#or maybe he's just mysteriously number 1 on her speed dial

[lord-explosion-baku]

Trident Tale

Merman!Shinsou x reader, Kirishima x Reader

Warnings: adult themes (Minors DNI)

A/N: read the prologue on AO3

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

(Original image by @maewoahoah)

Synopsis: Moving to an island where everyone is big on the surf scene and other oceanic happenings might not have been the brightest idea for someone so afraid of anything that has to do with water, but you make do by spending your days looking after the Bed & Breakfast, trying not to burn the house down when you fry a few eggs, and obsessively scrolling through Eijirou Kirishima’s social media page. He’ll never notice you, and you think you’re fine with that, until a mysterious force washes into Ms. Shuzenji’s pool after a particularly nasty storm.

Hitoshi Shinsou is a pain in the ass from the get-go, but you put up with him, fins and all, when he promises he can help unite you with your soulmate. The catch? The fish is hellbent on taking back what was stolen from him, and he won’t lift a gracious finger until he gets what he came for.

You’re helpless to lend him a hand, so long as you stay dry. Unless, of course, he has other plans.

You know how the saying goes: you rub his fins, he’ll rub yours.

Storms have never really been your cup of tea. Though you keep yourself locked inside a good percent of the time, there’s nothing quite as suffocating as the compress of clouds overhead. It’s not like you always have to see them to be uncomfortable, but you definitely feel them pressing down, closing in, and caging you, even when you’ve got yourself tucked under a blanket on Ms. Shuzenji’s couch.

It’s been a little over a year since you first moved to the island. All you needed was a new beginning, and you got that, but you got that, and the tropical weather that you’re still getting used to. It’s currently typhoon season, and holy seaweed-on-your-doorstep, is it storming.

There’s little you can do to distract yourself while staying and working at Shuzenji’s bed and breakfast. There are currently no guests, aside from you, so all the rooms are made, and the old lady is on another one of her long vacations, so you’re basically being paid to lounge. You’re grateful for that, at least. But the only thing that’s keeping you physically separated from the terrifying weather is a thick glass pane that water sloshes on every time a wave laps over the backyard walls.

The things that separate you mentally are the old-timey recordings of Shuzenji singing alongside an ensemble cast, and the little device in your hand. If you didn’t have your boss’s haunting melodies echoing throughout the house, and some big, beefy, tatted eye-candy to gawk at during the storm, you’d surely go insane.

Eijirou Kirishima, one of the island’s best surfers, is out on his board, live-streaming his current fight against the waves. His whoops and hollers can be heard over the crashing tides, getting even you excited for what’s about to come. That’s the thing about Kirishima; he’s wild, you’re not, and it’s hot as hell. Oftentimes, you catch yourself daydreaming about joining him out in the surf—he guides you through the waves, maybe yoou impress him a bit with your sudden affinity for wave-riding, and the two of you wash up on shore where you’ll both share your first kiss. It would be feasible if you could swim. It would be feasible if you bothered to learn how to swim, but for now, you’re content with your imagination. At least he can make you hate the terrible weather a little less.

The conspiratorial smirk he shows the camera is borderline swoon-worthy when the swell begins to pull him further out. It’s impossible not to bite your lip every time you catch a glimpse of his arms forcing themselves through the sea. He makes this look easy—like the storm is child’s play, and as the winds blow Shuzenji’s trash bin into the sliding glass door, you welcome the delicious distraction.

As Kirishima stands up on his signature trident board and rides one of the biggest waves he’s seen all day, you’re once again struck with how much of a coward you are. He can fight the elements, while you can hardly bring yourself the courage to talk to him. Mind you, he’s constantly surrounded by a close group of friends—a close group of friends you find intimidating—and when he’s not with them, he’s out in the water. Where there’s water involved, you’re spoken for. Unless, of course, you’d like for the first time you guys actually speak, to be when he’s giving you CPR.

Not the most ideal “meet cute”, but if it works, it works.

A loud crash snaps you out of your admittedly salty daydream. Mango, Shuzenji’s orange tabby, yowls at the blanket of water cascading down the windows, and your stomach sinks. There’s only so many minutes you can pretend that the storm Kirishima is facing isn’t the one that’s destroying Shuzenji’s yard.

With a sigh, you roll off the velvet couch, and grimace when crumbs that were nesting in your shirt fall to the carpet: a mess to clean up later. Without any guests to mind, you don’t have to worry too much over keeping the place spick-and-span, so long as things are nice and tighty by the time the old lady gets back, which will be awhile.

You have an easy enough job—at least, when there aren’t bunches of thick seaweeds crashing over the yard’s wall, flooding the pool.

“Shit.”

Water sprays in every direction. The already trash-infested pool overflows as more kelp rolls in with the maniacal waves, and angry, white foam bangs on the back door. It's a disaster outside, and you’re not sure what to do about it.

Fingers wrapped around the back door handle, you struggle to think of a way to prevent a bigger mess, but even if you could manage to clean anything, nothing is stopping the tempest from wreaking anymore havoc. Best case scenario, you stop a plastic soda-chain from washing out to see and becoming a deadly necklace for an unlucky seagull. Worst case scenario, you slip, crack your head open on the pavement, and drown before you can ever utter the words “mahalo” to Kirishima.

Needless to say, you’ll take your life over a gull’s any day.

Another sigh.

A greater wave collides against the wall, bringing more of the Great Unknown into the pool. This is going to be a fun job to clean. Good thing you’ve got Shuzenji’s service boy, Denki Kaminari, on speed dial. You think if you sound particularly distressed in the morning, he’ll show up to help you out with just about anything in the matter of minutes. God bless desperate fuckboys.

So, for now, you cuddle back up on the couch, watch Kirishima shake saltwater out of his thick, red hair, and pretend that his storm is not the same thing as your storm.

It’s early morning when you finally rise out of bed. You hadn’t gotten a whole lot of rest—something to do with the wailing winds shaking your bedroom window nonstop, but after you finally drifted into dreams about snakes and dragons, you woke to clear skies, and light seagull calls.

From the second story, you can see early birds have already gotten the jump on cleaning up the beach. The sun is shining, the ocean blue and vast. The only trace there was ever a storm is already being taken care of. There are lifeguards riding around on ATVs and younger civilians with trash bags and grapplers picking up seaweed and absconded debris. The respect everyone has for the island is something to be admired, and you half-consider going out there yourself, after you’ve dealt with your yard, which is sure to be a wreck.

There’s no interest in picking out a cute outfit for the morning you’re going to have, even if Denki might see you, so you throw on a already-worn-this-week crop top, some pink shirts, and you’re good to go.

The first thing you do after Mango’s fed is check your socials. Kirishima posted a picture of his breakfast: a hefty plate with three eggs, sausage links, bacon, cut avocado, and what seems to be low-carb toast. The post reads, gotta eat ur gainz 2 gain ur gainz, and it’s so ridiculous that you’re infatuated with this reckless himbo. You wonder if you’d ever be able to hold an intellectual conversation with him, if you could ever manage to speak to him in the first place, but conversation wouldn’t matter if his mouth was between your thighs.

Following his example, you crack two eggs over a frying pan, sigh at the mostly empty fridge, then agonize over the state of Shuzenji’s yard. It’s worse than you thought it’d be. The pool is a sickly green color, and from where you’re standing inside, its murky depths seem to be almost opaque from the seaweed and garbage stewing together. Kelp litters the beige pavement, and there’s trash hiding in the shrubs. There’s a chocolate donut floaty bobbing around in there, too, and Shuzenji doesn’t own any floaties.

What a drag.

Before you get too far in your head about everything you’ll need to do to clean up, you quickly dial Denki’s number. He picks up after a ring and a half.

“I know what you’re about to ask,” says the boy on the line, and from his cocky tone, you can assume it’s not going to be about the cleanup. “I am absolutely free tonight. If you wanted to grab drinks at the Salty Barrel, maybe go on a romantic rendezvous out on the beach, watch the sunset on or in a couple blankets, I wouldn’t complain.”

“I’m not calling to ask you on a date, Kaminari,” you say as you step outside. The pavement is cold underneath your bare feet, and you have to tip-toe around to be sure not to let any kelp touch your skin. Yuck.

“But you’re not, not calling about a date, either,” he counters. By the volume of his voice, you can tell that he’s in his van, talking to you over the speaker. Good. So he’s already out and about.

“I need you to tell me how to drain Shuzenji’s pool.” Call you cold, but you’re used to Denki’s flirty nature by now, and you’ve learned that the best way to deal with it, is to not acknowledge it. Of course, you can’t be too callous when it comes to him, especially when you actually need his help. You eye the dangerously complex-looking valves off to the side of the house, and grimace. “There’s too many twisty thingies! I’m not sure what to do!”

“Now, hold your horses, little lady! Don’t go twisting any thingies just yet. Draining a pool is a process.” There’s a long pause, the loud growl of an engine, then silence. He’d pulled over to talk to you. “How’s your TDL? And what kinda PVC pipes you got?”

“The huh and what?” You don’t need to pretend to be in distress—you have no idea what he’s talking about.

“Listen, don’t touch anything. You’re calling because the pool’s a mess right now, right? You don’t need to drain it; at least, not yet. I can swing by in an hour or so to clean it, but I’ve gotta make some stops first. You’re not the only single woman who wants to watch me do my thang, especially not after yesterday.”

“It’s so bad, Kaminari.” The water in the pool sloshes around, like there’s actually something in it causing the water to ungulate and burble. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Don’t worry your pretty, little head over it. You've got me, okay? It’s my job to protect and serve.”

“You’re not a cop.”

“Nope, I’m better than a cop. I’m a pool guy.”

He goes on to ask you to check out what kind of drain the pool has, if you can find the drain, then loses you when he starts talking numbers and gallons. While still on the phone, you send a few texts to Shuzenji, explaining the predicament, then Denki mentions rates. You’re getting the cutie pie discount, doubled because he counts Shuzenji as a “cutie pie” too—something you mention to her because she’ll get a kick out of it—then he drops all business to ask about food.

“I’m cooking my breakfast,” you say with a wary glance back at the house.

“But is your breakfast fries and a shake from Tiki Burger?”

You bite your lip as your stomach growls its empty sorrow. “No.”

“Would you like it to be?” His knowing grin is heard through the line.

“…I’m not gonna go out with you.”

He chuckles and you’re grateful that he can’t see your answering smile. “We’ll see how you feel after you see me work my magic. And hey, if you’d like me to wear a Speedo while I work—“

“You’ll be here in an hour?” You cut him off, because Denki in a Speedo is the last thing you need on your mind. The thought of Kirishima in a Speedo, however, gets you a little hot, which is saying a lot, since you’re a part of the Speedos and Dolphin-shorts Are Abominations To Swimwear belief system.

“Maybe sooner. I think my next client just needs me to check out their chemical levels. Inside pool and all. Everyone else knew to put a tarp out.”

The tarp you had blew away, but you don’t bother explaining that to Denki. Let him believe you’re the dim-witted “little lady” he wants you to be. If it means Shuzenji gets a discount, not that she can’t afford any bill Denki’s company throws at her, then let him believe you can’t open a pickle jar without a man’s help for all you care.  

“See you then,” you say, and end the call. There will be time to work on your charm once Denki gets here. Until then, you figure you could do some investigating so you’re not completely helpless.

Leaving your phone on the pavement so you don’t accidentally drop it in the water, you make your way around the pool to where you think you remember the drain being. You can’t say you’ll know what kind of drain it is, but if you remember correctly, it’s circular, and like, kinda meshy? That description simply won’t do.

Dropping down to your knees, you peer down into the pool, squinting, as if that can help you see through all the muck. There’s definitely a lot of kelp and algae, sand drifting through the water, someone’s wayward brazier, and oh. A school of fish—little babies circling about. It’s wild, but you suppose it could be possible if all the chlorine washed out and there was enough salt water to sustain marine life.

The fish move together, bopping into each other, mouths gaping open to eat whatever they find in their temporary home. You don’t know enough about marine life to know what kind of fish they are. Silvery little things. Maybe Denki has something that can help transport them from the pool to the ocean. It’s not far—Shuzenji’s house is on the beach. It would be a shame if all the little fish had to die. You don’t particularly care about touching or feeding fish, but a life is a life, and if they can be saved, you’d at least like to try.

But all your thoughts of saving fish life stop when you catch something moving in the water. It’s not the fish—they’re not that big, but it’s definitely fishlike. Fish plus. It moves like a shadow, serpentine and fluid. You catch a glimpse of scales, so it’s definitely not a dolphin—even then, it’s bigger than a dolphin, and more graceful than a shark. You begin thinking of leviathan, and other mythical creatures, as ridiculous as that is, when you see a long flowing fluke.

Okay. This thing is not just big. It’s gargantuan, and to see this much of the creature without seeing its head makes your skin crawl. You imagine falling in and being swallowed whole, suffocating in the dark, drowning in a monster’s belly.

The thought spooks you static, just in time to meet a pair of eyes in the water. This is your overactive imagination—you’re scaring yourself insane, but you don’t look away, and those eyes, almost human and curious, don’t disappear.

You’ve consumed enough media to know how these impossible interactions go. The creature is inquisitive, but keeps its distance. It often has to be coaxed out of hiding, and even then, the thing is skittish and untrusting. You’re certainly not one to go “pspsps, hey little guy, I’m not gonna hurt you,” but even if you were, you don’t get the chance, because this thing you’re looking at isn’t the least bit skittish, and in one second, you’re making eyes at at it, and in the next, the thing is exploding out of the water.

A large, broad chest towers over you. The thing pushes itself up with arms, human arms, but it’s anything but human. Sure, it has hair, although an odd purple color, framing its angular face and jaw, which are both human enough. Also framing its face are a pair of long, pointed fins sticking out from where human ears should be. Water dribbles down its chest, down to its navel—its navel. Your brain screams mammal, but underneath its navel are scales, rippling down to where its legs should be. Not human. Not fish.

Fish plus.

Man.

Fish plus man.

Fish-man.

Its eyes are almost the same color as its hair, only a shade lighter, and much sharper, narrowed in on you. It’s glaring. You realize this at the same time you realize that you're staring at it with your mouth agape. This would be so rude in any other setting. It’s also rude to pop out of a pool that isn’t yours without any other warning, but you’re not about to chastise the thing. You’re far too scared.

Then the thing reaches out to you, sprinkling water on your thighs and your shirt. Its hands look like a man’s hand, but its long fingers are connected by thin, indigo webbing that matches its tail. Its tail. You lose focus trying to find the word for this creature that’s barely on the tip of your tongue, when you realize the palm of its hand, its fishy, webby hand, is hovering over your cheek, the other carefully placed next to your knee to keep it upright.

You open your mouth to speak, but only a hiss comes out. The creature, wary, brings its hand back, but only slightly. Not enough to put you at ease, but enough to allow you to gain your composure, and scream.

“H-help!!!” You screech. “Help! Somebody! Help me!”

It claps its hand over your mouth, knocking you back. Water drips down on your shirt as it leans in, mouth curling up with distaste. Then, it does something impossible.

It speaks.

“So loud,” it growls in a low, masculine timbre.

It speaks, you think, it speaks and it has no manners!

You try to yell back, probably something with little thought, but you have a mouth full of fish-man hand, and the more you warble in its palm, the more apathetic it appears.

“Be quiet and still,” it commands, as if obeying it is supposed to be the most natural thing—something it expects from you. It catches you so off-guard that you actually listen, only trembling a little bit as those indigo eyes scan over your form. It’s uncomfortable having an unknown but cognizant creature observe you so closely. You shiver when its gaze roams over your belly, down your legs. You want to curl your legs up, move away, but you’re afraid if you even twitch more than it’s comfortable with, it’ll grab you and drag you into the pool. Your nightmare.

Instead, it does something slightly less worse. It moves its hand from your mouth to your cheek. The palm of its hand warms your skin in an unnatural way, like you’ve been laying in the sun for half an hour and it’s only your cheek that heats up. The creature's eyes widen as light begins to emanate, either from you, or from it, you’re not sure, but definitely from where it touches you. Tingles run from your neck down to your spine, and you wish you’d put a bra on before going outside, because this thing’s touch is making your body react in a way that it shouldn’t.

“So easy,” it purrs appraisingly, somewhat less insolent, but you’re still taken aback, ears hot with embarrassment.

Un-fucking-likely.

“Easy?!” You squawk out. “What do you mean by easy?”

It doesn’t answer you, and instead, moves its fingers from your cheek, down your jaw, to your chin. It begins leaning closer, heavy lids closing. You notice its lips for the first time: a defined line and a pretty bow. If you were in a less dire situation, you’d be able to admit that they’re very nice lips, but they’re getting closer to you, closer still, and you realize with a jolt what it’s trying to do.

Your foot meets its chest in a heartbeat.

“Nope!” You belt out, extending your leg so there’s more distance between you and the impolite beast. “Not today, fish-breath!”

Unperturbed, it lifts a lazy brow. Then, to your absolute horror, it presses both of its hands into your bare leg, and again you’re lit up, warm, and tingly, only far worse than before. Stomach tightening, you make a choked noise, trying to hold in the sigh that claws at your throat.

“Fish-breath.” It repeats your insult like it’s a balled-up piece of paper to be thrown in the trash. “I’ve been told that my aroma is quite appealing.”

“By whom? Other fish-breaths?!” You wriggle your leg out of his embrace, or whatever you could call that invasion, only to have it slip down so your foot rests in the fish-man’s hands, bright as the stars in the sky. “Eww ew! Don’t touch me! Get away!”

The creature scoffs, but let’s you go, and you both watch as the light disappears from the arch of your foot where he’d been touching. Fish-man slinks back into the murky water, hiding under a blanket of algae.

You have enough time to gather your composure, wipe the water droplets off your face, and rub your eyes. For a moment, you try to convince yourself that this has all been a sleep-deprived hallucination, but you’ve never really been one to delude yourself, unless your Kirishima fantasies were involved, and you know that you’ll have to try another tactic to accept the reality of your situation. Perhaps you can try to be civil with this creature, ask it if it’s…hurt, or if it needs a late night escort to get it back to the sea. But then, the thing resurfaces on the opposite end of the pool. It faces you, and leans back against the wall, arms spread out against the pavement, basking.

“You know,” he says, “your decorum is severely lacking. Don’t humans have classes that teach them proper etiquette—how to be more polite towards their guests and such?”

What’s lacking is your patience for marine life.

Standing up, you take in the thing, which you’re now pretty sure is in fact a man of sorts, in its entirety. His tail is long, longer than human legs, extending past the halfway mark of the pool, if your measurement counts his fluke. There’s a golden cuff on his right arm that spirals around, accentuating his large biceps. You stubbornly admit that it’s attractive—he’s attractive, at least, he would be for people who were into fish and not surfers. You brush whatever you’re feeling in the pit of your stomach off by telling yourself that you’re simply awestruck, and move on.

“Where I’m from-“ you begin, straightening your sodden crop top- “we offer our guests various beverages and snacks, depending on the time of day.”

Annoyingly, he looks interested.

“Since it’s the morning, I’d offer a guest tea, or coffee, and if I’m looking to impress, I’d maybe cook them a hot meal.”

The creature offers you a sardonic smile. “I happen to be famished.”

“However, with home-invaders, we’re more likely to pull a gun on them before heating up the earl grey.”

He loses the smile, and you’re glad that he might have an inkling of what a gun is. You’ve never owned one, and they don’t allow firearms on the island, but the threat stands. But if he was intimidated, even for a moment, he doesn’t show it anymore, and proves just that by turning his back on you, and resting his head in his arms. He has a dorsal fin with what looks to be a deep, x-shaped scar near his tailbone. You try not to wonder what that could’ve been from.

“Then how do you propose I go from a home-invader, to a house guest?” Asks the creature with little interest.

Cautiously walking around the pool with your arms crossed, you begin to list things off for the far-too-comfortable fish-man.

“You can start by telling me who you are, what you are, why you’re here, what you want, and why you think you can lay your webbed hands on me.”

“Oh, is that all?” He hums noncommittally. Content. Aggravating. “Why don’t you start then? Who are you, and why are you here?”

The back of your neck grows hot and uncomfortable. “How entitled do you have to be to—!” You start, but you’re swiftly cut off by the shrieking of the fire alarm. Smoke plumes from outside the house’s windows, and you curse under your breath before darting towards the door. You’d completely forgotten about your eggs.

In your haste to move the pan off the stove, you burn your fingers and drop the pan to the kitchen floor, two blackened egg crisps flaking off and diving in different directions. Mango yowls at the commotion and investigates one of the fallen egg crisps. Before you can tell him to buzz off, he loses interest in your mess, not bothering to give it a taste. You don’t blame him, but the eggs didn’t appear to be cat-bad. Ah, you can’t kid yourself. They are cat-bad. They’re completely inedible. Now you’re going to have to head to the market, while worrying about a man trapped in Shuzenji’s pool.

Your stomach roars at you.

After cleaning the mess as best as you could while desperately and ruefully wanting to return to your guest—no, not guest—invader, you get the alarm, half-heartedly fan the smoke out of the house, and return. Angry. This guy better start talking soon, or things are going to get ugly.

To your utter displeasure, he looks all the more amused at your newer, messier state.

“Was that supposed to be the hot meal,” he asks, cocky. “Because if so, I’ll pass.”

Instead of biting his head off like you’d like to, you present him with the still-dirty frying pan, pointing it at his head like you intend to use it.

“Start talking, fish-for-brains.”

The beast snickers, raising his hands in the air in mock-surrender. “Easy there, tiger shark. You know how to use that thing?”

You refuse to humor him. Instead, you keep your scowl tight, your arms steady. If he’s not threatened, he’ll lose interest in this game, then he’ll have to talk.

Lo and behold, you’re right. The fish-man rolls his eyes, and looks at you, again, with apathy.

“My name is Hitoshi Shinsou,” he says, lackadaisical, like he’s already bored of himself. “I’m one of Ryūjin. What humans have learned to call merpeople are actually descendants of the sea gods who lived centuries ago. I’m here, simply because the storm washed me here. What I want is to retrieve what’s mine. I thought I could lay my webbed hands on you—well-“ the corner of his mouth tilts up-“darlin’, it was because your body reacted to me.”

Mouth forming the beginning of a question that never comes, you stare in disbelief at this myth. Then the last thing he said dawns at you.

“I did not react to you!” You rebuke, steady hands now shaking.

“Oh no?” He says, but it’s not a question. It’s a challenge.

Hitoshi grabs the flat end of the frying pan and yanks it, and you, closer to him, closer to the water. You cringe and whine when a wet, webby hand closes around your wrist. Inadvertently, you drop the pan, but he pays it no mind as it sinks past his tail. Your skin begins to glow underneath his palms, and the tingles come back, shooting up your arm, causing tiny goosebumps to appear.

“Would you look at that,” Hitoshi croons, slow and almost sensuously. His indigo eyes narrow on your index finger where you’d burned yourself. To add to this nightmare, he closes his lips around it, and begins to suck. Your stomach flips, and you’re not sure if it’s because you’re disgusted, or scared, or…enjoying the feeling of his warm mouth, his tongue, touching your skin.

“Stop.” It’s a whisper. It means nothing. You think you want it to mean something, but your thoughts are buzzing into a blur. Knees growing weak, you descend, leaning closer to him, not caring about the water or the seaweed or the fish, and instead, entirely focused on his mouth. It’s glowing, his mouth. Faintly. Like a single candle lit in an otherwise empty room.

