#every single corner of the internet is yelling and/or on fire about something at the moment

[torchickentacos]

#i sit down after a long day of lecture and errands. #i finally get a moment after dinner to check social media. #it's just one of those days where the entire internet is going to shit‚ huh? #every single corner of the internet is yelling and/or on fire about something at the moment #i think i'm going to just go play guitar for a bit skdskjfkdfhnb. #ok to rb btw lmao we stan tracey here #i try to not do vent/neg posts without some weird pokeani screencap sdkjskdjskd #lighten the mood a bit

[gettingbywithalittlehelp96]

New Series!!

Hello everyone! I know it has been forever since I posted something but now you know why! I have been working on this amazing request for @noctvrnalmoth​ 

Something Good

Summary:You and a Rob are looking forward to starting your life together, but will your relationship still be perfect when you find yourselves in the apocalypse?

Characters: Rob Benedict x Reader

Tiptoeing across the floor, you jumped onto the bed and leaned over your boyfriend who was still fast asleep. 

“It’s time to wake up,” you purred playfully in his ear.

He responded with a groan, burying his face in the pillow.

“Come on Mister, you need to get up.” 

Nuzzling his cheek with your nose, you started placing peppered kisses over his shoulder and neck

“Come on my handsome man,” you whispered, running your fingers through his hair and playing with his curls. “I’ll make it worth your while if you get up.”

“My god woman, you are relentless,” he replied with another moan. Flipping over onto his back he put his arm around you, looking up at you with tired eyes. “Baby I love ya but I need to get my rest if I have any hopes of meeting your sexual standards.”

“Awe, Robbie. What makes you think you’re meeting them now?”

“Ohh,” he teased with a chuckle. “Is that so?”

Placing your lips on his, you climbed on top of him, legs straddling his sides. Hips rocking back and forth, fingers raking and tugging through his hair, you waited to pump the breaks until you knew you had him riled up.

“Well I better get going,” you whispered, pulling back to look at him. “I don’t want to be late.”

Flashing him a grin, you stood from the bed and walked into the bathroom to begin getting ready for the day.

“You know I still don’t understand what a guy like me did to get a girl like you,” he called out. 

“I still think you put something in my drinks that night,” you yelled back.

“I’m serious Y/N. What does a guy like me have to offer a girl like you? You have so much ahead of you and your talented and--”

As he started to trail off, you slipped on your shirt and walked back out into your room to find him sitting up against the wall with his head back and eyes closed like he did when he would wake up with a headache.

“Are we having a bad day?” you asked, starting to button your shirt. “Hmm Mister?”

Eyes landing on you, he threw his hands up in frustration. “Seriously! Look at you Y/N! Did you come out here like that just to make things hard on me? You should not be this hot! I am going to go old and grey and you will still be hot.”

“Look at you!” you fired back. Setting down beside him on the edge of the bed, you rubbed your hand up and down his leg. “Baby even when you do eventually go grey you won’t ever be old. Besides you’re only seven years older than me, that’s nothing. And it means we have plenty ahead of us.”

“You mean like a house and a dog? Maybe a couple kids running around?”

This idea made you smile. “Yes. Exactly.”

“So that means you would be okay with us finding a place of our own?”

“You mean a place with a closet for your stuff so you wouldn’t be living out of a suitcase on my bedroom floor anymore?”

He gave you a nod. “You think you would like that?”

“I would love that,” you replied, still grinning like a fool.

“Alright. You got it beautiful. I guess you better tell Karen it’s time to start looking for another roommate then.”

Lunging forward, you planted a sweet kiss on his lips, then as you went to pull back you noticed the time. You were well on your way to being late for work.

“I need to get going or I am going to be in big trouble,” you told him. “And if you wait too much longer you will be too.”

You guys did your best to get ready for the day but it definitely wasn’t easy. Soon you were finally able to get in your cars and go in your perspective directions. Once you arrived at the office you were able to slip in unnoticed, even though you were a couple minutes late. Luckily your boss also had a habit of being late.

“Well, well, well. Look who decided to join us.”

Looking up from your computer you saw your friend standing in the doorway with two cups of coffee in her hands.

“Yeaahhh,” you replied with a grimace. 

“Did someone have a hard time getting out of bed this morning?” she asked, wiggling her eyebrows at you.

You started to laugh. “When have I made it on time to anything since I met him? I swear to God that man is going to be the death of me.”

“Awe, aren’t you two just the most adorable couple.”

Walking over she handed you a coffee which you immediately took a sip of as she sat down across from you.

“Speaking of being cute, he asked me to move in with him today. He wants us to get a place together.”

“Did you say yes?” she asked.

“Of course I said yes.”

“You guys are going to be engaged within the year,” she stated with a chuckle.

“We’re definitely going to have a dog by then. Rob really wants a dog so I’m sure we’ll be getting one as soon as we find a place.”

Shooting up from her chair she flashed you a smile. “It looks like I have some online shopping to do then. You know I’m going to have to get you guys the best house warming present ever.” 

“Booze! Lots and lots of booze!” you called out as she walked away.

Your day was busy. Vetting new hires and heading up training sessions. Ordering new equipment and handling accounts. Whatever free time you had you were searching the internet for a home for you and Rob. Before you knew it the day was finally coming to it’s end and all you could think about was getting home to Rob. Just then your phone started buzzing. He always seemed to be thinking of you at the same time you were thinking about him.

“Hello my love,” you said into the phone.

“And hello to you as well my darling,” he replied. “Are you done for the day?”

“I am indeed.”

“What do you think? Should I pick us up some dinner on the way home?”

“Yes please. And I was thinking while we ate, we could look at some houses.”

“Oh really?”

You could practically see the smirk on his face.

“I’ve actually been looking at houses all day,” you said, proudly.

“Me too Y/N. Now get your pretty ass home so I can ply you with wine and take advantage of you.”

“You talk a big game Mr. Benedict, but can you deliver?”

“You’re right Y/N I’m more of a cuddler than a take you roughly from behind kind of person.”

“Yes Robbie you are right. I’ll see you back at home, baby.”

“See you later. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Hanging up the phone, you locked down your computer and grabbed your stuff, but as you headed through the lobby and towards the front door you were stopped.

“Hey Y/N?” The secretary called out. “Did you happen to hear from Janey today?”

“No. I figured she had just taken one of her vacation days.”

“Boss says no. She thought maybe Janey had called in sick but I never heard from her. It looks like she just didn’t show.”

“I guess we’ll find out tomorrow,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “Is there anything else you need from me?”

She shook her head and you left and headed out to your car. Pulling out of the parking lot you turned right just like you always did and started driving towards home. You liked taking the backroads home to avoid that rush hour traffic that cluttered up the freeway. That’s why you found it so strange, when you came around the corner and found yourself at a dead halt behind a pile up. The red flashing lights a few cars ahead signaled what had to be some sort of accident. Then the waiting began. You waited, and waited, and waited. You waited so long you were pretty sure you had listened to every station on the radio at least once.

“This is a mandatory message from the state of Washington.”

Letting out a growl you continued searching the channels.

“Please stand by. This is a mandatory message from the state of Washington.”

Soon every single station had been taken over. 

“This is Sonny Sheradon from your local news channel eight bringing you the latest update on a new strain of flu that has made its first appearance in our county.”

That’s when your phone suddenly started to ring.

“Y/N? Where are you?” Rob asked as soon as you picked up.

“Oh yeah, sorry, I was just getting ready to call you. I’m stuck in traffic. It looks like some sort of accident.”

“Are you able to pull off somewhere? Do you want me to come and get you?”

“No I’m pretty boxed in, Robbie. It shouldn’t be too much longer though.”

“Okay baby. Well, I got dinner. I’ll keep it warm for you till you get here.”

“Oh! Hey! We’re starting to move!” you exclaimed. “I’ll be home soon.”

Putting the car in drive, you slowly sneaked past the ambulance and police cars. That’s when you saw the covered body in the back of the ambulance. It wasn’t a car accident that had tied up the traffic but something else. It caught your attention but only for a brief second because you shrugged it off shortly over and continued your drive home as if it were any other day.

 Tag List:  @tas898 @natasha-cole, @shanghai88, @collinscosmicentity, @two-sidedsoul, @klinenovakwinchester, @lara-bradbury, @i-hear-crazy-calling-my-name, @missihart23, @internationalmusicteacher, @sherlockedtash88, @narisjournal-blog, @itsfunnierin-enochian, @rblstrash, @princess-of-erebor1992, @sirraxa, @wontlookaway, @burningrupture, @brokencasbutt67-writer, @winchestergirl-13, @marichromatic, @notfunnystillhere, @kocswain, @apeshit7x, @spnmightkillme, @damn-it-destiel, @cyrilconnelly, @srtaprieto, @dropthepizza346, @queenofhellwithcrowley, @pinkykayley, @lauragail2007, @idabbleincrazy, @probably-writing-something, @hunterpuff, @regandm, @lucerospn1detc, @draiela, @zeddlocket, @jayyx3oxo, @deanwherescas   @linki-locks11  @marshmallowfroggy @smoothdogsgirl @mewjacki (As Always feel free to let me know if you want to be tagged)

#rob benedict #rob benedict fanfiction #Supernatural RPF #rob benedict x reader #rob benedict x you #apocalypse au #supernatural aesthetic

[pixelatedrose]

Soulbound Part Two

First | Part 2 | Next

Ao3 link

Masterpost

Word Count: 2,955

Pairings: Platonic LAMP, Prinxiety, Logicality, Background Remile

Warnings: uncensored swearing, bullying, mention of drugs and alcohol, threats, Unsympathetic Remus, Unsympathetic Deceit, implied mention of sex (wow this fic went from 1 to like 67 real fast) Please leave a comment and tell me if I missed anything that should be tagged or if you want anything tagged!

Summary:

Roman Prince and Logan Rose are soulmates. They’re platonic soulmates though. They both have the same Soul mark to prove it. But they both have one other soul mark, binding them to one other person. And when they find Patton Miles, it just so happens that they’re both his soulmate. Logan being his Soulbound Soulmate, and Roman being a platonic soulmate. But something feels missing. And it feels filled, shockingly so, when they meet a certain someone a year and a half after they found each other.

IMPORTANT NOTE!! I changed all of their last names cause I didn't like them. So. Yeah. Also sorry this seems a bit late, I got caught up with doing things and school and we had a ton of snow (where I live we never get snow) and so I was a little distracted all week. Sorry about that y'all!! But its here now, so yeah!! Hope you enjoy!!

Chapter 2

Roman woke up with a start, his wrist stinging. He looked over at his clock that read a time much to late- or early- for it to be reasonable. He rubbed his stinging skin and tried to go back to sleep. 

  This was a regular occurrence. Waking up at two am to a stinging wrist or shoulder, sometimes an ankle or forearm. Once he woke up nearly screaming as his left side felt like it was on fire.

  He didn't quite know what it was, but Roman never thought much about it. I mean, people woke up with little pricks sometimes, right? He'd probably slept on it wrong or accidentally hit his bedframe in his sleep.

  Roman lay in bed, tossing and turning as he tried to fall back asleep. He looked over to the clock once again and sighed. It was only an hour before his alarm went off.

  Not seeing the point in trying to go to sleep anymore, Roman swung his legs over the side of his bed and started getting ready for the day.

  After taking a shower and pulling in clothes, Roman's alarm rang out two seconds after he was done styling and drying his previously wet hair. He slapped it off as quick as possible, suddenly not wanting to wake anyone else up.

  Roman inched out of his room and into his brother's, flipping on the lights, much to his brother's dismay.

  "Turn the goddamn lights off…." His brother muttered through his pillow.

  Roman sighed. "Nope! C'mon Remus, it's time for you to rise and shine- or whatever it is that you do when you're awake- and get ready for the first day of school!" He walked over to the broad window and threw open the blinds, letting light filter and flow into the already lot room, the sun beams hitting Roman's twin in the face.

  "AaaAAAHH!!" His brother screamed. He sat up in bed and shielded his face. He glared at Roman after adjusting to the light. "I'm going to sell your organs on the internet you pile of horse sh-"

  "Love you too, brother! I'm gonna go make breakfast now okay bye!!" Roman zipped downstairs, not wanting to stick around to see whether his brother would act on that threat or not.

  Ten minutes later Remus came loudly down the stairs and yelled at his brother. "DID YOU GET OUT ALL THE CEREAL AND THE POPTARTS?!!?"

  Roman sighed, looking at the counter that was overflowing with four different cereals and a box of poptarts. "YEAH BRO MAN I GOTCHU!!" He yelled back.

  Remus entered the kitchen area with his heavy heeled boots and skipped over to the cereals. He poured a little of each box into a bowl and unwrapped a poptart and crumbled it on top. He went to the fridge and pulled out a carton of not milk but orange juice and poured it into the abomination that was in his bowl.

  Roman looked away and tried focusing back on the eggs he had in the pan in front of him. "I cannot believe that you actually eat that, Remus! It's revolting!" Roman bemused.

  Remus shoveled a spoonful into his mouth, staring at pointedly. "You," he sputtered through the mouthful of 'Cereal'. "My brother, have no taste." He swallowed and gestured to his bowl. "This is a masterpiece of a meal!!"

  Roman made gagging noise and slid his single solitary egg onto a piece of toast. "That's not even a meal! I daresay it would harm someone rather than anything else!"

  Remus scoffed and took another bite.

~~•~~

  Today was the first day of their sophomore year, 10th grade and they couldn't wait for it to start. Or at least, Roman was excited. Remus had made his opinion adamant; he couldn't care less if the school caught fire.

  But nonetheless, it was a day they'd all been awaiting, whether eagerly or with disdain.

  Patton had stuffed his backpack full of snacks and colorful pins as gifts for his new classmates and friends.

  Roman had excitedly roused his voice in preparation for theater and barber shop choir he was sure to audition for.

  Logan had packed up notebooks and pencils and pens, all fitting perfectly in his backpack as he awaited learning, a year ahead of his peers.

  Remus had done nothing but think up pranks and plans of destruction of freshman newbies for the start of the year. His phone pinged and he picked it up to look at it.

  A boy known around school as Deceit had discretely packed his bag and pockets full of liquors and drugs to sell to anyone who'd buy. He looked at his email and raised an eyebrow. He turned to his messages and shot a text to his partner.

  And a person of seemingly infinitesimal importance shrugged on a black and purple jacket and sighed heavily. He didn't look forward to this. What's to say it was going to be any different from last time?

  And so, life started as sophomores for each and every one of them.

~~•~~

  Virgil Sanders walked up to the front of his new high school. A place to start over… he thought.

  He pushed his way through the doors and tried to think positively.

  "Well helloooo there my good newbie of a kid!!" A voice rang out. Virgil startled back and bumped into someone behind him. How did someone get behind him so fast??

  "Ah, ah! Don't be scared my good pal!" The person behind him said, his voice was a little too reassuring, a little too happy.

  "I-I'm sorry...I'll just find my own way around…" he stammered out. He didn't want to try and be cocky and make enemies this early into the school year. And his anxiety was telling him to play it safe.

  He didn't even see the two that were harassing him before a voice trilled out, "Oh there you are, babe!!"

  Virgil felt an arm wrap around his shoulders. "Hon-ey you've got to stop running off like that! Gurl, you're gonna lose that cute purple head of yours in the crowd if your not careful!" Virgil looked up to see a boy wearing aviator shades and a leather jacket.

  "Uhm--?" 

  Virgil started before the sunglasses'd guy turned and whispered in his ear, "Just play along, babe…"

  "Right…" Virgil turned and kissed the strange man's cheek. "Sorry babe, won't happen again." He cuddled up to the man and wrapped his arms around his waist. If he was gonna play the part, might as well make it convincing.

  "That's right honey bae! Now let's get you to class!" And the two walked away hand in hand.

  As they rounded the corner, the man parted from Virgil and turned on him. "Sorry bout that honey, but gurl you were in real danger there!" He held out a hand. "The name's Remy b-t-dubs."

  Virgil shook it. "Virgil. Thanks. And sorry for the kiss." 

  Remy laughed and waved his hand at Virgil. "Oh pah-lease babe! Trust me I probably enjoyed that more than you think I did!" He winked and laughed again at Virgil's flushed face. "Now, stay outa trouble, ya hear? Cause auntie Remy ain't always gonna be around to save that cute face of yours hun. But here's my number in case you need anything!" Remy took out what looked like a business card and handed it to Virgil.

  Auntie Remy. Gossip wheel, late night counseling, party boy.

  At the bottom a number was printed. "Hey what-" but Remy was already gone.

  What just happened?

~~•~~

  Remus was pissed. He had received the text from Deceit that morning that there was fresh meat and he was so ready to spill crickets in that loser's bag! And then that stupid 12th grade dumbass senior Remy had to show up and "save the day."

  His eye caught a little freshman boy with broken glasses. He carried his books in his arms and had a smattering of freckles to accompany his bright red hair.

  Perfect! Remus thought maliciously. And crept over to sink his teeth into his next victim.

  "Hey there freckle face!" He called cheerily.

  The boy seemed startled and pointed at himself as if to confirm.

  Remus sighed. Wow this kid is dull… "Yeah you, scarecrow reject! Now Imma make this quick since I already lost one lunch income," he started, slinking around the kid. "Hand over the money you mommy gave you for food today else I'll make sure that it won't stay down."

  The redhead seemed flustered. "Wh-what? B-but, I need that money!" He subconsciously reached for his pocket.

  Bingo. Remus knew his type. Fear would get him what he wanted. He grabbed the kid by the front of his shirt, making the books tumble out of his hands. "Listen here, nerd! You gimme that money or else you're gonna be using it to mend all the bones I'll be snapping in you hand, here!" Remus held up one of the kid's spindly hands as an example, wagging it loosely in his face. His maniacal smile grew as he heard the kid whimper in fear.

  Remus put pressure on one of the kid's fingers as the freckled boy didn't move. "Tic-Toc, brainless bastard!" He snickered sadistically.

  "Fine!!" The kid yelped in fear and shoved the money at the bully. "Just leave me alone!"

  Remus pushed the kid to the ground and shoved the money in his pocket. "As you wish, orange peel!" He stepped on the kid's discarded books and walked over to where Deceit watched.

  "40-60, my snake bitch." Remus said, handing his partner 14 dollars of the 35.

  Deceit counted the money and nodded. "I'm disappointed the newbie slipped by us…" he looked off at where the purple haired boy had been a few minutes prior. "But I think he'll be back…" His amber eyes glowed a near sickly yellow. "And this time we're playing the long game."

~~•~~

  Remus had run off ahead of him so Roman entered the school's doors alone. He had wandered only a few steps inside before a blur of blue and gold barreled into him.

  "GOOD TO SEE YOU, KIDDO!!" Patton shouted, squeezing Roman in an impossibly tight hug.

  "Gah!! Good to see you too, Patton!! But," Roman gasped out, smiling. "I can't breathe, buddy."

  "Oh my GOLLY gee!!" Patton shouted, releasing Roman into open air. "I'm sorry bout that, kiddo!"

  "Really Patton, you should know your own strength by now. It'd be quite a shame if I lost my best friend before we graduated." A deep voice called, his voice laced with amusement.

  Roman softly pushed Patton aside. "Logan!!" He shouted and subsequently barreled into the tall boy, retracting after a right squeeze to just a shoulder hug. "Buddy, it's good to see you!" He laughed.

  Patton made a noise and the two boys turned to look at the shorter one. "And it's not good to see me?! I'm offended! Roman! I am your father-"

  "Not my father-"

  "And you will love me right now!"

  Roman laughed and drew Patton and Logan both into a tight hug. "Man I missed you guys!!"

  Logan gently wrapped his arms around the other two and smiled. "As did we, my friend. As did We."

~~•~~

  It was like any other start of school day. Read syllabus, play a get to know you game, repeat.

  It was really fairly normal for Roman.

  Until his third period.

  Roman knew nearly everyone in his grade, he had been the popular kid back in middle school and that had mostly transferred when he got into high school. So when roll call was being taken, it piqued his interest when a foreign voice answered a foreign name.

  "Roman Prince?"

  "You called?" Roman asked charmingly. The teacher looked at him tiredly. Roman cleared his throat. "Here!" He called a little more calmly.

  "Flora Riley?"

  "Here!"

  "Uh...Virgil Sanders?"

  Virgil Sanders? Roman thought. Maybe I just don't remember him and I'll recognize his vio-

  "Here." A quiet but firm voice answered and Roman checked behind him to see the source of the unrecognized voice. 

  A boy sat in the back of the class with his feet pressed up against the table, curling himself mostly into a ball in his chair. But even so, Roman could see purple hair peeking out from under his patchwork hoodie and stylish, iconic reverse eyeshadow applied to his face. His ripped black jeans and scuffed combat boots made it obvious that there was a new emo in school.

  Cute… Roman thought subconsciously. I mean, he was pretty cute.

  "Alright class. We're gonna play a get to know you game. Now come up and draw sticks." The teacher held out a tin full of stocks with names on them and shook it slightly, letting the wood jingle against the run. "You'll be drawing the person you'll be sitting with for the rest of the semester. You may not trade with anyone, and yeah, that sucks but so does school." The class snickered as people drew sticks. There were only enough for half the class, and the other half drew the sticks.

  Roman was not part of the group that drew sticks. So he sat idly at his seat and began to daydream about how the year would go.

  "You're Roman Prince?" A voice asked.

  Roman snapped out of his dreaming and looked up to see Virgil the Emo standing over him. Roman smirked and out a hand to his chest. "The one and only! Come to admire how pretty I am?" He asked charmingly.

  The emo snorted. "As in pretty dull? Maybe. It is a wonder of the world after all."

  Roman scoffed and pressed his other hand over his heart, as if it hurt. "I'm offended! You wound me!!" Roman held out his hand smiling. "I assume we're seating partners then! How do you do, my emo nightmare?"

  Virgil didn't take his hand, rather he just walked to the back of the class. "Come now, Prince of the Preppy, we don't know each other and honestly I don't think we ever will. We're not sitting up front."

  Roman frowned at the lack of jest in the emo's voice. He thought he and the purple haired boy were flirting wonderfully!

  Since Roman didn't seem to have any other Soul Marks, he didn't have a Soulbound Soulmate. So he freely flirted with every moving thing that breathed.

  But Roman wasn't going to give up that easily. "Hey there, plum hair! Tell me, what's it like looking so fruity?"

  Virgil snorted, and hid his face in his sleeve.

  Nooo!! Roman thought. I wanna see your cute face!!

  "I dunno...what's it like being so fruity?"

  Roman laughed and tried again to reach out his hand. "An absolute delight!"

  When Virgil did nothing but sit down at the table in the farthest back corner of the classroom, Roman deflated a little. This Virgil was cute, albeit a little annoying. I mean all he would do is snark at him! Maybe Roman had misread the situation.

  "Fine alright," Roman have up. "I'll stop talking, panic-at-the-everywhere."

  "Sweet." Though it was the answer he should have been expecting, Roman prickled.

  "So you don't want to talk to me at all?" Roman asked flatly, slightly annoyed.

  "No, not really." Virgil said, pulling out his phone.

  "Really? Like really Really?"

  "Yep." He popped the P and pointedly turned away from Roman.

  "Are you kidding me?"

  "Nope." He again popped the P.

  "You know we're going to have to sit next to each other all semester, right?"

  "Yeah…? And…?"

  "Well you have to talk to me eventually!"

  "And I'll stay here dreading when that dreaded eventually will come."

  "You cannot be serious! Come on I'm fabulous!"

  "Fabulously plastic, dumb, and shallow, if that's what you mean."

  "Shallow?!"

  "Uh, yeah?"

  "How dare-!"

  "Alright class!!" The teacher clapped their hands, stopping the impending fight that was about to break out. They started passing out papers to each of the students. "Now choose one or two, or however many you want and ask them to your partner. And yeah it sounds boring and maybe it might be if you're boring. So don't be a boring teenager."

  Roman and Virgil got the paper and looked it over. It at least Roman did. He finally picked one and asked it, knowing that trying to wait for the Emo to pay attention would be futile.

  "If you could change one thing about the world, what would it be?" Roman sighed out.

  The answer that came was almost immediate and nearly shook Roman to his core. "Soulmarks." Virgil seemed to have spat the word out. "I'd get rid of all Soulmarks."

  Roman was about to ask further about it but he heard a loud clang behind him.

  "WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU SLEPT WITH SISSI LETANTA?! YOU SHIT!! YOU KNOW THAT'S MY GIRLFRIEND'S LITTLE SISTER, YOU BASTARD!!!" The girl behind Roman was in an absolute rage. The boy she was talki- screaming at was pale and seemed like he'd wet set himself out of fear at any moment.

  "Whoa…yo Virgil check this ou-" Roman had once again tried to communicate with the Emo boy, but turned to see him filming the whole thing. "What are you doing…?"

  "Blackmail."

  "What?!"

  "You never know when it may come in handy."

  "You're the creepiest emo kid I've ever met."

  "And how many emos have you met exactly?"

  "Three! There was this one girl in my middle school that-"

  "Yeah okay you can shut up now."

  "Well thanks."

  The fight had only been broken up by the bell ringing. And Virgil left without saying a word to Roman.

  What a weird, creepy, cute kid… Roman thought. I think I wanna be his friend.

Again, I’m sorry this is later than I wanted it to be, and It’s not as good as I’d like it to be, but I promise I have things planned for this! Big things! Angsty things! Fluff!! I swear it’s going to be better than it is right now, I’m just a little caught up in life at the moment. Hope you liked it! And do feel free to leave a comment if you want me to tag you!! Sweet dreams!!

Taglist

@anxietea-and-insanitea

@ghostboi-bambi

@scrunchiescrunchie

#ts sides #logicality #prinxiety #logan sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #ts Patton #ts virgil #ts logan #ts roman #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #ts sides fic #soulmate au #highschool au #thomas sanders #Soulbound Au

[spookyboogie3]

MY FAVORITE AH MOMENTS W/O R*an H*yw**d

Also keep in mind some of these moments i picked Bitch Face r*an may have been present for but this aint about his stupid ass. 

