she thinks), destroyed the kingdom that she was a slave to, got back into Salem’s good graces… good for her! And apparently one of the buildings that you see being flooded was the Glass Unicorn? Amazing. Love that.

- (Yes, I’m team “redemption for Cinder please”, but come on… it was never going to happen this volume. And if it never happens, that’s okay, too – I’m loving her as a villain as well!)

- Also, I hope that all the people who were specifically criticizing Cinder for not being a competent enough villain are very happy now. Because there you have the competent villain you said you wanted! I mean, I’m saying this as someone who used to criticize Cinder’s character for not being interesting/deep enough. I used to say that I’d like a backstory or something that makes her more interesting/compelling to me. But as soon as we got that backstory, I happily switched sides to team “I like Cinder now”. So, I better not hear any complaining from the “I just want her to be a more competent villain” faction now!

- Yeah, I admit I’m getting annoyed with the Cinder hate. Everyone has a right to their opinions, but it gets frustrating when you’re going through the tag of a character you like and half of the tag are people talking about how badly they want that character to die. (Maybe use a seperate tag for it?)

- (I’m just realizing that I said “Well, at least it was only one character death” earlier, but people like Ironwood and Watts actually did die… I just didn’t count those because I don’t care. Sorry not sorry.)

- We decimated Salem’s faction quite a bit this volume, didn’t we? There’s only Cinder, Tyrian, and Mercury left. I wonder if Salem will get some new people on her side.

- Overall, while I did like this episode, I feel like Volume 8 got weaker towards the end. Most Volumes were at their best towards the end, but I feel like episodes 8-11 were the strongest parts of Volume 8, while episodes 12-14 were still good, but not as good.

- My prediction is that Volume 9 will (of course) be Tearm RWBY’s way out of the void (or whatever that place where they ended up is called) – And I quite like the theory that we won’t see the other characters at all and it’ll be focused only on what’s happening in the void.

[ad1thi]

two for the price of one | AU-gust Day 12: Crime AU

AU-gust masterlist

for @justsomeoneunordinary. general warnings that the beginning and ending of this fic are slightly nsfk, and that all characters are a bit OOC since it’s a mob-verse. i apologise for this being so late!!

//

Tony's got his chair turned away from the door. It's not a dramatics thing, though he doesn't really have any grounds if anyone suspected it wasn’t a dramatics thing, but in this particular instance, it wasn't a dramatics thing.

 It was a James has his tongue down Tony's throat and Sam is kissing his way down Tony's chest and he would like the illusion of privacy thing.

 Which, if anyone asked Tony, was a far better reason than the dramatics thing.

 Of course, it might've worked better if Tony had also locked the door, but in his defence, he wasn't exactly expecting to be ambushed by his lovers in the middle of lunch break.

 (Boyfriends? Boytoys? Bed-warmers? Tony wasn't quite sure what they were yet, but Sam's hand ghosts over his clothed dick and it's hard to dwell on these kinds of things when something like that happens)

 He pulls away from James - who smoothly shifts his lips to Tony's neck - just in time to watch Sam lean in and bite into his zipper with his teeth when they're rudely interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Tony!" Pepper says on the other side, and Tony groans - softly but firmly pushing both James and Sam away from him, "you better be decent when I come in!"

He spins his chair around, fixing the zipper off his dress pants and is half way through buttoning up his shirt when Pepper strides in, obviously tired of waiting. On either side of him, James and Sam go stiff - looking every bit the bodyguards that Tony ostensibly keeps them around to be.

Pepper looks at them, back at Tony where he's still adjusting the last of his shirt buttons, and pinches the bridge of her nose.

"You can't be sleeping with your employees," Pepper intones, "I thought we'd been over this already." They had, several times. She even made him attend a seminar on it.

"Technically," Tony says, giving up on the last button because it was being particularly obnoxious, "I don't pay them. So they aren't my employees."

"What do you mean you don't pay them? Tony why don't you pay your bodyguards?" Pepper's voice has taken on a shrill tone.

"Pepper, darling, light of my life," he reaches a hand out to placate her, "They eat out of my kitchen, they live under my roof, they sleep in my bed. What could they possibly need a salary for?"

Pepper mulls over that for a couple of seconds and Tony crows victoriously because he knows he's right. It's not the most ethical of arrangements, but then again - he's the Patriarch of the Italian Mob. Ethics aren't really much of his concern.

"If Mr Stark paid us," Sam pipes up, because he's never been one for keeping his mouth shut, "It would technically be prostitution. Seems safer not to pay us."

Pepper wrinkles her nose, "That's more than I ever needed to know about your sex life Tony." Tony raises his hands in mock surrender, "Not to put too fine a point to it, but you did literally put yourself in the middle of things."

He lets his eyes roam across her body appreciatively, more out of habit than actual interest, "Not that I'm complaining of course." Next to him, James tightens almost imperceptibly.

Tony sighs. Keeping everybody happy was a full time job. He wished his mother had told him what he was getting into before she decided to wrap herself around a tree. Contrary to popular belief, being the head of an organised crime syndicate was not all it was cracked up to be.

(The benefits were worth it though)

Almost reflexively, Sam reaches out and places his hand over James. He doesn't intertwine their fingers, but it lets it rest there - a comforting weight that makes James relax incrementally.

A part of Tony hates that he can't be the one to offer that sort of comfort, but they aren't there yet. Sam and James have years on him, he's still something new and shiny to the relationship.

"Pep-pot," he says with a sigh, "was there something you needed or have you decided to interrupt my lunch just to tell me off?"

Pepper shifts, and Tony can see her slipping into a more professional mood, "I came to warn you about a new federal investigation. Seems some rookie straight out of Quantico has his sights set on you."

"Oh?" Tony raises a singular eyebrow, "and here I thought I hired your Widow specifically for this purpose. To weed out any stalkers." He extends his hand anyway, so that she can pass over the file stuffed under her arm.

"Agent Coulson," he says out-loud as he thumbs it open, "someone needs to teach this man how to dress. This tie does not go with this shirt at all, the colours don't compliment each other."

James peers over his shoulder, "Would you like me to take care of him for you?". Tony turns to him with a speculative look, "I thought you said you didn't want to kill anymore."

"I wasn't thinking about killing him," James says in a mulish tone that implies that he was in fact, thinking about killing him, "just scaring him a little. Making him think I was going to kill him."

Tony runs a finger across the laminated photo, pondering James' offer. On the one hand, James scaring him into dropping the case would be the most agreeable option. On the other hand -

"Somehow he doesn't strike me as the kind of man who scares easily," he looks up at Pepper, "you said he was fresh out of the Academy? It takes balls to come after the Stark family when you're that green - which tells me that he's either very determined, or he knows more than he's letting on."

He hands over the file with a flourish, "Put Natasha on him. I want to know everything about him from the end of the month. Then I'll decide how we'll proceed."

When he looks back at James, his lips are curled downwards, and it takes Tony a second to realise that he's pouting.

"Aw baby," he runs a thumb against James' lips, "don't pout. It's unbecoming of you."

"I don't like the idea that people are out to get you," James says, and Tony hears the unsaid 'not when I can do something about it'.

"I'll be fine mi amore," he says softly, in a voice he reserves from when they have no company, "I've survived a lot worse than Agent Coulson."

James sniffs, but doesn't say anything in response. Tony takes that as his tactic agreement.

"I'll put Natasha on it as soon as she's back from Malibu," Pepper promises, "she should be in later tonight." She looks at the three of them with something that Tony can't decipher, and before he can ask her if there's anything else - she lets herself out.

Sam follows her to the door, locking it behind her and then turning to Tony with a predatory look, "I believe we were in the middle of something before Pepper interrupted."

Tony lets his legs fall open and his lips stretch into a smile, "Nothing gets by you, does it Falcon?"

"No," Sam drops to his knees, in between Tony's legs, just as James crowds up behind him, "No it doesn't."

Fin

[neednothavehappenedtobetrue]

so! the Fun Thing I am currently writing:

you know Isabelle if you've been here a while, but this is Slightly Different Nearer Future Worse Political Situation Isabelle, so I will describe her as she is in the relevant thing

-Isabelle is the wife of the American president. she is a wheelchair user.

skills: being Just So Fucking Smart, deliberately hiding her intelligence enough that people think she is just regular smart and underestimate her, writing speeches and other political media, poise in public, manipulating people by talking at them.

weaknesses: remembering that she personally is a human being with needs and feelings, knowing what her her feelings are, communicating about her feelings instead of keeping everyone six feet away behind a facade.

how is she so good at Making Other People Have Feelings but so very bad at "knowing that she even has any of them?" because sometimes it's like that.

but, she is married to Robert, who is President. if they were not married, he would be like, maybe a congressman? he is not stupid at all, he is a competent man and would be a competent politician on his own merits, but also, power couple.

-he is somewhat better than Isabelle at coming off as warm and genuine because he is so incredibly warm and genuine all the time that you can't think he's anything else. she comes off as "nice, but a bit reserved."

-conveniently, he has noticed that Isabelle sometimes has feelings and needs. often, he can predict what they are, in the way of people who have been married for like twenty years. also, because they have been married for 20 years he is by now a Level Twelve confidant and gets to be told what most of them are.

-even he does not know how smart she is, though, really, in a few specific arenas. she realized when she was very young that people do not like when you are smarter than they are, and adjusts accordingly, automatically.

-one of the first things Isabelle learned from watching people is that people hate it when you watch them, so she stopped letting them know what she saw, but she didn't actually stop watching.

-she combines "being that fucking smart" with "not realizing that her husband will not cringe away from her if she tells him" because, again, sometimes it's like that. you learn shit young and it sticks with you and nobody tells you different because they don't know what they'd need to tell you.

-Robert is probably, at the start of the story, the person who has the second-closest idea of how smart Isabelle actually is, and he's still off by enough that it would startle him a little.

-Theo, their dear friend, is the closest to knowing how smart she is, because Theo watches people in something like the way she does, and sees it. Theo doesn't do feelings either, though, so Robert ends up closer to understanding her overall.

-Robert is as close to her as anyone in the world, and they love each other so much. they are casually affectionate in public. they have a daughter and a life and nothing's perfect, but it's good.

-and then Robert is shot.

-he is shot on a stage. the people who shoot him take Isabelle and put her in a basement for a while, with her daughter, until Theo, who has a specific skillset, gets them out.

-ever after, Theo puts little GPS things in all of her jewelry. the people who kidnapped her let her keep her wedding ring, and if she'd had a tracker in it, she wouldn't have spent eight days in a basement.

-liberated from the basement, she flies to Rio, because it is a place that has agreed not to turn her over to the shitty people who have taken over America

-there has been a coup. lots of people are dead.

-Isabelle throws herself into caring for her daughter and running the counter-revolution, talking to the international press, making deals, smuggling things and people in and out, etc. she is doing a lot of good work. she is doing her goddamn best.

-she outsourced all of her "knowing and caring about her own feelings" and "generally making sure she is taking good care of herself" to her husband, who was good at that.

-he's dead now, for which reason she has maybe more feelings and related needs than she's ever had in her life?

-she knows she has a whole PTSD, she knows that early on. she is very smart, her trauma is huge and obvious, but, like, you can just sort of ignore that and hope it goes away, right? probably

-it takes her longer to know she is an alcoholic, because that one is harder to know. less obvious, at least to her. but she is, very definitely. she gets bad very fast.

-most people don't notice, though, because she keeps it behind the wall between her and most people.

-so she lives in Rio, and she works, and she drinks.

Isabelle is not actually the narrator of this story, though. the narrator's name is Sasha. she was a Russian diplomat living in America.

-skills: compassion, style, a few languages, being passionate about the places and people and things she loves, falling in love easily and completely.

weaknesses: keeping her temper, keeping her composure, not calling people motherfuckers when they really, really are but also it would be disastrous to do so, knowing what her own feelings are,

-did we see one of the things on that second list on an earlier list?

-also, do some of those weaknesses seem like they might be problems for someone in her line of work (diplomacy, a field in which it is often useful to be diplomatic).

-it's fine, she's charming and pleasant and smart enough to compensate for the things she is not as good at.

-also, she doesn't generally care about most politics stuff enough to get to the "this person is a motherfucker and if I do not tell them I will explode and my entrails will land on them in the shape of the word "motherfucker," stage with work people.

-she might have a different job if her whole family wasn't prominent politicians, but.

-her brother is an asshole, but, like, also he is her twin brother and she loves him. her father is an enormous fucking asshole and also dead now, and also, fuck him.

-she likes traveling and coffee and her dog and a series of women who she tries to start casual with and then either gets bored of or falls in love with and then they are like "you are, um, maybe a little intense?"

-she likes living in America, with good friends and a job she enjoys and does reasonably well.

-and then the president is shot, and there is a coup.

-her brother calls her back to Russia immediately, arranges a flight for her before any of the rest of his staff because, twin sister, obviously. they learned to be protective of each other young, Leo and Sasha.

-she spends very little time in America post-violence, when things are different and unsafe. she was there for about twelve hours before she got on a plane.

-she thinks this means that she did not experience a trauma, will not experience any symptoms worse than "occasionally being a bit sad" and does not deserve to complain to anybody about it.

-fortunately, she has some people in her life who are immediately like "you are actually having so many problems right now. did you know that when shit like this happens, there is enough trauma happening for everyone to have seconds? even if it could be worse? also, your trauma symptoms will not go away if you ignore them or pretend not to have them, so, like, therapy?"

-it would be good if Isabelle had more friends like that, but, unfortunately, most of her close friends are dead now.

-sasha, meanwhile, goes to therapy. she discovers that, if there is a minimum threshold on how bad an experience you need to have had before you call it PTSD, she is actually well past it. huh.

-also, maybe the situation with her dad was, uh, worse than she may have thought? him dying did not magically erase his effect on her life, which is unfortunate.