When he eases off of you, he runs his thumb over your now-healed finger, and let’s your arm fall limply at your side.

“All better,” he whispers back at you.

There are prickles all over your skin once you regain an ounce of dignity.

“What the hell was that?” You ask, breathless for no other reason than shock.

“The glowing?” He asks. “The healing?”

“Both.”

“Your reaction to me.” He’s cocky again. This is something sick. Mythical creature or not, this has got to be a game he plays, washing into people’s pools, causing problems, sucking on lonely girls’ fingers. He probably gets his kicks this way, and uses whatever other kind of magic he has to erase whoever he’s tormenting’s memories, if he doesn’t end up eating them when he’s done. Bogus.

You won’t let him get to you.

“Alright, Hitoshi Shinsou, how would you like me to get you back into the ocean? You healed my finger-“ although it’s essentially his fault you were burned to begin with, if you take into account the sequence of events-“so helping you out is the least that I can do.”

“I could use your help,” he muses lightly, turning his body back around to his chest and abdomen are turned towards  the sun. You tell yourself not to stare like you know he probably wants you to. Though his eyes are closed, he peeps at you, sneaking a glance. “I don’t want to go back into the ocean, though. Not until I get what’s mine.”

With the might of a girl who just wants to go back inside and scroll through her phone, you swallow your bite, and ask, “what would that be?”

“Oh, this and that-“ he waves his hand around dismissively-“other things.”

With the might of a girl who just wants to go back inside and find another frying pan, you say, “alright, listen. Someone is on their way to the house to clean the pool. I don’t know what one of Ryūjin means, but I’m guessing people like you don’t always want to be discovered by people like us. So you either tell me what it is you need, or see how my pool guy reacts to a mermaid lounging around in my backyard! I wouldn’t put it against him to call the local news station. Get this place flooding with cameras. Does that sound like a pretty picture to you?”

Absolutely none of your threats penetrate Hitoshi’s cool nature. In fact, he laughs.

“When he gets here,” the merman drawls, knowing he’s got you hanging on every word, “invite him to swim.”

#bnha mermay #mermaid au #siren!shinsou #mermaid!hitoshi shinsou #hitoshi shinsou x reader #shinsou x reader #bnha x reader #bnha x you #bnha imagines #bnha reader insert #reader insert #trident tale

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To Be Continued - Part 1

Summary: As an author, you had created Brian Kang for your current trilogy series to represent the ultimate man that everyone would love, along with Charli Evers - your female protagonist. What you hadn’t expected was for him to find a way out of the story and begin shaping up your world instead

Pairing: Brian Kang x female writer (ft. Park Sungjin)

Genre: writer au / romance / fantasy

Warnings: fictional characters coming to life / a bit of angst here and there / Sungjin as a cop (or does that only affect me?) >_>

A/N: this story idea was created from receiving two prompts for Brian in the YouxIdol drabble game I was completing this year. In this part, you can find prompt #186, “You don’t have to answer right away. I’d wait an eternity for you.”

Word count: 2252

Preview | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | Epilogue

Brian cupped her cheek tenderly with one hand, smoothing out any worried lines across her forehead with the other. He smiled encouragingly, tears threatening to spill from his eyes with his heightened emotions. “You don’t have to answer right away.”

“I don’t?” Charli breathed back, knowing that her response to his question was already formed. Yet it wasn’t the right time for any love confessions right now. Despite this, her answer rushed to the back of her throat, where she tried to swallow it back down repeatedly.

Brian already knew and nodded softly to let her know of this. “I’d wait an eternity for you.”

“Isn’t that a bit too cringe-worthy?” you wondered, pausing to read the words upon the screen with a frown. It wasn’t out of character for Brian Kang and Charli Evers. And it certainly wasn’t the first cheesy line you’d thrown into Captivated either. Still, you mulled over the scene a little longer, deciding whether or not it should be removed.

“What would Charli do in response?” you asked out loud to no one in particular, a flurry of action from your fingers taking place immediately. You followed the scene until completion before taking a break, switching out of the word document and over to your Discord server.

Smiling as you scrolled through the new comments about the upcoming sequel you were in the later stages of writing for Brian and Charli, you let out a rattle of a cough from your chest, groaning at your illness dampening your mood.

“I’m trying to finish this final chapter tonight,” you spoke out into the universe, casting your eyes to the heavens for effect. “I’ve battled through this cold for a week now. It won’t take me down just yet!”

Reaching forward for more cold and flu medicine, you swallowed the capsules down with a painful gulp of water and then felt your forehead. It was hotter than before, though you waved it off as you answered a couple of messages and returned to the final part of the story.

Captivated was the second story in your new trilogy series since your last series Destined had become an overnight sensation. When you sat down to pen the soulmate idea into something more than thoughts in your head, you hadn’t expected the tale to touch so many people over the world. Nor had you believed you would follow it up with To Love You, Forever, And Always either.

You originally felt that Destined was the reason why Brian and Charli’s first story Encounter was easily shared around. The protagonists had their own charms though and you could tell the fan base for this series was different from the last. They were just as eager, however, to find out when the pair would shake free from the star-crossed lovers’ trope and finally give in to the evident love they had for one another.

“Part three it’ll be,” you surmised proudly and somewhat exhaustedly after typing The End onto the electronic manuscript. Leaning back in your chair, you finally allowed yourself to succumb to the illness plaguing you. In a moment of disillusion, your mind conjured up Brian standing before you with concern etched in his eyes. You let the novel scene play out in your head, wishing he was actually here to help you out of your writing office, down to your bedroom and tuck you into bed.

Swinging gently from side to side in your desk chair, you hummed with delight. Brian Kang was your biggest self-indulgence character. You had created Park Jinyoung in Destined to infuriate your main protagonist, but Brian was the ultimate fictional guy. He was playful and kind, caring and thoughtful. He knew when Charli needed him to stand up in her weak moments, and he fought for what he felt was right even when all odds were against him. He also allowed Charli to see his vulnerability and his honesty, gaining him many fans around the world. And if all that wasn’t enough, Brian Kang was incredibly attractive.

You had really created the holy grail of a dream man.

Laughing to yourself in your sick-induced state, you smiled lazily. “Dream men are just that, Y/N. Brian Kang would never exist in this world.”

You nodded to yourself, agreeing with the proclamation, feeling more single in the moment as you did so. It was funny really, you were a successful author of Young Adult romance novels and yet you hadn’t experienced the touch of a man, let alone any ardent confessions since your university days.

“Right, it’s time for bed,” you decided before your mood plummeted further into despair. However, your limbs felt too heavy to move and so you simply closed your eyes once more, hoping a little nap would help you regain some energy to head off to bed later on.

When you opened your eyes next, you found yourself in your darkened bedroom, smiling gently at bringing yourself to bed sometime during the night that you couldn’t remember. Sitting up slowly, you allowed your gaze to adjust to the dim morning light filtering through the small gap in the curtain, before reaching onto your nightstand for your phone.

You blinked. Instead of finding the device, you saw a kitchen bowl and face cloth resting over the edge of it.

Did you bring that with you in the middle of the night? Surely if you had been attempting to bring down your own fever, the face cloth would have been strewn somewhere in among your bedding after falling asleep with it, not neatly placed back upon the side of the bowl. Looking beyond that, you found a bottle of water with a third of the liquid missing. You did vaguely remember sipping on some water overnight, and that eased your mind from your initial confusion.

Shaking your head, and swinging your legs over the side of your bed, you placed your feet in your slippers before padding back into the office in search of your phone. Maybe you had help overnight after all, and you wanted to check if your mother had come over at your request. She had done that one year when you caught a nasty virus and couldn’t cope on your own anymore. Motherly love was definitely needed, and now that you had completed your obligations with Captivated and sent it off to your editor Lily, you would have no restrictions on who entered your creative space.

“Huh,” you said when you saw your laptop screen still open. You had a habit of closing the screen every night after turning the device off and approached it now with some confusion, trying to recollect what you last did the night before. Nothing rose to the surface immediately and you reached for your phone, blindly hitting speed dial on your mother’s number. And when her greeting rang down the receiver, you were more than perplexed.

“Hey, did you come by last night?”

“No, why?” she answered and then gasped. “Y/N, you sound awful! Did you keep working even though you were sick?!”

“You didn’t come here?” you repeated, fingertips reaching for the sticky note upon the computer screen. “Maybe it was Lily.”

“Lily is out of the country isn’t she?” your Mum reminded and you blinked several times before focusing enough to read the note you held.

 You shouldn’t have worked so hard to complete it! Your health is important too. How will I cope if you get any worse? Make sure you rest up well and drink a lot of fluids. I need my best writer in tip top shape to see where my world continues.

I made you breakfast. It’s not much, but make sure you eat before you sit down at this desk, hm?

- B.

 Dropping the note, along with letting your mouth fall ajar momentarily, you stuttered out a hasty farewell to your mum before hanging up the phone and looking to the doorway. Cautiously, you walked through your house to the kitchen where you stopped in your tracks at seeing a tea towel covering something on the bench. Gingerly peeling it back when you finally approached it, you gasped when you found several dishes underneath, along with instructions on how to heat it up.

For a split second, your mind conjured Brian up again, imagining him in your kitchen preparing all this. It would totally be just like him to make sure Charli was well fed to regain her energy from any illness.

But, you weren’t Charli Evers.

In fact, you hadn’t even based her off your personality at all, rather, a close online friend of yours who you admired a lot. So, whilst Brian would definitely go to all this trouble for Charli, you sure were clutching at straws thinking of yourself in the same situation.

Who came into your home then?

Distractedly, you heated the porridge and brewed up the tea the mystery person had prepared as well. You carried the tray of food over to your dining table when it was done and sat down before taking your first mouthful.

And then you mulled over who could possibly step into your house that had the initial B.

Maybe it wasn’t a B, you concluded when you realised no one had access to your house with that letter, even as a surname. Climbing back to your feet, you rushed to your office where you had discarded the first note and held it up to inspect the handwriting.

“It could be an R,” you mentioned out loud, then shook your head immediately. Even if the handwriting was looser than most that you knew of, it couldn’t be anything other than a B.

After examining it for a few minutes, you sat down with a huff. You’d never seen the handwriting before.

You didn’t know whether or not to be alarmed.

Had there been an intruder overnight?

Jumping back up, you persevered through the dizziness that plagued you from moving so fast, heading down the hallway to the front door. The chain was still latched and there was no sign of forced entry. Again, making your way to the back door, everything was in order.

As was every possession you owned – minus the kitchen where the food had been prepared. But even then, the dishes that had been used were rinsed and stacked by the sink.

You jumped when you heard a sudden mewl at your feet and clutched at your heart, before stooping down to pick up your cat Binks. The black cat nuzzled into you affectionately before meowing again. “I guess you want to be fed, huh?”

Walking around the counter, you stopped when you found his bowl with some food remaining. You knew Binks wouldn’t leave food overnight. Glancing at the cat, you frowned. “Who did this, Binks?”

The feline merely yawned and settled down to nap in your arms. It certainly brought the saying, cat’s got your tongue, to mind and you rolled your eyes at the infuriating situation.

Sitting down on your couch, you stared at the wall ahead of you as you tried to find an answer to all the evidence. Stroking the purring animal in your arms, you nodded determinedly.

“The only answer is that I did it in a sleep-induced state,” you announced and Binks opened his eyes to look up at you before rolling around to start licking at his back leg. You sighed. “Right, Binks?”

You were certain your cat thought you were insane. However, it was all you could find to be the answer.

“I got up and I took myself to the kitchen and prepared the ice water to cool down the fever. And went to bed. Then maybe I got up again, which is when I placed the cloth on the bowl and prepared the food. I washed my dishes, including the ones I had piling up from being too busy with work and-”

Binks leapt from your lap then, sauntering down the hallway from your side. Getting up to follow him, you ended up back in your home office, where he pounced up onto your desk, standing on the keys to your laptop. “Hey! Get off!”

Swatting the cat away from the device, you noticed that it hadn’t been turned off overnight. That was not like you at all. Logging into your account, you sat down in your desk chair and shifted back suddenly when you found a new document open.

 I bet you’re in disbelief about now, right? I guess I would be too. It wasn’t you who looked after you all night long, and did your dishes. Wow, you get behind in things when you’re focused on writing.

Don’t worry. I didn’t look around - much.

Your fever went down over a couple of hours whilst I moved back and forth helping you out. It’s the least I can do after you’ve spent so much time with me. Well, we’ve yet to officially meet.

One day.

- B (your biggest fan)

PS. I fed Binks. He really does have quite the personality.

 “Okay!” you sounded in an octave higher, laughing a little to yourself at the same time. “Someone was definitely here. Who is B and how does this person know so much personal information?!”

You were too preoccupied to realise the document to Captivated was still open behind the other one.

And instead of saying The End as it once had, it had been deleted and replaced with To Be Continued.

_________________

Part 2

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I'm Gonna Crawl: Post 1

(Divided because of length)

Post 2

Summary: Five years. That's how long the reader and Bucky have been apart (although for him, it was only five minutes) Now with Thanos defeated and both of them taking up the mantle of Avengers, can their relationship return to what it was? Or will they have to discover a new normal?

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x fem! enhanced! super-soldier! Reader (Reader can see pieces of the future in visions as well as speak every language)

Warnings: Angst, fluff, language

Author's note: Tumblr is being a poo-poo head and won't let me post the whole fic because it's too long, so this is a two parter.

*************************************************

The text comes when she’s in the middle of teaching English feminine and masculine pronouns. Immediately, she knows it’s something important. There’s a very limited amount of people she’s allowed to filter through the “do not disturb” status she sets her phone in while she’s in the classroom. Her first though is Barnes, but at this point, he’s memorized her schedule even more thoroughly than she has, so it’s unlikely he’s responsible for the disturbance. Pepper, maybe? But no, she’s a powerful enough woman that if she needed anything, she could simply ask and it would be hers. Peter? It’s within normal high school hours, so if he’s messaging her, she’ll give him a lecture next time she sees him for texting in class. That only leaves one person, or rather, organization. As she instructs her students to come up with a few examples of common words which can be said different ways to demonstrate masculine and feminine, then takes a moment to check her phone, her suspicions are confirmed. Rhodes. The Avengers.

“You guys keep working. That’s an example of an English masculine. Now what would the feminine be?” A chorus of ‘gals’ follows her out the door. Once she’s rounded the corner, she dials the number, completely skipping the texting process. The line only rings once before Rhodey answers.

“Hello?”

“Soothsayer. What is it?”

“You need to come in. We’ve got a mission, and it has to be you.” She lets out a silent groan before asking,

“How much time have I got to square things away at work?”

“Wheel’s up in ninety minutes. You need to be here at least fifteen before to read over your orders.” Her boss isn’t going to be happy, but it’s doable.

“Right. I think I just got a crippling migraine. I’ll call you back later.”

“Thanks. I owe you one.”

“You’re damn right.” She mutters it as the line goes dead.

Thirty minutes later, she’s on her way after giving the sub her notes and her boss a bullshit excuse. So far, no one’s worked out that she’s one of the people who fought in the battle against Thanos, and she hopes to keep it that way.

She speeds across the city, driving a little faster than is responsible, but her reflexes are fast enough to cover for it. If this is going to be the sort of mission where they need her brawn as well as her brains, she’d like a few minutes to warm up before she has to hop on a quinjet. Grabbing her go-bag (complete with weapons, her suit, and a set of spare cosmetics), she jumps out of the car as soon as it’s parked in front of the newly rebuilt Avengers compound. Warm up, and make a call to-

“Well, look who the cat dragged in.” She turns her head towards the voice, catching sight of Sam and-

“What’d you tell them? Stomach flu?” Barnes. Okay, maybe she won’t have to call him after all, but that brings up more questions than answers.

“Migraine.” She falls into step next to him while Sam rushes on ahead. “They called you too, huh?”

He nods, grimacing. “Looks like it’s something big.” Obviously. If they’ve called in both him and Sam, not just one or the other, then it’s a guarantee the situation is FUBAR. Plus her? She’s usually in the background. If she’s being pulled then-

“You alright?” She nods, smiling with more confidence than she feels.

“Yeah. Just wish I knew what we were getting into. If they want both unstable super soldiers-” It’s a joke, which thankfully, he gets.

“Then the situation must be pretty hairy.” That’s putting it lightly. They’ve never been called up together before. Never.

If the mounting evidence weren’t enough to clue her in that this is going to be major, the final factor would be, after Rhodes explains to all three of them that with the return of so many people to Earth, a former dictator who disappeared in the snap has gathered up his forces and is attempting to usurp a now-peaceful democracy in hopes of using the territory to levy compliance from surrounding nations. Usually that wouldn’t be their thing, but when the words “dirty bomb” and “gamma radiation” are brought into play, it’s no mystery as to why they’re being called in.

It’s about what she expected. Falcon is running point, Winter Soldier is the man on the grassy knoll (she shudders when Rhodey goes with that particular descriptor because of a confession several years back just after he woke up in Wakanda; “I really hope I’m remembering this wrong and it was just a dream, but I think I was behind what happened to the president.”), and she’s on evac and rescue, making sure there’s as few civilian casualties as possible. However, when the briefing is called to a close, it’s a total shock that Sam is let go while she and Barnes are told to stay back.

Rhodes sits at the edge of his desk, arms crossed, wearing his most serious expression. “You two have completed the appropriate training hours together, correct?”

“Yes.” They say it at the same time, and she has to bite her cheek to keep from yelling out, “Jinx!” It was a requirement after the defeat of Thanos that the two of them specifically learn how to work together as a team, play off of each other’s strengths, just in case something truly catastrophic happened. She also trained with Bucky and Sam as their third. What she’s wondering is, why ask a question Rhodes clearly knows the answer to? He’s the one who set up the training, after all.

“And you’re comfortable working as a squad?” She catches Bucky’s eye, and it’s clear that he’s come to the same conclusion as her: this isn’t what Rhodey is really after.

“We’re fully capable, yes.” He’s the one that answers, while she reaches out into the unknown, hoping for a vision. No dice.

With a sigh, Rhodey stands.

“What I mean is, can you be objective out there on the battlefield? Can you work together like anyone else?” This time, she’s the one to speak up.

“Can we be objective? Yes. Can we work together like anyone else? No, but that was your goal with the training program.”

“You wouldn’t have called the two of us up if you didn’t need what we can do together.”

For a moment, she feels sympathy for Rhodes. The poor man is clearly struggling to make a point. That’s when it hits her, a vision of what he’s prepared for them to do. As soon as it passes, she kicks Barnes’ chair leg lightly, which is enough that he gets the message.

“Just say it, because she’s already seen it.” She wouldn’t want to be in Rhodes’ position for the world right now with the news he’s about to deliver.

“Fine.” Rhodey nods. “If we get in a tight spot, someone is going to have to draw fire. It can’t be Barnes for obvious reasons.” Part of their mission is to obtain stolen scientific data located deep inside enemy lines. She’s smaller and therefore faster, can fit into tight places more easily, but he’s been trained to go unnoticed, and what’s more, to incapacitate anyone who sees more than they should. It’s an obvious choice. She’s in essence the diversion, the boy crying wolf while the real thief makes off with the shepherds’ wallets. Her size and speed will work to her advantage, as well as the fact that they won’t recognize her, so they won’t know right away that she’s the decoy, whereas the second they have eyes on him or Sam, they’ll know to batten down the hatches.

She doesn’t have to look beside her to know what he thinks of that idea. She can practically feel him seething. But, it’s a scenario that, along with Sam, they’ve trained for.

“What I need to know is that, once the bullets start flying, you won’t fall back on instinct and run to protect each other. Out there, you are not a couple. You’re teammates, fellow soldiers, nothing more. Got it?”

She keeps her eyes focused on Rhodey’s face as she nods, otherwise hers will show what she’s feeling. “Agreed.”

“Barnes?” There’s a pause, so long she’s about to kick his chair leg again just to get a reaction.

“Understood.”

“Good.” Rhodes’ posture immediately changes. “Now, suit up. Quinjet is leaving at 1300 hours.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

“Oh!” Bucky looks up from the building schematics he’s studying at the surprised noise from the woman next to him. “This one’s actually not bad.”

“Which one?” He leans towards her, scanning the house listing on her phone. “Nah. I don’t like the look of that roof.”

“True, but it says here they’re willing to knock some off the asking price if we’re willing to do our own repairs-”

A groan issues from the other side of the jet.

“Are you two really searching realtor.com while we’re on our way to save the world?” Sam asks, scowling.

“No, of course not.” She shakes her head, smirking. “It’s zillow.” That reminds him-

“Scroll down. Let’s see when it was built.” It looks like��� ah. “Hard no. That thing’s older than me.”

“And like you, it has character.” It’s too good of an opportunity to pass up. He sees an opening, and he’s going for it.

“Did you just compare me to a house?” She snickers.

“Now that you mention it, there are some similarities. Good bones, had some renovations done, could use some landscaping-”

“You know, you could’ve just said ditch the beard.”

She gasps, clutching a hand to her chest. “I would never!”

“Alright, I’m gonna stop you there.” Sam holds up a hand. “If you’re gonna talk about his hair anywhere below the neck, I’m gonna open up the hatch and jump out.” It would be a more effective threat if he wasn’t already wearing his wings.

“Mind out of the gutter, Sam.” She half-heartedly scolds before returning to examine her phone. “The market is just shit right now but there’s got to be something listed that’s less expensive than renting an apartment in the middle of Brooklyn…” That’s what all of this is about, really. After the snap (at least from what he’s read) the price of renting was lower than it had been since the fifties. Now that everything is back to normal, everyone and their mother is looking for a place to rent. Not that he can blame them. He’s one of the returned, after all.

“I guess we could move into the complex once it’s repaired. Just for a little while-”

“Nope.” Sam cuts them off. “Hell no. It’s enough that I gotta deal with you and Judge Dredd here being all domestic on missions. If I have to hear you two going at it, I’m gonna lose my shit.”

He may not understand the pop culture reference, but he caught the sexual one. The truth is, they haven’t slept together since he returned. It’s not like things have been platonic; they shower together, cuddle, and make out like teenagers walking down lovers’ lane. However, five years is a long time (even if for him, it was barely more than an instant), and while he’s ready to resume their sex life, he’s not going to push in case she’s not there yet.

Before he can go too far down that rabbit hole, the intercom crackles to life and their pilot announces that it’s time for the drop. He’s not a huge fan of parachuting (falling to his near death and losing an arm sort of took the magic out for him), but he calls on what remains of his training now that HYDRA’s brainwashing has been deactivated and puts on an emotionless front.

“Com links on.” As Sam speaks, he activates his own com. “Everyone getting a signal?” He is, and if the face she just made is anything to judge from so is she. “Okay. I drop first, then on my mark, Winter Soldier drops; five seconds later, Soothsayer follows. Copy?”

“Copy.”

“Copy.”

Sam shoots them a grin that doesn’t completely hide his nerves. “Good luck.”

As soon as his partner’s exited the plane, he catches her eye. “Love you. See you on the other side.”