The straw bit on Off Topic

Fiona and Trevor’s “Look at us” “Look at us” “Look at us” in TTT

Drunk Jeremy inhaling helium, followed by Jack and Trevor on Off Topic

“Krusty KrAYAYAB!!!” TTT

Jeremy trying to slam his face through a table, followed by Michael doing the same thing

“my god…… the munchdew” “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!” Minecraft: Skyfactory

Actually all of Simple Farmer Geoff from Skyfactory

Whatever those sounds were that Jack was making in the beginning of GTA video

Alfredo screaming as he continues to fall down a steep tube in a GTA race

DESTROYING THEIR OFFICE DEAR LORD

“How did he drown though?” “UNDERWATER, MATT!”

Anytime Fiona starts to RAGE in TTT (bonus if others join in)

The time Gav was the phantom in TTT and he kept dying and being brought back and Jack spitting water and then trying to catch it

Alfredo’s Magoo moments in Minecraft

Geoff laughing in the background of a video hes not in

Lindsay fucking around with Chef Mike on Harecore Minigolf

Lindsay fucking around in general

Gavin and Fiona playing Animal Crossing and laughing at the stupidest shit

The Fish Tempura incident on Wheel of Fortune

Lindsay’s reasoning for why her and Michael should have 4 kids

Geoff’s fucking ad reads (my favorite is 23&Me)

The whole thing during Push the Button where everyone especially Michael gets mad at Fiona because she said the best candy to get while trick or treating was lollipops

Matt’s fucking desk in the corner of the room

Anytime Millie is in a video

Everyone falling off the pink ladder during TTT and dying repeatedly because of it

Alfredo “the two-time champ” Diaz dying very early in YDYD 3

Gavin and Michael fucking up almost every game they play on Play Pals

RAY OR NO and then RAY OR NAY on Off Topic

Reddit Roasts Geoff

Gavin asking if someone could kill 20 cows with their bare hands and the proceeding so say he could rip out a cow’s veins by reaching into its neck

Ify’s narration during Let’s Roll Ave Caesar

The internet losing its shit when Jeremy shaved his head years ago

“We need a knife” Gavin comes back with a hammer

Griffin chain sawing the Off Topic table up

“How do I put the boat in the water??” “Right click you animal”

As of 2020, 8 years of playing Minecraft, certain people still do not know how to play the basics of this fucking game.

Honestly it took over 200 episodes for some of them to figure out how the compass worked. You know after they decided that the sun was setting in the wrong direction. (this was in 2016??)

Flynt coal still is a joke they make

So is Day 2

Whatever happened in that GTA lets play where someone called a mugger or a hit on someone and the game glitched and 50 guys showed up and lined up on the street below from where they were playing

Anytime Gavin gets mugged, it’s an old running gag but it’s a classic

The time a mugger fucking started driving the fire truck away after mugging Gavin with Michael and Jeremy still in the truck thinking the other is driving and it takes them like 2 minutes to realize what happened while Gavin’s yelling “come back”

They got a water jug and immediately started water boarding each other

“It pinged and went dingle”

“Hey Trey-Boi” “Hey Gay-Boi” Immediately realizes what he has said

Jeremy’s website puns

(OLD) Ray jerking off in the corner during a let’s play

(OLD) the world in Minecraft never loading and everyone screaming about as Geoff says its fine for him

Jeremy’s “I AM MONSTER TRUCK”

Jack taking AH to Disney……in Minecraft

On Twitter, Gavin asked about recommendations for a computer mouse and Fiona starts sending him pictures of actual mice.

“Its not ghey, if its on the moon”

Literally anything Fiona does as Po

Jeremy saying the heterosexual flag is boring

UNO THE MOVIE!

Geoff fucking cackling the whole time.

“here’s looking at you kid”

the video was almost 3 hours long

“you know what my favorite color is? blue” “oh really? You know what my favorite hand is? Yours

They all want it to end but no one wants to lose and so they fuck each other and that prolongs the game. Also they put on more rules, so they just keep getting more cards if they don’t have a card to match the previous

Alfredo saying he won’t participate in ghost hunter because he knows what happens to people of color in horror movies

Fiona walking in on Off Topic with a protein shake and Gavin asks if shes drinking milk and she says without missing a beat “ah no that’s cum” and everyone laughed not expecting the answer

(OLD) “SURPRISE MOTHERFUCKER” *falls in hole*

(OLD) Ray and Gav running in a panel dressed as X-Ray and Vav and Ray running the whole way around the room before he got to the stage

Duck taping Jeremy to the wall

(OLD) All of Minecraft Episode 3 Plan G (This was the very first AH video I watch and why I know who they are)

Geoff and Gav creating Achievement City and giving everyone houses just to prank Jack into burning house down with lava.

Ray’s house is a dirt block with no furniture and single torch

Geoff’s giant ass house next to Ray’s tiny house

Jack tries to destroy everything with lava throughout the episode

“lets be honest, I realistically didn’t lose anything”

Michael stealing art from Gav’s house “NOO! I want nice things”

The sign to Michael’s says “Awaiting Approval, Awaiting Approval, Awaiting Approval” he runs into house and say “I’m home”

Ray also steals this sign at some point

Plan G – The failsafe.

“Oh whats this? Is this a button? Whats this? (pushes button) Yeah it was a button”

“Did you push the button?”

“Yeah”

“okay”

“wh-what does it do?”

“uh…”

Cue Achievement City beginning to explode as Michael starts screaming

Rays reaction “NO, MY SHITTY HOUSE JUST GOT EVEN SHITTIER!”

Not something funny but something VERY IMPORTANT. AH admitting that they all fucked up and how shitty their behavior was when dealing with harassment in the fanbase. People were racist, sexist, homophobic, misogynistic, and just downright horrible to a lot of the employees at RT and AH. This came up after Mica Burton left the company and talked about it publicly and how nothing was done about it. Fiona who also experiences these same things, along with Lindsay and other employees, but Fiona took the charge on the Off Topic talking about people can’t continue to get away with that behavior. She got to sound off her feelings to a group of white men who all respected her and LISTENED to what was saying and how she felt. She cried; Geoff cried. They all want to do more, so this doesn’t happen in the future and they’re not tolerating the racist and horrible comments. AH taking a mature moment to talk about how they failed to stop these comments and Geoff was right when he said the company has a long way to go.

 Outside of AH each member has more to them than just all of the comedy and laughs and dumb shit they do

Geoff helped found Roosterteeth and Achievement Hunter. He has a beautiful daughter in Millie who is awesome in her own right. He’s a recovering alcoholic. Currently doing F**k Face podcasts. Was in the fucking army. Takes accountability for every mistake he makes.  

Jack also helped start Achievement Hunter. He does so much work for charity. His twitter is full of things to help people go vote. He’s like the dad to AH, especially Fiona. He’s happily married to his wife Caiti.

Michael was an electrician and has a lot of handy man experience. He made a few videos online about him raging at games and that got the attention of RT. He’s currently married to Lindsay who he met because of RT. They have two kids together.

Gavin is an expert at high speed filmmaking and know how use and edit footage from a slow-motion camera. He has worked on actual films. One of the creators of the Slow Mo Guys. Worked his ass off to get to work for RT. Currently dating model and cosplayer Meg Turney

Lindsay flips between being the mom of the group and a complete chaos queen and we all love her for it. She started as an editor for the RT podcast and then AH stuff. She is an incredible voice actor, most known for Ruby Rose (RWBY), Space Kid (Camp Camp), Hilda (Xray & Vav) just to name a few. She also has a degree in finance

Jeremy started as a fan who made videos on the community page. He took over Ray’s place after Ray left to do Twitch full time. He is a self-published author and a skilled rapper and singer. He’s currently married to his wife, Kat.

Matt also started as a fan making videos on the community page. He actually interacted and made stuff for the guys in really early Minecraft episodes. Seriously this guy is like king of Minecraft. He has a degree in electrical engineering. He also has pretty decent singing voice.

Trevor is THE BOSS. Has a degree in aero-space engineering and is getting paid to babysit AH. Currently dating Barbara Dunkelman, RTs queen of puns.

Alfredo worked at IGN before RT and is a well-known streamer. He is the best when it comes to first person shooter games. He and Trevor look so similar.

Fiona. Po. Her majesty. Host of This Just Internet. A Twitch streamer. Baby of the bunch. Grew up in Europe. Her and Gav act like a pair of siblings. She has stated and showed time and time again she will fight for people to have safe spaces for anyone who needs them.

Ify, our new guy. He is wonderful and I want to stay forever. He’s a comedian, a writer, and an actor. Co hosts F-ing Around with Fiona. Has his own film podcast, Who Shot Ya? I look forward to more content with him in it, cause everything he’s been in so far has been great.

 Were all hurting but well make it through this

We have all these wonderful moments and a lot more that I didn’t list and this incredible team of personalities with their own accomplishments and achievements. Not to mention old team members who were also great additions and the entire crew behind the scenes editing and making videos look the best that they can.

 Here’s to Achievement Hunter and to this community. We need to be here for each other in times like these.

@theonyxranger gave me the idea for this based on their own post they made about the fans giving their favorite moments without bitch face and there were just too many. Oop. 

#Achievement Hunter #Jack Pattillo #Gavin Free #geoff ramsey #michael jones #lindsay jones #alfredo diaz #trevor collins #fiona nova #jeremy dooley #matt bragg #ify nwadiwe #roosterteeth #yes im calling him bitch face now

[gallifreyan-writer]

Doctor Who x Reader - A Not So Lost Love

Authors Note: It may or may not be 5 in the morning but that’s when I do my best writing. I have been on the internet for hours trying to find a way to watch episode 9 of Doctor Who and at the same time not see any spoilers and I didn’t want to wait 14 hours for it to be available to stream on BBC America’s website but looks like I’m gonna have to... fuck. Thank you to @lostshadow12 for the amazing request! Anyways I hope you enjoy!

Request: Can u please do 13th doctor x fem timelady reader x(older brother) Dhawan Master where 13th doctor meets the reader again after many years of thinking she was dead and she realises that she still have a crush on reader(just like all her previous incarnations)and The Master not being so amused when the doc flirts with his little sis(cue annoying yet lovable overprotective brother)but he tolerates her just because he sees how happy reader is with the Doctor and allowing her to go of with the Doc but only if reader promise him to visit him and never forget him.

Warning(s): Angst, fluff

Pairing(s): 13th Doctor x reader, Dhawan!Master x Sister!Reader

“Doctor!” A voice that the Doctor knew and loved echoed followed by the mechanical voice, “you will be upgraded.”

“(Y/n)!” The Doctor yelled as he appeared at the end of the hallway. He stood frozen with shock and his eyes widened. There at the of the corridor he saw her as cold, metal fingers gripped her tightly. He could see the fear in her eyes as a single tear ran down her cheek, but through everything, she stood strong.

“Get out of here!” Her voice ripped through her voice caring to the Doctors ears, at this point, his eyes were filling with tears as well.

“I’m not leaving you!” He replied but knew that it was useless, her mind was made up.

“I’ve got this, but you have to get out, this place is going to blow and the world needs you, the universe needs you.”

“Just as much as it needs you. I need you.” His voice cracked at the end.

“I will always be with you. Now go!” She was dragged away with the metalic “Delete, delete.” The Doctor was frozen for a few seconds until he turned away and ran in the other direction not turning around to see her, to see the women he loved. The women that he spent the days with under the twin suns on Gallifrey, on the orange grass. He had lost her once during the time war, but she somehow was able to find herself back to him, against all odds. He knew that this would be the last time that they would see each other, there were no more miracles. If he were to turn and look at her, in that moment he knew that he would stop in his tracks, turn around and risk not only his life but hers and everyone else’s. All that the Doctor could do at this time, was pray that she would beat all odds, but he knew that he was asking too much from the universe, even if he saved it a few thousand times.

As the Doctor finally made it out, within seconds the building that he had escaped, burst into a fiery explosion. There was no way that (Y/n) would’ve made it out alive. He sunk to his knees looking up as the flames felt hotter and hotter against his skin but he didn’t move, he simply looked down on the silver engagement band on his finger. Any pain that the fire could’ve caused couldn’t compare to the pain in his hearts. He had lost his everything that day.

That was a thousand years ago and time has not healed the wounds that still lay deep within. The Doctor never lost hope of finding (Y/n) again but with the years coming and going, it seemed to slowly fade away. The Doctor had few regrets in her life but there was one that stuck with her, she never told (Y/n) how she felt about her, how she truly and deeply loved her. She looked up slightly at the photo of (Y/n) that was sitting on the council. She didn’t always keep it out though as it reminded her of what she lost but she liked looking at it every once in a while. (Y/n)’s soft smile could get the Doctor through anything it seemed, no matter how terrible the time.

“Who is that, Doc?” Graham asked from behind her, Ryan and Yaz standing by his sides.

“What? Oh, no one.” The Doctor quickly replied, putting the photograph out of sight from the others.

“Well obviously she’s someone.” Ryan spoke up.

“Ryan.” Yaz said in a hushed tone as she smacked him on the arm as hard as she could without leaving a mark.

“I just meant that she was obviously someone special to the Doctor, that’s all.” Ryan said, trying to defend himself.

“She was.” The Doctor spoke up, turning to face all three of them, her voice wasn’t as strong as it normally was, she was hurting. “She was brilliant, we grew up together, traveled all of time and space together, and then lost each other once. But, we found one another and started traveling again.” She gave a small smile, thinking back on all the good times.

“That sounds wonderful, what happened?” Yaz asked, trying to sound as comforting as possible but wanting answers.

“She’s gone.” The Doctor said simply looking down at the ground not wanting to see the pity in the eyes of her companions, her smile gone. She didn’t want them to feel bad for her, that was the last thing she wanted.

Some time passed and everything went back to the normal shenanigans, that was until their fun came to a quick halt as the dinner party that they were attending in a Victorian castle during the 10th century became over ran with cybermen.

“What are those things?” Ryan asked as all the dinner guests ran in different directions.

“Cybermen, I’ve had a few run ins with them.” The Doctor said frantically looking every which way.

“So you know how to stop these things?” Yaz asked. The four of them were all hiding behind a table that way knocked over in all of the caos.

“Yes, but we need to get the three of you out of here and into the TARDIS.” The doctor said standing up motioning them to follow her.

“We’re not leaving you Doc, we can help fight.” Graham spoke up.

“There won’t be much of a fight.” The Doctor tried to stay calm, she’s always felt on end whenever she runs into the cybermen, ever since that day. Whenever she sees them, she is haunted by that memory, the memory that plagues her dreams to this day.

“Well there must be something that we can do.” Yaz said as they all followed the Doctor back to the TARDIS.

“There is, stay in the TARDIS.”

“But,” Ryan tried to speak but was quickly interrupted by the Doctor.

“But nothing, I have lost too many to those things. I refuse to lose anyone else.” She spun around to face them before stepping into the TARDIS, everyone else following suit.

“That’s how you lost her wasn’t it, the girl in the photo?” Yaz asked, sorrow in her eyes. The Doctor just looked down, it answered Yaz’s question simply enough.

“She was taken and I couldn’t save her, instead she saved me. I was there when the cybermen took her and there was nothing that I could do. I was useless and now she’s gone.” Tears started filling her eyes as frustration entered her blood stream. “I’m going, and you’re staying here.” With that the Doctor fled out of the TARDIS and used her sonic to lock the doors from the outside so that they couldn’t get out, she knew that it was risky but it was the only way to keep them safe.

The hallways were starting to get harder and harder to navigate through all the twists and turns of this seemingly never ending castle, cybermen were littered everywhere. After some time she came up with a plan but that plan came to a screeching halt when the Doctor came face to face with multiple cybermen when she turned a corner. She tried to turn and run in the opposite direction but her path was blocked by more coming in and surrounding her. Her ears were filled with horrible sounds of metal clanking against the marble floors with their screams of “delete” that have haunted her for so many years. She held them off as much as she could with her handy sonic screwdriver until it short circuited.

“Stay away from her!” A voice that she never thought that she would hear again filled her ears and echoed down the corridor. The next thing she knows the heads of the cybermen around her start exploding one after the other in a beam of blue light. When all was said and done, the Doctor looked up from the chaos and saw her face, the face she had longed to see in person for longer than anyone could imagine.

“(Y/n)?” The Doctor asked not believing her eyes, tears quickly filling them.

“Doctor.” (Y/n) said letting out a sigh of relief seeing her. She ran up to her and wrapped her arms tightly around her. She then took a slight step back and continued, “you’re a woman, I like it.” She said with a laugh, the Doctor laughed too.

“I don’t understand, the cybermen, I thought that you were dead, I thought I lost you.” The Doctor’s hand came up to (Y/n)’s face.

“I told you that I would always be with you.” She placed her hand on top of the Doctors, kissing the inside of her palm.

“You don’t think that I would let my little sister die, would you?” Behind (Y/n) stood the master. “Believe it or not but I care deeply about my family, so I put a failsafe in the motherboard all the way back to the first cyberman. Pretty much when they scan the DNA and if it matches close enough the entire system will shut down.”

“Wow, how generous of you.” The Doctor said sarcastically.

“You have to get out, I will be fine, I just need to know that you’re safe.” (Y/n) said directing all of her attention to the Doctor.

“No, I’m not leaving you.”

“I will be fine, go to the TARDIS, everything will be fine.”

“No, I can’t do that!” The Doctor’s tone shifted slightly and raised to almost a shout as the two started arguing back and forth.

“And why not?!”

“Because I love you and I can’t lose you again!” The Doctor finally said. “I went on for so long thinking that you were dead and that I would never be able to tell you how I felt and losing you was the worst pain imaginable.”

(Y/n) didn’t know what to say, her mouth just hung open as she processed everything. Suddenly she just grabbed the Doctor’s face and kissed her. During this exchange, the Master stood next to them awkwardly not knowing what to do.

“Okay that’s enough.” He finally said breaking the two of them up, big brother mode kicking in. “Just go, both of you, I know how to stop this once and for all.”

“What do you mean?” (Y/n) asked, not knowing what her older brother was saying.

“I’m saying that you two belong together, I mean you keep an old photo of her, well him, in your pocket at all times. Just promise you’ll come visit me.” He gave the pair a soft smile.

“Of course, I mean where would I be without you.” (Y/n) walked up to him and gave him a small hug before turning away and running off with the Doctor.

The two quickly got to the TARDIS before turning to one another.

“You ready to travel all of time and space?” The Doctor asked.

“Of course.” (Y/n) replied, grinning ear to ear.

“Brilliant, there’s some people I would like you to meet first.”

“Allons-y.”

#doctor who #Doctor Who fanfic #doctor who imagines #doctor who reader insert #doctor who x reader #13th doctor x reader #13th doctor x female!reader #dhawan!master #dhawan!master x sister!reader

[thisisridiculousdude]

I would like to state that I am ONLY making this account to address this issue and I will not discuss it after this. I will not engage with the online community regarding this, and I will not post anything else on here. However, I need to set the record straight because you’ve involved me in a personal way when you do not know me. Hello! My name is Em. I’m the current partner of @strawberryswisherrpt3 - otherwise known as Joey Hart. There are accusations firing at my partner, and him attempting to defend himself. In the original message, I was spoken to as though I was somehow a victim of my partner, or that I wasn’t fully aware of what was going on so I’m sitting here to address everything that has been said. This will not continue and I will not engage with people I don’t know, and that don’t know me, my life with Joey, nor him at this point in time. To Kai:

1. I have never harassed you. You attempting to paint the image of me bothering you in any way is ridiculous. I have made 2 posts to you in the 4 years I have been involved with Joey. The first (that I will attach to this post) was in direct response to you posting shitty things about my relationship with Joey of which you knew nothing about. I have EVERY RIGHT to defend myself or to inform someone of the truth. Sure, I was a little harsh in it with my word choices but I was incredibly angry that you inserted yourself in a relationship you were not apart of.

2. I AM NOT A VICTIM OF JOEY HART. I REPEAT, I AM NOT A VICTIM OF JOEY HART. I will not EVER reach out to you so I can “confide” in you about some horrific fact of a person that simply no longer exists. He has never and would never harm me.

3. You make the statement that I will never understand and you hope I don’t have to, so let me paint a picture for you. I’m 21, I start dating someone that I went to high school with that I trust with my life. He takes care of me while I’m sick, he knows all of my medical and personal information. I move across the country with him so I wouldn’t be a burden on my family. We get married so I have health insurance, and can have the procedures I need without paying an arm and a leg for them. I change my last name on my social security card with him promising to pay for me to have my license changed over too so I can eventually go back to work. He proceeds to slowly remove all food from the house, the keys from my pockets so I can no longer leave and if I do, I won’t be able to get back in. He started to speak to my mother, my daughter’s family, and my friends behind my back. He let them all know I was losing my mind, that I wasn’t making any sense and he was doing everything he could to make me happy but it never seemed like it was enough. In reality, he backed me into a corner. He was drunk. He had the windows open so our neighbors could hear him humiliate me. He yelled in my face that I was a whore. I was his wife and he could fuck me whenever he pleased. I didn’t have to tell  him yes or no. I didn’t have to consent. He owned me because I was his wife. I try my BEST to fight back. I yell, I beg him to close the window so the neighbors won’t hear. I cry and tell him I love him and i’m so sorry. Do you know what his response was, Kai? Do you want to know? His response was to rip open my dress, drag me by my hair, push me over onto our bed, rip my underwear off, shove himself into me, ripping me on his way in to where i was bloody with his hand shoving my face into the mattress so he could muffle my cries.That happened over and over again. He beat the shit out of me. He starved me. He held me hostage. If I tried to book a flight home to Texas, he’d find out. He’d cancel it because he worked at the airline. My family wouldn’t speak to me. I couldn’t get a job because my IDs didn’t match. When I finally decided I was going to leave him, he ripped the cushions out of the futon I was sleeping on so I had to sleep on raw springs. He would bring home a triple cheeseburger and 10 nuggets every single night and force feed me them but if I declined, I did not eat. He took my phone and controlled everyone I spoke to and everything I did. He used my personal information against me in an attempt to have me committed. After I finally found a way out, he ACTUALLY stalked me. He followed me home on the train and to my workplace. He called DCFS on me (the time you’re referring to that Joey told you) because I took my child and fled to a dude’s house because I was terrified for my life. I almost had my child taken away from me because of him. He kidnapped my child and took her to Denver CO without my consent or knowledge. He caused my daughter to hate me because he filled her head with lies about me. To this day, my daughter is his picture on Facebook.  I know what abuse is like. I know what it’s like to question your own sanity, to be so stained by what you considered love that you don’t know if you’re ever going to be able to feel safe again. I can no longer be touched without almost throwing up. I can’t answer phone calls I don’t know and I am always living in fear that he will finally find a way to kill me.  You do not have a right to tell me that I do not understand what you have endured in your life because I do. You do not know me. Do not belittle my intelligence and capability of rational thinking.

3. I’m not insecure of you and I never have been. I have never been under the impression Joey was trying to date you again because he never was. 4. The final thing I have to say to you is this: Joey has never hidden anything from me. He has never tried to justify his actions. I have always been honest with him whenever he has messed up, and he is well aware of the things he has done. He has taken accountability for the wrongdoings of his past and the people he has hurt. He told me every single thing before we started dating so I knew what his past was. He never hid it. He never tried to twist it to paint himself as a victim. He point blank said “I did this” without any attempt of swaying my opinion one way or the other. I CHOSE to acknowledge the fact that this is someone with a very stained past that goes far beyond what he has done to others, and what has also been done to him. I chose to pursue a relationship with him because I respected his honesty, and truly believed he wanted to move forward and work on being a better person. He can’t UNDO the things he has done. We all fucking know this, including him. But I’m TRULY confused on what you want him to do. What you expect of him. Like, do you want him to just disappear off the face of the earth? Because that isn’t going to happen. He’s got a life, he’s allowed to be on the internet and interacting with people that he knows or is involved with. The ONLY thing he can do is apologize, take accountability, and try to be better. That’s it. That’s all he can do. And I know he has apologized to you. I’ve heard it, and he did it again in the recent message to you. You absolutely do not have to accept his apology but you cannot say that he hasn’t attempted to take responsibility verbally to you directly. Same with Sarah. He messaged her on OkCupid to apologize well after they broke up and she essentially told him to fuck off (which is totally fine, and understandable) and he didn’t push the issue. He understood why she was angry and had every right to be. He left her alone and hasn’t once bothered her since. You know this happened because you were with him when it happened. Like literally WITH him physically and found out later and were angry. So I don’t understand. You don’t owe me an answer but i’m not stupid. I’m not naïve like you portray me to be, Kai. I’m not justifying or defending his past. I’m telling you the truth, which is that the person he is today is not the person he was then and you truly CANNOT say otherwise because you wouldn’t know. No one would know.  He reached out to you again on December 22nd because he reaches out to people from his past. Like you, I never really understood this, but I don’t make his decisions for him. It was probably a mistake and I’m sure he’s realizing this now, but either way, he left you alone. He didn’t message you again and he didn’t bother you. He didn’t vague post at you or say anything offensive to you/about you. He posted a photo of me with a ferret where YOU then said something shitty and he finally asked you to stop. He told you he wasn’t going to stop posting his personal stuff out of fear of what you may say.  Yes, it’s your blog and you can say whatever you want. No one is stopping you or trying to. However, you clearly know he’s looking just like you’re looking at his. His message to you was not reflective of the way he once was. That doesn’t suddenly mean he’s unchanged or not a better person from his mistakes (which for the final time, what else do you want dude). It means he got upset because he posted a photo of a ferret and you copied something shitty he said to you like 5 years ago in an email as a response to something that never required a response??? it was a photo of a ferret! Whatever. In general: As I said already, I won’t be addressing any of this again. I don’t know any of you and I’m not going to pretend to. I do know my partner though and I do know the things he has done because he has been honest. He’s told me when he was having doubts about our relationship, He’s told me virtually every single thing that he’s done or experienced. He has worked very, very, very hard to work on his toxic patterns and address his past in a way that is meaningful for his future as a person, all while understanding that the past cannot be undone and taking full accountability where it is due.  He is disabled, he is schizophrenic, he is neurodivergent and he has been since he was a child. Some of the behavior you comment on is clear schizophrenia. He is NOT RESPONSIBLE for his family. He does not have contact with his family. He has not been in contact with them for nearly a year. We endured the exact same thing as all of you did from his family while we resided there which isn’t okay and I don’t blame any of you for feeling uncomfortable or unsafe there. However, he can only do so much. He can only yell at his family so much. He can only demand they stop doing something so much. It’s not feasible for someone who brings in $863 a month to simply move out and quite frankly, it’s incredibly ableist to push that narrative. His family abused him his entire life. His dad was absolutely horrific to his mom, and grandmother. He harassed Susie literally to fucking death. And to be clear: none of this excuses his actions. These are not excuses, these are facts. Someone can state that they were severely mentally ill and had undergone a lifetime of abuse and trauma that caused them to act out a certain way or have a distorted sense of reality to some degree (schizophrenia), or even harm those they cared for or were near because of those things. That does not make someone a bad person. That means they have done bad things. For the final time: he cannot undo what he did. To anyone. He cannot take it back even though he DOES wish he could. ALL HE CAN DO is try to move forward and better himself while acknowledge who he was to prevent himself from being that person again. He is not perfect, I’m not perfect. But he is different now than he has ever been. He has continued to grow over the time I have known him and whether you believe that or not is not something I can control but it’s not something I’m going to continue to let spew from people that no longer know who he is. I have chosen to remain silent until now, and I will go back to being silent of my own accord because I’m not going to engage with anyone who is insistent and honestly, hell-bent on destroying a person who has done exactly what you SAY you want done and why you SAY you’re doing this “again:” so he’s accountable.  I truly do not understand the purpose of this and I truly do not appreciate you saying things about our relationship that are not true. You do not know anything about our relationship, about me as a parent, about my life at all. You’ve made derogatory comments about me in the past because I lived in the house with his family since I was laid off from my job and lost my housing. You compared babysitting your siblings to me having a child alone in a hospital room at 15 and raising her by myself. You felt the need to comment on how my child would be hurt by the fact that I left relationships which I had to do because I was being raped or glass was thrown at my head. You do not know me. You will never know me, and I don’t want to know you. You don’t know him either, as I’ve said a million times over in this entire post. This won’t change anything if you’re not willing to listen to the person who DOES know him best now. This is all I have to say. I’m done now.