-sasha knew Isabelle barely, pre-assassination. not well, but she'd met her a few times. she was pretty and loved her husband and daughter and seemed smart. a little reserved, maybe.

-Sasha cries when she finds out that this woman and her daughter are still alive, but mostly because if another two people were dead, and one of them a seven-year-old girl, that would be worse, and there is not room for much worse in her heart.

-she cries mostly because her brother is in nearly the same political position as the dead man was, and if his wife and kids were missing, she would lose her goddamn mind.

-she tries not to think about what would happen if her brother was shot. he is an asshole, but he is her brother.

-her brother, meanwhile, has to deal with these fucking assholes who are running America now. god, they're just the worst, but they do seem to be in charge now, so, like, needs must.

-he does not allow sasha to do diplomatic work with them, because he knows her. he has seen her explode before. she has never exploded at work, so he has trusted her up to this point.

-she is very much already at the "if I do not call these people out on being motherfuckers, I will literally explode and my entrails will call them motherfuckers" stage with these people.

-which is fair, honestly, it's not like she's wrong, but also, she is not in charge of negotiating with these people.

-there is a counter-revolution brewing, folks trying to get America back to normal. several governments are offering a certain amount of clandestine support, because it's not great for the global stage having America just sort of, collapse a bit. also, fuck these people entirely.

-so Leo assigns Sasha to contribute to the revolution in a short list of prescribed ways, and keep him in the loop while allowing him just the thinnest possible veneer of plausible deniability.

-boy, if he has known what was going to happen later, he would for sure have assigned somebody else!

-Isabelle is running the counter-revolution from Rio, so Sasha and Isabelle have calls about once a week for a year, mostly about work.

-Isabelle is, at the start, blandly professional, but Isabelle has very few people to really talk to, as herself, the human person, to the point where sometimes she forgets the human person exists.

-she doesn't quite warm up to like "genuine closeness" but she warms up to "social chatting" as part of the work calls.

-it is hard not to warm up to Sasha, when she likes you. she is easily friendly and kind. she likes Isabelle a lot.

-like, the normal amount. the normal amount to like your work friend, for sure, definitely. she spends the most normal amount of time thinking of ways to make Isabelle smile, because Isabelle doesn't smile much.

-Isabelle drinks much too much, and Isabelle stops drinking, and Isabelle's doctor is like "is this a situation where you could get a less stressful job?"

and Isabelle is like "if you ask me that again I will get a new doctor immediately, who is less of a fucking idiot. do you have a non-idiot suggestion?"

"okay! cool and good! maybe make some friends, or try a change of scenery?"

-Isabelle's not-dead friends are Theo, and technically it is possible that some of her old friends are still alive, in America, and just can't get in touch with her because of everything. she likes to think this. it's not making anything worse to think it, so she allows herself to.

-Isabelle's friends who she can speak to are Theo, end of list.

-so, change of scenery? it might be a good idea anyway, Brazil is getting tired of having those dipshits in America yell at them. governments are not always thrilled about the idea of her living and working within their borders. they are glad she is living and working, but not in my backyard.

-when she mentions to Sasha that she is looking for a new place to live, she is not fishing for anything, she is just chatting.

-Sasha immediately says "why don't you come to Moscow? you'll be safe here. I can bully my brother into allowing you to be here and helping you to stay safe. it's nice here!"

-she says this for friend reasons, obviously, and also strategic revolution reasons, the latter of which she uses to talk Leo around.

-Isabelle comes to Russia. she is amenable to weekly dinners with Sasha. Sasha is her phone chatting work friend. maybe Sasha could one day be her real life actual friend. that would be good maybe.

-the second week, Isabelle is sitting on Sasha's couch, with her feet up on the ottoman. they have had a nice dinner and are watching a documentary and chatting in English.

-at this point, Sasha goes "oh, fuck. I do not want to be real life friends with this woman, actually. not just friends. she is so beautiful and smart and I would so much like to kiss her."

-Sasha, you have been experiencing this feeling for like at least three months. it did not just pop into your head the minute she put her feet up on your furniture. you moved her to fucking Russia because you had so many big feelings. it just got loud enough for you to notice.

-is it u-hauling to move someone across continents to live in the same city as you? how about if neither of you knows you have feelings yet?

-Sasha will realize this several months later. right now, she thinks she has acquired a new feeling.

-she dithers about this for a bit, without telling anyone, because all of her friends would be like "well, that's a bad fucking idea."

-which, like, she is not stupid. Isabelle is a martyr's widow who is both grieving still and also doing a lot of work on the public image of being a martyr's widow. good work, important work, that helps

-it would have to be a very secret thing, maybe could never be anything else. her brother would be mad about it for politics reasons.

-if Sasha asked her out, Isabelle could very easily say "sorry there are too many politics reasons" or "sorry, I am heterosexual and/or very sad still."

-it would be a very bad idea in many ways!

-Sasha knows she is going to do it anyway. she does not always identify her feelings for a while, but once she does, she commits to them.

-but also, if Sasha causes Isabelle to experience any additional bad feelings, or to not want to chat with her anymore, Sasha will explode.

-this time her entrails will spell out "sorry."

-the solution here is to slow-play it a bit, she thinks.

-Sasha is not... super good at slow-playing it.

-she opens with what she thinks is a very casual, normal question about whether Isabelle is seeing anyone, or might like to. carefully worded to be normal and subtle and friendly.

-there are two problems with this. one is that Sasha's facial expressions tell you everything she is thinking all of the time. another is that Isabelle is uncannily good at facial expressions.

-it is hard at the best of times to ask the relationship status of a person you have feelings for in a super chill super casual very normal way that will not raise suspicion.

-when you have all of the natural deceptive skills of a Golden Retriever and also you are speaking to someone who reads everyone she meets like a book, well, you're just not going to pull it off.

-the subtext behind the question is "god, I would so like to kiss you, but only if you're cool with that?"

-Isabelle absolutely knows this right away.

-she wasn't expecting this at all. she'd like to give it some thought.

-in the meantime, she tells Sasha that she is not totally disinterested in the idea of dating again ever, but it would have to be very private for a while, if she did date again. she weaves in a little bit of information about her romantic history, in order to tell Sasha that she is bi.

-she thinks she has been about as unsubtle as it is possible to be, because she sometimes forgets that most people aren't her or Theo.

-Sasha thinks she completely nailed normal and casual. she thinks Isabelle's response was very normal and casual also, while also containing a lot of useful information.

-the orientation thing was going to be Sasha's next question, but she couldn't think of a way to be like "hey hello are you interested in women?" that did not tip her whole hand, so it's great that Isabelle happened to volunteer that information while they were both being normal and causal.

-Sasha, your whole hand is already tipped. you took out a feelings billboard. she knows.

-meanwhile, Isabelle gives it some thought.

-it's not a terrible idea, really.

-well, it is, in lots of ways, but there's no risk-free way to pursue any kind of relationship, especially when you are very famous for being widowed and people want to kill you.

-no matter who she gets involved with, some people are going to be Big Mad about it, and it will make some of her work harder.

-now, given that there is no safe choice, is Sasha the safest possible choice? absolutely not, not even close, but you don't get into relationships by triangulating the safest option.

-Isabelle is lonely. she is not great at assessing her own feelings, but the thought has occurred to her before. and when someone basically took out a feelings billboard at her, but in a respectful way, well, the thought occurred to her a bit more.

-the idea of spending the next several years or maybe forever being single and married to the Mission kind of sucks, actually.

-besides, Sasha is kind, and easy to talk to, and quite pretty. she does not seem like the type to insist on too much too fast.

-this is true, that is not the kind of intense Sasha is. she just sort of falls in love at you very quickly, which not everybody wants.

-but the only way Isabelle has ever been loved in her life is "very intensely" by a man who also saw her reservedness and was comfortable with it until it gave way around him. so that's fine.

-a few weeks later, around when Isabelle is done thinking, Sasha decides it is next move time.

-she has used up all of her very normal conversational gambits and has been debating between "just telling Isabelle about her feelings, or, like, some percentage of her feelings, the normal amount of feelings to have for a person you have not kissed." or "some kind of very casual very normal very chill physical contact."

-Sasha so wants to be a chill, casual person. unfortunately, she just isn't.

-she puts her hand on Isabelle's shoulder, and Isabelle settles into her a bit, makes herself comfortable.

-they sit like that for a minute.

-Sasha is thinking "is this like, chill, normal, platonic half-cuddling or is she trying to give me a hint?"

-Isabelle has never been less subtle in her life and would be shocked to know that this is being read as "a hint" rather than "a very overt declaration of interest."

-Isabelle, who thinks everyone's intentions are fully on the page now, says "if I ever tried to be in a relationship again, it would have to be very private, at least at first. it would have to be a secret for a while, which I know isn't something everyone would be interested in. also, "being very open with people" is not part of my skill set really. I do get there, but sometimes it takes me a minute."

-her frame of reference for "the normal amount of open to be with someone you like" was Robert, who knew he was going to marry her three months in, so she might not be calibrating this perfectly.

-she is now sitting on a couch half-cuddling with Sasha, who also falls in love very fast.

-Sasha listens to this information about Isabelle's relationship needs and thinks "that's probably a large hint, right? like, almost definitely. I am pretty sure. also, all of those things are fine and I basically knew them already, so that's good. this is going really well. what do I do now? should I be like "all of those things you want in a hypothetical relationship sound good to me" or should I save that for next week, because of the slow-playing I am doing here?"

Isabelle, meanwhile, is thinking "well, I have been as explicit as it is possible to be. if she didn't want to do something secret and careful and patient, she would remove her arm and stop half-cuddling me."

-so she sits for another minute or two, to give Sasha time to make a decision.

-Sasha does not move her arm. even if she knew what Isabelle was actually thinking, she wouldn't move her arm.

-at this point Isabelle kisses her, which she was not at all expecting.

-like, it was feeling like a more plausible future option, but today? right now? not that Sasha is in any way complaining.

-they kiss for a bit, and then Isabelle briefly removes her mouth from Sasha's mouth and looks at her and goes "wait, are you surprised by this?"

and Sasha goes "a little bit, yeah? I mean, this is great, I am very pleased with this outcome, but I wasn't sure if you were..."

later, Isabelle will be like "please tell me in what way I could have been at all clearer" and Sasha is like "by using words with your mouth to talk about your feelings?"

"I did that," says Isabelle, bewildered.

"no. "if I was going to kiss somebody I would need to take it slow and keep it secret" is a logistic. "I like you and want to kiss you" is a feeling."

"why would I talk to you about kissing logistics if I didn't want to kiss you specifically? just as a hypothetical? is that a thing people do?"

neither of them is entirely sure. but also, they will have this conversation later, because right now is kissing time.

[spartanguard]

pushing buttons

Summary: Killian is hurt, and the only one around to help him out is his beautiful neighbor—that he's never talked to before. Looks like that's about to change. (Based on this prompt, shared by @clockadile​: "I was talking to my friend and she was telling me about how her coworker had injured his arm and had to wear a sling, but also was required to wear a button up shirt for work. So every morning he had to go knock on his neighbour’s door and she would help him button the shirt." 

rated M | 7.3k words | AO3

A/N: HAPPIEST OF BIRTHDAYS TO @xpumpkindumplingx​!!!! SHE’S A LOVELY AMAZING SWEET RED VELVET CUPCAKE AND YOU SHOULD ALL GO SEND HER LOVE!!! I've literally been working on this story for over a year and it seemed like her birthday was the appropriate occasion to force me to finish it. I’m sure someone else has written it but, oh well. Enjoy!

This wasn’t how he ever planned on introducing himself to his cute neighbor. Killian figured he’d make some witty, flirtatious line, they’d share a bit of banter, and maybe she’d agree to go out on a date. However it worked for other people. 

But no, Killian’s life could never be that simple, could it? Because apparently, his best friend just had to tackle him extra hard in their weekly game of football (proper football—not that American nonsense they loved over here). Which apparently led to a dislocated shoulder and a hairline fracture in his arm (whatever the bone was that supported the bicep; he was a navigational expert, not a doctor). And consequently was putting him in a sling for a fair number of weeks. 

Good thing he was already missing the hand on that arm, eh?

But, as he discovered, things like buttoning his work shirts and securing the sling were more than a bit difficult one-handed. Obviously, he was used to dressing himself by now, but he usually had the assistance of his prosthesis, or at least his blunted wrist. He was a bit SOL at the moment, though. 

After checking to see if the coast was clear before he stepped out half dressed, he knocked on the door across the hall, where said best friend (though he was questioning that title at the moment) lived; the least Robin could do was help him out. Until he remembered that Robin closed the bar last night and would be dead to the world for the next several hours. 

He glanced at the next door, home to a rather lascivious but otherwise friendly old lady, who he knew for a fact was running breakfast rush at the diner downstairs. 

That left only one other door: Swan. At least, he thought that was the name he saw on her packages; it suited her well enough that he didn’t care if it was wrong. They’d done little more than exchange smiles in the hall, but that was clearly about to change; desperate times and desperate measures and all that. 

Swallowing his pride—and maybe adjusting his posture a bit—he stepped up to her door and knocked. 

It took hardly a second for her to open, and there she was: blonde hair pulled up in a messy bun, wearing a baggy sweatshirt and leggings with a coffee mug in hand and a bit of sleep still caught in her eyes. But—so beautiful. His breath hitched in his throat. 

“Hello—ohhh…” she started to greet, but then her voice trailed off and jaw hung open when she took in his state of dress. Crap; maybe making an introduction with his shirt half open was a bad idea. 

He felt his cheeks flushing pink in embarrassment and the instinct to scratch behind his ear, his telltale nervous tick, was itching. “Hi, uh,” he stammered, his gaze flicking to the floor. “I apologize for bothering you so early, but I’m in a bit of a pickle and could use some assistance, if you’re okay with that.”

