#setting off a fucking bomb on tumblr today

[akuma-tenshi]

so this is a big, long rant about sexism in the idv community bc it's been on my mind lately and i need to put it out there. this is what i've observed after almost four years in the fandom and been stewing on for a long-ass time. if you don't feel like reading an essay on how annoyed some random enby on the internet is, then don't click the read more and just keep scrolling. don't interact with this post if all you're gonna do is get mad; i'm not here to piss anyone off, just make observations. and if this isn't your experience, good for you and please direct me to whatever circles you run in because i need to be there.

so, i've noticed that the idv fandom is extremely shit when it comes to how they treat female characters, and nobody really.. talks about it?? the only person i've ever seen actually discuss it used it as a way to drum up sympathy for ada. which, if you know me, you know really fucking pisses me off. because there are SO MANY OTHER EXAMPLES of sexism in this community, but no, clearly because we have sympathy for a male victim of abuse we're being sexist towards his abuser.

the thing is. there is so much to point to when you talk about how the fandom is sexist. it's very common to see female characters boiled down to just a couple traits. mary?? hot mommy step on me. michiko?? soft and gentle and demure (don't think i won't notice the weird shit about how that's a very common stereotype of asian women btw i see it). demi?? hot and drinks a lot. emma and lily are "uwu mentally ill babies". annie is soft. emily is either an irredeemable monster or a bitch, depending on who you're talking to. patricia is scary and mean. sangria's a girlboss, grace is soft and gentle, martha is spunky. and if you ask anyone their thoughts / ideas on these characters beyond those short descriptors you get nothing. i'm starting to fucking hate the word "girlboss" because it's all anyone says in response to like half these characters.

male characters are given alllllll the nuance in the world you can't talk to an aesop fan without them going into their endless headcanons / theories on why he's the way he is or how he's not actually that bad of a person or how cute he is or whatever. look at norton, or eli, or orpheus, or luca, or edgar, or joseph, or ithaqua, or any characters in that vein, and look at how the fandom treats them. look at the endless fanfictions and character studies and ships and x readers and headcanons. and then look at what female characters get. nowhere near that much.

i feel like margaretha and emily are the ones who suffer the most from this male-centric view by the fandom. they're characters who are inherently intricate, whose actions can't be explained away as entirely good or entirely bad. but that doesn't stop people from actively trying. they're going to act like margaretha wasn't being horrifically mistreated by her husband and just decided to burn down the circus for funsies or whatever. they're going to act like emily isn't trying so fucking hard to help emma and repent for what she's done. neither of them are meant to be read as black-and-white, but people will try because if they have to use more than two braincells on a female character they're going to implode.

meanwhile you get paragraph after paragraph about the intricacies of the argument between luca and alva. you get so many people analysing the relationship between norton and orpheus and how they're both kinda dicks but also both kinda have points. you get endless people defending joseph's actions bc his brother's dead and he's terrified of growing old / forgetting the people he loved / dying. you get so many fucking stories about how y'know, edgar's not that bad actually.

AND I'M NOT AGAINST ANALYSING THESE CHARACTERS!!! idv, especially in recent years, has been doing some great things with character writing. like, fuck 'em, they've got their issues, but they're still really good with some stuff and deserve credit. but don't act like it's not obvious how so many people have overlooked women (and poc, don't think i've noticed people ignoring the intricacies behind william and ganji as characters as well in favour of "himbo" and "bastard who cares", but i'm white so that's not exactly my place to talk) in favour of their favourite skinny whiteboy of the week.

they're that way with older-looking characters, too. if an idv guy has facial hair, you bet your ass he's also getting boiled down to his base traits. jose's an alcoholic, kevin is self-sacrificing and likes women, kurt is a little guy, kreacher is Awful, charles basically doesn't fucking exist anymore. but again not the focus of the talk atm.

it's just. so upsetting. esp. since most of my favourite idv characters are women but everyone i talk to about them is like "oh yeah demi's hot" or "aww annie's such a nervous little baby" or "god patricia's such a cool girlboss". and even when the shit they say is positive in a vacuum it still makes me so upset bc THAT'S NOT ALL THEY ARE!! demi is kind and loving and hardworking in the face of a world that only ever hurt her. annie's life has been an endless stream of pain and heartbreak and the only thing she really wants is freedom. patricia is literally cursed and is trying to find her place in the world.

also. i fucking hate ada but she falls victim to this too. as much as i despise the "you dislike her just bc you're sexist" thing and as horribly uncomfortable as she makes me, don't act like you haven't seen how her entire character is boiled down to how much she "loves" this man. don't act like you haven't seen how her entire character, all of her promise and potential, is forgotten in favour of that fucking trainwreck of a relationship. i bet half the fandom can't tell me anything about her other than her relationship with emil. emil suffers from this too, with his backstory and personality and life of abuse becoming an afterthought, but again, not what we're focusing on.

this is not an isolated thing or confined solely to the idv fandom. this happens in fandoms everywhere. but because idv is so close to my heart i feel like i really need to talk about it. there's so little content of female characters when there's fucking daily content of male ones. and don't get me wrong, i do like male characters. norton is literally one of my favourite fictional characters and i love talking about / analysing him. but i can guarantee a lot of people wouldn't be so interested in him if he was a woman.

sorry, just needed to get that off my chest. mandatory "this doesn't apply to everyone in the fandom" and "if this doesn't apply to you then i'm not fucking talking about you". we were so against the ashley wood collaboration bc of how much he sexualised michiko (and women in general) but like. do y'all really care that much?? bc i really don't think you do.

#idv #identity v #sexism #sexism in fandom #setting off a fucking bomb on tumblr today #this isn't meant to hate on people who like the male characters i've mentioned btw #i'm just saying it's an ugly pattern i've noticed #discourse #ranting #rant #rambling #abuse mention #abuse ment tw #happy new year!! akuma's pissed off about something and about to make it your problem

[37-drc89]

the way things go; lee minho

❁ nothing warms your heart more than his presence.

trope: roommates to lovers.

genre: comfort, slight angst, work exhaustion, happy ending.

summary: finally understanding that your failure doesn't scare him away.

warnings: blood, mention of overprotective parent, family problems, let me know if i should put anything more in here.

word count: 3,7k.

masterlist

note: this is very much my first fic here, like, ever. i'm still green in tumblr, any links and mostly making posts look good, but i'll eventually master it. i look forward to seeing your opinions and things i can change or make better, i'll appreciate every comment. and, please remember that english is not my first language! if you see any typo or something doesn't make sense, please inform me! thank you:)

Coming back home on Friday after whole week of working your ass off really feels like a walk of shame. You feel like everyone passing by can tell how awfully you did at your workplace today. And they wouldn't be wrong, the amount of scolds your boss threw in your direction through past few days is worryingly numerous.

Whether it was missing out on paper work your boss asked you to do for him, because you were so sure the deadline was set on the day after, or accidentially knocking off of your desk whole cup of hot, sweetened tea that later on you had to scrap off of the covering, under the strict eye of the middle aged man that scared you so much. Especially with the amount of misfortune that chased after you lately, like it was glued to you.

Cringe makes its way to your face. You're shuffling your way to your apartment, not really in a hurry, feet lazily dragged after you as you didn't even have any strenght to properly lift them off the ground. You most likely look like you've been partying for at least three nights in a row, but you can't find it in yourself to care about it. Not now.

Seeing the building in which your apartment is placed have never felt so relieving and you can feel your legs giving up under your weight just at the thought of splashing on the bed and dozing off. Vision of passing out on the sidewalk doesn't seem appealing to you, so you rush yourself to the door, typing entrance code and walking into the elevator, stairs not even crossing your mind. Your tired body slumps itself against the wall as you patiently wait to get to the 6th floor, finding relief in having something to support yourself on. Finally getting to the door you can't help but feel excited, tapping your feet happily just at the thought of making up every hour of sleep you've missed this week because of your busy schedule. You slide the door open and the very first thing reaching your ears is eager meowing, three fur balls appearing at the entrance immediately. You can't help but smile, kneeling to give each of them gentle head pat before taking off the coat and shoes. This truly felt like a bliss, like you've just slid off a bag of stones off your back. Sigh leaves your mouth, heading to the kitchen you turn on the kettle as your tea craving grows with every second. Soonie appears next to you, sitting at the table just across from you. You've grown so friendly with your roommate's Minho's cats that neither you nor him have any problem with kitties occupying places people normally wouldn't let them sit on.

Then you freeze for a second.

You look at Soonie.

Soonie looks at you.

Your brows furrow and the cat goes back to whatever he was doing previously.

Fuck.

Minho is coming home today. He's been away for past five days due to his business trip, that was probably exhaustion fogging your mind enough to forget about this. He's coming back today. And your apartment looks like a bomb has been detonated right in the middle of it all. You can't risk him seeing how messy you got, Minho is always the one to put stuff at the right place, making his bed no matter in how much of a hurry he's in, always the one to do the dishes and basically make everything look perfect. You can't see him disappointed in you for such an easy thing, he'll think you don't even gather your life together. Not like you do, but it's nothing in his business, you shouldn't become another one of his problems. He's just your roommate and the only thing you share and should take care of is apartment that is now in complete mess. You can blame it on your lack of time, barely spending any time at your place recently, but that won't help in current situation.

Quick glance at the time, 4:23 pm, you reach out for your phone to scroll up the conversation with your friend to make sure how fast you have to act.

He's back in town at 5 pm. Could this possibly get any worse?

You scold yourself internally for letting this whole situation happen. But you don't have time to think about this now, and as you turn off the kettle you speedrun to the livingroom, gathering scattered clothes from all around the place. You blame it on Monday when you got up so late you didn't even have time for brushing your hair and of course, the shirt you were looking for was nowhere to be found. Out of all things, it was the one you needed that day.

Then you pick up empty cans of soda, bottles of water and cups of coffee from the table and quickly throw them into the dishwasher. You blame it on Tuesday, the night you realised you have to write that fucking paperwork you got scolded for missing on Monday. So you sat there for hours, head empty, taking breaks only when your tired tears started wetting your pages, scared that all your miserable efforts will be ruined.

Rushing to Minho's room you pick up blanket and pillows from his floor. You blame it on Wednesday, the day you were already on the edge of breaking down and giving up on your job. Even though the boy is only a roommate for you, you've grown so used to his presence you started finding peace in it. Even after the worst day you knew that someone will always be there waiting at your apartment to serve you cup of hot chocolate and bowl of ramen, to take your turn of folding laundry or just listen to how appaling your day was. But he wasn't home and it left you all to yourself which was never the best idea. So, seeking for at least tiny bit of comfort, you slept on his floor. That sounds so fucking stupid and weird when you think about it now, but just the aura Minho left in his room made you feel a bit closer to him. Reminds you of every time he invited you over to play some online games for 12 year olds or spill any tea that happened at his work. Though, you never wanted to interfere his private space, so sleeping in his bed didn't even cross your mind. Floor was just sufficient for you, and you let your tears flow that night, just as much as you needed it. You know he would understand. He might seem cold to others, but you know he would. He already unwrapped his side of him to you letting you see that truly, inside, he's softer than anyone you know; It's all for Soonie, Doongie and Dori. They really do get the best of Minho.

Going back to the kitchen, you gather empty boxes of instant ramen, snacks and every ready shop food that you could possibly find at the convenience store. You blame it on the whole week of rushing, not even having time to eat a proper meal. You can feel it down your stomach, body demanding anything that could properly feed it and give it any strenght to function as it should be functioning. Honestly, you can't recall the last time you didn't feel sick. Lump in your throat was your loyal companion since a week ago, constant urge to throw up not leaving your body even when you were falling asleep and you know you'll have to appreciate normal, nutritions food more.

You run around the apartment holding a wet towel, wiping quickly every mirror hung on the walls as you know nothing pisses Minho more than fogged glass. So you try your best to do it carefully, just like he does it. Reaching the last mirror placed in the front hall you eagerly wipe it, aware of your lack of time. Then it all happens at once.

Shitty food, lack of sleep, liters of coffee and ungodly amount of stress feel like kicking in all at once, like it's been gathering in your exhausted body for the whole week just for this one moment that you needed to be fucking careful.

Vision blurry, feet suddently tripping over itself, mind going blank just for a second, but second is enough for you to try holding yourself onto the small table placed right under the mirror and shaking it so hard when sudden thump reach your ears, followed by loud sound of shattered glass. You don't want to look. Because you're fully aware of what just happened. You don't want to look but you do. Eyes landing on the remains of now broken vase, water all over the floor, flowers that were resting inside it now cut in half and completely soaked.

And it was Minho's favourite vase. The first and the last thing he always glanced at when leaving or coming back home, admiring its beauty, pretty patterns, unique shape and the prettiest flowers inside. Flowers that he got for his 25th birthday that passed not so long ago from his dearest best friend Jisung. Flowers that he was so happy to receive, first thing he did after coming home that day was showing them to you, proudly, ranting about how they perfectly suit the room. And you ruined it all.

Your body slides slowly on the wet floor, water soaking your pants on your knees and you support yourself on the palms of your hands not to completely fall into the mess. You feel small pieces of glass ripping open your delicate skin of your hands, small streams of blood making their way to the floor, mixing with spilled water but you couldn't care less. Elbows start to shake under the weight of your body, shoulders tensing and your head falls, your own quiet sobs reaching your ears. It quickly turns into uncotrollable groans and whines, tears now flowing down your face with no end, nose already full, loose hair stick to your now completely soaked cheeks.

And you blame it on yourself. You could seek for anything to put his all on, like your boss, for making you feel useless for not even managing to do your fucking job properly and assigning you more work than anyone else in your department. Or your mother for not teaching you how to manage your time and how to function on your own, her overprotectiveness during your childhood and teenage years showing so often that you never even got any time to learn adult life before stepping into it. But you know it isn't their fault, no matter how hard you try to think that it is. You let yourself into this situation. You let yourself be in the state you're currently in. You didn't try hard enough to make yourself a decent person. There's no one you can blame but you.

Your endless cries must've muffled the sound of door cracking open, eyes reaching only feet of your roommate that was now standing at the entrance. You couldn't look up, even if you wanted to, you couldn't look Minho in the eyes. Not when he's witnessing your failure and the mess you made out of something so dear to him.

Meanwhile Minho stood there, body frozen, gazing at your tiny figure splashed on the floor, shoulders shaking. He doesn't even notice the crashed vase at first, your current state drawing all his attention immediately to you.

He doesn't give himself any time to think much longer about what's happening in his front hall right now, dropping bags he's been holding in his right hand and suitcase on his left and appearing at your side the second after, kneeling by your vulnerable body on the floor.

"Hey, hey.." Minho lightly lays his hand on your shaky back, carefully caressing it to soothe you. "Easy now, I'm here."

The only respond he gets is your dramatic, loud sob ripping out of your heavy chest. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Minho... Is the only thing you could get out of yourself, followed by another set of pretty disgusting, wet cries.

"Are you hurt? Let me see your hand, please," your roommate asked quietly not to scare you after noticing red coloured drops beside your knees. Gently, he took your harmed hands into his and studied small pieces of glass stuck in your skin. "Let's get it cleaned, okay?"

His hand makes its way to your waist and he stands up slowly, careful not to make any sudden moves that could put you in pain. He shuffles you to the bathroom and helps you sit on the toilet seat and starts preparing alcohol and wet towels.

You feel pathetic.

Not only you ruined his special item, something so important and beautiful, but now he has to take care of someone that caused all the damage. You feel helpless once again, like you couldn't do anything fucking right for once. Once.

Your caring roommate starts removing glass shatters from your wound, his tongue sticking out a bit from the corner of his mouth, fully concentrated in his task. He knows that if his hands twitch even a little bit, he might hurt you even more, and let me tell you, his hands are trembling. He can't recall a situation when he saw you in such state.

You always seem tough, tough against any misfortune that meets you. You surely talk to him when you need some shoulder to lay on, about your worse days and he's cautious enough to notice when you're exhausted. But he's never seen you at your breaking point, starting to believe you don't have any. Yet you're here, in front of him, not even being able to speak properly. He can't help but feel kind of relieved at the whole situation knowing that your hard, protective shell cracked a little bit, letting him see something he's never seen in you before. Weakness.

"This might sting a bit," Minho informs you as he presses alcohol soaked paper to your wound. Whimper leaves your mouth at the unpleasant feeling and you hang your head down. He quickly wraps bandage around your hand and clasps it between his warm palms.

"Hey, you don't have to worry about that the hall. I'll take care of it, okay?" He tries to lower himself, kneeling in front of you, so he can get a better glimpse of your puffed face. You shake your head and straighten your back, looking at him with serious expression.

"No." You sniff, "No, I broke it, I broke something so important to you and it's my fault. I'll clean it. I'll buy you a new one, the same one, I promise Minho."

His hands make their way to your back, slowly, eyes remaining on you for any sign of discomfort. When you sneakily lean into the touch, Minho pulls your body entirely towards his, clasping your weak figure into his arms and sways you left and right, wanting to feel your muscles relax in his embrace.

"What's wrong, hm? My roommate senses are tingling," his voice muffles itself by pressing his mouth against your shoulder, "Talk to me, y/n, please?"

"I had the worst week ever here, without you."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

You just shake your head no, holding onto his waist tighter than ever. You feel him nod. His calm aura pulls you in completely, feeling like walking into hot building during snowy, cold winter. Your cheeks warm up, pressing right below his neck, his body warmth transferring itself to you.

"It's lowkey weird." You choke out, coughing right after because of how stuffed your poor throat felt.

"What is?"

"You comforting me while I'm sitting on a toilet seat."

You manage to let out throaty chuckle to light the atmosphere up, however, you can't help the warm stream of tears flowing right after.

"Want to move it to the livingroom?" Minho pulls out of the hug slightly, setting his gaze at your red face again and your eyes make their way to the floor. You still haven't looked him in the eyes, not even once, as you're scared of the wave of guilt that will follow. As if the one you're feeling right now isn't enough. You feel like a child scared to get shouted at by their parents.

Minho crouches down in front of you and you hum in question, brows furrowed. He only gestures with his hand for you to hop onto his back, already positioning your legs on his hips. You groan but don't protest, you know how Minho is and you know fighting him is hopeless. Wrapping your arms around his next securely and glueing your chest onto his back, you melt into the warmth of his body. He stands up, feeling your breath tickling the skin behind his ear and smiling to himself, noticing how it got much steadier than it was before. He leads both of you out the bathroom and again, the sad view of Minho's favourite vase on the floor, not really looking any similar to vase anymore, hits you, shoving another wave of guilt through your nerves. You close your eyes and rest your forehead on your roommate's shoulder.

"I'm truly, so, so sorry Minho. I never meant to do this, I was just trying to make the place look presentable for you and it ended like it always does." the words left your mouth as quiet squeak, taking another deep breath before speaking again; "Yet you still have to clean the mess I did, like you always do. I don't deserve it, I don't deserve you. I failed being your perfect roommate."

"Who said I wanted a perfect roommate?" he asks as you reach your shared couch, carefully laying you on it then sitting by your side, facing you. "You think I'm mad at you, but I'm not. I've broken like five vases in my life and none of this was anything I planned, just like you."

You finally find some strenght in yourself to raise your gaze and lock it at his round, dark eyes. And he's right, no matter how intensively you look into them, you can't find even a tiny bit of anger in them, they sparked with understanding and you find yourself feeling bad at even thinking someone this precious could get so mad at you. They were so pure you could see your ugly, messed up reflection in them. Before you could start thinking about this again, his eyes squinted a little bit as corners of Minho's lips curled upwards in the most beautiful, sincere, affectionate smile you've ever seen. You only realised that his hand was placed on your trembling knee when you felt his fingers caressing it softly, sending warm shiver through your whole body.

"What about the flowers? You loved them..." You turned around to take a glimpse of the mess once again but Minho quickly grabbed your chin with only pads of his fingers and made you look back at him. "I'll take over from here, you get rest now."

Just as he was about to stand up from the couch you grabbed him by his sleeve and almost agressively pulled him right into your arms, crashing in the tightest, breath taking hug as you truly couldn't believe you had him by your side. Just when you thought you crossed his boundaries by that sudden action and started to loose your grip on him, he dragged you right back to him like he was waiting for this moment to happen. His heart pressed to yours, he definitely could tell how fast and heavy its beating right now. Both of yours eyes closed, you just enjoyed this such intimate moment, very first one since you've moved in together. Neither you or him dare to make a move in fear of ruining this beautiful scene.

"Thank you," you murmur into his neck, so quietly you're not even sure he heard it. "only you can endure me as your roommate. How are you not tired of this?" Chuckle leaves your mouth but you quickly tone it out in case he responds, Well, I am actually tired.

"Because you're the only one that can endure me, too." He pulls out of the hug, though he doesn't move too far away, being so close to your face you could feel his minty breath on your nose. "I guess it's just the way things go."

Next thing your brain processes is his perfect lips landing on yours in swift motion. Suprisingly they're not rough, not even a little bit, they're so soft you barely feel them at first. Your heart goes up your throat for a mere second, dropping back down the moment he caress your cheek gently with his warm hand, now covered in the tiniest layer of sweat caused by the adrenaline. When your body finally understands what's going on, you lean into him completely, hand going up on the back of his head, tangling into his soft, dark hair and Minho takes is as a sign to continue, now pressing his lips onto yours with more force, making sure you feel them properly. A sigh of relief leaves both of your mouths and you smile into the kiss. When you eventually just slightly pull away from each other, faces still close, you notice new emotion making its way into his eyes, overtaking the rest as he studies every part of your face carefully. It's love. His eyes are full of love. Its so intense like it just have been freed from his chest after months of hiding in the deepest corners of his heart.

There's still so much you don't know about him and there's so much he doesn't know about you, but the gate has opened now and there's no turning back. You don't know what any of this means yet, but you can think of it tomorrow. Or in a month. Or in a year.

For now it's just you and him. And that's what matters the most in the world.

#lee know #lee minho #skz #skz x reader #stray kids #lee know x reader #lee know fluff #lee know comfort #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz au #stray kids fluff #stray kids fanfic #skz fluff #skz comfort #skz angst #stray kids drabbles #stray kids x reader #skz fanfic #lee know angst

[skiesofrosie]

Little Sunshine Fires: Chapter 1

Pairing: Benny DeMarco x OC [Marnie Cleven]

ch. after

Synopsis: Marnie requests a transfer to the 100th Bomb Group to stay close to her boxed in, reserved pilot of a brother, Buck Cleven. It's the last thing she expects, when she starts to anticipate another man's return to safety from the skies, nearly just as much.

Warning: historical inaccuracies, sad stuff to come

Welcome to my first ever fic on Tumblr, and really, everywhere. I have no strong argument as to why you should pay attention to my story, but I do hope that if you have any love for MOTA, MOTA OCs and specifically Benny DeMarco, you would give this long-winded meet cute a chance. It's just a little, fun project I've got going. <3 I fully intend to introduce Marnie individually, but I thought I'd give you a taste of her and Benny first. Enjoy! (and go easy on me T.T)

Disclaimer: none of these photos belong to me. :)

<3

To say it is not ideal that he nearly runs her over with his bike on their first proper interaction, is quite the understatement. In fact, with her petite stature, doing so would have been the equivalent to a man getting squashed by a tank on the field–but let’s not even go there.

It’s a ritual to her everyday, circling the village block for exactly half an hour, enjoying the crispness of her white uniform before it inevitably becomes splotched with red. The stains Marnie returns to her cot with every night is a minuscule droplet in the face of a full-blown war, but despite that, she is only human. If she has the chance to hold onto even just a sliver of normalcy in a place where men dropping like flies all came with the territory, then she did so wrenchingly tight.

And she enjoys strolling through the village of Thorpe Abbots, savoring the slow pace of her breathing with a cigarette between her lips. It resembles one of those folktales her mother theatrically read to her in bed every night as a kid. Townhouses of pastel pinks, yellows and blues, green vines weaving in and out of their windows. Sometimes she would have a set of freshly baked cupcakes at the ready for the farm owner just a few blocks behind base, and count each and every peony she spots on her way back home. Thirty minutes, just thirty minutes basking in this quiet.

Marnie just doesn’t recall having to budget her time for a bicycle crash.

“Shift, fuck, watch out!” the rider yells, face scrunched up in panic. The clock was about to hit 0700, when Marnie was trekking the roads back to the hospital, ready to tackle the day shift. There was no mission in their docket today, but ever since the 100th had landed from their first, soldiers were kicking in and out of those double doors non-stop. Her eyes were locked downwards at nothing in particular; distracted by the thought of Dickie as she rounded the corner, the exposed flesh on his hands that required fresh bandages, and failed to account for the sound of rubber wheels scraping against the gravel.

The officer swerves his bike right–Marnie’s body managing to stall at the perfect moment–his dog only exacerbating the chaos by tugging ferociously on his leash. Rock against flesh, he lands straight on his right side, the clang of his bike ripping through the Sunday morning. One would think that is enough to make the soldiers pause in their ruckus, a group of men practically sunbathing in the weeds, right by his ill fate, but no. She spots Bucky in the crowd, lying with his hands behind his head, now turned to the scene, and he has the audacity to simply cackle at this man’s misfortune. A full-blown cackle. She would absolutely, even in a million years, not admit that she herself was holding back a chuckle.

“Egan,” he groans, pushing himself on his shoulders, and it springs Marnie into action. She runs to his side, about to crouch down. “If you keep shitting your pants over there, I’m gonna fuckin–”

“Oh, forget him and just let me look over you,” she says, cutting him off mid-threat. “God, I’m so sorry.” 

His movements freeze, but he angles his head to get a better look at whoever the culprit is. She was expecting him to chew her out for her lack of paying attention, but instead, the second their eyes make contact, there’s an intensity that floods into his gaze. The furrow between his brow softens as a mild surprise–or at least, she thinks it's surprise–washes over his face, his lips falling apart and twitching, ever so slightly. He can hardly keep the red flush at bay. It seeps through his neck and dusts his cheeks, the bustle of the base fading into white noise.

“That good a view, DeMarco?” Bucky, the giant man-child, interrupts. “Got drool coming down your chin.” And suddenly, those eyes no longer reflect a sense of wonder–oh, she should’ve locked that image in her mind and tossed the key into the sea–but a tinge of annoyance sends  creases to his forehead, as he scrambles to stand. His dog, one giant, white and silver furry pup, starts to nip at her feet as she begins to rise, and he paws at her knees when her fingers fiddle with his ears. In the corner of her eyes, Marnie catches his owner, she presumes, cracking a fond smile.

“The most beautiful I’ve seen,” she hears him say, only just stopping himself from tugging an obnoxious smirk on his lips, a twinkle of mischief written across his face. It takes everything in her to tamper down a cheeky grin, straining her neck that threatens to inch towards the man she now knows as DeMarco. “But if you will excuse me,” he says, running his fingers through his thick, dark brown hair, and grabbing the handles of his bike and the pup’s leash. “I’m–”

“Not going anywhere.” She finishes his words, the officer’s mouth clamping shut. She’s seen him around before, those chocolate brown eyes and that easygoing charm–he was Buck’s co-pilot when his fort touched down in East Anglia, arms cradling his incessantly howling husky onto tarmac. Our Baby, she remembers his plane being called.

Stalking up to the man ‘til they’re face-to-face, she realizes that with the heels on her shoes, she isn’t too much shorter than him. Her eyes flicker to the way he straightens his shoulders, catches the sharp intake of his breath, and wonders if this man will ever exhale again. Slipping a handkerchief out of her pocket, blood fuses with the yellow of her cloth as she dabs away at minor gash across his temples. He’s about to curse Bucky, and Thayer, and all the soldiers blowing wolf whistles into the air, none bothering to inform him of the distorted skin on his face. “Unless you’re looking for that to get infected,” she says, completely calm, ignoring their audience. “Then come with me, sir.”

A light chuckle bubble in his throat. “Right,” he says, tipping his head, and there it is once again–that unmistakable gaze. “Yes lieutenant. Lead the way.”

She nods, gesturing her fingers to the doors of the hospital, vastly ignoring the way she can feel his eyes trained on her back. She misses the way they’re stiffly glued to the almost black lengths of her hair, keeping them in place from doing a most-likely unacceptable scan up and down.

“Oh, and it’s captain,” she says, turning her head slightly, and his steps come to a halt. “Captain Marianne.”

The man in question happens to be big-hearted Bernard DeMarco.

“But call me Benny,” he’s quick to correct as she sits him down on the edge of a vacant bed. “I’d rather lose my title than answer to that.” She was about to say it suited him, but bites it back.

He’s a pilot from Philadelphia, she learns. An affinity for the outdoors since he was a child, he had longed to take control of the cockpit, and feel the kiss of the sunshine against his skin. There is just something about the golden glow that illuminates his core with a vigor and excitement his body had never felt before. And she admires his zest for a life in the skies. It’s clear, with the way his head perks up like a jittery child on Christmas morning, when he recalls their days flying harmless training missions back in Iowa.

Digging into the metal tray she’s placed beside him, she can tell he’s still watching her movements like a hawk, and it makes her palms a little damp, her brain hyper aware of the way she’s tinkering with the gauze and the antiseptic. It’s as if she's trying to impress Benny. As chief nurse of the 100th Bomb Group, the trust of her abilities should probably not fall into the judgment of a mere man, but she can’t help but feel self-conscious, afraid to make a mess of herself for such a little cause.

“I have yet to find something,” he says, voice quiet as she leaves little space between them to clean his wound, the scent of her lavender lacing with something medicinal faintly clouding over his skin, “that makes me feel more alive.” 

When she feels his eyes on her–an act she has been tactfully avoiding for the past 10-minutes–needles seem to prickle along her arms as they remain a little too still. It’s as if the sterile nurse wing has emptied itself out into an abyss where she can let go of her inhibitions and set herself free in front of a man she didn’t know. And all because he stares at her with a tenderness she can’t quite pinpoint.

Benny lets out a cough then, snapping her out of her daze and glances off to the rest of the men in the room. He nods his head at Dickie, who, right now wears the ugliest, knowing smirk that he wishes to slap off, only settles by regulating his breaths before Marnie can see how riled up he feels in his system. He wonders if everyone of them were treated as intimately as this, though he sure as hell hopes not.

“And you?” He looks up curiously, as she stands to clear up the equipment. “I take it you’ve at least been on a plane a couple times. I can’t imagine Buck wouldn’t have flown you about.”

“No, I actually haven’t. Took a ship here with Kenny.” She laughs at the way he reacts in utter disbelief. “Never? You’re kidding. What, you're scared of heights or something? Or, you just don’t like to fly.”

She raises a questioning bow, and he tilts his back down, a tinge of guilt on his face for assuming there is something wrong with such things. “You know, despite popular opinion, not everyone likes being above 30,000 feet in freezing cold air, Ben. And yes, I am afraid of heights. Does that turn you off all a sudden?” He hastily shakes his head no, and mutters a soft, “yeah, my bad.” Facing away, the corners of her lips quirk into a tiny smirk. 

She thinks of her older brother, the reticent Gale Cleven, or Buck, who she hadn’t seen in about six months before he arrived in England. Marnie was always the more chipper one out of the two, always offering to do most of the talking when they charmed their town neighbors into letting them couch surf for the night. 

His strength, on the other hand, always lay in his actions. It speaks to the way their mutual childhood best friend and the love of Buck’s life, Marge, had fallen for him. It was not about what he could muster the courage to say, or how he squared up his shoulders. It was because he waited every sunrise without fail, for Marge to arrive at the bus stop so they could head to school together. How he was often too timid to really show any verbal affection, but would never stop caressing her shoulders lightly each time they were side-by-side. Her brother was a man of a few words. If there is one thing he could babble on about though, like DeMarco, they were planes.

They breathed life into Buck Cleven, flew him into a sense of purpose. It was a beautiful sight, the way his wings launched him close to the sun where he glimmered into the pilot he was always meant to be. Marnie on the other hand, well, she doesn’t quite know when the seed of despair became rooted so deeply inside, but she started to despise the daylight since the war had reached their doorstep.

“There’s something about the sun, right after the rise of day,” Marnie begins, blue eyes glazed in thought, “it’s just so glaring. The closer you get to it…the more intimidating it becomes. It’s ruthless. Just rises and falls, and rises and falls, exposing each god fucking ugly corner of the world. You wake up to it, and with everything that’s going on, it’s just this blatant reminder that people are out there struggling, crying, and dying. That harsh reality just sinks deep into your gut, each time you gotta step out and work. I don’t hate the idea of flying….but, guess I’m just not interested in the skies. I don’t even like looking outside, and just sitting there, waiting for all of you to land. It kills me inside.”