[welllpthisishappening]

An American Haunting (1/2)

Emma Swan does not believe in ghosts. She simply talks about them on tourist-filled walking tours at Colonial Williamsburg. 

It’s a belief she’s certain she’ll always hold, until, one summer she starts hearing a voice, asking her for help. And, suddenly, every certainty Emma Swan has ever had starts to shake just a bit, a hint of history and a past that’s far more extensive than she could have imagined. 

----

Rating: Probably like a pretty solid teen Word Count: 6.4 K this chapter. Closing in on 13K overall AN: This is, hands down, the single most self indulgent thing I have ever written and one time I wrote a college basketball story that was literally just my own opinions. I grew up going to Colonial Williamsburg, have been on every ghost tour, including the one the RAs took us on when I went to HISTORY CAMP AT WILLIAM AND MARY. That happened. So, I’ve been wanting to write a story based at CW for years, but I couldn’t ever come up with something legit idea-wise and then today. Bam. BAM. i had an idea. I wrote the idea out in several hours of sunshine-fueled key smashing and here we are. Part two eventually because I really do hate spamming the internet with words. I won’t ever go in the Peyton Randolph house at night. 

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll. 

----

The gasps always made her smile. 

That was a very strange sentence out of context, but Emma couldn’t help the way her lips quirked up every single time, biting the side of her tongue so she wouldn’t actually laugh at the whole, stupid thing. 

He had quite a flair for the dramatic, after all. 

“Even Lafayette himself once wrote that he felt someone push against his back upon entering the house! But there was no one there. There never is. Just a feeling, that chill that creeps up your spine and takes up residence in the back of your brain, waiting for you to let your guard down.”

And…cue the gasps. 

Emma covered her mouth with her hand, fingers curling around the side of her jaw. Her eyes flickered towards the couple in front of her, still sporting their Colonial Williamsburg tickets on lanyards and the man’s ghost tour sticker was peeling off at one end. 

The woman reached for his hand. 

And Killian was wholly and entirely in his element. 

He leaned forward, a spark in his eyes that was not even remotely supernatural, but completely theatrical, the stretch of a smile moving in slow motion across his face. 

“Take a look at some of the photos you’ve been snapping this whole time,” he muttered. If he leaned forward any further his stupid tri-corner hat was going to fall off. 

Emma shifted against the side of the fence she was leaning on, tugging on her own skirts and trying to find a way to stand that didn’t end with her stupid eighteenth-century appropriate shoes digging into the back of her heels. It didn’t work. 

It never did. 

Killian wasn’t done. 

“See anything yet?” he asked lightly, a practiced spiel that always ended with—

“Oh my God, there are orbs in the photo!”

Emma rolled her eyes skyward, all stars and a few clouds and it was humid enough that her hair was actually starting to curl at the ends. Maybe she could convince Regina to let her wear a different outfit later that week. This one was impossibly heavy, all full skirts and an apron that didn’t make any sense at all because she wasn’t working in any of the kitchens on property, was leading tours from nine at night until somewhere in the realm of midnight for extra money and she was certain each group was getting smaller and smaller. 

The crowds were getting smaller and smaller. 

No one wanted to go learn about Colonial American history on their vacation. 

“That’s right,” Killian said, crossing his arms and rocking back on his own heels. Emma assumed they didn’t hurt his feet. He was still smiling. “The Peyton Randolph house is considered one of the most haunted buildings in the entire United States. Visitors since even before the first shots were fired in Lexington and Concord have claimed interactions with the supernatural. They’ve been shaken violently in their beds, heard laughter from other rooms, furniture moves—“

“—But what about the orbs?”

Emma was going to need pliers to move her hand away from her mouth. Killian uncrossed his arms, resting his weight on the replica musket he was holding. 

He was supposed to be a Colonial soldier. 

At the Randolph house while it was used as a hospital in 1781. Just about every building in Williamsburg was used as a hospital in 1781. 

It was unfairly attractive. 

Him, not the hospital thing. Emma was a psychopath. 

“Well,” Killian drawled, “that’s up for debate, isn’t it? Could be a catch of the light. Could be—“ He shrugged, eyes flicker towards Emma and she had to bite her tongue again. “Disembodied ghosts looking to find their way onto the afterlife. No one knows for certain, do they Miss Swan?”

She might have gasped. 

Killian’s smile widened. 

Idiot. 

That wasn’t part of the script at all. 

“Oh, yes, absolutely, sir,” she said quickly, trying her best to stay in character. The group turned expectantly toward her, eyes wide and that woman appeared to be gripping her husband’s hand like some kind of vice. “Lots of whispers about this house and, well, Mr. Randolph, you know, I don’t like to speak ill of such a respected gentleman, but—“

“—Is that the newspaper guy?” another voice interrupted, and Emma was going to have to have a serious conversation about Regina about that too. 

And she was just about to respond, not sure how she was going to do that while staying in character, but the words got caught in Emma’s throat, a sudden chill spreading through all of her limbs. 

She felt rooted to the spot, mouth going dry and goosebumps exploding across her skin. Her vision danced in front of her, no orbs, but something just on the edge that felt a bit like a shadow creeping across her eye line, a hopelessness that Emma was certain she could taste, like ash and disappointment and none of that made sense, but her knees suddenly felt very weak and—

Help me. Please. I need help. 

Emma didn’t hear the footsteps at first, flinching when Killian’s fingers curled around her elbow. People were gasping again. 

“Swan?” he whispered, bending his own knees so he was level with her. His thumb traced absent-minded patterns on her sleeve. They were going to get in trouble for that. “Are you alright, love?”

She nodded slowly, not sure if it was actually true or not, but the shadow was gone and that had to count for something. 

“Fine, fine. I’m—I’m fine.” “Try that again.” “Fine, sir,” Emma snapped, an abrupt return to form and characters and Killian's eyebrows leapt into his hairline. His tongue swiped the front of his teeth. 

“Just a touch of vapors, is it?” Emma scowled, resisting the very real urge to kick him in the shins, but she didn’t need Regina to yell at them for more than one thing and she really wanted to switch costumes. “The air is rather heavy tonight, sir, that’s all,” she said. “Shall we continue on to the next place, then?”

There was a general murmur of agreement and confusion from the crowd, Emma pulling her arm back to her side quickly enough that she nearly elbowed herself in the ribs. Killian’s had to pick up the musket. He’d dropped it at some point.  

“Alright,” Emma continued, backing up towards Nicholson Street, “if you’ll all be so kind as to follow me this way, our next stop takes us up the road towards the public gaol and Hangman’s Lane where, legend has it, member’s of Blackbeard’s crew were taken to the gallows.” More gasps. 

A few ooh and exactly one no way, really . Emma smiled. 

And Killian’s eyes never left hers, concern practically wafting off him and mixing in with that very specific smell that was Williamsburg in late August, like dogwood trees and sunscreen. 

He was waiting for her. 

She wasn’t all that surprised, but it was still kind of nice in a butterflies in her stomach and slightly erratic pulse kind of way and Emma had gotten a few more gasps out of the crowd. Well, Ruby had when they’d gotten to Shield’s Tavern and the story about the lady who haunted the corner room upstairs, but that felt like splitting hairs and Emma was exhausted. 

“You want to tell me what happened now?” Killian asked, legs stretched out in front of him where he was sitting. On the stairs behind the Public Armory, a few feet away from the staff rooms. 

He was already back in modern clothes, which was a little bit like playing with fire, guests still filing out of the historic area and meandering down Duke of Gloucester Street, but he had that very specific type of pinch between his eyebrows and— “No,” Emma replied. “Because nothing happened.” “You’re honestly getting worse at it.” Emma made a face. “I really don’t see how that’s possible.” “Swan.” “Yeah, what was that about? You’re just throwing out real names in this now? You better watch out or I’m going to tell Regina on you.”

“Please, the only thing you want to do when talking to Regina is tell her how annoyed you are with the overall state of your skirts.” “Oh, that’s so dumb, honestly.”

“Tell me I’m wrong,” Killian challenged. He leaned back on his elbows, another very specific type of spark in his eyes and this was really starting to become a problem. In a way where it wasn’t, obviously. Becuase he waited for her and knew her and Emma really had way too many thoughts about how good the whole Colonial outfit regularly looked on him. 

But they were going to have to tell people eventually. 

And she wasn’t sure she could cope with that. 

“It’s a lot of skirts,” Emma mumbled, a quick shrug and pitiful attempt to get around him. “C’mon, move, I’ve got to change and—”

“—What happened, Emma?” He caught her around the ankle, impressive considering the amount of fabric in the way, glancing up at her with a look that was treading somewhere between imploring and a little overwhelming. Maybe they wouldn’t have to tell anyone. 

Emma couldn’t believe people hadn’t figured it out already. 

That lady from the tour definitely knew. 

“Did it happen again?” Killian pressed, and his thumb was doing that thing again. Tracing and brushing, following a pattern that wasn’t really there, but might have been obvious for him. 

Emma swallowed. “I don’t—’ “—Swan.” “This is not a real thing,” she exclaimed, at least the forty-seventh time they’d had that particular conversation. “It’s not! I’m just—I’m tired and I’m worried about attendance and—” “—Well if management would stop sending out all those cards and things to donors, then we wouldn’t have such a problem. You see the Christmas ornament designs Regina’s been looking at yet? They’re ridiculous.” Emma sighed out something that might have been a laugh, letting Killian tug her down to his side. She burrowed her face into his chest. “It was louder this time,” she whispered. “Like it was—I don’t know, getting desperate or something.” “And you still couldn’t see anything?” “No. Just heard it. Her. Heard her and I was freezing cold again.” Killian’s hand had started moving at some point, up and down her arm and Emma got the distinct impression he was trying to account for all of her. As if some voice she’d been hearing for the better part of the summer would be able to make her disappear. 

The whole thing was, honestly, starting to get on her nerves. Emma had never been all that apt to believe in the facts she was touting on one of Colonial Williamsburg’s several official ghost tours. And while her’s was definitely the scariest of the bunch — the kid-friendly one didn’t mention hanging pirates — Emma wasn’t the kind of person to have nightmares or worry that she was being followed by some kind of frustrated spirit. 

Until. 

It started just after the Fourth of July festivities in the historic area, one of the few times when the place drew regularly crowds. Emma was sitting on the Palace Green, more ridiculous skirts and sweat pooling at the base of her spine and it had been the middle of the day. None of the stories about being haunted ever happened during the day. 

That was...against the rules or something. 

Help me. Please. I need help. 

She’d brushed it off as the heat and exhaustion, but it kept happening — the same words, the same voice, someone looking for help and Emma seemingly incapable of doing anything except getting cold when it happened. 

She was probably just going insane. 

That wasn’t really a much better option. 

“You’re ok,” he whispered, and her breath definitely hitched as soon as his lips ghosted over the top of her head. That was a bad word choice. “It’s ok.” “It’s crazy, that’s what it is.” “I don’t think you’re crazy, love. This is—” “—Oh, God, do not tell me that this is one of the most haunted places in America. Just...do not do it. I’ll punch you.” “You kind of looked like you wanted to before.”

“You like drawing out the Randolph schtick.” “Did I get the best reaction of the night?” “No.” “No?” Killian echoed, all scandalized incredulity. Emma shook her head, glancing up and he didn’t argue when her chin dug into his shirt. 

“No. Ruby got some pretty good gasps at Shield’s and David got what can only be described as as a whimper when we started at the Wren, so—” “—That doesn’t count, the Wren is proper haunted.” She made a noise in the back of her throat, not quite a disagreement, but more like innate skepticism and Killian definitely kissed the crown of her head that time. “There is no such thing as actual ghosts,” Emma said, ignoring her maybe -boyfriend’s wide-eyed stare. “There’s not. This is—we are doing this for profit and to freak out the tourists. I’m—” Emma pushed up, nearly tripping over her goddamn skirts in the process. “I’ve got to change and then I really think you owe me a milkshake for going off-script.” Killian grinned. Slowly. It was cheating. They both knew it. The ghosts Emma absolutely, positively did not believe in knew it. 

“You want to walk to Wawa or…” “Walking’s fine. Five minute?” “I’ll be here.”

 She made him buy the fried ravioli under the heat lamp at the register too. 

And Emma didn’t notice the brick sitting outside her apartment door when she got home, trudging into her room and falling asleep almost immediately, Killian’s arm curled around her middle. 

 “Ok, do not freak out.” Emma looked up, her phone in one hand and a half-finished cup of lukewarm coffee sitting a few inches away from her. She winced.

Ruby had that look on her face. 

And Mary Margaret wasn’t far behind. 

Which meant David was— “Where’s David?” Emma asked. 

Ruby stopped in her tracks. “What kind of question is that?” “Usually these kinds of conversations also include David and I just don’t want to have to repeat ourselves when he gets here. I’ve got to be at—” She glanced at the schedule hanging on the far wall. “Tarpley’s this afternoon.” It was apparently Mary Margaret’s turn to freeze. Her eyes bugged, lips popping audibly. “You have to work at Tarpley’s today? Oh, Emma you can’t go.” “Excuse me?” “You seriously can’t go there, Em,” Ruby said, hooking her foot around an open chair and dropping down in a small cloud of fabric. “Where’s Regina? You’ve got to tell her.” “Is there a reason I have to tell our boss that I can’t go where I’m scheduled? Honestly, Tarpley’s is the easiest gig out there. I barely have to remember any facts, just for the few kids that come in with that’s—what’s the name of that thing they’re doing this summer?” “—Kid’s in Liberty,” Mary Margaret answered. Her eyes hadn’t returned to their normal size. “That’s a garbage name, isn’t it?” “Emma, I am not kidding around here,” Ruby hissed. She leaned forward, tugging Emma’s phone out of her hand and ignoring any objection. “This is a big deal and—Tarpley’s is crazy haunted, you know that.”

Emma groaned. Loudly. And slid down her chair. It hurt her spine. “Are you kidding me? Ok, who did he tell?” “You mean your boyfriend?” “Killian is not my boyfriend.” “Yeah?” Ruby grinned. “Tell that to how worried he was about you this morning. Becuase he, how would you describe it M’s?” Mary Margaret still didn’t look entirely confident, but Emma knew she couldn’t pass up a good romance either and secret dating in the middle of a vaguely popular tourist destination certainly fit the bill. “Something about a whirlwind,” she muttered. “And he told David. David just—” “—Can’t exist without telling you things?” Emma finished. 

“Basically. Why didn’t you tell us you were hearing things?” “Oh my God, I am not hearing things! That’s—I’m just tired and...hallucinating?” “I’m going to be honest, Em, that is not great either,” Ruby pointed out. She took a sip of Emma’s coffee, sticking her tongue out when the temperature was wrong. 

“Get your own coffee then,” Emma sneered. “Ok, ok, so I’m just...listen, this is not a big deal.” Mary Margaret’s eyes were never going to recover. “It’s not! Because it’s not a real thing. There are not actually ghosts in Williamsburg. It’s an old place with old stories and—” “—Ghosts,” David said, appearing in the doorway with a bag of Raleigh Bakery goods in his hand. “I refuse to take responsibility for any of this. Your boyfriend—” “—Come on—” “—Found me before his shift started at the blacksmith, which is where he is by the way now, Em, if you’re planning on killing him before work, and wanted to know if there were any stories we don’t use on the ghost tours. Specifically about a woman looking for help.” Emma lifted her eyebrows. “And?” “And nothing. I can’t find anything.” “Did you look real hard, then?” Ruby asked knowingly. 

“Maybe not real hard,” David admitted. “But we pretty much cover our bases on all the tours. I mean you can ask Regina if you want to, but…” “No,” Emma cried. Her voice cracked on both letters, another less-than-good thing, but she was bouncing between emotions so quickly she kind of felt like a ping pong ball. Or that stupid game with the string and the stick and none of the kids who bought it could ever do it right. “We are not telling anyone about any of this because—” She cut herself off when she heard the first clack of heels, Regina walking into the room with a stack of papers on her hip and bags under her eyes that looked deeper every time Emma saw her. “What are you doing in here?” Regina asked. “Emma, you’re supposed to be opening Tarpley’s five minutes ago.” “Yeah, that’s not how time works. I’m going, I’m going. I’m—” Regina blinked. “Yeah?” “Nothing, I’m fine. Everything is fine.” 

She looked around, as if she were challenging the rest of the room to contradict her and none of them said a word. “Let’s help the tourists learn something, huh?”

She made it through the day. 

No ghost. No voices. 

Just a day filled with overheated families and kids dressed in Colonial garb, more than a few obvious retirees sporting their own tri-corner hats because, for reasons Emma could never understand, that was apparently something people wanted to do. 

She sold replicas of the Declaration and the Constitution, tiny books that reprinted George Washington’s Rules of Civility and Thomas Paines’ Common Sense. And soap. So much soap. People who came to Colonial Williamsburg loved buying soap in bulk and a variety of scents. Lemon, lavender, bayberry. 

All of them. 

Emma’s hands reeked of the scents when she locked the door to Tarpley’s behind her. She didn’t have any extra ghost shifts that night, but she knew Killian was back at the Randolph house and, well—she did like when the crowd gasped. 

So she didn’t consider changing or even going back to the employee rooms, hiking up her skirts and heading towards the palace green and, really, she should have expected it all to go to shit.

The first gust of wind wasn’t much more than a soft breeze, but then the dirt blew up against her ankles and Emma felt like someone had strapped a very strong, nearly indestructible steel pipe to her back. 

Her spine straightened, mouth falling open like something was actually trying to yank the air out of her lungs. She tensed, the lump in the back of her throat making it impossible for Emma to swallow the way she wanted to. 

She tried to lick her lips, but even that was too much movement, shadows extending out from the Governor’s Palace in front of her and whatever sound she heard would probably echo in the back of her consciousness for the rest of her life. 

It wasn’t human. 

That much she knew. 

It sounded like it was coming from an impossible distance and right in front of her, all at the same time, a shrill wail filled with despair and fury and something else just on the edge that felt a hell of a lot like determination. 

And if she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, Emma would have sworn it was a dream. 

But she was awake and, somehow, still standing there, knees locked into place with what she could only described as awe and bone-rattling fear. Because there was someone running towards her. 

A woman. 

She was dressed exquisitely, a soft yellow fabric that ballooned around her when she ran. There were tears on her cheeks, streaks of kohl and a softness to her mouth that made Emma want to strangle whoever had done this. Several times over. She didn’t slow down, even as she got closer to Emma, a haziness around her that made it obvious she wasn’t entirely there. 

Her shoes clacked on the cobblestone street, sniffling every few moments and Emma couldn’t blink if she tried. 

She followed the woman as she continued forward, head on a swivel and her own breathing turning erratic. The woman’s shoulders heaved, until something changed, abruptly and suddenly, and her gaze snapped directly towards Emma, eyes boring into what genuinely felt like her soul and that steel whatever got even stronger. 

Emma stood up straighter, not sure what was happening, only that it was important and— “You have to help me,” the woman said, voice sounding like it was coming from underwater. “What he did. What he—tried to change. It’s not right.” Emma blinked. Once, twice, three times. “This is a dream. This is a dream. This is a dream,” she chanted, pinching up her arm like that 

would get her to wake up. It didn’t. She wasn’t asleep. 

The woman shook her head slowly. She didn’t take a step forward. That was probably for the best, Emma wasn’t sure what she would do if that happened. “You can help,” she said instead, “make sure the truth is known, what I—what we did. You can make sure it doesn’t happen again. He’s trying. Now. Please. Help me.” Emma didn’t respond. 

And eventually, when she stopped to think of everything that happened that night, how it changed the scope of anything that happened after, she would always regret that just a bit. 

The woman took a deep breath. 

Impressive, since, by all accounts, she was a ghost. 

“Please,” she repeated softly before turning on her heels and floating straight through the front door of the Wythe House. 

She left her right heel on the ground, the sight flickering for a moment, like it was clinging to this plane of existence and Emma couldn’t pull her eyes away. Until. One more burst of light, another sharp wail and— Emma didn’t remember her knees giving out, just a pair of hands around her shoulders and mumbled words in her ear, kisses peppered to every bit of skin he could reach and the goddamn musket was a few feet away. 

“Swan, Swan, Emma, look at me, love, c’mon, I need you to actually show that you’re breathing.”

She didn’t say anything. Again. That was becoming a quickly frustrating habit of hers. 

“Emma,” Killian sighed, only slight frustration. The rest was obvious fear and— “How did you get over here?” she asked. “That’s...aren’t you Randolph’ing tonight?” “Did you just use the family name as a verb?” “Am I awake right now?” Killian kissed her again — just between her brows. “Yeah, you are, love. And I...I don’t know how I knew. I just—” He swallowed, tongue darting towards lips that shouldn’t have been that distracting. All things considered. “I could feel it.” Emma jerked her head back, the condensation from the grass seeping through her skirts. Regina was going to yell about that. Loudly. Incessantly. “Wait, what?”

“It doesn’t make any sense, but—” “—I think I saw a ghost.” To his credit, Killian didn’t laugh. He didn’t really do anything, which was also pretty understandable, but Emma was teetering right on the edge of a complete breakdown and she kind of wanted him to kiss her some more. 

If only to prove this was real. 

“When?” “Just now,” Emma whispered. “She was...she came out of the palace. All fancy dress and she was crying and she said...she said I could help?” “You think it was the same woman? The one who was asking for help before?”

“If there’s more than one ghost involved in this, I will scream very loudly.” That got him to laugh. Killian ducked his head, lips catching Emma’s, and it was over before it really began, which was probably for the best, but she was greedy and dealing with ghosts and her knees were very damp. So she wanted to kiss him. 

For several interrupted minutes. 

No ghosts allowed. 

“Was there anything else?” Killian asked. “I mean she didn’t introduce herself, I’d imagine.” “No, the ghost and I did not exchange pleasantries.” “I’ve never heard of a haunting on the Place Green, that’s…”

“What you asked David about?” Killian blushed, the spots of color on his cheek obvious even under the dim lighting of now-electrical lamps around them. “I was worried,” he said softly. “About—” “—Me?” “Quite a bit, yeah.” “You could feel it?” Emma asked. “Feel what, exactly?”

“I don’t know how to explain it...it was like—like I could feel this tug in the pit of my stomach and I knew it didn’t want me, specifically, but it was like everything that I’ve ever felt for you was disappearing. Like you were…” “Disappearing?” “It sounds crazy, I know.” “I just saw a crying ghost leave her shoe on the grass, so. You know, comparatively.” “She left her shoe?” “Technically,” Emma nodded. “It was a ghost shoe, so it’s not there anymore. But it was silk, I think. Pink.” Killian narrowed his eyes, gears almost turning audibly in his head. He pressed the tip of his tongue to the corner of his mouth. “That’s something, love. What do you say to a little bit of research tomorrow afternoon?”

The Wren Building and the Wren Library were two different places on the campus of William and Mary, a fact that always inexplicably annoyed Emma. But the campus of William and Mary was also absurdly old and, if the stories were true, haunted in several different places and Thomas Jefferson went there, so Emma also figured it was the prerogative of said campus to be frustrating if it wanted. 

She’d already lost track of how long she and Killian had been there, tucked into a corner of the Library, not the Building, with half a dozen stacks of books around them and David’s promise that he’d sneak them ginger cookies from Raleigh at some point. 

“This is pointless,” Emma said, slamming another book closed and ignoring the look of reproach on Killian’s face. He was very worried about offending the books. 

Or possibly the ghosts. 

She hadn’t slept very well the night before. 

“We’re just not looking in the right books, Swan.” “Babe, we are—” She nearly swallowed her tongue. And Killian didn’t tense so much as he smirked at her, which was really, patently stupid when they were also researching ghosts, but maybe boyfriend sounded kind of good, if not just a little antiquated and— “Oh, don’t do that,” Emma mumbled, but that only gave the smirk more power. 

Clap if you believe in using relationship qualifiers. 

That was an out of place reference. “You were saying, love,” Killian drawled, propping his head on his hand. Emma rolled her eyes. 

“We’ll circle back around to that.” “Will we just?”

“Tell me the most out of left field Revolutionary War fact you know.”

“And that will help us how?” “It’ll distract me from finding absolutely nothing about some lady in a yellow dress that, in all likelihood did not exist,” Emma explained, the smirk turning into something that looked a little more genuine. Killian’s chair squeaked when he pushed out of it, in her space in three quick strides and he didn’t react to whatever sound she made when he tugged her up only to pull her back onto his legs. 