“Well, I don’t like pickles but I can probably help,” she offered, setting her mug down on some unseen surface inside and stepping forward. “What do you need?”

He swallowed at the heightened proximity. “I need a bit of help getting this sling on, and then buttoning my shirt, if you wouldn’t terribly mind.”

“Oh, sure!” she blurted out, faster than either of them expected, judging by the surprised look on her face after. “I mean, yeah, just tell me what you need.”

“Of course, love—thank you so much,” he gushed, not realizing until he’d already said the term of endearment. She narrowed her eyes a bit at that but it didn’t seem to stop her. 

He started to slip his left arm into the sleeve of the sling and was going to tell her how to attach the strap, but then her eyes went wide and she gasped. “Oh my god, what happened?” 

He followed her worried gaze to his empty left wrist. Oh, right—she’s probably never seen him without his prosthetic hand. 

“Oh, no—this is old,” he assured her, nodding at it. “It’s my shoulder that’s messed up at the moment.”

“You’ve seriously had that many injuries on one side?” she asked as she stepped closer to grab the straps. “That’s more than coincidence—that’s bad luck.”

“Aye, I suppose. Good thing I’m right-handed.”

“Definitely,” she smiled back as she slipped the strap over his head and started to tighten it. “How’s this?”

“Perfect,” he answered—and it was: the right amount of snug and comfortable. “How’d you know to get it right?”

“I work in bail bonds,” she answered, turning her attention to the buttons on his shirt. “Injuries like that are part of the trade. Everyone at my firm has a pretty good grasp of first aid.”

The back of her fingers brushed against the skin of his stomach, making him breathe in sharply at the contact. 

“Oh no—did I hurt you?” She sounded so worried and pulled her hands back, looking back up at him with her brows raised in concern. 

No, she didn’t—he just hadn’t been touched with anything like that level of care in ages. “No, not at all—you’re fine.” He resisted the instinct to add “love” to the end of that again.  

“Phew, okay; just didn’t want to add to your injuries. I can’t imagine a pinched chest hair feels very good,” she explained, resuming her task. 

He chuckled. “Believe me, I’ve had worse.”

“I can see that,” she teased. 

She managed to button behind the sling, but he stopped her before she got too high. “That’s good.” There were still a few left undone but he didn’t want to impose on her kindness any longer—or if he could stand being in her airspace any more without doing something incredibly stupid, like kissing her.

She adjusted his collar and then stepped away. “You don’t strike me as much of a top-button guy, anyway,” she replied, smirking. 

He winked. “Not in the slightest.” He was amazed, and a bit relieved, at how easy they fell into banter; what could have been an awkward situation was decidedly less so. “But seriously—thank you, so much; I’d hate to have to call off work again simply because I wasn’t presentable.”

It looked like she was about to fire back something, but quickly bit her lip to hold it back. “No worries,” she finally answered. “Anytime.”

“Are you sure about that? Because I’m in this for at least six weeks.”

“I can think of worse ways to start the day,” she shrugged.

“Might I…” Now Killian freely scratched behind his ear. “Could I avail you of your skills tomorrow?”

She smiled, but it faltered. “I have a late night at work tonight, unfortunately,” she told him. “But I’ll be free the next day.”

“It’s a date then,” he blurted out, then realized what he said. “Or, not a date—but—you know—“

“It’s a date,” she laughed. “But there’s one more thing: I don’t ‘date’ guys whose names I don’t know.”

“Oh, bloody hell,” he cursed; they had skipped that part hadn’t they? “I’m Killian; Killian Jones,” he belatedly introduced, offering his hand. 

She took it. “Emma Swan.”

“Emma,” he repeated; Swan still suited her best, but he liked the way her given name felt on his lips. Which he subsequently placed on the back of her hand with a gentle kiss; probably still too forward but better than some of the alternatives. 

Now she was the one blushing, pink coloring the apples of her cheeks as she shyly smiled at him. “See you soon, Killian.”

“Until then, Swan.”

She slipped back inside her apartment and gave him one last wry smile before closing the door, and he headed back to his place. 

Oh, goodness—he was fucked. 

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

She hadn’t been lying: there were definitely worse ways for Emma to start her day. 

Who was she to complain when a man that attractive shows up at her door with his shirt half off?

Okay, so it was more like half on, but it still gave her more than a decent view of his toned chest and core, the line of his collarbones, and the most attractive array of chest hair she’d ever seen as it spread across his pecs and down his stomach to other parts she wouldn’t mind seeing. 

It caught her off guard, opening the door to that; usually it was the opposite—her on the outside, leaving, after a one-night stand. But none of those guys were half as beautiful as Killian, nor as charming or sweet. 

Plus, what kind of person says no to an injured guy like that? Not Emma. She knew what it was like to fend for yourself and could tell he did, too; it took a lot to work up the courage to ask for help like that. 

She felt bad that she wasn’t able to help him the following day, but was surprised to find she couldn’t wait for the next; that wasn’t something she’d done in a very long time. 

She thought about putting on extra coffee for him that morning but thought that might be too forward for a guy who seemed nervous enough in her presence—which was a little odd, because she was pretty sure she’d seen at least a handful of late-night visitors there. 

The coffee scoop was still in her hand when the knock came at the door. So much for that then; she’d just have to swing through Granny’s downstairs. 

When she opened the door, there Killian was again in all his adorable sexiness. “Good morning, Emma; is this an okay time?” He was a bit more reserved than he had been the other day—that wouldn’t do at all. 

Especially because she was hardcore ogling him the whole time. He had on a navy shirt today that hugged his biceps. It didn’t match his eyes quite as well as the pale blue one from his last visit but it gave a bold contrast to his gingery beard, which she noticed was a bit longer than it usually was. This must be some injury if it was impeding his ability to use his uninjured arm, too. 

“Of course!” she quickly said, because she realized she’d spent a bit too much time staring. “Mind if we do it reverse of last time?”

“Uh…”

She bit her lip and winced; that didn’t come out right. (Or maybe it did.) “I meant, let’s do the shirt first, if that’s alright.”

“Oh! Yeah, that’s fine. The pain isn’t quite as bad today.” But he still bit back a tiny wince as she adjusted his shirt, so she resolved to move fast. 

Carefully starting on the bottom button, she had to ask, “How did this happen in the first place?”

“Oh, just my so-called best friend coming at me like a defensive tackle in a game of real football.”

“You mean soccer?”

“Yes, that. How did you Yanks even come up with that term?”

“Fuck if I know.” And even if she did, she was too focused on not touching his skin this time to come up with the answer. She still couldn’t get that brush of soft hair and warm skin out of her mind—which had taken it and ran with it, imagining how the rest of him might feel. 

And it didn’t help that he smelled amazing. He continued on a rant about his friend—who was apparently the other British guy on their floor—but all she was really aware of were what her fingers were doing and the scent of Old Spice Captain, mixed with something else—leather, maybe? Rum? (Hopefully not, with whatever pain meds he was on.) Regardless, she kind of wanted to get drunk on it. 

“How’s that?” she asked when she thought she’d gotten the buttons to where he wanted—done up enough to be fairly modest but open enough to leave things to her overactive imagination. 

He glanced down, and she noticed not for the first time how long his lashes were. “That’s perfect; you’re a quick study,” he smirked, looking back up, amusement crinkling the skin at the corner of his eyes and bringing his adorable dimples out to play. 

“Gotta let the chest hair breathe, right?” She immediately regretted saying that and quickly busied herself with his sling. 

Thankfully, he just laughed. “Aye, I suppose so. My, uh,” he stammered, scratching that spot behind his ear again. “My last girlfriend always liked the view and I suppose it just stuck.”

Emma just adjusted the strap and avoided eye contact. Crap. How was she supposed to answer that? Was she supposed to flirt back to a guy who clearly wasn’t over his ex? Or was there something else going on?

(She was trying to ignore the voice in the back of her head about him being too good to be true, like most guys were.)

“Well...I’ve gotta say, I agree with her. Smart lady,” she offered, awkwardly. 

“Yeah, she was,” Killian answered solemnly. Oh—maybe there was more to this story then. But she had enough tragic backstories of her own to know not to try to prod at someone else’s. He got a bit of a vacant look in his eyes, like he was lost in memory, until he shook it off and looked back up at her, now that she was done. “Anyway, thank you so much again. Same time tomorrow?”

“It’s a date,” she answered without thinking. Because whatever his past was, and whatever the future held, she still knew she at least wanted to get to know him better. 

He grinned back. “See you then.”

He’d turned to head back to his apartment, but she worked up the nerve to call after him. “Wait!” He stopped and faced her again. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Black,” he answered simply.

“Good to know,” she smiled back, and he gave another in return before nodding his final farewell. 

She went back inside and busied herself with grabbing what she needed for work, but still couldn’t get him out of her mind. 

Dammit, why was he injured? Can’t they just fuck?

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

So not only was Emma intoxicating to be around, she also made a fantastic cup of coffee. That was how she greeted him the next day, and every day thereafter. He had to start coming a bit earlier, because coffee usually meant chatting, and once they started, he never wanted to stop. It only took a side-eye from his boss twice to make sure he wasn’t late again, but honestly, he’d rather deal with his boss’s ire than cut off any conversation short. 

It was during those discussions that he learned more about her—like that her favorite movie was The Princess Bride but she wasn’t a big reader, she liked to listen to the Black Keys, and she loved cinnamon in her hot chocolate; she had opted for that one morning a few weeks into this adventure, despite it being the middle of summer. 

“Isn’t this a bit out of season?” he gently teased, hoping to garner a real smile; she seemed down today, her half-smiles not quite reaching her eyes. 

She shrugged, eyes cast down. “Sometimes you just need things that bring a bit more comfort.”

“Love, what’s wrong? Did something happen?” He may have only known her for less than a month, but the thought of any trouble coming to her made his heart lurch.

She took another sip, then glanced around the hallway before opening her door. “Can you come in for a second?”

“Of course.”

He followed her and she shut the door behind him, but stayed close to it. A quick glance around the space showed that her place was much like his: sparse, with just the necessities—not many homey touches.

“Are we at the point where we can share tragic backstories?” she asked him shyly, leaning against the wall.

“I think so,” he confirmed, giving her a small smile of encouragement.

She exhaled. “Okay. Well, today...is my son’s birthday.”

His eyes grew wide and his breath hitched in his throat. “Your...you have a…?” He didn’t know what to say, especially considering it was pretty obvious that no child lived here. Oh, no—did he—?

“Had. Past tense.” His heart sank, but he didn’t want to interrupt. “I put him up for adoption. I wasn’t even 18 yet, and his dad was gone—abandoned me before he even knew. My foster mom helped me, but I knew I wasn’t ready, so I gave him up. I know that was the best thing for him, but I still...wonder. And I hope he’s okay.” She sniffled a bit, and wiped a tear from her eye.

But another one was escaping down the other cheek; he quickly set his mug down on a table by the door and reached up to brush it away. “Oh, Emma—I...I can’t imagine what that’s like. But...thank you for telling me.”

“You’re not gonna judge me?” Her voice was small and watery, and broke his heart in a whole different way.

“How could I? You made one of the hardest decisions anyone could make, and when you were a teenager no less. If anything, you’re probably one of the bravest people I know.”

There it was—that smile he’d been looking for. “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” she murmured.

He’d seen it before, but not as strong as it was right now—the guarded, lonely look in her eyes that all lost children had. It wasn’t something that was ever outgrown; he knew because he wore it, too. And his heart thudded in his chest again, adding to its list of acrobatics today in reaction to this brilliant woman—who was apparently even more of a kindred soul than he’d realized.

“A lass as fierce as you deserves to hear how awesome she is far more often than that,” he told her, tucking a stray bit of hair behind her ear, before scratching behind his own—because now it was his turn to share. “But, ah, I know how rare that happens in the foster system.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. My brother and I ended up there after our mum died; dad was already out of the picture. Liam tried to get custody when he aged out, but they wouldn’t let him, so he went off to the Navy. He, uh, he was killed in action.”

“Oh my God—I’m so sorry.”

He swallowed and nodded. He didn’t often talk about his past, but given what Emma had told him, it seemed to be bubbling out of him today. “I floundered a bit after that—tried the Navy, too, but it didn’t take, and then I met Milah. It was a bit of whirlwind romance but I was head over heels, and she for me. Until her husband found out.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. I...I can’t go into the details, but he...he killed her, and he did this,” he explained, nodding at his stump. “He’s in jail for life, at least, but...yeah. So that’s my story.”

“Oh, Killian.” She didn’t try to give any platitudes, like the few other people he was close with had at first; she just wrapped her arms around him, being careful of his injuries. It took him a bit by surprise at first—he could tell she wasn’t the touchy-feely type—but he didn’t wait long to wrap his free arm around her and pull her close. Something told him this hug was as much for her comfort as his.

Try as he might not to, he couldn’t help but notice how perfect she fit in his embrace, his arm naturally settling at her waist and her head resting on his shoulder (the good one). He closed his eyes and inhaled, surrounded by her scent—cinnamon and chocolate from her cocoa, and something lightly floral and sweet that didn’t quite match her rough exterior but suited her perfectly nonetheless.

He had an even harder time ignoring the bit of his subconscious that didn’t want to let go of her, not now and possibly not ever. And there was no way for him to overlook the way his heart leapt when she practically burrowed into his neck.

Until her phone went off and they jumped apart. That actually did kind of hurt, in more ways than one. 

“Sorry; I better—”

“Yeah, me too.” He could almost physically see her emotional walls going back up in the way she stiffened and retracted from him, making no effort to actually grab her phone and just using the interruption as an out. He understood why, though it stung a bit, but he’d be damned if he was the one making her uncomfortable.

“I—I have another work thing tonight, so I won’t be able to see you tomorrow; but...next day?”