“Love you. Come back in one piece.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

Even before Sam hits the ground, he knows it’s going to be a shit show. Even though he doesn’t activate his com to tell them as much, it’s obvious as the super soldier plummets past him that his chute didn’t open. Sam might worry about this if it weren’t for the fact he saw Steve jump out of many a plane without anything to keep him from free falling. Their tag-along, however? She has activated her coms (either that or she forgot to deactivate them) and she lets out a gasp. That’s all, a gasp, but it’s enough to put Sam on edge. This is why coupling up is dangerous in this line of work. Your affection can work to your disadvantage.

Because he can’t have his team scattered, worrying about each other, he asks, “Barnes, do you copy?”

“Copy, Falcon. Don’t think I’ll be doing that again.”

“Oh, you are so getting shit for that when we get home.” He rolls his eyes.

“Let’s cut the chitchat. We have a mission. On my mark, Soothsayer heads into the encampment to lead any P.O.W.s and civilians away. Copy?”

“Copy.”

“Copy.”

He lands just before she does, and as soon as she’s detached her shoot, he gives her the go ahead.

Any thought that they might have succeeded in having the element of surprise on their side goes out the window when a shot whizzes past his head.

“Barnes, cover me.”

“Copy.”

Even with the rain of bullets from his own personal sniper, he barely gets past the first defensive line in one piece. He takes out at least a dozen hostiles, incapacitating when he can, eliminating where he must. Just outside the main fortress, he asks,

“Come in, Winter Soldier. How many hostiles between you and my position?”

“Eighteen.” A muffled shot follows the statement. “Seventeen.”

“Alright. Clear a path. Let’s show these sons of bitches what they get when they threaten innocent lives.”

He thinks that maybe they’ll be able to turn it around when they find their human target fairly easily and are able to capture and incapacitate. The orders, however, were not just to bring him in alive but also to seize the assets they’ve lost before a bomb squad and team of radiation specialists comes in and sweep the place. The only way he’ll be able to get their target back to the jet unharmed (not to mention survive himself) is if they do the one thing he was hoping it wouldn’t come to.

“Soothsayer, this is Falcon. Come in. Over.”

“Copy, Falcon.”

“Winter Soldier is going in. Deploy “big bad wolf” initiative.” In other words, go get shot at while at the same time covering me.

“Copy. Be advised, there are hostages in the building. I repeat, hostages in the building. Over.” For a moment he wonders if she saw it in a vision or if one of the people she’s just helped escaped has started talking out of gratitude, but pushes it to the side. He has biggest issues.

“Winter Soldier, Soothsayer, get into place. On my signal, we move.”

“Copy.”

“Copy.”

“Three… two… one… go!”

Sam kicks off into the air, thanking whoever the hell out there invented this tech that he doesn’t have to fly with an extra 250 pounds of dictator in his arms (Redwing is handling that). Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Soothsayer making a run for it, shooting as she goes. Where the hell did she get the gun? Problems for later.

He’s just about to radio into the jet to see if the ‘package’ was delivered when the shots turn in his direction. He returns fire at the same time a dagger flies past his head.

“Throw it a little closer next time Soothsayer. I dare you.” It’s muttered under his breath.

“So you wanted a sniper’s bullet in your back?” Damned super hearing.

“Aren’t you supposed to be causing a distraction?”

“I am. Close your eyes and cover your ears.” He complies just in time for the flashbang to go off over his head.

“Fuck! You could’ve told me that’s what you were doing!” There’s no reply. “Soothsayer?” A grunt followed by the sound of impact comes over the com.

“Little busy. Hold up.” Hand to hand, if he had to venture a guess. More shots are fired, and he flies lower, returning them, kicking a few assailants in the head as he goes.

“Winter Soldier, this is Falcon. Come in.”

“I read you.”

“Do you have eyes on the target?”

“Almost there. There’s a few more obstacles than we thought.”

“Copy. Over and-” He doesn’t get to finish the sentence as a yell of “Get down!” pierces the night.

It all happens in slow motion. He reaches for the shield, but he can already hear the gun discharge. A force runs into him, knocking him to the ground. Realization hits him: it’s her. He doesn’t see the bullet impact, but he hears her cry out. On instinct, he covers both of their vital organs with the shield, and that’s when he sees the splotch of red blooming from her right shoulder, which so happens to have acted as a human barrier, blocking what would have most assuredly have been a kill shot to the head for him.

“Falcon, Soothsayer, come-” There’s a muffled shout over the com, followed by more sickening thuds and a few shots.

“Barnes?” He hears a whisper of movement from behind him, and without looking, fires. “Barnes, do you copy?” As he speaks, several hostiles gang up on him at once. Using the shield to it’s full advantage, he knocks two off their feet, kicks another in the gonads, then chin, and punches two more’s lights out. He starts on the one that’s left, but out of nowhere, the hostile’s legs go out from under him. What-

“This is Barnes. I have the target. Moving hostages out now.”

Sam opens his mouth to speak again, but a tug at his ankle draws his attention. She’s sitting up, features drawn in pain and still bleeding, her fist bloody from the last hostile’s face.

“Don’t tell Barnes.”

Internally groaning, he speaks again. “Copy. Meet us back at the ship. Over and out.” Grabbing her good arm, he hauls her to her feet and drapes her body over his shoulder. “Pretty sure the blood’s gonna tip him off. And the bullet hole.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

“It’s not that bad.” This has to be the tenth time she’s repeated that sentiment in the past five minutes since arriving back at the quinjet, and yet it’s still not making an impression. As she stands yet again, Sam gives her good shoulder a hard push.

“Sit your serum-ed up ass down. You’re gonna bleed out if-” She narrows her eyes at the man with the shield. “Fine. You’re still dripping blood everywhere.” Yeah, well, it’s not like it hit a major vein or artery. She saw it coming, after all. Still… it fucking hurts.

“Shouldn’t you be hailing Barnes again?”

“Who’s in charge here? You or me?” She thinks about snapping back with something truly brutal, but bites her tongue. “Only thing you should be worrying about is how we’re gonna get that slug out of you.”

“Give me a pair of pliers and I’ll do it myself.”

“The hell you will.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! It’s-” Before she can repeat herself again, the door opens. Her breath seizes in her throat a she takes in Barnes’ appearance. Dear God.

“Target acquired?” Sam nods and motions towards the back of the plane.

“What about you? Package secure?” With a thump, a black bag is dropped onto the floor between them. Sam opens his mouth (more than likely to make a sarcastic remark about being careful with the brain child of at least a dozen scientists worldwide), but before he can-

“You’re hit.” He’s in front of her, crossing the narrow space in just two strides.

Biting back a wince, she stares pointedly at the oozing bullet wound in his thigh. “So are you.”

“It’s nothing.” She’s about to call bullshit (that’s a fuck ton of blood, and also she doesn’t remember that cut on his forehead last time she saw him), but he turns away, fixing Sam with a hard stare. “Why didn’t you say we had a man down?”

“Not a man-” She starts.

“And technically, she never went completely down. Plus-” She knows what he’s going to say, and mouths a silent ‘Don’t’, which Sam ignores. “-she told me not to.” There it is. She’s never gonna hear the end of this.

Returning his gaze to her, he asks, “You told him-”

“It wasn’t a big deal. Can we talk about this later?”

“I second that.” Sam nods. “Preferably when you’re not both about to bleed out in the air.” Bucky’s lips twitch momentarily, and she barely contains her own smirk. They’re not about to bleed out. Still-

“You want to go first with the pliers, or do you want me to?”

“For the last time, no one is using pliers to go spelunking for bullets. Aren’t you two supposed to be smart?” She raises an eyebrow in Bucky’s direction, and he smirks.

“Technically, I think the serum just turned us into better soldiers. Not geniuses.”

“Right, and since it would take us what?” She glances at her phone, checking the time. “Five hours to get home? More than likely we would’ve already started to heal pretty significantly around the bullet and would have to disrupt that so they could dig them out.”

“So, pliers.” She nods.

“Pliers.”

With a groan, Sam stands and, digging around in the compartment overhead, produces a first aid kit.

“Fine, but if either of you starts to hemorrhage, don’t come crying to me.”

Rolling her eyes at his retreating back, she asks, “The question still stands. You want to be the surgeon first or the patient?”

“That depends.” Bucky motions to her own bullet wound. “Is that as bad as it looks, or worse?”

She attempts a shrug, but the motion makes her wince. “It’s just a scratch.” The look on his face tells her he’s not convinced.

“Then I guess I’ll dig yours out first. If push comes to shove, I can fix myself up.” This time, she’s with Sam. The hell he will. She’ll just power through.

“Alright.” She motions to the few members of the TACK team still hanging around. “If you don’t want to see me shirtless, I’d suggest you find somewhere else to be, or at least look away.” Shockingly few heads turn at her words. “Okay smart-asses. What I mean is give a lady some privacy and avert your eyes.” There. That’s more like it.

She’s kinda pissed off that she’ll have to junk the suit. It was a new one. Even more infuriating is that when she goes to unzip it, thanks to her injured shoulder she can’t manage it, and what’s worse, she lets out a groan of pain.

“Easy. Let me help.” If they were alone, she’d make an off-colored joke (something along the lines of “any excuse to get me undressed”), but she swallows it down and grits her teeth as the material tugs at her wound. She’s just going to have to toughen up and rip it off like a band-aide.

“I think there’s a water bottle somewhere, so we could soak-” Bracing herself, she gives the material a sharp tug, completely exposing herself. “-or you could just do it the hard way.”

“After all these years, why would I start doing things the easy way now?” She feels more than hears the short intake of breath that signals a laugh.

“Good point. Hold tight while I check the kit.” Taking advantage of the brief lull, she closes her eyes. She’s not exactly squeamish, but there’s something about seeing a bullet lodged in her shoulder that’s somewhat unsettling. “Alright. This is gonna sting, and then it’s gonna hurt like a son of a bitch.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” That one earns her an actual snicker.

Sure enough, it does sting. That is, if by “sting” you meant “feels like I scrubbed myself with a sandpaper washcloth and then rinsed off with vodka.” Still, she manages to keep still and wipe any expression of pain from her face as the disinfectant is poured on, completely soaking her.

“Sorry.” She shakes her head.

“Nothing a towel won’t take care of.”

He’s in front of her now, so she opens her eyes, concentrating hard on his face so she won’t look down.

“You alright?” It’s completely false, but she pastes on a smile.

“Splendid. Thinking of taking this up as a hobby, actually.” He frowns.

“You couldn’t just take up embroidery like a normal person?”

“No one-” Her breath catches as he starts to probe for the bullet. It was a distraction. “-takes up embroidery as a hobby anymore.” Deep breaths. She needs to take deep breaths.

“Shit.” Shit? That’s not comforting. “Do you want the good news first or the bad news?”

“Dealer’s choice.”

“Good news, it’s in one piece. Bad news-” He looks up, holding her gaze. “It’s lodged pretty far in there, Doll.” Of course it is. Just her luck. “Do you want to wait ‘til we get home, or-”

“Just do it.” Once more, she closes her eyes. “Sooner we get it out, sooner the super soldier mojo can do it’s thing.”

“You sure?” She nods.

“Just do me a favor. Don’t tell me when you start pulling it out. I don’t want to know.”

It’s silent, no one saying a word. Still, she clings to the little sounds she can make out in order to keep herself occupied. The engine running. The air filtration system. Her own jagged breaths and his measured ones. Despite her attempts at distraction, she can feel it the moment he starts easing the bullet out of her shoulder. On instinct her body seizes up, and she has to force herself to relax each muscle. It’ll only be more painful if she’s tense.

“Do you want something to squeeze? Maybe a hand to hold?”

Taking a slow, deep breath, she answers.

“That depends. How much do you like that arm?” If she takes out the pain on anything else, she’s almost certain she’d crush it.

“I’m sort of attached to it, so-” She chuckles, and that’s when the bullet slides free. “And, next time you make fun of my corny jokes, I get to remind you of this.”

The patching up process is simple from there. The bleeding is easily staunched and although it’s in an awkward place, they manage to bandage her without much trouble. She’s so nervous, she expects her hands to shake as she takes her turn and, with her good arm, digs the bullet out of Barnes (his is in fragments but luckily, a vision hits and shows her the shards’ locations), but surprisingly, her hands are steady. She glances up at his face just as she pulls the last shard out, but of course, he’s shut down, completely expressionless.

Finally, the quinjet touches down outside of what used to be the Avengers’ compound. Normally they would disembark, then head straight off to a debriefing, but under the circumstances, Sam calls it a night and tells them to get some rest, then come in tomorrow to go over mission reports. As they watch Falcon climb into his car and drive away, it hits her how terribly exhausted she really is. Between her bum shoulder and his bum leg, neither of them is really fit to drive home, so-

“Think we can get a cab this time of night?” Great minds think alike, it seems.

“I don’t know, but I’m willing to give it a try.”

It’s only once they’re home safely and she’s climbed into bed that she allows herself to wonder if they’re ever going to talk about today.

#marvel #captain america #the winter soldier #bucky x reader #fanfiction #bucky x y/n #bucky fic #post endgame #part 1

[scenes-in-between]

Trust No 1 (Part three)

“Who authorizes you? I mean, what gives you the right? Who ARE you?!”

“I’m the future, Agent Scully. And I risked my life being here.”

“Well then why do it? I mean, why meet me?”

“Because you can reach Mulder. Mulder needs to know what I know or he may have no future. Perhaps no one will. Another car is parked on the main road, half a mile out. If I see that you haven’t contacted Mulder in the next 24 hours, I disappear and you never see me again. Do you understand, lady?”

Scully stalks away, seething. All of the theatrics, all of the waste, and for what? A two-minute conversation that raised more questions than it answered? What was the point of any of it?

Scowling, she pulls her phone out of her jacket pocket - because apparently it was absolutely necessary to blow up her clothes and her gun and inspect her watch, but Mr. Mysterious had no qualms about letting her keep her phone? - and punches the speed dial for Monica Reyes. Monica picks up immediately.

“Dana! Thank god. We’ve been trying to reach you all day. Where are you?”

“At the end of a very long and very stupid wild goose chase,” she grumbles. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get in touch earlier. How’s William?”

“He’s just fine. John’s in the kitchen right now heating up a bottle for him.”

“Agent Doggett stayed with you?” she asks, surprised.

“Not the whole day,” Monica says. “After that couple left, he went to the office for a while, but then he came back a few hours ago when we still hadn’t heard from you. Seriously though, where have you been?”

Scully answers with a groan, then gives an abbreviated account of the day’s events as she continues making her way back to the main road. Her foot catches on something in the dark and she stumbles, cursing. Of all the times to be without a flashlight…

When she gets to the part about the car and the remote detonation, Monica says, “Holy hell, Dana! Do you need one of us to come get you?” 

“No, he said there’s another car parked up the road. I’m heading toward it now.”

“But are you sure that’s safe?” Monica presses. “What if it’s rigged to explode, too?”

“Whoa, wait, what’s rigged to explode?” Scully hears Doggett say in the background, and she shudders at the thought that she spent the entire day driving around on top of a bomb. However, the fact that she’s still alive right now is a fairly good indicator that she’ll be able to get home safely.

“If he wanted me dead, he had ample opportunity,” she says. “No, what he wants is for me to contact Mulder, which I can’t very well do if I’ve been blown up. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

What she’s not sure of is exactly where she is right now. It became harder and harder to track her relative location after she left the interstate. The very notion of spending who knows how many more hours on the road fills her with a mix of exhaustion and dread, and she’s angry all over again at the phenomenal waste of time today has been.

“Maybe you can help me figure out where I am, though,” she says. “It was too dark to read the street signs, the last couple of turns he told me to make, but I was on Route 17 going north for a while, somewhere between Norfolk and Fredericksburg. It’s not much to go on, but it’s all I’ve got at the moment.”

“I’m on it,” Monica tells her. “Can I use your computer?”

“Of course.”

“Here, you can talk to John while I pull up MapQuest.”

Ahead, Scully can just make out the bulk of a vehicle in the darkness. She reaches to unsnap her holster out of habit and grimaces when her fingers catch nothing but the fabric of her waistband.

In her ear, Doggett barks, “What in the heck’s going on? Where’ve you been all day, and why is Monica talking about things being rigged to explode?”

Scully sighs. “I’m going to let her fill you in on the details because I would just as soon not go through it all again right now. Short answer is that I’m fine, just tired and frustrated. I’ll be on my way home soon, hopefully. I want to thank you, though, for helping to look after William. I really do appreciate it.”

“Well, you’re welcome, but I didn’t do all that much. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

She approaches the car, again wishing she had a flashlight. It’s too dark to see anything through the rear windows, but the front of the car at least appears to be empty. Cautiously, she reaches for the door handle; it’s unlocked, and the interior light comes on when she opens the door. There’s a piece of paper on the driver’s seat.

“Son of a bitch,” she murmurs, picking it up.

“Agent Scully?”

“You can tell Agent Reyes that I don’t need her help after all. I’ve been left a map.”

“A map?” Doggett asks. “So where are you?”

Thirty miles. She is all of thirty miles from Fredericksburg. It is going to take her less than two hours to get home. It could have taken her less than two hours to get here. Of all the stupid, pointless, absolutely and completely asinine...

“Just a bit southeast of Fredericksburg,” she says tightly, glancing at her watch. “I should be home by nine.”

“All right then. Be careful.”

“Yeah.”

***

This isn’t the first time Monica has been asked to watch William, but it is the first time she’s had to try and put him to bed.

And he is not having it.

She’s never seen him like this. She’s never felt him like this; William’s energy is always vibrant -- she’s known that since the night he was born -- but it’s usually contained, like the potential energy in a compressed spring. Tonight, it’s like a storm, howling around him as he wails in her arms.

“I don’t know what’s wrong. Should we call Dana?”

John chuckles at her, evidently unconcerned, because of course he can’t feel what she feels.

“There’s nothing wrong. And there’s nothing she could do even if there was. He’s just tired.”

“No, John, I’m telling you, something is--”

“Here,” he says, holding out his hands. “I’ll show you.”

She passes the squirming baby to her partner and steps back, nerves jangling. John gathers William against his chest and starts to walk around the living room, gently bouncing him while murmuring softly. At first, Monica can’t hear what he’s saying over the sound of William’s cries, but as the boy gradually quiets, John’s words become clearer.

“There you go, easy does it, your mama’s gonna be home soon, don’t you worry, atta boy…”

He’s asleep within minutes, energy storm subsided. Monica shakes her head, a little abashed at having so comprehensively misread the situation. 

“You were right,” she says quietly.

“Eh, nothing I hadn’t seen before, that’s all.” He doesn’t meet her eyes, his gaze still trained on the top of William’s head as he slows the bouncing to a gentle sway. “Luke certainly did his share of fussing.”

She didn’t know him then, of course. She’s only ever known him as a grieving father; this is the first time she’s gotten a glimpse of what he was like as a dad, and it makes her unexpectedly emotional. 

“I’m gonna see if I can go put him down,” he says, and she nods, watching him go before turning to pick up the few scattered toys and take William’s dinner bottle back to the kitchen.

***

By the time she has retrieved her own car from where she left it parked this morning, after stewing on the whole drive home and running through the day’s various cryptic conversations over and over, Scully has come to three conclusions.

Number one: nearly everything that man claimed to know about her, he could have learned by bugging her apartment and going through her garbage bins. What did he really give her that was concrete? Knowing her clothing size seemed eerie at first, until she remembered the receipts she’s thrown away from a handful of recent shopping trips. Her childhood clown phobia? She and her mom were laughing about that in her living room a month or so ago. The rest of it -- resting heart rate, ATM pin, college boyfriend, et cetera -- was only specific enough to seem unnerving without actually proving that he knew any of it.

Her emails to Mulder would require some additional access, but that could be as simple as someone following her to the cafe. It’s probably one of the “regulars” that she -- blithely, it would seem -- dismissed as a potential threat.

Number two: while her apartment has definitely been under surveillance, apparently for quite a while, Mulder’s has not. The “one lonely night” the man mentioned? She’s reasonably certain he was referring to the night she asked Mulder to stay after the IVF failed, and that was not their first time together. If, as he said, the events of that night surprised him, then he could not have known about what they had already been doing at Mulder’s place. Or, for that matter, what they had been doing at her place before that night. So now she also knows approximately when the surveillance actually began.

Number three: if this man genuinely does have useful intel about super soldiers -- and that is an extraordinarily big “if” -- then it may in fact be worthwhile to call Mulder home. The idea terrifies and thrills her in almost equal measure. On the one hand, there is nothing she wants more than to have him home. Nothing. But on the other, if she has miscalculated, and calling him out of hiding only ends up getting him killed, she will never forgive herself.

In the end, it is Agent Doggett’s words from yesterday that settle the issue for her. If we know who these super-soldiers are we can go after them. This is somebody giving us a way that can make it safe for Mulder to come home. 

How else are you going to get him home?

It’s a risk, possibly a big one, but ultimately, it’s one she has to take. He has been gone for almost seven months. This is the first time in those nearly seven months that there has even been a chance he might be able to come home. If she lets this chance go by, how much more time will pass before they get another one?

She walks into her apartment having made up her mind. There is a giddy, fluttery feeling in her stomach that is only temporarily eclipsed by ravenous hunger as she steps through the door and the smell of Thai food envelops her. Reyes and Doggett look up from where they’re sitting, at her kitchen table, takeout cartons amassed between them.

“Hope you don’t mind, we got takeout,” Reyes says, standing. “We didn’t know if you’d have a chance to eat, but if you’re hungry, there’s a bunch left.”

The last thing she ate was a bag of almonds from the gas station, hours and hours ago. To say she’s hungry is a massive understatement.

“Mind? I could kiss you both right now.”

Doggett’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, and Reyes laughs. “I’ll get you a plate.”

Scully nods. “I’m just going to change and wash up.”

On her way to the bedroom, she grabs a plastic bag from the closet. The likelihood is slim that there will be much in the way of usable trace evidence on the clothes she’s wearing, but it would be irresponsible not to even look. She opens the bedroom door quietly so as not to wake William; by the soft glow of the bedside lamp, she can see him sleeping peacefully in his crib, and she smiles, some of the tension from the day melting away. Though she would love a shower, she's too hungry, so she settles for changing into sweats, carefully folding and bagging the "borrowed" outfit, then washes her hands and face before heading back to the kitchen.

Doggett and Reyes have tidied up their dishes and are in the process of putting on coats and shoes.

"We'll let you get some rest," Reyes says, though she’s looking at Doggett when she does. “Whatever else you might have to tell us about what happened today can wait until tomorrow.”

“Unless,” Doggett adds, in a tone that sounds like he’s continuing an argument from earlier, “there’s anything you think we need to know now. Or if you don’t feel safe staying here alone, knowing that this Shadow Man may well have eyes and ears on you.”

“Is that what we’re calling him?” Scully asks, arching one eyebrow. “Look, I appreciate the offer, but I’ll be fine. As violating as it feels to be surveilled by some NSA creep--” she emphasizes the words, fully assuming that she’s being listened to right now “--I don’t have any reason to believe that William and I are not safe here.”

“Well I still don’t like it,” Doggett says, frowning. “Why don’t you let us post a couple agents out front, just in case?”

“I really don’t think that’s necess--”

“That’s a good idea, actually,” Reyes interjects, then drops her voice to a murmur. “Especially in light of what happened this morning. We know you can take care of yourself, Dana, but we also don’t know exactly what we’re up against, here. Maybe the answer is to try and watch the watchers, find out who they are, see if we can figure out who else the Shadow Man is working with.”