He hooked his chin over her shoulder. 

“The Continental Congress tried to replace Washington at one point. When things were at their worst, before Saratoga and the French showed. Lost some of that faith him. You know he didn’t have a picture-perfect military record—” “—Starting the French and Indian War will probably do that to you.” “Ok, it wasn’t Washington specifically.” “It helped,” Emma argued. “And this is really not a lesser-known fact. I also have a degree, you know. Plus the colonists won at Saratoga and Benedict Arnold was a good guy for a while and—” “—the French showed up,” Killian said. “We’re making the same point here, love.” She huffed, equal parts frustration and exhaustion. “The woman didn’t have any other defining characteristics? I’m just...I’m trying to time her.” “Like her 40 up the Palace Green?” He nipped behind her ear, leaving Emma squirming on his lap and they were going to get kicked out of the Library. She hoped David showed up with the cookies before that. “It just doesn’t make sense,” Killian mused. “Once the royal governor left the colony there wasn’t anything at the Palace that would warrant a dress. It was a hospital. That’s—” “—Oh, if you say it’s haunted, I’ll strangle you.” “That’s not romantic at all, Swan.” “And that’s not a disagreement. I know the story, anyway. Used as a hospital during the Siege of Yorktown and French soldiers died there and now kids at the College jump the wall and see apparitions or whatever.” “Have you ever done it?” “Once,” Emma answered, appreciating the look that elicited. “When I first started here. It was Ruby’s idea, obviously. So I went with her and David and M’s. But nothing happened. No ghosts, no weird voices asking me for help. No lady disappearing into the Wythe House.”

Killian jerked back. “Wait, what?” “Did I not mention that yesterday?” He shook his head slowly, the muscles in his throat moving when he swallowed. The lights above them flickered. “Spooky,” Emma muttered, gritting her teeth when Killian pinched her side. “God, stop that. So, yeah, that happened too. She lost her shoe and then kind of...melted through the door, but that’s—that’s not a clue. George Wythe was a really important guy. He had hundreds of people staying with him.” “During the war, though? That would have put him in Philadelphia.” “So he was ahead of his time and came up with a colonial Airbnb.” “Swan.” “I’ve never heard of a ghost story at the Wythe house.” “I have,” David said, and Emma wished he’d stop showing up like that. It was doing damage to her pulse. 

And Killian’s, apparently. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” he growled. The arm around Emma’s waist noticeably tightened. David’s eyebrows lifted. 

“Cookies. And information you can use.” “I thought you said you’d never heard about a woman asking for help,” Emma said, well aware that it sounded exactly like the accusation it was. 

“That’s true, I haven’t. But I have heard about a woman haunting the Wythe house, or at least its staircase and,” he clicked his tongue, squeezing one eye shut in thought, “possibly the upstairs bedroom too.” “God, get to the point.” “The story goes that a woman had been attending an event at the Palace—very Colonial Army, strategizing and—” “—A woman?” Emma interrupted sharply. David glared. She ignored that. “I know, I know. That’s...I’m just—for real?” “Again, the story goes that she was well respected and well married. Her husband had been big money in London, came to the colonies to expand the empire or whatever and ran in close circles with both Washington and the Marquis.” “Lafayette?” “You know another one?” “Give me the goddamn cookies, David.” He chuckled, another step into the room and he’d bought cornbread too. “Do you know what anniversary we’re closing in on?” 

Emma was going to scream. It was going to be dramatic and emotional and college kids would very likely talk in hushed whispers about the Wren Library Incident for years to come. Only, she never got the chance. Killian was talking. 

“The Comte de Grasse showed up in Yorktown. The beginning of the end of the Revolutionary War.” “Ding, ding, ding,” David nodded. “And according to the story some of the plans for the blockade of the Chesapeake that the Comte staged were drafted in a small room outside of the Governor’s Palace. Out by the gardens in the back.” “Where the hospital was?” Emma asked, and David was starting to look a bit like a bobblehead. “Ding. Again. The story goes that the woman was there with her husband, a man named Robert Gold and—don’t make fun of the name, I am not in the mood.” Emma mimed zipping her lips closed. Killian kissed the curve of her shoulder. “Anyway, no one knows why, but something happened in that last meeting and the woman she ran out, not a trace of her ever seen again, except, at midnight, when the sound of one heeled shoe can be heard walking up the stairs in the Wythe House.”

Emma had to look down to make sure her heart had not, in fact, fallen on the floor. She was having trouble breathing. But whether that was from the state of her lungs or just how tightly Killian’s arm was holding her was probably a debate even a group of revolutionaries outside the Governor’s Palace wouldn’t have been able to decide. 

“Shit,” she breathed. “One shoe, David? You’re sure?” “Is that important?” Emma didn’t answer him. She twisted, meeting Killian’s gaze and the tip of his tongue was back in the corner of his mouth. “What do you think?” “I think I have several thousand questions I didn’t have before.” “So list ‘em out.” He kissed her before he said anything else. That was nice. David groaned. 

“Possibly lesser-known Revolutionary fact,” Killian started, “but Washington had two options in 1780. The French were trying to get some support from the French West Indies, but that wasn’t guaranteed and Washington needed to do something drastic to make a move on the British. So he could either follow de Grasse to the Chesapeake or try and recapture New York.” “I mean obviously they didn’t recapture New York.” Killian shook his head. “No, they didn’t. Rochambeau advised them this way because he heard the British were building a deep-water port in Yorktown. And it wasn’t quite a last-ditch effort, but trying to contain Cornwallis down here was...an almost unheard of tactic. A lot of things had to go right and there was a certain amount of subterfuge to it. Washington and Lafayette both engaged British troops to make it seem like they were going for New York.” And it only took her a few seconds to understand. 

The light above them definitely got brighter. “You think he had help,” Emma said, stabbing her finger into Killian’s chest. He caught her around the wrist. “Someone here. Whoever told Rochambeau.” Killian nodded. “I do.” “You think it was Robert Gold?” “Why would someone with deep pockets in London be at a meeting of the minds just months before the British surrender?” Emma’s head was spinning. And racing. And possibly tripping over things. She was very glad she was sitting down. “But what about this woman?” David pressed through a mouthful of cookie. “Why would she run out of a meeting if her husband was helping the colonists? Unless she didn’t want that?” “No, that’s not right,” Emma said quickly. She blinked at the sudden certainty to her voice, as if it wasn’t hers at all, and she really wished her mouth would stop going dry so often. Killian tilted his head. “I don’t—David, do not react to this—she told me that he was trying to do it again. That’s got to be the husband, right?” Killian shrugged.

“Ok, that’s not helpful at all.” “Hold on, hold on,” David cut in. “We’re still talking about Emma’s ghost? Em, did you see someone? Here?” “Not here specifically.” “Oh my God.” “She said that exactly, Swan?” Killian asked. “Again?” 

“Seems important, right?” He hummed, tongue swiping in front of his teeth. She needed to stop looking at his tongue. “America won,” Killian muttered. “That...it all worked the way it was supposed to, eventually, but the road to Yorktown wasn’t great. There were a dozen instances where Washington could have lost control and—” “—These sound a hell of a lot like questions only the woman can answer.”

“No.” “Excuse me?” “I know what you’re thinking Swan and absolutely not.” “Ok, first of all, you are not a mind-reader, so jot that down. And second of all, that’s ridiculous. You are the one who is constantly talking about ghosts and—” Emma cut herself off. She couldn’t help it. Because the look on his face wasn’t one she’d ever seen before and she wasn’t entirely sure she ever wanted to see it again. 

She leaned forward, both hands on Killian’s cheeks. He kissed the inside of her left wrist. David didn’t make any noise. “I don’t know why this is happening,” Emma whispered. “But it is. And it’s...I can hear this woman and I saw her last night and she needs—if I can help her, then I’m going to.” Killian took a deep breath. “I know, Swan. But I’ll be damned if you do it by yourself.”

“Well, this is very romantic and absolutely lovely, but, uh, you guys are both idiots if you think I’m not going too,” David said. 

Emma nearly fell off Killian’s leg. “Are you kidding me?” “Are you? I was the one who knew the story, Em. Plus, something about this just...it feels off, you know?” “The ghosts weren’t a clue?” “You’re using humor to deflect and that’s fair, but I can also get the key for the Wythe house from Locksley. So.” “Fine,” she groused, only faking the irritation a little. “What time would you like to commune with the dead?”

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #colonial williamsburg fic #god what even is this??? #i certainly don't know

[vanxcks]

we’ll be fathers, sort of

masterpost (links to all chapters)

Read chapter 2 below the cut or on AO3 (link in notes)

“So what’s the status?” Crowley’s voice normally sounds loudly through the cluttered little bookshop, coming from the tinny telephone speaker. You’d expect a speaker of that quality to have broken years ago, or at least, like it’s name, to sound tinny, but it works perfectly. Many of the customers and Crowley have pestered Aziraphale about replacing his speaker, over the years, but he refuses to. If it works, why throw it away? 

“Please come over. It’s rather messy, I’m afraid, but I need help.” There’s a knock at the door, and he walks over, irritated. Can’t anyone read the sign? “Just a moment,” he says into the phone, and then shoos at them. “It’s awful,” he says, “I always try to keep the bookshop open during the day, but I can’t let anyone see the baby.”

“Just keep it upstairs,” Crowley says, and then he yells something obscene. He must be driving.

“I can’t keep it upstairs, it’ll suffocate. Or crawl off the bed, or out of the window. Or it’ll get to the wine bottles. Oh, God, this is far too difficult.”

“I thought you never wanted to sell any books, anyway. You wanted to keep them all cooped up there.”

“Of course I do, but I can’t have them knowing that, or they won’t let me keep the shop.” He hears another curse from Crowley’s side and winces. “Can you just come?”

“Fine, Angel, I’m on my way already,” he says, and then hangs up.

“Thank goodness,” Aziraphale breathes, and the baby starts to cry.

“Sorry I’m so late,” Crowley says when he finally arrives. “It’s been so hectic, packing up my things and setting my phone to transfer all calls here.”

“That’s ridiculous, you could have just miracled it. And besides, you only get calls from me.”

Crowley raises his eyebrows and steps back. “That’s rude. That’s what you are—rude.”

“Besides, it’s easy for you to say it’s been hectic. I had to learn to change a diaper,” Aziraphale says, shuddering. 

“A diaper? How do you do that?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Aziraphale says. 

Here’s the thing: It’s basically in an Angel’s contract to be great with kids. To be nurturing and sweet and kind-hearted and as generous with affection as you are with your time. And Aziraphale believes he’s as good as an angel needs to be, and as generous and giving, but he’s never had to spend time with a child before. And all the details of it—the cleaning and the feeding and the dressing—always seemed a little, frankly, distasteful to Aziraphale. Of course, he wholeheartedly supports raising children and devoting your whole life to them, but they baffle him a little. 

This entire day has been a mess. First the baby started crying, at three in the morning. It’s an ungodly hour, and Aziraphale would know, since he’s worked for God for over six thousand years, now. Aziraphale doesn’t know what to do with a crying baby. When did they go over that, in training? They just threw Aziraphale into the Garden and told him to make it up on his own, which he thinks is dreadfully unfair.

At least the baby’s not crying anymore. Aziraphale found, through the wonders of the internet, that there’s a thing called powdered milk that people use nowadays, so the child isn’t hungry anymore, and as long as he makes sure it isn’t too hot or too cold or too bright or too dark the child seems to be alright.

What has he gotten himself into?

“You packed, I assume?” Aziraphale asks. 

“Of course I packed, what did you think I was doing all night?”

“Well, you did storm into my house with a child, unprompted. Your organizational skills aren’t exactly on fire.”

“Did you just say on fire, angel?”

Aziraphale pauses. “Yes, and it’s a perfectly normal thing to say.”

“Not for you, it isn’t.”

“Well, I found it on the internet, if you must know.”

“On the internet?” Crowley laughs. “Aziraphale, you need to get out more often.” Aziraphale pouts. “Anyway, I’ve got clothes, a fresh set of blankets, and lots and lots of alcohol.”

“Blankets? What’s wrong with my blankets?”

“First of all, they’re all tartan. Every single one. And they’re scratchy.”

“My blankets are perfectly adequate, thank you,” Aziraphale says, taking the sheets Crowley has placed on the table and shoving them back into his back. “But—ah.”

“What is it now?”

“You’ll have to—no, I’ll sleep on the sofa. You can take the bed. There’s only one, I’m sorry.”

Crowley gives him a Look, capital l. He seems to have forgotten to close his mouth. “I—you don’t have a spare bed?” The corner of his mouth twitches, and Aziraphale suddenly feels as if they’re speeding into very, very dangerous territory.

“I, erm.” 

“Ah, well, can’t have the host sleeping on the sofa, can we?” Crowley says.

“I really think it’s more proper—”

“Don’t be ridiculous, angel,” Crowley says, grabbing Aziraphale by the shoulder and pushing him toward the door to the apartment. “I’ll take the sofa.”

“Oh. Oh, all right. Of course,” Aziraphale stammers, hoping to God he isn’t blushing. That would be frightfully inconvenient, not to mention embarrassing. “Of course,” he repeats, a little quieter, once he’s up the stairs and out of earshot. “Oh, Crowley!” he cries, realizing something.

“Yes, angel?” Crowley replies, leaning against the doorframe. The flat is dark, and he’s silhouetted against the warm light of the bookshop. Aziraphale’s mouth goes dry. 

Aziraphale picks up the basket and thrusts it toward Crowley. “Please take the child down there with you.”

“Crowley, what exactly is it that we’re doing?” Aziraphale finally asks. He’s made them both cocoa, but Crowley’s is sitting untouched and cooling in front of him. They’re sitting at the little table in Aziraphale’s apartment, light streaming stubbornly through the curtained window. 

“What’d’you mean?”

“I mean,” Aziraphale sighs, “with the child. With the baby. I mean, we’ve established we know nothing about children. And we’re keeping it in a basket, for goodness’s sake.”

“Yeah, maybe we should buy it a crib.”

“That’s not what I’m saying, Crowley. I’m saying—are you sure it wouldn’t be for the best to just give it away? There are so many adoptions agencies, so many orphanages.”

“I suppose, but look at him. He’s got no mother, no father. No birth certificate. I’m pretty sure he needs proof of existence in order to be put up for adoption.”

“We’ve got proof of existence—he’s right there! And frightfully loud,” he says, as the baby starts to wail once again.

“Documentation, Aziraphale. We can’t miracle everything.”

“But we—we can’t raise a child, Crowley. You’re a demon, for Heaven’s sake!”

“Yeah? What is that supposed to mean?”

“We’ll have to nurture him, teach him about morality and everything.”

“Oh, so just because I’m a demon, I don’t have a moral compass?”

“Well, yes. That’s how it works!”

Crowley takes a breath. “How long is it gonna take for you to start trusting me, angel?”

Aziraphale doesn’t know what to say for a moment. “We’ll—we’ll have to enroll him in school.”

“Oh, I doubt it’ll come to that. We’ll figure out the papers, do something. Could you find books on this stuff? Adoption and birth certificates and everything?”

Aziraphale brightens. “I definitely can.” And then, “And can you please feed the child? You’re the only one that can make him stop crying.”

#good omens fic #go fic #ineffable husbands fic #ineffable husbands #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #my writing

[brothermouzongaming]

Borderlands 3 review

Level 50 Zane, 15 Amara. Minor spoilers ahead World/Maps -The worlds you travel to are impressively large even though they're broken up into smaller sections; the term "smaller" is used very loosely. I may be wrong but these are by far the most areas and largest in the franchise and its kind of impressive. My favorite level is the Lectra City section of Promethea. It's both organized and maze-like where a gunfight can break out literally around every corner. All the sections are noticeably big and feel unique to the planet or area they represent with that "if it's on the map there's probably something there" design that not enough games take advantage of. -The color pallet is miles better than any previous game in the series. This game can be pretty but its even prettier when everything is blowing up and shit catching fire, particle effects are trying to fuck your eyeballs. The previous games were kind of bland color-wise, the pre-sequel did try and venture out more but this is way above that in my eyes. Gameplay/Guns/L00t

-The combat is sublime. I have heard people complain that doesn't feel much different but I think they are wrong and need to go back and play the less enthralling, less involved combat of the previous games. You didn't have many options in the first games when firefights broke out and it was dated but distinctly Borderlands. Now that the slide and mantle have been implemented (it's about time really), combat is faster and players can take advantage of high points and hit cover faster. The slide even has combat implications once you get to the later parts of the story. It's all very well worked and thought out as opposed to being just thrown in because it's what shooters do now. -The guns and gunplay are on par with Destiny, they may even be a little better when you consider how deep the loot is and how the stats visibly and tactically affect the guns they’re applied to. You get one Duke in D2 and you've pretty much got them all. Here you can get the same gun to drop and actually see and feel the difference between the stats it rolled with. The distinct differences in the manufacturers have really been leaned into as well. They reworked some of the distinct hallmarks of the makers and improved them to help ramp up the combat. This is minor but I really like how manufacturers will mail you guns the more you use theirs. -Vehicle controls are muddy as hell and will take a second to get used to. It’s definitely not the best possible setting even after messing with controls for a few minutes. The default kind of forces you to shoot where you’re looking unless you’re standing still, you may want a little more flexibility in your controls which is available. That said, the models and their functionality are varied and cool but I’m honestly surprised they haven’t perfected controls yet. Story/Writing

-The story is decent, wildly better than the actual writing and dialogue itself (which doesn't say that much) but once you get to the end there are some connection's made that are interesting and well thought out. Now that I've gotten the "good" out of the way. What the fuck is up with all the cutscenes not having our character in them. All events in cutscenes play out like our guy or girl isn't in the room and can't affect the events that play out in them. There will be so many times where you yell at the screen as to why your character is never seen/not doing anything in pivotal situations that could use a Vault Hunter. LIKE THE ONE THAT SHOULD BE STANDING RIGHT THERE. -Troy (male villain) literally says "You were like, 'My powers boo hoo'!!" which is a Handsome Jack reference. It would be nice and nostalgic if it wasn't the very first thing that comes out of his mouth when the Twins intercept you at the Dry Dock. Instead, it just seems beyond lazy and proves just how lacking in identity they both are. Tyrene is arguably worse, she just says things and then follows it with "I don't believe that," or " That's just something people say". That could show how little she cares and that would be fine if it wasn't the only thing about her that stood out. They almost do something interesting later in the story where Troy takes center stage but that lasts literally a boss fight. Both of them are just, underwhelming in almost every single way. All seldom the connection they have and how Troy is capable of being a Siren and Tyrene's seemingly completely unique and powerful abilities. Co-op, Optimization, and Performance

- Co-op will go from fluid and fantastic to laggy and rubber banding at the drop of a mag and it's as frustrating as it is thrilling as hell. It's strange what situations will slow things down and what runs smooth as hell. We had four people on one internet connection and everything ran really well. One day my friend and I tried with just us on Promethea and the session was so fucked I actually couldn't see or fire my guns at one point and I had to back out and come back to get them functioning again. There are definitely more patches coming but for a game boasting online co-op, it should be better. I will say though, level balancing is amazing and can even be quite useful if you want guns to drop at level no matter where you are in the game. People have been complaining about the UI and I totally understand, I don't mind the design, what I do mind is how obnoxious the input lag is. Oh and the weird glitch where as you scroll your inventory, the pictures of the items toward the bottom copy to rows above them. It's easy to fix in-game but...why is it even a thing? How have they not fixed that glitch where your FFYL timer just drops off despite still having time on the meter. It's happened since borderlands 1 maybe there's a certain amount of damage you can take before the timer doesn't matter anymore? I genuinely don't understand it and on boss fights, it's infuriating to lose money when you could've gotten a kill for your second wind. Misc. -Of course, the first patch they put out isn't to fix the performance issues but to kill the Loot Tink farm on at the Jakob estates. A farm you can still do offline fyi ;) A billion guns and you mad people getting a slightly higher chance at getting the guns they’re just gonna get anyway. WHY -The trinkets are cute but useless, why not put a minor stat buff on them to actually give them reason? They're so small they almost don't exist to me. -Also, that end credits song is absolutely terribly chosen. The end sequence, in general, is just strange and seemed a little forced. Not how they presented it but what exactly they showed because as perplexing as it was to see what I did, I was just more upset I didn't get the development of those scenarios to see how we reached the outcome. I'm trying not to spoil things but it's difficult so I'll just be quiet. I'm not even sure of what I saw but I do know what it looked like. I just wish there was more background given since our character gets literally none. -REALLY weird cameos. Like, really strange. tl;dr BL3 is an 8.5 for me which flys in the face of my many criticisms but I can't deny how fantastic the gameplay is on top of the absolute wealth of content delivered, all without the modern monetization bullshit. The story is meh, writing meh, but god damn if it isn't rewarding in its gameplay. IF you like BL as a whole there's no reason not to play unless you're waiting for the Steam release. An Endgame post is in the works.

#Borderlands 3 #Gearbox #2k games #video games #gaming

[delightfulmiraclecrusade-blog]

Manipulate My Decisions

"Hello New York!"

The crowd went wild of the sight of the raven haired beauty up there on stage. Bandages covering his eyes, a miracle that he could see where he was taking a step. Weird. That was the thought that he first seen that God on stage. The corners of his lips curled up into a small smirk as he gazed up at Rivalle. The name of the performer on stage. Most likely a stage name and nothing else. The male was short, it was the most noticeable feature that he. Still is actually. A blond with a bowl hair cut was jumping beside him, jumping with most of his clothing the same as his own it seemed. Everyone looked overall, proud and happy that they'd been able to catch the Japanese beauty up in stage with his pale fingers wrapped around the black microphone.

"Rivalle!"

The male's name was called over the quiet music. It wasn't going to be quiet for long. After all, this was a concert. Nothing was ever quiet during a concert. Even communicating a simple 'I Have To Get Closer!' Or 'I Need To Go To The Bathroom.' Was harder to say if you were with a group. Like Eren was currently. Mikasa, who was beside him jumping up and down with the others. In all honesty, the brunette had surprised most people in their group. Since in the past, Mikasa had practically dragged the young punk to his first ever concert that Eren had ever gone to of this man. Back then, there was an entire group. 'No Name' or something similar. But, since the demand for 'Rivalle' was so high. They seemed to do a full album with just his songs. No 'Hanji' or the other male in the band. Seemed that they all supported the tour. Yes, Tour. This wasn't the only concert. The male would be traveling around the globe sadly. And away from his home town.

"Let's Get This Concert Started!"

That was all it took for the lights to dim and the screaming to get louder then anything in the world for a moment before it quieted down. Only the extreme fangirls yelling out, chanting the young star's name. His friends that had tagged along, were the infamous Freckled Horse Couple. Jean and Marco. Even with a broken arm, the most freckled and kindest in the group had came along to this concert. Showed the dedication he had for 'Rivalle's Songs' It Seemed. Next, Was Mikasa and Armin. The bowl-cut haired boy beside him that was previously jumping like a rabbit in so much excitement. Another die-hard fan of 'No Name' in general. Another couple that had decided to come along with them, forming a seven-person group. It was the Bald Pringles couple. As the others liked to tease them. But, they never complained about the nickname for them. If anything, they fueled the fire for the name to be used more and more. For more laughs of course.

"I Wanna Follow Where He Goes, I Think About Him And He Knows It."

The smirk playing on his lips only widened at those words. Bringing back the memories of after the last show. One moment by one moment.

"I Wanna Let Him Take Control,  'Cause Everytime He Gets Close Yeah.."

It was about a year ago, the fifth 'No Name' Concert. Fueling their careers on faster and farther then they'd ever expected. It had to be the melodic tune of Levi Ackerman's Voice that made it happen. Who couldn't just sit there beside the god for hours, just listening to him even list off the ingredients off of a grocery list would be enough for Girls to start attacking the young pop star in less then five seconds. Gay guys would probably say the same thing. Men would kill to have that voice. And Chicks would kill to wake up to that voice each morning. Well, Eren wasn't even exaggerating at that point. That year, He was also taken to that concert. Dragged to it by none other then Mikasa, his step-sister. Who, he'd admit, had a bit of an obsession with 'No Name'  just from one glance at her bedroom, would be easy to see.

"He Pulls Me In Enough To Keep Me Guessin', And Maybe I Should Stop And Start Confessin'"

A day or two before the concert, Eren had actually went to one of the nearby Internet cafés in the area where his university was in. Shingeki University, if he remembered it correctly. It was an English-Japanese university. Where a lot of students where. It wasn't too hard or too easy passing the classes. Just right for people like himself. Who got, overall decent grades. Bs and Cs mostly. A rare A once in a while. Well, that was in high school, but the point was already made. A male was seated in the corner of the café, A cafe something along the lines of Wings. Or Freedom. He couldn't refer the full name.

"Confessin' Yeah.."

Eren had gotten his latte, asking the male if the seat parallel to him was open. Since, The Café was apparently a beehive with every single bee inside. Hiding from the rain that would've been pelleting down. Then again, there might've been a test coming soon for another major. Making everyone there most likely cramming for a test that was coming up. Then again, The male normally didn't pay much attention to the dates that tests were set on. The raven haired male that had a light gray scarf pulled up to his nose was probably cramming too, was what Eren had assumed. Not so far fetched.

"Oh! I've been shakin, I love it when you go crazy!"

The brunette couldn't remember what in the heavens inspired him to strike up a normal conversation with the male. Who, overall, looked like he was freezing with the along of layers it seemed he had on. It was just muscle. But, he couldn't have known at that time. Who would've? A Five-Foot Three tall male wouldn't even look scary or someone that could work out for as long as an athlete. Then again, it was simply his own opinion. His opinions were never good anyways. The two males had began chatting with one another, long enough for the shorter of the two to soon close his laptop. Getting a better view of this emerald orbed beauty before him. Two strangers talking as if they've known each other for years and just reunited was something possibly unthinkable. But, it was possible. Even if it was unthinkable.

"You take all my inhibitions, Baby there's nothin' holding me back!"