“Can’t wait,” he answered, giving her his usual smile. He slipped out and almost had to run back to his place to get his work things, but cast another glance at Emma’s now-closed door as he passed.

Assuming that image wasn’t a metaphor, he couldn’t wait for the day he could truly wrap her in his arms, and maybe then some.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

So, hugging him was a bad idea. A completely terrible one. Not her worst ever—their prior conversation kind of displayed that—but recently? Yeah, that was awful.

Because she really should have known how great he would feel against her. She got a prime view of his upper body every day; she didn’t need to wrap herself around it to know he’d be firm and soft in the most perfect ways.

And she was already well aware of what he smelled like; did she really have to dive in for deeper whiff? (Or become any more aware of what the heat felt like rolling off him, warming both her body and soul?)

God bless her boss for that perfectly timed text. She did feel bad for the slight wince she caught on Killian’s face as she jumped away, and then even more for the white lie she gave about the next day—it wasn’t so much that she had a late night, but more that she knew she needed a day to cool off after that. Or to let the inevitable freak-out run its course, because who on earth tells a sob story like hers to someone they’ve barely known for a month? (Even if said person did the same.)

Killian seemed unfazed, though, so she took that as a good sign. Which she also did with the bag of pumpkin spice-flavored coffee she found outside her door the next morning, with her name scrawled on it in an unfairly beautiful script.

But, perfectly, that gave her a way to figure out where they were the following day. Things change when you bare your soul to another person, and honestly, her biggest fear was that she’d scared him off altogether.

So when that familiar, gentlemanly knock rapped on her door (how a knock could be prim and proper, she had no idea, but his was), she was ready to answer it with two mugs of her new brew.

“Who’s out of season now?” she teased, handing the cup over. Falling back on humor was something was a safeguard, but hopefully he’d still pick up on the way she was acknowledging their last conversation.

His usual early-morning sleepy smile morphed into an eyebrows-raised expression of surprise for a moment, but a dimpled smirk quickly took over.

He took the proffered mug and quipped, “Well, as a brilliant lass once told me, sometimes you just need something comforting, and I suppose there’s no wrong season on that.”

And just like that, things were okay. Why had she thought they wouldn’t be? It’s Killian, for fuck’s sake. She grinned back at him and set to work on his shirt and sling, maneuvers so well-practiced at this point she barely needed to look to make sure she was doing everything right, and they quickly fell back into their easy banter. 

“I think you could give lessons in buttoning a shirt, Swan; I’ve never seen fingers more nimble.”

“Oh? Who else has been buttoning your shirts lately? Should I be jealous?”

He chuckled, deep and low—a sound that went straight to certain sensitive parts of her. “Just Robin, on the days you’re busy. But the arse can’t even keep the rows straight and nearly strangled me with the sling.”

From the other end of the hallway, a slightly muffled shout called out “I heard that, you bellend!” from Robin’s apartment. Killian turned to bark back, “You were supposed to, ya bloody wanker!”

“God, you’re so British sometimes,” she laughed and started on the sling. 

“Well, you can take the man out of England, and so on. Even if it’s been 20 years.”

Things pretty much went back to normal after that, if a bit bolder on both their ends. They still chatted about anything and everything—he had some good stories about his culture shock when he first came over as a kid, shared his strongly held opinions on various rums, and she was able to figure out he had a lifelong love of Peter Pan (“but Pan himself is a prat; Hook, though—he’s an icon. And, y’know, we have something in common.” “I’m kind of surprised you don’t have a hook instead of your prosthetic.” “You haven’t seen me on Halloween, darling.”).

If her hands brushed his skin more often, she could probably chalk that up to their increased comfort with one another. If she found herself invading his personal space on a regular basis, it was easy to write that off as part of her helping him. And if she daydreamed about the freckles on his neck and where other ones might be...okay, she had no explanation for that. Actually, that one was his fault.

“So just what do you do at night?” she’d asked. “You don’t seem to need my help then.”

“Are you offering?” he tossed back, and she could see his tongue moving lasciviously behind his teeth as he smirked. She playfully slapped the uninjured shoulder as she continued to work. “Well, if you must know, it’s much easier to get all this off than it is to get it on. And as long as I don’t move around too much in my sleep, no harm, no foul.”

“So...no sleep shirt?”

“No sleep shirt,” he repeated, voice a bit lower than usual; she could feel it vibrating in his chest as she did the last button. It was a damn good thing she was staring at her work and not his eyes because she might have reinjured him at that moment.

Summer turned into early fall and Killian had just become a normal part of her mornings. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew he’d get better at some point, but it wasn’t something she ever really focused on—not when she was enjoying herself with him far more than she had anyone else in recent memory.

So it was a bit of a bomb when he dropped the news on her one morning, roughly six weeks after he’d first knocked on her door.

“Um, it looks like this might be the last time I’m bothering you,” he stammered, staring at the floor as she did up his shirt for the countless-th time. “I’ve got an appointment with the doctor later on to see how it’s healed.”

“Oh,” she answered, sounding much more sad than she thought she would. “Uh, how’s it been feeling?”

“Pretty good; still a little sore, but that might be more with disuse than anything.”

“That’s...that’s good, then.” But was it? Was it really? Killian had basically become the highlight of her days and now that was just going to...end?

“Yeah, I...guess so.” At least he sounded as unenthused at the prospect as she was. 

She was tempted to offer to push him down the stairs to keep things going, but who only knew what kind of damage that would do, so she held back and kept focused on the task at hand. Which was suddenly becoming blurry; how did a shirt get blurry?

“I truly can’t thank you enough, Swan, for helping me out so generously. Getting to know you...has been the best part of this.”

“My pleasure,” she replied, not knowing what else to say and hoping he couldn’t hear how watery her voice was.

But, of course, he did. “We’ll still see each other around, right?”

“I dunno; you live really far away,” she quipped back, hiding behind her walls again. He was one of the few people to get through them and if he was backing out, she needed to start rebuilding them.

“I think I can manage getting over here from time to time,” he said, with that dumb sweet soft smile she loved and hated equally. “You’re definitely worth the journey.”

Now she was blushing and almost crying. She didn’t know that was a thing. And she knew if she tried to say anything, she’d probably just put her foot in her mouth, so she silently focused on the task at hand, almost reverent in her care. 

She tightened the strap on the sling—probably for the last time—and stepped back to survey her work. But Killian caught her hand before she got too far away, and found her eyes with his intense blue gaze. 

“Seriously, Emma—I couldn’t have gotten through this without you. It certainly wasn’t how I had planned on making your acquaintance, but now...I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He brought her hand to his lips, just like the first time, and placed a gentle but firm kiss on the back, never breaking eye contact. “Thank you.”

She was left no less speechless than she was back then, but she couldn’t reply as casually as she had; too much had passed between them now. Really, only one thing popped into her mind, and she acted on instinct. 

Squeezing his hand tight, she rose up on her toes and found his lips with hers. Why her mind went straight to kissing, she had no idea, but there was no turning back now—especially not when he broke her grasp to pull her close, and her arms snaked around his neck. 

There was none of the hesitation on his part like when they hugged despite this being a whole other magnitude of physical contact, but that didn’t register until after the fact; right now, all she could focus on was how talented his tongue was against hers and how he tasted of that delicious pumpkin spice coffee. Damn, he was good at this; what other things was he good at?

But then her fucking phone went off again, making them break apart. And then it sunk in: she kissed him. What the hell? This changed everything. (Or worse: what if it didn’t?)

“I, uh…” she stuttered, her speechlessness catching up to and now paired with breathlessness. 

“That was…” He sounded equally wrecked. 

“I’ve...I’ve gotta get that. I’ll see you around. Good luck today. Just...leave the mug when you finish it. Um...yeah.” She cast one lady glance at his utterly fuckstruck face before turning around and heading back inside, collapsing against the door once it was closed. 

But before it shut, she’d heard him say three perfect words: “As you wish.”

What the fuck—what did she just do?

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

He didn’t dream that, did he? Did Emma just kiss him within an inch of his life?

He’d managed to blurt out the only thing that came to mind after she blabbered her way out of whatever that encounter was, but after the door shut, he had to lean against the wall next to it, lest his legs give out. 

His fingers found his kiss-swollen lips and he let out a long exhale, reminding himself how out of breath he’d been left. 

Bloody hell, that really happened. He’d certainly imagined it many times—and other, far more intimate things while enjoying a bit of self-love—but the real thing put all his daydreams to shame. The way she’d pressed herself against him, warm and soft; her sweet scent mixed with her savory flavor; but most of all, how he swore their hearts were beating in time for one star-crossed moment. (Yes, he was being dramatic, but that was pretty much his M.O.)

He shook his head to clear his brain; he couldn’t stand there all day being lovestruck, or else he might still be there once Emma finally went on her way. Which he typically wouldn’t consider a bad thing were it not for the way she attempted to close herself off at the end. He knew what she was doing—trying to protect herself—and he’d give her some space for the moment. 

But, as he headed back to his place and out into the day, he started formulating a plan. He knew other people had walked out on Emma and that was surely what she was expecting of him—but he’d be damned if he let that be the case.

He’d barely made it in the door of his apartment that evening when he shook off his jacket, tossed the sling on the back of his sofa, and turned around to knock on that familiar door again. He still wasn’t exactly sure what he was going to do or say, but Emma hadn’t seen him for the last time.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

The first thing Emma saw when she got home that night was the mug Killian used that day still sitting on her kitchen counter, waiting to be washed and put away, where it would probably sit unused for a long while. She didn’t do the whole having-friends-over thing, so despite her small collection of mugs, she tended to just use her favorite one every day. Even if washing two was a bit extra work, she was glad to do it if it meant having Killian’s company.

She sighed for what felt like forever. He didn’t need her anymore. Regardless of how he kissed her today, that was the truth of it, unless the doctor had bad news. It would still have to come to an end eventually, though; better to rip off the bandage now.

Why she kissed him, she still didn’t know. That wasn’t like her. She was no stranger to one-night rendezvous but there was never an emotional connection with those, not like she’d developed with him. In some way, it was putting the ball in his court, she guessed. He wasn’t the kind of guy to take advantage of a situation, she knew, but life had taught her to not hold onto too much hope, despite the constant preaching of her best friend.

So when a knock came at the door, she just assumed it was the pizza she’d ordered on her way home. At least she had that to look forward to—and the bottle of wine in the cupboard. 

“Thank God, I’m star—ving…” she started as she opened the door, but trailed off when she saw what was on the other side: not some scrawny delivery boy, but Killian. “Uh, hi.”

He looked just as amazing as he had that morning: slightly disheveled hair, blue plaid shirt, and those well-fitting pants that she had watched saunter away more than once. But something was missing. 

“No sling,” she said, though it came a bit more like a question. 

“Nope; clean bill of health.”

“That’s good then.” She wasn’t anywhere near as enthusiastic as she probably should have been. “So...what are you doing here?”

She could see the wheels turning in his brain—he was working up to something. He wet his lip with his tongue, but couldn’t seem to get the words out.

As distracting as that tick was, her nervous side started to bubble. “I mean, it’s not like you need help getting your shirt on or anything,” she quipped anxiously.

He immediately smirked and his eyebrows leapt in amusement. Oh no—she just fed him a line, didn’t she?

“No,” he drawled, taking a swaggering step forward. “But I’d be glad to have your assistance in taking it off.”

If it were anyone else, she’d call it out for the skeezy come-on it was, but not him. He knew he was being ridiculous and he wanted to see what she’d do. And it didn’t help that he couldn’t keep the sincerity out of his voice.

There was really only one way for her to reply to that. She stepped up to meet him and found the top button, the one that let that tempting thatch of hair below it breathe. For a second, she just traced it with her fingertip, then went ahead and undid it. Her heart was racing the entire time and she was pretty sure Killian stopped breathing, especially once she looked up at him to see that he was staring at her intently. 

“I can think of worse ways to end the day,” she told him, echoing their first conversation.

He started to smile but she didn’t give him the chance to unleash his full grin before she grabbed his flannel collar and pulled him to her. His lips didn’t taste quite the same as they had that morning but it didn’t matter; she wanted to discover all his flavors, every day. 

She tugged him inside her apartment and he kicked the door shut behind them as the kiss continued. Her fingers continued to work at his shirt, undoing her earlier handiwork, and his hand and wrist drifted to her waist. 

It was a bit jarring when her back hit the edge of her kitchen island, but she just took that as a chance to switch directions. She released the last button, letting his shirt fall open, and then slipped her hands under the fabric on his shoulders as she pushed the two of them in the direction of the couch. 

Her hands drifted to his trim waist as she guided them around the end of the sofa, only breaking the kiss to make sure she wasn’t pushing him into any obstructions (god, she’d be so embarrassed if she broke him again). But as soon as they were clear, she pushed him down onto the cushions and then one by one set her knees on either side of his lap to straddle him.

HIs gaze had darkened considerably, the normal sky blue turning a hazy midnight, and his hand had somehow found its way to her ass and was cupping it reverently—which shouldn’t have even been a thing, but this was Killian; that was just how he was.

They’d sufficiently reclaimed their breaths, evidently, because they surged forward to meet again, and Emma’s hand drifted back up to his collarbones. She tried to be gentle, but need was overtaking her as she pushed the soft fabric down over his shoulders to his biceps, squeezing the muscles as she went, until—

—Until he pulled back, wincing and hissing in pain. Fuck. “Oh god, are you alright? What did I do?”

“It’s fine, love,” he said reassuringly, letting his head fall back against the couch (and giving her a perfect view of those freckles on his neck that just looked so damn kissable but now was not the moment). “Just still a bit sore; take it easy on me, aye?”

“Easier said than done,” she blurted, not even thinking about it. He cocked an eyebrow in amusement and she felt her entire face flush red, and not from arousal. “God, I fucked this up, didn’t I?”

