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inspectormila · 4 years

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Mirror’s Edge || Sharmila & Erin

TIMING: Current (POTW)

PARTIES: @inspectormila, @corpse--diem

SUMMARY: Mila goes to discuss Erin’s recent fire. Things don’t go well, but not for the reason you think.

Sharmila wasted no time once she returned to White Crest in opening and reinvestigating each and every fire that occurred in her absence. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust her department to do a thorough job, it was just that they weren’t that great. They weren’t her. Every accidental fire and explosion case she could convince the chief to hand her was now splayed across her dining table in loosely organized chaos. Most looked like accidents, but there were a few questionables. The explosion at the morgue, for instance, but she would grill Cece about that later once they’d had a few drinks. The second was also close to home, Nichols’ Funeral Home. Not only were there people trapped inside, one of their own had actually been killed in the blaze. Mila didn’t know Roland well, but he had always been nice to her when they passed in the halls. It was still a tragedy. And it was still suspected arson. Why it had been shoved by the wayside was beyond Mila and she would make damn sure she got to the bottom of it.

She hadn’t given Nichols much of a heads up, calling the woman when she was already on her way, notebook and tape recorder in hand. If the reports were correct, she was seen having an argument with an unknown person just before the blaze broke out. Mila wanted to make sure she caught the woman off guard in case she had something to hide. Most arson cases in town were owner caused, more often than not because of insurance fraud. How silly. She would always find the truth, didn’t they know this by now? The sun was just beginning to dip low behind the trees when Mila’s louboutins clicked their way up the driveway. Reaching out a perfectly manicured finger, Mila rang the bell and called out. “Hello? Ms. Nichols? It’s Agent Darzi? I called on my way over?”

Erin didn’t have a chance to appreciate the anxiety that brief phone call had given her. Just knew that some Agent Darzi was on her way to her apartment right now with some questions regarding the fire that brought down half of the funeral home. This wasn’t her fault--not this fire, anyway--but how was she supposed to explain herself here? Sorry, some asshole with magic fingers and a vendetta torched the place? Also, please don’t worry about the recent arrest on my record? She probably didn’t need the caffeine but she put on a pot of coffee anyway to busy herself while she waited. When the doorbell rang, Erin ran a hand down her mouth, trying to steady her heartbeat, reminding herself she hadn’t been the one to physically set the building to flame. She wasn’t innocent but this part she couldn’t take all the credit for.

“Agent Darzi,” Erin smiled tightly, nodding her head in greeting, a little taken aback by how young the woman was. Age hardly mattered when it came to whether or not she had the ability to toss Erin right back into that depressing holding cell. “You can just call me Erin. Come in, please,” she insisted, moving aside to let her in. The coffee was already set up on the table and she guided her towards it. “Coffee?” She asked, trying to loosen some of the tightness in her throat and started pouring two mugs before Agent Darzi had the chance to decline or accept. “You said you had some, uh--questions? About the fire?”

Sharmila smiled and entered the apartment, glancing around casually before following her mark towards the coffee. She breathed in deep, inhaling the warm scent before placing her things on the table, making herself quite at home. “Oh I would love some, thanks!” She reached out, letting the cup warm her hands. “I didn’t get a chance to inject any caffeine this morning, so this is a godsend!” She chuckled, attempting to put the woman at ease. Mila knew all too well how stressful law enforcement home visits were and in her experience, you caught more flies with honey than vinegar. “Yes,” Mila frowned, taking a small sip. Dark and bitter, just like she liked it. “I’m so sorry about your losses, I’m sure it’s come as a great heartbreak. Unfortunately, as arson is suspected, we have to do a thorough investigation. You understand. Just making sure everything’s in order!” Mila set her coffee down and began rummaging through her bag, pulling out a few folders. “Now, did you have any insurance policies on the building or business? Unfortunately money is almost always the real cause for these things.” She raised her perfectly plucked brows in a gesture of innocence. “Not that I’m blaming you for that! Just the facts, really. We want to make sure whoever is responsible is dealt with accordingly and if you do have a good insurance plan, we want to make sure you can get back up and running as soon as possible!” She smiled, tapping her pen expectantly on her pad of paper.