When the plastic bottle of treatment hits the metal tray, it knocks into her senses just how oddly philosophical she had become. Embarrassment lingers into the silence between them, and she licks her lips as a staple nervous tick. Risking a peak over at him, she fears to see the awkwardness in the way he'd probably avoid her gaze. But relief escapes her conscience when he's looking on, straight at her with curiosity in his expression and a trace of a smile on his own lips. “Daylight’s a pretty big part of the day, if you didn’t notice,” he hears her snort at that, her figure retreating to the closet just a few doors down. “So tell me then, which part do you like the best?”

Medical tape in hand, she rips off a little piece to attach the gauze on his scraped temple. The gash that he had completely forgotten about, it was the reason he was there in the first place.

A younger, junior nurse with short, blonde hair calls out to Marnie, seeking help with some medic equipment. It’s not far too busy this late morning, luckily, the hospital finally settling into a stable rhythm as the airmen recover from their first mission. A luxury to hang onto before the pilots take off for a second. And she knows, having just been informed by Doc Stover yesterday, that it is happening at first daylight tomorrow.

“The sunset,” she replies, ushering Benny to his feet simultaneously. “It's the end of work. There is no mystery, or anxiety through how dark and lonely the night is. But no….terror and anticipation through the day. Just the plain, beautiful sunset.”

Bidding him her well wishes, her attention–regretfully so–begins to slip away from him, turning to assist her fellow nurse when Benny’s voice bounces off the walls, her name on his tongue. She turns towards him with a pinch in her eyebrows, shushing him so as to not disturb the other patients, and he squirms a little at the sterneness in her stare.

“Sorry, again,” he sheepishly says. “I wanted to know, what’s your favorite flower, captain?”

“Peonies. And don’t apologize…I’m sorry about our little mishap this morning.” A fling of curiosity, she masks the beam about to draw on her face by simply rolling her eyes, swallowing the nerves that have been pounding against her ribcage. “Marnie by the way. Chief nurse of the 100th.”  

“Pilot with the 350th, and don’t mention it.” He laughs, a light melody that sings through her soul. Benny shakes his head as he makes his way to the doors. The sun is a welcome sight, but it does not make him feel as warm as the lady who apparently despises the way it shines. It’s time to hit the village.

It was 0600, the alarm clock a signal that the 100th would be on their way to their second mission.

Marnie’s shift doesn’t start until much later, when she punches in her timecard at 0800. But she likes to arrive a little early–getting her morning stroll on the agenda, then spending an hour scrubbing the hospital clean. Perhaps, she sees it as a blank canvas. A comforting sight before the planes return–if they even do–to store away the anxiety that pumps through her blood with each wounded man awaiting their savior. It’s the repetition of each action, a mental checklist which she follows from head to toe the second she gets into work, that keeps her mind from bursting at the seams.

Today though, as she smoothes down her knee-length skirt, and places the nurse cap on her head, there’s a speckle of color on her desk that seems completely misplaced to the monotone array. When she walks up to the wooden table, a large pink bouquet of peonies rests like the sunset casting an orange fluorescence against branches and trees of earthy browns and greens. Betraying all professionalism, an untamed, toothy grin crinkles at the corners of her eyes.

Doc Stover finds it odd that she spends all day looking out the window, ‘til the boys come home.

-sal. if you made it this far, thank you <3

#masters of the air #mota #benny demarco #benny demarco x oc #bernard demarco #benny x marnie <3 #mota oc #buck cleven #gale cleven #marnie cleven

[killer-rabbit-of-caerbannog]

Potent Quotables

God may judge you, but his sins outnumber your own. - Tumblr user afabbaeddel

“I’ll do anything for you!” “Anything?” “Anything!” “Then perish.” - Obama hewwo rp

Violence for violence is the rule of beasts. - Tumblr user Kumagawa, quoting a dream version of Obama

I will face God and walk backwards into hell. - Twitter user @drill

One day, you’ll be face to face with whatever saw fit to let you exist in the universe, and you’ll have to justify the space you’ve filled. - Tumblr user curseworm

“If you eat it, the fey own you, though.” “That’s the fey’s problem.” - Tumblr users creepsandcrawlers and kramergate

You kneel before my throne, unaware that it was born of lies. - Tumblr user aplpaca

No amount of skill will protect you from the sheer luck of a chronic dumbass. - Tumblr user polygonfighter

What fatal flaw has God injected the human psyche with? Why must we always strive for the things furthest away from us? - Tumblr user pukicho

Jesus is my homeboy but God has a lot to answer for and my rebellion will continue until he does so. - Tumblr user hokuto-ju-no-ken

Weird hill to die on, but at least you’re dead. - Tumblr user primarybufferpanel

Nothing’s set in stone, but they’re set in a dirt road. If you roll your wagon in the same path too much it’ll soon be the only path you can take without struggling. - Tumblr user one-time-i-dreamt, quoting a dream character called Time

Can you feel your heart burning? Can you feel the struggle within? The fear within me is beyond anything your soul can make. You cannot kill me in any way that matters. - Tumblr user personsonable

Decay exists as an extant form of life. - Tumblr user personsonable

Do I look like the kind of man who dies? - Tumblr user watsonshoneybee, quoting a dream version of Prince

I am going to flay your skin from your cowardly bones and wear your hide as a bathrobe. - Tumblr user biggest-gaudiest-patronus

No curse of mine shall befall you from my dying breath. - Tumblr user flyfella

Love is dead and never existed. All you did was betray me as I lay sick and festering. You are the definition of dread. - Tumblr user mintyton

One day you will have to answer to a god who will not be as merciful as us. - Tumblr user teamesme

It looks like we’re both wrong, but more importantly, you’re wrong. - Tumblr user bombing

I’d rather die standing up than live kneeling. - Tumblr user sectonia

I feel like a lost priest finding Jesus in a bar. - Pinterest user Tibbles

She’s got lungs fit to blow the trumpets at Rapture. - Tumblr user horo, quoting a random guy off the street

Then become the dirt I walk on. - Tumblr user pukicho

I want nothing more than to uppercut you directly to Heaven’s front door. - Tumblr user pukicho

Back to hell with you. - Tumblr user pukicho

“Women who had period cramps before pain killers were invented were metal as fuck let’s give them a standing ovation” “A standing ovulation” “A round of menopause.” “It was a difficult period of history for everyone” “I didn’t ask for this to happen” - Tumblr thread, users who-the-fuck-let-me-have-a-blog, gingerbludger, nightvalesponsors, & helpwigi

“It’s not that deep.” Maybe not originally, but the ground is soft and I am ready to dig. - Tumblr user tailornorata

One day you’ll decompose, and I’ll be there to watch it happen. - Tumblr user turing-tested

You callow youths, who think in your innocence that memes come and go, you are tepid fools who still smell of milk. - Tumblr user naamahdarling

“Met a dumb ass today, awful.” “You looked in a mirror?” “Someday you will have to answer for your actions and God may not be so merciful.” - Tumblr users disney-official and soldierpallaton

Why would you blame the people reaching for heaven instead of the god who cursed them? - Tumblr user hell-propaganda

The bar was so low it was practically a tripping hazard in Hell, yet here you are, limbo dancing with the Devil. - Tumblr user omnybus

That’s the problem with gods; their pleasure and their wrath often look the same. - Tumblr user madmaudlingoes

Do good recklessly. - Tumblr user therealflurrin

And I’ll leave my brain wherever I please. And mine may be in a jar, but even without it I seem to have a bit more critical thinking skills than you. - Tumblr user witches-of-color

“Do you think you’ll ever stop loving him?” “The mountain itself is sure to crumble to dust before my love for him ends.” - Tumblr user reclaimeddurin responding to an anonymous question

It’s not my fault you’re human - Tumblr user derinthescarletpescatarian

And when we finally kill the gods neither hell nor heaven will be waiting for them because they created those to imprison us - Tumblr user malewifecombat

You bury a seed not because it looks nice in the dirt, but because the limbs that branch out will look nice in the sky - Tumblr user abyss13warlock

Everything you touch will crumble - Tumblr user jumex

You need to not be ruled by your hominid yuckberry instinct. That’s where bigotry comes from. - Tumblr user jumpingjacktrash

I’m at the grasping at straws stage but by god my grip strength has improved. - Tumblr user sometransgal

I know there will come a day when we part ways, whether it be by choice or by death, but please - I want to say a thousand hellos before we must say a single goodbye. Will you let me stay, that we may greet each other when we wake? - me (Tumblr user killer-rabbit-of-caerbannog), quoting a dream version of the prince from Rapunzel

You are not better than Icarus just because you have the benefit of his example. - Tumblr user manywinged

What is man but an animal playing god? - Tumblr user pukicho

What you know will kill you, but you will die laughing. - Tumblr user bondsmagii

[mrpenguinpants]

Genshin: When you’re cold [V1]

Whenever I write these it’s always when I have a pile of requests on my desk that I said I was going to get to but never do. I even missed a day yesterday because I crashed and burned and slept the entire day haha. Might miss today too since I’m going out to see my mum. 

This is like 90% crack and 10% actual content. I’m gonna post this and proceed to have shock therapy and wipe it from my memory.

I just want to be happy and it’s cold af where I live. I’ve also learned from maagdalen that Russia is insane with snow.  

---

Today’s appreciation post goes to asoundofdrop. Ty for the love on the Childe HCs hehe. Honestly, just the fact you tag everything blows my mind because I hate tagging so just seeing you do it with my mess of tags (back when I screamed my feelings before tumblr dropped the ban hammer on me) is like wow. That’s some next level effort, wish I had that haha;; I’m just gonna say this in advance, I am so sorry for the mess of tags I’m about to drop on this. 

---

Genshin: Holding Hands [V1]

Genshin: University AU [V1]

Genshin: Roommate [V1]

Genshin: Royalty AU [V1]

[Masterlist]

---

[taglist]  <- if you want to be added, please read this first.

@hanniejji  @mikeysbike @unionwitch @musekala @twistedsunnshiii @stanzastic @akaasea @xoneaboveallx @adoring-ghost @asheseiler @childelover @dilucsz​

@youaskedfurret @snowy224 @mayumintsu​ @tigerpriestess

---

Xiao

Excuse me? What is this cold you speak of? He’s an adepti he doesn’t know what cold is. Is it a demon he’s not aware of? Should he go beat it into submission if that’ll make you feel better? He’s already gone with his spear and out to go slay this cold demon before you can explain what the hell temperature is. 

By the time he’s back, he seems so proud of himself for killing a dragonspine yeti that you don’t have the heart to tell him that was literally not what you wanted or expected him to do. Your fingers are about to break their finger kneecaps. pLEASE sir just hold my hand. 

Bad idea, he’s been outside in the cold and he’s not exactly wearing mittens so your fingers end up colder. But you’re finally holding his hand that you suck it up and cry when he does actually break your fingers because he doesn’t know what muscle control is. 

Keqing

Ruthless business woman one second and then you show up, tell her you’re cold, and she’s reduced to flustered mother hen. All she has on her are these long sleeves that all Qixing wear. Would you like some warm milk? She knows you like your milk heated to a simmer right at 187.7975 degrees Fahrenheit.

Okay, first off, who measures in fahrenheit anymore this is China Liyue. Second off, how the hell does she know that and why is it so precise? She’s already throwing whatever Liyue duties she had back at the poor worker that has no idea what possessed the normally confident and admirable Keqing into this...creature. Making new plans for a heating system in Liyue while also coddling you. 

Catch her outside at 3am pounding the snow ground, crying, as she curses Rex Lapis for making it so cold in Liyue when he’s not even the Cyro archon. Zhongli sneezed while looking over papers burning the 3am oil. Maybe he needs to go home before it gets too cold, he might be getting sick. 

Diluc

God you’re such an idiot. Didn’t you see how hard the snow was falling? I can’t believe I married someone with 2 braincells. Are you trying to give me a heart attack? What would father in the sky think if my partner died because of frost bite when I’m a goddamn pyro vision user? I can commit arson to make a make-shift fire place, I have the money for the damages. 

Dilu- NO I DON’T NEED YOUR SHIRT. IT’S -20 DEGRESS. IT’S OKAY. YOUR COAT IS ENOUGH. PUT YOUR CLAYMORE AWAY WE CANNOT SET THE KNIGHTS OF FAVONIUS HQ ON FIRE WE AREN’T EVEN NEAR THERE. KAEYA IS INSIDE- DILUC - NO COME BACK. 

Your make shift fireplace is Kaeya’s “ugly” scarf. That’s it. That’s the post. 

Amber

Oh you’re cold? It’s okay, here take her baron bunny to cuddle with while she lights a fire. She thinks she saw some boar’s in the forest, she can make her specialty and that should warm you right up! So sweet, so wholesome. Don’t worry this baron bunny won’t explode in your face, she tripled checked she wasn’t giving you a dancing bomb.

While you’re huddled around a summoning circle of baron bunny’s, nice and warm, is when she relaxes and joins you. She grins to herself and pats herself on the shoulder. See that haters, she can make her partner nice and happy without your #buffamberwhen. 

Kaeya

You’re cold? Maybe you’ve just fallen so hard for him that whenever you think of him you get cold. He never knew you cared so much it’s so cut- okok you can stop hitting him now. He’ll offer his scarf if he had one but Diluc might have burned it but he does have his tit window. 

Basically impenetrable, you could bounce bullets off it so naturally the cold bounces off. You have to tell him up front that he sound borderline crazy and the fbi are already at his door. The fbi is Diluc. So instead he offers his overcoat and asks you if you would like to join him in some cozy tavern that hopefully has heating. 

It’s a nice and comforting experience until he drags you to Angel share and you know it’s just to 1v1 Diluc in the parking lot. 

Scaramouche

lol perish 

So naturally, you grab his ridiculous hat that he wears to compensate for his gremlin height and throw it like a frisbee. 

Go fetch 

---

God, why is there no official content of you scaramouche you bitch, you’re ruining the aesthetic. This is why I only give you one point of dialogue. This isn’t even funny. It’s a therapy session. This entire post was just for me to say tit window because I didn’t get to say it in my last Kaeya fic. 

Wow, I wonder which characters I like in genshin. Could it be “wow I hate everything and everyone don’t fucking touch me” male characters??? Could it be “Head strong but are secretly adorable” female characters?? Kaeya is only there because Diluc is there. 

I had to redo all my headers because everyone was taking up so much space in their 240p quality. Keqing is the only one that actually stepped forward when it was picture day. I don’t have enough energy to care about sizing I’m sorry. 

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #genshin impact imagines #genshin headcanons #genshin impact headcanons #genshin fanfic #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin crack #genshin xiao #xiao x reader #genshin xiao x reader #genshin impact xiao #kaeya x reader #genshin kaeya x reader #genshin impact kaeya #scaramouche x reader #genshin scaramouche x reader #genshin scaramouche #genshin amber #amber x reader #genshin amber x reader #genshin diluc #genshin diluc x reader #diluc x reader #genshin keqing #keqing x reader #genshin keqing x reader

[gallavictorious]

Gallavich Week Day 2: Fantasy AU

Summary: Prince Ian is offered up as a sacrifice to appease one of the dragons that haunt his father’s kingdom. Rather than being burned alive or eaten he is inexplicably left to wander the dragon’s lair in peace, as long as he never tries to leave and never enters the mysterious tower chamber. Then he meets fellow prisoner Mikhailo and starts to wonder if maybe this whole sacrificial gig isn’t such a bad deal after all.

Or, Ian Gallagher tells a bedtime story, and Mickey Milkovich is himself.

Fair Warning 1: There’s some Mickey-typical homophobic language in this one.

Fair Warning 2: I wrote all ridiculous 5K of this today (work? what work?) and it’s a little bit of a curious mess. Like, the sort of curious mess you get if you take Lip’s Hall of Shame, @gardenerian’s lovely bedtime stories, the novel “Dealing with Dragons” by Patricia Wrede, the Swedish picture book “Bröllop i Marsipanien” by Lena Karlin, the Greek myth of Andromeda, a bunch of folk tales about shapeshifting lovers, and the questionable old practice of MSTing fics, and then you stuff them all into a Kee and shake her around for a bit and then you pour it out into the shape of a 12 hour long and highly inadvisable speedwriting session.

Read it at your own risk, below or on AO3.

Very Important Note: I make fun of fic writing in this fic. Please note that I’m only making fun of myself and general tropes; any and all allusions to actual fic in the fandom is entirely coincidental.

---

Lest They Say, Here Be Dragons

Hush now, child; settle down. Close your eyes – yes, just like that – and listen:

Once upon a time and elsewhere, there was a kingdom. The people there were no happier than people anywhere else, and poorer than most, but they made do and lived and danced and grieved and died as people have always done.

Jesus, that’s gay.

That is, until the dragons came.

Okay, now you’re talking.

Like a plague they swept the land, winged beasts with fire for breath and ice in their hearts. Every night the fields burned, and the villages burned, and the cattle burned and was eaten. Many a brave people took up arms and went to confront the monsters, and then they burned too.

Heart-broken and terrified, the people went to the king to plead for aid. “Send an emissary to the dragons,” they said. “Reason with them and strike a bargain, or else we are sure to perish.”

What a bunch of pussies. What they should do is, they should use a bunch a cow shit to build a bomb and nuke the hell out of those dragons. Problem fucking solved.

Now, this king was a scoundrel and a drunk and the queen had an unfortunate habit of turning herself into a bird and flying off to more interesting lands whenever the mood took her. They had six children but rarely paid them any mind and fair Princess Fiona, eldest of the six, was left to raise her younger siblings as best she could. False King Francis would have been perfectly content to turn his desperate subjects away if it weren’t for the fact the dragons unchecked rampage threatened the production of the spirits the king so enjoyed. So, donning a mask of compassionate concern, for he was a skilled liar, he promised the people that he would help them. But as soon as they had left, comforted, he turned the task over to his children.

The second oldest child, foxy Prince Philip—

Foxy Prince Philip?

Yeah, you know. Foxy. Like clever.

Why not just say clever then?

‘Cause it’s not alliterative.

Alliter—

Starts with the same sound. Foxy – Philip. Fair – Fiona.

Oh, I get it. Like, Ian – idiot. Ow!

Foxy Prince Philip was known far and wide for being the cleverest in all the land, and by using all his cunning he managed to strike a deal with the leader of the dragons.

“By using all his cunning.” Skimming over the details a bit there, huh?

You really want me to turn this into a Prince Philip story? Hear me go on and on about what a genius he is?

…

Yeah, that’s what I thought.

It was agreed that the dragons would spread out over the kingdom, each one building their own place to live near a village, and that the villagers would bring them food and drink. In turn, the dragons would refrain from casual pyromancy and protect the villagers from harm.

Protection racket, huh. Classic. Starting to like these dragons, man.

In addition, the cruel leader of the dragons demanded that each dragon be offered a child of the land in sacrifice. No matter how Prince Philip bargained he could not change the dragon’s cold heart on this—

Guess he wasn’t so clever after all.

—and so, with heavy hearts and much lamenting, each village drew lots to determine which poor child would be sent as an offering to their new resident dragon. However, in the village nearest to the castle the people grew angry when the beloved blacksmith’s only child, a small girl of just four, was selected, and they went to the king and they said:

“It isn’t fair that some people are asked to give up their only child to appease the dragons while you, who have six children, are exempt from the lottery.”

King Francis, fearing an uprising as much as he feared the dragons (since each was as likely as the other to leave him without a drink), quickly nodded.

“That’s true,” he said. “And fairness must ever be the true monarchs first and most important concern. Though it breaks my heart, I can’t in good conscience watch my people sacrifice their own children without offering up my own. You may take Prince Ian and give him to the dragon.”

At this, the other princes and princesses raised their voices in furious protest, for they loved their brother even if their father did not. But industrious Prince Ian—

Industrious? That really the best you can come up with?

—stepped forward and declared that he’d be happy to give up his life, so that the child of the blacksmith might be spared. And so, as the sunt set, he was taken away to the lair of the dragon that had made its home near the castle.

So let me get this straight… The king is happy to toss Prince Ian to the wolves ‘cause he hates him, and his siblings are all sad and shit but they still let him go off to get fucking eaten by dragons?

Yes.

Uh-huh.

What?

…

Oh, fuck you. It’s just a story.

Totally.

Stepping into the lair, with heart a-hammering but on stubbornly steady legs, Prince Ian set eyes upon the beast that was to be his destiny. He was momentarily relieved to see it was not the terrible leader of the dragons, as he had feared, but a smaller monster he did not recognize. Black was its hide, its eyes a cold sparkling blue—

Gallagher, I swear to god, if you turn me into some lame ass henchman dragon—

Keep interrupting, asshole, and it’ll be a pink fucking unicorn. And hang on, you’ll show up in a little bit.

Setting his jaw, Prince Ian prepared to die a heroic death—

‘Course he did, the stupid motherfucker. Hey, if Prince Philip was so fucking smart, and if he gave a shit about his brother, shouldn’t he have given him, I dunno, a knife or something?

Prince Ian prepared to die a heroic death, because unlike some other people he was not a selfish prick and he actually cared about the people of the kingdom, but much to his surprise the dragon did not burn him. Instead, it just stared at him for a good long while, until suddenly it declared:

“You must never leave the lair, and you must never set foot inside the tower chamber. Abide by these rules and you may live. Break these rules and I’ll rip your heart out and eat it while you watch, and then I’ll burn the castle down with your beloved siblings inside.”   

You tell him, dragon.

With that the dragon took flight and disappeared, leaving Prince Ian to stand alone in the great hall of the lair, confused but alive. The young prince remained where he was for a few minutes, thinking that the dragon might come back, but when it did not he set out to explore his new home. It was big, with endless rooms and nooks and crannies, but it was badly kept, with strange bits and pieces cluttering up the hallways and chambers. Prince Ian found some old blankets and he used those to set up a pallet in one of the nicer rooms, one that had a view over a small, overgrown garden. And then, because it was very late and he was not dead, he went to sleep.

The next day he continued his explorations and managed to find the kitchen. It was full with the meat that the villagers brought the dragon once a month, and remembering that the beast had only forbidden him from leaving the lair and going into the tower chamber, Prince Ian helped himself to a piece of pork that he cooked over a small fire.

Hang on, was there a fridge in the kitchen?

No. This was the olden days.

But the villagers came once a month with the meat? How did the dragon keep from rotting?

That’s not really—

Was it dried? Like a Slim Jim?

… sure. It was dried.

As he was eating, Prince Ian heard a sudden scraping noise behind him.

The hell did he cook it over a fire for then, if it was dried?

He looked up and spied another young man standing in the doorway.

I’m just saying, it doesn’t make any fucking sense, man. Wait, is this me?

Prince Ian frowned. “Who are you?” he asked. “Are you a prisoner of the dragon too?”

The boy shrugged. “Uh, yeah. I guess. I mean, I do some work around here. Clean up and shit, in exchange for not getting eaten. Name’s Mikhailo.”

About fucking time. Only, how is it fair that you get to be prince and I’m a fucking cleaner?

Prince Ian tactfully did not mention how the lair was impressively dirty for a place with a fulltime cleaner but invited Mikhailo to share his meal. As they ate, Prince Ian studied his new acquaintance. He was the same age as but shorter than the prince, with skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood, and hair as black as ebony.

Hair as black as— The hell was that?

Nothing.

Yeah, okay, then why are you smiling? Eh, fuck you. Prince Ian’s fucking thirsty for Mikhailo, I get it.

Though his manner was somewhat brusque and uncouth, Prince Ian could not help but feel himself drawn to Mikhailo. The boy was funny and easy to talk to, even if he seemed reluctant to say too much about himself or where he came from. Prince Ian tried asking him about the dragon, but despite apparently having lived there ever since the dragon moved in, Mikhailo couldn’t tell him much.

“Hardly ever even see it, man. At dusk and dawn mostly, so I guess it spends the night flying around with the other dragons, terrorizing the peasants or whatever. During the day it holes up in the tower chamber. Guess dragons must sleep too, huh? Don’t fucking go up there,” he added sternly. “It ain’t fucking kidding about killing you if you do.”

Having found a friend, Prince Ian found that life at the dragon’s lair wasn’t all that bad. He missed his siblings and being outdoors and practicing with the soldiers at the castle, and he resented the loss of his freedom, but he enjoyed the peace and quiet, and enjoyed spending time with Mikhailo. However, one thing he soon grew very tired of was eating nothing but meat. The dragon didn’t seem to require anything else, for it was the only thing the villagers ever delivered, and Mikhailo – whose tasks included receiving the monthly tribute – just gave Prince Ian a weird look when Ian suggested he ask the people to bring some vegetables next month.

“That ain’t the deal they’ve got with the dragon,” he told Ian. “Ain’t nobody gonna listen to me if I go trying to change it.”

Yeah, real Prince Charming there, wanting Mikhailo to risk his life so Ian can stuff his face with fucking cucumber.

Undeterred by Mikhailo’s lack of enthusiasm and courage—

Fuck you.

—Prince Ian decided to take it up with the dragon himself. In the weeks since he arrived at the lair, he hadn’t met the creature again, not even once; he’d just heard the powerful swoosh of its wings when it came and went at dusk and dawn. Now he went up the stairs to the tower chamber and there he waited until night had fallen and he noted the scraping of claws against stone inside the room. Then he knocked at the door.

There was a long silence. Then the door slammed open with enough force to nearly undo it from its hinges.

“What are you doing here?!” the dragon roared, terrible in its fury. “I’ve told you to never come here!”

“You’ve told me to never set foot inside the room,” Ian reasoned, fighting to keep his voice calm. “And I’m not. I just wanted to ask if I may have the use of the small garden just outside the lair. I miss being outdoors and I could grow vegetables for Mikhailo and me.”

Jesus Christ, man, again with gardening? Thought you were over it.

“You may never leave the lair,” the dragon, a garden-hating meanie, snarled, and then he closed the door in Prince Ian’s face.

As he fucking should.

“Probably worried one of the villagers will spot you and, I dunno, mount a rescue,” Mikhailo said shortly the next morning when Prince Ian told him of his failed attempt. “Anyway, you’re a fucking idiot for going up there like that. You get it won’t hesitate to kill you, right?”

“Right,” Ian agreed. “But,” he added with a frown, “why hasn’t it yet?”

“You fucking complaining?” Mikhailo snapped, and then he stalked away, and Ian didn’t see him again for three days.

Listen, you get that I get that Mikhailo is the dragon, right? You’re not fooling anyone, Gallagher.

Then, one day, fed up with the dragon being a really annoying prick, Prince Ian grabbed a huge sword he conveniently found lying around in a cupboard, because the lair was a fucking pigsty, suitable for a pig like the dragon, and he went up the stairs and kicked in the door and he cut the dragon’s throat while it slept, and then he went off and found himself a nice prince to marry.

…

…

That’s not how the story ends.

…

Hey, where are you going? Come back- Jesus, I’m sorry, okay? Gallagher, I’m sorry. Just come back here. Tell me what really happened.

Prince Ian woke with a start on his pallet in the lair. He’d had the most vivid dream about killing the dragon—

A dream? That’s the lamest fucking— Ah, fuck. Sorry.

—but for some reason it hadn’t felt as satisfying as he had thought it would. For all that Prince Ian often fantasized about strangling the beast, it seemed he didn’t actually wish to see it dead. With that disconcerting realization in mind, Prince Ian went to break his fast, resigned to doing so on meat and yet more meat. But in the kitchen he found Mikhailo, and on the table in front of him was a pile of cabbage and carrots and onions. 

“Guess the dragon must have talked to the villagers after all,” Mikhailo muttered, refusing to look at the prince. “And, uh, there was this thing I wanted to show you.”

Without waiting for a response, he spun around on his heel and walked out the door. Curious, Prince Ian followed, through doors and up and down stairs he never knew existed. Eventually, he found himself standing in what appeared to be an inner courtyard. It was small and the walls surrounding it very high, but up above the sky was blue. Prince Ian turned his face towards it and for the first time since he came to live at the dragon’s lair he felt sunlight on his face.

“It’s a shithole,” Mikhailo said. For some reason he sounded a little nervous. “But if you wanna go outside, you can come here. And there’s dirt in those bins, so I guess you could grow stuff in them? Just gotta wear this hat. Anyone sees you, they’ll just think it’s me.”

Privately, Prince Ian wondered who’d ever be able to see him behind walls that high, but he wasn’t going to argue. Wearing an ugly had was a small price to pay for being able to go outside, and to have a garden.

He gave Mikhailo a small smile; Mikhailo smiled back.

“Mikhailo smiled back.” Yeah, you bet he was laughing his ass off, ‘cause he thought Prince Ian was a huge fucking dork.

Things were good for a long while after that. Prince Ian spent his days in the garden and in Mikhailo’s company, and though he still resented being locked away from the world it was easy to ignore that when he had something to do and when his plants started to grow and when he was with Mikhailo. The two young men became closer and closer with each passing week, and soon it seemed to Prince Ian as if they had always known each other. He could no longer imagine a life without his friend.

He suspected that Mikhailo felt the same. It was there in the way he laughed at Prince Ian’s jokes; the way he sought him out to do nothing but talk; the way his gaze sometimes lingered on the prince, the look in his eyes unreadable.

Prince Ian suspected that Mikhailo too wondered what it would be like to press their lips together and hold each other tight. Sleep together; map every inch of each other’s bodies.

Hang on a minute, you’re telling me they haven’t fucked yet? The hell they’ve been doing?

I told you. Hanging out. Talking. Laughing.

Jesus Christ, that’s so fucking gay.

Two men not fucking each other is gay? Yeah, that makes a lot of sense. One day we really need to talk about all your internalized homophobia.

My interna-what? Ah, shut the fuck up. Continue with the story. All these interruptions ain’t doing much for the flow, you know.

Really? I hadn’t noticed.

Prince Ian became determined to find out if Mikhailo felt the same way as he did. He realized that he needed to be careful, however, and not push too hard, lest he spook the other boy. Even though he was almost sure he could see longing in Mikhailo’s eyes, there seemed to be some invisible hand holding him back. Every time Prince Ian was convinced they were finally getting somewhere, Mikhailo would suddenly pull back, as if stung.

Or as if remembering something. Himself, maybe.

Bu then came a cold, clear autumn day almost exactly one year after Prince Ian had been taken to the dragon’s lair.

Whoa, wait, now you’re telling me they’ve been hanging out for one fucking year and they still haven’t banged?

What can I say? Mikhailo’s a pussy.

Whatever. This story is unrealistic as fuck.

Prince Ian and Mikhailo had spent the afternoon together in the garden, as they almost always did whenever Mikhailo wasn’t busy with any of his mysterious chores (which he still refused to tell Prince Ian much about, but which sometimes took him away from the lair for days at a time). Once it started getting dark they went inside and dined on chicken and potatoes from Prince Ian’s patch, and as so often happened they started bickering and play fighting.

If that’s something that happens a lot you might have mentioned it earlier. Established it or whatever. Those mysterious chores too. What’s that all about?

Oh, my bad. Maybe I should start over? Once upon and time—

Nah, man, you’re good. Just a suggestion for next time.

Thank you.

You’re welcome.

They were chasing each other around the kitchen when Mikhailo tripped over the muddy shoes he’d lazily left there the night before and fell to the floor.

You know these meaningful little comments ain’t actually clever, right? They don’t actually add anything to the story.

I like them.

Prince Ian, ever chivalrous, grabbed hold of his friend’s arm to break his fall, but ended up going down with him instead, pinning Mikhailo to the floor with his big, strong body.

Fucking finally.

Their eyes met and Prince Ian felt his heart starting to beat faster. He could see a faint blush spreading over Mikhailo’s face. Neither of them spoke; neither of them moved. Then, slowly, slowly, Prince Ian leaned in to brush his lips over Mikhailo’s. Mikhailo lifted his head to meet him in a kiss to end all other kisses, a kiss to inspire a thousand love songs.

Uh-huh, and then…

And then they went to Prince Ian’s room and had sex all night long. But when Prince Ian woke the next morning—

Wait, wait, what? That’s it? “They had sex all night long.” How about some fucking detail, man?

Fine.

After having great sex using lots of good lube all night long, Prince Ian woke up alone in his bed.

I hate you.

He went in search of Mikhailo but couldn’t find his friend anywhere. He looked in the garden and in the kitchen and he went to the sad little cellar chamber Mikhailo called his room even though Prince Ian had never actually seen him sleep there.

Because he’s the dragon and sleeps in the tower chamber. Great hint, Gallagher. Real subtle.

Fuck off.