“How on earth could you have done that?”

“Because I don’t know how to do...this,” she said, gesturing between them.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Emma—you’re a marvelous kisser.” He winked (poorly) and squeezed his hand, which was still on her rear end.

“Ha,” she answered dryly. “Just...why are you even here?”

HIs face lost its humor and turned serious, but there was still a softness that made her heart melt a little bit. “Well in case you hadn’t noticed, I quite fancy you. And I couldn’t bear to never see you again.” 

She looked away. “Well, it wouldn’t be never. Our mailboxes are right next to each other,” she deflected.  

“I know but...I want more than that.” His hand finally left her back pocket and nudged itself under her chin, guiding her eyes back to his. “I’ve spent nearly every morning for the last six weeks with you, darling, and I’m sure you’ve picked up that I’m a creature of habit. And starting each day with you is one tradition that I’d be loath to lose.”

He’d never been more honest with her, she could tell. And it was a little overwhelming. 

“What do you say, love?”

Despite her past, despite her fears and heartbreaks, and despite his, she took a deep breath, swallowed, and stared into his intense gaze. “It’s a date.”

He broke into that adorable, wide-eyed, incandescent grin that she couldn’t help but return, but it was quickly drowned by another round of kissing (much gentler on her part). 

And it was also quickly determined that her bed was much softer than the couch. 

They left a trail of clothes from the living room to her bedroom, but she insisted he keep the shirt on until the last minute. 

They were kneeling on her bed, naked save for that bit of cotton, which she finally pushed down off the ends of his arms.

“How long have you been waiting to do that?” he asked, voice low and breath hot on her ear.

“Since the day you first showed up.”

He pulled her tight to him with his left arm and she finally got to enjoy the divine feel of his chest hair and warm skin against hers—somehow more amazing than even her imagination had come up with, both soft and coarse, teasing and abrasive; kind of a lot like him. 

And then he was guiding her to laying down, and after only minor fumbling, was pressing inside her, which is when most coherent thought ended on her part. There was a lot of “fuck”, “damn”, “yes”, and “YES” going on, from both of them, as he thrust in and out and she met him move for move.

She worried he’d aggravate something again after they came (an incredible moment, really) and he collapsed alongside her, but she held onto his shoulders in some vain attempt at support, and he was clearly practiced in relying on his right arm. They did the necessary cleaning up stuff, but then fell back into bed and he pulled her close. 

For the first time in ages, she spent the night in a guy’s arms and wasn’t looking for an escape route.

(Having him a few more times over the course of the night probably helped. She was already looking forward to when he was less sore and she could be on top.)

(The pizza and wine were icing on the cake, though she probably scarred the delivery boy by answering the door in just Killian’s shirt. She got to see just how nimble those fingers were when it was his turn to unbutton—and then when he used them to make her come undone as well.)

The next morning, she got out that second mug again as she brewed another batch of pumpkin spice coffee.

And proceeded to button his shirt for him, albeit sadly, now that she knew what lay underneath.

But it was okay, because she got to undo it again that night, and every night thereafter.

(The only morning she didn’t button him up was on their wedding day.)

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

thanks for reading!!! tagging some friends:  @kat2609​ @thesschesthair​ @optomisticgirl​ @shipsxahoy​ @amortentia-on-the-rocks​ @mryddinwilt​ @cocohook38​ @annytecture​ @wingedlioness​ @word-bug​ @distant-rose​ @wellhellotragic​ @welllpthisishappening​ @let-it-raines​ @pirateherokillian​ @bleebug​ @its-imperator-furiosa​ @fergus80​ @killianmesmalls​ @sherlockianwhovian​ @ineffablecolors​ @laschatzi​ @ive-always-been-a-pirate​ @nfbagelperson​ @stubblesandwich​​ @killian-whump​​ @lenfaz​ @phiralovesloki​ @athenascarlet​ @kmomof4​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @snowbellewells​ @idristardis​ @scientificapricot​ @searchingwardrobes​

[longitud-de-onda]

Being Steve’s cousin and having an enemies to lovers relationship with Javi headcanons pls ;)

i loved this and it got kind of long, oops. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i don’t think anyone’s complaining.

Your company is opening an office in Colombia and you’ve been asked to assist with the transition. A two months in Bogotá sounds like a dream and you’re even more excited to see your cousin, Steve. 

He and his wife have offered up their guest bedroom, and you’re thrilled at not having to work out a living situation. 

Plus you and Steve were best friends growing up. You went to the same elementary school and were close until your family moved away. You still got to visit him all the time because your moms were two of the closest sisters in existence. You wondered often how they could get along so well. You hated your siblings growing up.

You finally make it down to Colombia and after a 24 hour grace period for the jet lag, Steve is begging to take you out to his favorite restaurant.

Connie loves watching the two of you smile like idiots while bickering, and calls in the reservation before you even agree to going.

When she says a reservation for four you stall, and she explains that Steve is best friends with his coworker, and that you have got to meet him, since he’ll probably be around more than half the time anyways. They’re practically like family now. 

That night you’re waiting for this mysterious coworker at the restaurant, absentmindedly snacking on some appetizers while Connie and Steve act way too cute then should ever be allowed in public.

When Javier comes in with his tight pants and leather jacket you know exactly what kind of man he is, which is only confirmed by the way he greets you with a sickening grin.

“Well who do we have here?”

And you kind of want to puke because first of all, ew? And second of all? Connie said he was always around and if you had to be with the sort of guy who would be trying to get into your pants, you wanted a flight back to the states. 

Things only get worse as the night goes on and the conversations slows, causing Javier to ditch the table to go up to the bar and start hitting on some poor girl who actually falls for his charm and is all over him.

He turns around to wink at Steve before making his exit, the woman clinging to his arm.

Steve just shakes his head and chuckles.

“You’ll get used to it. That’s just Javi.”

“It’s disgusting, Steve.”

Thankfully things get busy with the DEA and you’ve become bogged down with new employee training so you don’t really get the chance to be bothered by Javier for a week. 

You have to go into the embassy to fill out some paperwork for US companies in foreign countries. You had cooked something for lunch and packed a second container, thinking that you might get the chance to drop some off for Steve. He hasn’t been home for a meal in a few days and you know home-cooked food can make a big difference.

The smile on his face at the bright red tupperware is worth all the pages you had to read that morning.

He can’t stop to talk for too long since he’s got way too much work.

Javier returns to the office, muttering about a bad meeting with someone from the CIA and Steve laughs. 

“I’m gonna head back, nice seeing you, Steve,” you smile.

Javier only just notices that you’re back. He takes in the container on the desk and Steve’s newly refreshed expression.

“Playing housewife now?”

You almost punch him. 

Instead you just walk out of the office.

As you leave you hear them talking.

“You really don’t like her, huh?”

“She’s too much of a goody-two-shoes.”

“Careful, Javi, she’s my best friend. And she’s family.”

“Doesn’t make her an interesting person.”

You try to forget about it until a week later when you’re back with some coffee for Steve. When you get to his office, Javier’s the only one in.

“Can you give this to Steve when he gets back?”

“Do it yourself.”

“I would but he’s not here, obviously.”

“Fine.” 

You scoff. This guy’s really an idiot, “Fine.”

A day later Steve and Connie invite you to go to a bar with them to unwind. That lasts all of thirty minutes, as the happy couple disappears into the bathroom, leaving Javier and you groaning.

“They’re the worst. I hate going out with them,” he says and you’re surprised.

“You hate it too?”

“It’s like they’re rubbing it in everyone’s face, how perfect everything is.”

You find yourself laughing, and the night goes by surprisingly fast as you discover that Steve has been on both your cases about being single. Steve’s been trying to match you up with random guys from the embassy, and has been dropping all these hints to Javier that he should be settling down by now, not out sleeping with informants all the damn time.

You go to sleep that night wishing you weren’t thinking about Javier and his goddamn smile.

You start going out with the three more often, teasing Javier when he gets rejected by girls and having him complain when you get drinks bought for you all the damn time and reject every single one of the guys.

“You’re exactly like all the girls who are ruining my night.”

Secretly, you're glad every time he’s turned down. 

Your return flight is coming sooner than you expected, and two weeks out you get an offer to stay in Bogotá for a two year contract. But this has really just been a vacation, a nice one, but you’ve got a life back home, right? 

Apartment. Job. A friend or two. (Maybe not really a life if you were willing to admit it. The past few weeks have got you living more than you have in the previous few years.)

One week away and Steve and Connie are out for a date. You’re spending the evening with a microwave dinner and some tv when a knock on the door reveals Javier with two beers in hand. You haven’t exactly been the type to hang out together without Steve facilitating things, but he’s here and you’re not complaining.

After sitting and talking for the better part of an hour he asks you about the suitcase in the corner of the room. It’s one of the two you brought down, and it’s all packed up for your flight. 

“You’re really leaving, aren’t you?”

“Yes?’

He lasts maybe another five minutes before excusing himself. You could tell something changed. 

You sit, sipping at the bottle for a little longer, thinking about leaving Colombia. It’s a lot sadder than you had expected it to be. 

And then you realize you don’t like the idea of waking up and knowing there wasn’t the chance of Javier nagging you about something or telling you off for being an asshole to another “well-intentioned guy.”

You have to do something so you leave the apartment, run down the stairs and practically slam down his door. 

Javier answers, a confused look crossing his face and he opens his mouth.

But he can’t get a word out because your lips are on his and your hands are around his neck. When he realizes what’s happening you can tell because he reaches on hand up to your face and the other around your waist and the kiss deepens in intensity. 

You pull back.

“What was that?”

“I can’t leave, Javi. I can’t leave you. I can’t ignore this.”

“Really?”

“No. I’m going to take the job down here. I—I think I might love you.”

“Thank god,” he exhales and grins. “I thought I was the only one.”

[sepublic]

Your character analysises are so cool. I was wondering if you can do one for Amity. I chose her since she made a lot of appearance so you will have lots of canon events to work on:>

Sorry for the late response!

This is KIND OF a big challenge, and I’ve already done multiple posts analyzing Amity’s character before. So for now, let me just try to quickly summarize it all up, with what we’ve learned since Adventures in the Elements, and give my overall views on Amity and how I see and write her;

The impression and vibes I get from Amity is that she’s the kind of kid who’s got a lot of pressure on them to do well both at school and at home. They’re really desperate for the approval of older, authority figures like teachers and adults, in part because this sort of kid is lonely and doesn’t know how to make friends. This kid is likely to push friends away, not only because of pressing from adults to be better and not dragged down and prevent bad influences (a dilemma made only worse by her trouble-making siblings), but also because she likely has insecurity and self-loathing issues and doesn’t think she’s ‘good enough’, either for her own accomplishments or friendship in general. She kind of gives me Impostor Syndrome vibes. She’s mean to people like Luz both because she feels like she can’t be distracted, but also because Amity doesn’t really believe people would un-ironically want to be her friend, so to avoid being hurt she pushes others away.

Obviously, this is not doing good for her self-esteem and she’s lonely. Emira and Edric’s teasing has likely contributed to Amity being afraid of opening up, and if it’s with adults who have a lot of expectations on her, I guess it’s not a surprise she tends to be emotionally stifled. She definitely has Gifted Child syndrome where she places a lot of self-worth on being that ‘mature, obedient’ kid that the adults all love, with Amity not realizing this will only result in her emotional stagnation and lack of maturity later on in life from a lack of proper social interaction. Tellingly, when placed into bad situations that are arguably more the fault of an adult/teacher, she never blames them for it, and instead externalizes her anger on someone else involved. Amity has a huge respect for authority, which is likely connected to her desire to be in the Emperor’s Coven. Aside from membership in the Emperor’s Coven representing approval on the highest societal level, access to all forms of magic (she likes Azura and whatnot), and approval of the adults who set Amity on her path, it’s also likely that she thinks that she can friends, or at least others like her in the EC. To Amity, the Emperor’s Coven probably consists of what her parents and others may deem as ‘acceptable’ friends.

Naturally, a combination of insecurity, high expectations, and terrible social interaction has also led to Amity being a bit of a bully, but only in a reactionary sense; She doesn’t seek out drama like Boscha would. If she’s left alone, then she’ll leave you alone; But if she feels like you’re messing with her, Amity WILL be aggressive. With Willow, she also goes out of her way to ‘help’, but it’s obvious that she’s echoing a lot of bad tactics that seeks to remind a person of their failures; So it’s probable that the same things she said to Willow in her first appearance, were similarly said to Amity herself by her own mentors. Likewise, Amity’s self-doubt probably leads to her bullying Willow, because in her mind, she deserves to feel good about herself, and the elitist attitude she was taught has likely told her that people like Willow who do badly in school are just lazy and ‘deserve’ their bad grades.

Still, there’s that incessant loneliness. And while Amity does try to be super-mature, and live up a standard of rules -such as respecting hard work- and so forth... She’s also really freaking lonely, which is why she initially tries to reconnect with Willow in Episode 3. She’s not sure what to think of Luz because again, Amity doubts anyone would un-ironically be invested in her, and also because Emira and Edric likely tend to act friendly, then mean, and then brush it all aside afterwards; So she has trust issues and isn’t sure if she can trust Luz and open up to her. Amity’s a very closed-off individual.

And amidst all of her obsession with hard work and the pressure on her, I get the impression that Amity isn’t necessarily talented like her siblings or Willow, and actively has to work hard for her grades? Granted, it could just be because she’s expected to be the best at everything, but there’s also the possibility that she lacks talent and has to make up for it through sheer determination. Which, combined with expectations placed on her, both as a Blight and also because adults know she’s less likely to complain and act out and do as she’s told, it just gets very uncomfortable. Amity needs a place to be herself, but alone, because she doesn’t think anyone would really accept her, for who she really is?

(I mean, we all know at least ONE person...)