The woman sure was eager, wasn’t she? Erin would’ve appreciated the enthusiasm more if it wasn’t her case she’d decided to double check. “Totally understand. You’re just doing your job, here,” she smiled, trying to be gracious about Agent Darzi’s efforts. God, that would be nice, though. Kicking the insurance into gear, getting construction underway, going back to work. Her smile lifted more genuinely at the thought. “I’ve got all of that information right here. All that I could find on such short notice, anyway. Not much from my office made it out.” She tried to ignore the crackling of fire in her ear or Blanche’s screams of terror. Still felt as real as it did two months ago. She cleared her throat and pushed the folder towards her. “The only thing that’s changed in the past few years is the policy owner, from Jack Nichols to myself. There’s a few extra things because of the nature of my business. Equipment’s expensive to replace, but that’s about--”

Erin took one short look at the coffee pot, then another, longer this time--and jolted back with a start. A woman’s face hovered beside her own, obscured and abstract due thanks to the shape of the pot yet horrifying. She looked… dead. Pale skin cracked around the curves of her face, darkening to almost black around the eyes. “Jesus!” She yelped, turning to look behind her, knocking her full cup of coffee all over the place. There was nothing there, and nothing in the coffee pot when she looked again. What the fuck? She jumped again when the hot liquid dripped onto her lap. “I--shit, I’m so sorry. I don’t know--” she started, standing up, limbs shaky from the sudden fright as she grabbed some towels from the kitchen and started to clean. The papers were covered in coffee. “I thought I saw--something.”

Mila nodded, her lips pouting a bit. “Of course, so sorry to spring this on you again, I guess I don’t know what to do when I’m not working so I like to dive in head first!” She reached out and began flipping through the documents. Nothing looked out of order, no expansive insurance policy that would pay for her second home in Cabo. But then there was that mention of an argument...Heated arguments were explosive in cases like this. “Now, I’m so sorry to ask but do you have any enemies? Old coworkers, competing businesses, anyone who would want to see your home burn? There’s a note here-” Mila looked down to her file a split second before coffee and papers went flying. She jumped back, swatting a few stray droplets from her Chanel pants. “Oh! Are you ok??” Mila set about drying off her papers, bristling at the idea that maybe there was something suspicious in here after all, but one look at Erin’s face told her maybe not to jump the gun. Her hands hovered over the papers. “Ms. Nichols, are- what’s wrong? Are you alright? You’re shaking...Here just hand me some paper towels, I’ve got this. No use crying over spilled coffee, right?”

“No, no, I’m fine!” Erin insisted, trying to take a deep breaths. She was just seeing things. That’s all. Stress, lack of sleep, and a trick of the light would do wonders to mess with anyone’s mind a little bit. That’s all it was. Besides, this place was fully warded against anything even resembling a ghosts. Even fires, thanks to Nell’s helpful addition. Blanche had even come to double check them all. They had nothing to worry about. Nothing. “God, I’m sorry. This probably looks… not great.” She had to laugh as the adrenaline slowly started to loosen itself from her limbs. Her nose crinkled at the ruined paperwork and she slid a worried hand down the side of her face. “Whatever you need from me, I’ll be happy to replace. I’ll get the insurance company to send over more copies too, if you need them?” She asked, hoping that her blunder hadn’t made her look even more guilty than before. With the table cleaned, and the coffee pot reflection free, she sat down once more, trying to smooth over this shamble of a meeting. “You were asking about… enemies?” She stiffened, narrowing her eyes, shrugging innocently. “Nope. None that I can think of. I mean, competition for funeral homes isn’t exactly stiff in this town, if you know what I mean.”