A week passed and Prince Ian was starting to suspect that Mikhailo was gone for good this time. Perhaps the dragon had found out about their tryst and had sent him away? Or maybe Mikhailo was disgusted with what had happened and wanted nothing more to do with the prince? Prince Ian wondered and worried and feared, and when finally Mikhailo returned, stepping into the kitchen like nothing had happened, Prince Ian was so exhausted with terror and regret that his relief immediately transformed into fury.

He yelled at Mikhailo, called him names and demanded to know where he’d been. He named him a coward and—

…

Hey, what’s the matter? You okay?

Yeah. Yeah, man, I’m fine.

You don’t look— Listen, Prince Ian’s just being an asshole, okay? He saying a bunch of stupid shit ‘cause he’s sick and tired of not knowing if he means as much to Mikhailo as Mickhailo means to him. He doesn’t mean it.

…

Mick?

I mean… He probably means it a little. He’s not wrong.

No, he’s— Fine. He means it a little right then. But he is wrong, okay? He doesn’t really understand what’s going on with Mikhailo, but he’ll get it later. He’ll know he wasn’t being really fair.

… yeah?

Yeah. Okay?

Okay.

Great. Maybe we should speed this bit up a little—

Once Prince Ian had finished shouting, Mikhailo just stared at him for a long moment.

“You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about,” he spat, and then he spun around and disappeared through the door.

Prince Ian was immediately overcome with regret, yet he was still too angry and hurt and stubborn to run after the other. He went about his day in a very foul mood and when he went to bed that night Mikhailo was still gone. Prince Ian slept fitfully and in the middle of the night he woke to a loud crash, soon followed by several more. He realized it must have come form the tower chamber and after a moment of hesitation he grabbed his nightgown and rushed up the stairs.

So, he brought a nightgown with him when he thought the dragon was going to kill him?

Of course not. He found it in one of the rooms.

Yeah, okay, but why are there so many rooms in this fucking lair anyway? What’s with all the old stuff there? Didn’t the dragon build the place to live in like right before Prince Ian was sent there?

Mickey. It’s getting late and I’d really love to wrap this up and go to bed. It doesn’t really matter about the rooms. Can I just continue with the story?

Whatever, man. Just thought you should know there’s a bunch of plot holes in your little fairy tale.

 Once he reached the door to the forbidden room, the crashing noises had stopped. Instead, Prince Ian heard whimpers and moaning, as if from someone in great pain. It could only be the dragon – something must be wrong with it.

Yeah, ya think, Sherlock?

Prince Ian knocked on the door. There was no reply, other than more whimpers and moans. Steeling himself, he tried the handle. The door was unlocked.

That’s awfully convenient.

Stepping inside, Prince Ian found the dragon on the floor. It was clearly hurt, for there was dark blood pooling underneath it. As Prince Ian entered, the great beast lifted its head but said nothing and made no move to attack him. It seemed it was too badly hurt to pose any threat.

It occurred to Prince Ian that he could kill the dragon. He could go down to the kitchen and fetch the biggest knife there and then he’d be free and he could go back to the castle and his siblings and—

The dragon made a low, pained sound and let its head fall back to the floor, closing its eyes.

Prince Ian went down the stairs, but he didn’t fetch a knife, he fetched bandages instead. Though part of him cursed himself for a fool, he knew he couldn’t bring himself to kill the dragon, monster or not, and couldn’t bring himself to let it bleed to death either.

That’s a huge fucking mistake. Maybe the dragon never hurt him but it still kept him imprisoned. Prince Ian should be getting the hell out of there when he has the chance.

Hmm, yeah. Choosing to be locked up just to be the person you love does sound like a pretty insane thing to do.

Oh, fuck off. That’s totally different.

Sure, Mick.

By the time Prince Ian returned to the tower the dragon had lost consciousness. The prince set to cleaning and bandaging his wounds, having learned the art of it while training with a medical witch who lived at the castle. It took a great long while; the dragon was large and heavy and the cuts in its side long, if shallow. But Prince Ian was nothing if not determined and eventually he had the beast wrapped up.

As Ian moved to rise, the dragon stirred.

“The hell are you doing?” it muttered, blinking up at Ian. Then it spotted the bandages, and the ice blue eyes widened. “What the— Are you fucking insane? This is a... is a… real bad fucking idea… ”

It sounded… strange, and not just from the pain and blood loss, Prince Ian thought. Sounded not just slurred but softer somehow, in spite of the uncharacteristic cursing; sounded almost familiar; sounded like—

“Mikhailo,” Prince Ian whispered.

Ooooh, big surprise! I’m so shocked right now!

You know there are other uses for plot twists than to shock the reader, right? Or actually, I guess you don’t know, but if you picked up a book once in a while—

Yeah, yeah, whatever. What happened after this great and totally unexpected reveal?

The dragon lost consciousness again so Prince Ian went to bed and slept soundly and when he woke the next day he spotted Mikhailo leaning against the wall of his room, looking tired ad unhappy. He was even paler than usually and there was a stiffness to his posture that suggested quite a bit of pain, but other than that he seemed well enough.

“So,” Prince Ian said, trying for casualness as he sat up on his pallet. “You’re a dragon.”

Mikhailo shrugged. “Seems like it.”

“But only by night.”

“Yeah… We turn when the sun sets, and turn back again when it rises.”

“I didn’t know that about dragons.”

“No one around here fucking does. People realize how helpless we are during the day, they’d kill us in a heartbeat. My dad says— “

“Your dad?”

“The leader of the dragons. The really big, white one? This whole terror and extortion thing was his idea, once he realized that no one in this kingdom has a clue about dragons.”

“Oh.”

“He hates humans. Thinks they’re useless and weak. If he knew I kept you around instead of killing you, he’d have murdered us both.”

Jesus fucking Christ, laying it on a bit thick with the metaphysical shit there, don’t ya think?

You mean metaphorical?

I mean it’s fucking stupid, that’s what I mean.

Might be closer to allegory anyway.

Uh-huh. Nobody fucking cares, Shakespeare.

“So, anyway,” Mikhailo continued, “you should probably try to go as far away from here as possible. Find a ship and go across the sea or something.”

Prince Ian blinked. “What?”

“Yeah, man, you won’t be able to go back to your castle. No way to stay hidden there. I know this guy up in Dikno, he might—”

He fell silent as Prince Ian jumped up from the bed and crossed the space between them in two long strides, and then he gasped loudly as the prince’s lips found his.

It was another one to inspire love songs.

“You idiot,” Prince Ian said fondly when eventually they broke apart. “Of course I’m not going anywhere. Unless,” he added, suddenly shy, “you want me to.”

Mikhailo made a face. “No, you fucking moron, I don’t want you to go,” he finally said. “But my dad—”

“We’ll find a way to deal with him. We’ll figure out how to sort it out and set things right between humans and dragons. We’ll find a way, together. Okay?”

And Mikhailo the dragon looked at his prince for a long moment and then he smiled. “Okay.”

At his prince, huh. Surprised you got room for all those big words in your head when your ego’s taking up so much space. All right, then what happened?

They organized a rebellion against the leader of the dragons, I guess. I don’t really know. That’s another story.

What do you mean, another story? Is this it? You spend all that time setting it up but when you get to the good part with the fighting you just stop?

Yeah, it’s getting really late. Kid’s asleep anyway.

Kid’s been out cold since, like, before the dragons even showed up, man, don’t fucking pretend this story was for her. … you really not gonna continue?

Nah, I’ll continue. But for the next scene I figured we might try a little show, don’t tell…

Oh, really? What’s the next scene?

Make-up sex. Prince Ian fucking Mikhailo’s brains out. And hey, spoiler alert: Mikhailo comes four times.

Four times, huh.

Yeah. So… wanna know how it happens?

Okay.

Okay. It starts like this—

---

So, yeah. There we have it. The things we write for Gallavich Week… XD

I am halfway outraged that this is the longest fic I’ve ever written for Gallavich, but I’m rather pleased I managed to write something for this theme! Guess I’ll go to bed both proud and embarrassed and dead tired tonight. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Where I am, we’re half an hour past midnight, but seeing as it’s still Monday somewhere, I have decided that I’m posting on time. Yay me! @gallavichthings

#gallavich #gallavich week 2021 #gw2021 #fic #what have i done #my stuff

[ricaffeine]

𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 | 𝐎𝐧𝐞

an: i'm sad because of hyunji drought and this is helping me cope :( but fr if tvn decides to make hotel blue moon then yeaji needs to be in it!!

also very annoying, i can't reply to comments bc this is a side blog (bruh wtf tumblr, i'm so sad should i make a new one?) reblog if you feel like it and my asks are open if you wanna chat 🖤✨

CHAPTER TWO

Weekdays at Seoul's National art gallery were usually the same. Buzzing curators dealing with hot-tempered clients. One thing or another was typically going not right and art directors cried about their wrong coffee order.

Although today was not the usual as to the crowds of bubbly news reporters and dazzled art critiques swarming up the wide place. As to Munyeong on the other hand, she was not pleased to the slightest.

"Just smile at the cameras, don't forget about the paycheck you're getting today." Sangin repeated himself for the fifth time. "Don't cause a scene, just think about the money."

Ah right. The paycheck.

As to The Nightmare Garden was bid off for over ten-million dollars, all of today's fanciness was dedicated to her, nation's celebrated female illustrator. However in all honesty, Munyeong barely liked her so-called masterpiece, but considering the amount of cash it will make her, she could be appreciative for the sake of it.

Behind her oversized sunglasses, Munyeong glared at her pesky manager– if looks could kill, he'd already be eleven feet under his grave. Sangin shut his mouth.

"Let's just get this over with," she simply responded, hooking off her eyewear then strutted into the hall with her long legs. Eyes whipped at her and cameras started to flash intensely, almost blinding her and Munyeong wondered how much those little pests could afford her if they got her blind.

And so the event played on. More pictures were taken– as if they hadn't blind her enough cheerful compliments flowed along with the spring breeze. The insincere joker smile she mastered whilst she met her million-dollar client– according to Sangin a hotel owner, though the woman did not have the looks for it– and the glass of filthy wine she almost had a chance to taste if Sangin's sixth sense was not so creepily fast.

Another dreadful two hours later as the dusk had set, hitting the edges with its golden flare, everyone had left. They got their articles and Munyeong will certainly be getting her pools of cash.

To her displease Sangin had informed her to wait as he had to take care of some paperworks she doubted he went to bribe the press into censoring her quoted inappropriate words. 

Nevertheless it was not her bother. She gave his plead a second before storming off to the complimentary section of the building.

Luck on her side, for nobody was there and she was able to grab one of the wine bottles with her– as for a fact it definitely was not stealing.

"Don't be shy, I know you want it."

Munyeong stopped within her steps as soon as an obnoxiously familiar voice echoed from the gallery she previously was in. Curiosity taking the lead, she peaked through the corner and had to muffle her own snort. Stood there, nation's art historian with the sharpest tongue– Choi Seojin.

She finds it hard to believe that his articles are highly known around, or even relevant, when his mouth is full of complete shit. However not disregarding the nastiest tea yet– a frightened girl seized under him. Her hands were locked, frightened eyes grew larger as the man spewed out nasty things.

Instantly, she took out her phone to film the disgraceful scene. Munyeong grinned to herself, reminiscing the rage she felt last time when he mentioned about her mother, and how her irritating manager had interrupted her before she could've sent him down the stairs to Satan.

The man reared into the poor girl's cheek when she attempted to fight him off, and Munyeong's smile dropped.

That piece of shit.

Munyeong entered the room, arms crossed, head high. Her wedge heels clicked against the hardwood as she let out an unamused wow.

Mad dog– what she personally thinks he should be called– 's head whipped at her with wide eyes. Like a child getting caught of lying.

"Oh my. Your hobbies are quite interesting Mr. Choi. Talking shit and sexual harassment?" Munyeong spat. "The girl looks like she'd rather kill herself, why are you even trying?"

As if he thought he could get away with what he just did, mad dog released his foul grip on the girl. Munyeong clicked her tongue and tauntingly held out her phone.

"Oh no, don't bother pretending. Judging by the looks, that won't even favor you at this point." She spared a glance at the quivering girl. "Why are you waiting? Go."

Shakingly and with thankful eyes she nodded and left, her footsteps filling void of silence before it coated the air again.

Mad dog snickered, as if there was something to laugh about. "Don't mess with me Ms. Ko. You know me, I won't die alone."

"Certainly I'll drag you and Mr. Lee down with me. Why do you think they call me the suicide bomb?"

Munyeong walked towards him and spreaded a smile, though even dogs could tell you shouldn't push her further. "You mean the bastard you can't fall down without dragging everyone else with him? Why?"

"I can destroy your career with the tip of my pen, I'm sure you know." He gave her a look, panning out his hand. "Now if you hand me your phone, I think we can compromise something."

Munyeong unraveled her arms, eyes hardening at his next sentence. "You think so?"

"Nation's beloved artist turned out to have antisocial personality disorder. What do you think will happen when people find out?" Mad dog sneered. "Her mother who mysteriously commited suicide–"

"Shut up." She warned. His words lit up the flame from their last encounter, adding fuel to her burning fire. Her head pounded, hard. For a moment she had hoped that if he proceeded as she said, then things would not have to get ugly.

"And her father? Spending his last days in the psychiatric hospital."

But men never listen, do they?

Munyeong tightened the hand around her bottle and striked it at him with full force. The bottom part crashed the wall behind him– just above the hung painting- glass shattered as rich burgundy stained its way down, smearing all over. Its taste fused with the air and Munyeong glowered at the creature who dodged her flawless aim.

"You crazy bitch!" He yelled, scrambled on the floor. But Mad dog was quick to lunge at her, they both hit the ground, stumbling as her open purse had been knocked away– and Munyeong's eyes landed on something very specific.

She was quicker, getting on her feet and spared the bastard a strong kick in the groin, leaving him groaning as she reached for her pen.

Her favorite calligraphy pen– its lining was stunning, coated in shiny teal with hints of gold, but most importantly, the dangerously sharp tip. The way it writes like reaping out blood from your hand– hence why it is a favorite.

She hawled back over and he screamed at her, though she didn't hear him. Her head was light as she felt blood rushed through her veins. Munyeong raised her arm and struck it back down.

Die.

Both of them froze. No, not her and mad dog, but him.

Deafening silence had lied between the walls and there they stood, eyes pierced into another's souls. Hers burned like fire, but his were dignified like the deep ocean.

Droplets of blood trickled down his forearm and splattered the floor, staining the rolled up sleeves of his crisp white shirt. What a waste.

"Let go. You can't kill him." The man– still with a bloody pen graved in his palm said.

Munyeong couldn't help but scoff, especially after that fucking bastard had just strangled her. "Don't be dramatic. I was just going to give him a few scratches."

Well maybe that's not entirely true.

Rough scrambling erupted underneath them, but when Munyeong turned to look, the mad dog had just ran off, like a lost puppy. Angrily she bit her lip, close to drawing blood until she felt the man draw his own hand back.

She watched as he did. The way he carefully slid her pen into his jacket and brought out a black silk handkerchief. Very rarely, she'd be astonished by something, and now it's him. Though she found it quite difficult to understand him– since when do you interrupt another's stabbing session by screwing up your own hand instead, and also the audacity to tell her she could not stab somebody?

So lost in her thoughts it took her a few seconds to realize her pulse was not pounding anymore.

"Did anyone not tell you that it is basic etiquette to not pry into someone else's business?" Munyeong said– seized the napkin from him, and began to tie a knot. She shot him a glance.

No reply. The man simply stared at her.

"Hmm?" She raised a brow, amused at his slight flinch when she tugged a little harder.

"Don't stress it too much, my manager will take care of our little incident." Munyeong chuckled as he proceeded to ignore her. "Do you know what? There are a lot of people in this world who deserve to die. And some very thoughtful freaks secretly take care of that, so clueless humans can sleep peacefully at night, completely unaware. Which one do you think I am?"

She dropped his hand, anticipating for his answer. Flares of light shined through the blinds, sharpening at his strong features and she noted his small– yet devilish smile.

"A clueless freak."

He finally responded, leaning towards her. His eyes traced her face, gazing down at her lips for a second too long, before their eyes were locked once again. "And of course you will have to pay, but at what price?"

taglist -> i could not tag some of ya'll :( @anotherdush @callmeashipper @ourcoffeeaddictme @nothingcreativeyet @pancat @hotstuff-benswolo @lookingatthesunset @evielovesfood @waywarm @gloster @hello-79 @ailander

#it's okay to not be okay #psycho but it's okay #iotnbo #pbio fic #kdrama #kim soo hyun #seo yea ji #ko mun yeong #ko moon young #moon kang tae #hotel blue moon #hotel moon light

[tartagliaxx]

hi. i only got to play in inazuma today so here's me live reacting to the archon quest. it's a lil out of context tho so have fun trying to figure out which parts im talking abt. also, this is the only time i'm going to be talking abt spoilers for at least one week so... 🤷‍♀️

swordfish ii? cute.

Jesus Christ. and here i thought it was my lowest settings that made his hair grey… this poor kid. teppei i admire your determination but no… just no...

SCARAMOUCHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

IF EVIL WHY SO HOT

you know.... scaramouche could stand still and the air would get electrified. and yknow,,, that's p... that's p attractive

ugh im disgusting myself. and here i thought i still had an inch of sanity left in me.

of all people it had to be this little jerk

scaramouche is so fucking evil. i’d like ten of him, please.

man,, they expect me to dodge this shit? that’s the biggest l i’ve heard today. none of that shit. i’m bringing out my zhong and my sweet madames skrrt

sayu is adorable… i remember when i had hopes of growing up too… alas, it has come to this.

OH MY GOD AYATO CRUMBS. I AM LICKING THAT SHIT UP. PLEASE— HE HAS A SECRET UNIT. THATS SO HOT WTF. AYATO MY DEAR, PLEASE DONT BE A REGULAR ICKY NPC BUT WHITE HAIRED…

SNEAKY SNEAK. SNEAKY SNEAK.

THOMA OH MY GOD MY MALEWIFE. HOW HAVE YOU BEEN? also, sayu’s sleeping again. this girl’s got talent. is her circadian rhythm okay?

pains me to be the bearer of all bad news and no good news…

WAIT THOMA IS LEAVING NO DONT LEAVE YET I WANT TO LOOK AT YOU MORE

oh nvm he’s still in the background.

EYY WHATS UP AYAKA. YOU’RE AS FINE AS EVER.

i… i don’t like where this is going… i refuse to be the bait. i’m too hot for that. so spicy they’ll spit me right out

DONT VOLUNTEER YOURSELF LUMINE— GIVE ME AN OPTION OR AT LEAST AN ‘OH SHIT HERE WE GO AGAIN’ LINE

YES FIREWORKS THAT WOULD WORK RIGHT? PLEASE TELL ME THAT WOULD WORK-

oh thank god… wait... they… they wouldn’t ask me to be the one to set off the fireworks right?

UNFORTUNATELY NO. AFTER YOU BECOME A FREE MAN, YOU’RE IMMEDIATELY MARRYING ME THOMA ANJKFHAIGHLANGKLAHOFJLKAB

oh crap… i’m… i’m in deep.

HE’S BEEN LOOKING FORWARD TO SEEING US AGAIN EVERY DAY SINCE HE GOT THERE ANFLaglvbajlfblabvljabefva;bfalLJBLJDABVBAALSNADL tumblr user @tartagliaxx is broken. she is now irreparable. she has no regrets. goodbye.

ehem… what if… you and i… and hotsprings… together?? JUST KIDDING. PG-13 OVER HERE. NOTHING INDECENT WHATSOEVER MOVE ALONG NOW

poor thoma,,,

oh come on ayaka… cut us some slack… i just watched lumine wheeze bc of evil purple mist only to be dragged into 2 timeskips and an entire training arc. dont let her be yet another traumatized shounen manga protagonist… altho, it might be uh… too late for that…

oh dear… is thoma going to get another round of diarrhea?

OF COURSE. OF COURSE IT’S ME DOING ALL THE WORK. OF COURSE IT’S ME WHO’S RISKING MY LIFE ALL OVER AGAIN. GOD! GIVE LUMINE A BREAK. BEING A TRAVELER DOES NOT MEAN IT’S FREE REAL ESTATE.

hello yoimiya… still looking as bomb as ever i see……… mhm… gonna see myself out rn…

HELP MY SHITTY GRAPHICS COMPLETELY ERADICATED HER BROWS

oh god… are we dying because of fireworks? forget getting caught by the patrol… we’re about to light up an untested firework that was made to be a billion times more explosive….

NO. SHE SAID IT. SHE SAID THE CURSED SENTENCE. WHATS THE WORST THAT COULD HAPPEN? IDK YOU TELL ME. YOU JUST SENTENCED US TO DEATH YOIMIYA GREAT GOING still love you tho.

man… these patrol guards aint shit… i literally walked an inch behind their backs and they did nothing… its a surprise the rebellion still hasn’t won when they place guards like this in their ranks………. ok that was kinda mean i’ll apologize in a bit.

SAYU OMG… DONT WORRY I’LL SNEAK YOU OUT AND RISK MY LIFE willingly JUST TO RESCUE YOU. ILYSM HONEY YOU’RE DOING SO WELL

no, paimon. it’s not but we’re doing it anyway 🤡

NO ONE TOLD ME WE’RE GOING TO RUN. I WENT COMPLETELY OFF COURSE. first try tho 😏

HELLO THOMA. HELLO AYAKA.

HELLO SAYU. HOW DID IT GO? IM GUESSING IT WENT WELL BC YOU’RE STILL ALIVE?

oh no….. she’s worn herself out…. man,,, this is why you dont make convicts out of kids….

WE ASKED SAYU FOR AN INCH AND SHE GAVE AS TEN THOUSAND MILES. SAYU MY CHILD YOU EXCEED EXPECTATIONS

god, don’t remind me. as hot as the shogun trying to kill us w her blade was, i don’t appreciate almost getting murdered on screen (even if we most certainly have plot armor)

awwww is thoma worried about me uwu owo? dw i have like… a lumine w 6% crit rate by my side

sigh… i dont want to leave yet… cant i just stay by thoma’s side and not go to war for a change?

it was at this moment that tumblr user lei saw the wonders of being a housewife.

oh sara… my stars… i’m so sorry. i feel so bad for you but at the same time… this oddly makes me want to write a song for you ABJFJKABJABCABVABVKA I KNOW JACK SHIT ABT SONGWRITING WHY AM I THINKING LIKE THIS

well… there she goes…

oh…. oh….. yae is stealing my heart. WHAT DO I DO WHAT DO I DO (i have an alt for a reason heehee)

DEAR LORD. PLEASE STEP ON MY NECK SARA.

these guys got guts to say ‘i’m sorry ma’am’ to THE kujou sara.

oh old man… you’re dead. you’re so dead.

man… this old man is a simp? sheesh.

YES. GO TELL EM PAIMON. PREACH THAT SHIT LOUD AND CLEAR.

oh my god… is that dude dead? i probably should’ve uh apologized b4 he flopped down to the ground ig…

MAN,, SARA’S DOWN FOR THE COUNT?? tbf i didnt expect much but…. also, AYE SIGNORA’S SO ICY.

she’s calling me out for being a simp ;-; heart been broke so many times or smth

OH SHIT LUMINE SPOKE. MAN,, WHY IS SHE SO COOL.

oh… i love this part of the vow… im suddenly inspired to write… how about a wedding au? an angsty wedding au?

goddamn… it’s been nice knowing you all…. i dont think i’ll come out of this alive if signora went out like that…

WHATS HAPPENING? ARE YOU SAYING KAZUHA WENT THROUGH THIS BS? IS LUMINE OKAY-

DID THEY REALLY JUST STORM THE ENTIRE FUCKING CAPITAL?? THEY HAVE SOME NERVE.

FUCK OMG KAZUHA AHHAHFHAFHAHGKJABKASBGA IM TEARING UP WTF WHY AM I GETTING EMOTIONAL- HONEY BUN THATS SO HOT OF YOU TO DO

oh… oh it’s time for round two? haha… time to… say my goodbyes….

yo… there are actual tears in my eyes… like… idk why… but that cutscene? shit man… that hit me…

hm… i feel bad for the shogun… ultimately, there is reason behind every act no matter how horrid. no matter how unreasonable, the reason one thinks of is always justified on their end. whatever everyone else thinks pay little effect on whether the act is fulfilled or not. also, her little laugh? i’m extra deceased.

the animation's fire as always wtf

oh but my kokoro... oof... my kokoro... ugh...

I’M SO FUCKING DONE AJKFHAKJBVAK- WE BEAT A HARBINGER AND FOR WHAT? she should’ve just tossed that gnosis into the ocean or smth...

HAH OMG SCARAMOUCHE. WHAT A MAN. I’M- I WAS RIGHT OMG. I HAD A LIL THEORY AND ITS JUST SMTH I HAD IN THE BACK OF MY MIND. I NEVER THOUGHT IT’LL ACTUALLY COME TRUE DEAR LORD. so now ig i have to admit i think abt him a lot and he has a soft spot in my heart 🥺 he’s evil you see and you know what my type is? evil men or at the very least, men with the potential to be evil. ugh so annoying.

scaramouche banner when

bc i sold everything worthy of money in me (read as my organs) for albedo, i'll sell my soul for him how about that?

EYE- makoto huh… well… fuck…

it’s day 400 of being ayato less even if he’s like… teased a million of times (jk it’s like… a grand total of seven but thats still p high)

im so… sigh…

i wonder if i’m still alive by the time sumeru releases… at the very least, i know my brain wouldn’t be.

....we were literally a captain for like... one second. that is so sad.

#˗ˋˏ°• afternoon tea rambles •°ˎˊ˗ #inazuma spoilers

[norabrice1701]

An Offer Received - Part I

A Jaguar Villain Tom Hiddleston Character (Thomas Conrad) fanfic 

Pairing:Thomas Conrad x Fem!reader 

Summary: You were just doing your job. It wasn’t your fault you did it so well that your boss, Thomas Conrad, wanted to recruit you in his plan for world domination. And what Mr. Conrad wants, well…

Rating: Part I - an F-bomb or two (later parts heat up, but gotta start somewhere) 

A/N: This is rather the hopeless result of watching "High-Rise", "Crimson Peak", the British Villain Jaguar commercial series, and "The Night Manager" over the last few weeks...so, here goes nothing! Planned to be 5 or 6 parts when all’s said and done. 

GIF credit to the original poster via the Tumblr search! 

Part I - 5 Minutes 

You dropped to your office chair with a sigh, plugging in your laptop. Today’s department head meeting had passed uneventfully for once. Robert Stark, Head of R&D, and Chris Rogers, Head of Operations, constantly jockeyed for more allocation of your production resources. It was challenging, you’d admit – finding the balance act between supply and demand while planning for the future. But you were the youngest Head of Production for the largest tech giant in the world, Lok Industries – better known by the LOKI brand splashed on phones, watches, tablets, computers – for a reason.

While youngest as your particular department head, you were hardly the youngest on the senior staff. And that was to say nothing of the CEO himself. The youngest man in corporate history at the helm – an engineer with the aptitude for business strategy and the political savvy to chart a meteoric rise to the top. In fact, Thomas J. Conrad’s nomination for CEO five years ago passed unanimously in record time.  

You’d never met him, never even seen him around the office despite your department head position. Plenty of others had, though, with stories to tell and scars to prove it. You tried to stay above the office gossip – especially when it concerned your senior boss – but it was intriguing. For all the press release photos and official portraits you’d seen – Mr. Conrad looked pleasant enough. Intelligent, sky-blue eyes; well-coiffed, gold-brown hair that betrayed just a hint of natural curl; a dashing smile. But that’s all it was, according to the hearsay – just a well-crafted facade. No one should be fooled by those eyes that could cut men in half; by that clever mind operating with ruthless intent; or, by that sharp, cold tongue that knew no mercy.

It sounded like such a cliché. The handsome, suave boss who was secretly-not-so-secretly a heartless bastard. A vicious predator in a bespoke suit. Albeit, a gorgeous one.

That’s why you didn’t care for the gossip. It’d be far better to meet the man and form your own opinions – but you’d been sufficiently warned that you’d only be brought before Mr. Conrad when you royally fucked up. “Not if you royally fuck up,” Scarlett Romanov had helpfully clarified with a coy smile, “but when you royally fuck up.”

Well, four years in and it hadn’t happened yet. And today was no time to start.

Turning to your laptop, you tended to the business at hand – reviewing production data, answering emails, assigning resource allocation. All in a day’s work. At one point you glanced at the clock, realizing there was just an hour left in your day. Perfect.

Perhaps tonight, you’d break the stalemate with Sebastian Barnes, Head of IT, and text him. He was quite handsome in his own right, easy to converse with, and even easier to fall into bed with. Even morning coffee at his apartment had been pleasant. But work got in the way for both of you – between server upgrades and production outages, there always seemed to be some excuse recently.

The desk phone beeped twice, flashing red, followed by another set of two beeps. An internal caller. You glanced at the ID on the screen, brow furrowing as you hit the speaker button.“Afternoon, Mrs. Brunhilde.”

“Good afternoon.” The pleasant voice of Mrs. Willamina Brunhilde – a relic of the former CEO and still glorified secretary of the CEO’s office – suffused your name with warmth and professional detachment. “Mr. Conrad would like to see you. He has an opening for the next hour, and I’ve just reserved the time on your calendar. Are you in a position to come to his office in 5-10 minutes?”

You knew the question was largely a polite formality. When Mrs. Brunhilde called and Mr. Conrad wanted a meeting, there was no excuse to say no. Your heart rate accelerated as you swallowed. “Of course. I’ll be right there.”

With a few more perfunctory pleasantries, the call ended. You exhaled deep, fighting to reign in the sudden nervous energy that pooled in your gut. This was no different than any other meeting you’d attended – you were smart, you were capable. You were the Head of Production, and you didn’t get this job for being a pretty face. Brushing your slacks, adjusting your blazer, and smoothing your bangs, you exited your office for the trek across the sprawling building.

Mr. Conrad’s office suite overlooking the city harbor matched much of the building aesthetic – sharp lines, glass and chrome, a study in clean whites and crisp greys with hints of the company’s bold green signature color. Mrs. Brunhilde greeted you with a smile, ushering you forward to the dark, partially cracked double-doors. You rapped on the wood, exhaling deep.

“Enter.” His velvety, British drawl had always been appealing. 

You opened the door further, stepping inside. He glanced up from the slim folder in hand as he sat in the white, leather chair at his desk – the picture of perfection with straight posture, a black tie knotted tight at his throat, and the crisp white sleeves of his dress shirt on display.

He inclined his head ever so faintly, face devoid of a smile. “Thank you for coming.” Your name rolled off his tongue in the most pleasing way.

You tipped your head in return. “Of course. Thank you, sir, for taking the time.”

He reached to his laptop, pressing a button on the keyboard before looking back to the folder as audio started to play.

Your stomach sank to your feet as you recognized it.

Your voice carried clear. “Our control limits are holding – 23 defects per 1,000,000 units. Our department has set an improvement goal to drop that number from 23 to 5 in the next four years –.”

Robert’s voice interrupted. “Oh goody, but perhaps, more importantly, you can tell me when Lane 5 will be restored?”

“The investigation into Lane 5 is still ongoing,” you said, voice even, “the code has been scrubbed, and we’re looking at retooling options.”

“Retooling options?” Robert scoffed. “Need I remind you that it’s been 33 hours since you canned my primary production line? That’s 33 hours of lost time, to the tune of – oh, say a 9% drop of market share come holiday season if we don’t finish the dev on these new marine products.”

You didn’t miss a beat. “As opposed to a 21% loss in market share if we let our control limits slip and start producing a higher percentage of defective products? Consumers know the LOKI brand is reliable – the highest reliability of any of our competition – and reliability makes or breaks on the production floor. Sacrifice quality control limits and you might as well kiss your cushy retirement goodbye.”

“Then, scale back – temporarily – on Rogers’ orders. He’s meeting quota, check the box for market supply. And if it does get tight, well, a little more demand for less supply usually helps -”

“Robert,” you cut him off, voice tight, “this is my call. I’ve looked at the same numbers you have – with Lane 5 out of commission until we can bring it up to spec, it’s a hit to our bottom line. It’s my job to minimize that hit. While never desirable, we can weather a 9% loss without permanent damage to the brand. Even Mr. Conrad would agree to that. But, if you don’t like that answer – then, by all means, let’s do discuss with Mr. Conrad.” 

The room fell dead quiet, broken only by the faint squeak of a shifting chair.

“Well,” Robert started softly, “I don’t know that we need to go there just yet. What’s your projection on the investigation conclusion?”

“Retooling should complete in the next 21 hours, then we’ll move through start-up.”