At the same time, while she definitely has to try and not just ace everything effortlessly, I also think she genuinely loves and enjoys school, education, and teaching in general; It’s just that making it into a standardized grading system sucks the joy out of it all, as Eda might say. Amity enjoys reading to those kids in Episode 7, and there was a promotional crossover post prior to the show’s premiere about Amity trying to pitch an educational series and being saddened when she got rejected. This girl is a total dork, as if her love for Azura wasn’t already enough!

I also think it’s why in Adventures in the Elements, she becomes a lot more open to Luz, happier around her, and even sort of initiates social connection by waving her hand at Luz at one point! She’s afraid of rejection and loneliness, of not being good enough... But Luz is someone who likes Amity just as she is. And I think Amity is a little anxious to be on Luz’s good side, to not mess up with her like she did Willow (which, Amity may still have reservations about being friends with Willow again... Even if her biases were gone she might still feel guilty, and/or get defensive when called out on her behaviors because Amity feels like she has to defend what adults have told her to do). I think she’s also afraid of getting taken advantage of, given her hurt expression when she found Luz with her Training Wand... But at the same time, she doesn’t want to throw away a friend because she’s been so lonely and found someone with a mutual interest. So in addition to that and Luz’s previous kindness, she’s still concerned for her, and it pays off when Luz comes back to help Amity!

TLDR; This is a lonely, insecure kid who has a lot of pressure on her and doesn’t know how to talk to people, so she internalizes a lot of stuff and ends up becoming off-putting as a result, because she doesn’t want to be hurt. But by the end of the day she’s a still total dork and a dweebus and wants friends and still feels guilt for being mean, but because of expectations on her to be better, Amity feels like she has to prove herself and that also leads to her not wanting to hang out with the ‘wrong friends’ as a result. She’s coped with loneliness by vying for adult approval, and likely operates on a strong sense of right and wrong. She has been hurt before, and her interactions with her siblings make talking with people a lot more confusing to Amity; I wouldn’t be surprised if someone might make a joke or something, and Amity, totally-serious and deadpan, would take them at their word for it and not realize said person was joking.

In short, I love her alongside everyone else in this show-

[stillness-in-green]

Shigaraki Birthday Week, Day 6: cake

If Magne wants cake, she’s going to have cake.  That it’s a good team-builder is just icing.   (Contains one extremely vague reference to Shigaraki’s backstory, but it’s not even the really big part.  Otherwise spoiler-free through Kamino.)

———–      ———–      ———–      ———–

Magne considers the facts thus: 

           -Kamino has got everyone a bit down. Lost the kid the boss wanted, lost the big boss, lost the hideout, their names are out there making their way around the wanted lists and the bulletins.  Well, hers had been making those rounds already, but the League of Villains has jumped her up the charts the same way All Might retiring will do for that fiery Endeavor and the rest of the top ten.  

          -The boss has been working much too hard since Kamino.  He started out moping, like anybody would if they lost a parent (or whatever it is that All for One was to him), but pulled out of it nice and quick and then threw himself into planning.  Expand the group, find new safe spots, get that new power he sent Kurogiri after.  It’s good that he’s keeping busy—being rudderless and adrift is just about the worst feeling there is—but overwork is a problem too, and with Kurogiri and All for One both gone, there’s no one in the group that can do much to talk him down.  

          -Her birthday is this weekend, and if she can’t spend it with her friends—what with being on the run from the police—she can at least spend it with her new group.  And why not?  Being at the top of the Most Wanted list, that’s a thing worth celebrating, and it’ll bring the group closer together.  Working well together’s an essential part of pulling off a job, and with their numbers down—at least for now—they could all do with some team-building.

          -She wants cake.  And who doesn’t like cake?  It’s a bit gauche to plan your own birthday party, but then, she doesn’t have to say it’s for her birthday, now does she?  

…Fate is not feeling quite so amenable, unfortunately.  Twice is reeling in a new recruit and Spinner’s laying low—the most recognizable in the group, poor thing, at least as long as he’s insisting on the Stain cosplay. Dabi’s playing Mystery Man instead of Mystery Date, worse the luck, and Toga’s still off on whatever errand she’s playing at that’s got her texting from a burner phone instead of her little cute pink one.  

Mr. Compress, the dear, is completely on board.  He also makes stealing a cake a complete breeze.

———–      

“Do you think Shigaraki-kun is more of a chocolate or a vanilla person?”

“That’s hard to even contemplate, isn’t it?  Well, if I were to hazard a guess between the two, wouldn’t it be chocolate?  Isn’t vanilla a bit plain for a villain?”

“But there’s so much you can do with vanilla—what about one of those fruit cakes, with all the strawberry?”

“Strawberry seems more like little Toga’s preference, doesn’t it?”

“Then what do you think?”  

“I prefer pastries, myself. One of those delightful French confections with more layers than a stack of bank notes.”

“Haha!  That’s so you!  Then how about cheesecake?”  

“Might that be a bit rich for our dear leader?”

“He’s not that childish.  And I’m not walking out of here with finger-food.”

“How about that one, then?”

“With all the powdered sugar?  And him in all black?  He’d never get it out!”

“Now who thinks he’s childish?”  

“Childish or not, you know it’s Kurogiri doing their laundry.”

“I’m not sure anyone’s doing his laundry.  Hmm.  Perhaps this one?”  

“Oh!  Cute!”  

“But not too cute?”  

“No, that’s a good one. Let’s go with it.”

“Decision made.  Then let the heist begin!”

“It’s already most of the way finished, isn’t it?”  

“Let me have this, please.”

———–      

Shigaraki knew they were coming.  Mr. Compress had texted.  He’s a stickler for details like that: you can’t expect to carry off a successful heist if you don’t work out the details, apparently.  Shigaraki’s sitting against the wall waiting when they come in.  

He didn’t know they were coming with cake.  

It looks like an average-sized thing to him, not that he’s got a lot of experience, squared-off into ruthlessly clean edges that show off the alternating dark and cream layers.  The top’s covered with a chocolate icing and drizzles of bright red glaze over the kind of “casual” arrangement of raspberries and blackberries and a couple of pale yellow macarons that means somebody with tweezers probably spent an hour agonizing over exactly how to put down every last piece of it.  

He looks up from the cake to Magne and Mr. Compress, both of them staring at him expectantly—he can just sense it on Mr. Compress, even with the mask on. 

“Is this a joke?”  

“Rude!” Magne huffs, leaning her magnet bar against the wall, where it sticks to a pipe with a clang, and dragging over a crate to sit on.  “Call it a housewarming present.”

“You must admit, our new surroundings could use the color.”

The color makes my eyes hurt, Shigaraki thinks, but that’s too petulant to say out loud, so he doesn’t.  Instead, he opts for, “We’re not going to be staying here long-term.”

“Perhaps not, but we are here for now,” Mr. Compress replies amiably, pulling out a marble and materializing himself a very familiar chair.  

“Did you steal that from the bar,” Shigaraki says, tone flat and disbelieving.  

“At the time, I preferred to think of it as ‘reserving a seat.’  And now that the bar’s gone, it’s just salvage, isn’t it?  I’m waiting for a chance to surprise Kurogiri with it, so keep it under your hand, would you?”

Magne tries—she fails, but she tries—to muffle an undignified snort of laughter; Shigaraki just glares.  

“Shall I get us started?” the magician asks with a lilt of good cheer, and an outdoor café table complete with plastic tablecloth appears between the three of them.  Magne sets the cake down and pops the clear plastic lid off of the box.  

“This is stupid,” Shigaraki says, standing up.  

“Why, because we don’t have utensils?  Actually—”

“You brought a table with you; you obviously brought utensils too.  That doesn’t make it less stupid.”  He turns to go back to the trashed office he set up shop in when he and Kurogiri found the place.  I don’t have time to play around like this.  I’ve got to show Sensei I can—

“Honestly!”  Magne’s voice is tart; when he turns to flash her a glare, she does—Good—flinch back.  But after a few tense seconds, she follows up by sitting up straighter and jutting out her chin.  “Enjoying the spoils is part of being a criminal, Shigaraki-kun!”  

All right, it’s good that his League isn’t made of cowards, but this is still stupid.  

“She’s quite right. And being on top means you get first cut.”  Mr. Compress brandishes a knife that’s much bigger than anything you’d need to cut a cake with, especially the one they brought.  “Won’t you show us how it’s done?”  

Shigaraki pauses, scowling at his own hesitation as much as their familiarity.  

“It’s good to let your followers do as they like sometimes, Tomura.  If you enable someone’s happiness, you become associated with that happiness.  In turn, your followers look for ways to return the favor.  And just as moments of injustice can poison a mind, so can happy memories become totems that will drive people to their best efforts.”

Sensei talked a lot about how to handle followers, especially after he lost to All Might. Shigaraki got sick of hearing it, honestly, and it turns his stomach to have it come back now.  But if I go back to the office I’m just going to stew on if I should have done it or not.  

“Are the masks an issue?” Mr. Compress asks, and slides his own halfway off, blinking one warm brown eye at Shigaraki and giving him a sly grin.  “I’ll have to take if off to eat, of course; so you won’t be alone.  And we’re hardly in a position to take you to task for how you wish to present yourself to the world.”

Magne jabs him once in the ribs, looking unrepentant when he yelps, and smiles up at Shigaraki from her crate when Mr. Compress rubs his side and compresses his mask down to marble-size.  

“Come have a bite with us,” she says, direct.  “If only the heroes get to enjoy themselves, why even become a villain?”  

“If you were going to pose rhetoricals like that, we should have stolen wine, too,” Mr. Compress complains, but allows himself to be shushed and begins setting out plates with poor grace but reflexive flourish as Shigaraki walks slowly back over to the two of them.  

He stares down at the cake, trying to remember the last time he even ate something like this.  A restaurant or something, right?  Sensei took me out after the whole thing with the cruise liner.  

The restaurant looked nicer than the crumbling plaster and the leaky pipes on the walls here. But he had to pretend to be normal there, and he itched the whole time.  Just the memory brings his nails up to his neck, and he indulges the habit as he reaches up and gingerly pulls off Father.

Mr. Compress and Magne don’t even pretend not to stare; the former holds up his hands disarmingly when Shigaraki meets his eyes, but the latter just tilts her head, taking in the sight of him.

“You know, at this point I was expecting worse?”  She laughs to herself and hands him a plate.  “Come and eat.”

She didn’t turn away. It pulls at something inside him, a memory of people’s eyes finding him and then sliding away like he was one of those yokai that would follow you home and rip you to pieces if you made eye contact.

Huh.  Sounds nice.  

He slides Father into his pocket and takes the plate.  

He doesn’t end up finishing the cake slice.  

…But he does take all the macarons.  

[heaventoyou19]

A concept called Love

Growing up, Disney channel presented love to be this beautiful thing that’s obtainable when you have beauty, grace, a pretty face and a good heart with only an evil step mother or some witch as an obstacle. Looking back to when I first started dating, you can say that I was actively looking for Prince Charming to save me from my, oh –so-terrible life. I victimized myself and it wasn’t just because of the shows that my eyes and brain consumed almost daily… I also didn’t have the best role models growing up. That and I didn’t really have anyone to talk to about things encompassing love, what society deems attractive and horrendous, what’s actually right or the difference between love and toxic luggage. I had to run through a lot of case scenarios on my own to actually get an idea of all of this; and from what I can tell – love isn’t really worth the hassle.

I’ve been in relationships before and honestly speaking all throughout those relationships, I’ve only ever felt loved by one of them. Let’s call him, Zachary. He was my first love and I really thought that he would be my last. The only time I pictured my future to have more than just me, myself and I was when I see us marry each other. But that obviously, didn’t happen and what we had really set me up for actual character growth.

All throughout our relationship, we always had obstacles coming from both sides. By the end of our relationship, I was suffering in silence while he avoided me like a plague to solve his problems. He’s a great guy, but looking back, we were just too volatile and toxic for one another. He chose to end our little tango and I will forever be grateful for that. After months, almost eight actually, I realized how much love I was giving and pouring into his cup when my own neck was parched. I lost complete sense of myself and I truly didn’t have an identity because of how much I was breaking down every wall that I had just for him. I thought this was love.

I came to realize now after 19 years, 5 months and 2 weeks of living, how people truly navigate around the topic of love, entitlement, infatuations and lust; using myself as subject #1 under ‘people’.

Throughout my healing process I began to talk to my fellow peers to see if my situation was similar to theirs. Some were, but most had it worse than I did. Slowly I tried to get those peers to talk more. This gave me an insight as to how they managed their love lives; a limited scope but I take what I can get. Using my famous “you can trust me” frontier, you would be surprised at how quickly I could get someone to talk about what’s really going on in their romantic rendezvous. People are usually pretty reserved about the topic and want to maintain the “perfect for each other” exterior but I was really desperate for answers. It was a little manipulative on my part, but I really didn’t mean any harm when we had our conversations. After listening to their stories, I can tell that the one trait we have in common is that we love unconditionally – wait no, blindly. We let ourselves be stepped on like doormats thinking that this is love. Sacrificing our rights and literal self- worth is the measure of how much we love our person. In addition to this, the idea of wanting to complete and be the half of another literal person was something that kept popping up throughout our talks. So, by nature we have this need to fix someone and hence feel needed. And to that, we were legit smack talking their past exes and I’ve witnessed others literally gossip and complain away about their significant other. It got me thinking if this was what will naturally come with “Love”. Losing yourself, losing your cool and your head it’s… is this it? Is my self-worth and well-being worth that little to be traded with a problematic concept that just hinders a person from truly becoming the star that they are?

Sacrificing that freedom and the longevity of our sanity… is it worth it?