The next day or so, the concert had began. With all three of the members of 'No Name' were on that big stage. Preforming to their heart's content. The melodic voice of the main singer bowing most of the audience away. Eren, being the male that wasn't extremely interested in pop. Wasn't one of those die-hard hands. Yet. So, finding something for him to do during the time filled with screeching, woman's ovaries exploding and the music that group produced. The raven hair styled into an undercut that the young-looking main singer had gave him a small pang of déjà vu in the back of his head. But, the male couldn't connect the obvious. Who could in the first place?

"You take me places that tear up my reputation.."

The two had met up in that coffee shop the morning after the show. Fate possibly? Neither believed that word. Or the meaning behind it. A fact they both learned on their seemingly second meeting. When, it was actually their third meeting. The raven haired male seemed a bit relaxed, the amount of people in the crowd that was in the venue that they had rented seemed to cover up the taller of the two. Making it seem like Eren hadn't actually  been there. Which meant that the secret of his pop star life stays a secret for the moment. Levi Ackerman not being 'Rivalle' the pop star that was currently still in the spotlight. Loving that Levi Ackerman actually had someone to talk to that wasn't a therapist that knew of his pop star life. Of course, there was Hanji and Mike. But, there was so much comfort that those two could give the young pop star.

"Manipulate my decisions, Baby there's nothin' holdin' me back."

Soon enough, Eren's Punk persona was found out and took up a bit of their conversations in that cafe. Where they almost always meet up when their schedules fit it. Between classes, studio sessions and friends, it wasn't that easy. But, neither of them new of each other's lives. To Levi, Eren was A simple collage student. An 'Art Major'. Eren's own words. And, To Eren, Levi was a simple Collage student aswell. From a different collage then his own. A 'Music' Major. Nothing more was said, nothing less. By their fourth month of knowing each other. The two were practically inseparable. How a simple meeting at an Internet café could go into such a good friendship.

"There's nothin' holding me back, There's nothin' holding me back!"

Yet, there was one thing that they haven't exactly thought about during their friendship was still developing each and everyday. Their friends. Somehow, they had gotten weird the last few days. Eren saying a subtle 'No' To graffiti? The thing he was almost always recommending they would do. Levi, saying 'No' to cleaning their penthouse and simply leaving it? The raven would usually clean the house three, four times a day before even thinking about leaving it. But, those two didn't care it seemed. Both were struck by Cupid's arrow easily.

"'Cause if we lost our minds and we took it way too far, I know we'd be alright, I know we would be alright.."

One day, Eren had decided to get out of that café and go somewhere else with Levi. A friend that was now closer to him then Mikasa and Armin put together. Dragging the older of the two along with hm, his tanned fingers wrapped around Levi's wrist. Weaving through the crowds of people easily, one of them having laughter bubble past his lips while his shorter friend was rolling his eyes but smiling still a bit. Feeling overall content with following after the younger male, dressed in black along with multiple piercings. But, personally, those eyes were the most interesting of all.

"If you were by my side and we stumbled in the dark, I know we'd be alright.."

The twos feet took them to a club. Letting them party there for a bit. A bit meaning about two hours. Until eleven at night. Both had gotten drunk that night. And, learned that one liked wine more while the other enjoyed beer more. You can only guess who liked what more at the bar. Both of them had also been more of the touchy feely kind of drunks on the dance floor, chuckling and letting loose. Both of them having the best night of their lives together. Though, they didn't go much farther then that. Not yet at least.

"'Cause if we lost our minds and we took it way too far, But I know we'd be alright, I know we would be alright.."

They both stumbled around the alleyways. Giggling and chuckling with one another as they made their way back to Levi's shared penthouse with the other's. Somehow, Hanji was Held back by Mike and didn't go off attacking their star singer. But, they had also gotten the wrong image after the two had stumbled on top of the L-couch. Eren had fallen down first before Levi followed. Both of the. Passing out a couple moments later, both sleeping silently without a single worry in the world.

"If You Were By My side and we stumbled in the dark, I know we'd be alright, I know we would be alright."

And the rest? Is history.

"Oh, I've been shakin' I love it when you go crazy You take all my inhibitions Baby, there's nothin' holding me back You take me places that tear up my reputation Manipulate my decisions Baby, there's nothin' holding me back There's nothin' holding me back I feel so free when you're with me, baby Baby, there's nothin' holding me back!"

And with that last verse. The ravenette's hand pointed out wards me, a faint smile appearing on his lips as he gazed at me. Even with those bandages wrapped around his eyes. Their love definitely shown more then the bug star on stage. At least, in Eren's mind.

#ereri fanfic #ereri fic #ereri #eren jaeger #levi ackerman #no name #aot #snk #songfic

[sam-i-am-27]

April Fools Pt. 1

Summary: Virgil and the Sides awake to a household full of April Fools pranks.

Word Count: 1850 

Warnings: Mentions of nudity

Virgil awoke and instantly realized something was wrong. His room was… too bright. Far too bright. He sat up and stared around his room, unsure whether to be impressed or horrified. Every inch of his room, which was normally gray, purple or black, had been transformed into pastel pink and yellow. His black headphones had been replaced with neon ones with large fluffy cat ears on top, as if to mock him of his allergies and hate of bright flashy stuff. He noticed as he descended the stairs that the cobwebs that normally hung from the bannisters had been replaced with cotton candy while the fog that usually hung in the air was now visible smells. He caught whiffs of sweets, gunpowder, and… he hoped that wasn’t blood. The TV was on and currently playing what looked like some sort of weird sitcom starring Mark and all his friends. He recognized it as that one show pitch that Wilford had back in 2017.

Then it dawned on him. It was April 1st. The Septics had warned him about how seriously the Ipliers took this day which left one explanation. Wilford. Wilford did this. Almost as if the room had heard his thoughts, every photo that held an actual face suddenly had a bright pink mustache covering the person’s upper lip.

A mixture of anger and awe at the mere fact that the clinically insane (well… formerly insane since Patton managed to help begin the healing process of a shattered mind) Ego managed to do this bubbled in his stomach as he snapped his fingers, returning the room to it’s normal state.

He sighed and left the dreamscape, only to find the original version of his room in a very similar state, but… worse. Before he could avert his eyes, before he could even make an attempt to warn himself that something might be on the other side, his eyes had been burned with the image of a naked Mark Fischbach, straight from the calendar but without… censoring. He shut his eyes tight but the image of the naked man plastered on every single surface was stuck in his mind forever. He wished, now more than ever, that every mention of brain and eye bleach on the internet was now in his hands to be used on himself.

“I should… probably warn the others…” he whispered and sunk down into Patton’s room. He landed and felt something sticky and soft squishy under his feet. The heavy scent of peanut butter hit his nostrils and he looked around. The floor, walls and ceiling had been coated in peanut butter and as he stood there, looking at the mess, large glops of the stuff dropped onto his head. At least they had been considerate enough to put all of Patton’s beloved items into a box that was closed tightly to keep any of the drops from getting into it. Virgil guessed they had used a bit of Wilford’s reality bending powers to fit it all into a box barely bigger than the normal moving box.

“Patton?!” he called.

“Up here, Kiddo!” Morality called from upstairs. With a lot of difficulty, he made his way upstairs, ending up with a thick coat of the stuff all over his shoes. Patton was sitting on his bed, which was clean of peanut butter, and was staring at everything else.

“It’s April 1st,” Patton said. “They really… they really did a good job.”

“Yup. Wilford hit me. Everything was… pink,” he shuddered. “And in the real house… we need to clean it up before Thomas gets out of bed wakes up.”

“Why?”

He opened his mouth to say something but then realized that if this Side didn’t even know the true definition for adultery, maybe it wasn’t the best idea to tell him what awaited him in the physical realm.

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll ask Roman to help me if you can clean this up and get Logan up,” he said.

Patton nodded and clapped his hands, cleaning up every bit of the sticky substance and replacing it with his normal decor. Virgil smiled before transporting into Roman’s room. For a second, he thought everything was the same. Every single playbook, panorama, script, draft and story that he and Thomas had created or even brainstormed was laid out across the walls in such an organized manner that Virgil had thought it was Logan’s room when he first visited. Then he noticed the coloration of everything.

“What the hell?!” He felt as if he had just stepped into a 3-D optical illusion but without the glasses and even looking around gave him a headache. Anything that wasn’t red-and-blue was a light shade of gray that gave off a cold energy that made him shiver intensely but his breath wasn’t steaming, making him believe it only affected people, not the environment. Virgil knew that Wilford, King and Bim would most likely participate in the event but Dark?!

His headache was getting too much to bear so he summoned himself some 3-D glasses to level it out a bit. “Roman?”

The Creative Side looked over the counter, looking slightly shaken. “Hey, Virgil. Did they get you too?”

“Yes, they did. It was Wilford and believe me, only Patton would have liked it,” he said. “It was bright pink and smelled like cotton candy.”

Roman smirked. “Oh, I am going to use that someday, you’re going to regret saying that.”

“Whatever Mr. 3-Dingus. Listen, we got a major problem.”

His face went from disdain to concern in an instant. “What’s wrong?”

“They pranked Thomas too and… well, Patton isn’t the type of person to help clean it up. I warn you though…” He shuddered. “It’s pretty but not… pretty.”

He brought the two of them into the physical realm and Roman gasped, turned bright red and covered his face. “Oh my- Goodness! That is… that is quite a sight. This is… scarring.”

Virgil, already scarred for life, nodded in agreement, staring at the pictures without flinching. “Now you see why I grabbed you, not Logan or Patton. We need to get this cleaned up before Thomas or his friends wake up or…”

Roman nodded and they started grabbing each picture and either crumbling it into a ball or treating it like a ticking time bomb. It took the two of them nearly ten minutes to clean up every single image that was in-sight, hidden in cabinets, behind, stuffed into or under the furniture, in the books, and in the framed photos. They threw the hundred-odd photos into a pile in an empty corner of the Mindscape, put it into a twenty-foot-deep hole and lit it on fire. Seeing the images try and drift out of the hole to infect Thomas’ brain but failing was extremely satisfying even if the effort gone into cleaning it all up was a bit overkill.

“Well, for the first time in my life, I believe that I am jealous of Logan and Patton,” Roman said, looking down at the firey pit.

“How so?”

“They didn’t have to deal with… this…” he gestured to the pit. Virgil laughed and then felt a tug at the back of his mind- not Thomas calling him, but Logan.

“Logan’s calling; come on,” he said and they rose out of the Mindscape. Logan and Patton were sitting on the couch, Logan looking slightly shaken from whatever prank the Ipliers had pulled on him.

“What’d they do to you?” Roman asked.

“They set up screens all over… with the Jim’s reports,” he muttered.

Virgil snorted but quieted down at a cool but stern glare. “Well… Logan, that… That sucks.”

“They don’t even know how to use a green screen!” he blurted.

“I know, I know,” Patton said soothingly, reaching out to pat his shoulder but the Wall stopping him. Roman and Virgil glanced at each other, sharing a smirk before sitting down on the couch. They barely had time to relax before a strangled yell echoed down the stairs. At the same time, they all felt the same overwhelming shock, horror and disgust.

Thomas.

Virgil realized what was happening as soon as he remembered that the prank had never been confined to just the downstairs.

They glanced at each other and in an instant, were rushing to the stairwell. The only problem was that they all went at once and ended up running into the wall before even stepping foot on the staircase.

“One at a time!” Logan said, taking the lead. The other Sides followed quickly, bursting into Thomas’ room with their eyes shut tight but knowing what was on the other side. Unfortunately, neither Patton nor Logan had seen these before and soon their shrieks of horror joined Thomas’.

“For the love of- Roman, get them out of here!” Virgil said.

“Thomas!” Roman cried. “Close your eyes, we’ll take care of this!”

Virgil didn’t see what Thomas did but kept his eyes shut tight as he pulled down the pictures that he could unfortunately imagine in clear detail. He snuck a peak and saw Thomas sitting on his bed, eyes shut as the other Sides rushed around, taking the rest down.

“Roman, take Patton and Logan’s and then back to the pit!” Virgil said, stuffing them into his arms.

“What?! Why me?!” he asked, shoving them back to Virgil.

“Because I gotta help Patton, Logan and Thomas!” he replied, gesturing to the three, all of whom were curled into a ball, looking horrified and scarred. Roman nodded, collected the rest and disappeared. As soon as he was gone, Virgil rushed between the three and suddenly realized what it was like to be Thomas before Virgil first started showing up at meetings.

“Uh, guys… I know it’s a very unpleasant sight but… Thomas, if you let me, I can block out that memory if you want. If that’d make you feel more comfortable” he said to Thomas. Thomas looked at him and nodded. Virgil popped back into the dreamscape, collected every iota of those memories from Thomas’ mind and then shoved it into the back corner, blocking it off with a wall labeled ‘DO NOT ENTER: PRIVATE PARTS’.

When he returned, Thomas looked considerably better and was talking to someone on the phone. Patton and Logan were over to the side, looking slightly less shaken but still a little on the scarred side.

“Yeah. Yeah, it was bad. Alright, I’ll see you in a bit.” Thomas hung up and said, “That was Jack. Apparently he and the Septic Egos had a very similar experience but since there were more of them, it was more of a combined effort between the Ipliers; 3-D Jim recordings, Pink peanut butter, that type of stuff. They’re coming over later for the Mindscape Egg hunt with the Ipliers. We’ve agreed that next year, it’s a Septic-Sanders team-up against the Ipliers.”

They nodded and stood in silence for a while, not even saying a word when Roman showed up. Finally, Patton broke the silence.

“Let’s never speak of this again… if they ask… we don’t say anything…”

Virgil awoke and instantly realized something was wrong. His room was… too bright. Far too bright. He sat up and stared around his room, unsure whether to be impressed or horrified. Every inch of his room, which was normally gray, purple or black, had been transformed into pastel pink and yellow. His black headphones had been replaced with neon ones with large fluffy cat ears on top, as if to mock him of his allergies and hate of bright flashy stuff. He noticed as he descended the stairs that the cobwebs that normally hung from the bannisters had been replaced with cotton candy while the fog that usually hung in the air was now visible smells. He caught whiffs of sweets, gunpowder, and… he hoped that wasn’t blood. The TV was on and currently playing what looked like some sort of weird sitcom starring Mark and all his friends. He recognized it as that one show pitch that Wilford had back in 2017.

Then it dawned on him. It was April 1st. The Septics had warned him about how seriously the Ipliers took this day which left one explanation. Wilford. Wilford did this. Almost as if the room had heard his thoughts, every photo that held an actual face suddenly had a bright pink mustache covering the person’s upper lip.

A mixture of anger and awe at the mere fact that the clinically insane (well… formerly insane since Patton managed to help begin the healing process of a shattered mind) Ego managed to do this bubbled in his stomach as he snapped his fingers, returning the room to it’s normal state.

He sighed and left the dreamscape, only to find the original version of his room in a very similar state, but… worse. Before he could avert his eyes, before he could even make an attempt to warn himself that something might be on the other side, his eyes had been burned with the image of a naked Mark Fischbach, straight from the calendar but without… censoring. He shut his eyes tight but the image of the naked man plastered on every single surface was stuck in his mind forever. He wished, now more than ever, that every mention of brain and eye bleach on the internet was now in his hands to be used on himself.

“I should… probably warn the others…” he whispered and sunk down into Patton’s room. He landed and felt something sticky and soft squishy under his feet. The heavy scent of peanut butter hit his nostrils and he looked around. The floor, walls and ceiling had been coated in peanut butter and as he stood there, looking at the mess, large glops of the stuff dropped onto his head. At least they had been considerate enough to put all of Patton’s beloved items into a box that was closed tightly to keep any of the drops from getting into it. Virgil guessed they had used a bit of Wilford’s reality bending powers to fit it all into a box barely bigger than the normal moving box.

“Patton?!” he called.

“Up here, Kiddo!” Morality called from upstairs. With a lot of difficulty, he made his way upstairs, ending up with a thick coat of the stuff all over his shoes. Patton was sitting on his bed, which was clean of peanut butter, and was staring at everything else.

“It’s April 1st,” Patton said. “They really… they really did a good job.”

“Yup. Wilford hit me. Everything was… pink,” he shuddered. “And in the real house… we need to clean it up before Thomas gets out of bed wakes up.”

“Why?”

He opened his mouth to say something but then realized that if this Side didn’t even know the true definition for adultery, maybe it wasn’t the best idea to tell him what awaited him in the physical realm.

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll ask Roman to help me if you can clean this up and get Logan up,” he said.

Patton nodded and clapped his hands, cleaning up every bit of the sticky substance and replacing it with his normal decor. Virgil smiled before transporting into Roman’s room. For a second, he thought everything was the same. Every single playbook, panorama, script, draft and story that he and Thomas had created or even brainstormed was laid out across the walls in such an organized manner that Virgil had thought it was Logan’s room when he first visited. Then he noticed the coloration of everything.

“What the hell?!” He felt as if he had just stepped into a 3-D optical illusion but without the glasses and even looking around gave him a headache. Anything that wasn’t red-and-blue was a light shade of gray that gave off a cold energy that made him shiver intensely but his breath wasn’t steaming, making him believe it only affected people, not the environment. Virgil knew that Wilford, King and Bim would most likely participate in the event but Dark?!

His headache was getting too much to bear so he summoned himself some 3-D glasses to level it out a bit. “Roman?”

The Creative Side looked over the counter, looking slightly shaken. “Hey, Virgil. Did they get you too?”

“Yes, they did. It was Wilford and believe me, only Patton would have liked it,” he said. “It was bright pink and smelled like cotton candy.”

Roman smirked. “Oh, I am going to use that someday, you’re going to regret saying that.”

“Whatever Mr. 3-Dingus. Listen, we got a major problem.”

His face went from disdain to concern in an instant. “What’s wrong?”

“They pranked Thomas too and… well, Patton isn’t the type of person to help clean it up. I warn you though…” He shuddered. “It’s pretty but not… pretty.”

He brought the two of them into the physical realm and Roman gasped, turned bright red and covered his face. “Oh my- Goodness! That is… that is quite a sight. This is… scarring.”

Virgil, already scarred for life, nodded in agreement, staring at the pictures without flinching. “Now you see why I grabbed you, not Logan or Patton. We need to get this cleaned up before Thomas or his friends wake up or…”

Roman nodded and they started grabbing each picture and either crumbling it into a ball or treating it like a ticking time bomb. It took the two of them nearly ten minutes to clean up every single image that was in-sight, hidden in cabinets, behind, stuffed into or under the furniture, in the books, and in the framed photos. They threw the hundred-odd photos into a pile in an empty corner of the Mindscape, put it into a twenty-foot-deep hole and lit it on fire. Seeing the images try and drift out of the hole to infect Thomas’ brain but failing was extremely satisfying even if the effort gone into cleaning it all up was a bit overkill.

“Well, for the first time in my life, I believe that I am jealous of Logan and Patton,” Roman said, looking down at the firey pit.

“How so?”

“They didn’t have to deal with… this…” he gestured to the pit. Virgil laughed and then felt a tug at the back of his mind- not Thomas calling him, but Logan.

“Logan’s calling; come on,” he said and they rose out of the Mindscape. Logan and Patton were sitting on the couch, Logan looking slightly shaken from whatever prank the Ipliers had pulled on him.

“What’d they do to you?” Roman asked.

“They set up screens all over… with the Jim’s reports,” he muttered.

Virgil snorted but quieted down at a cool but stern glare. “Well… Logan, that… That sucks.”

“They don’t even know how to use a green screen!” he blurted.

“I know, I know,” Patton said soothingly, reaching out to pat his shoulder but the Wall stopping him. Roman and Virgil glanced at each other, sharing a smirk before sitting down on the couch. They barely had time to relax before a strangled yell echoed down the stairs. At the same time, they all felt the same overwhelming shock, horror and disgust.

Thomas.

Virgil realized what was happening as soon as he remembered that the prank had never been confined to just the downstairs.

They glanced at each other and in an instant, were rushing to the stairwell. The only problem was that they all went at once and ended up running into the wall before even stepping foot on the staircase.

“One at a time!” Logan said, taking the lead. The other Sides followed quickly, bursting into Thomas’ room with their eyes shut tight but knowing what was on the other side. Unfortunately, neither Patton nor Logan had seen these before and soon their shrieks of horror joined Thomas’.

“For the love of- Roman, get them out of here!” Virgil said.

“Thomas!” Roman cried. “Close your eyes, we’ll take care of this!”

Virgil didn’t see what Thomas did but kept his eyes shut tight as he pulled down the pictures that he could unfortunately imagine in clear detail. He snuck a peak and saw Thomas sitting on his bed, eyes shut as the other Sides rushed around, taking the rest down.

“Roman, take Patton and Logan’s and then back to the pit!” Virgil said, stuffing them into his arms.

“What?! Why me?!” he asked, shoving them back to Virgil.

“Because I gotta help Patton, Logan and Thomas!” he replied, gesturing to the three, all of whom were curled into a ball, looking horrified and scarred. Roman nodded, collected the rest and disappeared. As soon as he was gone, Virgil rushed between the three and suddenly realized what it was like to be Thomas before Virgil first started showing up at meetings.

“Uh, guys… I know it’s a very unpleasant sight but… Thomas, if you let me, I can block out that memory if you want. If that’d make you feel more comfortable” he said to Thomas. Thomas looked at him and nodded. Virgil popped back into the dreamscape, collected every iota of those memories from Thomas’ mind and then shoved it into the back corner, blocking it off with a wall labeled ‘DO NOT ENTER: PRIVATE PARTS’.

When he returned, Thomas looked considerably better and was talking to someone on the phone. Patton and Logan were over to the side, looking slightly less shaken but still a little on the scarred side.

“Yeah. Yeah, it was bad. Alright, I’ll see you in a bit.” Thomas hung up and said, “That was Jack. Apparently he and the Septic Egos had a very similar experience but since there were more of them, it was more of a combined effort between the Ipliers; 3-D Jim recordings, Pink peanut butter, that type of stuff. They’re coming over later for the Mindscape Egg hunt with the Ipliers. We’ve agreed that next year, it’s a Septic-Sanders team-up against the Ipliers. Mark’s going to help us cause they pranked him just as hard. Also, we have to teach Jack and Mark before the Egg Hunt how to actually go into the Mindscape and then leave it.”

They nodded and stood in silence for a while, not even saying a word when Roman showed up. Finally, Patton broke the silence.

“Let’s never speak of this again… if they ask… we don’t say anything…”

OKAY BUT TELL ME THAT THEY WOULDN’T DO THAT

@nightmarejim @petunia9402 @fandom-trash1214 

#Thomas Sanders #Sanders Sides #Markiplier #Markiplier Egos #Jacksepticeye #Jacksepticeye Egos #Fan Fiction #When Dreamscapes Cross

[marrvelle-fics]

Save My Mind (Wanda Maximoff X Reader)

(GIFS NOT MINE, CREDIT GOES TO OWNERS)

Words: 1861

Pairing(s): Wanda Maximoff x Elemental Reader (gender neutral reader), A little bit of Steve x Reader but it’s platonic

Warnings: Mentions of torture, hostage situation, Swearing, Wanda’s powers, elemental powers, cuddles, fluff

Requested By: @little-magic-matt

Request:  Hi~ I have a crazy request ; basically you were kidnaped by an organization worst than HYDRA ,"The Black Room" similar to The Red Room , you were part of their experiments ; which yours was basically a mix between the serum of CA and Black Widow, you're highly trained more than Nat and you can control the elements , The Avengers saved you, but you're very quite cause you weren't allowed to speak in the black room, the others doesn't know this Wanda finds out and help you , sorry for my grammar

Summary: After being rescued from The Black Room by the Avengers, you’re struggling with settling back into the world. You struggle with controlling your powers and socializing with the other team members. No one seems to notice, but a certain witch does.

A/N: Okay I’m not gonna lie, I really struggled with this one. It’s just that every time I wrote it, I wasn’t happy with it. Plus I’ve been dealing with major writer’s block pretty much all year which has come and gone again and again. I finally decided to just go ahead and post it before it’s too late and the internet goes to shit (support net neutrality y’all). I really hope you like it, and I am so sorry this took almost a year for me to write.

You backed up against the wall of your cell.

You could hear gunshots and shouting.

It was all too much, you shut your eyes trying to block out the noise.

Somehow you knew.

They were here for you.

You weren’t sure who it was, or their intentions. But they were coming.

The lights suddenly went out, and the base grew dead silent. All you could hear was your labored breathing.

Suddenly, there’s a metallic whirring sound, and then a bang against your cell door.

Your hand flies up immediately, surrounded by a ball of fire.

You take a few cautious steps forward, and then you see it.

It’s a round, metal shield, with a white star in the middle, surrounded by a blue circle, and red and white stripes around it.

Your eyes widen when you realize it’s broken the lock.

Not knowing what to do, you back up until your back hits the wall again.

The door creaks open, and a man walks in holding the shield.

"(Y/N) (Y/L/N)?" He asks.

You just stare at him.

"I'm Steve Rogers. I'm with the Avengers. We've come to get you out of here."

You keep staring, not making a single sound or movement.

Suddenly there's a shout and a guard attacks him from behind. The man named Steve whirls around and knocks him out with ease.

He turns back to you. "We don't want to hurt you, we only want to help."

He holds out his hand to you.

You slowly step forward and take his hand.

"We're  gonna get you out of here okay? I just need you to trust me."

But you can't. You can't trust anybody.

So without thinking, you're knocking him off of his feet,

He lands with a thud.

He's quick to get back up.

"I really don't want to have to do things this way." He says, waiting for you to make your next move.

You only narrow your eyes at him, as a ball of fire forms in the palm of your hand.

"(Y/N). Please don't."

But you don't listen.

You throw the fire at him.

He holds his shield up, blocking the attack.

He pops his head up and smirks at you.

That gives you an opening, and you do a spin kick move, hitting him right in the head, causing him to fall over. You run out of the cell as fast as your legs will carry you.

You run down the halls, turning at every corner, trying to escape.

You suddenly hear a voice in your head.

'We don't want to hurt you. We just want to get you to safety.'

You freeze.

"Who's there?!" You ask into the darkness.

Suddenly a man jumps out from one of the corridors, he aims his gun at you, and you yelp, stumbling backward and falling.

You see a ball of red energy surround the hand that's holding the gun. It throws the man against the wall, knocking him out.

A woman steps out of the shadows, and you swear your heart stops.