Conrad’s hand floated back to his keyboard, pressing a button to cut off the recording. You didn’t dare speak as silence fell. If he was displeased, you would know soon enough. And if he was pleased, well…no one ever said they were called to Mr. Conrad’s office because he was pleased.

Your heart raced as he drew out the moment, but you wouldn’t let him see you sweat. You wouldn’t let him unnerve you.

Cold, crystalline eyes darted up to yours, pinning you in place. “You have absolutely no authority to speak for me. Making baseless statements about my assumed inclinations is not part of your job. Your job does include resolving those inter-department squabbles without leveraging my involvement as a threat. Now, if you’re incapable of standing behind your own decisions, incapable of defending the trajectory that you have set for your department and this corporation by extension – then, tell me now and spare me further disappointment.”

You responded on instinct, hiding the sting of his words.“No, sir. I’ve watched the company’s production numbers for almost four years now. Every metric is higher across the board than when I assumed the position -”

“Yes, including budget. Your department’s costs have increased, not exactly commensurate with your outputs. Diminishing returns often plague the pursuit for perfection as one approaches the pinnacle.” He glanced down idly to the file in his hand. “Your department walks that razor’s edge now. It would be well within my interest, perhaps, to cap you there.”

“Sir, the quality of our production is unparalleled –.”

“But you wanted to bring the discussion to Mr. Conrad, did you not? Well, here you are.” He closed the folder, tossing it idly to his desk before rising. Despite the late hour, he looked as pressed and polished as if the day had just started. He crossed around to the front of his desk, bracing against it as he rested his hands inside his trouser pockets. “There’s only one solution in this case.”

You debated asking but thought against it. Asking would be redundant. He wouldn’t have brought you here without a purpose, without something to gain.

He gestured at the nearest leather armchair opposite his desk. “Do have a seat.”

You paused, hesitating in consideration of his words. Sitting as he indicated would place you in a physically submissive position to his tall, lithe figure. Not that you were short in your heels – standing just over 5’9” – but you weren’t exactly keen to meet your senior boss on unequal footing.

His gaze hardened, mouth pinching with irritation. “If you’re stalling for time, my patience is not inexhaustible. And when I make an offer, I expect it to be received.”

Steeling yourself, moistening your lips, you crossed around to sit as indicated. You squared your shoulders and held your head high, refusing to fully angle back to look up at him as he spoke.

“Mrs. Brunhilde’s time at LOKI has come to an end. As you know, she was installed to her post by my predecessor who tailored the position to suit his needs. Needs that no longer align with my own or the corporation. The position is now evolving to meet the ever-evolving environment in which it must function.”

You nearly whiplashed from the change in conversation. Hadn’t he just questioned your ability to successfully do your job…?

He continued to speak softly yet there was no mistaking the hard, commanding edge. “The new terms for the CEO Administrative Executor now require someone with a working knowledge of the business and its trajectory; a willingness to stand in defense of that trajectory while keeping a clear head for the larger vision,” he pitched slightly forward, voice dropping with the barest hint of a tease, “and, of course, leveraging the power of one’s boss with explicit authority.”

It sure sounded like a tease, but you couldn’t be sure. You were too busy reeling from the implications. “Forgive me, sir,” you looked up at him, “but…it sounds like you’re suggesting….” You didn’t finish. Couldn’t finish. The thought of being removed as Head of Production and reassigned as his personal secretary, office administrative whatever repulsed you. Had he already judged you incapable? Was this punishment for one fucking meeting?

“I’m more than just suggesting.” He reached behind him for a loose sheet of paper. “Take the rest of this week as transition, and start in earnest on Monday.”

“The rest of this week?” You couldn’t stop the outburst. “I couldn’t possibly – you’re giving me just three days to transition out as Head of Production, and into the role of your office executor? Who’s my replacement? I need time to prepare the turnover, oversee the transition – and, surely, I should be involved in determining my replacement.”

A wolfish smile ghosted his face. “Welcome to your first objective in your new role. In addition to learning the expectations of this office and implementing goals for your redefined position, of course.” He held out the paper in your direction and you stared at it, wishing it would burst into flames.

The official notice of transfer with authority granted by the one and only Thomas J. Conrad.

Well, you wouldn’t be texting Sebastian tonight, after all. Not when your workload just quadrupled. You reached out for the paper, gripping it tight as you sighed.

“You needn’t look so glum about it,” he scolded lightly. “Consider it a promotion. If you hadn’t caught my eye – or ear, more accurately – you wouldn’t be here now. At least, you’ll find I’m rather adept at managing my own schedule; my valet manages my personal affairs; and, the café staff is well aware of my expectations for coffee and tea service.”

You quirked a brow. “Isn’t coffee delivery standard to every assistant position?”

He leveled you with a stern look in return. “If you ever bring me a cup of steaming liquid, you’ll find your pay docked by 60%. You’re in this position to be eyes, ears, and perspective on this company. Someone adept at managing the razor’s edge and surviving.” He straightened from his desk, extending a hand. “Are we understood on your priorities?”

Another challenge. Another opportunity. And if it didn’t pan out…well, how many others could say they worked directly for Thomas J. Conrad on their resume?

You rose, taking his hand. “Understood, sir.”

His answering smile, predatory and self-satisfied, sent shivers down your spine.

Up Next: Part II - 5 Weeks 

#tom hiddleston #villain #the art of villainy #hiddlesedit #good to be bad #world domination #loki #avengers reference #fanfic #an offer received #wannabe writer #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x you #not rpf

[rpbetter]

Urgh. Okay, full disclosure, I haven't been on tumblr much over the last week or so, because I was one of the people that Raven initially called out after the COAR mess, and it was in the interest of my own mental health to fuck off for a while so I didn't stress myself out into oblivion. So I'm scrolling through most of this stuff for the first time, and talking to other people who were targeted. And pardon my French here, but I'm fucking disgusted at the lengths Raven has gone to assert themselves as a victim, how many people they've affected, and the waving around of something as serious as suicide for brownie points.

I have sympathy for people who overinterpret things in a strictly emotional and mental sense (actual reactions aside) because they lack the maturity. There's always a reason for that, and it's not their fault. And I have sympathy for people if they legitimately feel suicidal. That, too, isn't their fault. If I hadn't been blocked, I would've reported Raven in case their claims were true as well, because yeah, I don't mess around with that stuff either. But what's unacceptable is how Raven acted on those sentiments and behaved towards others, even after people tried to provide perspective. How Raven claimed to be done with the drama, but continued inciting it; how they claimed to be suicidal and had left tumblr, but wrote what amounts to a "fuck you" in their header and were still putzing around on their blog, and were apparently still editing their posts until as late as today; how they claimed to have deleted but only changed the url; how they weaponized all of this stuff and used it as a tool for guilt-tripping. Like, come on. It's okay if you're down in the dumps, but it's not okay to treat innocent people like garbage, and carpet bomb half the RPC. To me, it really feels like there was an intent to weaponize all of their hurt, offense, anger, and suicidal ideations, despite the possibility it did come from somewhere genuine, and that's so harmful to anyone who is actually struggling with depression.

Every time someone weaponizes mental illness in this way, it just makes people more and more apathetic the next time someone is genuinely just hurting, and saying they feel like they're at the end of their rope. And it makes people suspicious of whether those words are being used maliciously, or legitimately. That suspicion and that association is now there, unconscious or not. And every time this kind of stuff happens, the association gets stronger. What happens if Raven does this again? Some people will still report, but some people might just scoff and walk away - people who might've actually acted before. So in a way, that kind of behaviour impacts Raven as much as it impacts other people.

And you know what? They're not the only one dealing with serious shit. I've been suffering from MDD for the last fifteen years, and I've been in the process of changing medications and having little success for months. I've been going through hell offline. I have a shit list of people I want to yell at because they're dragging their feet on really important things I need to function; I'm constantly running a deficit on spoons. Until a week or so ago, roleplay was one of the only ways I could unwind. So for Raven to bully me by sticking that stupid post in my tags, because they needed to make a scene on COAR, which I was obviously going to comment on (like many other people), then to "like" an unsubstantiated callout about me and other innocent people related to that mess, it's only worsened my own mental health. It sounds melodramatic, but really. Someone else mentioned this too, but the fear of being in another callout, and the fear of that first callout somehow exploding, was in the back of my mind all week, despite being away from tumblr. So that was a little anxiety-inducing, much as I tried not to think about it.

And I'm debating whether to return now, or take more time off, and I have no idea what to do. Because that callout post is still in my blog's tag. I'm freaking out because I was planning on approaching some people to roleplay, which is something I rarely ever do, but now I'm concerned that I'll contact someone, they'll look at my tag to get an idea of my writing/partners/who I am, and see the callout post, and immediately dismiss me because even seeing the word "callout" on its own will send up red flags, by unconscious association with more impactful drama. And as long as that callout is up, these fears are going to be there.

That's just not fair.

And Raven's "apology" is completely unacceptable. Like you and others said, it doesn't reach anyone who needs to hear it, because they've all been blocked. I would fucking love an apology if it came from a place of honesty, but am I going to receive one? Probably not. And even for the followers who can still see that apology, it doesn't address anything. It isn't directed to anyone in particular. It doesn't mention the specific behaviours that were wrong on their part. And miss me with the "my intentions were good" part. No, they weren't; going around blocks and sticking shit in peoples' tags is vindictive and entirely intentional in all the worst ways, and shame on them for pretending otherwise, and by leading with such a poor example for many roleplayers, some of whom are in their teens. One of the people who tried to message Raven (they, too, were called out on Raven's blog) was speaking to a nineteen-year old who was completely clueless about the extent of the manipulation Raven was pulling. They thought all of it was normal and acceptable behaviour. That genuinely terrifies me. And while I imagine if Raven was genuinely apologetic, they would've gone to the callout blog and ask them to delete the callout post (attempt it, at the very least), somehow, I don't think that would've happened given all of their prior actions. God forbid something else is going on there.

Phew. Yeah, I'm angry. Maybe I'm just biased and tired. But honestly, I have a right to be. Raven's apology is a handwave, and they know it. It's a slap in the face to me, to you, and to everyone else who was involved in this clusterfuck. They're not the center of the universe. They affected real people, with real problems of their own. Anyways, I am so sorry for this, argh. Really had to get this out, and I didn't want to dump it on discord or somewhere else; I sure as heck didn't want to go to COAR with it. But hey, maybe people here will feel less alone if I added my own account to the mix. The more, the merrier? In a sense, anyways. Sometimes if you feel like you've been singled out, it's nice to know you're not actually the only person it's happened to.

Sorry for saving your reply for last, Anon. It's such an important one, I wanted to be properly thoughtful!

I think that it is going to make some people feel less alone, and there is always some relief in sharing one's trials. That might be especially true when one has been unable to share them anywhere else. It's not like you can address this on your own blog right now, COAR is definitely not a safe place to do so, it's a very isolating feeling that is made worse for having done nothing.

Coming back and being required to wade through this shit was really damn disgusting to me as well, but at least in my case, I had neither been obliged to distance myself for the sake of mental health nor was I treated to the sickening display of drumming up ideas of victimization from someone who victimized me. What I experienced was just incredulity and disgust, I cannot imagine how incensing this must be for you, I am so very sorry. If it makes me angry having a degree of removal and watching in it real time? What you're experiencing...there really isn't a single word to adequately encapsulate that, I'm sure.

You've still expressed so many of the things I've thought and felt. I found all that initial behavior uncalled for, shameful, yet another display of what's actually wrong in the RPC, but it was increasingly upsetting to me the more I looked into it because it did feel a little (a lot) too reminiscent of the sort of bullying experienced in person. It's really something else to be viciously picked at by someone who keeps upping the game until such point as it begins to cause them trouble, then get to be painted the wrongdoer and punished in some way for it because they're presenting as a sympathetic victim. A more sympathetic victim than you, that's really what I mean, I'm just going to say it.

And that was already in swing by the time I got from the launch point to the smoking crater of then current events. I got to Raven's again after bouncing back and forth between their interactions with others, largely from COAR, yes, and the shit on the callout blog...to see...everyone else being blamed in increasingly drastic ways.

Because on tumblr, unlike reality, if you throw out enough times ahead of time that you have disorders people can get behind, you're more sympathetic, not less. So long as one has set that foundation and has others to broadcast it once convenient, any horrible action one undertakes is given a pass. Anyone disagreeing, anyone not tolerating the abuse, is in the wrong now. In the worst possible way, of course.

This whole thing began with incredibly unnecessary bullshit and every, I mean fucking every, further action taken was a new level of fucked up, but the trivializing of and damage done to the perception of mental health and differences is quite possibly the worst. Are those things that need any more of that? It's already such a problem! I already see suspicion and fatigue with this, every time it's given validation, it grows.

Even if I wasn't mentally ill, with one of the disorders that gets vilified even on tumblr, even if I were not autistic, even if I never knew a single person who suffered worse than I do from the the complications they won by way of being born, hadn't anyone I loved that took their lives, this would be extremely upsetting to me. Using the idea that "whatever I do, it's got to be acceptable because I am X" while not caring that anyone else is X, Y, and/or Z. Weaponizing it for bullying and sympathy simultaneously. Way too much. Incredibly gross and harmful, legitimately fucking problematic.

I want people to be taken seriously when they choose to speak of the boundaries their mental health requires, I want muns to be able to say that they are having a difficult time without it coming off (even to the rest of us with mental health conditions) as a ploy for attention/guilting for whatever action they desire be taken by partners, and I want people to take threats of oncoming, serious harm seriously. How are they to do this, when it is continually used as tool or weaponized against others? At very best, it becomes another thing to ignore and scroll by on the dash.

As we've all had the misfortune to experience or witness so recently, once it is weaponized, it's a problem of priority. I've said in damn near every message I've gotten that Raven isn't the only person involved here who has serious shit going on, but like the absurdity with trying to spin an accident as transphobia, or having the audacity to attempt speaking from a place of peace in a way that might benefit everyone, Raven included, resulting in a callout about being against ND people...it doesn't matter. Doesn't matter that any of us are neurodivergent, have serious chronic mental health complications, or are not cisgender. Raven was swinging that around like a flaming sword to drive off bigots real and imagined before we ever got their attention.

Attention they fucking asked for.

Reblogging that post from COAR was just like posting those rules. The intention was to get attention, and it was asked for with extreme hostility. I have no idea how that is coming off to anyone as simply them defending themselves. It was a great moment to either not out themselves as the person in the confession at all, not engage with it, quietly remove the post, or to reblog it and take responsibility in a meaningful way at that point. Can you imagine what a difference that would have made then? If Raven had chosen instead to reblog it and apologize for doing what they had. Just that. No shitty, snide little comments about how they're sorry, but still absolutely correct and here are five reasons why everything they've misconstrued won't be tolerated. Just an acknowledgment of wrongdoing, an apology for doing so, and awareness gained moving forward.

Their decision to interact with that post in the way they did wasn't just more of the same nonsense, it was actively upping the game. I don't really care if it was intentional bait or just continuing to let malicious impulse run free, it was used as bait. Everyone who interacted with that post was effectively consigning themselves to harassment, and if they happened to interact on literally any other topic that group held a passionately opposing opinion on, they were attacked for it. Curiously, it became necessary for them to be harassed by way of the callout blog, but that is getting a little close to off-topic, so, I'll leave it at that.

So, while I initially really wanted to have the appeal to Raven work because their expressions of regret that I was greatly on the fence about being genuine, I'd say those flags were accurate. I cannot believe that someone who took every opportunity to do the wrong thing is genuinely sorry. Sorry for themselves, absolutely, sorry for anything they did, not so much. This constant narrative I got of "they SAID they were sorry" and "they apologized again and again and took the posts down," including from Raven, is incredible. On that last one, they, yet again, couldn't actually address me.

Appropriate response: messaging me or reblogging that post (you know, the rules snippet I found right the hell there still, despite the claim of it being deleted and the final catalyst of me needing to say something after I saw that, nope, surely was not) with the acknowledgment of a single thing I said.

Extra appropriate response: ^ plus going to everyone who could still be located that they harmed with a genuine, individual, private apology.

Inappropriate response that was had: new post, shitty, childish tone like they at once wanted to argue with me and didn't want to drop the act, restating of this apology that had already been deleted and meant exactly shit while it existed, restating of how they deleted this post and couldn't control reblogs, ignoring that I literally reblogged the original copy from their blog.

Apology neither believed nor accepted. Just as it wouldn't be if my nephew came to my house, broke a bunch of my things, said he was sorry while throwing the pieces at my pet, then threw himself on the floor screaming that he said he was sorry when I told him to go have a time out.

(Yes, I absolutely did just make a comparison to a child, y'all can shit yourselves again. It's not my problem if you want to misconstrue "this person's actions are not befitting of an adult" as "Vespertine said autistic people are children!" Fucking miss me with that. I'm an autistic adult who pays my bills, apologizes, doesn't treat people like shit while trying to excuse it by being ND. You're offensive with that shit, and contributing to the negative perception people have of those on the spectrum. Be a good ally today! Don't valid that! Free ninety-nine offer!)

Again, sorry for yourself does not equal being sorry for what you've done. The former can contribute to the development of the latter, but as I said in a response yesterday, there has been no display of that beginning to transpire. I genuinely hope that will eventually be the case because that would be the best outcome, the only "best" outcome at this point. Even if it was two years from now, if it did happen, I certainly would not be kind to people refusing them any such growth in peace, and I hope that, by some distant chance, I get to prove that.

But...stating "my intentions were good" over any part of this is not remotely promising. When? Where? At what point? Oh, right, when you took it upon yourself to label a random mun you took issue with. That's when your intentions were good. Then, when you vehemently needed to defend that point by callouts and individual attacks under the guise of it definitely not being about your pride, no! It was the defense of everyone else! Defending the community by carpet-bombing it, yes. This is not a "the path to Hell is paved with good intentions" situation.

I am so disturbed about the nineteen-year-old mun, my god. I'm telling y'all, my anger and disgust almost reach what I think is a pinnacle, then there's something new like this.

I don't even subscribe to tumblr's ideology that anyone under twenty-five is an actual infant who needs be kept in a protective bubble and forgiven for all bad behavior with infinite kindness, nineteen-year-olds deserve the agency of the adultier adults they are becoming, but it is a transitional age. Especially today. Most socialization and formative ideas take place online, and by the time younger RPers are entering the adult sphere of RP here, they've already got some really unhealthy ideas. About themselves, about others. There is such a demand for rabidly performative action that gets internalized, it shouldn't be being heartily fed by people in the community they might look up to.

At that age, someone like Raven is going to be a person looked up to. They espouse all the right ideas, and it's an age in which aggressive interaction over those things is seen as amusing and correct, no matter how wrong the actions taken are or the basis upon which they are founded. When these people foster an environment of cruelty for questioning, of course, that is not going to be the natural response. The response is now going to be the requirement of being told otherwise with adequate proof.

I have suspected that many of the hateful anons I've gotten were from Raven's even younger followers who feel like it's normal, acceptable, and that everything they're being told by Raven's sales team over at the callout blog is absolutely true. Of course, they're now morally obligated to come harass me for the things they were told I did! I think it's likely that several of the anons people got were from actual minors, which is so many levels of scary and irresponsible. Really great example all around, yes!

Because whether it is one's intention or not, that is potentially exposing minors, or muns who are still close enough to be more negatively impacted, to who even knows what. As well as violating the rules of blogs who do not interact with minors for good reason, setting those blogs up for yet another callout for treating someone they didn't know was a minor the way they did or having "freak shit" on their blog. Setting up the other party to be treated with full hostility as an adult would be. Very cool, very responsible.

There is just so much here that is unacceptable, I don't think people who were not directly impacted or have never had a callout against them understand the results, and that is one more unacceptable thing you've been good enough to talk about.

Even while taking a break from the RPC, it affects you negatively. Wondering what you're coming back to, your blog is no longer a safe feeling space, and there's nothing you can do to "cultivate your blog" to change that. They've taken away the ability to simply block and avoid others, the thing that keeps all of us comfortable here as well as allowing that to be all of us no matter how disagreeable we might be to each other. Callouts negate adult behavior. Callouts mean that one doesn't know where more potential for harassment might be coming from, or how long we might have to be worried about that.

It would be a major concern for me as well about what putting myself out there to new writing partners might bring. What the success of that might be. It's incredibly unfair that they've made finding new people precarious and more unpleasant than it can be anyway. That puts all of the future of your RP here in question, and if you're like me, just dropping a muse, picking up another, and moving to a new URL isn't going to be a good choice for you. It isn't that simple if you dedicate time to a muse for a long period of time, when that's the case, that's the RP you want to do and have laid the groundwork for.

I don't know if it will help at all, but it has seemed to me, over the past several days, that there are fewer people in the RPC who are inclined to believe or support callouts than there once was. I was hoping that was the case, since there is always so much interaction on my posts against callout culture, but until this crap went down, I had no idea just how many people are not positive toward it. It has seemed to be that the people who are inclined to listen to callouts are just louder.

I've also noticed that those people have the same set of red flags, so maybe sharing that will help you or others?

They don't have simple, basic, reasonable Do Not Interacts. It isn't simply asking that minors don't interact because the mun is over eighteen, that muns writing a triggering topic not interact, or that sort of thing. No, it's URL dropping of specific muns, outright links to callouts or "receipts," and an accusatory tone about any topics or types of muns who shouldn't interact. Such as "nasty ass proshippers" or "pedo apologists shipping incest."

Their rules are reflective this as well. A statement cannot be made that they do not write, let's say, toxic ships and left at that. There will be some morality wank present about normalizing or romanticizing toxic/abusive relationships.

There are less assured flags, but literally, anything that stands out as an interest in RPC or fandom-based activism as opposed to an interest in writing, their muses, or even their friendships with a variety of muns. I don't mean a rounded-out interest in things, I really do mean a glaring predominance of buzzword-laden reblogs and PSA's while they've not written a reply, headcanon, or answered a meme in months.

I'm not saying any of that because I feel like you, or anyone else's, judgment is terrible or that you're oblivious to warning signs! It's just that when we've experienced bad situations, it can compromise our ability to see clearly. It becomes easy to see a potential threat everywhere, and maybe that seems contrary, but it's then easy to fail to see real threats from those we're blowing up. We question whether we're being just as judgmental as the people who wronged us, putting words in other muns' mouths and thoughts in place of their own as was done to us. While we still are afraid to be wrong in giving someone an in to ruining our time again.

So, please, don't feel like I'm questioning your intelligence or speaking from a place of ultimate knowledge, never making mistakes in such a choice! I just really hate that you, and many others, are going through this, and anything at all that I can think of that might help you move forward from this utter bullshit you've been through, I've got to try to grab it.

Because, Anon, like all those sharing their experiences these last few days, you sound like the kind of mun we need in the RPC.

You're someone willing to share with others for the benefit of others. You're being honest about your feelings of anger and even the hopeless sensation of whether it's even worth it to try to return, having your progress on and offline stomped on, while still maintaining a sort of fairness and calm that I know is not easy. Because that's the mature thing to do, it's the right thing, and unfortunately, those are usually the harder things to do as well.

You did the right thing in expressing your opinion and doing what people like Raven's group love to be on about, can only do through bullying: not tolerating it. I'd hate for the RPC to lose someone like you!

Just as your message matters to more people out there than myself, I have no doubt that your choice to not quietly allow this behavior mattered to more muns than you'll ever know. I'm sure that none of them would have wanted this result for you, but so many muns have experienced such toxic, bullying behavior over the years in which not a soul spoke up.

Many of you proved something very important with challenging Raven and the callouts blog, that unlike them, it isn't necessary for good people to even know each other to do the right thing. They have to dogpile and engage in cliquish behavior, what they do isn't coming from a place of inner ethics and strength, but what you all did? It's the opposite.

So, not only do I thank you again for sharing and providing the important support of simply not being alone to others, I thank you for being the example to the RPC that people dealing in callouts and generalized shaming cannot be, no matter their platform.

I hope that, whether you choose to remain, leave, or take a very long break, everything you've been dealing with starts to look up. I know it's easy to say things made hollow for their repetition and flippant use, like telling you not to let them win, or that their bullshit just isn't that important. So, I'm not going to say them.

It doesn't work that way when you're dealing with mental health concerns! You can logically know that this is just petty bullshit not worth being run out of something important to you, but that doesn't stop the worry, frustration, or depression. You can have all the determination in the world to hang in there, even the spite to back it up, but neither is a match for the things you cannot control coming from your brain. That is the cruelty of mental illness on the very best of days.

You have all of my respect, support, and genuine sympathy that this happened to you. No one should be allowed to continually and unapologetically go out of their way to throw a wrench into someone's hard-won progress. You did nothing to deserve this, and the people out there worth interacting with are going to be the same ones who will have no question of that.

Lastly, I also hope that some of the anons sharing their experiences have helped you feel less alone, or like you're not just irrationally upset. Please know that you're seen and supported as well! And that you are always welcome to talk more, vent, share successes here.

Thank you, Anon.

#vespertine #answered #anonymous #long post #drama cw #rp harassment #callout culture

[florenceandthemachine]

BROKEN TUMBLR ASKS PART ??: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

@boys-love-or-bust-19507 asked: I LOVE your buddie fics! Can yo write a fic where Buck has a really tough day and Eddie and Chris take care of him?

“Alright, Special Agent Christopher, target is almost in sight. Are you ready for action?”

“Yeah!”

Eddie grinned down to his son, basking in the childlike excitement mirrored back at him for a hot second, knowing that very few things would ever compare to these moments again. He had never seen Chris click as well with anyone as he had Buck—even Carla was a close second to that, not that Eddie was about to tell her that—and honestly, there should have never been any question in his mind as to what Chris would say when Eddie told him Buck needed some help.

His smile only softened as he looked around the house—there was dinner in the oven (courtesy of Carla) and Chris had taken the initiative to pull out some of his favorite board games, stacking them neatly on the counter. Eddie had asked Bobby to rearrange their schedules for the week, and they were both going to be off the next two days, to give Buck plenty of time to recover; Chris had pulled nearly every pillow and blanket they owned into the living room, creating a huge nest with surprising skill.

The past few months had been… rough on the 118, between the bomb, the lawsuit, the accidental robbery, the list just kind of went on and on. As bad as things were for the house, though, they all weighed ten times heavier on Bucks shoulders—not for no reason, but fuck if it felt like the poor boy couldn’t catch a break.

The most recent issue had resurfaced about a month ago. They had just been wrapping up a 24 hour shift, idly shooting the shit, and Chim had mentioned that he and Maddie had a group therapy appointment. The 118 were no stranger to therapy as a whole—Eddie had gone through it, Bobby was still in it, Hen and her old life coach still met once a month after they re-connected.

“Eh, therapy doesn’t really work for me.” Buck had said, kicking his feet up and over Eddie’s lap, a move that Eddie secretly loved even if he wasn’t about to mention it. “But then again, the one session that I actually had wound up with the both of us on her couch before she would clear me to return to service, so…”

You could have heard a pin drop in the moments that followed, and Buck’s easy grin was quickly tightened into something more serious, more nervous, like he wasn’t aware of what he had said.

“Buck…” Hen spoke first, her voice low and slow, like she were talking to an animal about to flee—and if the sudden tightness of Buck’s legs beneath Eddies hands meant anything, it showed how close to the truth that analogy was. “Buck, are you saying that your therapist made you sleep with her before she cleared you?”

Buck looked honest to god confused, and Eddie just wanted to shake him.

“I mean, she didn’t force me, it just kind of… happened. That was during my Buck 1.0 days, though. You guys know I’m better than that now, Buck 2.0 is here to stay. Right? You… You guys know I’m better now, right?”

“Buck, he, no.” Eddie spoke now, his hand gently squeezing Buck’s good leg, shaking his head slowly. “If I’m understanding this, that is not on you. She took advantage of you like that, that’s… that ain’t right.” he said simply, shrugging his shoulders. Before he could speak again, offer some reassuring words, Bobby spoke up, his face tight with concern.

“Buck, why didn’t you tell any of us about that?”

Which, apparently, was the wrong thing to say.

Eddie felt Buck tense up like a snapped rubber band before he pulled himself back into an upright position, and though he missed the warmth across his lap, he was far more concerned with bracing for whatever was about to happen. Buck snorted, shaking his head, his voice clipped as he stood up, a sure sign he was in defensive mode. “Bobby, you had fired me the week before for… my indiscretions while in uniform. Forgive me if I didn’t feel like I wanted to risk my job again.”

“Buck, hang on, I didn’t mean—Buck, come back! Eddie!”

Buck had turned on his heel and almost ran out of the loft, and Eddie was quick on his tail, keeping a safe distance until they were both in the locker room. Buck whirled on him when the door closed, the anger drained out of his face, leaving a shell of panic in its place.

“Eddie, cmon, you know that I’m not like that anymore, right? I don’t do that! I’m good, I promise, I—“

Any other words were drowned out when Eddie pulled him into a hug—a risky move in and of itself, but he knew that Buck was one of the most tactile (and touch starved) people on the planet. His gamble paid off, thankfully; he immediately felt Buck’s arms encircle him, body going lax against his chest. “Buck, no one is blaming you. I’m sorry that it might seem that way. I wasn’t even here for Buck 1.0 but I still know that was not your fault, okay?”

Eddie paused, waiting until he got a muffled sound out of Buck to pull back from the hug, looking at him dead in the eye.

“Listen… Buck, I really think you should report this. She’s a doctor, she can’t just continue on like that. What she did to you wasn’t just bad, or wrong, it was illegal.”

--

In the end, five other men and two women had stepped forward after Buck made his complaint. Two cops, four firefighters, and one paramedic, all with similar stories and similar outcomes.

The only good thing about it was because they were all state employees, they were able to opt for a closed door hearing, investigation, and trial.

Buck had spent the day behind closed doors, giving his statement to a camera, then to the prosecutor, then in a closed courtroom, in front of a jury, a judge, and a very unhappy looking Dr Wells… well, Ms. Wells, now that she had her license revoked.

Eddie knew that a lot had happened, but he also knew Buck and knew that the last thing Buck would want to do all day would be continue to talk about it; so between he and Special Agent Christopher, Eddie felt sure they had a way to keep Buck’s mind far from the past all night long.

“Target inbound!”

Eddie shook away his thoughts as he heard Chris’ little voice wavering with excitement—sure enough, Buck’s Jeep had parked out front, and while they were both fully obvious from the curtains, Eddie still turned his head and made a big shushing gesture to Chris, who started to giggle.

Once they heard Buck’s key turning in the lock (yeah, Eddie had given him a key, so what?) they both pulled back, and Eddie almost burst out laughing at the faux look of shock on Buck’s face when he and Chris both yelled “surprise!”

The shock may have been fake, but there was no pretending when Buck smiled at them, the sheer joy on his face making Eddie’s shoulders sag in relief. He looked a little tired around the eyes, maybe, but he was glad that Buck was still Buck, and that this hopefully wouldn’t be weighing on him for much longer.

Chris was off, immediately, talking a mile a minute while he started to set up one of his favorite board games, and Eddie had to smiles he took Buck’s coat, resolutely ignoring how good the other male really looked in a suit. “Sorry. The only way I could really get him on board without telling him the full details was telling him you needed a surprise party to make you feel better.”

Buck put his hand up on Eddie’s shoulder, and while Eddie could have basked happily in the glow from his smile for an age and a half, he lit up like the Fourth of July when Buck leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.

Fully aware he looked like a love struck teenager, Eddie rose a hand to his cheek when Buck pulled away, the smile on his lips shocked but pleased all at once. “What was that for?”

“For this. This is perfect, Eddie. Thank you for… well, just thanks.”

--

They had made it a few rounds into whatever the card game that Chris had picked out—Eddie still couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it, but Chris and Buck seemed to be having a good time—when the oven chirped, signaling the start of dinner; and just like that, the game was forgotten. Chris basically launched out of his chair and into the living room, announcing that it was Movie Time, and far be it for Buck or Eddie to disagree with him.

Eddie scooped out some of the baked pasta in to three different bowls while Buck raided the pantry for movie snacks, and by the time that they made it to the living room, Chris was 90% buried in blankets and pillows on the floor.

It wasn’t easy to get settled in behind him, but by the opening credits to The Incredibles were rolling, Eddie and Buck were wedged in behind Christopher in the blanket pile, relaxing against the couch, snacks disbursed between them. Chris was lost to the world outside of the movie, but Eddie could almost feel Buck tensing up beside him, winding himself back up like a spring, and well... that wouldn’t do at all.