Mila knelt down and collected what she could, handing back a few of the more ruined documents to Erin. “It’s fine, really. I would like to have some copies, but maybe...let’s email those over to my office directly?” She gave a small smile. Whatever had spooked the woman seemed to be gone now, but it raised the question in Mila’s mind, what if something similar had happened with the fire in question? That would make it an accident, not intentional arson. She scribbled down a quick note before looking back up. “Luckily all of this,” she waved her folder casually. “Is backed up multiple times. Can’t work in the business of fire and destruction without assuming accidents might happen to you too.” The lamia tried to center herself back into the task at hand, hoping Erin wouldn’t be quite so jumpy for the rest of their meeting. “Are you- oh good lord.” Mila grinned, slapping a hand on her knee. “No, I suppose it isn’t is it? No one plotting for your business, hm? Now…” Her face fell a bit, shifting from her jokes. “There was a witness who saw a man speaking with you just before the fire. Can you tell me about that?”

Oh good, they were both full blown punning now. That was a good sign Agent Darzi wasn’t about to find her guilty and slap some handcuffs on right now, right? The thought was ridiculous of course but after her first go around, Erin wasn’t anxious for another. An easy laugh fell from her and she sat back in her seat, trying to push the image of the woman in the reflection out of her mind. This was fine. “Plotting for my business. That’s a good one,” she pointed towards the other woman. “No, no. Believe me, my life is ridiculously boring,” she answered, lying so seamlessly it almost felt true. More of a wish, than anything. Her nerves had finally seemed to settle when she saw it again--just behind Darzi in the mirror on the wall. There was no mistaking it this time. Erin froze, no longer listening, just stared back at the wretched and angry face locked on hers. The woman’s black lips parted, gaping open as a wail burst from her throat, inhuman and raspy. “MURDERER!” the voice bellowed, pointing in her direction.

Erin flew backwards in her hurry, taking the chair down with her, an icy fear shooting up her spine. What the fuck? What the fuck? Another scream left the woman in the mirror, her finger pointing in Erin’s direction. Suddenly, she was in every part of the room, all at once, in every reflection. Pointing and screaming “Murderer!” at the top of her lungs. It was almost as if she didn’t even see Agent Darzi. Murderer. Guess that was her. Fuck. “Run!” she hollered at the other woman anyway, scrambling over some of the moving boxes on the floor on her way down the hallway.

If she was honest, Mila hoped this woman was innocent. It was always hard to file a case against the good ones, nice people who maybe just needed some extra money or in an accidental passion sent their home or business up in flame. Hell, wasn’t she a little hypocritical at this point? Not that she ever lit up anything important or owned by someone else. “Ridiculously boring can still have it’s sharp edges,” Mila replied, tapping the end of her pen against her leg. Mila watched as Erin’s face went blank, white as a ghost. She was familiar with the look of horror, but it wasn’t aimed at her. Instead her eyes were focused on a point behind Mila’s head. “Ms. Nichols? Are you- what are you-” Before she could finish the question, Mila slapped her hands to her ears. The inhuman screeching echoed around her brain and she cursed her lamia parents for giving her perfect hearing. “What the hell was-” Mila didn’t have to ask. Suddenly in front of her were fractal images of a pale, horrific woman, screaming. Murderer. Mila’s eyes went wide and she jumped back from Erin. She’d never committed a single crime against another person, there was no way in hell she was a murderer. She’d never eaten a person, only animals, and nothing sentient. Her parents had always been adamant about that. Erin screamed at her to run, and while she was hesitant to follow an apparent murderer, she did just that. The alternative was to hang out here with a bloody mirror ghost and Mila wasn’t overly fond of that option. She dashed back through the hall, following Erin’s lead. “What is that thing??” She cried, wondering if this is what Ms. Nichols thought a ‘ridiculously boring life’ would entail.

Erin didn’t look back to see if the agent was following her, just booked it down the small hallway. This was absolutely the part of the movie where she’d be screaming at herself to run out of the apartment but--here she was anyway, fucking off into her bedroom. “Murderer!” The accusing, angry voice yelled again from the mirror above her dresser. From the window next to her bed. Even the half empty glass of water on the table. She was everywhere. Pointing still, directly at Erin. She didn’t know how she knew, or even who the hell this woman was, but she was relentless in whatever the fuck this pursuit was. Justice? Truth? Erin reached for the closest thing near her, a lamp, and tossed it at the mirror. The glass splintered, breaking off into pieces, but the woman only appeared again and again in each fragment, like an inescapable nightmare. “What the f--” Her eyes were wide and she looked for Darzi. “I don’t know! I don’t know. You’re--you’re seeing this right?” The reflection shifted from a two-dimensional horror into a very tangible reality as the woman reached out from the picture frame directly beside Erin. She didn’t have time to dodge the cold hand that grabbed her, wrapping around her throat, holding her to the wall as the rest of her slowly eased out of the reflection.