I used their stories as personal data to justify my prejudice on love. I wasn’t surprised when I found out that ‘Love” equates to “I want to be the reason why they change,” “they changed because of me,” and the “I’m the one destined to fix them.” As a friend, sister, cousin, girl fresh out of a relationship and  a fellow closeted rational – thinking human being, I can’t help but wonder why – why do we put a lot of significance in fixing someone? It’s not our responsibility to give up our freedom and put other people’s shit onto our plate. And yet, this is normal. Looking back to all of the Wattpad love stories I’ve read back in 8th grade, it was always bad boy meets good girl, good girl fell for bad boy, bad boy hurts good girl, good girl turn cold, bad boy suddenly realizes he loves good girl, bad boy changes for good girl and a whole dramatic sequence of finding true love at such a young age. This way of thinking is literally played out in movies, books, fanfictions and looking at the married couples around me, sometimes I wonder why they’re still together. It sounds harsh but really, it is mind bottling. These are two individuals who live completely different lives and time and time again, I had to watch them comply with the gender norms and get frustrated because of it. Succumbing to the mindset of how love works and how marriage works its… odd. We are expected to shed away our individualistic nature for a label that will only erase our names. If I get married it wouldn’t be, Lilac this or Lilac that- it would be X’s wife did that or Jane’s mother did this. Was all of this worth it for something as unstable as “Love”?

Reflecting on my relationship with Zachary, I realize I never truly needed him when I want to accomplish anything academically. The only thing that followed him each time he returns to my life was endless drama – not the good kind. So, in other words I could still hit great, grand milestones until my very last breath without him – and since he was my first love, then that meant I could breathe without “Love”.  Without love, I still have me, my thoughts and freedom which is worth more than just a concept that may or not be true. Something so changeable with time, that’s what “Love” is. Therefore, I stand by my words , “Love” whatever it is- it’s not really worth it.

[misssophiachase]

Remember this story? If not, I don’t blame you! I have been adding (and in some cases amending) my fics and uploading to AO3 and am hoping to get a couple done because they are almost finished. Thanks to @romanoffsbite for the stunning cover : ) Click on the cover above for the link to the full story on AO3. It’s also on FF HERE 

Synopsis:  British Ambassador to the USA, Klaus Mikaelson, needs a babysitter to look after his daughter. Enter nanny, Caroline Forbes.

Lessons in Diplomacy - Chapter 7: Attaché

British Embassy, 3100 Massachusetts Avenue NW, Washington DC

"I know this isn't exactly what you had in mind when we discussed a date." Klaus looked at Caroline apologetically hoping that she understood. Klaus was used to his job disrupting every other facet of his life, but it had been so long since he liked someone, let alone went on a date, that he wasn't familiar with the protocol.

As if his job wasn't difficult and time-consuming enough, he also had an eight-year-old who required constant care. Darcy had woken earlier that day with a stomach ache and he'd been reluctant to leave.

Klaus had spent the past week planning their date and had made reservations at one of the best new restaurants in DC as per Rebekah's recommendation. He could have hired a sitter for the evening but given Jane had recently decided to retire from her post and Caroline was his alternate he didn't have much choice. Not seeing Caroline wasn't an option, it had already been six days since the ice hockey game and Klaus was greedy for some alone time without the peanut gallery (also known as his siblings) commenting.

"I don't know," she murmured. "At least I get fed, so that's something sort of date-like. How's Darcy feeling?" His face softened, he liked the fact she was so concerned for his daughter even though they'd only met a few times.

"Well, last time I checked she was asking the chef for some chocolate brownies, so I think we can safely say the worst of it is over," he explained.

Klaus was worried that Darcy wasn't okay with him dating Caroline given her miraculous recovery earlier. He figured it would be difficult for an eight-year-old to get their head around the fact their babysitter was also dating their father. Klaus was solely devoted to Darcy and she always came first, no matter what. That's why he thought it was important to check she was okay.

One hour earlier

"So, brownies hey?" He asked, approaching his daughter. She was lying in bed, hair in messy pigtails and wearing pajamas while watching Frozen on her iPad for what Klaus swore was the millionth time. If he was told to 'Let it Go' one more time, he'd lose it.

"I haven't eaten all day, I was hungry," she whined. Klaus took a seat next to her and ruffled her hair affectionately.

"For chocolate, Darce, really?"

"I think it's the only thing that will make me feel better," she argued. "Trust me on this, dad."

"Oh, so you're now a medical expert?" She gave him a look which meant he wasn't funny. "Everything else is okay, right? I mean, besides the stomach ache?"

"It's fine," she answered, scrunching her nose up in that adorable manner he loved. "Well, except for the lack of brownies."

"You know Caroline is coming over tonight, right?"

"Can we play together? I want to show her my new nail polish and tell her all about what Marcy Johnson did for show-and-tell. Oh, and we need to read the next chapter of The Little Prince." The fact she spoke so excitedly and seemed to genuinely like Caroline filled him with warmth.

"Well, actually she's coming to see me tonight. You know how I told you last week that I like Caroline and wanted to spend some time with her?" She nodded. "Would that be okay? I promise you can see her next time."

"As long as you promise," she smiled.

"Pinky swear," he grinned, interlacing fingers with her. He then leaned down and murmured in her ear. "How about I get Marjorie to bring you up some of those brownies, sweetheart?"

"Well, I actually brought her a little something, there's nothing worse than being stuck in bed sick with nothing to do," Caroline murmured bringing him out of his trance and handing him a brightly coloured bag.

"You really didn't have to, Caroline," he smiled warmly, thinking just how kind and considerate she was, amongst other things.

"It's nothing," she replied. "I know that she's trying to out-do Marcy Johnson on show-and-tell so I thought this might help." Klaus was beginning to think this Marcy Johnson was going to be a problem and the fact Caroline knew, and after such minimal contact, was extremely telling. She obviously mistook his silence for something else. "I know it isn't all about competition.."

"The hell it isn't," he laughed.

"Like father like daughter," she teased. "Although I've been known to get a little competitive myself, just ask Katherine about our days in the Cheer Squad." Klaus had to admit the visual of Caroline in a tiny skirt and pompoms wasn't entirely unwelcome. He coughed, attempting to regain his composure.

"How is Katherine? I asked Elijah after the ice hockey but he's like a vault, no one is getting any information from him. I always thought he would have been an absolute asset in the secret service."

"Good apparently," she murmured. "Although given your sister's interest in her designs, Katherine's workload has increased ten-fold, not that she's complaining. I've always known Katherine was talented but it's really great to see it finally acknowledged."

"That's good news," he smiled, thinking how generous Rebekah could be and happy that her best friend was the recipient.

"When I left tonight she was still at her atelier, apparently your brother was dropping past to get fitted for a suit for Saturday's reception."

"And here I thought she already had his measurements," he grinned knowingly. "So, I probably should invite you inside given this is a date and everything?"

They were still standing in the front hall and Klaus watched as Caroline shed her excessive layers of clothing to ward off the chill outside. Her blonde hair hung in loose waves around her shoulders and her creamy skin was tinged pink from the cold air.

It wasn't until the last layer, in the form of a thick, woollen scarf, came off that Klaus was stunned into silence. He'd seen her mostly in jeans and casual clothes which were flattering anyway but she'd certainly made an impression with tonight's outfit. The little, black dress fit her perfectly and highlighted every delectable curve. He felt his mouth go dry, willing himself to speak but nothing was coming out.

"What's wrong? She asked, looking down at her ensemble. "Do I have something on me?"

"No, " he stammered. "You just, uh, you look.."

"And here I thought diplomacy was about being a good conversationalist?" She smirked, her blue eyes twinkling mischievously.

"You look stunning, Caroline, not that you don't always look good because..."

"It's okay," she soothed, placing her hand over his. "Message received," Klaus mentally kicked himself thinking what an idiot he must sound like to Caroline. He planned to be confident and suave but obviously the horse had bolted on that. "So, what's for dinner?"

They were taste testing the menu for his welcome reception on the weekend and Caroline had offered to play guinea pig for the evening. Klaus much preferred her as his date than having to sit through it with Rebekah and her excessive amount of opinions.

"Just so you know, Rebekah tells me there's no foie gras or black truffles on the menu. She wanted to avoid any messiness on the night."

"Now the real Klaus Mikaelson is back," she teased. "You realize there won't be another date with me, outside or inside the Embassy if you continue to bring that up? I could talk about your form at the ice hockey game the other night if you'd prefer?"

"I know it's called a puck," he replied defensively.

"I'm glad you called though," she smiled. Klaus couldn't get over how one smile could take his breath away but Caroline wasn't like anyone he'd ever met. "It's nice to know you're not that guy who says he'll call and doesn't."

"The twenty-something-year-old, college me probably would have," he explained. "But I haven't been that guy for a very long time."

"Since Darcy was born?" Klaus knew he'd changed a lot since his daughter came into his life but he also knew that he'd matured long before that.

He paused briefly gesturing in the direction of the dining room so he could compose his answer while they walked. As they did, members of his house staff smiled and greeted Caroline personally on the way.

"Wow, I've been here so many times that people know me. Do you realize that I didn't even have to tell the security guys outside why I was here? Usually, they are so foreboding and serious but I swear I saw Ahmed crack a smile."

"You got Ahmed to smile? I'm impressed, love. Let's just say word travels fast around here, mainly due to my nosy siblings who have no filter whatsoever as you witnessed the other night," he chuckled. "Just consider yourself my personal attaché."

"Attaché for what? Last time I checked I don't have the requisite skills to be your military aide or any other aide for that matter," she laughed.

"How about we stick with Personal Attaché to the Ambassador?"

"And what exactly does the Personal Attaché to the Ambassador do, Your Excellency?"

"They stop saying Your Excellency like that because the Ambassador might lose all sense of control and want to skip dinner altogether."

"Oh I know what this is about," she purred. "You make a girl come to your house and expect her to put out. Just so you know, I'm not that easy, mister." Klaus hadn't expected the night to go there so soon and he'd be lying if that comment teamed with the cheerleader visual wasn't messing with him.

"I happen to think it will be well worth the wait," he smiled, pulling out her chair.

"Now, there's that diplomacy in action."

"The chair yes, but just so you know, my diplomacy doesn't extend to that familiar kind of language. If I'd said that to the Ukrainian Ambassador I'd be on the floor," he joked. "She has black belts in both Taekwondo and Aikido."

"Just so you know, I'm glad you only say things like that to me," she smiled, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek before taking a seat at the table. "And I'd be willing to fight the Ukrainian Ambassador for you, in case you're wondering."

"You've got to stop saying things like that, love," he murmured. "I think we definitely need to eat before I do or say something untoward." She giggled, sending him a sly smile from across the table.

Katherine Pierce Designs Inc, Cady's Alley, 3318 M St NW

"You do realize I have your measurements, right?" Katherine asked, smiling at the eldest brunette.

Elijah had called her earlier in the week to ask if she'd fit him for a new suit for the Welcome Reception. She'd agreed but also mentioned how busy she was and he'd suggested dropping past her atelier to make it easier.

"It doesn't hurt to double-check," he offered. "Plus, I brought you dinner to say thank you." He held up a brown paper bag enticingly. The combination of hunger and relief on her face was enough to tell Elijah he'd made the right call.

"I love you," she smiled, grabbing the bag excitedly before realizing what she'd said. "Oh, well, I, well you know what I mean."

"You must be starving given that response," he chuckled. "I promise I won't take any offense."

They walked inside and she cleared her table so they could eat. Elijah could tell she was tired but he didn't think she had ever looked more beautiful with her long, dark locks pulled into a ponytail, wearing simple jeans and a t-shirt combination with a measuring tape hanging around her neck as if it was an accessory.

Elijah Mikaelson was a professional and cautious person who was solely focused on his work. The fact he was so successful and wealthy was case in point. He didn't often let himself feel or get involved with anyone but there was something about Katherine Pierce that had intrigued him from the moment she spilled hot coffee all over him.

Yes, at first he was angry but decided that was due to the hot, scalding water rather than the woman who did it. She'd not only apologized repeatedly but had fitted him with a brand new suit for his meeting. Elijah didn't consider himself a clothes horse but if there was one thing he knew it was how a well-fitting suit should look and feel. And hers were not only classic, but they were also well-tailored.

"You don't have to buy another suit you realize?" She stated, clearing her plate and looking up at him curiously. "Oh come on, Elijah, I know you have like a thousand suits you could wear on the weekend."

"Well, maybe not a thousand," he joked. "And yes, maybe I could, but I want a Katherine Pierce original to mark my Washington DC Embassy debut. I also happen to know that both Niklaus and Kol would like to be fitted up as well."

"You realize I'm good but not that good, right?" She asked, mouth agape. "Especially with all the business your sister has thrown my way before the big reception for your brother. I'll be making suits until next month at this rate. Not that I'm complaining, of course, your family's generosity has been amazing."

"Well, Rebekah has her moments," he teased. "Maybe I got a little carried away." He was staring at her earnestly now, afraid to tell her how he felt, especially after such a short time but also knowing exactly what to say, he was new to all of this. He noticed a slight but adorable blush cross her cheeks.

"I like a man who gets carried away," she cooed. Elijah moved around the table, deciding that once he got to her he'd hopefully know what he was doing until his cell decided to ring and interrupt the moment.

He was so close to her now, his lips mere inches from hers. Elijah looked at her helplessly, he wasn't one to ignore calls especially if they were work-related. He noted the caller ID. It wasn't his work but he felt a sudden need to answer it.

"Answer it," she murmured, her hand brushing his arm briefly. "I'll go get your suit and we can start the fitting." He nodded, thinking his brother was going to pay for interrupting him.

"Kol? What's going on?"

"You need to get down to the hospital right now, there's been an accident."

British Embassy, 3100 Massachusetts Avenue NW, Washington DC

"So, is it a bad sign that we aborted the taste-testing to scoff Darcy's brownies in the kitchen instead?" Caroline asked, licking the remnant chocolate from her fingers while moaning about its delicious flavor. Klaus decided then and there it wasn't safe for her to do that in his presence unless sex was in their future. But given it was kind of their first date he knew that was not a possibility.