It was amazing how much they could say without saying anything at all. Eddie raised one of his arms and gave Buck an expectant look, to which Buck shook his head, looking at Eddie like he was crazy (and blushing too, and wow, that was a treat). Eddie only rose a brow, gesturing to his now open side, and Buck stared at him, before giving up with a sigh, slowly rearranging himself as to not disturb Chris.

He slotted himself in against Eddie’s side like he fit there, and Eddie felt more than just a smug sense of victory as he put his arm around Buck, tugging him closer, gently leaning their heads together. Once Buck started to relax, he leaned in—knowing full well that Buck’s attention was anywhere but the movie—and kissed his temple, right above his birthmark.

“You did a really hard thing today, and it brought a lot of good into the world. I’m really, really proud of you, Buck.”

Buck didn’t respond—not verbally, anyway, but Eddie could feel the thousand degree stare Buck gave him when he turned his head, like he was going to stare directly into Eddies soul, search for any sign he was being sarcastic, or patronizing, not that Eddie cared. He was being completely honest, and he could see Buck’s expression falter as he realized that.

Eddie’s smile only grew as Buck scanned over his face again, though it was his turn to look surprised when Buck pulled a hand up to rest against Eddie’s cheek. Eddie leaned into it instinctively as he felt his eyes half lid, because Buck was moving again, pulling himself closer, and it was all Eddie could do to remain perfectly still, give Buck the chance to move closer or pull away, even if he wanted to flip them over right now and kiss Buck within an inch of his life.

As it was, their first kiss was perfect—Buck in his arms, Chris buried in blankets, and Edna Mode in the background. And even if the road to get there was rough, Eddie wouldn’t have changed it for the world.

#911 #evan buckley #edmundo diaz #buddie #fic #buddiefic #911fic #christopher diaz #flospeaks #fluff fic #I love two (2) dumb firefighters and their son

[boogiewrites]

Which is harder? Being honest or you?

Characters: Billy Butcher x OFC

Summary:  She's been involved in the messy world of The Boys for years now, same sad story, a Supe killed her husband, and now she's out for revenge. The years pile up, and so do the stresses and anniversaries of deaths. On a night after the death of her husband, she finds herself worried about Butcher making it back from a job. Is it the booze that makes her so honest with him when he asks her what's wrong? Is it the booze that makes her admit to what she really needs that night? Or was it inevitable between them all along?

Warnings/Tags: Sexual content. Spanking/Slapping’ Rough, slight Dom/Sub undertones. Bed sharing. Enemies to friends to lovers. Inevitable chemistry. 

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.) Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!

Her nails tapped an unsteady rhythm against the cheap countertop of the motel room kitchen. She’d been alone for two days now and although not unfamiliar with the isolation, she had been due company for over 12 hours now.

There are lots of aspects of living off the grid that you can get used to. It’s amazing what the brain can start to see as normal that once would’ve made you piss yourself and then faint. That was the sort of life that she lived now. So far removed from the game nights and Netflix, sleeping in on weekends and boozy brunches that she has once so blindly taken for granted. Now there was sleeping with one eye open, free motel HBO on occasion and rushed check-ins with others like her. The booze was still the same, but it was used as a tool, a vice now to forget.

With the half-empty bottle of bourbon still grasped in her hand in the outdated and questionably sterile smelling room, she stares at the sliver of light coming between the thick curtains that kept her hidden from the outside world. The drinking wasn’t so bad when she had others to do it with, but when she was alone it led her mind to let loose those thoughts she fought so hard to keep stowed away during her waking hours. This is where she found herself now. In a sleep-deprived, drunken haze that was leaning heavily on paranoia and exhaustion.

Billy should have been back by now, she keeps thinking on a broken record in her head. Never known for his punctuality, the nature of the job they set out to do made his absence make her nervous. It reminded her of the night she stayed up waiting for her husband. The night he never came home.

She had a back story, same as the rest of the boys, she was nothing special among them. Dead spouse, Supe behind it, revenge and rage fueling her and keeping her warm at night. Billy had recruited her the same way as Hughie. Same speech, same lies, same Butcher.

It used to bother her when she found out that Billy wasn’t as connected to her as it felt initially. But she decided to use it, to kill off that bit of her that died with her husband and be someone else now. Someone who didn’t believe anything anyone said, someone who could take a stand and do what was right even if it was hard and most radically different, someone who could kill. After the first, it seemed like, what was another one? Her terms of endearment turned to insults and swearing and soon grizzled was a look she didn’t run from. It made life a lot easier, it certainly made working with a man like Billy Butcher easier. Most days. But today was not one of those days.

With another year passing unceremoniously of her husband's death a few days ago, that comforting pull of nostalgia was hard on her thoughts. And the booze wasn’t helping. Another hour passes, another inch went from the bottle and she decides to try to tune out the world for a bit. It was a luxury that is rarely afforded to them now, but this room had a full-size tub and she had some dollar store bath bombs she’d lifted and she wasn’t about to let Billy catch wind of her feminine indulgence and it didn’t seem like he was in any rush to get back. If he wasn’t dead.

A hot bath still has the same baptismal effect as it always had. She felt cleaner and lighter. A woman looked back at her in the mirror, contrary to the usual sexless human form she viewed herself as for ease of functioning. With the ends of her hair damp and curled, falling past her shoulders, the longest it had been since she was a child and only due to a lack of visits to a hair salon and not a conscious choice. It wasn’t exactly something she could take the time to do nowadays. Her skin shone bright with the lotion she kept in her bag, sinking in after the heat opened up her pores. Her cheeks were flushed pink as her nipples as she ran her hand through her hair and shrugged at her reflection. Life on the run was hard on your body, but she has to admit she hasn’t looked better in recent memory. Muscles that visibly moved under the skin from training, and a layer of fat from diner food to keep her looking young despite the years that kept piling up. Her eyes were really where the age showed, but the things they’d seen also added to that in the form of lack of sleep and PTSD.

Walking out of the bathroom with a plume of steam following her in a tank top with a sarcastic line on it she’d grabbed at a truck stop and the most basic cotton panties in a 6-pack she’d grabbed just as unceremoniously from a dollar store. She padded out in fuzzy socks into the tiled floor that lead into the small kitchenette. No matter the nasty muck she got herself elbow deep into on a regular basis, she wasn’t going to let some random disease be what killed her off that she’d surely catch from walking around the motel carpet barefoot. She got one of the highball glasses by the coffee pot and a handful of ice cubes plunked into it before a healthy pour of straight bourbon followed. She looked at her phone in the counter, it was now late and there were no signs of Billy.

“Where the fuck are you Butch?” She mutters before sighing and taking a sip.

“Ya worried bout me, love? Carin’ innit a look I’m accustomed to seein’ on ya.” The man in question responds and she sputters a dribble down her chin in surprise.

”Christ.” She groans, taking a washcloth and dabbing at her shirt.

“Far from it.” He grins, taking his boots off as he watches her from his spot on the bed with his usual smugness.

“You just stand in dark corners unannounced after being…” She looks to be phone again. “Almost a day late on arrival? You get off on scaring women or something?”

“Nah. Not my kink.” He shakes his head. “I had to do it at my own pace, this one. Got a bit messy.”

“Could’ve let someone know? Four more hours and I would’ve been out of here.”

“I couldn’t exactly ring ya up now could I? And I wasn’t four hours later, I’m here now so calm down, keep ya knickers on and pour me whatever ya got.”

“Not a problem.” She rolls her eyes. “I take it everything’s as it should be?”

“More or less.” He takes the glass from her hand as she sits across from him on the other queen bed in the room. “How bout you?”

“Finished early.” She says taking a long drink. Billy can see the tiredness in her eyes as they close and savor the bourbon for a brief second. Her movements weren’t sharp, neither were her words. Although for him she rarely had many.

“And started drinkin' the same from the looks of it.”

“Maybe. Waiting on you, what else was I supposed to do? What took you so long?”

“Had to make another stop before I came back.”

“Where?”

He stops with his elbows on his knees and gives her a once over. “Why?”

“We’re stuck together for the foreseeable future, I think I should know what you’re up to.”

“It’s nothing you need to know. If ya did, I’d tell you. Don’t you have any trust in me after all these years?”

“No.” She states obviously with a laugh at his ridiculous claim. “I’m not a fucking idiot. So tell me where you were.”

“Job ran long. Had to follow to a secondary location.”

“You’re full of shit.” She retorts with a raised brow as she leans on one hand onto the scratchy comforter beneath her.

“Can never get it past you can I?” He tried his charm with a grin and tilt of his head.

“No, you can’t so I don’t know why you INSIST on continuously trying.” She answers with a wave of her glass.

“In my nature to defy.” Is his deflecting, Cheeky answer.

“Although I can agree with that, you’re still avoiding my question.”

“I went to see someone and came back here. Job did run long. That ain’t a lie.”

She purses her lips and studies his face and finds him honest. “Alright...who?”

“Don’t know em” he shrugs and blinks slowly.

“BUTCHER!” She groans loudly and throws her head back. “You’re fucking exhausting!”

“Fanks, love. I’m a bit prideful of my endurance ya know.”

She takes her foot and kicks his shin.

“Fuckin hell, been beaten up enough the past few days let’s not add to it now, yeah?”

“Just fucking tell me then, asshole. Or I’ll smash this glass on that thick skull of yours.”

“I’m inclined to believe you.” He gruffs out at her before rubbing the back of his head. “I went to see Sindy.” He blurts it out quickly as if it would be less painful to deliver the news fast like ripping off a band-aid.

“Of fucking COURSE you did.” She announces her disapproval loudly to the ceiling and stands.

“She had some info for me.” He begins to defend himself against the outpouring of hateful glares she was sending his way. Sure Sindy had a track record of fucking Supe’s. She’s even lured them into a trap once and it only took one time to learn a lesson for her but clearly Butcher was willing to fuck up again.

“Was it about 6 inches inside her? Or am I being too generous?” She snarks back with a swing of hip and hand as she walks back to the counter. There was no care for Butcher seeing her in so little, it was all part of their lifestyle. Not much left to mystery when you got into the situations they did.

“What? You fink ats Why I went?” His posture straightens as he watches her move away.

“The girl is practically on her knees with her tongue out for you Butch. You’re as close to a Supe as us humans get. You’ve gotten close and she gets wet for anything to do with them so...yeah. I do think that’s why.” She stays with clinking ice cubes rattling in her glass with her drunkenly expressive hand movements.

“That fascination with Supes is why I believed her when she said she had something on Homelander.”

“All she’s got for him is daddy issues.Same As what she’s got for you.”

“That’s not very feminist of ya now innit?” He points out with an accusatory hand as he stands. He’d need another drink to deal with whatever mood she was in tonight.

“I don’t give a fuck. Man.” She says with a furrowed brow and another burning gulp. “I don’t trust her. And neither should you.”

“I gave her nothin', she gave me the info. No risk on my behalf.”

“Except what you night catch.” She mutters into her glass.

“What’s up your arse tonight?” He demands as he rests his arms onto the counter and studies her face.

“Fucking .nothing.”

“And THAT everyone.” He speaks to an imaginary crowd. “Is called a textbook lie.”

“You being a dumb ass is grating on me.” She retorts.

“That is more believable but ya not quite there.” He motions for more with his hand to her.

“You’re a reckless twat who would rather fuck that barely legal liar than let your partner know you’re alive.”

“You really fink I went to fuck her?” His response has a laugh to it.

“That’s what I said isn’t it?”

“Why in the FUCK do you fink I’d do that?” He stands and laughs. “You’re fuckin ridiculous sometimes, love.” He chuckles as he takes a drink.

“Because I have eyes? Because you’re a man and she’s...a tiny little... young thing.” She speaks plainly with an outstretched hand to lay out her points.

“What use I got for that, yeah?”

His answer catches her off guard and she blinks rapidly, detecting no lie.

“Man like me? With something like her? Nah, mate.” He shakes his head. “That child's got nothin’ what interests me but the information she leaks.” He states with high brows and a haughty delivery. “I’d rather have a wank than fuck her.” He lowers his voice and leans forward. “Nothin she can offer I need. Not that it is, in fact, any of your business, but in the name of honesty n that, I’ve never been much for that… young and dumb and full of cum thing what she plays at.”

She doesn’t respond, her state of inebriation catching her by surprise as she visibly reacts to his words with a tilted head.

“What? Ya don’t believe me? You can tell when I’m lyin’, Betta than anyone else, what do you fink?”

“You’re telling the truth and that’s so rare I’m shocked.” She responds in a deadpan delivery.

“There she is. Back with the insults. See? I prefer that to someone pretendin’ everyfing I say or do is impressive. I’m a realist, love I got no time for it.” He informs with a sweep of his arm. “In fact, I’d bet you’re a better fuck than her. Real woman like you, eh?”

“Oh fuck off Butch.” She rolls her eyes and takes another drink, suppressing an honest blush. “Can’t believe I was worried you wouldn’t come back. Would’ve been a BLESSING.” She taunts back.

“THERE IT IS! You were worried bout me.” He accuses her with a pointed finger. “That’s why ya bein’ such a mouthy cunt.”

“And what’s your excuse?” She retorts.

“Missed you too, love.” He winks.

“I said I was worried about you. Not that I missed you. Don’t mince words.” She points back.

“I was worried bout you as well.” He observes as she begins to move away and pass him towards the bed.

“Why? I’ve been where I was supposed to be.”

“Because I know what week it is.” He says it with his back turned as to not make her feel more vulnerable about it being said out loud.

She feels a lump in her throat as she meets his eyes after a heavy beat, and sees no playfulness there.

“I know the anniversaries are hard. They were for me before...I knew the truth.” He pauses. “But I saw ya liftin the little bath things and that and thought maybe she’s moving on, ya know? Knocking the dust off for someone, yeah? I didn’t feel bad takin’ my sweet time getting back here but now that I see you were in fact just in the dark drinkin’ like a fish instead of gettin’ fucked, my human side is admittedly almost sorry for it. Almost.”

“I’m fine.”

“A sure sign one is in fact not.” When she doesn’t answer he knows he’s found the source of her bad mood. But he’d never taken it personally. “How longs it been?”

“Since when do you give a shit?”

“Since you do.” He gives a quick answer back as she turns and faces him.

“Four years.” She finally answers after staring him down to figure out his motives. Her lack of sobriety makes her patience thin.

“Been a while, yeah?”

She rolls her eyes and sighs. “Feels longer since I’ve been stuck with you.”

“Ya know, words hurt.” He puts his hand to his bare chest, partially unbuttoned in the common and jarring Hawaiian print. She lets out a snort of laughter and he knows he’s breaking through.

“Nothing hurts you, Butcher.” She says it like a fact and he’s almost proud of it for a moment until he can see she’s jealous of it.

“'Ats not true, innit?”

“Apart from the usual bullets, knives and brass knuckles that is.”

“Although that’s very sweet of ya love, and I’ll be sure to remind you of the compliment once you’re sober so you can regret it, still not true. Just a man, yeah?” He offers with shrugged shoulders.

“Why are you…? What are you doing?” She narrows her eyes at him suspiciously.

“I’m tryin' to be fuckin' proper supportive, right ?” He says louder, his patience wearing down with her already.

“Supportive?” She groans with heavy sarcasm and a raised brow. Her defensiveness was transparent.

“I know what it’s like. I know it’s hard. And admittedly not much gets to ya. I see a lot of old me in you and I know when ya hidin’ shit and as much of a cunt as you can be, it's not a great feelin' to see ya like this.”

She feels a bit exposed suddenly. Kindness in this form wasn’t something she was accustomed to. And coming from someone so close to her now, that she (as much as she hated to admit it) cared about, made her hard shell crack. It was only for a moment but that’s all it took for Billy to see. She quickly deflects. “What are you gonna do? Give me a hug and tuck me in?” Her tone was harsh and he knew it well. Born from pain and a lack of healthy outlet for it, they were one and the same. “Don’t be fucking stupid Butch.” She shakes her head.

“That what ya want? A fuckin' cuddle?” His tone came out more patronizing than he meant but he wasn’t any good at this either. He was just trying to be a good friend and he wasn’t very practiced in it. He raises and it surprises her. “I can give ya a hug, love. If that’s what it takes.” He holds his arms out and his voice tells of the great sacrifice he’s making for her. "I can fuckin' cuddle like any other cunt on this planet-"

“I find that hard to believe.” She rolls her eyes.

“C’mere.”

“No, I don’t want a hug for Christ’s sake.” She puts her hands to his chest.

“Your drunken little brain blurted out what it really wanted first. Psychology 101 shit.” He states as she slaps away at his hands.

“I’m not that drunk. Besides you probably stink of stress sweat and cheap cologne.” She continues to protest but he was stronger, she was drunk and with Billy, it was easier to let him have his way and move on sometimes.

“Come now, love shut ya trap and give in.”

She lets out a sigh and tries to relax her shoulders. Her arms at her sides as she began to feel the warmth pass from his body to hers. With each breath, she grew warmer, more at ease. She didn’t care for it. Not being tense was something she felt uncomfortable with at this juncture.

They stand in silence, not something they were accustomed to. The steady stream of bickering usually followed them everywhere. He had been so adamant about her needing this that the act of wrapping his arms around another person with no intent on killing them was feeling very foreign in the silence. “How longs it been?” Is what comes of his wheels turning about his own lack of non-violent physical contact. Who was he really asking?

“I just told you like a minute ago,” she laments in frustration, her forehead landing against his chest.

“No, not that.” His voice wasn’t as forced as usual, she could feel it rumble in his chest before it hit her ears. “Since you did something like this? Been a long fuckin' time for me.”

“Don’t accidentally snap my neck out of habit please.” She mutters against him and he lets out a huff of a laugh.

“You joke but…”

“It’s been since…” she answers after a brief pause. “Since the funeral.”

“Those don’t count. Not sympathy hugs. Not that “so sorry for your loss” horse shit.”

She lets out a exhalation and she pushes back past that marker in her mind. “Since that morning.”

“Yeah.” Is all he says but she knows he means, me too.

The feelings hit her, the existence outside of her comfort zone and the alcohol weakening the dam in her mind. He feels it happen under his arms, the exhale, the physical act of her guard falling. She moans a sound of frustration, one he’s familiar with himself. “You had to make me think about it.” Her voice is calm and even.

“Can’t let it weaken you like it does.” It was more a suggestion than an order but she snorts into his shirt.

“That’s rich coming from you.”

“Don’t make me weak.” He asserts with a self-assured tone. “Just angry.”

“I prefer distractions to dealing with it. I’ve got enough rage.” She sounds sad and he moves his arm that serve as a means to trap her to her back and gives it a pat.

“Feels easier dunnit?” He nods slowly. “Anger’s easier to use than sadness.”

“That might be the smartest thing you’ve ever said.”

“I am smart. You just don’t listen, mate.”

“And you do? What about this hug? I said I didn’t want it.”

“And we’ve had a nice little moment ‘aven’t we?”

“Shut up, you’ll ruin it” She chuckles and moves her arms around him to his surprise. “You know I hate it when you’re right but...I think it has been too long. Other wise I wouldn’t be enjoying this. AND before you give me some smart ass reply, if you tell anyone I said that I’ll deny it.”

“I was just gonna agree.”

“You know it’s bad when something like this feels good.” She grins again and he’s relieved to see the sadness has passed. “Been too long for... a lot of things.” She raises her brows as she lifts her head. Her face only gave away frustration with its slight frown and unmet eyes.

“What’s at?”

“If I don’t get that rage out... I get sad.”

“Didn’t you just take out a man?”

“Yeah but... not like that. That’s…” She shrugs. “Feels like work almost ya know?” She lets her hands slowly move away and he does the same out of courtesy. She stays close but doesn’t touch him as she runs her hand through her hair and exhales noisily. “I mean FUN.”

“What’s that ?” He asks with a straight face and he sees a genuine laugh light up her face.

With a grin and a nod, she responds, her hand still fluffing her hair. “Seems like I forgot how to have it somewhere along the way. Or rather just not many... opportunities for it I guess.”

“What’s fun then? We got a clear schedule, weapons and anonymity. Surely that can do somethin' for ya.” He offers.

“Don’t need any of that for what I was thinking. Old vices to let the rage out is what my mind goes back to. But all that left with…” her nose wrinkles as she makes a gesture to show her hands were empty. “Him.” Her face falls back into frustration.

“What is it or are ya gonna keep talkin' round it?”

She purses her lips and meets his eyes. “I’m not talking around it.”

“Yeah ya are. Ya never vague bout anything.”

“You have a very slappable face, has anyone ever told you that?”

“They usually don’t. They just do it. Much like you should right now.”

She chuckles again and shakes her head. “Why are you… being your version of caring?”

“Why are you changin' the subject?”

“Because it’s weird and suspicious.”

“Because if your heads in the right place this works better, yeah? If I can get you to decompress, then it’s less of your bitchin' I gotta worry 'bout. Ya less likely to fuck up and generally it might be possible that you’d be a slightly lessened pain in the arse.”

“That… well, that actually makes sense.”

“I talk it all the time love ya just gotta shut up long enough to listen.”

“Charming.” She rolls her eyes and he holds his hands up in surrender.

“Just honest. Unlike you.”

She studied him for a moment. A drawn-out silence he uses to do the same as they push back and forth with their stare.

“Sex.” She finally answers with the same hard look on her face.

For only a second he looks confused before he realizes she’s finally given him what he’d been searching for. “A fuck ain’t nothin love, go ask anyone with a prick out there and you can get it.”

“Therein lies the problem. I don’t work like that. I can’t let anyone in to even have a normal conversation, I certainly can’t fuck someone I don’t know, don’t trust. No time for that shit anymore. So I just… went without it.”

“No wonder you act like such an uptight cunt.”

“What’s your excuse?” She pushes back.

“Could say the same.” His answer surprises her and he sees it as it moves across her face. “Wasn’t gonna with me wife gone, then after all that ended I just never got back out there now did I? Whose got the fuckin time?”

“You are making entirely too much sense tonight.” She gives him an actual smile for the information he’d given freely.

“What about those app things? They have those just for fuckin' now right?”

“And have my picture and info up to be tracked? No thank you. That’s just asking to be killed.”

“Probably right.”

“Mark down the day you agreed with me on something.”

“I’m being very agreeable. In fact, we have the same understanding of this particular issue, we do.”

“Ever since I met you we’ve shared a lot of the same problems.”

“And we’ve solved them all innit we? Together, yeah?”

“Yeah… we have.” Her voice drags from a quiet agreement into a lingering silent stare.

“What the fuck is that look?” He demands as he sees her look him up and down in judgment.

“I-“ She begins and then shuts her mouth and shakes her head.

“Well, ya can’t do that and not finish your sentence. Rude, that is.”

“As much as I hate to admit it, and wouldn’t to anyone else. We do work well together.”

“Fuckin'... and?”

“I don’t think I’m drunk enough to actually say it out loud. Only think it.” She replies with an amused look on her face. ”That in itself is dumb enough.”

“Now ya just teasin’.”

“I couldn’t help but apply us working well together to the current problem.”

His chin pushes back and he narrows his eyes at her. “What the fuck are you on about?”

“That there.” She points his way. “Shows me you know exactly what I’m on about.” She sass’s back. “And that reaction is why I didn’t share.”

“What reaction? I’m being perfectly normal.”

“Normal doesn’t exist for you and I.” She purses her lips. “And that whole, suspicious look you get with your beady little eyes.”

“Not the way I’d be talkin' to someone I wanted to fuck.” He gives a wry smile.

“I didn’t say I wanted to.” she clarifies. “I only said I couldn’t help but see a temporary solution available to us for a mutual problem.” She relaxes her body language and steps further away. “Besides, probably wouldn’t be worth my time anyway.”

“Now wait just a fuckin minute.” She almost laughs out loud at how easy it was to pull the reaction from him. “I could shag the skin right off ya bones if I wanted to. Be the best you’d ever had, yeah?” He says defensively with a pointed finger her way.

Half turned towards him she smirks. “Butcher, baby… those are some big words to live up to.”

“And when have you known me to oversell?”

“Only constantly.” the same lazy smirk remains as she holds the upper hand between them again.

“Fuck off.” He mutters quickly and swats the statement away with his hand. “You really suggestion this or are ya havin' a wank?”

“I wasn’t sure at first but now you’ve gone and promised to be the best fuck I’ve ever had and I’d be lying if I said your claims weren’t intriguing.” she explains with a sarcastic lilt to hide the truth behind it.

“I know what I’m good at.” He offers up with a charming delivery of a casual shrug.

“But it’s been so long…”

“Not something ya forget how to do, love.”

“That’s… yeah, I suppose you’re right.” They measure each other up wordlessly, taking in the view of the other through a new lens. “Would you want to?” Her face gives away her hesitation, and he’s honestly a bit sad for her that she’d think he would find her unattractive enough to not be interested.

“I had purposely tried to not think about such things, yeah? But I mean… ya ain’t bad a ‘tall love.” He pauses to watch a slow nod of acceptance from her. “I’d ask if you would but clearly…” he raises his brows and openly gestures with his hands and she rolls her eyes. “Your idea now. Don’t act like that now that it’s on the table.”

“I’d prefer the bed.” She offers a more friendly smile.

“Cheeky bugger.” He chuckles. “More of an old school approach for you eh?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” She shakes her head. “Another reason I can't do it with just any rando off the street.”

“What are you trying to get me into? I don’t wanna end up hogtied in a dress with something up me arse.”

She grins at his response in a light-hearted way. “None of that. Well... you wouldn’t be the one getting tied up anyway.”

“Ah.” He nods I’m understanding. “That's why you need the trust innit?”

“Have to know I won’t be killed for starters, and two I need because there’s always a line, need a safe word and someone that’ll listen.”

“How we talkin' here love?”

“Like you haven’t wanted to slap me around for years now” She jokes.

“Not in particular no.”

His answer surprises her and she studies him for a moment. “It’s been so long are you sure you want it to be with me?”

“If not you… who? Like you so eloquently said... trust 'n that.”

“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.” She rubs her face.

“Inevitable yeah? Two good lookin' people, so much time alone, so much stress with work. Plenty of pornos made about this very situation.” He sees her crack a smile. “Besides after when ya want it again I can use it as a bartering chip.”

“If there is a next time.” She corrects. “Not exactly selling me on this ya know.”

“What ya want? Roses? Box 'a sweets? Never been one for poetry, love.”

“It’s hard to remember how to… begin.”

“So you really wanna do this? Have ya a dirty little secret?” He moves closer and the playfulness is clear on his face. She wasn’t sure if it was genuine enthusiasm or there for her sake.

“Ugh. Don’t make me say it.” She grunts.

“I am a modern man and I ain’t one for sending out rapey vibes so I’m afraid ya gotta love.”

She takes a deep breath and sits down her glass. “Alright. Okay. Yes. I consent.” She states with open arms that plop down at her sides.

“Wunnit so hard, yeah?”

“Hopefully not as hard as you’ll be.”

He lets out a deep laugh. “Now there’s a good girl.”

The words hit her just right, she tries to fight that learned response of pushing him away when he got too close. He tests the waters, looking her over with a clear intent, getting his head in the right space as she did the same. She didn’t meet his face but looked him over in his half unbuttoned shirt and jeans. She’d seen him practically naked, patched him up and knew he was a strong lean machine underneath the goofy tourist shirt. The same for him could be said about her, years of post-attack care and close living quarters on the road left little to the imagination.

He sees her gulp, but doesn’t bear it. Her nerves were given away by the bob of the lump in her throat.

“It seems weird to start by kissing you but... that seems to make the most sense.”

“Ya tense as a virgin, love.” He reaches out and rubs her exposed arms to initiate a connection and make her more comfortable.

“It’ll pass.” She tells convincingly.

“What’ll it take to make ya melt for me?”

She feels his gravely voice close and shuts her eyes with a deep breath. Okay, she could do this. “Make it worth my time Butcher.” She finally meets his eyes, hers darker now and peering up at him. “I don’t want to have to think. I just wanna feel. I know I can be dominant in a fight but I don’t wanna be with sex. I’ll say...shoelace if you’re too rough. But don’t be afraid to... use your strength.”

“Noted, love.” He gives a nod and before she can flutter lashes in response to her quickening heartbeat as he gets his hand around her throat. She feels that long missed warmth flood her body. There was no fight response, no fear for the squeeze on her delicate throat, only a soft exhale as she closed her eyes that made him feel the same sort of feeling for her in his stomach. “From the way you just turned into a puddle for me I’ll take it I’m on the right track.”

“Mmm Hmm.” She nods. “Give it to me rough and dirty, Butch. Use all that anger I’ve seen first hand on me. You know I can take it.”

He moves fast and pushes her against a wall with a generic picture frame thumping force. “Ya gonna, pet.”

She hums and swallows, a little moan escaping her as he looms over her and she feels small in his shadow. He was a powerful man and she needed to have hers taken away for the night.

He lingers over her skin in warm lines of breath that escape his broad nose. “You know… you are a lovely little bird.” His fingertips trace across her skin in light, teasing lines up her arms and across her chest. Keeping his hand at her throat as a reminder to be still and let him take the lead, he loses his grip as he becomes occupied by watching her body react to him. He gives a flick to her nipples and wets his lips. “Hard already?” A rhetorical question comes out with a patronizing tone that for the first time she didn’t mind.

She watches his face as his eyes focus on the way her tits bounce with every pinch of her nipples he pulls and releases through her shirt. She sees the focus and the want reflected in them and welcomes the warm feeling being wanted gave her. “Let me get a look at these love.” He speaks softly, calloused fingers pulling her top down, the weight of her chest holding the neckline in place as he traced the rise and fall, the blooming of goosebumps on her skin that spread as he freed her to the air. There weren’t so many words as he got to take her in for purely pleasure for the first time. A deep hum from his throat she felt rumble down her torso as he played and pinched passed through them both. She feels her muscles tense as the touch sends pleasure straight down to her center with each twist. As if he were running an inner monologue he didn’t want to share, he grunts out “Rough, eh?” And proceeds to send the first jolts of pain and pleasure through her with a hard and firm twist. He sees her knees wobble as she lets out the first moan for him. It was almost as if he’d willed himself to forget about the female form and all the arousal that came from touching all the softness the right way. He’d not touched a woman without intent to harm in so long. But that was the last thing he wanted to do to her.

For as much as they fought and bickered, he did enjoy her company. Which is more than he could say for most anyone else. She was a driven and demanding woman with work, and that butted heads with his hard and fast style more often than not. But when the jobs were over and they had those precious few hours of freedom before they traveled back to headquarters, she was downright lovely when the conditions were right. Because of the balance they had, the trust and honesty, he’d shut off any piece of his lizard brain that would want to fuck her, lest he not be razor-sharp or ruin what they had by acting like a boy. But now he had her whimpering as he manipulated her dark rosy nipples, watching her thighs rub together and feeling a rush he hadn’t in years.

Taking him from his inner reflection, the quick sharp slaps to the sensitive peaks he gave her had her biting her lips. She finally makes a demand. “Suck on my tits Billy.” A strung-out voice he’d never heard before escapes and it’s like the femininity of it grabbed him by the balls as he’s commanded to obey and takes the weight of her into his mouth with a content groan. The use of his name and not her given nickname of Butch softens him, it was rare he heard his name said so softly. “Yeah, like that.” She heavily sighs, head knocking back against the wall. She could feel the heat spreading from every erogenous zone of her body, relaxing her muscles except those between her thighs that had started throbbing to the rising rate of her heartbeat.

He tried to remember the last time a woman praised him in such a way and going all the way to his marriage, he could not. He knew her to run hot in temper and her skin reflected the same. The fullness of her chest rising and falling as he gave in to shut his eyes and latch onto the bud that gave away how much she needed what he was giving her. Listening to her breathy sighs and feeling the thud of her heart against her sternum, he forgets himself for a moment. Releasing her neck and placing two calloused hands on her ribs to hold her close as his mouth nursed at her skin. With licks and pants she watches him hold her chest together and indulge fully. Licking her lips, she feels heat in her chest grow, the feeling of being so clearly wanted. Lips that drag across her skin as the kisses rose higher and higher to find her neck, her hands leaving her side to touch his shoulders lightly as if she’d find he wasn’t really there and this was all a sex-deprived fantasy she’d snap out of at any moment.

She moans as she feels his teeth pressing into the tight muscles of her neck.

“Like that, love?” His tone a clear tease and call back to her response earlier.

“Mmmph, Billy…” She exhales as his mouth lingers by her ear to send a spread of goosebumps down her skin from the tickle of breath on her rarely touched skin. She rolls her head towards him, a nuzzle of cheek to cheek, her hand finding its way to his hair, finding it softer than she thought it would be between her fingers.