Panic overwhelmed her better senses, pushing Mila further into the home after Erin. She toppled into the bedroom moments after she heard glass shattering, only to see even more ghastly faces reflected back. “Yes I’m seeing this! But what is THIS??” The ghostly woman had no heat signature, obvious that she wasn’t among the living, but Mila had never seen a ghost. That’s what this had to be, right? It’s not like zombies crawled out of mirrors and attacked people- which was exactly what this bitch was doing. “Oh my god!!!” Mila shrieked, throwing herself towards Erin, unsure what, if anything, she would be able to do here. “Get off her- you- BITCH!” Her hand wound around cold flesh that wasn’t really flesh and she yanked with all the strength she had. It wasn’t enough, not by a long shot. Her eyes darted around the room, looking for anything that might help. God, where was a giant sword when you needed one? “Hold on, Ms. Nichols!!” The woman’s gasping was sending new waves of panic through her. She barely knew this woman, but she refused to let her die, not like this. With no knowledge of whether or not it would work, Mila set her sights on the mirror the ghastly woman was currently climbing out of, raising a stilettoed heel and bringing it sharply down on the glass, sending the woman into fragments. “OK let’s get the fuck out of here!!”

Darzi was on her attacker, fast, and Erin was never more thankful for the agent’s impromptu visit. Her vision was beginning to blacken when she heard the mirror shattering beside her head. The air rushed back into her lungs the second the ghostly woman’s hand dissipated into thin air and she took greedy gulps, stumbling forward into a full out run. “What the fu--” Erin yelled hoarsely, starting and stopping through every turn in her relatively small apartment. It wasn’t big but every reflective surface taunted her with that face, again and again. She didn’t think, just booked it right out of the apartment, leading the way for the agent. The woman was everywhere still. In the windows, the framed stock art on the walls, even the full reflection in the elevator. Relief came in the form of a dim stairwell. No reflections--just concrete, steel and the low glow of the exit sign. She dared to pause, just for a moment to catch her breath, clutching her throat. The woman’s hand had been so cold--like Dale’s had been. A shot of anger piggybacked her sharp fears. “Shit--are you okay?” She managed to ask, leaning against the wall. “Thank you for that--christ, she nearly killed me,” she huffed out incredulously. Still trying to stabilize her breathing and heartbeat, eyes flickering constantly around the room, before landing on the other woman again. “What the fuck was that? Who the fuck--?”

Mila didn’t pause, following Erin out of the apartment as fast as she possible could. Everywhere they turned, there was the woman ‘s face, now staring menacingly at herself too. Fuck. Her heart hammered in her chest as they reached the stairwell, a blank canvas, not reflections in sight. She didn’t even dare pull out her phone for fear the woman would appear in the screen. “Yeah,” Mila replied breathlessly, her hands on her knees. Thank god she was used to running in couture footwear. “Yeah I’m ok...how’s your neck?” Her eyes scanned Erin, looking for any readily apparent damage, but other than the choking incident, it seemed more of a mental fuck than anything. “Do you...What- you didn’t recognize her or anything?” Mila leaned against the cold concrete and rested her head back, thinking. She’d lived in White Crest long enough to know a thing or two about strange occurrences, she knew there were ghosts and werewolves and vampires and obviously the more exotic creatures like herself, but this thing...it was undead. But unlike anything she’d ever experienced or heard of. It wasn’t possessing any one, it came out of a goddamn mirror.