Her eyes are glowing red, as her long brown hair floats around her shoulders. She's wearing tight black leather pants, and black thigh high boots She has a red leather coat on, and a corset underneath it. You watch the red energy swirling around her hands.

She approaches you, and you can only continue to stare.

She offers a small smile.

"E in regula. Nu vrem să vă rănim. Am fost odată ca tine, singură și speriată, și știu că ești speriată. Dar suntem aici pentru a ne ajuta." (It's okay. We don't want to hurt you. I was once like you, alone and scared, and I know you're scared. But we're here to help.)

Your eyes widen upon hearing her speak in your native tongue. You can't help feeling incredibly calm around this woman.

You slowly nod. "Bine." (Okay.)

She offers her hand to you, and you take it.

She leads you out of The Black Room.

Away.

Away from the memories.

Away from the torture.

Away.

About two weeks had passed, and you were slowly settling into life at the compound with the Avengers.

It was hard to control your powers, however. And Tony seemed set on pranking the hell out of you, which wasn't very smart. Whenever you got scared, your powers acted up. It could be something as minor as a cool breeze blowing through the building, to something more serious... Such as nearly setting the whole building on fire. But he didn't seem to know when to stop.

The team was gathered in the living room. Each person doing their own thing.

"Hey (Y/N)! Catch!" Tony yelled at you suddenly.

You saw the tennis ball flying at you and yelped in fear, shutting your eyes and bracing for impact.

But nothing came, and instead, you smelled burning rubber.

You looked down to see the tennis ball on fire.

Your eyes widen, and with a wave of your hand, Clint's glass of water was empty and the water swirled around your hand before you directed it down to the ball.

The flames went out.

"See?! (Y/N) has these kick-ass powers but is a total pushover!

You blushed, looking around. You averted your gaze from anyone else's.

"S-Sorry." You say just above a whisper.

"There's nothing to be sorry about (Y/N)." The familiar voice of the Scarlet Witch says.

You blush even harder.

"Tony, just leave the kid alone already, damn it." Steve says.

"Language, Rogers."

Steve flips him off.

"Aw c'mon guys I was just messin' around!" Tony whines.

"Yeah well, enough is enough Stark." Sam says.

"Oh, you wanna go Bird Boy?"

"Yeah let's go!"

Then the whole room erupts in a series of yelling. You try to take deep breaths but you can't.

'Out. Out. Out. Out. OUT.' Your mind screams.

You try to leave before you lose control, but it's too late.

The ground starts shaking,

Everyone stops and looks at you.

"Stop." You say, as you feel tears welling up in your eyes.

You get up and run to your room.

The shaking had stopped by now, but you were now a crying mess huddled on your bed.

You hated this. Why did they have to fight over you. You just wanted a normal life. You wanted to be able to talk to people without being afraid of being punished. You wanted to be able to fall in love, without worrying about the possibility of losing control of your powers.

You hear a gentle knock on your door.

You look up and see Wanda standing in the doorway.

She offers a small smile, one that calmed you instantly.

"May I come in?" She asks.

You nod, sitting up on your bed, and making room for her to sit.

She walks into your room and looks around. There were a few decorations here and there, but it still looked like one of the facility's boring guest rooms.

"You should decorate in here." She says. "Maybe I'll take you  out to buy some things this weekend."

You offer her a small nod.

She looks at you and sees the tear streaks on your cheeks. She hurries over to you, grabbing a tissue box from the bedside table.

Wanda grabs a tissue and dabs at your cheeks with it.

"There there, dragă." She murmurs.

You smile, grab another tissue, and blow your nose.

"I'm sorry I-"

"No need. We were all being gaozari in there. I know how agitated you were. We're the ones who are sorry."

"Gao- what?"

She laughs. "It means assholes."

"Oh."

You look down at your hands.

"I know you're afraid," She says softly. "I know what they did to you in The Black Room, how they tortured you if you spoke a single word... But you don't have to worry anymore."

"I- I know." You said cautiously. "It's just that... I can't help it. All the things they put in my head... It's all there. I can't get rid of the instinct to shut up."

You had tears in your eyes again by now.

She touched your arm gently.

"I think I may be able to help." She says.

You furrow your brows in confusion.

"Lay back." She says, moving so she's kneeling next to your bed.

You obey, laying back on the comfortable mattress.

"Do you trust me?" She asks.

You nod.

"Close your eyes."

You close them.

"This might feel a little weird, it might even hurt a bit."

"I trust you, Wanda."

You feel a wave of energy surround your head

Your head is buzzing. You shut your eyes tighter as what feels like a strong headache hits you.

You see everything they had put in your head. All the torture, the threats, everything.

And then you can feel it all melting away, it feels like you're being enveloped by warm water. It's soothing.

You blink your eyes open.

Wanda is looking at you, waiting for a response.

"It- It worked." You smile, as it really hits you. "It worked! Oh my Gosh thank you Wanda!"

You throw your arms around her in a hug. She laughs.

"You're welcome (Y/N). I'm just glad I could help."

You smile at her.

"But... What about my powers? I still don't know how to fully control them. Anything could happen when you can control the elements."

She takes your hand in hers. "I think I can convince Steve to let you train with me. I think I could help you learn to control them. I had a hard time with my own powers when I first came to the Avengers, and now... Controlling them is effortless."

You nod. "Okay. I'd really like that... Training with you I mean."

"Great! I'll go talk to Steve. You should get some rest. Your mind is exhausted, you need to sleep."

"Oh... Okay." You say sadly, sad that your time with the witch is over.

She gets up and walks to the door.

"Wanda wait!" You say, stopping her dead in her tracks.

She looks at you.

"Could you stay? Maybe um-"

"Cuddles?" She says with a smile, reading your mind.

You nod. "Cuddles."

She comes over to the bed, and you scoot over, making room for her.

She holds you close to her, your head against her chest. She plays with your hair.

"You have nothing to worry about anymore dragă."

You smirk. "Except maybe what prank Tony's going to pull next."

She laughs. "Don't worry, I'll take care of him."

The next morning, the team found the two of you in the same place. Holding each other, sleeping peacefully.

Tony snaps a picture and snickers.

But then the phone flies out of his hand and into Wanda's.

She's wide awake now. Her eyes glow red and she holds the phone in her hand.

Tony's eyes widen. "Uh... um-"

And then she's off the bed.

"You'd better run Stark."

And so ran for his life.

You giggled, watching Wanda chase Tony down the halls.

Life wasn't so bad now that you had the witch by your side.

A/N: Thanks for reading! I really hope this was up to your expectations. While it was difficult to write, it was still fun! Sending love to everyone! 

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[redditnosleep]

Fuck Oranges

by M59Gar

We were at the bar for Connor's twenty-second birthday when the world first began to fall apart. It started with an absurdly small detail; I ordered two Blue Moons for us like always, but he picked the orange slice off the rim of his glass with a frown. I looked down at the one on my glass and asked, "Something wrong?"

His frown momentarily changed to a look of disgust. "I hate oranges."

That was odd, since it had been our ritual since his twenty-first birthday to always get that brand together when we were out at the bar because fruit's good for you! Therefore, this beer is healthy! But it was his birthday and he could do what he wanted, so I didn't ask about it. Rebecca, however, had already had a few. She cut past the group conversation to proclaim, "But isn't the orange the healthiest part?"

Connor shook his head. "No way. Oranges are gross."

Across the table, Dan said, "Oranges are great, man. They're nature's candy!"

Rebecca's older sister Shannon was with us that night; she countered, "No, beets are nature's candy." When we stared at her blankly, she asked, "Doug? You know, the Nickelodeon show Doug? With the dog, Porkchop? Best friend Skeeter? Everyone in that world loved beets?" When we only vaguely recalled the show she was talking about, she threw her hands out in defeat.

Near us, an older regular was watching a television above the bar. He sneered. "Man, I'll tell you what's wrong with this country. It's them." He pointed at the screen. "I hate 'em." Around him, fellow regulars cheered, and he grinned with pride. He held his hands up high and said, "Round of shots for the whole bar! On me!"

And that was all I really remembered of the first night things began to unravel. After that, my memories got blurry, and I woke up under a villainous beam of sunlight with overwhelming nausea and a killer headache. My first mighty act of willpower was to close the blinds and hide us from the monstrous Sun; Dan was on the floor of my room under my computer table, and Rebecca was in the hallway swaddled in every single blanket the house had to offer.

With relief, I saw that Connor was propped up on his bed by an array of pillows that kept him on his side. A trashcan below him was filled halfway up with vomit, and Shannon sat in the corner on her phone. Upon seeing me, she said, "Oh, does your head hurt? Good. He's all yours now. I'm going home and going to sleep."

I was left to take care of the birthday boy, which admittedly was much easier now that he was half-awake. The one thing I did ask him during his stupor was: "Do you really hate oranges?"

"Always have, man," he groaned.

And I was left feeling as if our roommate ritual for the entire last year had been some weird sort of lie that he'd grown tired of carrying on. I stewed on that feeling for the rest of the day. What if he didn't really consider me a friend? What if he was just humoring me because we were roommates? It felt as if my entire position in the group was in jeopardy, as if the way I thought of myself was under threat. It was a gnawing, lonely, and terrible feeling that kept me up all Sunday night.

On Monday, I downed coffee and sat morosely at my computer. This was my first job after graduation, and I was finding it unfulfilling. Did we even do any real work? While my coworkers spent most of the day huddled around a meeting room television watching the news, I could only think about the orange issue. By the end of the work day, I'd decided to cave.

I was the first one at the bar that evening, and Dan sat next to me about twenty minutes later. He looked at my stout and said, "No Blue Moon today?"

"I, uh, hate oranges," I lied with a grimace.

To my surprise, he said, "Me too."

That was weird. "Didn't you say they're nature's candy?"

"Not even close." He looked to be rather offended. "Oranges are the highest carrier of disease among all fruits and vegetables."

Mortified, I asked, "Seriously?"

He folded his arms. "Yup. Absolutely disgusting fruit."

That was a bold enough claim that I put down my stout and picked up my phone. After a few searches, I began to grow very confused. "Citrus greening, citrus canker, citrus black spot, gross. Sweet orange scab. How have I never heard of these diseases before?" The pictures were horrifying. "Oh, but wait, these only affect oranges and are not dangerous to humans."

Dan just shrugged. "Science says a lot of things are safe, then suddenly they find out they're not. I'm not eating anything that looks like that."

I didn't agree with him, but the images had still unsettled me. Maybe there was a reason to avoid oranges after all. The rest of the gang showed up soon after, but the disturbing images never truly left my awareness.

Later that night as we all spilled out of an Uber in front of my place, we were laughing and joking again as normal, and I was starting to feel a little better. I'd overblown the whole issue, really. There was nothing to worry about. These people didn't secretly hate me, and I did belong.

Across the street, one guy began yelling angrily at another. The Uber pulled away, removing the barrier between our group and the guys; we saw them push at each other, scream back and forth, and then begin trading punches. This was a nice college-age neighborhood where nothing of the sort had ever happened before. What were they thinking? We stared until they noticed us. Abruptly, they stalked off and returned to their separate houses—next to each other. They were neighbors.

"How ridiculous," Connor said with a laugh before leading us inside. "We'll have to make sure not to invite them over next time we have a party."

He didn't seem to be in any sort of deceptive or bad mood, so, once we were all sitting around the kitchen table drinking water, I took the opportunity to ask him about what had been bothering me.

"Yeah, I do hate oranges," he told me. "You'll never catch me eating the damn things. They're like, the biggest carrier of disease among all fruits and vegetables."

"Never?" I joked. "What about the last year of us getting Blue Moons?"

He tilted his head at that. "I never get that beer. It comes with an orange slice, and I hate oranges."

That was when it finally occurred to me that something was seriously wrong—either with my memory, or with the world. No longer smiling, I said, "We've been getting that beer every time we go out since your birthday last year when that hot girl that night thought your joke about it being healthy was hilarious."

His expression darkened. "That never happened. I don't drink Blue Moon."

"That's how I remember it," I insisted flatly.

"Then your memory's messed up," he retorted, growing strangely angry. He balled up a fist between us. "I never drink that shit. I never have. You stop saying that shit now. Oranges are disgusting."

Rebecca and Dan watched us in awkward silence. I figured I had one more back and forth within the bounds of politeness; I decided to make it count. "Dan, you remember us getting the orange slices with our beer, don't you?"

Dan stiffened in his chair. "Oh don't bring me into this. I hate oranges too, always have. I wouldn't hang out with people who didn't."

I stared at him. "What? What the hell does that mean? Since when is this such a big deal?" I turned to Rebecca. "You remember, don't you? That whole exchange with your sister about oranges versus beets on Saturday night?"

She kept her eyes on her water and did not reply.

Connor stood and approached me with menace. "Look man, you've been a good friend for a long time, but you're gonna have to cut this shit out if you wanna keep hanging with us."

Was he serious? How could he possibly be serious? I looked to Rebecca and Dan, but neither one met my confused gaze. "I was just joking," I finally told Connor. "You know, messing with you guys."

His face immediately lit up. "Oh, damn, you got me good!"

"Ahh, yeah," I laughed with him, secretly terrified.

Rebecca and Dan finally looked up, relieved, and the mood immediately went back to happy and carefree. I hung out and pretended to be normal until everyone finally went to bed—Rebecca in her room downstairs, and Dan and Connor in the hallway next to my room—before I finally had a chance to investigate. For the first time in months, I closed and locked my door. The wonderful atmosphere that our house full of friends had started with was now one of fear and suspicion. I sat in the dark in front of my computer and began to scour the Internet in search of answers.

I'd seen enough science fiction to hazard a few guesses. Was I in the wrong reality somehow? Was my timeline changing for some reason? I didn't know enough particulars about history to see if anything was different on Wikipedia. No. This was my room. My credit card worked, and my social security number was correct. If reality or time had changed in even the slightest way, those randomly-generated numbers would have been different. This was my world—just changing for some reason.

And because of that small and utterly inconsequential change, my home life and friends group were on the line. Was I going crazy? The only conclusion left was that I was the problem. Something was wrong with my memory or belief that had left me at odds with those I cared about.

Just then, as I sat in the dark, I heard my door knob turn—and fail to open, since I'd locked it.

Someone had just tried to come into my room.

And something told me it wasn't for cuddling. It had been a subtle and stealthy attempt. On a horrified hunch, I quickly and quietly opened my window and slid out into the night. Five houses down, I saw a roof ablaze—someone's house was on fire! What the hell was happening?—but I couldn't worry about that at that particular moment. Peering in another window, I saw a silhouette of darker darkness move near a gleam of metal.

Someone had just tried to come into my room—with a knife.

The silhouette disappeared into deeper shadow, leaving me with no identity beyond the fact that it had to have been one of my roommates. How in the ever-blazing Hell had a like or dislike of oranges come to such a point? This was not normal. This was not natural.

Crouched out there in the chilly night, illuminated only by the house-fire five lots distant, I was forced to face the only conclusion left: something supernatural was going on. As soon as I truly entertained that notion, the fire-lit darkness felt suddenly far less solitary. Were eyes upon me? Was something watching me even then? I found it hard to believe that hating oranges was the primary goal of whatever was happening—rather, just the side effect of a slowly creeping insanity or possession of some sort.

There was nothing to do about it at that particular moment. I didn't feel safe outside, but I didn't feel safe back in my room, either. I barricaded the door and windows and found only the least satisfying half-awake form of sleep. In that odd mix of dreaming and waking, images of diseased fruit tortured my awareness.

I didn't get a chance to catch Rebecca alone until Wednesday. She was the first to show up to the bar that evening, like Dan had been on Monday, but she seemed uncomfortable and apprehensive. After she looked over her shoulder for the third time at the entrance to the bar, I asked quietly, "Are you afraid, too?"

Her gaze spoke volumes; she bit her lip, looked at the door again, then told me, "Just stop screwing around with the oranges thing, alright?"

"What is the oranges thing?" I demanded in a whisper. "What is going on?"

Half-panicked at my questions, she insisted, "Just tell them you hate oranges, alright? Just freaking tell them you hate oranges! Stop asking about it, stop poking at it! I like my life! I like you guys! I like my house! Stop disrupting everything!"

I grabbed her hand as it lay on the table between us. "I just want to understand. Where did this hatred for oranges even come from? What is going on that is making our roommates act like this?"

She finally looked me in the eyes, and I saw bloodshot exhaustion there.

"Wait," I whispered. "Have you been sleeping poorly, too? Bad dreams?"

Her eyes opened a little wider; she went to speak, but she saw someone come in the back door of the bar and quickly pulled her hand away from mine. Connor fell upon me rather forcefully from behind, but only to wrap his arm around my shoulder and neck. "Ooh, what are you two lovebirds up to?"

He knew we weren't a thing anymore. What was his problem? Following the cue from Rebecca's masked terror, I said, "Just talking about how much we hate oranges, bro!"

Connor jerked his neck toward her. "Is that so, Rebecca?"

She didn't speak. She just forced a smile and nodded weakly.

"Awesome, awesome," he said with genuine relief. He let go of me and sat between us. "I knew you two would come around."

Dan arrived soon after, complaining of a vendor selling oranges he'd seen on the way over. "Grossest pile of disease you've ever seen." He shuddered.

I looked to Rebecca, but she silently warned me to just go with it.

And I did. For the next hour, I carefully observed Dan and Connor, trying to figure out what was going on with them. It wasn't until I went up the bar to get Rebecca and myself more drinks that I saw something that chilled my soul. A girl took a picture of three of her friends to my left; the angle was such that my table was in the background. While waiting for the drinks, I happened to glance at her phone.

My table was indeed in the background. There was Rebecca, there was Dan, there was Connor—

And someone else.

I only saw her phone for an instant before she turned away, but I was certain enough to surreptitiously turn around and pretend I was texting while I angled my camera up at my friends.

There, among the crowded patrons of the bar—and shown only in choppy frame-by-frame rendering—was the shadow of a person bent down near Connor's ear.

As I stared at my phone in paralyzed terror, that shadowy head tilted up, as if it was looking at me with concern. Rather than react and give myself away, I shouted to my friends, "Picture time!"

The silhouette turned a half-step and vanished as if a gust of wind had dissipated it in one fell swoop. My friends smiled and made faces; the flash irritated a few surrounding patrons, but I'd gotten away with it.

And there was something among us. Holy Christ, a literal shadow whispering in Connor's ear—murmuring insidious words of hatred, no doubt.

But why oranges?

That Wednesday night, at 8:42 PM EST, a runaway car crashed into the front of the bar, smashing all the windows and killing a woman. I know the exact time because the police forced us all to give statements before we could go. We'd been across the entire bar and had only seen the aftermath, really, but I was still pretty unhelpful. All I could think about was the shadow lurking among us.

As the Uber pulled onto our street that night, I absently studied the blackened shell of the house that had caught on fire five lots down. It was still smoldering, and it looked like nobody had come to put it out. In fact, it looked like nobody lived there at all. Looking left and right, I noticed that half of the houses on our street had no cars in their driveways. We weren't so fancy as to have garages.

Was the lurking shadow driving people away? Why hadn't anyone said anything? Were they even conscious of the shift in tone of our community? It had been the best time of my life until suddenly neighbors were getting in fistfights in broad daylight, my roommates had developed a random weird hatred, and houses were burning down without anyone calling the fire department.

We sat in silence around the kitchen table for at least ten minutes. Shaken by the car crash that had killed someone across the bar, Rebecca finally spoke. She murmured, "I hate oranges, too."

Dan and Connor moved to her and hugged her tight. "It's alright. You're one of us. We'll always be here for you." As they held her, they glanced at me a few times, and I joined the huddle to avoid starting another fight.

I wondered if the shadow was there with us, embracing us the way we were embracing Rebecca. I could even feel the issue clouding in my mind. Did I hate oranges, too? I mean, everyone else did. And those pictures of diseased oranges were disgusting. Had I really liked orange slices with my beer this whole last year? If I had, I might have just been horribly mistaken. Misled, even, by beer advertisements. Those ads never said anything about the diseases oranges could catch. That was odd, wasn't it? It was like they didn't want me to know. It would hurt their sales for me to know.

These thoughts plagued me that night and all the next day. At work on Thursday, while my coworkers randomly cried in their cubicles or had hushed discussions that broke up as soon as a manager neared, I sat on my computer and researched paranormal possessions and hauntings.

One of the things I learned was that demonic beings—that is, entities from a religious sphere of ideas—hated signs of God and good, and tried to get those they were trying to possess to destroy crosses and pour out holy water and the like.

That made sense.

But if the being haunting my friends, my house, and my street was not from the religious sphere, but perhaps a different space—what if oranges were a representation of the things that made it vulnerable? If this was some sort of anti-nature spirit, maybe it was pouring hatred of oranges into my community because oranges could drive it away.

But that was crazy. I actually laughed out loud in my cubicle as I internalized the idea, and one of my crying coworkers looked at me like I was a monster. "Oh, sorry!" I told her, grimacing awkwardly. "I was just thinking about something else." She glared and rotated away in her chair.

Thursday night wasn't one of our usual bar nights, so I was at home when Rebecca's older sister Shannon stopped by. It was for something trivial, but on the way out, I caught her on the porch. I needed reassurance. "Hey, Shannon, you remember that whole conversation about oranges versus beets last Saturday?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah. What about it?"

I gulped. "So that did happen?"

"Yeah..."

"And Connor and I have been joking about orange slices for the last year?"

Narrowing her eyes, she said, "Yes. Why?"

"I don't know," I told her truthfully. "I'm just starting to doubt my own reality. I had to be sure."

She scrolled through Facebook on her phone, then showed me a picture. "Look, it's the two of you on his twenty-first birthday last year, when I was designated driver as usual."

In the picture, we were both holding our beers forward, orange slices on full display. The hot girl who had sparked the entire tradition was sitting next to Connor, exactly like I remembered. "It's real." I looked up at her. "How do you feel about oranges?"

She grimaced, but not out of disgust. "What? Why? They taste alright I guess."

"Seriously. What's your opinion on oranges, beyond just whether you personally like their taste?"

"Neutral?" she replied. "I literally don't care. Why would anyone have an opinion on oranges unless they're like, a botanist or a farmer or something?"

That was an incredible point, actually. "I wish I knew."

As she turned to leave, we began to hear a commotion at the end of the street closer to campus. We were only a few blocks away from campus, and still close enough that street vendors often passed this way. When I saw an older man pushing a cart of oranges being surrounded by a group of my peers shouting profanities, I knew exactly what was happening.

And I could see Dan and Connor among them.

Rebecca came out onto the porch at hearing the violent shouting, and the three of us stood staring as the mob began to push at the unfortunate cart owner. We started running toward the fray after Dan sent a wild punch—and the man fell. The mob was screaming with furious bloodlust and stomping en masse by the time we got there.

But the cart owner was fine, if shaken.

The mob was stomping his oranges.

It was some eerie otherworldly version of a group murder. Bits of orange peel flew this way and that with the force of the stomping below, and fruit juice splattered across clothes in every direction. The gore would have been vomit-inducing had it been human; as it was, I was still mortified by what was happening. These people, my friends and neighbors, had become rabid animals full of irrational hate.

Shannon looked at me in confused askance.

I shook my head. I had no idea.

But Rebecca, terrified as she was, chose to join in. Running forward, she started screaming profanities and stomping on the last of the oranges while the others began cheering. Soon, they would notice that we had not joined in.

"Shannon, you better go."

She took my advice immediately and began walking away toward her car.

Covered in the juice-blood of his victims, Connor glared at me with the eyes of a devil. "Why aren't you helping?"

"I got here too late," I lied lamely.

Dan, his gaze red with anger, fixated on me as well. "There's one left." He held his arms out. "Everybody leave that one." He pointed down. "Come on."

I needed to buy time for Shannon to escape, but I also knew I had to live with—and sleep near—these people. The thought of that silhouette with the knife promised no good end for anyone that defied the group. It might have been the shadow itself that had picked up the knife—but it also might not have been.

The cart owner looked at me in terror from down on the sidewalk as I approached his last orange. "Please, no, why you do this? Why you do this? I just sell orange. Please no!"

I closed my eyes and stomped.

The orange splattered under my shoe, and arms grasped me from every angle as my neighbors jeered and cheered. I opened my eyes and shook with shame as the cart owner got up and ran off. Dan lit a match and set the wooden cart on fire while the others began dancing. I had no choice but to dance with them. They wouldn't let go of me. They shook me and made me chant with them and tested me constantly to make sure I wasn't faking. To get through it, I had to temporarily convince myself they were right and that oranges were an abomination. To get through it, I had to give up part of myself, and, after, I returned to my room, locked the door, and sat crying under my computer table.

But then, I got angry.

I got mad.

I was not going to let my community be consumed by this madness. The entity whispering in our ears would pay.I was a man, goddamnit, no longer a boy, and I didn't have to grin and bear it. These people weren't my parents.

I got in my car and drove the way the cart owner had gone. I found him five blocks down, forlorn and sitting at a city bus stop. He began to panic as he saw me, but I held up my hands peacefully and asked him a question that immediately changed his mood.

I didn't make enough to save any money, but I had a credit card. I bought the entire rest of his inventory, and took it all home with me. When the crates didn't fit, I just plain dumped the oranges in my trunk and back seat. My car would smell like fruit for months, I was sure, but it had to be done.

When Dan got home that night, I caught him behind the front door and held a knife to his throat. "Sit down," I directed, tying him up on a chair in the kitchen.

He shouted when Connor got home, but it was too late. I put Connor in a chair, too, and tied him up. Then, I stuffed clean socks in their mouths so they wouldn't warn Rebecca.

I didn't grab her. I didn't tie her up. I simply held the knife and said, "Sit."

She nervously took the third chair.

I'd thrown the oranges from my car all about the kitchen. They were on the table, on the floor, and in the sink. I picked one at random, peeled the skin off, and held it in front of Connor. "Eat it."

"Why don't you make me?" he spat.

"I won't." I told him. "But I also won't let you out of this chair until you take a bite of a goddamn orange."

"They're disgusting!"

"We used to eat them all the time."

"That didn't happen!"

"It did." I showed him the picture on my phone of his birthday the year before.

He frowned. "Is that photoshopped?"

"It happened!" I screamed in his face. "Eat the orange!"