Scully sighs but has to admit that’s a sensible course of action. Either the knowledge that she’s being watched over will deter this so-called Shadow Man and his associates, or it won’t, in which case they could be exposed and identified.

“All right,” she agrees.

“Good,” Doggett says. “I’ll take first watch until I can get someone else over here.”

As soon as they leave, Scully makes herself a plate of food and takes it to her computer desk. If the Shadow Man is able to access her emails even when she sends them from the internet cafe, it seems pointless to wait until morning to write to Mulder. The giddy feeling from earlier comes rushing back as she types.

Mr. Hale,

I am overjoyed to tell you that circumstances appear to have changed. Exercise caution, but put the plan in motion. I cannot wait to see you.

All my love,

Dana

She clicks “send” with her heart in her throat, wondering where Mulder is and when he’ll be able to read her message. How long it might take for him to make the necessary arrangements and begin the journey home. He could be in her arms as early as tomorrow, a notion that seemed impossible just 24 hours ago.

She powers down the computer -- according to their plan, his next communication will come via text message from a burner phone -- and picks up her plate to finish eating in the kitchen. A glance out the window as she stands up reveals Agent Doggett sitting in his truck across the street, cell phone held to his ear. She sighs, regretting the additional work and worry she’s given her former partner but also deeply grateful that he’s got her back, he and Reyes both. She appreciates them more than she can say.

With any luck, all of this will soon be over. Mulder will come home, the Shadow Man will give him the information they need to take down the super-soldiers, and things can go back to… well… “normal” for them, anyway. It’s maybe too much to hope for, but right now, she will allow herself to be comforted by the fantasy, at least for a little while. When she finally crawls into bed, later, she falls asleep with her cell phone on the pillow beside her, imagining the sensation of being wrapped securely in Mulder’s arms.

***

“Holy shit,” he breathes, reading her email for the third time.

The library’s just about to close, and he had checked his email one last time before leaving, more out of impulse than any actual expectation that there would be anything there. The surprise of a new email was immediately eclipsed by the surprise over its contents.

Home. He can go home. He and Gibson both, even. No more hiding in the desert. No more ache of longing binding his stomach and keeping him from sleep. It almost sounds too good to be true, but she called him Mr. Hale, the code phrase they established before he left so he’d be able to tell a genuine summons from a trap. This is the real deal.

Which means the threat is past. Maybe Skinner cut a deal, hell, maybe Kersh did. Who knows? Who cares?! He gets to go home!

The grin on his face is massive as he logs off and heads for the door.

***

“You’re leaving," Gibson says, before Mulder has even closed the front door behind himself. "You promised you wouldn’t. But I guess I shouldn’t have expected you to keep that promise.”

It's still weird, Gibson knowing what he's thinking about before he's even said anything, but it doesn't throw him for a loop the way it used to.

“No, we’re leaving, Gibson. Both of us.”

Gibson scoffs. “You know I’m not going anywhere. It’s not safe. You might be able to outrun them if they catch us, but I--”

“Scully said it’s safe. And yes, I’m sure the message really was from her.”

Gibson stares hard at him and Mulder thinks as forcefully and loudly and clearly as he can.

We can both be free. I swear. I will protect you.

“I believe that you believe that,” Gibson says finally. “But I don’t think either of us knows for sure whether that’s really true.”

“Look, I know you’re scared. And you’re right that there are no guarantees. But for the first time since I left Washington, there is at least a chance that it’s safe for us to get out of here. If we don't take it, I don't know when another one is gonna come along. Do you really want to hide here for the rest of your life?"

"If it doesn't mean dying horribly and having my head karate chopped off by an alien replicant? Yeah. I'm fine with that."

Mulder’s thoughts flicker, involuntarily, to Dr. Parenti’s severed head in a jar, to the gash in Skinner’s forehead, to his own memory of being hurled across Parenti’s lab by Billy Miles.

“Exactly,” says Gibson. “I’m not letting that happen to me.”

“I trust Scully,” Mulder says, thinks. “She wouldn’t call me home if it wasn’t safe. She’s too smart and too cautious to take a risk like that.”

This, at last, seems to convince him, if only somewhat. He may not trust Mulder’s judgment, but he apparently trusts Scully’s, at least enough to finally sigh and say, “Okay. I hope you’re right.”

Despite Gibson’s reluctance, it takes almost no time at all to pack. They don’t have much to take, not bothering with spare clothes. Mulder shoves the stuff he printed about Mount Weather into his backpack, along with a little food, the fake IDs from the Gunmen and all of their remaining cash. They’re out the door and on the road in less than twenty minutes.

On the way to the train station, Mulder stops to gas up the motorcycle and buy four prepaid cell phones from the convenience store. Two hours later, as they’re getting ready to board the train that will take them eastward, Mulder types Scully’s number into the first phone and sends a single-word text message.

“Midnight.”

Once the message sends, he opens the back of the phone, pockets the battery, and tosses the phone in a garbage can.

#x-files fanfic #TXF: Trust No 1 #scullyfic #mulderfic #gibson praise #monica whalesong reyes #john doggett #msr #mulder on the run #a/n: this installment of scenes in between was originally going to be in two parts #and then it turned into three #aaaaaand now it's gonna be four #there are just too many gaps to fill in #hopefully no one minds ;) #i promise it won't take me as long to finish and post part four #as it did to finish and post part three

[tfw-no-tennis]

mtmte liveblog issue 28

catch me completely ignoring dark cybertron lmao

yeahhhh so I'm just gonna skip dark cybertron bc no thanks. I did read the tf wiki articles for the issues tho, which is more than I did in the past, so at least now I kinda know what happened, though I had to suffer thru reading about dark cybertron to learn stuff about it. yikes. reading ABOUT dark cybertron further enforced my decision to not actually read thru it

anyways. the best part of dark cybertron was when chromedome threw prowl off that cliff. that was baller lmfao

a 1 page recap of dark cybertron is about all I can handle. thank you

ooh, the 6 months later smash-cut, I fucking love itttt

nautica’s here!!!!!!!!!!! I'm so happy I love her. also brainstorm, and I love their friendship sm

hvbjdkhfbshdfj god I love them. they have such a fun dynamic 

everyone eavesdropping on a therapy session vhbhdjkhafbhkjsdf. hipaa laws mean nothing as usual 

the casual reveal of captain megatron, oh god 

the title fucking slaps, as usual. this is one of my favorites - ‘world, shut your mouth.’ great stuff, and a song title/reference to boot! and this being part 1: towards peace...chefs kiss

and then we flash back to 6 months earlier...yknow now that I'm rereading this, mtmte has a LOT of framing devices used - there's story-within-a-story, flashback/flash-forwards, storytelling with narration, etc...I love it

god hbvhjakdfbshjkdf rodimus saying ‘magic’ and then the little *magic = science rodimus doesn't understand HBGKJHSDBFKHJSDF my idiot boy ily

rodimus roasting prowl is my fav hbfjdkafshsbjkf ‘maybe the knights can help us find a cure for your personality’ ily sm

and then prowl agreeing w/rodimus a few panels later about megatron’s guilt...

optimus...don't you think that making yourself chief of justice is...maybe a bad idea...like, maybe there's a conflict of interests here...just a little bit of bias...a bit too much history, perhaps...

the fact that all the big roles in the trial were given to high-ranking autobots who were heavily involved in the war...I see that cybertrons justice system is as much of a farce as their medical ethics and patient confidentiality laws 

the ‘you BROKE the MATRIX’ panel is so good bjhkdhfbajskhdf

rodimus: LISTEN dad I just wanna resume my space cruise with my frat bro ship I have no interest in politics

psychiatrists HATE him! local former warlord refuses to recognize the validity of psychological analyzation of people’s actions

ravage casually breaking hipaa laws and chilling in megatron’s therapy session like >:3

I love rung...he’s so good at like, passive-aggressively cutting right to the heart of someone’s issues, and he’s so generally mild that you can’t even really get mad at him 

the sudden inclusion of megatron as a major character in mtmte is kinda jarring at first - mostly, for me at least, due in part because I didn't read dark cybertron so this is like, megatron’s introduction as a relevant character in general - but I feel like jro does a great job laying a lot of intrigue down from the very beginning w/his character - like, I already want to know more about what his whole deal is, even though we have, ostensibly, seen pretty much all of his story play out already 

rung name-dropping froid...i remember that made me lose my shit bc cmon. FROID....jesus christ

rung and megatron: holy shit! we’re suddenly being drawn in a 90s-esque sci-fi tron-looking retro-futuristic style!

interesting that megatron sought rung out, and not the other way around

RIPTIDE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! my favorite sharkboy is HERE

CREWDITIONS...YES....

‘we’re not allowed to take anyone who might remind rodimus of prowl’ vhbhjdkshfbhaskfd brutal

I love nautica so so much. a perfect autistic scientist after my own heart

I adore that nautica brought chromia along for moral support

hgvbjdakhfbhsj and then swerve saying that rodimus hates ‘trisyllabic names’ and nautica is like....but....‘rodimus’.....

and then nightbeat busts in to get all bbc sherlock on they asses hgbfhjadkfbjaskdf

WHY was perceptor at the crewditions if he was already part of the crew lmao

ooof, and then we have megatron flipping out when chromedome, a mnemosurgeon, shows up

also damn the autobots were rlly like okay so we wanna speed this trial up so lets just like, probe megatrons brain, that seems completely ethical, especially when you consider the history of shadowplay and stuff that our previous government had

I know important stuff is happening but megatron is holding a CUBE and I love CUBES so I'm distracted by that. C U B E

and then right after a scene where we see chromedome willing to perform mnemosurgery again - despite rewind’s like, dying wish for him not to - we hear that he’s been locked up in his room rewatching rewinds goodbye message over and over again :( I'm fucking depressed

I love nightbeat, he’s so funny and kind of an asshole

and then you see more missing letters behind them next panel...clearly nightbeat is right and there’s a mystery afoot...OR somebody is fucking with the ship’s lettering as a prank, which is a plot point I would absolutely buy

yeahhhh skids is right, chromedome is clearly Not dealing 

the dramatic graffiti on megatrons door...I wanna know who spray-painted ‘die’ everywhere like they're reaper overwatch

oh god. whirl vs megatron

really cool red lighting tho

GOD its so brutal, all the stuff megatron said about how he told the cons not to kill whirl...and doesn't that end up being false anyways? so he was just saying it to dig at whirl, which is awful

also I'm never over the fact that literally everyone - including megatron and whirl - blames whirl for ‘turning megatron violent,’ as if the entire Point isn't that whirl was a tool for a corrupt system, and if it wasn't whirl it would've just been someone else, and megatron turning away from pacifism was inevitable given the circumstances, AND also a choice on his part, so he really only has himself to blame for his OWN ACTIONS

bye bye whirls right arm, see you in lost light 

‘people never stop changing’ that IS something I say all the time...damn you warlord grandpa! how can you steal my philosophies?!

ohhh man and then rewind’s goodbye message being different....oooh

AUGH the fact that whirl was basically trying to goad megatron into killing him, just like he did in issue 1 w/cyclonus...It Hurts Man

also I do love the hint at who he’s talking to w/whirl shooting megatron with the bow and arrow earlier, and we know that atomizer is a fan of those

ok, but here’s where my philosophy diverges - megatron talks about throwing away his past and starting new, but I think that you have to learn from and build on your past...either way, megatron’s arc is one that I enjoy greatly from a character writing standpoint, and I'm excited to get it underway, especially w/how controversial it is lmao

big ole double-page spread...I like how you can pick out individual characters in the background crowd, which is crazy cause that's a LOT of people. also how come cosmos is so HUGE

phewwww 4.6 billion cybertronians died in the war, that’s INSANE. that's like, an incomprehensibly huge number. is there an estimate for their current population? I bet its not a lot. no wonder jro leaned into reproductive themes so much in mtmte/ll - of course the continuation of your species would be a concern for many if your numbers have been that greatly reduced

optimus w/his fancy tyrest-lookin crown

oughdajbfsbdf and the fact that megatron ALSO murdered 100 BILLION non-cybertronians...bruh. I feel like they maybe should've dialed those numbers back a little to allow his ‘redemption arc’ to run a little smoother lmao. but also I admire the commitment either way

and then we end w/megatron doing captain stuff, and seeing The Coffin...and we never did see rodimus in any of the flash-forward parts of this issue, did we???? I love how concerning that is. where's my BOY

also of course we gotta remember the warning from way back at the beginning of mtmte: ‘don't open the coffin’....

and so begins mtmte s2! man I love s2. I love mtmte in general lmao. s2 takes on the impossible w/the whole ‘megatron redemption arc’ thing, and I know that’s like, a divisive plot point and stuff, but from a writing standpoint I enjoyed it a lot...I think it was pretty much as well done as it could've been given the enormity of the task, and I thought it was a really interesting direction for the story to go in 

also espec if it’s true that hasbro was like ‘hey jro put megatron in your story and give him a redemption arc’ rather than jro like, planning/asking to do it 

anyways. I doubt ill talk much abt the disc horse(tm) here bc this is just for fun and also my own personal opinions and whatever, but I for one am excited to reexperience this stuff 

so yeah s2 off to a strong start with some wild shit already happening! cant wait to read more!

#lj rereads mtmte

[mca-attack21]

Mystery Bullet Part 2

Boom! What’s up guys? I hoped that you enjoyed part one of Mystery Bullet. If you haven’t read it yet, you can find it here: Part 1 . Sit back, relax, and enjoy!

The ambulance arrived and quickly took you away. John and Sherlock followed closely behind. When they arrived they sat in the waiting room in silence. Eventually, Sherlock spoke up. “First things first, we need to determine if this was connected to the case,” he spoke.

“Sherlock, our friend is on the other side of that wall fighting for her life and you want to talk about the case?” John asked incredulously. 

“We can’t help her in there, but we can catch whoever did this,” he explained

“Okay, go on,” John agreed.

“To start it either was or was not related. Y/n may or may not have been the intended target seeing as she was shot at our residence. The lights were off when I arrived, but she was in the living area so that was most likely done by her shooter. Mrs. Hudson was downstairs the entire time and didn’t hear a gunshot, so there must have been a silencer used. Judging by the amount of blood, she had been in that condition for under 20 minutes when I arrived. Based on her positioning she faced her attacker, however, she did not let him into the apartment he let himself in.” Sherlock deduced. 

“Okay, Sherlock I-” John started but the doctor came and interrupted him.

“Are you here for Miss Y/l/n?”

“Yes, how is she?” John asked.

“She is stable now, but still in critical condition. Her heart stopped while she was on the table and we won’t know the full extent of her injuries until she wakes up. It was a miracle that you weren’t five minutes later,” he informed.

“Can I see the bullet?” Sherlock asked.

“We didn’t recover a bullet. Nothing showed up in the preliminary x-rays and there was no exit wound,” he explained.

“Can we see her?” John questioned.

“She is being brought up to her own room now, I’ll have one of the nurses take you in as soon as she’s settled. Try not to excite her as her body can’t handle it right now,” he explained.

“Thank you, doctor,” John replied as he and Sherlock took their seats. 

“Okay, so now we know that this is connected to our case,” Sherlock informed.

“That’s great Sherlock,” John dismissed more concerned about his friend. 

“That means when we solve our case, we will know who is responsible for shooting Y/n. I’m going back to the flat.” 

“What? Don’t you want to be here when she wakes up?” John asked.

“She’ll understand, see you in a bit,” 

Before John could protest Sherlock was already up and on his way out. It was about ten minutes later when John was allowed into your room to see you and another twenty before you would wake up. 

“Y/n? I’m right here.”

“What? Where?”

“Just relax, you are in the hospital. You were shot.”

“Sherlock?”

“He’s fine, just being Sherlock. Do you remember what happened before you were shot?”

“I was cold.” you struggled.

“That’s normal, you lost a lot of blood.”

“No, not from blood loss, it was cold at the entry site” you explain.

“Okay, did you see who shot you?” he asked.

“No, it was dark,” you said weakly fiddling with your IV.

“What are you doing?”

“I have to get out of here. I have to help with the case,” you replied starting to lose focus. 

“The only thing you need to do right now is rest and recuperate,” John explained. 

“No, I have to go to the gallery. I figured it out,” you said before passing out from the drugs. 

“Y/n? What did you figure out?” he questioned, but it was no use.

John went back into the lobby and phoned Sherlock who answered after the first ring.

“Is everything okay?” he asked,

 “I just spoke to Y/n. She doesn’t remember much but said that the entry wound of the shot was cold. She also said that she figured it out. But passed out before she could explain. Maybe she wrote something down or left it on her laptop?” John recalled.

 “I’ll check, are you going to join me or stay there?” Sherlock asked.

“I don’t want to leave her alone Sherlock.”

“She won’t be alone, Molly is on her way.”

“You called Molly?”

“Well, Y/n doesn’t to my knowledge have any family so Molly seemed like a reasonable substitute for you. She should be there at any moment.”

John went back into your room and waited with you until Molly arrived and assured him she’d look after you. He then went back to the flat where Sherlock was waiting. He informed John that Detective Lastrande and the crew had stopped by to analyze the scene. John glanced down to where your blood was on the floor. He was so thankful that they had come back when they did and that you were okay. The two of them proceeded to go through everything they knew and what they could muster up from your computer. 

Meanwhile, you had woken up again this time to find Molly in your room. 

“Hey Y/n, how are you feeling?” she asked standing up and moving closer to you.

“Like I got shot yesterday,” you joked, “Where are Sherlock and John?” 

“They are out solving the case,” she answered.

“Molly I need your phone, I need to talk to Sherlock.” you said trying to stay focused.

“We aren’t really supposed to use phones in here,” she hesitated.

“Molly, it’s very important that I speak to Sherlock, please” you tried. 

She gave in and handed you her cellphone. You dialed Sherlock who quickly answered. 

“Molly? Is everything okay? How’s Y/n?” Sherlock questioned.

“I’m fine but listen to me. It’s about the art gallery. They’re doing an auction. I think they are trying to pass off counterfeits. Inside job. I called-” you started but were caught by a wave of pain which caused you to drop the phone.

“Y/n? Are you alright?” Sherlock asked

“Y/n? What’s wrong?” Molly asked. 

“I feel-” you started.

“You feel what?” Molly questioned.

 “I feel wonderful,” you replied before everything faded to black again. 

“Molly, what’s happening?” Sherlock demanded as he was forced to listen to the sporadic beeping turn into a flatline.

“Nurse! We need a nurse in here!” Molly yelled.

Sherlock hung up the phone. He needed to think. He needed everything to stop so that he could think. There was going to be an auction of the art gallery. The break-in was to switch out counterfeits for the originals. That made sense. But you said it was an inside job. Did you know that or were you just assuming? How would you know? If you were specifically being targeted based on what you had found, how would the culprit have known? Why was there no bullet? There was too much going on in his head. He couldn’t focus.

He was brought out of his thoughts by John who had returned with Tea. “Sherlock? Are you okay?” 

“I talked to Y/n. She thinks that the robbery was actually someone switching the paintings out with counterfeits before the art auction tomorrow. She said it was an inside job before she flatlined.” he recalled.

John nearly dropped his tea, “What do you mean before she flatlined?”

“She was explaining about the case but was cut short and then she flatlined, but it’s okay Molly called a nurse.” He explained.

“Get up” John ordered retrieving his coat.

“Why?”

“We are going to the hospital.” 

“But I need to be here to solve the case.”

“The bloody case can wait Sherlock, Y/n could be dying. Do you understand that?”

Sherlock didn’t argue and they made their way back to the hospital. On the way in, Sherlock nearly slipped on some ice. And that is when it clicked, he turned around and got back in the taxi.

“Where do you think you’re going now?” John asked.

“Ice bullets,” Sherlock replied. 

John dismissed this and went in to sit with Molly as they waited. Meanwhile, Sherlock was performing experiments to figure out ice bullets. He ran into a number of problems using traditional gun powder and guns. For example, the gun powder melted the bullet before it was fired. The ice wasn’t as dense as lead which meant it had to move at least 3x as fast to penetrate the skin. So if he defined an ice bullet as frozen water and a gun as the traditional idea of a gun, it was impossible. But if it were a normal gun, someone would have heard a gunshot. He then thought about what could shoot the ice bullet at the speed needed to cause the injuries both you and the security guard sustained. So he rigged up something using pressurized air. It worked, but the ice shattered upon contact. The concept was right, but the medium wasn’t.

Meanwhile, the doctor had come out to update Molly and John. 

“She is stable again and back in her room. She suffered from a negative reaction to the antigens in the blood we gave her during surgery,” he explained

“Did you give her the wrong blood?” Molly asked confused as to how this could happen.

“No, we cross-matched it correctly during surgery”

“Well is she going to be okay?” John asked

“We’re running some more tests now.” 

“Can we see her?” John asked again.

“Yes, but one at a time.” 

“You go on in Molly, I’m going to call Sherlock,” John said

“Okay,” she agreed.

#sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock bbc #sherlock benedict cumberbatch #sherlock imagine #sherlock imagines #sherlock x reader #sherlock x you #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock holmes imagines #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock series #sherlock holmes series #john watson #john watson imagine

[jade4813]

Sparks Fly, Chapter 12

Title: Sparks Fly

Rating: NC-17

Synopsis: Everybody knows sparks fly whenever Barry Allen and Iris West are together. Their mutual animosity is legendary. But when Iris returns to Central City to investigate recent sightings of a mysterious red streak, she discovers a hero she just can’t resist…and Barry struggles to hide the unrequited feelings he can’t deny.

Chapters: 12/?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

“I’m not going anywhere,” Iris breathed against his mouth. She ducked her head to kiss him again when an alarm caused her to jerk upright. Looking around, she saw Barry’s phone sitting on his nightstand. It was emitting a loud buzz, as the screen flashed red.

“This isn’t happening,” Barry breathed, squeezing his eyes shut in pain. “Please tell me this isn’t happening right now.” He opened his eyes and groaned when he saw the curious expression on her face. “It’s my Flash alarm.” She chuckled, even as she climbed off his lap. “Your Flash alarm?” She didn’t waste time waiting for him to explain. “It’s okay. Go. Do what you need to do. We can…continue this later.”

He threw her a sheepish smile; then there was a gust of wind and he was gone. “Okay, that’s going to take some getting used to,” she breathed.

As the silence fell throughout the apartment following his exit, she tucked her feet under her and mulled over the questions that had haunted her before. How had he known that Barry would become the Flash? Even if his purpose was to keep the two of them apart, how had he known to target her family long before she and Barry ever met? There was only one explanation that made sense, if “making sense” had a very liberal interpretation.

She didn’t know how long Barry would be gone, so she jotted him a quick note before grabbing her shoes and slipping them on. Iris wasn’t good at sitting still when there was work to be done, so she might as well, and she had some errands to run while Barry was otherwise occupied.

A while later, Iris breezed through the front doors to the Central City Picture News, her steps brisk as she headed to her desk. Her hands still clutched her bag to hide the tremble that lingered following her trip to her apartment. She’d told herself that she was strong and brave, that she wouldn’t be driven out of her own home, as she headed up to the apartment she’d cherished mere hours before. But as soon as she stepped through her front door, her breath had seized in her chest, escaping in shallow pants as her entire body began to tremble.

Her home, the place that she had loved, no longer felt safe. It no longer felt like home. She didn’t know if it ever would again. But, still, she forced herself to go through the motions of cleaning up, forcing herself to linger when everything in her wanted to flee.