“Sayin me name and I’m not even inside ya yet.” He teases with a breathy laugh she feels roll down her spine. It was distinct and masculine, the voice of someone she trusted and it made the last of her resolve melt away. “Bet you’re soaked already innit ya?” He accuses her, a scold she closes her eyes at hearing the tone of. Keeping her close with a strong hand to her back, the other trails between her breasts and down to the thin cover of fabric over her plush mound.

He noted the peaks and valleys on her body, a solid core with the swell of a soft belly before reaching a cotton covered nest of dark hair. His teasing proves valid as his fingertips are met with the warm patch of wetness as they travel lower between her legs. “Fuckin 'ell you are needin' it aren’t ya?” He remarks almost to himself as he sees the slickness on his fingers.

“Yeah, that’s kinda why I asked you Butch.” She sass's back as he looks up to find her watching his face.

“Don’t ruin it with that smart mouth now eh?” He scolds with a tilt of his head as he pushes his fingers covered in her into her mouth.

He’s met with a muffled “Mmph.” Of surprise before acceptance of the same sound as two of his fingers press against her tongue.

“I’d love to do this when you get to actin' like a mouthy cunt on me.” A darker tone to his words now, falling back into a role, indulging his rougher side to let some of the evil out, just as she was in her way. “Just shove something in ya mouth and shake you about yeah?” He holds her jaw and gives it a good shake with a tight grip. Her eyes flutter and roll, letting the orders and insults break her down and take away the tension she held constantly in her muscles. “Or should I just…?” He begins with his hand moving to her throat once more and pressing her into the wall with a squeeze. He feels her swallow against his palm, a slight effort behind her inhale.

He doesn’t meet her eyes, finding it easier to do what she asked that way. If he looked into them he would see her needful and trusting and that wasn’t something he was fully prepared for and he knew it. No one needed Billy Butcher. Most didn’t even want him and one of the few humans to ever connect with him and even be fond of him in a genuine way looking at him like that wasn’t something he could face. He felt a bit of a coward for it, but tonight wasn’t the night to deal with such things. Tonight was about losing tension, not adding more to their relationship.

He moves quickly to place a firm slap to her wet center, a snap of skin and wet echoing across the room.

“Fuck.” She almost whines in a heavy exhale. A slumping against his other hand on her neck that let him know he could still push.

“She does like it a little rough, eh?” Chuckles at her slack face, lips pressing against each other. In quick succession, he lands his hand harshly to her nipples, then down to her center, a slap to her hips and thighs that leave her pink in his wake. He stops after the pattern elicits a noise of discomfort from her, but no sign of her safe word was on her lips.

“S’good.” She mumbles and nods, eyes that looked tired glancing his way for a moment to let him know he was still well within the rules. He was slowly getting tougher and the sting of skin sent the thrills through her she’d long missed. But she was giving him a rush of his own he hadn’t realized he’d missed so badly.

With a nod of acknowledgement, he moves on, ready to push this forward as the ache of his own cock pushing against his pants was something that needed attending to. He steps back, a posture that said more than his words could about their roles for tonight.

He leaves her stood slouched against the wall, eyes hooded and following his hands as they moved to the buttons on his shirt.

“Take it off.” Is his command, but she knew what he meant. She liked the dark stare, the way his lean body didn’t waver as he toed off his half tied boots. His hand grazes over the bulge in his black jeans before his hands move to unbuckle the heavy hardware of his belt while she strips her top over her head and throws her panties onto her bed unceremoniously.

With a stalking and wolfish demeanor, he hovered over her prickled skin, everything tightened and hard to the cool air as he stands in an undone shirt and pants. “Look at you, love.” Raspy praise comes from barely moving lips as his hands brush her hair behind her shoulders. She almost flinches as the movements with an unknown destination come near her face. They were both in the right headspace now. “Why would I go to that little tart at the club when I could come back and have some of ‘is yeah?”

He means it, she’s surprised to find. His voice was frank and his hands pinched and picked at her nipples and curves. She doesn’t reply, eyes averted as his rake over her naked body.

“Gonna give this a proper seeing to, eh?” He groans as he stretches his neck, his palms back on her bare skin, warming her in more places than they touched. He pulled her to his bare chest roughly, hands on her ass and squeezing tight before a few solid spanks were given much to her delight. “You want fucked hard, pet? Or is the handlin' ya like in such a way?”

The affectionate name doesn’t dampen the mood between them. “Both.” She whispers out, hands to his chest and feeling the curl of chest hair under her fingers. It reminds her of her husband for just a moment, laying next to him and playing with it before she fell asleep. Billy wasn’t exactly a substitute for him but, perhaps he would prove a worthy distraction in the least. A warm body to ease the loneliness, an ear to listen. She didn’t need much.

“Ask and you shall receive.” a statement that answers more than he knew was announced loudly as he gives her one last set of slaps  before grabbing her arms and spinning her around to face the bed. With one hand holding her wrists to the bend of her back, the other runs a single finger down her spine to make her shudder before giving a hard spank to her bare ass. Her knees buckled slightly, a sharp gasp then a mewl asked him for more.

He bent her over, hands now on the bed per his orders in the form of grunts and slaps. He goes in rounds, breaking her down slowly with slaps to her ass, thighs and pussy lips. Each time getting more red and swollen than the last. He rubs the spots he hits, a quick soothe after the harshness. He feeds off her sounds, and all moans and gasps of pleasure to match with his deep and dominating growls and patronizing take as she flinches.

He knows she’s had enough when he sees the drip of wetness from her lips between her legs. He swipes it before it’s gone with his fingers in the heat of her to pinch her clit and rub to ready her as she buckled towards the bed with a submissive moan. “Soaked little cunny, innit?” He coos her way before pushing two fingers inside her.

The first push of pure pleasure was over her, eyes rolling back and tongue out over her bottom lip as she gave over to it. His movements were confident, always certain and steady against her. She’d needed that control taken and he was proving to be worthy of the task. With curling and pounding fingers he works her until she’s close, drenched in her and feeling her tighten he leaves her exposed and bent over while he strokes himself to the sight of her. A soft and pink fluffy cunt between two strong thighs and an arse that he was champing at the bit to watch bounce against him. One he’d smacked before but only to piss her off, and never for the purpose of what he had planned for her.

A firm grip on himself he pumped, planning for what he was going to give her, which was years worth of pent up aggression. He was challenged to hurt her, and even if that wasn’t in his nature towards women and sex he was not one to back down from a challenge. He was set in his mind to leave her with no choice but to admit he’d fucked her good and proper. And deny that she wanted to do it again, a sure sign she did as she wouldn’t be thinking about it already.

Tapping himself on her lower back, grabbing her hips and holding her where he wanted her, knees knocked up on the bed, he groans and watches  her move herself towards him, seeking him out.

“Hungry little cunt, eh?”

“Billy just... fuck me... please.” She whines, a needful grunt as she rubbed her slit against him.

“That’s a good girl.” He softly praises as he angles himself and notches inside her, an immediate release of wordless noise from them both. “Fuckin' 'ell.” He mutters before feeling the resistance around him as he buried himself inside her. His hands held fast to her hips as he settled inside her, savoring it for a moment.

A breathy. “Yes.” Escapes her as her head drops down to the bed.

He keeps up with her neediness for it as he begins a solid rhythm, pacing himself to adjust to her tightness that only seemed to squeeze him harder with every meeting of their hips. She pushed back as he slapped her ass. Pink welts that bounced on his strong hips, both picking up on the pace between them easily, as they had always done in fighting, it seemed to translate well with fucking.  

There were no words as she gripped the sheets, pushed back with all she had, that satisfying slap of balls to her clit, the hollow smack of skin to skin as they worked to a feverish pace. She could feel more growing in her, him filling her to satisfy that stretch she needed from him. With a snarl, beads of sweat falling down his forehead he pushes forward, grabbing a handful of her hair to pound her harder, give her what they both needed now. She cries out, every breath forces out from the hips as her back arches beautiful back for him.

“Fuck yes.” She cries in bursts that match his pace. Her head bobbed and her tits bounced and knocked together adding to the slaps and claps that filled the otherwise quiet room.

A hard slap to her ass again makes a deeper and more sultry sound arise from her. Billy knew it, a grown woman now in her final throws, enjoying herself and letting go. He doesn’t let the moment pass, giving her all he’s got left in power. He yanks her arms back and leaves her helpless as he pulls them back and lets her chest bow out and head hang back  as he rides her.

A happy squeal escapes, hums and laughs that were different than any he’d heard from her. “That’s fucking right Billy, give it to me. Harder.” A playful call demands of him.

He grabs her by the throat, one hand to her chest, pulling her against him as his nails sink into the meat of her. She moans and mewls, closed eyes and snarling smile as he tightens his grip around her neck, hips still pounding away and gaining speed to finish the job. Another spank, another slap, and then to her dripping cunt he continues. At first he continues the pain, then a rapid back and forth over her swollen clit that makes her hips buck and her lips plead for more.

A choked out “Don’t stop.” Leaves her as he feels her stomach tensing and her breathing deepen. He’s almost tempted to, to be cruel one last time but the feel of her against him, the face full of vanilla-scented hair and his mouth at her ear, he chooses the much more merciful route as he knew he didn’t want to part from her.

“Come on this cock you fuckin slag.” He growls and she smiles in response. He gives a bite to her ear and sucks at her neck as little chants of yes make it to his ears. “I fuckin' feel ya love, be a good girl for me and cum and I’m gonna fill you up. Fuck you’re gonna be feelin' me inside you for days.”

Another deep and content moan gets past his white-knuckled hand on her throat as she holds fast to his arm, then reaches back to grab a handful of hair. A submissive whimper, both to him and to the needs of her body, riding that cusp and waiting to fall, they meet eyes. Something they’d been avoiding but now they were locked, both matched in their faces in ecstasy. She feels it, that pull for more, she needed something to finish.

He sees her lips quiver, her eyes big and batting and he answers her wordless plea and kisses her. It’s not a first kiss either had had before. It was teeth and tongue and gripping lips that would suddenly part to gasp. It was rough and desperate just as their lives were.

They both feel it, it was a final straw, a touch of tenderness and intimacy masked in angry brows and crude words in the form of a kiss that pushed them over. Being the gentleman he was, or could be, he makes sure she finished first. Pounding her through the waves she rode, the hips stuttering, the cum running down his balls and her thighs from a thorough beating of her insides. He knocks her to the bed to breathe, giving that lovely little arse of hers a final whipping and clenching his hands down to the bones of her hips he follows her to the bed, fucking into her flat on her stomach.

The new angle left her squirming, hitting deep inside her as she let her whole body feel how good it felt to have his weight on her. She sees his hands fist the sheets next to her head. Masculine grunts as he empties out and they’re left in the aftermath.

With a less harsh smack on her ass, more of a well done than a dominating feel to it he collapses next to her. The silence falls in the room as their breathing slows. This was the part he had been avoiding. The consequences of their actions. Doing something bad was never lackluster, it was the moments after when you were faced with what you’d done that weren’t fun to deal with.

But as she always did, she takes a situation and makes the best of it. Finally moving with a groan, she slowly moves to back off the bed and stretches, looking at the damage done to her backside. He hears a laugh and then a tensionless sigh. “You know I hate to admit when you’re right.” She grins as she rolls to his side to face her. “But that was a… very job well done, mate.” She laughs and turns to walk with loose hips to the bathroom.

“Maybe you’ll listen to me more then, eh?” He smiles and watches her disappear behind the cheap wooden door.

“Wouldn’t count on it.” He hears as he gives a charming smile in her direction she doesn’t see. He pulls the blankets back, a quick strip of the clothes left around his ankles and a swipe over his junk to ease the sticky feeling growing the AC air of the room.

He settles in, the light switching off and a still naked woman approaching him. He was enjoying the confidence and ease she held herself with now. Hands running through her hair as she stood and looked between the two beds. “So…” She says with a nod.

“Yeah?”

“Do we share a bed now?” She asks with a tilt of her head.

“Been a night of a lot of firsts. Don’t have to stop there. I still haven’t proved myself to be a cuddler.”

“True.” She smiles and moves to slide into bed with him.

“If ya think you can keep your hands off me you can sleep in here. But if ya gonna be waking me up and demanding my cock, ya know I need my beauty rest, love.”

“Shut up Butch.” She laughs as presses her back against him. “You wish.” She shakes her head and settles. “No amount of sleep's gonna help you.”

“Good to see not even good cock can keep ya from bein' a cunt.”

“It’s just you. You’re lucky that way.” She grins as she accepts the arm around her waist and the warmth of his breath in her hair.

“Yeah… ‘Spose I am a lucky bastard that way.” He groans after a good stretch. Now all that was left was to prove his cuddling capabilities, and with her hand around his wrist, as it settles up to her breasts, wiggling hips resting directly against his, they were both well on their way to finding out the outcome of the second challenge of the night.

@jaegeeeeer​ @negansdirtygirl22​

#The Boys #the boys fanfiction #Billy Butcher #Billy Butcher fanfiction #Karl urban #The Boys fan fic #The Boys smut #The Boys fic #The BOys fan fiction #Billy Butcher x you #Billy Butcher x reader #Billy Butcher x ofc #billy butcher x oc #billy butcher imagine #billy butcher imagines #billy butcher smut

[callmeunstable]

Angels & Demons - Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Characters: Reader, Godling, Savilla

Summary: Alva tries her best to adapt to her current lifestyle. Savilla helps her by teaching her the ways around this world. But some dangerous forces are on their way. And a familiar face shows up.

Warnings: Monsters, Cursing, Blood

Words: 2.000+

A/N: Hey! This is the third part of my fic. I accidentally deleted this part as well as the second part so I had to reupload. I hate myself and I cried .

Disclaimer: GIF’s and PNG’s are taken from Tumblr and are not mine! Credits to the creators!

Tags: @marvelbrat @charliestuff

Song: I thought this fitted the scenery

Alva adapted slowly. It was important that if she wanted to pass as a villager she had to develop. Where she came from, who her parents were and why she came.

And they came up with an easy background story. Alva was the daughter of two Medics, Drarnoz and Isada of Verden. Verden is one of the minor kingdoms in the North, located at the very mouth of the river Yaruga, with Kerack and Brokilon on its northern borders and Cintra in the south, just on the other side of the river. After her parents died in a brutal raid of their village Alva sought a sanctuary by a family friend Savilla living in Riverdell. She took the orphan in.

James brought Alva the Ducates he had collected over the years which made up a small fortune. He promised to bring her every coin he’ll find in the future.

That’s how Alva started her life in a small village. Savilla had an extra bed for her and she didn’t mind sharing her food and clothes.

“You are pretty bad at healing you know that? You’ve been here for almost a month.” Savilla always made fun of the way the girl was bandaging or trying to figure out which plant was good for the specific treatment.

“I just don’t understand how you can separate all of these. They look all the same.” Alva sighed and took a seat. Trying to figure out which herbs were able to calm a burn.

“This isn’t your desire and I get it. It’s not your fault. And I maybe have something set up for you.” The mage smirked while she picked big orange blossoms from her garden. “Merigold, Alva. One of the herbs that can potentially save lives.”

“Don’t change the subject. What did you do?” The girl gave her a doubtful look while watching her picking even more blossoms.

“The tavern in the village. They need a servant. The old one got scared off because the olds kept trying to seduce her and she felt uncomfortable. But I figured you’d be perfect for the job.” She walked inside with a full basket in her hands.

“Are you insulting me or what are you trying to say?” Alva hurried after her, stumbling while getting up.

“You need to get better at walking when you want to serve the folks.” The maid laughed and started to cut the flowers into small pieces.

“But to get back to your question, no. But you are tough and have a huge temperament. Exactly what a good servant needs. The old douches won't have it easy with you.”

Alva let out a loud sigh.

“And I should warn you. They acquire you to look … a certain way.”

“I’m not going to dress like slut and shake my booty.”

“Yes…alright. Anyway, that was not what I was trying to say. They want you to wear your hair down and a dress that will make you look pretty but still can get stained.”

“That’s fine by me but why exactly do they want me to keep my hair down?”

“Maybe they liked it. You know the time we got some bread? That’s when the tavern owner offered me this position.”

The girl hummed in agreement.

“They’ll pay you well. You need that money if you want to find a way back. Mages aren’t cheap. They usually work for kings and queens.” Sevilla stopped with the chopping and went still for a couple of seconds. Her gaze went up and she looked Alva straight into the eyes. She hated that look. It never meant something good.

“You want me to find a different mage?” The girl was confused. How was she supposed to find one? She has no contacts whatsoever and it’s not like she could call the information desk to give her a number.

“I’m not sure who I want you to find for now. It's dangerous out there. I need to find out who I can trust with you. I don’t want you to get captured.” The mage was serious. She liked the girl and felt the urge to protect her. She was sure it was her duty in this life. To help this girl around her world and keeping her safe until she found a way to get back.

“Why would they? I mean I’m not that special and I pretty got at acting old like you.”

“I know. But if they see anything strange in you, just some glance. They don’t need a good reason anymore to imprison the people. It’s getting rough out here. Cintra will lose the next battle. Nobody in this kingdom wants to hear it but you can feel the tension in the air. The Niflgaards are coming and we need to be prepared when they do.”

“Are they like Germany in the Second World War?”

“You do know that I have no information about that.”

“Let me explain. World War II was a global war involving fighting in most of the world and most countries. Like shit went down. Most of the world's countries, including all the great powers in our world, fought as part of two military alliances. They fucking hated each other. World War II was the largest and deadliest conflict in all of our history. It involved more countries, cost more money, involved more people, and killed more people than any other war in our history. About 80 million people died. It included massacres, the Holocaust, strategic bombing, starvation, disease, and the only use of nuclear weapons against civilians in history. Like they could fly bombs from one country to the other through the air and just let them explode wherever they wanted to. It was horrible but I wasn’t alive when that happened.”

The mage had listened carefully only to realize that their worlds aren't that different. “You have to understand that the Nilfgaardian Empire is the most powerful in the history of the known world. It is located in the southern part of the Continent and boasts both a thriving economy and a strong, well-trained army with talented commanders.

It has expanded mostly through the conquest of foreign countries, which were then turned into provinces of the Empire. The Empire's inhabitants believe that "real" Nilfgaardians are only those born in the heart of the Empire and not those born in the conquered provinces. All of them are ruthless. Killing anyone and anything that’ll come in their way. We need to be careful and prepared.”

“So you think they’ll just walk in here like they own this place.” The girl felt she was pulled into something like Lord of the Rings style. Everyone wants to kill the other race. What was happening in this world?

“They won’t pretend that they own these lands, they will fight until they own the whole continent. Saying they want to protect the citizens but slaughter the like an animal for fun. I want you to be prepared that not everyone in our world will respect you, especially because you’re a woman. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” Sevilla meant every word she said.

“That’s why I want you to be protected. Here.” She opened the wooden closet and pulled out a silky cloth. “Take it, I have my own. And I won’t need it, I still have the chaos inside of me that’ll help me if needed. I hope you never need it.”

Alva received the loth and lifted the cloth. Underneath there was bedded a silver dagger. It was heavy, but still manageable with one hand.

“Come on, I’m not going to stab anybody. This is not Assasin’s Creed.” She held up the dagger and inspected the weapon. It was beautiful, looking exactly like something a video game character would keep under their robe.

“I’m not joking around Alva! I want you to work so we have enough Ducates in the case of an emergency. If you’re not willing to protect your one life no one else will. I can protect you as far as my power goes but everything is limited. At this point, you don’t have a choice. If you want to get back to your world you need to adapt completely! Do you understand?” Sevilla handed her a scabbard possibly fitting for the dagger.

“No need to be rude.” Alva took and let the weapon slide smoothly into it.

“Attach it to your belt. It's best if you keep it on you at all times. Even while you sleep.”

The girl nodded and pulled her dress up to gain access to the pants she was always wearing underneath. She tied it around her waist and let loose of her dress.

“I understand but I hope I’ll never have to use it.”

“Me neither.”

-

The next weeks went on smoothly. Alva tried her best to lie to herself. If she realized that she left her entire family and friends behind, everything she loved. She didn’t know if she could handle the pain and panic that would appear again. She remembered her first week here. It was exhausting. She didn’t want to stand up and live in a world she didn’t belong. The only thing keeping her from ending it all was the promise Sevilla gave her.

She will bring her back. No matter what is going to happen. She’ll find a way out. And if she could get back, she can’t give up. That wasn’t an option. But she couldn’t think about it anymore. The pain that would crawl up into her chest even if she only thought about it for a second. It was unbearable.

Alva tried to act like new her role this life. At least for now. Her dad was Drarnoz of Verden and her mother was Isada of Verden. She was an orphan. Currently serving at the tavern where she was allowed to live with a family friend. Sevilla. That’s all she needed to remember.

Usually, no one asked about her past. That wasn’t a thing in this village. As soon as Alva said the word ‘orphan’ no more questions were asked.

She liked her job at the tavern. It was an easy way to meet new people and experience the world fully. Adapting day by day. But still being herself. Everyone loved the way she talked. Foolish but skeptical. No man was able to win her or flirt with her. She shut them down real quick.

Today was such a day

It was an afternoon and everyone was ending their work for the day coming to the tavern to get a well-deserving drink and sometimes a meal, but Alva knew by experience you shouldn’t eat the food of this tavern. Dossar, the owner, didn’t know how to cook but he surely wasn’t giving up on an opportunity of getting more money.

The folks around the area knew never to ask for a meal but it was always a pleasure to see the look on a travelers' face.

Alva was serving everyone with a kind smile but some men interpret this as a sign to flirt with her. Woldor, a farmer, decided to try his luck today. He was trying to gain her attention by whistling at her and holding up his cup of beer. Only for her to come and check if he needed a refill. But at his point, she was ignoring his calls and gestures.

But the man didn’t stop. So Alva thought it was her time to shine.

“I’m not an animal! You can’t win my attention by whistling at me and calling me with sloppy pick-up lines! Cut it before I start acting like one.”

“I’ve never been threatened so adorably before.” Woldor and the men sitting beside him star to burst out into laughter and continued drinking.

“Yes well, I’m about to adorably kick your fucking arse.” The laughter silenced and the men stared at the girl.

“This isn’t going to end well is it?” Her coworker Cozlo walked up to her and tried to calm her down, by laying his arm around her shoulder. Alva liked him. He was a good friend and was amazing at keeping her out of trouble when she had a tantrum. This was one of them.

“Fuck no.” The girl wanted to jump at the man and rip his eyes out. He was the one that couldn’t take no for an answer. He was harassing her since the day she started to work as a servant.

Getting ready to throw some punches Cozlo grabbed her by her waist and picked her up.

“Let me down! Let me show this bitch what my adorable hand can do around his throat! I want to see if he still thinks their pretty when I choke him!”

“I think I’m in love with you my dear!” Woldor called out for her while sipping on his beer.

“That’s fucking unfortunate!” Alva was yelling across the tavern while trying to fight her way out of Cozlo's grip.

“You are significantly more destructive than I was anticipating.” That was Cozlo's response after Alva successfully freed herself and was ready to throw fists.

“Enough!” The dark voice of Dossar echoed between the walls. “Woldor get your arse out of here before I tell your wife that you're harassing my servant again!” The tall and bear-like built man stepped in front of the counter and was ready to throw him out with his own hands.

“Can’t take a goddamn joke, can ya?” The farmer grumbled some swearings under his breath and tossed his payment on the table before leaving the bar with his men.

“Next time leave a fucking tip, bastard.”, Alva shouted out through one of the windows and held up her middle finger. “Fuck that dude.”

“You did well Alva, let me admit that.” Dossar gave her a thumbs up and headed back to the kitchen area.

The conflict calmed down and the girl started to clean the table the men had left as a mess. Scrubbing the sticky beer of the top.

“May I compliment you on your skill of handling this rude of a man, my beautiful Lady.”

Alva turned around and in front of her stood unmistakably a bard. The usual costume they were wearing gave it away in an instant. But the lute that was strapped on his back made it even clearer. The man wasn’t older than probably 30 years old. His clothing had seen better days and his brown hair was all messed up.

“Thanks, I guess.” The girl wasn’t in the mood for a conversation so she continued scrubbing the table.

“My name is Jaskier if I may introduce myself. I’m the new bard in town.”

“What brings a bard like you in a village like this?”

“I expected a job, which was me kindly offered by the master of this tavern. A nice man. Allowed me to show off my talent every evening.”

“Good for you Jaskier.” She wasn’t trying to be mean but the bard was definitely flirting and she just wasn’t in the mood for another thirsty mean.

“That makes us workmates if I’m not mistaken? I look forward to seeing more of you…?” It was obvious that he waited for her name and the girl let out her sigh while turning toward him.

“Jaskier, I don’t mean to be rude but I had men trying to marry me at least 4 times today. And a dozen of them were just trying to bring me to bed. So please, if you stop that flirty behavior I will see you as my workmate and friend. But that’s all I can offer.

“Of course, Alva. I didn’t mean to upset you in any way. I’m glad I found a friend already. My last company wasn’t that welcoming.” A half-hearted smile was on his face and he scratched the back of his head.

“Why? Were you trying to flirt with them too?” Alva smirked and put her hand friendly on the shoulder of Jaskier.

“Oh no. Trust me. That would have been very … disturbing, may I say so. I see around Alva.”

“Yes, Jaskier. I’ll see you around.”

#geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia x y/n #geralt x y/n #geralt of rivia x female reader #geralt x you #geralt x reader #geralt x femaler reader #the witcher #the witcher au #jaskier #jaskier x reader #jaskier x y/n #jaskier x you #jaskier x female reader #cirilla #white wolf #butcher of blaviken #henry cavill #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x y/n #henry cavill x reader #geralt of rivia #angels and demons #angels & demons #a&d #a & d

[steponmepinkjun]

I NEVER FINISHED MY STORY OMG. ok so i left off at being too proud to tell my friend she was right and kpop fucked hard. the difference between u and me is that i’m too good of a liar. too good. i kept up the “i hate kpop it’s cringe” facade for ALMOST TWO WHOLE YEARS, I SHIT YOU NOT. why? bc my dumb ass, extra ass, dramatic ass self thought “ok if i’m gonna have to deal with the embarrassment of admitting i’m wrong, i better do it in such an extra ass way it’ll knock ur socks off so hard that YOULL be the one embarrassed not me.” the original plan was to learn the entire choreography to bts dope, bc it’s the song that she told me to listen to and inevitably the song that got me into them, but later switched to bts fire bc i saw too many of those “choreo matches w any song” videos, and then her birthday party came up. and here’s the real kicker. her birthday is April Motherfuckin Fools. so it would be So Perfect for me to reveal my kpopism as a birthday present And a april fools prank in one. so i was Set on the Reveal being on april 1st, but the day rolls around and god that choreo is so fucking hard and i am Not a dancer. never have been. so i abandon that and go ykno what… i’ll do it Next Year. BC MY BITCHASS WAS LIKE NO THE MOMENT IS TOO PERFECT TO DO IT ON A NORMAL ASS DAY ITS GONNA BE ON APRIL FOOLS ON HER GODDAMN BIRTHDAY OR NOT AT ALL. a year rolls by, i’ve told most of our friends except her and they’re all in on it, i’d made so many subtle kpop references to her without her realising they were fully intentional and had too many scares where she almost figured me out but i lied my way out of it, and i’d given up on showing off with choreography bc i couldn’t make that shit look good. i’m not a dancer. i am, however, a rapper, and a damn good one, so i inhaled the agust d mixtape and decided i’d just rap the eminem of kpop’s anthem at her face. in korean. and change the lyrics at the end (if u haven’t listened to agust d, the bridge repeats “i’m sorry” a lot) to “i’m sorry i kept this from u for so long” and “i’m sorry i actually ult got7 not bts” (this was like the april after skz debuted ok i was holding onto got7 for dear life knowing full well skz we’re going to convert me smh) and the best part? she never saw it coming. her official present was a cd with a bunch of kpop on it but she thought it was just a personalised mixtape for her so i told her to play the first song out loud and she knew the song Instantly. it has a long intro so she was like “i guess u did listen when i recommended u this song!! i knew you’d like it since u like rap so much!!” and then i started rapping and i shit u not. she started SCREAMING. like the initial reaction was her jaw dropping and then instinctively covering her mouth but when i kept going and she realised i wasn’t fucking around she just fucking screamed like a banshee. at the end during the sorry bit i threw off my jacket to reveal a got7 shirt on the inside and she fell off her chair and started rolling around on the floor. needless to say it was every bit as satisfying as i thought it’d be LMAOOOO afterwards her ass was like “I CANT BELIEVE U HID THIS FROM ME FOR OVER A YEAR” and when i tried to explain my ego couldn’t take the “i told u so” she was like “you know i wouldn’t have made fun of you for it right? i would just be glad you’re not hating on my boys anymore” so basically i’m a big dramatic fool and she was always too good for me.

don’t mind the weird spaces here my ipad is being all fucky wucky w me rn. damn sad to hear ur sideblog experience didn’t go so well, i’d have shown u the cool side of the fandom if i knew 😤😤 leading u thru the cursed halls of kpop stan tumblr like a sketchy tour guide that’s actually 3 small raccoons stacked on top of each other like a trench coat, like “over here we have the fanfic writers that honestly need to publish a book, over here we have the gif makers that are responsible for my entire camera roll, if we take a quick swerve past the death threat anons and the twt fanwar screenshots - mind ur feet bub the 14 year olds were tryna make a grab for ur ankles - ah here’s the holy grail of shitposts, you might be here for hours, to the right we have the weird aussie side of the fandom that projects our childhoods onto chanlix but also all the members as we decide what their life in australia would’ve been like, and down there is a secret trapdoor to the blogs w endless random headcanons that will make you laugh, cry or blush depending on if the author woke up and decided to choose violence today. enjoy your Stay!” but then again i’m not so active on tumblr anymore (ngl you’ve become the highlight of my tumblr experience these days, interaction wise,) so maybe all my Local Hotspots are inactive now. i know a bunch of them are, it’s sad. “i don’t fw stan twitter for the same reason i don’t hang out in meth dens” oop. guess i’m a meth addict. no but i get u i rly do, it’s a hellhole out there, but the fact that things get shared and spread a lot easier than on tumblr and how short most things have to be (therefor keeping up w my adhd attention span without having to resort to the mental torture that is tiktok, with the added bonus of not always needing headphones.) that i just. couldn’t leave if i tried. maybe i should try being active on tumblr again but it’s a dying site in comparison.

“their music doesn’t consistently hit for me as much as skz” i’m sorry we can’t be friends anymore. what. what. you don’t dramama ramama ramama hey? you don’t feel a little jealousyyyyyy, naega anin? you don’t shoot out, shoot out, shoot out, or aremdaeun love killa love killa? you can’t be your hero du du du du du du du du du dududu? u disappoint me. literally like everyone i know who likes skz music likes mx music like it’s a rite of Passage. they’re kindred spirits, monsta x music is like skz’s music’s cool but mildly heterosexual older brother. neither of them know what a bad song is it runs in the family. and both their music runs in my VEINS. whenever i describe my music taste they’re always the first two that come to mind, skz being my number 1 bc they are my best boys but mx bc of the Flavour. pls listen to the entire the code album then get back to me 😤🙌 ok but fr ur so right they are 7 of the finest men i ever seen (yes i say 7 bc i’m including wonho cause he deserved better and i’ll die on my ot7 bullshit.) like don’t get me started on them either LOL i LITERALLY downloaded that one insta video of changkyun working out his back n arm muscles w his tattoo showing bc i needed that shit saved for Science. they could do Anything w me like frfr. yes vixx is the bdsm contract group i’m telling ya they wildin. or at least they were. it’s been years since their last comeback idk what they’re doing anymore tbh. and yeah that makes sense, savouring the hyperfixation i feel it, but also i’m so attached to skz that i never let it die. like i hyperfixate on other things and other groups but i will Always go back to skz cause they’re my homeboys. hell, they’re my home. being a predebut stay i’ve spent more time w skz than most of my actual family members at this point. but that’s just me you do u boo xx just know that if ur anything like me ur never letting go once skz it’s been my longest lasting fixation cause they hit like Nothing Else Do. ik i’ve already said that but i cannot stress it enough. they’re really special. i’m gonna stop here before i get all sappy and emotional bc i really love those boys so fucking much and i don’t drop the L bomb often. SIDE NOTE I WOULD LIKE TO SEE UR LIST OF GROUPS RANKED BY THORSt. i need to judge ur Taste. and omg cat&dog is such a guilty pleasure song bc the lyrics make me cringe so much bc while pet play can be fun they be doing it in more of an “i’m an innocent soft dogboy uwu” kinda way that just Does Not Sit Right with me. it comes back to the objectifying of asians that asians themselves don’t help in industries like these and maybe i’m looking too far into it when rly it is just wholesome n cute or maybe they are into some pet play shit idk idc i will bop to the song regardless but i will not acknowledge the lyrics nope.