"We don't have to tell her," he replied, taking another bite. "Plus there was nothing wrong with the menu, we both just decided we wanted to binge on brownies more than canapés and whatever that crab, artichoke and brie thing was."

"Yeah, that was, uh, interesting. Is Darcy going to be upset we ate her dessert?"

"Oh, you mean my naughty daughter who was supposedly so sick with a stomach ache that she couldn't go to school today?"

"You wouldn't want to go either if Marcy Johnson was in your class," she quipped. "I had a Marcy Johnson except her name was Dana Andrews and she tried to beat me at everything."

"Is there something I should know about this Marcy Johnson you know besides her views on how boys act when they like girls?" Klaus was beginning to think he was a bad father given both Caroline and Darcy knew all about her and he had absolutely no clue. "If she is bullying my daughter..."

"Chill, Klaus," she soothed. "Marcy is just an annoying know-it-all, but we've got it in hand. Bonnie said she and Kol are taking her to the zoo next week so she'll have plenty to talk about for show-and-tell."

"It's remarkable how much you know about my daughter and her movements," he laughed. "I didn't even realize Kol was taking her to the zoo but I suppose he'll fit right in with his animal friends. It's nice of Bonnie to babysit both Kol and Darcy for me on her day off."

"You realize she likes Kol, right?" Klaus was dumbfounded. Sure, he had the tendency to miss certain things but that fairly big detail he would have known about. Well, he thought so anyway.

"No, they can't stand each other," he explained. "At first I thought it was this cute banter thing but Bonnie is way too smart to be seduced by him and we all know Kol likes to play the field too much to even consider a steady relationship, especially one with my best friend."

"I don't think excessive rambling is going to make it any less true, Klaus," she replied, rolling her eyes. "Bonnie couldn't take her eyes off him when he was playing the other night, plus she told me all about how Kol ends up in her ER all the time due to injuries. Coincidence, I think not."

"Well, I'll be damned. Is there anything else I don't know?"

"I think your sister and the bodyguard are in denial, I sat next to them at the hockey and the combustible energy between them is enough to..."

"Okay enough about my siblings and their sexual urges," he drawled. "I never thought our date would descend into a discussion about them and Darcy's know-it-all nemesis from school." As he said it Klaus, couldn't help but feel completely happy and comfortable in her presence and how things had turned out. It was as if he'd known her for years, not weeks.

"Caroline..." he murmured, his voice raspy. He ran his hands through her waves and pulled her closer, his sole focus on her lips. He was wondering if they were as soft as they looked and if they'd taste like chocolate. Klaus figured it was time to find out.

His phone rang at that exact moment. He wanted to ignore it and finally kiss her without distraction but Caroline had already pulled away from his grasp and was picking up his phone from the counter.

"It's the zoo animal," she explained holding it up so he could see the name Kol displayed on the screen. He faltered, thinking it could probably wait but the moment between them had passed and given Kol knew they had a date he figured it must be important.

"Niklaus," he said before Klaus could speak. "You need to get down to the hospital." Klaus felt sick from all of the memories it evoked, it wasn't the first call he'd had like that before.

"What's happened?"

"It's Enzo, he was shot on duty and they're not sure if he's going to make it through the night."

[exobyharu]

PCY - One Shot

Image source to follow. I just Googled it like this

“You just freaking downgraded me!”

Summary: PCY knows that he’s being a five -year-old for treating you like a guy. But what’s a man to do when the girl he likes is taken? Here’s a friendly little back and forth with PCY a few days after you break up with your boyfriend.

⏰10:01 AM

🌏A deserted mall parking lot, but only because it’s not open yet

🌞The kind of sunny that makes PCY squint.

👥YN, Park Chanyeol, Byun Baekhyun (mentioned), YBN (your ex-boyfriend) (mentioned)

Notes: It’s been forever! But I’m still alive! There’s a little mention of implied violence, but it’s all just cute, really. Sorry I take too long! 

Words: ~2,100

💙💙💙

“Or you can quit telling me how to live my life, Chanyeol,” you complain, putting your phone down because you finally spot Chanyeol getting down their company car in his glorious failure of a disguise – a white cap and facemask, worn under a hoodie with the word BALENCIAGA spelled in angry bold letters across his broad back. For an idol who has spent years in the limelight, you would think that the guy had grown wiser in his choice of outfits for public places like, this instance, a mall parking lot. Even that middle-aged woman raking leaves across the entrance gives him a second look.

Who wouldn’t?

Because there is no need to walk like that – with a slight upward tilt in his head, one hand pressing a phone to his ear and the other on his hip, strutting confidently with smooth, long strides. You make a mental note to remind him that the pavement is no catwalk. It’s almost mesmerising, watching a real-life supermodel approach you, looking fresh even when his eyes are squinting hard against the mid-morning sun.

About three meters away, his voice is distinctly Chanyeol, but just a bit huskier than usual as if he is dying to put on a show. Too bad there seems to be no one else watching but you.

“It’s real! You’re here!“ he calls out anyway, extending a clenched fist – a move that you recognise is reserved for his male friends. You stare at the fist bump that never happened, knowing well what he would say if you take his bait. Something along the lines of: For a man, your hands are small, or How’s my brother in a woman’s body? or That’s my little YN-niee! which is always followed by Yah! I really wish you were born a guy!

So you stare at his hand, not sharing the level of his excitement. Shit just happened. You have too little energy to deal with Chanyeol’s fantasies of you as his younger brother. When he notices your lack of enthusiasm, his outstretched hand goes for your head and attempts to mess your hair up instead. “You must be desperate to waste money. The mall does not open in an hour.”

Just desperate to get out of my head, really.

On a regular day, you would hate even the wind for ruining your hair. But this time, his hands are surprisingly gentle. You make an effort to ignore how it feels and snap back at him, anyway. “It’s called Retail Therapy. You just don’t understand the joy of buying yourself new clothes because you never have to.”

He proudly concurs with a smug raise of his brows. “That’s true. I never have to.” It’s that attitude of his that always earns him a slap to his arm. But his fingers are playfully combing through your hair now, and you do not exactly hate the feeling. So you just let him, hoping nobody with a camera on his person ever sees this happening.

“Meanwhile, may I comment that the whole look you went for this morning is aptly low profile,” you tell him for the sake of saying something.

But what you say makes him tug at his training pants reflexively. “These?”

When he removes his cap, pulls down his mask, and appraises his outfit, you realise that he had just overlooked your sarcasm.

“Uh-huh. It totally pleads Don’t Stalk Me, Dispatch. I'm Not Park Chanyeol, I Promise.”

He chuckles. “It’s protection,” he reasons, completely getting rid of the cap and mask.

“Protection? From what? The sun?”

This time, it is you, genuinely not picking up on the joke – or pun – either way, you know that he spends quite a lot of time with his good friend Baekhyun who gives equally horrible punch lines. You have met the guy a few times and you are sure that the baffled look you had on your face is the exact same one you’re giving Chanyeol at the moment.

He seems to enjoy it. It takes him a few seconds to explain. “It’s protection from you.”

From me?

“Excuse you, but I’m the one who needs protecting!” You argue and it makes him grin from ear to ear. You realise that you had just given him the reaction he was hoping to get.

“No, you don’t,” he insists, “Based on last night’s phone call, you’re upset over your boyfriend. And do you know what you do when you’re upset, in general?”

“What?” Frankly, you know that you do a lot of things.

“You flail your arms around and hit people!” Chanyeol exclaims, and then he stretches his arms out and flaps them, trying to imitate how you’re supposed to look. It’s ridiculous how he is making it appear worse than it actually is. “You and your little man paws! Hitting innocent people all because your boyfriend made you cry again! It’s about time–””

“Yah! For the final time, Chanyeol, I am not a man! Also, must I tell you, he’s not my boyfriend anymore!”

“Shut it! You are one of us so that makes you a – wait, you… He… What?” There’s a bit of a delay, but in a snap, his energy drops, his eyes grow wide and your first point is now obviously abandoned.

“It’s what I said,” you clarify reluctantly. “And, my main point right now, please stop treating me like a guy, already!”

Chanyeol’s not hearing any of what you just said. His eyes remain on yours, searching for any hint of a lie.

He does not find one. “You’re saying… That YBN is not?? …Anymore?”

Again, the same reaction. It’s the same words, the same tone, the same look of caution and concern – it’s always the same questions every time you tell somebody new. All the repetitive explaining is starting to become more painful than the breakup itself. You hate it more than you can express. It makes you lose it for a moment and yell at your friend with careless regard for your surroundings. “You understood the first time! Why does everyone want me to spell it out?!”

That is when you realise that he is right. Your hands have a mind of their own.

“Yah! Yah! That’s what I’m talking about!” Chanyeol whines, using his forearm to fend off a jab that you were about to give him. Just as he had predicted. “Watch out because people around here will know who you’re hitting. Do that a few more times and you’ll be exposed. My fans won’t like it!”

You roll your eyes at his sudden mood shift after confirming your breakup. There’s no way you’re missing Chanyeol’s smile that is starting to inch in. He never really liked YBN. Now that you’ve broken up with the guy, you can already hear the satisfaction dripping in his voice when he delivers his much anticipated I told you so because this time, he’s right. You grumble, exceptionally annoyed, because of how right he is.

“Anywaaaay, back to why I need protecting…  You’re right. He nearly hit me.”

And you wonder why Chanyeol’s pretty slow on the uptake this morning. He takes two seconds.

“What!?” Finally, his eyes nearly bug out of their sockets. He takes another second to shake his head from disbelief and then asks again. “He what?!”

This morning, Chanyeol’s a freaking cartoon. His aggravated expression seems out of place, given how much he has been confronting you about your now-ex-boyfriend’s alleged tendency towards violence. He saw it coming. Why is he so surprised? Your eyes roll.

“Relaaaaax. I’m more capable than I look. I started training for–”

“Stop that!” he interrupts, dismissing all humour from the situation. “He hit you?!” And he’s angry, possibly even more furious than your father had been. You certainly don’t remember doing anything that warranted any scolding. But here he is, getting all worked up while you stand your ground with hands in your pockets because you are starting to pick on your nails. Despite your nerves, you try to remain as calm as you could, and you are determined to make him realise that you’re not the enemy here.

“You’re not listening to me, Chanyeol! I said he nearly, and by nearly, I mean he missed. He punched the wall behind my face instead.”

You say it with a convincing smile, but Chanyeol still does not respond. He inhales sharply and looks up the sky, pulling his hair – what he does whenever he could not get his point across.

“But I’m kinda proud of myself, so thanks for asking twice,” you continue, still grinning at him and trying to keep it cool. You’re not about to just watch him blow up. Not now and certainly not here. An angry Chanyeol is not a fun Chanyeol. So you let the silence ensue as you watch him, whose eyes are still closed and is obviously putting in the effort, himself.  

He fails.

“Fucking hell. Who hits a woman!?” All of a sudden, he starts to furiously rub his face against his palms until his nose turns pink. “Does he know who he’s messing with? Have you seen how small he stands beside me? I could crush him with–”

“Park Chanyeol!” You yell at him this time, because it is the only way to snap him out of it. “He messed with me. Not you. And I’ll remind you that you’re my dad’s student, not my bodyguard!”

“But I am also your friend!”

That had done it. He yells even louder, causing a dog to bark in the distance. It brings him back to the present, as you notice him consciously steal a side glance at the parking entrance, making sure nobody has come to watch the show.

When he sees that nobody’s there, he grumbles something incoherent. I’m a special friend, it sounded very much like. But he shakes his head again and promptly rephrases that. “Look, I am your good friend, first of all! I can’t believe you just freaking downgraded me!”

That you did. But that’s only because you think he’s getting too involved in this. You’ve let it go.

Why couldn’t he?

“You see, this is why I didn’t get to join your family’s dinner last Friday. Also, this is why I didn’t tell you over the phone! Look at you!”

He does. He realises that his hands are now impulsively clenched into fists at his sides, and his feet, apart, and planted to the ground as if he is preparing for a fight. With you.

“Calm down a little? I had enough testosterone when I told my dad about it last night,” you explain. You’re not about to let yourself get another round of scolding. This morning is all about recovery. “I promise I’m okay and I’ll feel even better when I get to shop for things I like!”

Your false eagerness seems to exasperate him even more. “Again, that’s a waste of money. You’ll surely buy clothes you won’t wear again!”

“How am I supposed to… Give me alternatives then!” you demand. He’s got way too much opinions any way.

But Chanyeol accepts his chance and then he goes, “Hm,” full of scrutiny, as if he has something better in mind. It turns out that he actually does. And by better, he means better by his standards. “How about I teach you how to throw a proper punch?”

“You mean, boxing?”

He nods.

And you think hell no. You eye him suspiciously, peering at him from under his cap that he had just placed on your head. “If this about making me a man, I swear to–”

“Come on, just come on! I’ll make it fun!” His mood seems to shift for good this time. “We can tape his face on the punching bag and you can pretend to be hitting him!”

“Nice try, but that only hurts my hands. It’ll make no difference,” you tell him, even though a part of you considers the idea an entertaining way to get over yourself already.

“It will, I promise. I’ll fund your next shopping spree if I don’t convince you.”

The suggestion gets you thinking even more. It’s not a bad deal, is it? You bite the bullet and Chanyeol sees that he’s got the upper hand. You both smile. “Any more benefits?” you ask. And his response comes as a reflex. “That, and I’ll make sure your punches reach him through me.”

“Park Chanyeol!”

“Hahaha! I’m just kidding!” Chanyeol promises, playfully holding his fists out in front of you. You don’t quite miss that devious smirk. “Or am I?”

💙💙💙

- end -