When she’d spent enough time to feel confident she’d proved her point – if only to herself – she gathered what notes she could and shoved them into a bag. Then, slinging the bag over her shoulder, she headed out to the office. Of course she knew that no amount of people could keep her safe if the Man in Yellow wanted to attack her again. Still, there was something comforting about not being alone.

At the office, she tucked her bag safely into her desk as she dropped into her seat. She’d take it back with her when she returned to Barry’s apartment, for the two of them to dig into together later. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t get started on some research now. Her theory was so outlandish, so incredible, she didn’t even want to mention it to Barry until she’d worked it out a little more.

Glancing around the newsroom, she didn’t see her target so she called out, “Hey, Steve? You seen Carla?” Carla was the science editor, and she had hoped to get some basic background information before digging in further.

“I think she’s out at a conference,” he called back to her.

“Damn,” she muttered under her breath, then jumped when she heard Mason speak over her shoulder.

“She won’t be back until next week. You got something?”

Iris forced a smile. “Not sure yet. Still working through it.”

He narrowed his eyes at her and leaned against her desk. “What happened to your neck?”

She raised her hand to her throat self-consciously, re-adjusting the scarf she’d donned to cover her bruises. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. But the minute I know I’m on to something, you’ll be the first to know.”

He grunted. “You might ask Dr. Wells for his thoughts. He was meeting with some board members today, but he’s supposed to swing by the newsroom after.”

“That’s all right. It’s just background info; I’d hate to waste his time.” She still didn’t know what it was about Harrison Wells that she found so disquieting, but maybe now wasn’t the time to ignore her instincts. Anyway, she knew someone who might be able to give her what she needed. If he was willing to take her call.

Shooting a quick look around the newsroom to make sure nobody was listening in, she browsed through her contacts to pull up his number, using her landline to dial his office before she could have second thoughts.

“Ramon speaking.” The voice, slightly distracted, carried over the wire.

“Hey, Cisco. It’s…uh…it’s Iris. Iris West.” Several seconds of silence followed her introduction, but he didn’t hang up on her immediately, so she assumed that was a good sign. “I need some background on something, and I was hoping you could help me out.” Another long silence stretched between them. “It’s something I’m working on with Barry.”

“With Barry? Really?” Now his tone turned suspicious, but she couldn’t blame him. He was Barry’s best friend, fiercely loyal to him, and was therefore not particularly fond of her. “I find it hard to believe.”

She laughed, the sound shaky and breathless. “I understand. Things with Barry are…well, they’re complicated.”

He chuckled in return, his voice softening slightly as he replied, “Well, that I will believe. What’s so important to justify a truce between you two?” He paused a second, then asked, “You found a new metahuman?” Like a child discovering a new toy, there was unmistakable excitement in his voice, though she could tell he was trying to hide it.

It didn’t seem worth going into the strange sequence of events that had transpired between herself and Barry over the last few days, so she dodged the first one to focus on the second, instead. “You’ve read my articles. I’m surprised.”

“All right. You got me. I’m a huge fan of the Flash,” he confessed, sounding a bit sheepish. “Can I ask you a question? What’s he like in person?”

If that wasn’t a loaded question. “He’s…amazing. Fearless. Everything you’d want a hero to be,” she admitted. “So, will you help me?”

“You’re really working with Barry on this?”

“I really am,” she reassured him.

“All right. What do you need?”

She chewed her lower lip. was almost embarrassed to ask, since her theory still sounded too outlandish for most people to believe. Sucking in a deep breath, she plunged ahead. “What do you know about time travel?”

“Time travel?” he sounded surprised at first, but his tone quickly shifted to curiosity. “You think there’s a metahuman who can travel through time?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” she admitted. “Would that even be possible?”

He let out a low whistle. “Well, that’s a little complicated. How much time do you have?”

Leaning back in her chair, she smiled into the phone. “Give me the basics, and we’ll go from there.”

“Okay, so some believe that time travel could be possible if you could move faster than light. I’m not sure even the Flash can move that fast. And, of course, Einstein’s equations indicated that an object at the speed of light would have infinite mass, which would make it physically impossible. Still, some have piggybacked off his equations and still believe it could be done. Theoretically.

“There’s also the theory that time travel could be possible if you could create wormholes between points in space-time. Now, nobody’s ever actually witnessed a wormhole before, as far as I know, but I think more people find that theory more credible. The problem is that most scientists believe those wormholes would be too unstable to carry a person and would collapse too quickly to support a time traveler. Unless that person could move incredibly fast, I guess. It’s all pretty theoretical, though. Even if wormholes could exist, we don’t have the technology to create them.”

“But maybe a metahuman could,” she mused, tapping her pen against her lower lip. She’d been jotting down notes while he spoke, and now she wondered if her theory was as ludicrous as it had initially seemed. Cisco didn’t think the Flash could move faster than light, but the Man in Yellow had proven that the scarlet speedster might not have plumbed the full potential of his abilities.

“Theoretically,” he admitted. “Anyway, there are other possibilities, but those seem the most plausible. I can pull some stuff together for you, if you’d like.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

“No problem. I’ll drop it by Barry’s later. As long as you let me know if anything comes of it.”

“It’s a promise.”

She hung up the phone and turned to her computer, pulling up her browser. For the next few hours, she lost herself in research on the theories of time travel, printing off page after page to take back to Barry. A lot of it went over her head at first glance, but she had no doubt he could help her make sense of it. For the first time, maybe she and Barry would get the edge over the man who had terrorized her most of her life.

“Iris. Mason said I might be able to help you with some questions.”

She stiffened at the sound of his voice, forcing a smile even as she turned in her chair. “Dr. Wells,” she greeted him, trying to hide her wince as she glanced at the clock. She’d lost track of the time; she’d meant to head back to Barry’s hours ago. “It’s nothing, really. I was just doing some preliminary research. I don’t want to waste your time…”

His gaze shifted over her shoulder to her computer screen, ignoring her protest. “Time travel? Personal interest, or is this for a story?” He seemed amused, the edges of his mouth twitching into a smile.

“Bit of both, actually.” Shifting in her chair, she threw him a thoughtful look. She found him unsettling, but he was a brilliant scientist. Since he was here anyway, what was the harm in getting his perspective? “So, what’s your take? Is it possible?”

“I think just about anything is possible,” he replied with an offhand shrug. “But you’re asking the wrong question. The question isn’t whether a person could travel through time. It’s what happens next.”

Tilting her head to the side, Iris considered his cryptic comment. “What do you mean? Oh, you mean like the butterfly effect? You travel far enough back in time, you can step on a bug and somehow it stops your grandparents from being born?”

He smiled at her, the expression surprisingly genuine. “I always knew you were clever. And, yes, something like that. Of course, it doesn’t have to be that far back. Go back in time two hours, turn left instead of right, and you never meet the love of your life. Go back a year and save a random stranger from being hit by a car, one thing leads to the next and hundreds die who should have lived. Who knows what the consequences could be? If even the smallest action can have unimaginable consequences, then the bigger the act…”

He let his voice trail off, so she finished the thought for him. “The more significant the changes.”

“Exactly.”

She nodded as she mulled over his theory. Like dominoes falling, one change would lead to the next, which would lead to the next. An endless string of consequences from one act. If the Man in Yellow had travelled into the past, the minute he murdered those police officers, he set off a chain of events that even he wouldn’t be able to predict ahead of time. If that were the case, she wondered what her life would have been – should have been – without that fateful act.

But if the Man in Yellow could travel through time, surely the Flash could too. Was it really possible? Could he perhaps go into the past and stop the Man in Yellow, end this chain of falling dominoes before the first one even toppled?

“Do you think it could ever be worth the risk?” she asked softly, as much to herself as to him. “Going back into the past and changing one thing. Not knowing what would come from it. Would it ever be worth it?”

“Depends on why I’m doing it, I suppose. I think some things are worth a little risk. Don’t you?”

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug, unsure of how to respond but unwilling to let the subject go. “All right, so say you wanted to go back in time and do something. Something big. Say you wanted to stop a serial killer before they even claimed their first victim. Is there any way you could do it and reduce the domino effect?”

The look Dr. Wells threw her was thoughtful. When he finally answered, he spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. “That’s a good question. You know, there’s another theory that time is like…like a living thing. With a sort of consciousness that surpasses our understanding. Each time someone travels back in time and changes something, it creates a fracture that this force would try to repair. If that’s true, and this force has a consciousness, then there are things it wants to have happen. No matter what you try to do to stop it, it will act against you to protect that moment or that event. Recreating it over and over and over, no matter what changes you make. And if that’s true, I think…if you really want to erase that moment…or that person…maybe you’d have to remove it from the timestream completely.”

“What do you mean?”

He stared at her for a long moment, then cleared his throat and rolled his chair backwards slightly. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m just rambling. Anyway, it’s all theoretical. Most people – most scientists, even – would say it’s impossible.”

She laughed. “Haven’t you heard? I believe in the impossible.”

“That you do,” he replied cryptically in an undertone. “That you do.”

Something in the air between them had changed, putting Iris more on edge around him than she was usually. So, not wanting to be rude, Iris straightened in her chair and made a show of glancing at her watch before jumping to her feet. “I’m sorry, I just realized I’ve lost track of time. I really should get going. But thank you. You gave me a lot to think about.”

“Don’t mention it,” he replied affably, but she could feel his eyes on her as she reached over to turn off her computer. Throwing him a tight smile, hurried out the door, so distracted by their conversation that she didn’t realize she’d forgotten her notes until she was standing outside of Barry’s building. With a curse, she turned to retrace her steps. And that was when she saw him. The Man in Yellow.

Since he’d known where she lived, she had no doubt he knew she had disregarded his warning and was on her way to see Barry. But if he was about to murder her as he had Officers Neely, Cross, and Peterson – like he had murdered her father – than the least she could do was to make her final moments ones that would have made her dad proud. She would try to be brave.

“If you’re going to kill me, then do it,” she said, proud to find that her voice barely trembled. “But I won’t live in fear of you. Ever again.”

He laughed, the sound somehow more terrifying than his threats the night before. Then, faster than a blink, he moved, racing straight toward her. Iris felt him lift her off her feet carrying her as he ran so fast that she would have wondered how the air wasn’t ripped from her lungs if she was entirely certain her fear would allow her to breathe anyway.

Then he threw her, and Iris was convinced she was about to die. But out of the corner of her eye, as her body was flung backwards, she saw what looked like a black void open around her, swallowing her whole.

Iris landed hard, and she waited for the Man in Yellow to return and finish what he had started. When he didn’t, Iris sat up slowly, still somewhat dazed. She had to have hit her head harder than she realized, she decided, because she could swear she found herself in her father’s living room. It was exactly as she remembered, down to purple stain on the edge of the coffee table, left behind when Iris had gotten a little too enthusiastic with a paint project when she was younger.

“Hello, baby.”

She knew that voice. A sob caught in the back of her throat as Iris turned to see her father sitting on the couch, watching her with eyes both older and sadder than they were in her memory. But it couldn’t be him, could it? He was dead. Her voice was little more than a whimper when she asked, “Dad?”

#sparks fly #fanfiction #my fanfiction #westallen #enemies to lovers au #barry allen #iris west #the flash

[writingbymel]

Syndicate - Part 2

Author’s Note: Thanks for all the amazing support so far guys! Here’s part 2!! This ended up being so long lol I got a little carried away

Date Posted: 11/01/2019

Summary: Damon gets an idea to use Y/N to get Klaus to help him and the gang in Mystic Falls. Y/N and Klaus reunite and they all head to Mystic Falls to stop a mysterious hunter. 

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x Reader

Word Count: 2,300+

Parts: Part 1

SYNDICATE MASTERLIST

“What did you think was going to happen showing up here?” Damon asks ordering a drink from the bartender for me. I take a sip of the rum and let out a little sigh.

“I just wanted to see him,” I reply stirring the ice around in my drink. “I was hoping to see all of them, but someone blew my cover.” I glare at Leo.

“I knew it was a bad idea from the start,” Leo chimes in before taking a sip from his own drink. “Plus I’m not the one who’s obsessed with a bracelet from years ago and refuse to take it off.”

“What are you doing here anyways Damon? Shouldn’t you be back in Mystic Falls?” I ask Damon ignoring Leo’s snide comments. Even though I hated to admit it, Leo was right. I was obsessed with my past even if I tried to convince everyone otherwise.

“You shouldn’t be the one asking questions Y/N,” Damon replies. “You want to tell me how you look like this?” He gestures to my outer appearance, “And don’t tell me you’ve aged because you look like a completely different person.”

“I made a deal with a witch the night of my birthday,” I explain. “She promised to help me conceal my identity so I could run from Klaus if I was willing to help her.”

“What did you do?” asks Damon.

“I turned her daughter who was dying,” I reply sadly.

“So what happened to your actual body?” Damon questions.

“I take it everywhere with me,” I reply laughing. “I keep it in a coffin waiting for the day I could finally stop running.”

“What is with everyone in this city and keeping bodies in coffins,” Damon responds. I just shrug not really understanding what he was referring to.

“Well you’ve been caught by Klaus now Y/N,” Leo says. “The whole Mikaelson family probably knows you’re here now. You’re either running or staying here.”

“I think I’m going to be staying here for a bit,” I say. “I have unfinished business.”

“I was desperately hoping you weren’t going to say that,” Leo groans. Leo never did like the Mikaelsons and he hated the lively atmosphere of New Orleans. He was more of a small town countryside kind of guy. I get up dragging Leo and Damon by their arms.

“We’ve got a body to return to,” I say with a smile.

“How did I get dragged into this?” Damon asks rolling his eyes. “I have more important things to do than help you with a makeover Y/N.”

“I highly doubt that,” I respond not taking no for an answer.

Hours later I woke up from what felt like a deep sleep. My head hurt, yet again. I reach over to my nightstand and take a large gulp of water. I sit up looking at the vanity mirror across from my bed. I was myself again. My Y/H/C hair and Y/E/C eyes almost foreign to me having not been myself the past few decades.

“The princess awakes,” Damon says tossing me a blood bag. I take a few sips feeling satisfied and energized. “You look great. Better than I remember.”

I roll my eyes ignoring Damon’s compliments, “Thank you for the blood, but shut up.”

He laughs as I push past him to the bathroom. My New Orleans apartment was one of the places I missed the most when I was on the run. Everything was still in place as if no one has stepped foot inside in ages. Dust collected on the bathroom sinks. I blow gently on the surface dust flowing into my mouth and nose. I cough a bit.

“That was extremely lame Y/N,” Leo says standing by the door frame. “Even for you, but you do look great, so I’ll let it slide.”

“This is why you’re my best friend,” I say with a smile.

“Yeah even when we both know what you’re doing is completely stupid,” Leo laughs.

“The heart wants what it wants Leo,” I tell him. I was joking, but I knew a part of me wasn’t.

Leo lowers his voice, knowing Damon could be listening, “Yeah and my heart wants Damon to love me.”

“Leo you’ve been obsessed with him for decades, plus he doesn’t swing that way” I tease fixing my hair a bit. “You know he’s obsessed with the doppelgänger.”

“A vampire can dream,” Leo points out.

I roll my eyes at Leo, pushing him out of the way, “You are always trying to make drama where there isn’t any.”

I make my way into the living room of my apartment only to see Damon raiding my liquor cabinet. Not surprising.

“That’s one thing I’ve always liked about you Y/N,” Damon says feeling my presence in the room, “You were never cheap with your liquor,” he turns around with a grin holding up some aged whiskey.

“So are you finally going to tell me what you’re doing here in New Orleans? With Klaus of all people?” I ask reaching into my cabinet to break out some whiskey glasses. He looks at me and pours us each a glass of whiskey.

“There’s a new vampire hunter in Mystic Falls,” Damon starts. “We’re convinced Klaus is the only one who can save us. For some reason this hunter is fast. Supernatural fast and they somehow have the help of a witch.”

“Are they a vampire?” I ask.

“That’s the thing,” Damon responds. “We’re not sure. Stefan is back investigating with everyone and I’m here trying to beg Klaus to come back to Mystic Falls. Somehow everyone was convinced I’m the one he hates the least.”

“Maybe you’re just the best at begging,” I joke. He laughs slightly.

“So what’s your big romance plan,” Damon asks. “Are you going to show up at Klaus’s door and beg for his forgiveness?”

“I didn’t come back to New Orleans to commit suicide,” I reply knowing that showing my face would anger Klaus more. Damon laughs. “How are you going to convince Klaus to go back and help you guys? Last I heard you guys tried to kill him and his whole family.”

“Details details Y/N,” Damon says setting down his empty glass in the sink. “While I love this reunion, I got an original to drag back to Mystic Falls.” He states before disappearing out the door with a flash.

Klaus’s POV

“People have really gone to drastic measures to provoke you brother,” Elijah says laughing out of disbelief.

“Honestly it’s impressive if anything,” I mention. “She looked nothing like Y/N.”

“What if it was Y/N?” Rebekah asks hopefully. I grow irritated with my younger sister.

“Tell me darling sister how would Y/N look completely different,” I retort. “The only way that would be possible is if she had the help of a powerful witch.” I walk out of the room not wanting to talk about the situation any longer. I go into my art room only to see Damon. So much for peace and quiet.

“I already told you Damon I’m not going back to Mystic Falls. I have no reason to help you. I thought I made myself clear,” I grab some of my spare paintbrushes dunking them in water to wash them.

“Can’t you find it in your tiny heart to help us?” Damon jokes. I turn my back to him rolling my eyes. All the Salvatore brothers and the children in Mystic Falls irritated me— one moment they would be trying to drive a stake through my heart, the next they would be finding ways to get me to help them. “What if I reunite you with Y/N?”

“You and I both know Y/N disappeared years ago,” I reply not believing the words I was hearing.

Damon reaches in his pocket for his phone and dials a number. “Hey Y/N can you help me conv—” Before Damon could finish I pushed him up against the wall.

“How dare you try to fool me,” I say angrily. Damon struggles against my grip.

“Jeez talk to her yourself why don’t you,” he squeaks shoving the phone against my ear.  

“Hello?” I ask.

I hear a familiar voice answer, “Hi Klaus.” A voice I fell in love with centuries ago. I slowly let Damon go.

“God I told you,” Damon says brushing off his clothes. “Do you Mikaelsons not trust anyone?”

“No not really,” I respond quietly.

“So are you going to help us or not,” Damon states.

“Bring Y/N here and I’ll consider helping,” I tell him.

“I’m taking that as a yes,” Damon says excitedly. He quickly disappears out the door.

Y/N’s POV

Come to the compound, the only way the big bad hybrid will help if he sees you  - D

I sigh at the pressure now put on my shoulders. If I didn’t go face Klaus and the Mikaelsons, Damon wouldn’t get help and everyone in Mystic Falls would be put in more danger. I really didn’t want to confront them this soon, but it looked like I had no choice. I grab my bag and Leo raises his eyebrows at me.

“Were you really about to visit the Mikaelsons without me?” Leo asks.

“No way,” I reply. “I would not be able to handle all that drama alone.” I grab Leo’s arm and pull him out the door.

Walking down the streets of New Orleans felt like home to me. I remembered the path to the Mikaelson’s from my place like the back of my hand. Two rights and one left took me straight into the center of the Abattoir. Rebekah was outside drinking a cup of blood looking curiously at the latest fashion magazine.

“Y/N? Is that really you?” she asks. She speeds over and takes a closer look at me. “Wow it really is you,” she pulls me into a hug.  

“This isn’t the welcome I expected after staking your brother ages ago,” I say with a slight laugh. Rebekah pulls away.

“Y/N, I think all of us have tried to kill Klaus once. Plus that was ages ago,” Rebekah explains laughing. She looks over at Leo. “And you are?”

“Oh Rebekah this is Leo,” I explain. “I met him a few years ago when he just turned.”

She gives him a small smile, “Klaus is upstairs, but I’m sure he’s heard you by now knowing my nosy brother.” Damon makes his way into the courtyard.

“Y/N thanks for coming,” Damon says.

“You honestly didn’t give me much of a choice,” I reply. Damon begins to drag me up the stairs.

“Wait I’m not ready,” I state stopping in my tracks. Damon groans.

“Y/N,” I hear a voice at the top of the stairs. I look up to come face to face with Klaus. He had smudges of paint all over his clothes. I smile at myself a little bit. Even after centuries nothing has changed.

“Klaus,” I reply.

“Damon,” Damon says attempting to break the awkward tension. I would’ve laughed if it weren’t for the fact that I was staring at my ex-boyfriend who I thought I would never see again. Klaus extends his hand out to me.

“Let’s talk,” he says pulling me upstairs. I sit down on the couch in the living area as he hands me a glass of blood which I take graciously. Klaus stares at me, but I try to avoid eye contact as much as possible.

“Where did you disappear to all these years?” Klaus asks.

“I’ve sort of been jumping around everywhere,” I say staring at the thick red liquid in my cup. Normally I would be taking the opportunity to drink it, but I couldn’t stomach anything at the moment. I set the drink on the coffee table. He responds with a nod. “How are you not lashing out at me right now?” I ask. “I tried to kill you Klaus.”

“I was angry for years Y/N,” Klaus replies. “I never thought I would see you again.” He walks over to sit on the coffee table across from me. I hold my breath as he suddenly gets closer, “You really did hurt me Y/N.”

I stare at my hands in my lap, “I still regret it to this day.”

“Why did you do it?” Klaus asks.

“Someone threatened my family,” I reply sadly. “To this day I still don’t know who it was. The stake just showed up on my doorstep with a note.” Klaus remains silent. “I really am sorry Klaus.”

“I have a vampire hunter to kill,” Klaus sets his glass down before getting up and making his way towards the stairs. I reach out to grab his arm. He looks at me quietly.

“I’ve really missed you Klaus,” I tell him. He reaches out to push some of my hair out of my face.

“Me too,” Klaus whispers.

“I’m coming to Mystic Falls too,” I state.

“If you insist,” Klaus says making his way down the stairs. As I turned the corner I saw Damon, Rebekah, and Leo huddled at the bottom of the stairs attempting to listen to Klaus and I’s conversation.

“Don’t you all have supernatural hearing?” I say rolling my eyes at them.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Y/N, we were just looking at the stairs,” Leo laughs.

“Sure you guys were,” I say pushing past them. “Mystic Falls here we come!”

Damon shakes his car keys, “I’ll drive.”

I look over at Klaus and he gives me a small smile. For someone I haven’t seen in centuries, I felt my feelings for Klaus wash over me all over again. We all piled into Damon’s car and headed to Mystic Falls.

PART 3

#klaus mikaleson imagine #klaus mikaelson x reader #the originals #the originals imagine #klaus mikaelson #the vampire diaries #the vampire diaries imagine

[quickspinner]

Hey Gorgeous - Under Your Skin 23

Links to previous sections at the bottom.

Guy’s night was probably one of Luka’s least favorite traditions. Maybe it was because he’d lived so much of his life surrounded by women, but he just...tended to find he liked people a lot less after sitting through a guy’s night with them. The stuff guys were willing to say when girls weren’t around could be...ugh. 

This group, though, this was okay, even if poker wasn’t exactly his game of choice. Tonight it was just his friends Evan and Miles, and Marinette’s longtime friend Nino who was also in the music program, and Nino’s friend Kim, who didn’t go to their school but lived nearby. 