YOURE RIGHT THO SKZ’S OPENNESS IS IN FACT, A BIG DEAL, i’ll grab them for u if u want but i found these twt threads of skz supporting the lgbt community and i just felt a special kind of happiness man like sure the delusional part of me likes going “haha they’re gay” bc my brain likes to imagine them as my polycule of mlm boyfriends bc sometimes thats what gives me the serotonin to get me thru the day ok don’t judge but also bc it’s nice knowing that yes i’ll never know them personally, but at least i can support them knowing they’d respect my gender identity and my pronouns, they’d respect who i choose to love, and that’s already more than the general public can say so shit, it is special! it’s special that they don’t treat being cishet like the norm - they constantly remove gender from their songs and speech entirely, they don’t assume all stays are female anymore, we don’t talk abt the babygirls incident cause we got babystays in the end outta that ok, and it’s just. so refreshing and important to me bc i can’t get that anywhere else!! like my semi ults are the boyz and while i love them very much and there’s no way all 11 of them are straight i refuse, i do get just a little bit sad whenever they she/her their fandom by default and call them their girlfriends n shit even tho i do still identify as a girl, i’m also genderfluid/nonbinary/transmasc, and i have a very love/hate relationship w my womanhood and rarely use she/her pronouns, cause it’s like, do you not see me? see us? the ones who aren’t cishet women? i mean i know kevin does bc he congratulated a fan who came out as nb but it’s just not the same as the openness we get w skz. like how do i trust cishets i could be supporting them as a queer person when in reality they’d call me a slur. what would i know, behind the screen? so it’s so good that skz go the extra mile to make it a safe space for everyone. this is already long enough i will reply to the second half of that ask in another message… tomorrow cause it’s 1am and i’m tired gn -felix bi anon

I'mma have to start putting these under a readmore so that i don't absolutely make everything who is still following me for some reason go totally fucking insane 😂

NDJDHWJJAHFNAKBSJSBFBHHDBDNAJD YOU HAVE NO IDEA THE FACES I WAS MAKING READING THIS, I WAS FUCKING CACKLING AND GASPING EVERY OTHER SENTENCE SO HARD THAT I SCARED THE CATS NDJWHSHSB the fact that you went "oh you want me to get into kpop? Give me a hot minute, and I'll give you a whole ass private concert for free" biduehsjdbd biiiiiiiiiiitch you're a fucking ICON, I stg I could NEVER 😂 (and not just because I couldn't find a tune if you gave me a printed set of Google maps directions and that I embody the steriotype that white people can't dance, like my sister kept sensing me tiktoks of the whole "dance like a white girl" trend going lmfao look it's you and eventually I was like "sis please this trend has me feeling like being white is a disability and these mothafuckers are being ableist 😭 also I could NEVER be that on beat so yall ain't even doin it right 😭😭😭😭"). Tbh if I told one of my friends (lol what friends, i got jokes) to get into Skz and they showed up at my bday and performed the entirety of I Got It I would simply shower them in money and go "aight everyone else go home, you are no longer needed, you are being laid off, your position has been eliminated, we're downsizing, the company is moving up and you're moving out, you are not qualified for this role any longer, best of luck with future endeavors" 😊

I think part of the reason I can't deal w Twitter is the exact reason I refuse to leave tumblr, in that I've been on tumblr since 2006 and twt since 2008, and tumblr literally has not changed at all, not even a little, whereas going from the early days of twt where there were no corporate sponsorships or ads and you had to manually copy and paste someone's tweet and @ them to retweet it, to how it is now, like 90% ads and showing me shit from the timelines of people I don't even fuckin follow n whatnot, it's just not enjoyable. Idk how anyone finds anything on twt, it confuses and frustrates me because I am old and have not adapted well to technology changing 😂 But arguably, the skz fanbase doesn't want me on skztwt anyways so like it works for both of us lmfaooo. I am old and cringey, and also still think of twt as stream of consciousness whereas tumblr is your teenage bedroom where you can decorate the walls with anything that interests you. I do really love the nonsensical kpoptwt shitposts tho fhshsbdjjss like it is a very specific flavor of mental instability that I enjoy immensely 😂 OH and also I initially misread part of that and thought you were saying you actually irl do meth and I was like 😳 WHAT DO I SAY TO THAT. HOW DO I HANDLE THIS. Like how do I express like "I wasn't being judgy of people who use substances cause I've been there but I was just being insensitive 😳" And then went back and reread it and was like WHEW, IM JUST AN ILLITERATE FOOL 😂😂😂😂 ejeywhdhrhjwbfbdjshdhdhd I spent like an hour bwign like "IS THE REASON WE GET ALONG BECAUSE THEY'RE ON METH???? WHAT DO I DO WITH THIS INFORMATION??????" hrhehshe I am literally a fuckin idiot it's fine

It's not that I don't fw them, it's more like... Okay so like there is no situation in which I am going to skip a skz song if it comes on shuffle. You will not ever catch me NOT in the mood to listen to Sunshine, if God's Menu comes on we are THROWIN the meager amount of booty meat I got hither and thither, I could be in the happiest mood of my life but if Ex comes on I will stop to SOB. And I'm not like that with most music, so mx just falls into the category of "there is a time and place." Idk why but it just doesn't forcibly grab hold of my heart and ass the way skz always does. I really don't WANT my skz fixation to ever end, but I know that eventually it'll stop giving me dopamine bevause my brain is my worst fucking enemy 🙃 like my arcana fixation is to date the longest running hyperfixation I've ever had, going on almost three years, and I used to not be able to spend every single second of every day thinking about Asra, but now... I just feel nothing when I look at arcana stuff. As you can probz tell by the fact that I hardly post arcana anymore 😂 So I know that eventually all my happiness will end, it always does, I can never stay just as obsessed with something as I was for long. I CANT SHARE THE LIST BECAUSE I DONT *HAVE* TASTE YET 😭 I'm basically just compiling a list of any group someone tells me I should look into, ranked by how strong the kitty purred upon googling pics of them 😂 My mom read my ass to FILTH over txt lmfao she was like "they're not that adorable. Maybe your standard for adorableness has gone down with You Know Who still on hiatus 🤔" bfjwhdhd like MOMMAAAAA THE LIBRARY IS CLOSED 😂 she attacks me any time I even hint at stanning other groups, she is a skz purist and stans skz only, unofficial Momma Stay of All Stays keeping me in check lmfao.

I feel like skz really do follow thru on their promise that they're a safe space for stays, it's nice to see that they hold space for anyone and everyone in their fanbase and do it in a really simple and elegant way, I feel. Like they never make it seem like "okay here are the fans and here are the token weirdos that were only recognizing to make a buck off of them" the way a lot of artists make it feel like 😑 like they don't go out of their way to act like it's some revolutionary act to do the bare minimum of not shitting on certain parts of the fandom, if that makes sense. They feel very "yeah, of course we love all our stays, this is a welcoming space for literally anyone, that's how it should be, that should be normal," instead of like "Hi fans we love you 😊 and special shoutout to you ell gee bee tee folk, make sure to buy my rainbow merch after the show!!!" you know? Like, they're the friends who would never make you feel weird or different for some shit, the friends that take the attention off you if something they know ur sensitive about comes up, instead of weirdly snapping at whoever brought the unfomfy thing up which ruins the mood and makes you feel tiwce as bad, yk? They just give off this vibe that they, and the space they create with their music, is just a genuine and chill place to be and hang out and relax and bond. I feel like they'd be the friend group that is so goofy and sweet and silly and accepting and lovely and always makes you feel loved and excited to be alive 🥺 They are all good noodles 🥺🥺🥺

#felix-bi-anon #asksteppie

[notaspywrites]

Don’t Tell Me - part one

After a series of suspected terrorist attacks rocks Berlin, Team Black is called in to find the culprits and stop the attacks before they get any worse. However, the enemy is closer than they think and with tensions on the team running higher than ever, it’ll be a race against the clock (and against basic human emotions) to save the day and keep the team intact. 

Warnings: mentions of terrorism, depictions of violence, mentions of bombs, explosions, guns, smoking, swearing and descriptions of panic and anxiety attacks. 

Word count for part one: 9,966

Author’s note: Hello and welcome! This is my very first time on Tumblr so please bear with me as I figure this out. This is part one of a several part series, so stay tuned for updates! Part two hopefully coming same time next week. Also, thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoy! - not-a-spy

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nils Karlessen chewed on his bottom lip, drumming his fingers anxiously on his desk. The line was still dead, five agents all not responding. Behind him, Henry Chalice paced, twisting his hands incessantly. The room wasn’t big enough for him to get more than a few steps before he had to turn around and start again. Nils ignored him, staring at his screens. After the explosion his GPS reading had been scrambled so he had no way of tracking any of them. 

“Vicky? Maurice? Come in please.” Nils tried again, struggling to keep his voice even. The radio signals must have been disrupted somehow; they’d be back in a moment. 

“Nothing?” Chalice stopped pacing, running his fingers through his dyed grey hair. 

“Not yet. Chalice don’t panic, let the dust settle first. They’ll respond in a minute.”

“We should be over there!” Chalice’s voice shook with the emotions he had been trying to control. 

“No. We can do more here than we can out there. They’re all trained agents, they know what they’re doing. Just give them a minute.”

“I don’t see how you can be so calm!” Chalice said, passing his hands over his face. He was shaking.

Nils frowned sympathetically, spinning around to face him and wincing as his foot was squished into his desk. He sat up straighter, pushing his headphones off of his ears. “Because I’ve done this before. You can’t always think of the worst case scenario. They’ll be back. Sometimes the radios go down but they’ll be back.”

“Nils! Do you copy?” 

As if to prove his point, a faint voice crackled from his headphones. He spun around, whipping them back on as he did so.

“Adalie? Where are you?” 

“We’re,” she panted for breath, “we’re on Zimmerstraße, right outside the English school.”

“We? Adalie, who’s we?” Nils asked, holding his palm out to stop Chalice from talking. Chalice wrung his hands desperately.

“Cipriana’s with me. We’re both safe.” Adalie paused again. “She lost her earpiece, that’s why she couldn’t call you.”

“Good. That’s excellent. You girls get back to the cars and head towards base. Have you seen Vicky and the boys?”

“No. No, sorry Nils, we haven’t seen anyone. We’ll see you soon, depending how bad the traffic is.” The headphones went dead again and Nils shoved them off, spinning back around with a grin on his face.

“The girls are okay! They’re headed back to the cars, they’ll probably be here within the hour. But we still haven’t heard from the boys or Vicky.”

Chalice covered his mouth with his hands. He looked as if he was about to throw up. Nils reached out and took his wrist gently. 

“I’ll call them again, okay?”

Chalice nodded. 

“Maurice, Vicky, come in please. Owens, come in please. If you can hear me, come in please.” Nils paused, waiting for a reply. The silence hovered. 

His extension rang and Chalice jumped violently.

“Nils Karlessen, Interpol.” He listened intently, switching to German to reply to the paramedic on the other end. He frowned, then spoke again, his voice hard. 

Chalice looked at him, his eyes demanding answers but Nils shook his head. He knew what Chalice wanted to hear. 

Nils signed off sharply and then called again. “Maurice, come in.”

“Nils.” The voice was strangled and tense. “Vicky’s hurt. I’ve called for a med team.”

“I know. They just called me. Are you okay?”

“Sure. Vicky’s unconscious, I, I don’t, I don’t know if she’s breathing, Nils, I…”

“Okay, alright, Maurice I’m gonna need you to calm down, okay, take a deep breath and sit down. The med team is on their way, I just need you to hold on until they get there.”

“Vicky’s unconscious, Nils, I…”

“Maurice, I need you to take a deep breath, okay, the med team will be there in a sec. Sit down and take a deep breath before you go into shock, okay. You’ll be fine.”

On the other end of the line, Maurice took a deep shaky breath.

“Hang on Maurice, I’m getting another call. It’s probably the med team. I’m gonna have to put you on hold for a sec but I’ll be right back.” Nils said, his finger hovering over the transfer call button.

“Okay.”

Nils nodded involuntarily and pressed the transfer call button. He opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by the German voice on the other end. He listened intently for a second and nodded again before barking a few quick words and hanging up. 

Chalice frowned, moving to perch on the desk next to Nils’ makeshift computer set-up. 

“Maurice? The med team is right there, okay, they’ll take care of things from here.”

“Yeah...yeah, I see them. Thanks Nils.”

“No problem buddy, you take care of yourself. One last thing, you haven’t seen Owens, have you?”

“Uhh, no. What about the girls?”

“They’re fine, they’re headed back to base now. Thanks Maurice. We’ll see you later.” Nils signed off, pushing his headphones off of his ears and stared blankly at his screens. Four out of five agents were now all accounted for, but he had received nothing but radio silence from Owens and he was starting to get worried. There was no doubt that he was an excellent agent. If it were anyone else out there on their own, Nils would certainly be in a state of much greater panic, but if Owens had been capable of checking in, he would have. 

“Is Maurice alright?” Chalice asked. 

“Debatable. He’s shaken, maybe concussed even. Vicky’s unconscious but the med team should be there by now, so hopefully they’re on their way to the hospital. I’ll call in later and make sure she’s okay.” Nils turned to face him as he spoke. He knew exactly what was coming.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Chalice’s voice was controlled and even, but Nils could hear the emotion wavering at the edge of it.

“We don’t know that.”

“That’s not a no.” Chalice said, his voice hard.

“But it’s not a yes either. I have faith in him, Chalice. I’m sure he made it out of there okay.”

“But then why hasn’t he reported in yet?” Chalice demanded, pushing himself off of Nils’ desk and beginning to pace the room again.

“Adalie said that Cipriana had lost her earpiece. Maybe that’s what happened to Owens. It’s entirely possible,” Nils paused to fix his hair and was about to continue when the door to the office was thrown open and a young detective stormed in. 

“Can you tell me what the fuck is going on?” His english was heavily accented but clear. Nils glared at him. He continued, “There has been an explosion and countless tourists may be dead. I thought it was your job to stop this.”

“There was no indication that there would be a bombing. Up until today, all these attacks have been shootings, you know that as well as I do.” Nils snapped, any hint of sympathy vanished from his face. “And I’ll have you know that two of my agents are injured and another is missing so if you don’t mind, I’ll do my job and you can go do yours.”

Nils turned abruptly back towards his computer, leaving the detective fuming in the doorway. He stood there for several moments before turning and slamming the door closed behind him.

*****

Owens watched the man standing on the other side of the road.

Something was off about him, something that made it so he didn’t quite blend in with the crush of tourists surrounding him. He was average-looking, average height with blond hair and wearing a grey hoodie, but his movements had a furtive quality that Owens recognized immediately. 

That was how you moved when you knew someone was watching you. He tried to look nonchalant, leaning casually back against the wall of the building and pulling out his phone to disguise his earpiece.

“Vicky, I’ve got a suspicious man across the street from me, wearing a grey hoodie and black jeans.”

“Right.” She paused for a second. “Okay I got him. Why’s he suspicious to you?”

“He looks shifty, like he’s afraid of being watched. And he’s got both hands in his pockets, which is never a good sign.”

“Right. Has he seen you?”

“No ma’am. Do you want me to keep an eye on him?” Owens asked, shifting his position against the wall as the man in the hoodie took a few steps down the street.

“Yes, please do. I trust your instinct. Keep me updated Owens.” Vicky signed off and Owens slipped his phone back into his pocket.

The man in the hoodie started to move suddenly, walking with small, quick steps away from the checkpoint down Friedrichstraße. Owens followed, a few steps behind on the opposite side of the road, his eyes fixed on the man’s retreating back. 

“Vicky, he’s on the move. He is walking north down Friedrichstraße. I’m going to follow him.”

“Good. Stay safe.” 

The man in the hoodie picked up his pace, glancing furtively around him but not seeing Owens on the street behind him. Owens frowned. This team’s MO so far was shootings, driving into heavily trafficked areas and letting loose with a machine gun. This wasn’t matching up to that. Seeing a break in the traffic, Owens ran across the street, falling into step several paces behind the man. 

“Vicky.” Owens paused, turning to stare into a shop window as the man turned around in his direction. As he did, the man pulled out a cellphone. “They’ve got a bomb!” 

Owens broke into a sprint, dodging through the tourists as the man pressed a button on his phone.

*****

“They’ve got a bomb!” Owens’ voice had lost its emotionless quality and was suddenly frantic. 

“What?” Vicky demanded, causing Maurice to look at her in concern. “Owens what do you mean?”

The street exploded. A wave of unbearable heat swept over them, followed immediately by a wall of flame. Vicky dropped to the ground, dragging Maurice down by his sleeve, hitting the pavement as the shrapnel rained down over them. A large piece of wood hit Vicky over the head and she pitched forward onto the ground. Somewhere behind them, someone screamed, people running haphazardly in every which way around them. Maurice stayed where he was on the ground as destruction rained down around him, trying desperately to keep his breathing even. A second explosion shook the street and Maurice covered his head with his arms, doing his best to sink into the sidewalk. Vicky was still motionless on the ground next to him and from where he was he couldn’t even tell if she was breathing. The explosions seemed to have stopped and Maurice raised his head. People were still running around uselessly, screaming ringing over the street. Maurice clambered gingerly onto his knees, glancing around for any other members of the team. From where he was on the ground, he couldn’t see anyone other than Vicky. He crawled over to her, rolling her over to check her pulse when the museum exploded. Maurice was thrown flat from the blast, broken glass and building fragments showering down over him. He pressed himself further into the ground, feeling himself beginning to hyperventilate. He took a deep breath, clamping his hands tighter over the back of his head. The sharpnel kept coming this time, flaming pieces of building landing around him. After several more minutes of incessant shrapnel, the flaming rain stopped. He lay still, trying to keep his breath even. He kept his eyes to the earth until he felt that several minutes of silence had passed before daring to look up again. This time the street was silent and motionless, no one daring to breathe in the silence that followed the attacks. Eventually, he crawled over to where Vicky was lying. Through the dust and confusion he couldn’t tell if she was breathing or not. The only course of action would be to call a med team. 

The call was long and arduous, Maurice’s German inadequate to properly express himself amid the emotions running rampant inside him.

Eventually he got through to them and managed to explain what he needed and they told him they’d be there soon. Not that he really knew what ‘soon’ meant. He lay on the pavement, still stunned by the explosion. People had started to run around again, yelling. His head ached with the screaming and he reached up to massage his temples. As he sat there, he heard an echoey voice in his ear. At first he assumed it was just another part of the rabble going on around him but then he recognized who was speaking.

“Maurice, come in.”

“Nils.” Maurice managed to choke out the name, taking a deep breath before trying to continue. “Vicky’s hurt. I’ve called for a med team.”

“I know.” Nils’ voice was calm and reassuring, giving Maurice a chance to catch his breath. “They just called me. Are you okay?” 

He ran his fingers through his tangled hair. “Sure. Vicky’s unconscious, I, I don’t know if she’s breathing, Nils, I…”

He trailed off, trying very hard not to burst into tears. He was a trained agent, his head shouldn’t feel this muddled.

“Okay, alright, Maurice I’m gonna need you to calm down, okay, take a deep breath and sit down. The med team is on their way, I just need you to hold on until they get there.”

“Vicky’s unconscious, Nils, I…” Maurice tried to explain, to make sense of what was happening but his thoughts were disordered and he trailed off again.”

“Maurice, I need you to take a deep breath, okay, the med team will be there in a sec. Sit down and take a deep breath before you go into shock, okay. You’ll be fine.”

Maurice nodded for no reason in particular, taking a deep shaky breath as he did so. 

“Hang on Maurice, I’m getting another call. It’s probably the med team. I’m gonna have to put you on hold for a sec but I’ll be right back.” 

Maurice wanted to ask him not to leave but he forced himself to stay calm. “Okay.”

For a few moments the line was silent. Maurice looked over at Vicky, still lying on the pavement and his heart started to pound again. 

“Maurice?” Nils’ voice cut back into his thoughts. “The med team is right there, okay, they’ll take care of things from here.”

Maurice glanced up and caught sight of an ambulance coming towards him. “Yeah...yeah, I see them. Thanks Nils.”

“No problem buddy, you take care of yourself. One last thing, you haven’t seen Owens have you?”

Maurice frowned, trying to think of the last time he’d seen Owens. “Uhh, no. What about the girls?”

“They’re fine, they’re headed back to base now. Thanks Maurice. We’ll see you later.” Nils signed off abruptly and Maurice struggled to his feet to meet the med team. 

*****

“Why have they changed their MO?” Cipriana asked, her feet resting on the dashboard of Adalie’s car. “They’ve suddenly graduated from driving in and letting loose with machine guns to sophisticated bombs in two seperate buildings which are set to explode minutes apart. How does that happen?”

Adalie sighed. “I have no idea. Maybe it’s someone else and we’re looking at two different perps.”

“I don’t think so. It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t make sense either way actually, because why change MO so suddenly and seemingly without provocation? I mean, we knew they’d be at Checkpoint Charlie but they can’t have known that. There’s no way.”

“Well, I think we have to assume that they did know, if they are in fact the same people. And if they did, then they probably planted those bombs to try and kill us off.”

Cipriana frowned. “And maybe it worked, for one of us anyways.”

“You think Owens is dead?” Adalie asked.

“Well, what else could have happened? I mean, I know none of us know him very well but he’s a bloody competent agent, if he was capable of checking in he would have.” Cipriana said, waving her hand out of the open window. 

“Suppose that they did know we were coming. There would have had to be a leak somewhere on our end to inform them that we would be there, right? And all of us have checked in, and besides, we’ve known each other for ages. So it would only be logical to assume that the newest member, and coincidentally the only one who’s missing, is the mole.”

“There could be a reasonable explanation. Maybe he lost his earpiece. Or maybe they caught him somehow. And as for the mole theory, we are collaborating with the police. One of them could have leaked it.”

“Hmmm.” Adalie glared out the windscreen at nothing in particular. “I guess you could have a point.”

“Or it could be Chalice!” Cipriana said. “He could be calling the shots from behind the scenes, and what a great way of assuring you aren’t caught in the explosion!”

“I don’t know. I rather like Chalice, which doesn’t exonerate him, but makes me less inclined to believe it's him.”

“It's a good cover! But I agree, I don’t really think it's Chalice either. Not that I think it's Owens, for that matter.”

“You always want to see the best in people, don’t you?”

“What’s wrong with that? We couldn’t have two pessimists on this team, always thinking there’s a mole somewhere.” Cipriana laughed and took a sip of her iced coffee. 

“Do you know why Owens left MI-6?”

“Of course not! Only Nils knows that shit about us.”

Adalie shuddered. “Yeah I hate to think what he could dig up on us. But there are other ways of obtaining information. I know some of the girls over there and there was a massive scandal a few years back, in 2015, I believe, and he was suspected of selling names. Well, he disappeared for a few years, supposedly dead and then turned up again in 2018.”

Cipriana raised her eyebrows at her. “2015? Wasn’t that the year MI-6 tried to pull off that WBFC takedown?”

“Yeah. Owens was one of the agents involved.”

“But they caught the mole! It wasn’t Owens, it was some other dude.”

“I know. But there was always a theory that there were two moles. Owens did go back to work for MI-6 for a while after he returned from the ‘dead’ but he quit not long after and came to work here.”

“That’s terribly anti-climactic! I thought you were going to tell me they kicked him out or something.” Cipriana said. 

“Well that’s just the official version. We don’t actually know what happened.” Adalie added pointedly.

“You should quit Interpol. I’m sure you could make an absolute killing as a conspiracy theorist.” Cipriana smirked. 

Adalie wacked her in the shoulder and Cipriana made a face. 

“Hey!”

“I don’t know about Owens, Cipriana. He’s a bloody good agent, but I'm not sure about him.”

“He’s just shy! That doesn’t mean that he’s a traitor. I can’t believe he’d sell us out. I mean, why would he? I can’t believe he’s the kind of guy who would put people in danger for money. It’s ridiculous.” 

“Maybe it is. But maybe not.”

*****

“Is he still not answering?” Chalice demanded, handing Nils a large iced coffee as he slammed back into the office. 

Nils shook his head. “I’ve been trying every five minutes and I’ve still got nothing. The earpiece is either dead or it's fallen out and gotten destroyed, otherwise I’d be getting some kind of feedback.”

“Fuck.”

“But that means there’s a good chance he’s still alive. For now, we need to worry about something else. Why did they change from shooting to bombing?”

“They knew we were coming and had a higher chance of killing some of us with a bomb.” Chalice said, regaining some kind of composure. “If they had stayed with the shooting it would have been much easier for us to catch them.”

“Good point. But who tipped them off?” Nils mused, his fingers flying over his keyboard.

“What are you looking at?” Chalice asked, setting down his own coffee and leaning over the back of Nils’ chair.

“The records of all the police officers involved in our investigation. Oh!” Nils’ fingers stopped, hovering just above his keyboard.

“What is it?”

“This dude, Eberhard Seidel, his files are locked. I’m not allowed entry.”

“But you’re going to get in anyways?”

“You bet your ass I am.” Nils smirked, his fingers resuming their dance over his keyboard. 

Chalice perched himself on the empty desk next to Nils and drank his coffee while he watched Nils work. It was impressive, the amount of information he could get out of five minutes of sitting at his computer. 

“That’s interesting.” Nils said, frowning at his screen, his fingers still flying over the keys. 

“What is?”

“His files are classified by the BND. Which isn’t an issue, but is intriguing.”

“German secret service?” Chalice paused, taking another sip of his coffee. “Is he one of their agents, d’you think?”

“That’s a more pleasant thought than the idea that there’s a suspected terrorist in the German police force.”

“Can you get through the BND security?”

“Is water wet?” Nils asked, not glancing away from his screens. “I just need a minute to crack it.”

Chalice cracked a smile for the first time since the bombs had gone off. If anyone could hack the German secret service, it would be Nils. There was a rumour that the reason he had been hired was because he’d hacked the Interpol server at age 16. Chalice wasn’t sure if it was true, but he didn’t doubt that it could be. 

“Okay! I have bad news. Our man Eberhard was arrested on terrorism charges when he was a minor, which explains why it doesn’t show on his record.”

“So the police have a possible terrorist on their staff? Absolutely fucking wonderful.”

“It gets worse! He’s not just any police officer.”

“Oh don’t tell me.” Chalice groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“He just so happens to be the son of the Chief Constable.”

“Somehow that’s worse than I thought. Fuck, this is a mess and a half.”

“Agreed.” Nils said. “There’s nothing in here about what his motives were, unfortunately. I’m not seeing anything about links to known terrorist organizations or anything like that.”

“I guess we’ll have to figure that out, won’t we?” Chalice asked. 

Nils smirked. “I suppose we will. More importantly, we need to figure out where they’re going to strike next. Major events going on in Berlin, protests, government shit, stuff like that. Where will have the highest body count? We know they’ve graduated to bombs now so we can’t assume that they’ll go back from that, so it could be a...a...function or a…”

“A ball, perhaps?”

Nils spun around violently, jamming his feet on the floor to stop himself from flying back into his desk. “A ball?”

“Yeah. Some fancy dress ball, I think it's a political fundraiser of some kind.” Chalice said. “I keep seeing posters for it.”

“Chalice you are a genius.” Nils said, spinning back around in his chair and resuming his furious typing. “This Saturday. Hotel Adlon Kempinski Berlin. That’s not in the center of town but its five-star and bloody expensive. And based on the guestlist, it's gonna be packed, full of big names too.”

“My supposed genius doesn’t help us much if we have two agents in hospital and one MIA. This thing’s gonna be huge. The four of us can’t handle it ourselves, there’s no way.”

“We can try! Maurice should be out of hospital by then, and hopefully we’ll have found Owens, so we should just be down Vicky and if not I have some favours I could call in, which would mean someone could take over this job and I could be in the field with the other guys.”

“You have field training?”

“Naturally. And I can shoot.”

“That’s not fair! I’m still waiting to take my field training course and I can’t shoot.”     

Nils laughed. "Oh I know it'll work out in the end. Besides, you don't need field training to help save the world! You really want to run around out there with those guys?"

"You know I do.”

“Because you think you’ll be able to keep a closer eye on him if you’re out there too, is that it?” Nils turned to face him, twirling his pen expectantly between his fingers. Chalice stared at him defiantly.

“Of course not. He can look after himself.”

“Which is why you’re so worried?”

“Well he can’t very well look after himself if he’s dead.” Chalice snapped, jumping off of Nils’ desk and beginning to pace again. Nils rolled his eyes.

“You shouldn’t worry about him so much. He can handle himself.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Chalice demanded, not stopping his pacing. “I...I just worry about him. He’s not how he used to be back in MI-6.”

Nils frowned sympathetically. “Chalice, I know both of you went through some shit, but seriously, he can handle himself. Nothing good comes from worrying about him. It’s pointless, it just stresses you out.”

“You’re telling me you don’t worry about Nikki?”

Nils sighed. “That’s different and you know it. As it stands right now, you’re just friends and it’s going to stay that way unless you do something about it.”

He turned back to his screens, pushing a button on his headphones as he did so.

“Owens, it’s Nils. Come in please.”

There was silence. No static, or faint heartbeats, or background noise. Just pure silence.

“The earpiece is dead or destroyed. Meaning it's likely that it isn’t attached to him anymore, so his chances are pretty good. I’ll call his work cell, maybe he’ll pick up on that number. Gimme a sec.” 

Chalice waited impatiently, wringing his hands and trying to suppress the urge to start pacing again. Nils watched him in the reflection of his computer screens as Owens’ phone kept ringing. 

It stopped with an automated voice telling him he’d reached Theodore Owens but he wasn’t available right now. There was no personal message, which was pretty standard for agents. Nils didn’t bother leaving a message.

“No reply I’m afraid. The emergency crews are moving in now so if he’s there, they’ll find him. I promise.” 

Chalice opened his mouth to protest but thought better of it. There was nothing he could say now that he hadn’t said before. Nils was probably right, Owens was probably alive somewhere running after the guys who had caused this mess in the first place. 

*****

The second Owens started running, the street exploded behind him. The ground shook, pieces of rubble flying past his head, but he managed to keep his balance and kept sprinting. The man in the hoodie had seen him by now and took off running, throwing the detonator into the street as he ran. Around them people screamed, some running in every direction, others just standing still. The man in the hoodie dodged through them recklessly, shoving people aside when they didn’t move out of his way. Owens followed, gaining on him quickly, his right hand reaching back for his gun. The man in the hoodie noticed the movement and dodged down an alleyway, Owens’ feet nearly sliding out from under him as he followed. 

“Stop!” Owens yelled, flicking off his gun’s safety. The man didn’t so much as slow down, yelling something in German over his shoulder. Owens didn’t understand, but didn’t like the sound of it anyways. He took the risk of glancing over his shoulder, doing so just in time to see a woman barreling at him from behind. He dodged sideways, firing his gun at her as he did so. He missed. She didn’t, careening into him at full speed and throwing him against the wall as the man in the hoodie switched directions and began walking towards them. 

Owens shoved her off of him and she stumbled backwards, cursing at him in German. Owens leveled his gun at her but the man slammed into him from behind and he went down hard. The gun flew from his hand, skittering across the ground. He rolled over, reaching for it but the woman kicked it away, leaving him completely unarmed. He struggled onto his elbows, making to get up but the man aimed a sharp kick at his face and he fell back to the ground, momentarily disoriented. 

“Who is he?” A third figure demanded, emerging from the shadows behind the man. 

Owens sat up with difficulty, his head spinning from the blow. The woman made a move to shove him back down again but was stopped at a sign from the figure in the shadows. 

“We don’t know.” She responded curtly. 

“He followed me from the checkpoint. We do not know who he is.”

The figure stepped into the light and Owens’ heart dropped. It was Eberhard Seidel. He was one of the police officers that they had been working with, but Owens suspected he wasn’t there on police business. 

“Ah. Agent Owens, is it not?” Eberhard said, looking at him for a moment before turning to the man. “Shoot him.”

“You’re in trouble Seidel.” Owens rasped, his hand clutching at the stone wall as he attempted to stand up. Blood poured from his nose and the world spun around him as he hoisted himself to his feet. For a moment he thought he was about to faint but the shadows retreated from the edges of his vision.

“I do not think so.” He smiled, throwing his arms wide. “Only you have seen me, and you will be dead soon.”

“My team is smarter than you think.” Owens said as Eberhard turned and began walking away. 