He pulled his head away. "They're the highest carriers of disease among all—"

"Yes, yes I know the sound bite," I yelled. "It's wrong! Those diseases aren't dangerous to humans, and this orange isn't diseased! Eat the orange!"

"But we hate oranges," Connor insisted, indignant. "Right guys?"

Dan bit down on the sock in his mouth. "Mm-hmm."

Connor looked to Rebecca.

About to cry, she hid her face and did not respond.

Connor seemed more shaken after that. After gulping down hesitation, he warily took a bite from the orange. He blinked. "Oh. It's... fine."

Dan seemed surprised, and Rebecca just cried harder.

I pulled the sock out of Dan's mouth and held the other side of the orange. "Try it. If you hate it, that's fine, I'll let you go either way. Just try it."

Seeing Connor break, Dan hesitantly tried a bite, and then pushed back in his chair. "That doesn't taste like I remember. I swear it used to have a horrible antiseptic taste."

"No," I told him. "Our heads are being messed with! We just attacked a street vendor and stomped on his oranges because we've been worked up in a frenzy of hate. Does that make any sense to you objectively?"

Blinking as if waking up from a dream, Dan began to look horrified. "Oh my God, we did do that, didn't we? What were we thinking?"

Connor looked up at me with the same guilt. "Oh man, I—" He cut off as his eyes jumped to something behind me.

That warning gave me just enough time to shift to the side. The knife went into my left shoulder, and I slipped on rolling oranges and fell to the floor on top of a splatter of my own blood. Above me, I could see a knife dripping with red—and the shadow of a man beyond it. Its hollow eyes were red.

Dan and Connor began screaming and fighting their bonds as the shadow stepped near, but I'd tied them in too well. The shadow's red eyes moved from me to their squirming bodies, as if it was deciding which of us to kill first.

"What do you want?" I screamed at it. "What the fuck do you want?"

Those red eyes swung to me and seemed to bore into my soul. A sinister chill raked across my senses as it whispered, "Buy lemons."

I stared. "Buy lemons?" I hesitated. "Why would you even care about that?"

"I don't," it rasped, bringing the knife nearer. "It is simply what my master wishes."

It couldn't be so absurd as that, could it? Had some lemon-farming company hired a demon-worshipper and summoned an entity from beyond our world just for profit? Had they brought the incarnation of Hate among us just to make money?

But it was that simple. It had always been that simple. Why else would anyone do anything?

It moved to stab me—but Rebecca leapt against it, and a piece of the shadow tore out where she passed. It screamed in pain, dropped the bloody knife, and grasped at the hole she'd made. Darkness sifted out of its wounds like black sand falling from a sideways hourglass; it flared its red eyes, hissed venom, and vanished.

It had gone.

The demon that had been among us and whispering in our ears all week had gone.

We all remained frozen in shock for thirty seconds before Dan snapped out of it and said loudly, "Would someone please untie me already?!"

We did, and then we patched up my arm.

As a group, we didn't know what else to do, so we went and sat at our regular table at the bar. It was early on a Thursday, so few other people were there. We didn't get Blue Moons, but not because we hated oranges—no, our house was full of hundreds of the fruit, and would smell forever.

"I can't believe it almost got us to go from loving oranges to hating them in less than a week," Connor murmured sadly, crouched over his drink.

I shook my head. "I even doubted myself there for a minute. Did things I'm not proud of."

Dan looked up at us. "What even hurt it? Why did a being made of Hate get wounded by Rebecca just moving through it?"

She looked at me; I looked at her. We both looked back down at our beers. She'd hadn't just moved through it. She'd jumped at it because of me. We both knew the answer, but that was private.

Near us, an older regular was watching a television above the bar. He sneered. "Man, I'll tell you what's wrong with this country. I hate—"

The four of us shouted in unison. He jumped in his chair and looked over at us.

"Don't," I told him calmly and sadly. "Please. Just don't."

He watched us for a moment, then, subtly embarrassed, he gave a slow haunted nod and turned back to his drink.

#creepy #horror story #mod favorite #those lemon stealing whores #M59Gar

[jooheonies]

SinglesMingle.com

Character(s): Reader X Changkyun, bestfriend!jooheon

Genre: fluff, borderline!crack

Warning(s): scientist!changkyun (is that a warning), online dating, bad humor

Length: 3.2k

Summary: In which your best friend sets you up for an online dating site and maybe it’s not so bad when you meet a  scientist by the name of Lim Changkyun.

There’s a reason you don’t let Jooheon touch your laptop. Aside from the porn sites (and the numerous viruses acquired from them) he’s not to be trusted alone. You’ve known this since the third grade when he came over for a playdate and ended up drinking a bottle of Elmer’s glue while you went to the bathroom because he was too shy to ask for water.

He can’t be trusted.

So when he comes over a lazy Sunday morning and props his feet up your coffee, pressing his fingertips together as a slow smile stretches across his face, you know something must be up.

“You did WHAT?” You scream, the mug of tea in your hands slipping through unsteady fingers and dripping onto your clean rug. Not that you even notice, what with how much your eye is twitching and your fists are clenching, because goddamnit Lee Jooheon is not to be trusted.

“I signed you up,” he breathes, eyes sparkling with excitement, “for a dating site!” He claps gleefully as he finishes his sentence, dimples deep and smile wide.

You rake your hand through your hair in frustration, eyebrows snapping together. “Why would you do–”

“Because you’re turning into one of those old cat ladies, but with dogs,” Jooheon explains, smile still wide, “and it’s turning you into a real meanie so I think you should get out there.” He furrows his eyebrows for a second and rubs his chin. “Get laid,” he adds as an afterthought.

You glare at him, teeth gritted. “I am perfectly fine being single.”

“Maybe you should try to mingle,” he replies, eyebrows waggling.

Jooheon pulls out his phone, clicking through the fifty tabs he has pulled up on his internet browser.

“So I was looking up porn on your laptop when I came over last week–”

“I told you to stop doing that!”

“–and I saw all the pictures of your dogs that you have saved as your wallpaper and I realized you live a sad, sad life–”

“It’s not sad! I like my dogs!”

Jooheon stops talking, rolling his eyes and shooting you an incredulous look.

“You named one of them Doggo.”

“It’s a good name!”

He wrinkles his nose and drops his phone onto the sofa, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s a dog and you named it Doggo and you named the other Pupper.”

“Get out of my house.”

Jooheon cackles and scooches closer, nuzzling into your arm, phone back in his grip. “You love me. Moving on, I made an account for you and you’re going to fill your profile in with me or I’m setting you up with Son Hyunwoo from Human Resources.”

You groan, head tipping back to rest on the back of your sofa. Son Hyunwoo is . . . interesting. He once thought the fire alarm in the break room was broken so he set the Hoseok’s cactus on fire to test it. It resulted in the entire office having to deal with a forced evacuation and coming back to the smell of burning cactus and smoke that continues to linger in the air seven months later. 

Hoseok held a funeral in the parking lot and cried for two months over the loss, and to this day, he still sniffles every time he sees the corner it used to sit in. Hyunwoo is interesting.

“I’m not going to date Hyunwoo,” you groan, picking at your nails.

“Then let’s get your profile going!” He exclaims, doing a little jig where he sits.

“No, you can’t make me–”

“I used your credit card.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, anger flaring. “You what? How did you even get that?”

Jooheon scuttles to the other end of the couch, hands raised defensively and tosses his phone towards you.

“Woah, man, I’m just trying to help my best friend get laid.”

“Yeah, and you might die before you get to see it happen.”

“Look,” he sighs, grimacing a little as he tries to force a smile on his face, “I think it would help if you just loosened up a bit–”

“Get. Out.” You fling the phone back at him and stand. “I’m cancelling the account so get out, loser. I never want to see you again.”

Jooheon groans and stands, brushing imaginary crumbs off his pants. “You haven’t heard the last of this,” he says, pointing a finger at your face. And with that, he stalks out the door, whistling and swinging his hips.

Unfortunately, it turns out that Jooheon was more or less right. Monday night finds you sitting cross legged on your bed, scrolling through the dating website, singlesmingle.com of all names. You had originally logged on to figure out how to cancel an account but two little pings echo in your silent room when you sign in and it peaks your interest.

The little message box in the corner has a little red bubble in the corner and you wrestle with the decision of clicking on it for a good five minutes before you cave. When you open the page, two users pop up.

Your options are limited to science_is_my_kokoro and hamsta-luv.

The next three minutes are spent with you wondering what kind of fucking website Lee Jooheon signed you up for.

The first message, from hamsta-luv, is creepy, for lack of a better word. It consists of a single smiley face and a tongue emoji. You slowly click the block button next to his username.

The second message is decidedly less creepy, a simple ‘sup’, from science_is_my_kokoro. When you click on his user name, it redirects to his profile page and your eyes flit over his bio as you hunt for a picture, clicking on the read more tab.

His profile picture pops up and for a second you stop breathing and the room starts spinning because good lord this man is gorgeous.

He’s wearing a white lab coat, round glasses perched low on the bride of his nose as he flashes a tight smile at someone behind the camera, dimples deep and eyes sparkling. Your breath hitches as you scroll through his photo album, lips curving into a smile when you find a picture of him cuddling a golden retriever and another one of him sitting in a park, legs wrapped around a tree. You find yourself shaking your head, staring at his photos for who knows how long because what is someone this attractive doing on a dating website and why is he talking to you of all people. It takes a good ten minutes before you can finally calm your heart rate, clicking on the back button and searching for his profile.

This time you properly read his bio, searching for any signs that he may be one of those creepy men you hear about in the news.

I am what I.M, bro. You and I, we fit together like the sticky ends of recombinant DNA.  Interests: science, dogs, dog videos, the periodic table of elements.

It’s childish but cute and you can’t help the spark of curiosity that blooms in your chest, prompts you to wonder too many ‘what if’ scenarios. What if he’s not a creepy stalker and what if he really likes your dogs and what if he lets you poke his dimples and–

You inhale shakily and click on his name again, slowly typing out ‘hi’ into the message box. Your eyes read over the message eighteen times to make sure you haven’t somehow misspelled it and you click send, wincing when a whoosh sounds from your laptop.

And then you wait, fingers drumming nervously on your laptop. As you wait, you go to your own profile. What you find there nearly has you flinging your laptop at the wall, already prepared to hunt down Jooheon and strangle him, because what kind of friend does this.

Henlo~ I’m h0t trust me date me im mean 2 my frendos but not 2 my luhvurs Interests: eating, sleeping, hitting people (even my super sweet best friend), and doggos

The profile picture he has set is of the one your mom took of you during halloween in the seventh grade and you’re wearing a giant pumpkin costume with a green stem on your head, braces flashing unattractively in the camera.

Lee Jooheon is not to be trusted.

You’ve spent the last few minutes, kicking at your sheets in frustration and clawing out your hair because you’re doomed there’s no way this cute boy is going to think you’re normal and now you’ll never know–

A loud ping! sounds from your laptop and you nearly fall off the bed as you scramble, squinting at the screen and clicking on the notification above the messages.

From: science_is_my_kokoro

What’s up?

You choke.

Jooheon barges into your apartment the next evening, swinging a bag of beer in his hand and yelling something about ‘best friends night!’ You wave your hand dismissively at him as you continue clacking away at your laptop.

Turns out, science_is_my_kokoro is a cute laboratory geneticist who’s also been roped into this website by a friend and goes by the name of Changkyun. You spent all last night talking to him, first polite and stiff, but as the night wore on, he grew more and more relaxed, eventually spamming you with nine smileys and messages with very poor grammar. 

Your conversations consisted of random topics, mostly dogs at first. Changkyun sent you three dog videos and you sent him pictures of Pupper and Doggo. He didn’t hesitate to immediately tease you over the name choice, snarky comments and sassy jokes, but you find that it doesn’t annoy you as much when he does it.

“Hey!” Jooheon whines, poking your shoulder and pouting. “Why’re you ignoring me?”

“Wait. I’m doing something.”

He props his chin up on your shoulder, tilting his head to eye the screen, and out of the corner of your eye you watch as his mouth drops open, a gasp slipping past his lips.

“YOU’RE USING IT? YOU’RE ACTUALLY USING IT?” He asks, voice too loud in your apartment as he lifts his head off your shoulder.

You turn your head slowly to glare at him, hissing, “Why are you screaming? Are you trying to make sure I wind up with a noise complaint?”

Jooheon recoils, clearing his throat, “Right. Sorry. But you’re actually using it!” He squeals the last sentence, body writhing in some strange rendition of a happy dance.

You roll your eyes and look back down at your laptop, lips curving into a smile when Changkyun sends you another message, something about having to study beetles for work.

Jooheon hooks his chin on the screen of your laptop and pouts. “Stop ignoring me. I’m your best friend.”

“Fuck off,” you respond, not bothering to look up at him as you blindly reach over to crack open a can of beer, patting the space next to you and handing him the tv remote. It takes a few more pokes from him for you to close your laptop and finally stop messaging Changkyun.

A week later, you both exchange phone numbers, because lugging around you laptop to talk whenever you’re out off the house is annoying, especially since it requires you hunting down a place with wifi and hogging it just so you can exchange a few words with him. He’s cute, texts you random things during the day, pictures of things that reminded him of you and questions about what kind of cereal he should buy.

You both stay up late nights, rolling around bed and sending each other cheesy texts and sometimes Jooheon comes over with beer and offers to set you up with Hyunwoo because you still haven’t met up with Changkyun.

“I just–” he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face and taking a swig from his can of beer, “I just want you to get laid already, man.”

“Yes, thank you very much Jooheon.” But also you agree, because Changkyun has really nice hands and lips and sometimes he sends you selfies and you can see his dimples and–

You might be in over your head.

In three months, locations are exchanged and, as fate would have it, it turns out you both live in the same city, nearly in the same area. He tells you of a cafe three blocks away, one that has a park next to it that he likes to take his dogs to and you both decide to meet up for coffee.

It’s just coffee.

But then he goes to sleep and a funny sort of panic settles in your gut and you spend the next hour rifling through your closet in search of an outfit. You wind up sitting in a pile of skirts and flowy blouses, frantic thoughts rushing through your mind because what if he doesn’t like you or thinks you aren’t cute or he’s actually a fifty year old pervert who lives in his parents’ basement.

It’s how Jooheon finds you in the morning, curled up in a heap of clothes at the foot of your bed.

“How adorable,” he chimes, clapping his hands, “my sweet little bumblebee all grown up and ready to go out and get laid!”

“I can’t meet him!” You wail, “He’s never gonna like me!”

Jooheon rolls his eyes and pushes you into the bathroom. “You’re going.”

“But–”

“You’re going.”

And that’s how you end up standing outside the cafe in an itchy pink skirt and a loose white blouse. You clear your throat, steeling your nerves as you walk through the door, and you’re not exactly sure what you’re expecting, but the man with the familiar dimples sitting three tables down in a blue button up and black jeans is damn cute and he’s smiling at you and oh god–

“Ch–Changkyun,” you squeak, awkwardly waving as you stumble towards the table.

“Hey,” he responds, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he stands, nearly knocking over the kid standing behind him. He apologizes profusely to both the kid and her mother, who both send him irritated glares before stalking out the cafe. “You look nicer than that picture of you in your profile,” he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck and smiling.

You laugh, sliding into the seat across from him, “I would hope so, I was only twelve in that picture.” Stupid fucking dating website that won’t let you change your primary profile picture.

“It was cute,” he snickers, propping his chin up in his palm, elbow resting on the table. “I ordered us a vanilla milkshake because I’m pretty sure out said it’s you favorite.”

That was back when you were both first talking, about three months ago.

He hums, turning his head to look at the counter like it isn’t a big deal (it is).

“Do you remember mine?” He prompts shifting his gaze back to you and tilting his head.

“Strawberry shortcake,” you respond without hesitation, fingers coming up to splay across the table top.

He grins and you nearly keel over at the sight of his dimples. “Correct, m’lady!”

When the milkshake shows up, you’re surprised to see there’s only one on the tray.

“You didn’t order one?” You ask, eyebrows scrunched together.

“I did,” he replies with a grin, sticking two straws into the glass. He shoots finger guns at you and winks.

Oh.

You can’t tell if this is moving fast, but when he pushes the glass towards you, eyebrows raised, you find that you really don’t care.

So you lean forward, lips closing around the straw, and reenact all the cheesy summer teen movies you’ve seen, starry eyed and coquettish.

He leans forward, too, and he’s so close you forget exactly how to drink and he smells woodsy, with hints of sugar, like warm naps and fireplaces.

“I’ve wanted to try something,” he announces when you both leans back in your seats.

“What?”

“The woes of onlines dating do not allow me to do so” he sighs mournfully, shaking his head.

“What?”

“Whatever,” he says, jaw setting in determination, “I’m doing it.”

You’ve never been more confused.

“You’ve got a little something there,” he says, pointing at your upper lip. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion because you’ve been drinking from a straw and there’s no way there something on your face.

Changkyun fixes his gaze on you and licks his thumb, leaning over the table to swipe it across your upper lip. You shoot him a bewildered look pulling your head back in confusion.

“What are you doing?” You ask. “We’re using straws, Changkyun, there’s nothing on my face.”

His cool expression melts into a pout and he whines, voice lilting, “Just–okay? I haven’t been able to do anything cutesy because we met online and all I can do is send you memes and hope you laugh!”

Your head tilts back and you laugh, nervousness melting away as Changkyun brings a sense of comfort, of familiarity. He cracks a smile and tries to intertwine your fingers on the table because he ‘saw it in a drama once and it’s cute!’ but you only double over in laughter.

You both leave the cafe ten minutes later because he has a new shipment of beetles coming in and you have filing to get to, but he walks you back home and little butterflies flap in your stomach.

“So,” he says, standing in front of your apartment building, hands stuffed in his pockets. “I enjoyed this.”

“So did I,” you reply, fingers clutching the strap of your purse and you hiccup when he takes a step forward breath fanning over your lips. “Y’know I don’t usually kiss people on the first date.”

He takes step back and furrows his brows. “Oh.”

“But in this case,” you continue, a small smile blooming across your face, “I think I’m willing to make an exception.”

He grins and steps forward again, but this time there’s uncertainty behind his eyes, like he’s scared of doing something wrong.

You both stare at each other for what seems like eternity before his jaw sets in determination and he blurts out, “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

You haven’t dated in a while, but you’re pretty sure that’s a fairly unromantic thing to say. It doesn’t matter, though, because when he leans forward and presses his lips to yours, you find that you quite enjoy this feeling. Changkyun’s hands press against the small of your back, drawing you closer and you wrap your arms over his shoulders, fingers playing at the little hairs on the nape of his neck. He tastes like evening walks at the park and fireworks on the river and everything fades into the background as he tilts his head, lips moving softly over yours.

His lips feel better than they look, you note mindlessly, tracing the back of his neck with your fingers.

“So,” he breathes when you both pull apart, pressing his forehead against yours, “are we dating now?”

You gurgle back a mess of cracked syllables and broken words and nod, pulling him in for a second kiss because Lim Changkyun makes butterflies flutter in your stomach and makes your breath hitch.

So maybe, just maybe, you can learn to trust Jooheon a little bit.

A/N: 4am drabbles w nawar i wrote this in 2 hours and hAVE NO REGRETS yes i do what was this i used to write crack does it show

Masterlist

#monsta x #mxnetwork #mxwriters #changkyun #lim changkyun #i.m #monsta x scenarios #monsta x fluff #changkyun scenarios #changkyun fluff #kpop scenarios #kpop fluff

[risingpolaris]

the cool kind of homeless

an avengers fic. reader insert.

 It had been a full week since your father had passed. After his long battle with pancreatic cancer, it was almost a blessing in disguise that he wasn’t suffering anymore. That didn’t mean it sucked any less, though. Up until now, you had been crashing on friends’ couches. Being recently fired from your latest grocery-bagging endeavor, you didn’t really have much to spare in the finance department. Certainly not enough to get yourself a decent apartment.

              That’s why you were here, on the doorstep of the newly renovated Avengers Tower; with your palms sweating and pupils dilating as you stared almost hopelessly at the door.

              This is never gonna work. You groaned inwardly, chewing at your thumb nail nervously. Your stomach felt like it was tying itself in knots. You hadn’t seen Tony Stark in years, and there was no guarantee he would even remember you.

              Once upon a time, your father had been good friends with Tony Stark – best friends, even. He’d been at the hospital when you were born; how many people could say that?  He’d shown up to all your birthday parties – seriously, there were pictures and everything – brought you fancy new toys whenever he visited, and even been named your godfather.

              Honestly, you hadn’t known what had happened. You just noticed him coming over less and less. Next thing you knew, it’d been almost a decade since you’d last seen him. Now you did, though. It kept one busy, being a superhero and all.

              Not knowing what else to do, you knocked timidly on the gargantuan doors before you. It seemed like a silly thing to do. You almost expected that one Lord-of-the-Rings-looking guy – what was his name? Thor? – to pop up in front of you and say “One does not simply knock on the door of the Avengers tower”.

              You didn’t know what you expected, exactly – maybe a password or a face cam or something – but definitely not something as mundane as just knocking on the door. You waited for what seemed like an eternity before out of nowhere, a voice spoke. “Name?”

              Ok, that was cool. Where was it coming from? You didn’t see any kind of speaker. “Um…Y/N…?” Oh, brilliant…way to sound like you don’t even know your own name. “Yeah,” You spoke again, for some reason feeling like you needed to sound surer of yourself, “Y/N.”

              “One moment please.” The crisp British tone implored you to be patient. Never really one of your strong suits, especially when nervous – but you figured this once that you could manage. True to its word, the voice sounded a moment later, maybe even sooner. “Mr. Stark is on his way down.”

              “Okay, Mr. Swanky-door-voice-man.” You hummed under your breath. Bouncing on the balls of your feet, you did what you had been doing for the past few minutes: wait. I did my waiting. Twelve years of it. In Azkaban! You couldn’t help but smile at your own stupid joke, and at that moment the door swung inwards to reveal the same man you had known for most of your childhood. He looked at you as if trying to remember something that was just on the surface of his memory but kept dipping underwater every time he made a grab for it.

              “Don’t tell me…” Was the first thing he said to you, “You’re my long-lost daughter from a meaningless one night stand and you’ve come to collect on your last few years of allowance?” You were at a loss for words. Well that answered the whole “will he recognize me” question.  You let out a sound that was kind of like a laugh and kind of more like a Chihuahua being strangled.

              “Close. You were actually really tight with my dad when I was little. I remember you being around a lot from the time I actually started to remember things, and my dad told me recently that if he took a turn for the worst that you’d be able to help me. Yeah…he died.” Okay, so that was a rather blunt way to tell a man that his best friend had passed away, but you were kind of still in shock, yourself. That’s how you dealt with sad things, sarcasm and nonchalance. How else were you supposed to survive this, after all?

              Tony just stood there for a while with a look that said “haven’t heard that one before” until his face actually lit up with recognition. Or maybe that was just the clouds moving from where they had been previously, revealing the sun they had been blocking. Yeah, probably that second one. “Oh, shit, you’re Y/N!”

              “Yep…have been for my whole life, in fact.” The corner of your mouth turned up in a good-natured smirk, “Weird how things work out, isn’t it?”

              “Wow,” He leaned against the door frame like the nostalgia was too intense for him to stand upright any longer. He had a sort of dazed smile on his face and his shoulders shook once as he exhaled a single laugh, “You’re so big, now. Wow.”

              “Yeah, homeless, too.” You shrugged with a grin. “But, hey, I know you’re, like, a really busy guy and all so I understand if you can’t really let me stay, or anything. I was honestly just hoping you could give me a loan or something and I’d be on my way.”

              “Psh, hell no, I won’t give you any money – you’re staying with me.” In one sweep of his arm he had you by the shoulder and was leading you inside. In a whirl of movement you were herded into an elevator and transported upstairs. The doors slid open and Tony was already on his way out before they were even wide enough to fit himself between. “I’m really sorry to hear about your dad – we were really good friends, but I didn’t get to see either of you much once business started booming, y’know. Don’t mind the mess.” He gestured to a broad-shouldered blonde sitting in one of the tall chairs seated by the island in what looked like a kitchen.

              “Oh my god,” You breathed, star struck within seconds, “you’re Captain America! Wow! Hi!”  

              He smiles politely, despite looking a bit confused as to who you are. “Hello, miss-“ Before he can get too much out, one of the vents pop open and a form drops down from the opening, landing like a cat before straightening up and brushing off. Holy hell, it was Hawkeye.

              “Holy shit, Tony, don’t tell me she’s from one of your famous one night stands.” He pauses for a second before he adds, almost horrified, “Or is she one of the ones you actually knocked up?”

              Steve gives him a look, “Clint, that’s rude.”

              You wave your hands frantically in front of you, still a little dazed, “No, no, it’s alright. Tony already said it, anyway.”

              This does nothing to comfort him, and he turns to Tony. “Tony!”

              Desperate to change the subject before you get anyone else yelled at, you ask the first thing that comes to mind. “Yo, so what’s it like being an Avenger? It seems pretty hectic from the outside.”

              “Well, it’s a lot of responsibility, for one.” Steve is the first to answer. “But it’s our duty to this earth. If we have the power to do something, we should. So we do.”

              “It can be pretty cool, sometimes, though. It’s hard work, but we also get to travel a lot and we’re given all these high-tech weapons to use to kick some serious ass.” Clint adds on with a nonchalant shrug.

              “It sucks!” Tony had disappeared into the kitchen while you were distracted, but you heard his yell distinctly, meant to drown out whatever the other two had to say. You smiled in amusement before you could stop yourself.

              Steve sends a disapproving look his way before turning back to you. “Anyway, are you related to Tony in any way?”

              “Not really. He’s my godfather. My dad died really recently, so now I’m extremely homeless and broke so I was all: ‘might as well be shameless, too, and mooch off a rich family friend’.” With a bashful grin, you realized you had been rambling again. It had always been easy for you to trail off into tangents and tell more than what was needed, and sometimes it got you into trouble. At the very least, you usually said something generally harmless but extremely odd and ended up scaring the other person away.

              Instead of any of that happening, Clint just gave you a solid nod. “Smart.” He grunted, tone reverent.