Luka was actually enjoying himself when his phone rang on the table. 

“Oooh, that’s a forfeit if you answer,” Evan shook his finger at Luka. “No girlfriends on guy’s night.”

Luka rolled his eyes and slapped five Euros on the table. “Worth it,” he told Evan, as he picked up the call. “Hey babe, what’s up?”

“L-l-l--” She cut off in a choked noise. 

Luka frowned. “Easy, babe, I’m here.” He shook his head slightly, brow furrowed as he tried to understand her. He glanced at Nino, who was giving him a concerned look. “Babe, I’m sorry, I can’t--I can’t understand you, I’m so sorry, can you...can you slow down or something?” He frowned. “Babe, are you crying? Listen, can you just tell me where you are? I’ll come to you, okay?”

“What’s wrong?” Kim demanded, and Luka shook his head, covering the speaker with his hand. 

“I honestly can’t understand a word she’s saying, she’s never been this bad.” Over the phone he heard another voice talking to Marinette, but he couldn’t hear the words. After a moment there was a rustle. “Marinette?”

“It’s Juleka,” his sister answered. “Marinette’s at our place and obviously she’s really upset. Come home, I’ll try to calm her down and figure out what happened.”

“Okay,” he relaxed a little, knowing a Juleka would take care of her. “Thanks Jules, tell her I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He hung up without waiting for an answer. “I need a ride,” he said to the room.

“I’ve got you,” Nino replied, standing up immediately. “I came in the van.”

“Thank you,” Luka said, reaching for his wallet to cash out hurriedly. Evan grabbed his wrist.

“Don’t worry about that, we’ll figure it out. You too, Nino, we know you’re good for it. Go take care of your girl, Luka. Call me if you need anything.” 

“Same,” said Kim immediately. 

“Thanks, guys.” Luka flashed a quick grin as he tripped over his chair trying to get away from the table. Nino caught him and steadied him. 

“Easy, you gotta stay calm, dude.” Nino snorted softly. “Never thought I’d be saying that to you.” 

“I’ll be calm when we’re there and I know what’s going on,” Luka sighed as he grabbed his jacket.  He and Nino hurried down the stairs and into Nino’s van. 

“Sorry about the mess,” Nino said as Luka shoved aside fast food wrappers.

“Don’t worry about it,” Luka said absently, pulling out his phone to let Juleka know he was on his way. A few minutes into the ride, she called him back.

“There was an accident at the bakery and Marinette’s father was injured,” Juleka told him in her succinct way. “It’s not life threatening, but he’s in the hospital. Honestly from the texts she showed me it sounds like her mom has things under control, but I don’t think Marinette’s going to be okay until she sees him. I’ll have a bus schedule ready by the time you get here, do you want me to go ahead and book tickets and pack your bag?” 

“Please,” Luka said in relief. “Just make sure we have enough time to get to the station, we’ll have to pack for Marinette too. See if you can get her roommate’s number and text it to me, I’ll call and ask her to pack for Marinette. How’s she doing?”

“Better, but not great. I’m doing my best.”

“Thanks, Jules. Really.”

“Don’t be stupid,” she huffed. “See you when you get here. I’ll let you know if anything happens.”

Luka hung up and relayed everything he’d been told to Nino. 

“Aw, man,” Nino muttered. “Marinette’s usually great in a crisis but she’s really close to her family, and being here where she can’t do anything, that’s a recipe for a meltdown.” 

“Yeah,” Luka fretted. “She’s really upset.” He glanced at Nino. “Any advice? You’ve known her longer.”

“It’ll help if you can give her something to do,” Nino replied after a moment of thought. “Marinette’s brain goes about thirty times the speed of everyone else’s, so you gotta give her something to do or she’ll get stuck in a loop and all that energy comes out in bad ways.”

“Got it,” Luka said, texting Juleka. “I know it’s a lot to ask, man, but can you hang around and run us back to Marinette’s dorm and then the bus station?”

“I’ll do anything you need,” Nino told him. “Marinette’s been my friend forever and I’ve known Tom and Sabine almost as long, so you can bet I’ll do anything you need. If I could I’d drive you myself, but I don’t think you’d get there any faster in this clunker.”

“This is more than enough,” Luka assured him, and then dialed his phone.

Anarka picked up on the first ring, voice concerned. “Luka, what’s going on?”

“I’m okay, Maman—”

“Ah, good.” 

“—but I need help.”

“What can I do?” Anarka asked briskly. 

Luka smiled. 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |  Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24

A continuation of Hey Gorgeous Part 1| Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Bonus Scene | Now on AO3

@thethirdwheelfriend @mystery-5-5

#hey gorgeous #hey gorgeous 2 #campus delivery boy luka #lukanette #i am lukanette trash i admit it #miraculous ladybug #miraculousladybug #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #quickspins

[lilyvandersteen]

What shortish (under 10k) one shots would you recommend that are meet-cutes and/or pining? Thanks!

Oooh, this is going to be a long list, Nonnie! Thanks for asking :-) Hugs, Marjan

Accessories by @hazelandglasz

Inspired by @tacogrande’s art on Tumblr : http://tacogrande.tumblr.com/post/156495579892/i-also-did-a-lil-au-where-blaine-is-just-always

All The Toys by Petalene

Fill for the GKM.  The five times Blaine went into a sex toy shop and the one time he came out with something really good. 

Auto Shops, Show Tunes and Happiness by @sunshineoptimismandangels

This is for coffeegleek wo prompted:Kurt has had to take over his dad’s shop & Blaine comes to get his car fixed, hears Kurt singing - AU meet cute, they’re 20-30+. Maybe Kurt does local community theatre. 

Blind Date by @bookqueen101

Tumblr Prompt: We’re both meant to be going on blind dates with other people but we sat down at the wrong table and got our hopes up.

Connections by @alilactree

A prompt from imnotimperfectlyperfect, Klaine alternate meeting: Blaine sees Kurt on the subway and misses his chance to talk to him, so he resorts to using an ad to find him again. This probably turned out to be a lot sillier than you were hoping, sorry about that. Warnings: Blaine goes on faily dates with other canon characters.

Dial 1 for Kurt by @starangel148

One day, as luck would have it, Kurt answered a call to his dorm phone even though he call was most likely for his playboy roommate. The rest is serendipity. AU Kurt/Blaine, set in college. 

Don’t make me over by @klaineanummel

Kurt thinks today will just be an average day; he’ll go to work, he’ll pine for his friend-with-benefits Blaine (who he desperately wants to become more), and he’ll remind his boss for the millionth time that he doesn’t want to be set up with her son. It goes pretty much as he expects… well, sort of.

Flowers Verse by @hazelandglasz​

Blaine just wants to get a bunch of flowers to his grandma.Little did he know that the Subway can lead to some interesting meetings … 

Fools Rush In by @black-john-lennon

Elvis once sang “Wise men say only fools rush in, but I can’t help falling in love with you”

Blaine and Sam might be those guys.

Free Pizza to Make You Smile by @princehummel

A short, cheesy (pun super intended) Valentine’s Day meet-cute. A bit late, but whatever.

It’s Valentine’s Day, but Kurt has too much homework and not enough boyfriend (in other words, no boyfriend) to properly celebrate. But there’s no law that says he can’t celebrate with himself, his laptop, and a special pizza.

Getting Out the Vote, 2016 – Feel the Bern! by @nightingale63

Klaine AU – Kurt and Blaine never met in high school, and are college students in New York who return to Ohio for spring break to volunteer for Bernie Sanders’ campaign. Meet cute entails! 

Gift with Purchase by @lady-divine-writes

To prepare for a big audition, Tina takes Blaine to Sephora for a little freshening up, where Blaine meets the sales associate of his dreams. 

Got A Sweet Tooth For You by @hazelandglasz

anonymous asked:I have one I have one! So, it’s AU. Blaine is scared to go to dentist (feel you, bb) and his tooth hurts more and more everyday. So finally, he mans up and goes. And meets the sexiest dentist ever.

Here Comes The Sun Salutation by @invisibleraven

Blaine has a work mandate to lower his stress levels by attending a yoga class. Which he goes to straight from work in a suit… 

Here to fix all of your problems by @fictionallylost

Rachel calls for a handyman to come and fix her and Kurt’s loft’s heating problems, then leaves Kurt home alone to await the assistance. Who do you think comes to his rescue? ;)

Hold Onto The Handrail by @antarcticbird

hazelandglasz prompted: the subway brakes too strongly and bam, au meeting ? 

If These Pages Could Tell A Story by @controlofwhatido

Isabelle Wright has written another book and is about to go on tour with it. Kurt’s job, as her assistant, is to make sure every location is up to speed with Isabelle’s requests. When Kurt e-mails Anderson’s Bookshop, he certainly doesn’t expect their correspondence to go past the first couple perfunctory responses…

Instant Boyfriend by @scrapmom2112

One minute Kurt is having coffee and minding his own business and the next he has a boyfriend…what? AU. Just another way for Kurt and Blaine to meet, and it’s at the Lima Bean, of course.

Kink(O)s by @hazelandglasz

Prompt : one of them want to print something, maybe a calendar with hot guys and the other one is the hot printer? 

Let It Snow by @antarcticbird

Snowed in at an airport on the 24th of December, with no cell phone reception and Cooper + family for company. 

Love Shack by @hkvoyage

On a sweltering hot summer’s evening, Kurt discovers a new cheesecake bakery in his Bushwick neighborhood. He soon realizes the true meaning of Valentine’s Day. An alternative meeting, written for the 2016 Klaine Valentines Challenge on Tumblr.

Night Work by @honeysucklepink

This was written for the KBL Reversebang Hiatus Challenge. I got a photo of a dog with a pumpkin and three items/things to include in my story: “Pharmacy,” “Sweats (clothing),” and “Stars.” And then on top of that I got awesome art from Jen (homemadedarkmark)! Thanks Jen! Also thanks to kurtswish for the beta. This is a simple “meet-cute,” hope you enjoy (in spite of it being Halloween-themed while way past Halloween)! 

Of BFF’s and Shoes by @a-simple-rainbow

I decided to mesh together a fuckload of tropes/prompts. From the text to the wrong number, to meeting in an elevator. Mostly it’s funny and stupid. Apologies to anyone who likes high heeled converse all stars. 

Of Sad Movies and Kind Strangers by @hadelli

Kurt’s week couldn’t get any worse.Because is there anything more pathetic than crying in a movie theatre, alone?Probably not, right?Right??

On Boundaries and Harvard Law by @klaineanummel

Burt gives Kurt’s number to a total stranger.

Overcoming a Break-Up by @mailroomorder

Kurt knows what it’s like to lose a nicely tailored jacket in the city, and he wouldn’t want that to happen to someone else. So when someone leaves their jacket at the restaurant Kurt works at, he figures the least he can do is return it to its rightful owner. Even if said owner did dine and dash, forcing Kurt to pay his bill.

Overcoming Gravity by @alilactree

From @prompt-a-klainefic:

I just discovered that you can buy vibrators at the airport, but while i was trying to load my bag into the overhead compartment on the plane, it fell out and landed right in your lap.

Poke-Klaine by @nightingale63

AU where Blaine went to NYADA but Kurt went to FIT (and Kurt never went to Dalton). A fun, fluffy meet-cute – enjoy!

Raspberry Rain by @lovetheblazer

kurt-and-blaine-anderhummel prompted: I haven’t slept in like 3 days everything is funny and your hair smells really good (where Kurt is the one that hasn’t slept and Blaine sits next to him in class and he keeps leaning his head on Blaine’s shoulder and keeps telling Blaine that his hair smells good from his scented hair gel). Klaine Alternative Meeting AU

Return to Sender by @skivvysupreme

Kurt’s shifts at the Spotlight Diner keep turning into complete trainwrecks, and it’s all the hot UPS guy’s fault. Sort of. (Though, in all fairness, Kurt has always had a certain weakness for men in uniforms.) 

Tell Me All Your Secrets by @lady-divine-writes

After being cheated on by his boyfriend for the tenth time, Kurt comes home, ready to surrender to a good cry and sleep. But when he can’t sleep, he checks his voice mail and finds a bunch of drunken messages from a wrong number, but his mysterious caller might be the answer to getting over his scumbag ex.

The Bookshelf by @klainjel

In which Blaine stumbles into a bookstore in search of a birthday present and finds so much more 

The Concert Experience by BlurtItAllOut

Wes and David have a spare concert ticket, and asks Blaine to tag along. He may not be so very interested in the headliner, but there are others to feast his eyes on. This will be a concert experience to remember. 

The Effects of Cookies on Shy Teenagers by @musiclovingbitch

ADJACENT STANDS AT THE FARMER’S MARKET AU

The Man With The Hippo-Head Brooch by @borogroves

A passing encounter on the London Underground leaves Blaine trying to track down a beautiful stranger.

Welcome to the New Age by @itspartofmyjealousy

A love story told through NYADA’s Snapchat

What Dreams Are Made Of by @bluecloudsupabove/ca_te

Just when Kurt thought New York couldn’t get more perfect, he stumbled upon Blaine.

#klaine fanfiction #meet cute fic recs #pining fic recs #under 10K #enjoy!

[imaragdoll]

Gale how can I trust you with those bangs

Scream 3 - 2000

This movie seemly opens on a happyish note, well from a certain point of view. Cotton has been able to move on with his life and is the host of as he calls it the number one nationally syndicated talk show 100% Cotton. He is slightly annoyed he was offered a camo in the newest Stab movie and states that he lived thru the f*cking thing. Sadly this is the end of happy Cotton as Ghostface kills Christine (Kelly Rutherford) and Cotton Weary (Liev Schreiber). We then cut to Sidney, this is after all her story, and she has decided she's had enough of people trying to kill her so she lives all alone up a dirt path in the middle of absolutely no where. (Good for her) She's got a dog and a job that she can work remotely and she is just trying to live her best life and not die. *Side note, if you pay attention to her phone she has 6 numbers on speed dial: Dad; Dewey; Center; Police; Fire & Vet. So this is our reminder that Dewey is still acting out his part as surrogate big brother. Now we have Gale, she's giving a lecture on how to be a super reporter and she's got the bad bangs. Never trust a bitch with bad bangs. This is a real life skill. Officer McDreamy Mark Kincaid comes to talk to Gale after she gets called out for being a bitch reporter about the murders of Cotton and Christine, because Gale knew Cotton and was his number 1 supporter from way back that he didn't kill anyone. *side note here - my headcannon universe is that there was going to be a deeper connection between Cotton and Gale, like they knew each other and that's why she had his back before, and the idea just never was worked out* So Officer Kincaid really just wants to talk to Sidney but she's super off-grid and he figures since Gale keeps writing books about all the tragic stuff that has happened to Sidney maybe Gale knows where she is. But Gale doesn't because Gale and Sidney are not friends. Gale should be gone now but oh no she's not because she smells a story. We move on to the set of the newest Stab movie The Return To Woodsboro where Dewey has been brought on as a consultant. It makes sense; he is from Woodsboro, he lived thru the events of the Woodsboro killings; his sister was murdered during the Woodsboro killings and oh yea HE WAS A COP AND INVESTIGATED THE CRIME he is 100% who you want there if you want accuracy. Later after a humorous reintroduction, Dewey confides in Gale that someone claiming to work on the movie was trying to get information from the Woodsboro police about Sidney and that there was a break-in at the station shortly after. He then decided to become a consultant on the movie. There is a lot of finger-pointing a lot more mystery into the past in this movie a whole lot of meta comments on Hollywood and movies and actors and an epic cameo from Carrie Fisher as Bianca. I loved Jennifer Jolie (Parker Posey) and her version of Gale. We have the Ghost of Survivers Pass as Martha Meeks (Heather Matarazzo) the little sister to Randy Meeks (Jamie Kennedy) has left a How To Survive tape. There is also a small moment where Gale questions who tf Martha is because she does not know this 17 year old child. Both Sidney and Dewey do however because unlike Gale who only reads the cliff notes Sidney and Dewey lived all of this. Jay and Silent Bob make a cameo which means Scream takes place in the View Askew universe where Alanis Morissette played God, and also had the hit song Ironic in 1996 when the first Scream came out, giving this all a weird meta tie. I am rambling and I need to focus. Anyway everybody dies except Sidney; Dewey; Officer McDreamy & Gale who again had no business being around. (Martha lives too because she gets the f*ck away from these people). The end. Red Right Hand plays and we are done until.....

[sattlersquarry]

“Three Card Monte”--The Four Burglars (Part 2)

Here’s the second part of chapter 1. I think each chapter will be about 3 parts.

We get more Cameron in this part, AND some Kay and Mike at the end! Sorry that’s it’s so long, I wasn’t going to include the scene with Kay and Mike yet but I was too excited.

Here’s the link to the other two parts--read those FIRST!

Prologue

Chapter 1: The Four Burglars

  Part 1

Chapter 1: The Four Burglars (Part 2)

The next morning, Cameron stared at the payphone in his hand and tried not to scream.

“Hurry up, Black,” the guard watching him said. “We don’t have all day.”

“Give me a second!” Cameron snapped. He racked his brain trying to remember Kay’s phone number.

It’s not his fault he didn’t know it by heart. When he wanted to call her before, he could just pull out his cellphone, say, “Hey, Siri, call ‘Partner,’” and that was that.

“Black,” the guard said, “you’ve been staring at that phone for ten minutes.”

“I’ve almost got it!” Cameron said. “It’s 212-894-87--something something. Or is it 212-984-78--something something.”

He wondered if he could just call the FBI headquarters. Did they have their number listed in a phone book? Did people still use phone books?

“That’s it!” the guard said. “Back to your cell.”

“No, wait!” Cameron said.

Too late. The guard--who was about a head taller than Cameron, and three times as strong--was dragging him back to the cement hellhole that was his new home.

Cameron’s daily routine in prison was as follows:

1. Wake up 

2. Eat breakfast 

3.Wonder what Kay was doing

4. Try not to get beat up

5. Use his one phone call a day to call Kay

6. Realize he messed up her number (again)

7. Apologize profusely to the random person who would now get charged for the prison phone call

8. Try not to get shanked

9. Wonder what Kay was doing

10. Eat lunch

11. Think about how terrible of a person he was

12. Think about how terrible of a person his dad was

13. Wonder what Jonny was doing

14. Wonder what the team was doing

15. Wonder what Kay was doing

16. Eat dinner

17. Go to sleep

18. Repeat.

After a week in jail, Cameron was getting restless.

His latest attempt at contacting Kay failed. As if the universe was laughing at his situation, he was a few numbers off and accidentally called a magic shop in Queens. A teenage boy answered the phone.

“Strange Magic Magic Shop, you’ve got the rabbit, we’ve got the hat. This is Deryk. How can I help you today?”

“Sorry,” Cameron said, “wrong number.”

He started to hang up, but Deryk said, “Hey, wait, I recognize your voice. Is this Cameron Black?”

Cameron sighed.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Yo, that’s dope!” Deryk said. “Hey, want to do a commercial for our store? We’ll give you a 15% off discount.”

“How generous,” Cameron quipped. He suddenly had an idea--it was a terrible idea, but it just might work. “Tell you what: if you can get Agent Kay Daniels of the FBI to come visit my brother Jonathan Black in prison, I’ll do ten commercials for your magic shop.”

“Rad,” Deryk said. “It’s a deal.”

Cameron hung up the phone, wondering if Deryk would actually be any help.

“Black!” a guard shouted.

“I know, I know,” Cameron said. “Back to my cell.”

“Actually, you have a visitor,” the guard said.

Cameron’s heart soared. It had to be Kay; it just had to be!

His mind raced as the guard led him to the visiting room. Maybe Kay had new information about how they could arrest the Mystery Woman, and was coming to tell Jonathan about it. Or maybe Deryk had the FBI on speed dial. Whatever the case, Cameron would be able to tell Kay everything. She’d get him out of here.

Cameron burst into the room, saying, “Kay, thank God--”

He stopped when he realized the two people in the room were most definitely NOT Kay.

They were a man and a woman, both in their early twenties. The man had dark skin and black hair hidden under a New York Yankees cap. He was wearing a pair of glasses and a button-up blue shirt.

The woman had reddish-brown hair and freckles. There was a tattoo on her wrist of Orion’s belt. She was wearing a T-shirt with a picture of Spider-Man on it and holding a file folder overflowing with documents.

Cameron was absolutely sure he’d never seen either of these people before. Maybe they were friends of Jonathan’s? Should Cameron pretend he knew them?

“You’re not Kay Daniels,” was all he could think to say.

“And you’re not Jonathan Black,” the woman said. “Take a seat, Cameron.”

Cameron acquiesced, unsure of what was going on.

“My name is Emerson,” the woman said. “This is Charlie.”

“Sup,” Charlie said, nodding.

Cameron frowned.

“Wait,” he said. “How did you know that I’m the real Cameron Black?”

“She’s a level-ten stalker,” Charlie said.

Emerson elbowed him in the ribs.

“Okay, so,” Emerson said, “I had this theory.”

She explained her extensive knowledge of conspiracy theories, the National Enquirer article, her research on his shows, and her hunch that something wasn’t quite right. Cameron just sat and listened, shocked at what he was hearing.

“This-this is incredible,” he said, looking through the photos and notes from Emerson’s folder. “How can you tell Jonny and I apart?”

“It’s simple,” Emerson said. “You two behave differently. It’s subtle, but it’s there.”

“Emerson’s parents were psychologists,” Charlie explained. “She knows a lot of weird stuff.”

“It’s not weird!” Emerson said. “I just observe people’s behavior and try to guess what’s wrong with them.”

“You basically just defined weird.”

Emerson glared at Charlie and said, “Dude, why did you come if you were just going to roast me at every turn?”

“As fun as it is to watch you two argue,” Cameron interrupted, “I need you to focus. There’s an FBI Agent, Agent Kay Daniels, who can get me out of here. Bring your evidence to her and convince her that I’m really Cameron.”

“Whoa, the FBI?” Charlie said. “That’s intense.”

“Do you think she’ll believe me?” Emerson asked.

“I don’t know,” Cameron said. “But if you’re convincing enough, she’ll come down here to check it out on her own. And that’s what I’m counting on.”

Kay Daniels was having a terrible day.

No, scratch that. A terrible month.

It all started when she opened her heart up to Cameron and he basically told her to go screw herself. She felt embarrassed and ashamed that she ever thought he felt the same way.

To distract herself from the heartbreak, she threw herself into her work. Now that Mike was back at the FBI, they closed seven cases in the span of four weeks.

Just when Kay finally thought she had forgotten about Cameron Black, she saw his face plastered on the National Enquirer.

“‘Cameron Black still partying in Aruba’?” she read aloud. “What the hell is this?”

“It’s this week’s headline,” the man working the newsstand said. “Do you want to buy it or not?”

Kay handed the man her money and grabbed one of the papers. She flipped through it until she got to the page with the article about Cameron, and she glowered at the grainy photo of Cameron and some bleach-blonde hussy--

“Kay!”

Mike’s voice startled her.

“Oh, hey Mike,” she said, folding the newspaper and putting it under her arm.

“I got you a coffee,” Mike said, handing her a latte as the two of them walked toward the FBI building. “Why are you reading that trash? You know the people who write for those tabloids make up whatever they want, right?”

“I know,” Kay said. “I can’t help it. I miss Cam--I mean, I miss the whole Deception team.”

Mike gave her a look.