“My records are sealed!” He crowed triumphantly over his shoulder. Despite the pain, Owens managed a smirk.

“Have you met our tech analyst? He can get into anything.”

When I said ‘shoot him’ I meant now!” Eberhard yelled at the man in the hoodie. The man grimaced and went for his gun. Owens lunged for him, sending him flying backwards into the other wall of the alley. He fell to the ground and Owens was about to run for it when he heard the safety of a gun click right behind his head. He had forgotten about the woman.

*****

“How you doin’ buddy?” Chalice asked, standing in the doorway of Maurice’s hospital room. 

“Fine. I’d be a lot better if they’d let me out of here. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

Chalice grinned, moving into the room and sitting down in the chair next to Maurice’s bed. “I wasn’t aware you were a doctor in your free time.”

“I don’t need to be a doctor to know that I’m perfectly fine.” Maurice shot back, sitting up in the hospital bed. 

“They’re just worried that you’re in shock. That was one hell of an explosion Maurice, I was rather worried about you myself.”

“I’m honoured. How are the girls?”

“Adalie and Cipriana were on their way back to base the last time I heard. Vicky is awake now, they’re running some tests and they think she has a concussion but she’ll be okay.”

“That’s good.” Maurice said. “What about Owens? When I talked to Nils it sounded like you guys weren’t sure where he was.”

Chalice paused for a second, his eyes fixed intently on the ground. When he spoke again, his voice was measured and even, as if he was trying not to betray some intense emotion. “He still hasn’t checked in yet. You’re sure you didn’t see him before the explosion?”

Maurice frowned, trying to remember. “I didn’t see him but Vicky was talking to him right before the bomb went off. She...she seemed surprised about something and asked what he meant but then, it exploded.”

Chalice frowned. “You didn’t hear what he said?”

“No. It just wasn’t something she expected him to say.” Maurice watched Chalice’s face carefully. He was staring absently into the middle distance, his brow furrowed in concern. 

“Has Nils told you what we found out?” Chalice asked, snapping out of his reverie.

“Nope. I have heard nothing.”

“We think Eberhard Seidel is involved, that he’s feeding information to the group.”

“Eberhard Seidel, isn’t he the Chief Constable's son?”

“Uh huh. One and the same.”

“Shit. That’s not good.”

“No it most certainly is not. Nils managed to get into his files and found out that Seidel was connected to suspected terrorist activity when he was a minor. I guess his dad must have helped him cover it up and gotten him a job.” Chalice said.

“Christ.” Maurice passed a hand over his face. “What are we gonna do?”

“There’s a ball happening this Saturday that we think is gonna be their next target so we’re going to be there. And we’ll be prepared this time. Bring in the bomb squad, whatever it takes to catch these assholes.”

“Even down two agents? I mean, I’ll be there, for sure, but with Vicky concussed and Owens…” Maurice trailed off. Owens had to be dead, didn’t he? Well, there was of course another alternative, but there was no way he would ever voice it to Chalice.

Chalice swallowed hard. “We’ll manage. Nils said he’s got a few favours he can call in and, worst comes to worst, he can always join you guys in the field.”

“Yeah.” Maurice frowned. “Hey, are you alright? You don’t sound too hot.”

“I’m fine. I’m just a little worried about Owens.” Maurice opened his mouth to talk but Chalice cut him off. “And I know, I know, he can handle himself I just, I can’t help it.”

“I get that. And I know you don’t want to hear this, but I’m sure he’ll be fine. You MI-6 boys have a way of getting yourselves out of tricky situations.” Maurice laughed, then grimaced from the pain.

“I thought you said you were absolutely fine?” Chalice smiled. “You sure you’re gonna be okay for Saturday?”

“Yes, I’ll be fine.” Maurice said determinedly. “You guys are gonna need my help.”

“We need you alive for the long term and going into a dangerous situation while still in shock will not help that cause.”

“I’m not in shock!” Maurice protested loudly. “I’m fine!” 

Chalice laughed. “Sure you are. Anyways Maurice, I’ve got to get back to Nils but I’ll see you later. He’ll probably swing by and bring you a coffee or something.”

“Hopefully I’ll be out of here by then.”

“I know, I know, you’re fine. But look after yourself anyways. See ya.”

“See you!”

Chalice slipped quietly out of the room and down the hallway. Halfway down, he stopped and pulled out his phone. He shouldn’t. It could quite easily put Owens in more danger than he was probably already in. He knew better. He dialed anyways.

The phone rang for an excruciatingly long period of time and Chalice started to fidget. He wasn’t going to pick up and Chalice knew that. This had been a bad idea.

“This is not a good time.” Owens panted. He sounded terrible but he sounded alive and right now that was all that mattered. 

Chalice couldn’t talk for a few seconds, and when he regained his voice all he could manage was a weak laugh. “Really? I thought now was a perfect time for a quick chat.”

“Honestly Chalice,” Owens breathed heavily, “you’re terrible. And yes, I’m fine. Where are you?”

“At the hospital with Maurice. You need me to come pick you up?”

Owens managed a laugh. “You can’t drive. Get the police to come pick me up. But not Seidel!”

“Oh fuck you know about him too?”

“Yes. He just tried to shoot me.”

“Shit, Owens!”

“I’m fine! Just get the police to pick me up.” Owens stopped for breath. “I’m back in the police zone now so he can’t get me here. Just get someone to pick me up and I’ll see you later. Don’t worry.”

The line went dead and Chalice took a deep breath of relief. He was safe. And he was fine enough to crack jokes, which was a good sign. He caught himself smiling and stopped, shoving his hands into his pockets before walking out of the hospital to dial the police station.

*****

“Hey Nils!” Cipriana said cheerfully, waving at him through his office door. “How goes it?”

“Oh!” Nils spun around in his chair, his headphones falling off as he slammed to a stop. “Hey! I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

“She wanted to stop for more coffee but I wouldn’t let her.” Adalie said. “Where’s Chalice?”

Nils laughed. “Coffee deprivation is no joke. Chalice went to the hospital to check on Maurice and Vicky. He should be well on his way back by now.”

“Oh? How are they?” Cipriana asked.

“Uhhh, last I heard Maurice is sure that he’s fine and Vicky has a concussion but she should be okay.” Nils said. 

“That’s good!” Cipriana grinned. “Any word from Owens yet?”

“Hi.” 

Cipriana and Adalie wheeled round in astonishment, almost falling over as they spotted Owens standing in the doorway. He looked absolutely terrible, his face bloody and his hair matted, but he managed to have a slight smile on his face. Nils laughed. 

“Welcome back. Shouldn’t you be in hospital?”

Owens laughed. “I’m fine, it’s just a broken nose.”

“You sound like Maurice. I still want you checked for a concussion asap.” Nils paused for a second, staring at him intently. “Have you spoken to Chalice? He’s worried about you.”

“Yeah, he called me.”

“He what?” Adalie snapped. “That’s strictly against protocol.”

“Oh give him a break Adalie, the boy was worried.” Nils said.

“He could have put him in more danger!” Adalie spun to face Nils. “It’s reckless!”

“But he didn’t put me in danger.” Owens said patiently. “Yes, it was against protocol, but we’ve been through a lot in the past few years and it’s understandable that he got worried. Please, cut him some slack this time.”

Nils looked at the back of Owens’ head, his eyebrows raised. Adalie huffed. 

“Let it go!” Cipriana grinned, playfully punching her in the shoulder. Adalie frowned before nodding reluctantly.

“Fine. I’ll let it go.” She frowned, wondering if maybe Owens and Chalice were in this together. 

“Have you girls had the update yet?” Nils asked, quickly changing the subject.

“No, what update?” Cipriana asked.

Nils glanced around suspiciously and motioned for Owens to close the door. Owens did.

“So, Chalice and I were thinking after the explosion, and we decided that someone must have leaked information to the group.” Nils paused.

Adalie shot a pointed look at Owens, who didn’t notice. Cipriana did, however, and kicked her in the ankle.

“So, naturally,” Nils continued, “I did some digging into the police officers we’ve been working with and I got something.”

“Oh?” Cipirana asked.

“Eberhard Seidel’s files were locked, and by the BND no less.”

“Isn’t he the chief’s son?” Cipriana asked. “Why would his files be locked?”

“Well, it turns out he was arrested on terrorist charges when he was a minor. My guess is, dad sealed up his record for him so he could still get into the force.”

“Fuck.” said Adalie, agressively throwing her empty coffee cup into the garbage bin. “Where is he now?”

“Last seen a few blocks away from the scene of the explosion.” Owens said. “He tried to get his minions to shoot me. Needless to say, that plan didn’t quite pan out.”

Nils laughed, then his face turned serious again. “‘His minions?’ Owens, do you think he’s in charge of this?” 

“Almost certainly. The people he was with treated him with, I wouldn’t say respect exactly, it was like they were scared of him.”

“What do we do?” Cipriana asked. “Should we tell the chief? I mean, his son tried to shoot Owens.”

“No we can’t tell the chief yet.” Nils sighed. “And besides, he didn’t actually try and shoot Owens, he got someone else to do that. This guy is smart. No, I say we let him be for now. There’s a ball this Saturday, some sort of political fundraiser and we expect them to hit there next.”

“So what?” Adalie demanded. “We’re going to let them blow all those people up?”

“We set them up.” Owens said quietly. “We let Seidel think that we think that they’re going to hit somewhere else. If they think that they’re going to get away with it, they won’t expect us.”

“And they might slip up!” Cipriana added.

“Yeah.” Nils mused, starting to twirl his pen again. “But that means we won’t have any help with the take-down itself. It’ll be just our team. If we’re keeping this from Seidel, we’ll have to keep it from everyone so no one blabs.”

“Why don’t we contact the BND?” Owens asked. “There’s no way that we can take these guys out with just the six of us, assuming Maurice will be out of hospital by then.”

“Five.” Adalie corrected. “Chalice isn’t an agent.”

“You’re right, Owens. I’ll call the BND, I’ve got a few guys there who still owe me a favour.” Nils turned to Adalie. “Chalice can help me out in the van. Or we can send him in to relay information back to me. Don’t be so stuffy.”

She frowned, but didn’t say anything. 

“Okay! We’ll get started on figuring out a plan for Saturday. We’ll make sure not to let any of the police hear our plans.” Cipriana said cheerfully, putting her hand on the doorknob. 

“Sounds good, I’ll get on the phone.” Adalie, Cipriana and Owens made for the door but Nils stopped them. “Not you, Owens, you’re going to the hospital. I want you checked up.”

Owens sighed, leaning his head back against the doorframe. “I’m fine Nils, I’ve survived worse than a broken nose.”

“I don’t care.” Nils said, deliberately holding Owens’ gaze. “You could be concussed.”

“I can figure that out later rather than wasting valuable time hanging around at the hospital.” Owens said. 

Cipriana snorted with laughter, holding a hand over her mouth in a fruitless attempt to disguise it as a cough.

“Oh so you’re going to wait until you pass out? I don’t think so.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Do you have a headache?” Nils asked.

“Do I…” Owens paused, tilting his head to one side, “do I have a headache? Yes, of course I have a headache Nils, I was kicked in the face.”

Nils frowned. “Please look after yourself.”

Owens’ voice softened. “I will.”

“Fine.” Nils sighed in defeat. “I’ll see you later.”

Owens slipped quietly out of Nils’ office, closing the door gently behind him. His head was throbbing, and the panic he had been trying so hard to keep down was threatening to break free. As he headed towards the bathrooms, he still had blood covering his face from his broken nose, he stopped at Chalice’s desk. There was always a bottle of extra-strength Tylenol in his top drawer, even if they weren’t in their own office. He rifled through the drawer, finding the bottle easily and emptying three pills into the palm of his hand. He swallowed them quickly and moved to the bathroom to clean the blood off his face.

*****

“What do you mean ‘he got away?’” Seidel demanded, stomping out his cigarette angrily. “I told you to shoot him! Elske, now we are fucked! I told you to shoot the fucker for a reason, he knows who I am!” 

Chalice flattened himself back against the wall just out of Seidel’s view, his own cigarette dangling from his fingers. He couldn’t hear what the person on the other end of the phone said, but Seidel definetly wasn’t pleased.

“Of course we’re going ahead with it! They don’t know the plan yet and we’re going to make sure that they don’t find out.”

Chalice smirked, quickly glancing back towards the main doors before taking a drag of his cigarette. He wasn’t supposed to be smoking but he wasn’t going to let that stop him. 

“Yes, of course I’m going to try and mislead them. One of the dudes comes out here to smoke, I’ll feed him some bullshit story or other.”

There was a pause and Chalice took another quick drag.

“You better be fucking sorry! You fucked this up Elske and don’t think I’m going to forget that. The boss won’t be too pleased either.”

Chalice frowned. Who was the boss, he wondered. That was something that they hadn’t been able to work out from the beginning, who was behind this whole operation. They had assumed that it was Seidel but apparently that wasn’t the case. Seidel cursed something in German and hung up, stomping angrily around the small smoking area. Chalice waited. He didn’t want him to think that he had been listening this whole time. 

After a suitable amount of time had passed, Chalice slipped around the corner, cigarette between his lips, phone in hand. He didn’t talk, just leaning back against the wall nonchalantly. 

“Your team okay?” Seidel asked him.

Chalice glanced up. “Oh, uh, not really. Two are in hospital and last I heard one more was missing.” 

Chalice turned back to his phone, not wanting to initiate the conversation.

“Oh.” Seidel hasn’t been expecting that. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Chalice shrugged, not raising his eyes. His teammate was supposed to be missing, he wasn’t about to blow his cover by being too chatty. “Let’s hope he’s not dead.”

Seidel swallowed hard. “I’m sure he’s fine. What are your next steps?”

There it was. 

“We think they’re going to hit the big shopping mall next, probably this Thursday, since they’re hosting an event there.” 

It was a well-rehearsed lie, one that Nils had sent him on his way back from the hospital. He could have sworn he saw a smirk cross Seidel’s lips for a second before he pulled back on his mask. 

“Of course. We were warned that they might try a mall next.”

That was absolute bullshit and Chalice tried not to laugh. Did he really think he could fool the whole team? Him, sure, Chalice had been mistaken for an idiot enough times to know how to play the game, but Owens and Adalie were much too smart to be played. Surely Seidel must know that. 

“Yeah. It’s a pretty common target for terrorists.” Chalice put a little too much emphasis on the last word and watched Seidel squirm. “We’re going to brief your men later, three days isn’t a lot of time to get ready for something so big.” 

“Of course.” Seidel nodded.

Chalice stamped out his cigarette, glancing around furtively to make sure none of the team was watching. Seidel noticed.

“Are you not supposed to be smoking?” He asked, as they started back inside the building. 

“No I am not.” Chalice laughed. “I’d be grateful if you didn’t tell anyone.”

“Of course.” Seidel nodded.

They split directions as they re-entered the building, exchanging curt nods. Seidel seemed to think that they were friends, which was good. Seidel thought that he was playing Chalice, when it was actually the other way around. Chalice glanced around the area of the office that the team was occupying. Owens wasn’t around that he could see and he frowned. Where was he? He should have been back by now. Still frowning, he wandered into Nils’ office.

Nils looked up as he walked in. “Can you go check on your boy please? He went to the bathroom about 15 minutes ago and I’m a little worried.” 

“He’s back?” Chalice asked.

“Yeah. I think he might be concussed but he’s refusing to see a doctor.”

Chalice smiled sadly. “Yeah, that’s Owens for you. I’ll go make sure he’s okay.”

Chalice quietly pushed the door to the bathroom open. It wasn’t locked, which was a good sign, and Chalice slipped inside. Owens was on his elbows over the sink, his forehead leaning against the mirror. He looked terrible, his face covered in blood, his nose obviously broken. Chalice leant against the door, waiting for Owens to notice him. He didn’t, his breath coming in short pants and gasps. 

“You good?” Chalice asked quietly. 

Owens shook his head, forehead still resting against the mirror. “Just..just give me a second Chalice.”

“Okay. But I’m not going anywhere.” 

Owens didn’t protest. They had done this enough times before to know the routine. Chalice waited as Owens collected himself. He pulled himself up, turning around and sitting on the counter. He pushed his hair out of his eyes. 

“I…” Owens stopped. “I’m sorry. That encounter with Seidel shook me a little.”

“That’s understandable.” Chalice said, keeping his voice gentle. “I thought the attacks had stopped?”

Owens didn’t say anything, hanging his head. 

“Hey, it’s alright. I’d just like to know, that’s all. So I can help.” Chalice was struggling to keep his tone even now but he fought it.

“You worry too much.” Owens’ voice was barely a whisper and he refused to look Chalice in the eyes.

Chalice bit his lip to stop himself from saying something he was going to regret. He paused, unsure of how to proceed. 

“It’s for your own good.” Chalice said. His voice was still gentle but he spoke with renewed confidence, none of which he felt. “You need someone to look after you sometimes.” 

“Yeah.” Owens mumbled.

“Get yourself washed up.” Chalice said gently. “Nils is expecting you back. D’you want me to stay with you?”

Owens shook his head and turned back to the sink to wash his face.

“Okay. I’ll tell Nils you’re okay.”

Chalice slid quietly out of the bathroom. Owens wasn’t okay, not that he would ever admit that to anyone, but Chalice didn’t know how to help anymore. If Owens didn’t want his help, then there was nothing he could do. 

*****

“Is he okay?” Nils asked as Chalice walked into his office.

“He doesn’t seem to be concussed, if that’s what you’re asking.” Chalice sighed, sitting on the desk next to Nils and covering his face with his hands.

“Ah.”

“You know about the attacks?” Chalice asked, lowering his hands. 

“Yeah. He had to undergo a psych evaluation when he joined and he disclosed the attacks then. I asked him about them and he said he could handle it.” 

Chalice sighed. “Typical. He told me they had stopped.” 

“He's probably ashamed of it. You know him better than I do, Chalice, but I can tell that he's the kind of guy who would rather suffer in silence than admit he needs help. I wouldn't take it personally. ” 

He nodded. “I know. I just wish he could trust me.”

Nils sighed. “Give him some time. Anyways!” Nils clapped his hands together and stood up. “We need to brief our team before we speak to the police officers.”

“I spoke to Seidel earlier.” Chalice said, following Nils out of his office and towards the conference room where the remaining members of the team were. “I started feeding him that story you told me.”

Nils frowned at him. “I thought I smelled smoke on you. Good job with Seidel though.”

“Thank you. He thinks that we’re friends now, so he’s more willing to trust me. Oh, and Nils?” Chalice stopped just outside the conference room. “Please don’t tell Owens about the smoking.”

“No, I won’t.” Nils sighed, pushing the door open. 

Adalie, Cipriana, Maurice and Owens were sitting around a round table in the middle of the room. Nils looked at Owens as he walked in and mouthed the words “you okay?” Owens nodded unconvincingly. He still looked shaky and uncertain, his hair falling messily into his eyes. Nils wondered just how bad the attacks were. In all honesty, he should probably recommend that Owens undergo another psych evaluation, take him out of the field for a while before something went badly wrong, but he couldn’t help but think of that as a kind of betrayal. Nils sighed and walked into the room behind Chalice, closing the door after him.

“So,” Nils started, as everyone else sat down. “Despite the fact that we are currently down an agent, we’re moving ahead with plans to make our move on Saturday. Maurice, are you sure you’ll be good?”

“I’ll be fine!” Maurice said. “They discharged me after a few hours, Nils, there’s nothing wrong with me.” 

“Okay, fine, so you’ll be there for Saturday. Vicky has a concussion and certainly won’t be able to help us. I’ve called in some friends from the BND, I’m going over there later to debrief them before we talk to the police.”

“Will all of us be in the field?” Owens asked. He was pale, and his voice wavered, but no one except Nils and Chalice seemed to notice.

“Yup, everyone except me. I’ll be in the van, directing from behind the scenes as usual.” Nils said, meeting Adalie’s exasperated gaze.

“Really? You think that’s a good idea?”

“We need all the help we can get.” Owens replied quietly. Nils nodded.

“He’s right. It won’t be an issue.”

Adalie frowned, but didn’t say anything. 

“So,” Nils leant forward over the table, lowering his voice, “we all know about Seidel, correct?”

Everyone nodded, and Nils noticed that Owens’ hand instinctively went to his broken nose.

“Because of him, this stays between us. The official story is that we believe the group are going to attack the mall on Thursday. There will be an armed response and we’ll be there too, but when nothing happens we’ll say we were called back to London and gave up the case as a bad job, except me, of course, because I have to stay and look after Vicky.”

“Right!” said Cipriana. “And where are we going? Not back to London?”

Nils laughed. “Of course not. No, you’ll go to the airport, hang around for a few hours and then come back, all leaving at different times. You’ll be staying at various hotels around the city until Saturday.” 

“Will we have contact with each other?” Chalice asked.

“Of course you will, we won’t be in deep cover, just making sure we aren’t obvious. We’ll be meeting pretty much daily as well, this thing is going to take a lot of coordination to pull off properly. My friends over at the BND have agreed to let us use a room in their basement for this.”

Adalie arched an eyebrow. “You seem to have a lot of ‘friends’ at the BND.”

Nils laughed. “I did them a favour once. For legal reasons, I can’t tell you what.”

Chalice frowned at him suspiciously. “Legal reasons as in it’s covered by the official secrets act or legal reasons as in the favour was illegal?”

“That would be giving the game away.” Nils winked at him. “Anyways, this is not the issue at hand. We will be briefing the police on the mall plan tomorrow, I’ve already typed up a vague action plan for the ‘take-down.’ Adalie, since Vicky isn’t here, I want you to look the plan over and then bring it to the chief for finalization. You and Chalice will lead the briefing tomorrow as well.”

Adalie nodded. Chalice’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Wait, why me?”

“It is your job!” Cipriana laughed. Chalice rolled his eyes playfully.

“She has a point!” Nils grinned. “And you’ve already approached Seidel with the plan, so I think he’s more likely to trust you than one of us.”

“Okay, I get that, but you know the plan much better than I do.”

“Ah. Well, since I’m the only one who’s staying behind, they can’t think that I’m at all useful to the team. If they know that I’m, well, not ‘in charge’ exactly, but giving instructions, then they might be suspicious when I stay behind.”

“Okay, makes sense.” Chalice sighed. 

“Cipriana, I want you to help out with that as well, but Chalice and Adalie will be in charge.” Nils continued. “Owens, Maurice and I are going to start with our plan for Saturday. You two will be over at the BND tomorrow, I’ll introduce you and you can get started.”

“Won’t that look suspicious?” Maurice asked. “If two agents just don’t show up.”

“Not at all. You two are both supposed to be on medical leave and that’s the cover you’ll be working under.”

“Ah. Right. As if we would ever actually be granted medical leave. I thought our covers were supposed to be realistic?”

Nils laughed. “Careful what you say, Maurice, if you want to keep your job.”

“Oh no. What are they gonna do, replace me?” Maurice said sarcastically. “With what agents?”

Cipriana laughed, and even Adalie managed to crack a smile. Owens remained silent, his eyes fixed on the middle distance. Nils wasn’t entirely sure if he had heard a word of the briefing. He would have to pull him aside some time and get him to talk.

“Are we good to go Nils?” Maurice asked. “It’s already almost 11pm and I would like to sleep tonight.”

“Oh shit, is that the time? Yeah, for sure you guys, go back to the hotel and get some rest, it’s been one hell of a day. Maurice and Owens, I want you guys to meet me at the BND building at 7am tomorrow morning. The rest of you, here at 9am. I’ll see you guys then!”

Nils stood at the head of the table, sifting through his files as the team streamed out. Everyone looked tired and tense, except maybe Cipriana, who had had enough iced coffee to power a small country. Owens was the last to leave. 

“Hey.” Nils said, once they were alone in the room. Chalice had gone to grab his coat, promising to wait for Owens and to walk him back to the hotel. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”

“I will be.” Owens mumbled. “I just need a good night's sleep.”

“It’s okay if you aren’t, Owens. There’s no shame in that. If you need anything, you need to tell someone. We can’t have you breaking down.”

Owens sighed heavily, passing a shaky hand over his face. “I know. I’ve been going to my psychologist pretty regularly, but we’ve been out of town so I haven’t been for a few weeks.”

That was good news, at least.

“Are you on anything? For the attacks?” Nils asked.

“No.I...I couldn’t get a prescription and keep working.” Owens looked up, and Nils could tell he was trying to fight back tears. “I know it sounds stupid, Nils, but this job is everything I have. If I lose it, I’m sure everything will get worse.”

“Jesus.” Nils muttered. “I get it, Owens. But you need a break from this. I know you don’t want to stop working because you’re scared it’s going to get worse, but if you keep working I’m scared you’re going to break down eventually.”

Owens shrugged. 

“Okay, I’ll let you get back to the hotel. But promise me you’ll look after yourself, or at least let Chalice look after you.” Nils said, putting the last of his papers into his messenger bag.

“Yeah, I will. Thanks, Nils.”

“No problem. I’m always around if you need anything, Owens, and I mean that.” 

Owens nodded, grabbing his stuff and walking out of the room, meeting Chalice on his way out. Nils sighed, running his fingers through his hair. Those MI-6 boys were going to kill him one day.

#my writing #original writing #original work #fiction #spies #spy fiction #crimefiction #writers on tumblr #writing

[looselipssinkshipsmeme]

One year ago today, Loose Lips Sink Ships HBO War Fandom prompt meme launched. In the past 366 days, folks have posted 1008 prompts (704 of which survived the Great Cull), and 19 authors have written 107 stories, totaling 503,204 words (mean: 4702.84 words, median: 3158 words). But that's enough stats, let's get onto the party!

Welcome to Loose Lips Sink Ships' First Anniversary Mini Bingo challenge! In this challenge, you may request a mini bingo card (just 3 by 3 squares), and we will randomly generate a unique card based on your character, pairing or fandom requests. Use this card to win extra points in our Field Maneuvers game, or just for inspiration about what prompts to fill next. This challenge will run until the newsletter is posted on 6 October 2020, five weeks from now. How It Works: You may request a mini bingo in comments on Dreamwidth, or via tumblr ask. To request a card, list one of the following selections: 1. One to five characters of your choice from any fandom. or 2. One to five pairings of your choice from any fandom. or 3. One to three fandoms of your choice. or 4. ANYTHING! (all the prompts!) Your mod team will then pull all the prompts including your requested character/pairing/fandom, get Colonel Kink to randomly select nine of them, and generate your card. If there are not enough prompts for your requested character or pairing, the mods will ask for additional selections. Bingo cards will be issued to individual participants only; team sign ups will not be accepted. You may not veto prompts or ask for squares to be swapped out. You may receive prompts containing mature themes. We will only issue one card per participant, but if you complete a line bingo (three squares in a row in any direction), you may ask for a new card. Scoring: Every prompt you fill will be worth two points. Each line of three squares in a row (diagonal, horizontal or vertical) will be worth an extra point. A blackout of all nine squares is worth twenty-five points total. You may score bingos for multiple lines off of the same card, but each fill must be unique, not reused from a previous line. Please remember to click the box saying “This fill counts for Field Maneuvers' Memorial Prompt / Theme of the Fortnight / Anniversary Mini Bingo.” The mod team will keep track of your bingo scores for you after that. Example Sign Ups: “I would like a card. Characters: Liebgott, Runner, Harry Welsh.“ “Card please! Pairing: Winnix.“ “Give me a card with anything!“ Example Cards:

Prompt #621: BAND OF BROTHERS/THE PACIFIC, Bill 'Hoosier' Smith & David Webster & Joseph Liebgott, The Pacific/Band of Brothers crossover. Liebgott on his own is bad enough, but when he and Hoosier are together Web just can't take it. (Can also be OT3 if the writer wants.) Prompt #928: BAND OF BROTHERS, Harry Welsh & Lewis Nixon & Richard Winters, An alternate narrative study in the vein of Community's dice roll episode. One setting, six possible outcomes/timelines. Ensemble fic, slash welcome! Prompt #656: THE PACIFIC, Bud 'Runner' Conley/Robert Leckie, Leckie nurses Runner through his “bone-cracking ‘bout of malaria.” Prompt #807: THE PACIFIC, Bud 'Runner' Conley/Robert Leckie, On the hospital ship back to the US, Leckie is trying to be kind and supportive of Runner (because he was so badly shocked thinking he was dead?) Runner begins to worry if Leckie might not have gotten hit on the head harder than he thought, and just wants his asshole best friend back. Prompt #858: BAND OF BROTHERS, David Webster/Joseph Liebgott, In Germany, Liebgott is possessed by an ancient spirit whose peaceful slumber has been disturbed by the Allied bombings. Is it an evil Nazi ghost or a victim of an ancient war? Webster helps by reading books. Prompt #588: THE PACIFIC, Bud 'Runner' Conley/Robert Leckie, When Runner shows up after the war, Leckie isn’t quite sure why. He’s even more confused about why Runner appears dead set on sticking around. Prompt #418: BAND OF BROTHERS, David Webster/Joseph Liebgott, While getting a trim, Web mouths off, so Liebgott yanks on his hair. It turns out Web *really* likes that. Prompt #607: THE PACIFIC, Bill 'Hoosier' Smith/Bud 'Runner' Conley/Lew 'Chuckler' Juergens/Robert Leckie, Welcoming Leckie back. Prompt #681: BAND OF BROTHERS, David Webster/Joseph Liebgott, Bottom Liebgott just wants to get fucked. Incompetent Top Webster struggles to learn how.

Prompt #513: BAND OF BROTHERS, Lewis Nixon/Richard Winters, Nix's father disapparoves of Dick. He really really REALLY disapproves. Prompt #641: BAND OF BROTHERS, Lewis Nixon/Richard Winters, Virginity is like a cavity, Dick--sooner or later the tooth has to go. You just need a good dentist, is all.' Prompt #753: BAND OF BROTHERS, Lewis Nixon/Richard Winters, Trapped inside a fever dream, he doesn't know what's real anymore. Prompt #450: BAND OF BROTHERS, Lewis Nixon/Richard Winters, Dick's so subtle in his attempts at seduction that it takes Lew a really long time to notice. Prompt #452: BAND OF BROTHERS, Lewis Nixon/Richard Winters, Sex in that hot car Nix bought when he got back from the war. Prompt #712: BAND OF BROTHERS, Lewis Nixon/Richard Winters, Dick and Nix go on leave, and Dick comes back with a bite mark on his neck. Speculation as to if and how he got laid abounds. Prompt #405: BAND OF BROTHERS, Lewis Nixon/Richard Winters, Nix wanted to get Dick behind that desk for more than one reason. Prompt #416: BAND OF BROTHERS, Lewis Nixon/Richard Winters, He looks his best with come all over his face. Prompt #718: BAND OF BROTHERS, Lewis Nixon/Richard Winters, After a traumatic head injury, Dick forgets everything from the last ## of years except being in love with Nix.

Prompt #977: BAND OF BROTHERS, David Webster/Joseph Liebgott, Before they ship back stateside after the war is over, Web gives Liebgott his Harvard pin as a romantic token. Years later, Web *doesn't* die of shark-related injuries and hops into a cab that happens to be driven by one Joseph Liebgott. He doesn't expect Lieb to have the pin stuck to his visor as his luckiest charm so many years later. Prompt #779: BAND OF BROTHERS, Floyd 'Tab' Talbert/Lewis Nixon/Richard Winters, How they get together and how they chose to move to California together Prompt #627: BAND OF BROTHERS/THE PACIFIC, Edward Sledge, Separated from his unit, Edward Sledge ends up mixed in with the 101st's lines. Characters and pairings author's choice. Prompt #374: GENERATION KILL, Brad 'Iceman' Colbert, slaying dragons Prompt #727: BAND OF BROTHERS, Lewis Nixon/Richard Winters, After the war, Dick marries a lesbian friend to help stay in the closet, commence living arrangements with two couples attempting to live in adjoining houses without killing each other or coming out. Prompt #422: BAND OF BROTHERS, Lewis Nixon/Richard Winters, Dick is so straightlaced, someone needs to make a mess out of him. Prompt #809: THE PACIFIC, Eugene B. Sledge/Merriell 'Snafu' Shelton, Sometimes Snafu has odd ideas of courting gifts. Prompt #498: BAND OF BROTHERS, David Webster/Joseph Liebgott, An ongoing game of gay chicken leads to actual feelings. Prompt #436: BAND OF BROTHERS, Edward 'Babe' Heffron/Ralph Spina, Running into each other in Philly after the war.

#hbo war #band of brothers #generation kill #the pacific #loose lips sink ships prompt meme #loose lips sink ships #LLSS: Mini Bingo