              Steve looked on with sympathy. “I’m so sorry to hear that.” You waved him off with an understanding smile.

              Tony had reappeared on the opposite side of the island of Steve. He was practically beaming. “Wow, it’s like you’re really my kid. I feel like we’re already bonding.” He lifts a beer to his lips and swallows a gulp before setting it back down and tapping his fist against the counter top. “That decides it, we have spare rooms out the ass. Hell, we have spare floors; you’re staying with us.”

              “Shouldn’t we consult with the others, first?” Steve glanced at him with a serious furrow to his brow.

              “Right. And do you think Fury is going to allow a stranger to stay here?” Clint supported, shooting you an apologetic look as if he was down with it but still didn’t completely agree with the idea on behalf of the rest of the team.

              “Hey, are we forgetting that this used to be exclusively my tower? If I say she can stay, she can.” Tony spread his arms as if to say “stop right there” and frowned. “Besides, Fury may be hard ass, but he wouldn’t leave a kid homeless, would he? Her dad just died and she’s got no way to get her own place.”

              “Well…” Steve trailed off, as if he wanted to say yes but was still hesitant.

              “I’m cool with it.” Clint shrugged. He had obviously given up considering the entire team, seeing as Steve had that covered.

              “Thank you – I have battled every homeless person in the tristate area in order to be the best.” You execute a perfect flex, like the one you had seen in that inspirational Shia Labeouf video that had dominated the internet lately.

              Tony couldn’t help the toothy grin that spread across his face, and the other two had to chuckle. “You’re hilarious, kiddo, you’ll fit right in. JARVIS, buddy, call everyone into the lounge for a ‘team meeting’, will you?”

              “Yes, sir.” Came the voice you had heard at the door. It sounded like it was coming from all over. You jerked.

              “Holy shi- Your ceiling talked.”

              “That’s just JARVIS, my A.I. Think virtual butler, slash co-pilot, slash best friend. He’s pretty much everything around here.”

              “That…is so sick.”

              “So what’s your name?” Steve inquired.

              “Yeah, and how old are you?” Clint piped up. You introduced yourself fully. Just as you finished speaking, the rest of the team began to pile into the room.

              “Brother Anthony, what is the meaning of this sudden assembly?” Thor questioned loudly, looking rather confused and maybe a little worried that the entire city was under attack once more.

              “Yeah, and who’s the kid?” Natasha rose a slim eyebrow.

              “Our new roomie.” Tony introduces you as you wave with a tight smile, “Her dad and I used to be buddies but he passed away and now she’s homeless. As her godfather, I’m pretty much next in line to take care of her as legal guardian, so I’ve decided to let her stay. I’m just letting you all know so no one attacks the poor girl if they see her in the hallways one day.”

              “I won’t be any trouble, I promise. I’m the cool kind of homeless.” You gave a thumbs up, “The type that doesn’t yell at the sky or try to shank you for money.”

              “You are just going to allow her to live here?” The girl you recognize as one of the new members – Wanda, you thought – accused.

              “Well, we let you guys stay, didn’t we?” Clint smirked at her. The other twin, Pietro, laughed.

              “He has a point,” He said before Wanda shot him a deadly look. He cleared his throat and glanced at the floor before sobering up and looking to Tony, “I mean, it is different – we are Avengers, now.”

              “Hey! If Reindeer games can stay because Point Break wants him to, and Tin Man can stay because Capsicle so wishes it, Y/N can crash here because of me.”

              “But Loki is my brother!”

              “And Bucky is my best friend. He needed help after everything he’d been through.”

              “And Y/N doesn’t? Just because she doesn’t have any powers or SHEILD training, you don’t want her here?” Tony continued to argue on your behalf, but suddenly at this you got an idea.

              You cleared your throat loudly to get everyone’s attention, and when they all looked to you, you smiled weakly. “Sorry, but seeing as this argument is about me, I feel like I should weigh in. Um…Captain, can you pick up that cup beside you and hold it up for everyone to see, then put it back down?”

              “This one?” He lifted the crystal clear glass at his side and held it out for everyone to see. You nodded and he set it back down. You kept your eyes trained on the thing intently, concentrating on it. When you felt like you had a good enough handle on things, you nodded again without taking your eyes off of it.

              “Okay, now pick it back up.” You told him, and he does. Or tries to.

              “What the…it’s so heavy!” He exclaimed. “How are you doing that?”

              “Shit, I forgot you could do that, kid!” Tony laughed, looking almost proud.

              “But what exactly did she do?” A studios-looking man stepped forward. He adjusted his glasses on his nose. Bruce Banner, wasn’t it?

              “Mass manipulation, my dear Banner.” Tony grinned excitedly, staring at the glass that the captain was still trying to pick up. Everyone else glanced over at you in surprise. Your concentration broke as you looked away, and you heard a shatter as the mass of the glass returned to normal and went flying from Steve’s grip.

              With a wince, you offered a sincere apology. “Uh…basically I can make any object, including myself, heavier or lighter.”

              “Incredible,” You heard Bruce exhale.

              “How exactly do you forget something like that, Stark?” Nat questioned incredulously, shaking her head at him.

              He shrugged, unbothered, “Hey, haven’t seen her in years, give me a break.”

              “Does this mean I can stay? You can give me a background check and drug test and whatever else, I’m a good kid I promise. I won’t cause any trouble?”

              “Good kid?” Tony snorted “You used to beat me at UNO all the time when you were younger, always hitting me with the +2 and +4 cards.”

              “Yeah, well you lost because you thought you were playing a card game. UNO is no game. There are no friends in UNO.”

              “Truer words have never been spoken.” Clint nodded solemnly, and Nat hummed in agreement.

              “Harsh, kiddo. So is everyone okay with this, now? Because she’s staying even if you aren’t.” Everyone eventually agreed, even the ever-silent Bucky and Loki.

              “Welcome to our home, Lady Y/N!” Before you knew what was happening, Thor was in front of you and scooping you into a warm crushing hug. He lifted you from the ground easily.

              “Thor, you will crush her, you bumbling oaf!” Loki spoke up for the first time since entering, probably from experience.

“You are light as a feather! Is this your ability in effect?”

              “Actually, I think you just lift things a lot heavier than I am on an almost daily basis. Also, it’s been a few days since my last decent meal.”

              “Yikes.” Clint commented, “Well the kitchen is always stocked – it has to be, really – so knock yourself out.”

              Thor released you and you smiled at everyone gratefully, feeling rather emotional at this point. “Thanks so much, but I think I’d rather take a bath first. It’s been a stressful week.”

              “Alright, follow us –Wanda and I’ll show you to your new room. You can stay on our floor so you can get away from all the testosterone every once in a while.” Natasha waved for you to follow, and you obeyed as they piled into the elevator.

              When the doors close, Wanda shuffles a little. “I am sorry about your father. My brother and I lost our parents at a young age, but we had each other through everything. It must be difficult to be on your own.”

              “It’s been difficult, but I’m adjusting. Thanks, though. I have to admit I’ve been a little terrified. One day I had a roof over my head and a…a father, and then all of a sudden I didn’t anymore. I still don’t think I’ve completely registered that he’s gone, and I don’t really want to at this point. I’ve never really dealt with the whole death thing very well. My dad and I were never very close with the rest of our family, so I didn’t really have anywhere to go. I didn’t want to be a bother to anyone; I was really only planning on maybe getting a loan from Tony, not moving in, but I can’t really pass this up when I’ve never really lived on my own.” You bit your lip nervously, “I promise not to cause trouble for the rest of you.”

              Nat laughed under her breath, “That’s pretty clever.” She commended you. “This might be fun, anyway, we could always use more girls around here. You might even be able to join the team, with your abilities and everything.”

              Wanda agreed with a giggle. “That might be true.”

              “Good,” You sighed in relief, leaning back against the elevator wall. “They all seem pretty nice, too.”

              “Careful with Loki, though. He’s technically with us, now, but he did attempt to destroy the whole city.”

              Wanda nodded, “Even though he is paying for his crimes, he can still be…”

              “A stuck up dick?” Nat supplied, making you grin when Wanda nodded.

              “How bad could he really be?” They exchanged looks before returning their gazes to you.

              “Trust us, you do not want to be on his bad side.” Wanda warned.

              “So basically, don’t look at him for too long and don’t get too close, he might bite.” Nat grinned deviously. “He’s usually in his room or the library – especially the library – so it shouldn’t be hard to steer clear most of the time.”

              “He likes to read, then?” You perked up at this. It might not be as easy as they seem to think – you were a big reader, yourself, and often sought the solace of a library when things got rocky.

              “Oh, yeah, real bookworm.” Nat chuckled. You smiled gently, figuring maybe you could bond over that trait that you seemed to share with the god. You’d do your best to get along with everyone - that was for sure. They wouldn’t replace your father, but they would make the loss a little easier to bear. The elevator dinged, the doors opened, and you let your two guides lead you to your new residence with a content smile on your face.

#feel-good #reader insert #fanfic #sfw

[losille2000]

A Saving Grace, Chapter 1

TITLE: A Saving Grace CHAPTER NUMBER: 1/? + Prologue AUTHOR: Losille2000 WHICH Henry/CHARACTER: Actor!Henry GENRE: Drama/Romance FIC SUMMARY: All press is good press, right? Not if you ask Henry Cavill. After recordings from a disastrous interview go viral, Henry’s life begins to crumble around him. He has no idea how to stop it from happening. Fortunately, he has a new assistant who could be his saving Grace. RATING: M (sex, language) WARNINGS: Um, nothing yet. Maybe there’s more language in this than I usually use. And I think Henry will be a little dominant. But other than that... none. AUTHORS NOTES: Enjoy!

Previous Chapter. Also on AO3!

A Saving Grace Chapter 1

 Grace slammed her fist on the desk, rattling the computer monitor and other office supplies sitting on it.  She pushed away from her computer and leaned back in her chair, groaning at the ceiling. That was the sixth boyfriend in two years who sent a breakup email instead of having the decency to say it to her face. And that didn’t even include the endless parade of first dates that never turned into seconds, or some that didn’t even last past the first hellos.

 She was done with Internet dating. And Tinder. And all the other horrible websites out there claiming they were going to find her the perfect husband with their scientifically tested matching algorithms and stupidly sweet commercials. None of this shit worked for women who weren’t the idealized version of the feminine form.

 “What’s your problem?” asked the voice beside her.

Grace turned to the thin man sitting at the desk beside her in the open floorplan office.  He pulled off his large headphones and set them on his neck as she frowned. “Do I look like a cave troll, Eli?”

 Eli pursed his pillowy lips and tossed back the dark hair that had fallen in his amber colored eyes. He tried looking like a tortured hipster with frayed skinny jeans, plaid button downs with rolled up sleeves, and that ridiculous floppy hair, but there was no hiding that he was just another pretty boy underneath it all. “Only when Aunt Flo visits, baby.”

 “Ugh!” She kicked the leg of the table harder than she intended, crunching her toes in her bargain brand heels. “I’m so fucking done with this bullshit. Why’s it so hard to find a man in this godforsaken town?”

 Eli looked at her and shook his head. Of course, he didn’t need to answer. She already knew why. That’s what happens to people who live in the most vapid and self-centered place in the world.

 He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and lifted it so she could see, pointing a finger at the screen. “Do I need to call Ty and tell him we’re taking our wifey out drinking tonight?”

 “No,” Grace said. “I’m just going to hang out with Ben and Jerry tonight.”

 “Don’t do that, Graciela!” he cried. “We’ve been doing so good on the food plan!”

 Grace huffed. Yeah, well, she started the blasted food plan because her now ex-boyfriend suggested she do it. She didn’t even know why she agreed; she should have known he wasn’t worth it. All her life she’d been rounder, but she’d never really cared about it, even enjoyed having the extra shapeliness. Until him. Until she began realizing all the men she had any interest in wanted an extremely specific body type in their women. Now, however, she knew it was simply due to her choice in men and nothing to do with her. So that meant she either had to lower her expectations in men or live the rest of her life content with vibrators and fantasies.

 At least Eli and his husband had agreed to do the diet with her, though neither of them had any weight to lose and simply wanted to sculpt their muscles further. And of course, they’d been spectacularly successful, because they were men. Why did they always get it so easy?

 “I’m done with this shit,” she said. “I’m eating all the elotes and frijoles I want, starting this weekend at my mom’s birthday.”

 “Now don’t be drastic,” Eli urged, wheeling closer to her. “You’ve put in so much work.”

 She suffered the disgusting green smoothies and tasteless boiled chicken breasts for months only to lose two pounds. Grace shook her head. “Nope. I like enjoying food more, thank you very much.”

 They were disturbed by Eli’s office phone extension ringing. Grace looked back at her computer screen and the constantly updating Twitter stream scrolling across it. She should get back to work monitoring her accounts, but she just couldn’t make herself do it. Not today. Fuck all these people trying to be something they most certainly were not to impress others. Why had she ever gotten into public relations, anyway?

 She groaned and wheeled forward with another grumble under her breath, reaching for the computer mouse, but froze when she heard, “Navarro! Get in my office!”

 “Now doesn’t that make my fucking day,” she muttered under her breath. Being called to the boss’s office in that tone of voice did not bode well for her, even though she always made sure her work was impeccable. What was he planning to yell at her for now?

 Her boss, Dave, always found reasons to pick at her work or created traps to trip her up. In the beginning, she ignored it because public relations was hard in Hollywood—one of the most difficult fields in the entertainment industry. Emotions ran high and everyone was expected to be on their A-game every single minute of every single hour they were on the clock… and honestly, even when they were off the clock. Their clients’ careers depended on it, after all. She understood his picking in the beginning. As time marched on, though, with men promoted before her and hired after with less education and skill, plus the shit always seeming to land on her head when something went south, she was at a breaking point. And that didn’t even include the number of times he sent her on coffee runs or asked her to make copies when his male assistant was perfectly capable. Dave was nothing more than a sexist pig.

 Grace stood up from her desk and smoothed the sheer blouse over her stomach, making sure it was still tucked into the waist of her pencil skirt.  She bent to look in the little mirror she and Eli kept between them and breathed in a sigh. At least she wasn’t crying after the email, or it would have destroyed her makeup. She refused to give Dave the pleasure of seeing evidence of her emotions smeared all over her face.

 She quickly moved across the office floor and stopped in front of Dave’s door, knocking lightly and letting herself inside the room. Dave sat at the round meeting table inside with another man who was probably in his late forties, good looking with graying hair. She’d never seen him before. He smiled brightly and stood up to greet her.

 “Fred Wellington, Grace Navarro,” Dave introduced with a curt nod between them. “Sit down, Navarro.”

 She shot him a pointed frown and pulled a seat out. “What’s wrong?”

 Dave sat forward and folded his hands over a thick file. “Fred is Henry Cavill’s agent, here on behalf of Henry’s manager, Dany Garcia.”

 “Ooookay,” Grace said, dragging out the word.

 She knew about Henry Cavill. Everyone knew about Henry Cavill and what had happened to the once Golden Boy of the DC movies universe. He had an appalling interview with an unscrupulous journalist who published audio for a very large pay day. The things that were said in the interview were career and character suicide, whether the audio was heavily edited or not, and whether the journalist purposely backed Cavill into a corner to get the incriminating answers she wanted. In PR terms, he was dead in the water and needed resuscitation.

 His previous PR agency dropped him, which led them to her company, Elite Solutions PR, in the hope of recovering his image. Being such a high-profile person, Dave placed the account with his senior staff, not with her, a lowly social media specialist. She hadn’t heard much about the plans to bring his career back to life after the initial intake.

 “Ms. Navarro, nice to meet you.” Fred smiled kindly and stretched his hand out to shake hers. At least Fred seemed like a decent guy.

 Dave blustered and patted his tie down a slightly protruding beer gut.

 Grace smiled back. “You, too.”

 “Fred and I have been talking about the targeted campaign we’ve put together for his client’s reintroduction to the public,” Dave explained. “Since Warner Brothers decided to keep him on as Superman, they want to use the Justice League promo tour to help springboard a new image.”

 She nodded, trying not to hope this was Dave offering her a promotion. As much as she could use the boost in pay and an office of her own—with windows—she didn’t want this one because Dave would micromanage the shit out of her. “Why don’t you just send him to rehab like everyone else who needs an image reboot? People love comeback stories.”

 Fred sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’ve floated that to him, but he refuses.”

 “It worked with Affleck—”

 “Right, but it works in Ben’s favor because he plays Bruce Wayne. Superman is a golden hearted country boy and a stint in rehab doesn’t suit the image, which WB then agreed with. And his business manager didn’t like it either. It’s why we’re here and signing with Elite. Our previous PR fired him because he wouldn’t accept that media plan.”

 So on top of being a chauvinistic idiot stuck in the 50s, he’s stubborn as fuck. Great.

 “I’m not understanding why you need me, Dave. I’m just a social media specialist,” Grace said.

 Dave cleared his throat. “We’re getting there, Navarro.”

 She flattened her lips into a line. Double great, she thought. From his tone of voice alone, she knew she wasn’t going to like what he had to say.

 “Henry has, however, agreed to play the long game. To be better in interviews and follow the guidance of his PR assistant in future interactions with the public,” Fred explained.

 “We’re planning to get him in at several charity functions along the publicity tour to bolster the positive side of his image,” Dave explained. “That’s in addition to a few puff pieces we’ve hand selected to give him the best coverage. When it comes to film-specific interactions, we will yield to WB’s publicist, but our firm will always be represented.”

 Grace understood. “So you’re sending him a babysitter.”

 Dave’s beady shit brown eyes narrowed. “Precisely, Navarro. And you’re the babysitter.”

“Excuse me?” she asked.

 Fred gave her a tight smile. “He doesn’t have a personal assistant at the moment, either, so I thought whoever Dave selected for the position might take on a few of those tasks for the promo tour to cut cost. It’ll keep him out of trouble—away from clubs, women and alcohol. At least until this all blows over.”

 Grace puffed up her cheeks and blew out a long stream of air. “With all due respect, the man practically lives in a club. How do you think you’re going to keep him out of one?”

 “That’s your job,” Dave said.

 “And I am also a woman,” she replied. And I fucking love tequila.

 Dave glanced over at her, his eyes slithering down her body and back up to her face. He made his point without having to say anything, just like Miranda Priestly did to Andi Sachs in The Devil Wears Prada. She needed a scalding shower to clean off the slime now on her skin.

 “If I refuse?” Grace asked.

 “I’ll expect your resignation on my desk in the morning, then,” Dave replied.

 She rolled her eyes. What choice did she have anyway? It was fucking impossible to get your foot in the door at an agency like this anywhere in Los Angeles. She didn’t have the funds to move elsewhere in the world to a location with a high demand for publicists, and she certainly needed the funds she did have to pay her bills here. And then there was the matter of starting all over again, from the ground up, with no family or friends to help in a distant location. She sure as hell wasn’t about to do that with another boss who could be worse than Dave.

 Grace sank back into her seat and glanced across the table at Fred, who still looked apologetic about Dave’s behavior. At least there was someone with a little heart in this industry.

 “What about my other accounts?” she asked. She had no other suitable objections to the work but those.

 “We’ll split them between Elijah and Lachlan,” Dave said. “Your soul responsibility for the next two months is Cavill—make sure he stays on the straight and narrow and don’t let other people goad him into spouting off again.”

 She locked her jaw and gave him a swift, curt nod. She could do it; what could possibly be so hard about shepherding a wayward movie star? She just wished that someone else had been assigned the task. PR assistant was one thing, but they also wanted her to be part personal assistant. Knowing that Dave thought so little of her contribution to the office that he was willing to assign her a task rife with picking up dry cleaning and grocery shopping set her teeth on edge. Or maybe he had the greatest amount of trust in her that she’d do the job so well, that he felt comfortable giving her the responsibility?

 Grace looked at the balding man again. No, he didn’t trust her. Couldn’t possibly. She didn’t have the necessary appendage. But she was a woman, so he must have figured she’d be good at getting coffee and cleaning up after an arrogant actor.

 “When do I start?” she asked.

 Fred smiled. “Tomorrow morning. Say… ten? You can dress casually, though. No need for business attire…”

 …when you’re running around doing errands.

 Yeah, she knew what he meant.

 “Great,” she replied and turned to Dave. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some work to finish off if I’m handing my accounts over before I leave.”

 Dave waved her off without another thought.  She nodded at Fred and beat a hasty retreat out of his office. She went directly for Eli’s desk and held her hand out, wiggling her fingers. “I need a cigarette.”

 “Okay, I’m definitely not letting you have one of those,” he said, looking up at her. “You told me never to let you have another one when you quit last year.”

 “But I need one,” she groaned. “My life has just turned to shit in a half hour and I need something. Anything.”

 Eli squinted. “That bad, huh?”

 Grace groaned and raked a hand through her long black-brown hair. Her fingers snagged on a tangle deep in the voluminous tresses. She winced. “Please.”

 He reluctantly pulled out his latest pack and stuck one in her hand with the rainbow-colored lighter. Eli was never one for subtlety. “Don’t come crying to me because you’re hooked again.”

 She rolled her eyes and darted through the office for the exit leading to the outdoor smoking area. Even before she flicked the wheel on the butane lighter, she felt the tingle and burn of smoke filling her lungs, the eventual long pull relaxing her frayed nerves. God, she needed one of these.

 Grace sucked in another mouthful, resting her back against the brick façade of their first-floor office. The heat of the sun had baked the red bricks throughout the day, which in turn heated her back and scratched against her body like a five-hundred-dollar hot stone massage, which she definitely didn’t have the money for, so it was nice to lean there and enjoy the sensation. Small pleasures and all that.

 She turned her face up to the clear blue sky and hot sun. Sometimes living in SoCal had a lot of negatives like superficiality and traffic, but warmth in October was definitely a positive. It wouldn’t be this warm in the other places she would be traveling in the coming months; she figured it was worth it now to soak it all up. Why she even considered leaving LA a few minutes ago confused her. Between the sunny days and her family, she couldn’t imagine living any other place in the world.

 A clearing throat made her turn her head.  She blinked away the sun, allowing her pupils time to adjust to the shadow on her left. Fred was standing just outside the door, his hands in his pockets. He was taller than her, not by much, but he still gave her a feeling that he was powerful. Except he was also soft spoken and one of those men who didn’t need to raise his voice to be heard.

 “I’m sorry for intruding,” he said. “I wanted to talk with you a little more.”

 “About?” she asked, raising a brow at him. Her objective with their mutual client was simple: mollycoddle the hell out of him and don’t let him talk to anyone.

 He smiled. “About your new charge.”

 Grace dropped her shoulders and pushed away from the wall. She snuffed out her cigarette in the ashtray to her right and stepped into the shade. Dark skin or not, she wasn’t in the mood to deal with skin cancer.

 “He’s a decent guy. I know what you must have heard about the story and it doesn’t paint that type of picture,” Fred said, “but I’ve never known him to be like that—with me or with women. Sometimes, though, he has word vomit. He’s almost… socially awkward, you know?”

 She nodded. Even though she’d worked in this business for five years and met a lot of famous people who always seemed to have it all, there was always something that they were desperate to overcome or hide. It’s why they hired publicists—to hide or minimize their brokenness or their problems. The public wanted perfection. They wanted to live their lives in dream worlds and fantasies based on these people who supposedly had it all. Unfortunately, the public usually didn’t get to see just how fucked up their idols’ lives were because of people like her.

 “He’s been my client for ten years now. He’s good people and I want to see him succeed, not just because he’s my star right now,” Fred said.

 She heard his earnestness. Fred was a good guy, whether he was a cutthroat in the industry or not. “I understand.”

 He coughed into his hand and stepped forward. “And I want to make sure that you’ll do your best. Dave can be—”

 “Yeah, I know,” she said. “But he’s the best fixer in this industry.”

 “Definitely.”

 Grace sighed. “Mr. Wellington—”

 “Fred,” he corrected.

“Fred.” She really did like him. He didn’t give off the air of sleaziness that so many in this town did. “I plan to do my job to the best of my abilities. Believe me.”

 And it was the truth. Even though she despised the reason for being placed in this role, she never shirked her responsibilities. She worked hard and took pleasure in hard work. Life was hard, too, but it could have been harder if she didn’t have such a strong ethic. Sometimes, though, it was a lot to handle all at once. By tomorrow morning, after having some time to cool down and re-center herself, she had little doubt she would perform admirably.

 Fred smiled again, looking her over, from feet to head, but it wasn’t in the smarmy way Dave had done in the office. This appraisal was one of measurement—measuring everything about her that wasn’t physical, if he could do such a thing by judging her exterior. “Have you had a chance to meet Dany Garcia, yet? She’s Henry’s business manager.”

 “Unfortunately, no,” she said.

 “But you have heard of her before today?”

 “Oh, yeah,” Grace replied with a nod. Dany was Dwayne Johnson’s ex and his wildly successful business partner with her own powerful management firm. “Who hasn’t? She’s created an empire.”

 “That she has,” Fred said. “You remind me of her. You have the same chutzpah. I think when you meet her and the team, you’ll hit it off. She didn’t come today because she can’t stand Dave, so she asked me to do the dirty work.”

 Grace laughed at his explanation. “I’m sorry you had to deal with it, too.”

 The man shrugged and stepped closer to her as though they were conspiring on some great plot. “Play your cards right, and I’ll make sure Dany finds a position for you on her team after the tour.”

 “Are you serious?”

 “As a heart attack.” He grinned and reached into his suit coat for a business card. Then he offered it to her. “If you need anything at all, please call my direct line. They have the dossier and all your information inside, but someone from Dany’s office will meet you at Henry’s tomorrow morning.”

 Grace looked at the card and ran her finger over the raised lettering and expensive linen cardstock. She looked up and offered her hand again. “Thank you, Fred.”

 “No problem, Grace,” he said and stepped away from her, toward the sidewalk that would lead him to the parking lot. “Remember, I’ll be watching you.”

 She saluted him as he strode away. He drove off in a shiny Mercedes. Finally, she sighed and looked at the watch on her wrist. “I guess break’s over.”

 At least, she thought as she opened the door into her office, the afternoon wasn’t a total waste. It was enough to get her back to her computer to close shop for the foreseeable future. The only problem left was breaking it to Eli that she wasn’t going to be around as much.

#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fan fic #fan fiction #actor!Henry #grace