“Don’t lie to me, Agent Daniels,” Mike said, opening the door of their building for her. “It’s not a good color on you.”

Kay was about to respond and say she definitely was NOT lying and didn’t care if she saw Cameron Black ever again, but she got distracted by some sort of scuffle happening by the metal detectors.

“You can’t come through here,” a beefy security guard named Lester said. “If you want to visit the FBI headquarters, you need to fill out forms and have a thorough background check done.”

“And how long does that take?” a woman holding a rather large file folder asked.

“About ten weeks.”

“Ten weeks?!” the man standing with her practically screeched. “Dude, an innocent man is in jail! He won’t survive that long!”

“What’s going on here?” Kay said, approaching the scene with Mike.

The woman holding the folder turned to them and said, “We’re here on urgent business regarding Cameron Black.”

Kay’s eyes widened.

“Cameron?” she asked. “What’s wrong, is he all right?”

“If you call being wrongfully imprisoned ‘all right,’ he’s just peachy,” the man scoffed.

“Lester,” Kay said, “let them up. They’re with me.”

Lester glowered at the man and woman, but let them through.

“Kay,” Mike whispered, “is this a good idea? We have no idea who these people are.”

“They say Cameron’s in trouble,” Kay said. “He’s one of us. And when one of our own is in trouble, we help them.”

#my writing #eliza writes #three-card monte #the four burglars #part 2 #deception abc #deception fanfiction #cameron black #kay daniels

[jareau-prentiss]

Collision Course - Chapter 4

A/N: Hi, lovely readers! Yes, I am aware that I haven’t updated for over a month, I’m sorry, school has been killing me recently. This chapter isn’t really case-oriented, it’s more fluffy.

Warnings: None

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters portrayed in this story.

Part 1     Part 2     Part 3

Emily felt her heart begin to race, her breath quickening. They must have shifted somehow during the night, as if the pull she felt towards JJ was inevitable, even when she was unconscious. The woman laying on her chest hadn’t stirred, her blonde hair spilling over onto the pillow and her arms firmly wrapped around Emily’s midriff.

It felt so natural, holding Jennifer Jareau like there was no one else in the world. The heat that emanated from her body sent an incredible warmth wherever they touched. Emily lay there for a moment, breathing in the moment. Allowing herself to imagine, for just a few seconds, that this was a normal occurence, that she went to sleep every night with JJ pressed against her.

However, she was snapped out of her dream by a small grunt coming from below her chin. Emily felt JJ stiffen up, as she opened her eyes and realized the situation they were in. They both pulled back a little, and JJ tilted her head to look up at Emily.

“Hey,” she whispered, her eyes shifting from a look of shock to one that the other woman couldn’t quite decipher.

“Hey yourself,” Emily breathed.

She didn’t know what it was. Perhaps it was the rumpled clothes, the heat of their bodies, the tousled hair. Maybe it was the fact that she had felt this way for three damn years, and there would never be a better chance than this. Something about that moment sent a flash of boldness through her, and she reached out and entwined her fingers with JJ’s.

The other woman looked back up at her, the mysterious expression in her eyes intensifying. They leaned closer to each other simultaneously, until they were inches away, their breath mingling. Emily shifted her gaze to JJ’s lips, so tantalizingly close.

They jolted apart as the loud buzz of Emily’s phone ringing threw them back into reality. JJ rocked back on her heels, and an intense shock reflected in both of their eyes. Emily’s chest rose and fell heavily, her heart racing at what she felt could only be the speed of light.

A moment passed, their breathing and the continuous ringing of the phone the only sounds that filled the room.

“I’ll-”

“We should-”

They both laughed softly, despite the awkwardness in the situation. JJ hopped off of the bed, backing up a few steps and grabbing her clothes from the dresser.  “I - I’ll get ready, we should probably go to the station.”

Emily nodded as the blonde retreated to the bathroom. She picked up the phone, managing somehow to sound professional, in spite of the fact that her heart was still close to bursting out of her chest. “SSA Prentiss speaking.”

“Emily, it’s Hotch,” the deep voice from her phone stated. “Can you and JJ be at the station in 30? We’re going to present the profile later today.”

“Sure, Hotch. See you then,” Emily replied, hanging up as she grabbed her shirt from the dresser and pulled it over her head, followed by a dark blazer. She finished getting dressed as the other woman emerged.

“Who was calling?” JJ queried, as she began to pack up a few of her belongings to take to the station.

“Oh, just Hotch,” Emily responded, “He wants us there in 30.”

“Sounds good, want to grab coffee before?”

“Sure, though we better get some for the whole team or we might have a very grouchy Spencer on our hands.”

They both chuckled softly as they exited the room, the sight of the unmade bed disappearing behind the door keeping thoughts of what could have happened, if not for that phone, lingering in their thoughts.

~

After a while, they pulled up to the coffee shop in their dark SUV. JJ left the vehicle to go buy their coffees, leaving Emily behind so she could check in with Garcia. Remembering the conversation she had initiated with a hotel receptionist whilst waiting for the valet to bring their car to the front of the building earlier that morning, Emily realized she had something very important to talk to her friend about while she had time to, besides the case.

Emily pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialed the all-too familiar number. The recipient picked up after a few seconds of ringing.

“FBI’s office of supreme genius, how may I enlighten you today?” Garcia chirped.

“Hey Pen, it’s just me.”  

“Em! How’s the case? Any updates?”

“Not yet, JJ and I are going to head down to the station in a minute.” She glanced over to where the other woman was ordering the coffee to bring to the team. “Speaking of JJ,” she began.

Emily could envision the grin that had spread across Penelope’s face when she had said that.

“Yes?” Garcia responded, finding it difficult to keep the excitement out of her voice.

“I actually went to the hotel this morning, and spoke to them about their ‘lack of vacancies’. They informed me there were multiple vacant rooms last night, definitely enough to individually accommodate each member of our team. So, anything to say for yourself, Penelope?”

“Nope, nothing. Guess the universe just wanted to give you two a nudge in the right direction,” Garcia laughed, the pure sound bringing a smile to Emily’s face even in her annoyance.

“So, what happened with JJ?! Tell me everything,” her voice suddenly conveying a sense of urgency.

“Well, as I’m sure you know, JJ and I ended up in the same room last night. A room with one bed, despite the fact that the rest of the team had rooms with two beds. Which, of course, was completely coincidental and had nothing to do with anyone’s meddling.”

“Of course,” Penelope affirmed.

“And then I woke up… and we were cuddling, Garcia.” Emily wanted to say more, about that fleeting moment of passion, but she couldn’t. Not yet.

A muffled squeal blasted from the phone, accompanied by the sharp sound of a hand being clapped over a mouth. “Really?! Oh my god - Em - this is amazing!!! I knew it would work! Now you can ask her out and kiss and get married and have kids and-”

In the midst of rolling her eyes at the other woman’s antics, Emily spotted JJ emerging from the coffee shop, holding six of the drinks in multiple containers.

“Gotta go, Pen,” she said quickly, hanging up in the middle of the analyst’s muffled protests.

JJ reached the door of their black SUV, her blonde ponytail swaying behind her in the cool breeze. Her beam as she approached Emily lit up the whole area, and the brunette couldn’t help but smile in return. JJ pulled open the door and slammed it shut, rearranging the coffee containers on her lap and passing a cup to Emily.

“Thanks, JJ,” Emily said to her, as she took a sip of the hot drink.

JJ took a sip of her own, wrinkling her nose slightly at the bitterness.

“Hotch expects us in...10 minutes now, right?”

“Yep,” Emily confirmed, placing her coffee in the cup holder to her right and getting ready to drive to the station. “Then wheels up,” JJ intoned softly, smiling at the other woman when they made eye contact.

Emily smiled back at her, then turned her attention back to the road. “Wheels up,” she echoed.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Again, sorry it’s incredibly late, I don’t know how to write. This story will be continued.  Let me know if you want to be tagged in the rest of the chapters. Sending all the love!

- Alexandra

Tag List:

@sam-carter-in-training  @short-and-gay  @obsessedwithbadasswomen @sconesundermybed

#jemily #criminal minds #jj #emily #jj x emily #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #spencer reid #this is probably bad but u know what i tried #fluff #and angst #bau babies #fbi

[rey-png]

Bilgewater

Summary :  "I feel like this place is going to be the death of me." Rey mumbles absently, gazing out at the murky horizon without quite seeing it. If she could unfocus her eyes enough, maybe, just maybe she could see something other than grief and horror between those gnarled trees. Kylo seems to consider her words carefully, his expression strained as he comes to stand at her side."This place is going to be the death of all of us."

---------

Following the mysterious death of her best friend, fifteen-year-old Rey is forced to flee the small southern town of D’qar in search of a fresh start. Only the demise of her beloved caretaker Ben Kenobi coaxes the young woman back to her home nearly a decade later. Her arrival carries a tempest that unearths the hollow town’s past and present horrors, threatening to pull Rey under the bayou she had fought so desperately to escape from.

Pairing : Rey / Kylo

Additional Tags : Southern Gothic, Cults, Past Child Abuse, Murder Mystery, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Memory Loss, Slow Burn, Eventual Romance, Alternate Universe - Twins, the solo twins to be exact, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Rating : Explicit

Chapters : 1/?

"To realize that all your life - all your love, all your hate, all your memory, all your pain, it was all the same thing. It was all the same dream, a dream that you had inside a locked room. A dream about bein' a person.... And like a lot of dreams, there's a monster at the end of it."

                                                  PROLOGUE

Brambles tug at too-thin arms, nipping at exposed flesh until her clothing is speckled with bright red stains. Her feet nearly send her sprawling as she trips over exposed tree roots, but still she presses onward. Physical discomfort is not nearly enough to slow her down as the baying of hounds rings through the tepid summer air.

Flashlight beams cut through the darkness around her, flickering like lightning bugs through the underbrush. They are accompanied by distorted voices, some of them calling her name, some of them wailing in despair. Even the pleading voice of her guardian isn’t enough to stop her in her tracks. Something far more sinister is following at her heels. She can feel it breathing down her neck.

  Ahead she hears another cry, high pitched and frightened, one that quickens her pace and silences those at her back. ‘Rey!’ Cutting through the trees, her bare feet meet water, sinking deep into mud, splashing noisily through the bayou. The scum that coated the top of the murky water so dense she could have sworn it was earth.

  ‘Rey! Please!’

  Rey tries to call out as she wades deeper into the mire, to assure them that she is on her way, but no words fall from her lips. She reaches up with trembling fingers to press against her mouth, wincing as they catch on the barbed wire that gagged her.

  A pained whimper erupts from her chest, harmonizing with the brutal cry that rips through the swamp. Her movements become frenzied, the world around her warping and twisting, bleeding into inky blackness. She scans the gloomy, star studded horizon, slipping on the mud and rocks beneath her in her haste to find the source of such a blood-curdling lament.

  The woman loses her footing, tumbling forward into the foul water with a strangled gasp. Hands shoot out to steady herself, only to catch something soft and cold beneath the ripples. Rey frowns, brow puckering as she clutches at the odd form. Narrowing her eyes through the dark, she tugs lightly, fighting to regain her balance.

  A mottled grey face blooms from the star-laced water, bloated and terrible even in the half light. It’s the face of a girl, a face eerily similar to her own. Bubbles erupt from her gaping mouth, that bloodcurdling lament spewed right along with them. Bruised lids pop open to reveal yellowed, unseeing eyes that peer up at her in fear and agony.

  Rey jerks backwards as dead hands clamp around her wrists, dragging her towards the terrible, dead face of Kira Kryze. The barbed wire around her mouth tightens as she shrieks in terror, the taste of copper thick on her tongue, gagging her as the shadows rise up around the girl and the corpse...

 “It sounds like this dream correlates with the phone call you received yesterday.”

 Rey’s unfocused eyes flick back to her therapist, blinking hard as she forces herself into the present. Even in the smog infused city, she can taste the foul water on the back of her tongue. Perhaps that was just the bile from the previous night though. She could still feel that suffocating darkness and the frozen grip of her best friend a she dragged them both down to the depths.

 “It’s more than likely, right? I mean, nothing else could have triggered it... I haven’t had dreams like that in years .” They were the reason she was there in the first place, after all. Those grisly nightmares she could never quite remember. They’d began vividly and in earnest shortly after she’d left D’qar, night terrors that left her nearly incapacitated with exhaustion during the day.

 Only a friendly intervention from her dear friend Finn several years back had propelled her into the office of a psychotherapist. ( Heavy eyes droop, her car swerves, Finn yells and grabs the steering wheel before they careen off the highway. He drives her to Norra Wexley’s every week after and pays for every session. )

 Doctor Wexley sits upright in her chair, cool eyes fixating on her patient as she jots down another note on her pad without looking at it. Rey could swear the woman was able to see right through her sometimes, which is likely the reason she rarely scheduled appointments anymore unless absolutely necessary.

 This was frighteningly necessary.

 Upon waking, Rey had turned on every light in her apartment and sat huddled on her ratty sofa, shivering before the TV. It took well over an hour and every single grounding technique she’d been taught to calm her down. The moment she did, her shaking fingers punched in a text, which was replied to only five minutes later, confirming an appointment for later that afternoon.

 Rey’s intuition had always been keen, growing up as she had. She knew things. It was her gift, of sorts.

 Old Ben Kenobi was saved in her speed dial, and the number that flashed across her screen was not.

 The moment she saw that fucking area code, she just knew .

 Just as she knew the news of his death had been the catalyst here.

 The young woman runs a hand over her weary face, wanting nothing more than to lace her fingers through her hair and tug so hard it all came out. Rey had done well for herself the last decade. She could think of home and withstand the occasional news her he would send without dissolving into a fit of despair. She wasn’t the scorned and frightened girl she once was. She could handle things damn it…

 Wexley seemed to understand where her rampant thoughts were beginning to stray and was quick to interject “You’ve come a long way, Rey. This isn’t a regression. These feelings, these experiences are normal. I would have been surprised if you DIDN’T react as you did. This is a harsh blow.”

 Rey nods silently, resting her chin on her hand as she stares off into space. She got that, but it sure as hell didn’t make her feel any better.

 Where Rey came from, one didn’t air their dirty laundry because one always had their shit together. Those that didn’t or COULDN’T comply to those unspoken rules were considered frail and weak. The idea was so saturated that even if those around you cared, they were so over burdened with their own repressed issues they didn’t have the capacity to take on yours as well. It was why they were all rotting, why she was still rotting.

 She’d read Doctor Wexley the same spiel time and time again until she sounded like a broken record. She can’t tolerate vulnerability in herself. It makes her skin crawl to be seen as anything less than a pillar of strength, even before a person who was paid for this nonsense. It’s why she keeps her mouth shut as her therapist barrels onward with her words of wisdom.

 “This is not a sign of weakness.” Wexley punctuates her words with a sharp tap of her pen against her notepad “You know this… I don’t think you know how proud I am of you though.”

 THAT catches Rey’s attention. She nearly gives herself whiplash meeting her eyes.

 She could count the people who were proud of her on one hand.

 Doctor Wexley smiles kindly at her and leans forward in her chair “You could have done things the easy way. You could have said you weren’t going to show up and you could have sold that house from here… But you bought that plane ticket. Rey, that’s a huge step. When you first came to see me, that girl would NEVER have considered what you did today.”

 Now it’s Rey’s turn to smile, though it doesn’t quite meet her eyes. “I just wonder if I don’t have ulterior motives for doing this. I owe Ben that much but...”

 There are some tragedies you never stop punishing yourself for, regardless your level of involvement in them. There are some people that will never stop punishing you for them too. There was a vicious cycle of injury, self-inflicted and otherwise that stemmed from that old town. Six years of therapy couldn’t rectify her need to crucify herself. Maybe it was all some subconscious ploy to drag her back.

 “I think your heart is in the right place.”

 Rey isn’t sure her heart exists in this place at all anymore.

 She nods in agreement regardless and clambers wearily to her feet. Her hour was up and she had a lot of preparing to do, physically AND mentally.

 “Thank you, Doctor Wexley… I guess I’d better go pack for a funeral.”

Me @ myself: don't you dare start a new fic when you have an entire series you need to work on also me: laughs manically as i hit publish

Anyway here is the southern gothic fic nobody asked for. This has been rolling around in my brain forever and I've finally started piecing it together. It's heavily inspired by True Detective, which I've been binging recently. Needless to say, this is going to be INCREDIBLY dark. It's sort've my therapy fic and will explore the repercussions of trauma as I've seen it in myself, in those around me, and from what I've learned from research, therapists and other professionals. Please mind the tags. I'll be adding more as I write this & will add warnings in each chapter as I see fit, namely where sexual abuse is concerned.

A short snappy set up! I'm a quarter of the way done with the next chapter so it should be up soon! Comments and reblogs are fabulous! Please let me know what you think <3

#reylo #kylo x rey #reylo au #reylo fic #reylo fam #southern gothic au #crime au #*solstuff #sb: choose a fic thats most important to u #me but crying: I CAN'TTTT #anyway this fic is gonna be insane and i'm excited to write it

[suzanneshannon]

Chapter 1: Birth

Tim Berners-Lee is fascinated with information. It has been his life’s work. For over four decades, he has sought to understand how it is mapped and stored and transmitted. How it passes from person to person. How the seeds of information become the roots of dramatic change. It is so fundamental to the work that he has done that when he wrote the proposal for what would eventually become the World Wide Web, he called it “Information Management, a Proposal.”

Information is the web’s core function. A series of bytes stream across the world and at the end of it is knowledge. The mechanism for this transfer — what we know as the web — was created by the intersection of two things. The first is the Internet, the technology that makes it all possible. The second is hypertext, the concept that grounds its use. They were brought together by Tim Berners-Lee. And when he was done he did something truly spectacular. He gave it away to everyone to use for free.

When Berners-Lee submitted “Information Management, a Proposal” to his superiors, they returned it with a comment on the top that read simply:

Vague, but exciting…

The web wasn’t a sure thing. Without the hindsight of today it looked far too simple to be effective. In other words, it was a hard sell. Berners-Lee was proficient at many things, but he was never a great salesman. He loved his idea for the web. But he had to convince everybody else to love it too.

Tim Berners-Lee has a mind that races. He has been known — based on interviews and public appearances — to jump from one idea to the next. He is almost always several steps ahead of what he is saying, which is often quite profound. Until recently, he only gave a rare interview here and there, and masked his greatest achievements with humility and a wry British wit.

What is immediately apparent is that Tim Berners-Lee is curious. Curious about everything. It has led him to explore some truly revolutionary ideas before they became truly revolutionary. But it also means that his focus is typically split. It makes it hard for him to hold on to things in his memory. “I’m certainly terrible at names and faces,” he once said in an interview. His original fascination with the elements for the web came from a very personal need to organize his own thoughts and connect them together, disparate and unconnected as they are. It is not at all unusual that when he reached for a metaphor for that organization, he came up with a web.

As a young boy, his curiosity was encouraged. His parents, Conway Berners-Lee and Mary Lee Woods, were mathematicians. They worked on the Ferranti Mark I, the world’s first commercially available computer, in the 1950s. They fondly speak of Berners-Lee as a child, taking things apart, experimenting with amateur engineering projects. There was nothing that he didn’t seek to understand further. Electronics — and computers specifically — were particularly enchanting.

Berners-Lee sometimes tells the story of a conversation he had with his with father as a young boy about the limitations of computers making associations between information that was not intrinsically linked. “The idea stayed with me that computers could be much more powerful,” Berners-Lee recalls, “if they could be programmed to link otherwise unconnected information. In an extreme view, the world can been seen as only connections.” He didn’t know it yet, but Berners-Lee had stumbled upon the idea of hypertext at a very early age. It would be several years before he would come back to it.

History is filled with attempts to organize knowledge. An oft-cited example is the Library of Alexandria, a fabled library of Ancient Greece that was thought to have had tens of thousands of meticulously organized texts.

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At the turn of the century, Paul Otlet tried something similar in Belgium. His project was called the Répertoire Bibliographique Universel (Universal Bibliography). Otlet and a team of researchers created a library of over 15 million index cards, each with a discrete and small piece of information in topics ranging from science to geography. Otlet devised a sophisticated numbering system that allowed him to link one index card to another. He fielded requests from researchers around the world via mail or telegram, and Otlet’s researchers could follow a trail of linked index cards to find an answer. Once properly linked, information becomes infinitely more useful.

A sudden surge of scientific research in the wake of World War II prompted Vanneaver Bush to propose another idea. In his groundbreaking essay in The Atlantic in 1945 entitled “As We May Think,” Bush imagined a mechanical library called a Memex. Like Otlet’s Universal Bibliography, the Memex stored bits of information. But instead of index cards, everything was stored on compact microfilm. Through the process of what he called “associative indexing,” users of the Memex could follow trails of related information through an intricate web of links.

The list of attempts goes on. But it was Ted Neslon who finally gave the concept a name in 1968, two decades after Bush’s article in The Atlantic. He called it hypertext.

Hypertext is, essentially, linked text. Nelson observed that in the real world, we often give meaning to the connections between concepts; it helps us grasp their importance and remember them for later. The proximity of a Post-It to your computer, the orientation of ingredients in your refrigerator, the order of books on your bookshelf. Invisible though they may seem, each of these signifiers hold meaning, whether consciously or subconsciously, and they are only fully realized when taking a step back. Hypertext was a way to bring those same kinds of meaningful connections to the digital world.

Nelson’s primary contribution to hypertext is a number of influential theories and a decades-long project still in progress known as Xanadu. Much like the web, Xanadau uses the power of a network to create a global system of links and pages. However, Xanadu puts a far greater emphasis on the ability to trace text to its original author for monetization and attribution purposes. This distinction, known as transculsion, has been a near impossible technological problem to solve.

Nelson’s interest in hypertext stems from the same issue with memory and recall as Berners-Lee. He refers to it is as his hummingbird mind. Nelson finds it hard to hold on to associations he creates in the real world. Hypertext offers a way for him to map associations digitally, so that he can call on them later. Berners-Lee and Nelson met for the first time a couple of years after the web was invented. They exchanged ideas and philosophies, and Berners-Lee was able to thank Nelson for his influential thinking. At the end of the meeting, Berners-Lee asked if he could take a picture. Nelson, in turn, asked for a short video recording. Each was commemorating the moment they knew they would eventually forget. And each turned to technology for a solution.

By the mid-80s, on the wave of innovation in personal computing, there were several hypertext applications out in the wild. The hypertext community — a dedicated group of software engineers that believed in the promise of hypertext – created programs for researchers, academics, and even off-the-shelf personal computers. Every research lab worth their weight in salt had a hypertext project. Together they built entirely new paradigms into their software, processes and concepts that feel wonderfully familiar today but were completely outside the realm of possibilities just a few years earlier.

At Brown University, the very place where Ted Nelson was studying when he coined the term hypertext, Norman Meyrowitz, Nancy Garrett, and Karen Catlin were the first to breathe life into the hyperlink, which was introduced in their program Intermedia. At Symbolics, Janet Walker was toying with the idea of saving links for later, a kind of speed dial for the digital world – something she was calling a bookmark. At the University of Maryland, Ben Schneiderman sought to compile and link the world’s largest source of information with his Interactive Encyclopedia System.

Dame Wendy Hall, at the University of Southhampton, sought to extend the life of the link further in her own program, Microcosm. Each link made by the user was stored in a linkbase, a database apart from the main text specifically designed to store metadata about connections. In Microcosm, links could never die, never rot away. If their connection was severed they could point elsewhere since links weren’t directly tied to text. You could even write a bit of text alongside links, expanding a bit on why the link was important, or add to a document separate layers of links, one, for instance, a tailored set of carefully curated references for experts on a given topic, the other a more laid back set of links for the casual audience.

There were mailing lists and conferences and an entire community that was small, friendly, fiercely competitive and locked in an arms race to find the next big thing. It was impossible not to get swept up in the fervor. Hypertext enabled a new way to store actual, tangible knowledge; with every innovation the digital world became more intricate and expansive and all-encompassing.

Then came the heavy hitters. Under a shroud of mystery, researchers and programmers at the legendary Xerox PARC were building NoteCards. Apple caught wind of the idea and found it so compelling that they shipped their own hypertext application called Hypercard, bundled right into the Mac operating system. If you were a late Apple II user, you likely have fond memories of Hypercard, an interface that allowed you to create a card, and quickly link it to another. Cards could be anything, a recipe maybe, or the prototype of a latest project. And, one by one, you could link those cards up, visually and with no friction, until you had a digital reflection of your ideas.

Towards the end of the 80s, it was clear that hypertext had a bright future. In just a few short years, the software had advanced in leaps and bounds.

After a brief stint studying physics at The Queen’s College, Oxford, Tim Berners-Lee returned to his first love: computers. He eventually found a short-term, six-month contract at the particle physics lab Conseil Européen pour la Recherche Nucléaire (European Council for Nuclear Research), or simply, CERN.

CERN is responsible for a long line of particle physics breakthroughs. Most recently, they built the Large Hadron Collider, which led to the confirmation of the Higgs Boson particle, a.k.a. the “God particle.”

CERN doesn’t operate like most research labs. Its internal staff makes up only a small percentage of the people that use the lab. Any research team from around the world can come and use the CERN facilities, provided that they are able to prove their research fits within the stated goals of the institution. A majority of CERN occupants are from these research teams. CERN is a dynamic, sprawling campus of researchers, ferrying from location to location on bicycles or mine-carts, working on the secrets of the universe. Each team is expected to bring their own equipment and expertise. That includes computers.

Berners-Lee was hired to assist with software on an earlier version of the particle accelerator called the Proton Synchrotron. When he arrived, he was blown away by the amount of pure, unfiltered information that flowed through CERN. It was nearly impossible to keep track of it all and equally impossible to find what you were looking for. Berners-Lee wanted to capture that information and organize it.

His mind flashed back to that conversation with his father all those years ago. What if it were possible to create a computer program that allowed you to make random associations between bits of information? What if you could, in other words, link one thing to another? He began working on a software project on the side for himself. Years later, that would be the same way he built the web. He called this project ENQUIRE, named for a Victorian handbook he had read as a child.

Using a simple prompt, ENQUIRE users could create a block of info, something like Otlet’s index cards all those years ago. And just like the Universal Bibliography, ENQUIRE allowed you to link one block to another. Tools were bundled in to make it easier to zoom back and see the connections between the links. For Berners-Lee this filled a simple need: it replaced the part of his memory that made it impossible for him to remember names and faces with a digital tool.

Compared to the software being actively developed at the University of Southampton or at Xerox or Apple, ENQUIRE was unsophisticated. It lacked a visual interface, and its format was rudimentary. A program like Hypercard supported rich-media and advanced two-way connections. But ENQUIRE was only Berners-Lee’s first experiment with hypertext. He would drop the project when his contract was up at CERN.

Berners-Lee would go and work for himself for several years before returning to CERN. By the time he came back, there would be something much more interesting for him to experiment with. Just around the corner was the Internet.

Packet switching is the single most important invention in the history of the Internet. It is how messages are transmitted over a globally decentralized network. It was discovered almost simultaneously in the late-60s by two different computer scientists, Donald Davies and Paul Baran. Both were interested in the way in which it made networks resilient.

Traditional telecommunications at the time were managed by what is known as circuit switching. With circuit switching, a direct connection is open between the sender and receiver, and the message is sent in its entirety between the two. That connection needs to be persistent and each channel can only carry a single message at a time. That line stays open for the duration of a message and everything is run through a centralized switch. 

If you’re searching for an example of circuit switching, you don’t have to look far. That’s how telephones work (or used to, at least). If you’ve ever seen an old film (or even a TV show like Mad Men) where an operator pulls a plug out of a wall and plugs it back in to connect a telephone call, that’s circuit switching (though that was all eventually automated). Circuit switching works because everything is sent over the wire all at once and through a centralized switch. That’s what the operators are connecting.

Packet switching works differently. Messages are divided into smaller bits, or packets, and sent over the wire a little at a time. They can be sent in any order because each packet has just enough information to know where in the order it belongs. Packets are sent through until the message is complete, and then re-assembled on the other side. There are a few advantages to a packet-switched network. Multiple messages can be sent at the same time over the same connection, split up into little packets. And crucially, the network doesn’t need centralization. Each node in the network can pass around packets to any other node without a central routing system. This made it ideal in a situation that requires extreme adaptability, like in the fallout of an atomic war, Paul Baran’s original reason for devising the concept.

When Davies began shopping around his idea for packet switching to the telecommunications industry, he was shown the door. “I went along to Siemens once and talked to them, and they actually used the words, they accused me of technical — they were really saying that I was being impertinent by suggesting anything like packet switching. I can’t remember the exact words, but it amounted to that, that I was challenging the whole of their authority.” Traditional telephone companies were not at all interested in packet switching. But ARPA was.

ARPA, later known as DARPA, was a research agency embedded in the United States Department of Defense. It was created in the throes of the Cold War — a reaction to the launch of the Sputnik satellite by Russia — but without a core focus. (It was created at the same time as NASA, so launching things into space was already taken.) To adapt to their situation, ARPA recruited research teams from colleges around the country. They acted as a coordinator and mediator between several active university research projects with a military focus.

ARPA’s organization had one surprising and crucial side effect. It was comprised mostly of professors and graduate students who were working at its partner universities. The general attitude was that as long as you could prove some sort of modest relation to a military application, you could pitch your project for funding. As a result, ARPA was filled with lots of ambitious and free-thinking individuals working inside of a buttoned-up government agency, with little oversight, coming up with the craziest and most world-changing ideas they could. “We expected that a professional crew would show up eventually to take over the problems we were dealing with,” recalls Bob Kahn, an ARPA programmer critical to the invention of the Internet. The “professionals” never showed up.

One of those professors was Leonard Kleinrock at UCLA. He was involved in the first stages of ARPANET, the network that would eventually become the Internet. His job was to help implement the most controversial part of the project, the still theoretical concept known as packet switching, which enabled a decentralized and efficient design for the ARPANET network. It is likely that the Internet would not have taken shape without it. Once packet switching was implemented, everything came together quickly. By the early 1980s, it was simply called the Internet. By the end of the 1980s, the Internet went commercial and global, including a node at CERN.

Once packet switching was implemented, everything came together quickly. By the early 1980s, it was simply called the Internet.

The first applications of the Internet are still in use today. FTP, used for transferring files over the network, was one of the first things built. Email is another one. It had been around for a couple of decades on a closed system already. When the Internet began to spread, email became networked and infinitely more useful.

Other projects were aimed at making the Internet more accessible. They had names like Archie, Gopher, and WAIS, and have largely been forgotten. They were united by a common goal of bringing some order to the chaos of a decentralized system. WAIS and Archie did so by indexing the documents put on the Internet to make them searchable and findable by users. Gopher did so with a structured, hierarchical system. 

Kleinrock was there when the first message was ever sent over the Internet. He was supervising that part of the project, and even then, he knew what a revolutionary moment it was. However, he is quick to note that not everybody shared that feeling in the beginning. He recalls the sentiment held by the titans of the telecommunications industry like the Bell Telephone Company. “They said, ‘Little boy, go away,’ so we went away.” Most felt that the project would go nowhere, nothing more than a technological fad.

In other words, no one was paying much attention to what was going on and no one saw the Internet as much of a threat. So when that group of professors and graduate students tried to convince their higher-ups to let the whole thing be free — to let anyone implement the protocols of the Internet without a need for licenses or license fees — they didn’t get much pushback. The Internet slipped into public use and only the true technocratic dreamers of the late 20th century could have predicted what would happen next.

Berners-Lee returned to CERN in a fellowship position in 1984. It was four years after he had left. A lot had changed. CERN had developed their own network, known as CERNET, but by 1989, they arrived and hooked up to the new, internationally standard Internet. “In 1989, I thought,” he recalls, “look, it would be so much easier if everybody asking me questions all the time could just read my database, and it would be so much nicer if I could find out what these guys are doing by just jumping into a similar database of information for them.” Put another way, he wanted to share his own homepage, and get a link to everyone else’s.

What he needed was a way for researchers to share these “databases” without having to think much about how it all works. His way in with management was operating systems. CERN’s research teams all bring their own equipment, including computers, and there’s no way to guarantee they’re all running the same OS. Interoperability between operating systems is a difficult problem by design — generally speaking — the goal of an OS is to lock you in. Among its many other uses, a globally networked hypertext system like the web was a wonderful way for researchers to share notes between computers using different operating systems.

However, Berners-Lee had a bit of trouble explaining his idea. He’s never exactly been concise. By 1989, when he wrote “Information Management, a Proposal,” Berners-Lee already had worldwide ambitions. The document is thousands of words, filled with diagrams and charts. It jumps energetically from one idea to the next without fully explaining what’s just been said. Much of what would eventually become the web was included in the document, but it was just too big of an idea. It was met with a lukewarm response — that “Vague, but exciting” comment scrawled across the top.

A year later, in May of 1990, at the encouragement of his boss Mike Sendall (the author of that comment), Beners-Lee circulated the proposal again. This time it was enough to buy him a bit of time internally to work on it. He got lucky. Sendall understood his ambition and aptitude. He wouldn’t always get that kind of chance. The web needed to be marketed internally as an invaluable tool. CERN needed to need it. Taking complex ideas and boiling them down to their most salient, marketable points, however, was not Berners-Lee’s strength. For that, he was going to need a partner. He found one in Robert Cailliau.

Cailliau was a CERN veteran. By 1989, he’d worked there as a programmer for over 15 years. He’d embedded himself in the company culture, proving a useful resource helping teams organize their informational toolset and knowledge-sharing systems. He had helped several teams at CERN do exactly the kind of thing Berners-Lee was proposing, though at a smaller scale.

Temperamentally, Cailliau was about as different from Berners-Lee as you could get. He was hyper-organized and fastidious. He knew how to sell things internally, and he had made plenty of political inroads at CERN. What he shared with Berners-Lee was an almost insatiable curiosity. During his time as a nurse in the Belgian military, he got fidgety. “When there was slack at work, rather than sit in the infirmary twiddling my thumbs, I went and got myself some time on the computer there.” He ended up as a programmer in the military, working on war games and computerized models. He couldn’t help but look for the next big thing.

In the late 80s, Cailliau had a strong interest in hypertext. He was taking a look at Apple’s Hypercard as a potential internal documentation system at CERN when he caught wind of Berners-Lee’s proposal. He immediately recognized its potential.

Working alongside Berners-Lee, Cailliau pieced together a new proposal. Something more concise, more understandable, and more marketable. While Berners-Lee began putting together the technologies that would ultimately become the web, Cailliau began trying to sell the idea to interested parties inside of CERN.

The web, in all of its modern uses and ubiquity can be difficult to define as just one thing — we have the web on our refrigerators now. In the beginning, however, the web was made up of only a few essential features.

There was the web server, a computer wired to the Internet that can transmit documents and media (webpages) to other computers. Webpages are served via HTTP, a protocol designed by Berners-Lee in the earliest iterations of the web. HTTP is a layer on top of the Internet, and was designed to make things as simple, and resilient, as possible. HTTP is so simple that it forgets a request as soon as it has made it. It has no memory of the webpages its served in the past. The only thing HTTP is concerned with is the request it’s currently making. That makes it magnificently easy to use.

These webpages are sent to browsers, the software that you’re using to read this article. Browsers can read documents handed to them by server because they understand HTML, another early invention of Tim Berners-Lee. HTML is a markup language, it allows programmers to give meaning to their documents so that they can be understood. The “H” in HTML stands for Hypertext. Like HTTP, HTML — all of the building blocks programmers can use to structure a document — wasn’t all that complex, especially when compared to other hypertext applications at the time. HTML comes from a long line of other, similar markup languages, but Berners-Lee expanded it to include the link, in the form of an anchor tag. The <a> tag is the most important piece of HTML because it serves the web’s greatest function: to link together information.

The hyperlink was made possible by the Universal Resource Identifier (URI) later renamed to the Uniform Resource Indicator after the IETF found the word “universal” a bit too substantial. But for Berners-Lee, that was exactly the point. “Its universality is essential: the fact that a hypertext link can point to anything, be it personal, local or global, be it draft or highly polished,” he wrote in his personal history of the web. Of all the original technologies that made up the web, Berners-Lee — and several others — have noted that the URL was the most important.

By Christmas of 1990, Tim Berners-Lee had all of that built. A full prototype of the web was ready to go.

Cailliau, meanwhile, had had a bit of success trying to sell the idea to his bosses. He had hoped that his revised proposal would give him a team and some time. Instead he got six months and a single staff member, intern Nicola Pellow. Pellow was new to CERN, on placement for her mathematics degree. But her work on the Line Mode Browser, which enabled people from around the world using any operating system to browse the web, proved a crucial element in the web’s early success. Berners-Lee’s work, combined with the Line Mode Browser, became the web’s first set of tools. It was ready to show to the world.

When the team at CERN submitted a paper on the World Wide Web to the San Antonio Hypertext Conference in 1991, it was soundly rejected. They went anyway, and set up a table with a computer to demo it to conference attendees. One attendee remarked:

They have chutzpah calling that the World Wide Web!

The highlight of the web is that it was not at all sophisticated. Its use of hypertext was elementary, allowing for only simplistic text based links. And without two-way links, pretty much a given in hypertext applications, links could go dead at any minute. There was no linkbase, or sophisticated metadata assigned to links. There was just the anchor tag. The protocols that ran on top of the Internet were similarly basic. HTTP only allowed for a handful of actions, and alternatives like Gopher or WAIS offered far more options for advanced connections through the Internet network.

It was hard to explain, difficult to demo, and had overly lofty ambition. It was created by a man who didn’t have much interest in marketing his ideas. Even the name was somewhat absurd. “WWW” is one of only a handful of acronyms that actually takes longer to say than the full “World Wide Web.”

We know how this story ends. The web won. It’s used by billions of people and runs through everything we do. It is among the most remarkable technological achievements of the 20th century.

It had a few advantages, of course. It was instantly global and widely accessible thanks to the Internet. And the URL — and its uniqueness — is one of the more clever concepts to come from networked computing.

But if you want to truly understand why the web succeeded we have to come back to information. One of Berners-Lee’s deepest held beliefs is that information is incredibly powerful, and that it deserves to be free. He believed that the Web could deliver on that promise. For it to do that, the web would need to spread.

Berners-Lee looked to his successors for inspiration: the Internet. The Internet succeeded, in part, because they gave it away to everyone. After considering several licensing options, he lobbied CERN to release the web unlicensed to the general public. CERN, an organization far more interested in particle physics breakthroughs than hypertext, agreed. In 1993, the web officially entered the public domain.

And that was the turning point. They didn��t know it then, but that was the moment the web succeeded. When Berners-Lee was able to make globally available information truly free.

In an interview some years ago, Berners-Lee recalled how it was that the web came to be.

I had the idea for it. I defined how it would work. But it was actually created by people.

That may sound like humility from one of the world’s great thinkers — and it is that a little — but it is also the truth. The web was Berners-Lee’s gift to the world. He gave it to us, and we made it what it was. He and his team fought hard at CERN to make that happen.

Berners-Lee knew that with the resources available to him he would never be able to spread the web sufficiently outside of the hallways of CERN. Instead, he packaged up all the code that was needed to build a browser into a library called libwww and posted it to a Usenet group. That was enough for some people to get interested in browsers. But before browsers would be useful, you needed something to browse.

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[scribblindown]

Gladio cheats on his S/O | Part 1

Tagging all of the lovely people who commented last time! @little-mini-me-world @chocobruh-art @sweetchocobae @thirsty-angst-lord @schmelscorner  @mistressoli @blossattic

Intro: Here

Part 1: You are here

Part 2: Here

Part 3: W I P 

The second your phone dropped, the sound of shattering glass and the reverberating metals and plastic colliding with the stone steps brought you back to reality. You looked down at your cracked screen when it suddenly chimed from an incoming message. 

You looked up to give that red-headed man another piece of your mind, but your eyes had only found empty air and [e/c] irises widened. Your panic spiked up and you instantly whirled around. Left, right, behind, maybe even above, but nothing. It was as if he had never existed. 

As if he didn’t just give you the scare of your life. 

You shook your head and wondered for a second that everything was just a bad dream, but as your fingers ran across the broken glass of your screen, you knew something was up. 

You pressed your home screen and your mobile lit up. Your heart dropped to your stomach with disappointment when you saw Iris’ name instead of Gladio’s.

Anger and frustration only spurred you further when you saw what she had sent you. 

[Name]...

I’m sorry. 

That’s not you with Gladdy right now, is it?

You stopped reading then and stood up to chuck your phone as far as you could off the railings.

Maybe he did go into this willingly. 

While having a cute little girlfriend to go back to, Gladiolus truly became the scum of the earth when he fell back on his old womanizing ways. With a few drinks here and there, the proposal that the beautiful lady from the across the bar was giving him seemed to be a splendid one.  

Besides, you would never know, and what you don’t know wouldn’t hurt you. 

But once he started to bed her, his temporary carnal hunger went out like a candle. The image of you, face tear-streaked or eyes clouded with anger and disgust at him made it difficult to breathe. 

Even as she straddled his hips with long, smooth legs, filling his vision with soft, supple skin that stretched from her flat stomach to the valley of her breasts, Gladio felt the guilt sink into him. 

“Hey, come on, I change my mind...I have a girlfriend.” 

But this mystery vixen wouldn’t hear it, and willingly or not, Gladio went along with the ride. 

It was official, he had cheated on you. 

When Gladio woke up the next morning he was all alone. The sunlight filtered through his sheer white curtains and warmed up the bare skin that stretched across the pane of his toned stomach. After laying there for what seemed to be an eternity of thinking, Gladio finally pulled himself out of his bed and prepared for another day in the Citadel. 

As he started his trek to the large and foreboding building, his couldn’t bring himself away from what he had done. His legs felt like lead, and they became heavier and slower with every step up the stairs. 

His throat was constricted, and his heart felt like it was being gripped with an iron fist. Just as he imagined you greeting him this morning, his breath was a burning, painful fire. Bitter regret, guilt, and anger was directed at himself for doing this to you. 

He had worked so hard for you to finally give him a chance, the cute little Kingsglaive member that always rejected his advances. When you finally gave up trying to dodge the behemoth of a man, he believed that he genuinely liked you. Maybe he even had a thought of talking seriously about marriage with you, but it seemed to all be shattered now. Gladio had messed up, he was a cheater and he was worthless. 

He knew this, but he knew that if he was going to see you today he would never tell you the truth. Never telling him the truth had gotten him this far, with him and his list of mistresses, girlfriends, and one-night stands, why not once more? Even as he thought this, he felt even worse than before, and the guilt ate away at him until he was hallow inside. 

But his resolve was strong. He wouldn’t be able to stand your heartbroken face, your tear-filled eyes if he had told you the truth. Gladio’s would feel like the lowest man on earth if Eos if you would tell him that you hated him, if you tried to run away from him and cut all ties. No, he doesn’t think that he could let you go even if you yelled at him, screamed at him, or worse, begged him. 

For the first time in his life, Gladiolus realized that he might lose something that he can’t replace. 

Even with this thought in mind, he took visible breathing exercises to calm himself down. He fixed the emotions on his face into something that hopefully resembled his everyday look, and prepared himself to see you again.

But ten, fifteen, twenty minutes of standing and stalling outside of the Kingsglaive locker rooms, not a hide nor hair of you was seen. Multiple of your coworkers passed him, giving him questioning glances or knowing looks to one another. Their strange reaction to him made his eyebrow climb up his forehead, and just as Titus Drautos exited the locker rooms to give everyone their schedules for the day, Gladiolus pulled him aside. 

“Gladiolus,” the middle-aged man said, “how may I help you?” Rough, muddy green eyes bore into him, and already hopped up on nerves, Gladio had to clear his throat and straighten up. 

“Is [Name] in?” 

“So even you don’t know,” the older man drawled, instantly pulling a pencil out of his pocket and writing a little note to himself. 

A “Huh?” fell out of Gladio’s lips and he looked questionably at the captain. 

“[Name] didn’t check in today,” he explained without his eyes leaving the small notepad he carried with him. “I thought that she was running late, but if she didn’t even tell you, something must be up.” He didn’t notice, or didn’t care about Gladio’s surprised look, and instead thanked the Shield for giving him this information and walked away to continue his day. 

Gladio took off down the hall, millions of questions running through his head. Did you just oversleep? Was your alarm clock not working? He pulled out his phone and quickly pulled your name out of the speed dial. He lifted it up to his ear, and only walked faster in impatience when the robotic voice on the other side said that this number was currently unavailable. He nearly crushed the mobile then and there. 

He left the Citadel, taking the stairs two at a time and ran towards your apartment. He bolted up the stairs and made a beeline for your door. All thought of his betrayal took a backseat in favor of the panic that set in his skin. A panic that only amplified when he realized that your door was unlocked and ajar. 

He nearly knocked the door down, and eyes of warm honey instantly scanned his surroundings. 

“[Name]?!” he called out. Multiple horrific scenarios ran through his mind, and just as he was looking for your would-be attacker, he found nothing. Literally nothing. 

He frantically looked around. No jackets strewn around, no cabinets filled with food, no clothes in the closet, no signs of struggle, and no sign of your existence. 

It was as if you had never even existed. 

In a split second, he made his decision and dashed home. 

He burst through the doors of the Amicitia mansion, crossing the foyer in two quick seconds that he almost didn’t even notice Iris. 

She tucked her hands behind her back, she had her legs together, and her eyes downcast, staring at her shoes. It was as if she was trying to make herself as small as possible. 

“Gladdy...” she whispered, almost too quiet for him to hear. 

“Not now, Iris,” Gladio said, trying to take off his jacket. “[Name]’s not answering her phone, she’s not at work, her apartment is empty—”

“Gladdy,” Iris tried again, a little exasperated. 

“A grown woman doesn’t just disappear,” Gladio continued, ignoring her for the worry that he had sinking into his mind. 

“Gladdy!” Iris finally said, looking at her brother. 

“What?” he snapped. He turned to look at her. 

“Gladdy...” Iris shrunk again, like she wanted to make herself as small as possible under the gaze of her older brother. It was a tactic that worked when she was a kid, when she did something she knew her brother would be unhappy about. Gladio’s expression softened. 

“Iris, what—?” 

“Gladdy, I love you,” she said, her voice a mere whisper, but then she looked up and into his eyes, her own amber ones clashing with his own. A spark of anger was lit underneath that guilt she felt. “But [Name] is my friend too.” 

Gladio’s blood ran cold at what she said next. 

“I told her about what you did.”   

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