“No, I’m fine,” Erin shook her head, rubbing her neck as if to emphasize the fact. Something was wrong--obviously, but there’s no way that a ghost could have gotten into her apartment, bypassing wards put in by an experienced exorcist. Blanche had even double checked her work to be sure. Was it even a ghost? “No fucking idea,” she raised a brow, her eyes still roaming the walls as if suddenly she was going to pop out again. Murderer. Murderer. Murderer. Her face burned as the words repeated in her mind, the woman’s finger and eyes locked on her. No, nope. She wasn’t going to think about it - she had done what she had to. That was all. She hadn’t allowed herself to sink her teeth into those emotions just yet and some murderous ghost bitch wasn’t about to get her to start now. Not with Agent Diaz already questioning her about the fire. Standing straight, she tried to shake off the nerves clawing at her bones. “We should, uh--we should go.” Erin sure as hell wasn’t heading back to her apartment tonight. The stairwell exit opened up to more barren concrete halls. This was fine. For now, this would be fine. “You know, you’ve got a hell of a right hook with that stiletto,” she tried to tease now that the air was coming back to her in shorter intakes. “I’m so impressed, I won’t even bill you for the damage.”

Mila nodded, running a hand through her hair. She hadn’t forgotten what she’d heard, what that thing had been rasping...but murder wasn’t exactly in her job descprition. She eyed the woman carefully, not sensing that she could be a murderer, but then again, you never really knew people and she’d only spent what, an hour at best with her? “Maybe...don’t stay at your apartment tonight,” she offered as they exited the stairwell, carefully checking for any reflective surfaces. “Is there someone who could take you in for a night?” She would offer, but the whole investigation would crumble, not to mention the whole murderer thing. Not that Mila couldn’t take care of herself. “Thanks,” she smiled, popping one of her feet into the air. “Not only fashionable, but a deadly weapon against mirror monsters,” she chuckled. Suddenly Mila felt the earth shifting. Tiny, miniscule grains, rolling against the smooth ground. She stopped in her tracks, throwing an arm out to halt Erin as well. “Stop...I don’t- something’s not right…” Slipping out of her heels, Mila felt the cold tile on her bare feet trembling. Something big was coming, growing, with each spec of...was that sand? “Ms Nichols, I don’t think we’re quite finished yet…is there another way out of here?”

If Mila had caught on to whatever the woman in the mirror had been screaming at her, she wasn’t pressing Erin on it. Not yet, anyway, and she was thankful for the reprieve anyway after such a close call. “Yeah, I’m good, I’ve got people,” she assured her, knowing she’d most likely end up crashing at Skylar and Nic’s again. Sounded pretty nice right about now, actually. She smiled her way, letting the relief trickle into her chest. “I’ll have to remember that. Maybe sharpen the heel on my pumps for when I get back to work--” she froze suddenly, realizing these jokes and this audience really didn’t mix. But Mila was barring her back, a new sense of alarm on her face. Sand? She didn’t know what to think, just knew on some level inside of her, the one had grown familiar with this sort of supernatural fuckery, that Mila was right. “What now?” She nealy grumbled, but there was no time to question it. Sand seeped into the stairwell from every nook and cranny, slicking the floor with a thin layer. The only other way was back where they came from--or up. “C’mon,” she grabbed the other woman’s arm, shielding her eyes and mouth from the sand trickling in around them as she made a run for the rooftop.

They just couldn’t catch a break today. Mila glanced over at Erin and wondered slightly if the woman was cursed, actually cursed. How else could you explain two clearly supernatural oddities attacking within an hour? Even for the Crest, that was pushing it. Taking a step back, Mila felt the sand growing, shifting and forming of its own volition, gearing up for something. This was not good. “Shit.” Holding her heels in one hand and Erin’s hand on her other arm, Mila spun and made for the stairwell again, hoping beyond hope they could get to the roof. Once they were there, she hadn’t the foggiest of what they would do next. How did you fight sand? Mila charged forward, sneaking cautionary glances around corners to make sure they didn’t run into that fucking mirror thing again. Sand poured in on them from all directions, gathering so loudly it was almost overwhelming. Mila threw a hand over her head, trying to shield her face. She’d never been so happy to have a third eyelid, praising her lamia heritage. Mila slammed her entire body weight against the metal door leading up to the roof and blinked against the sunlight, feeling a single grain of sand catch under her membrane. “Fuck,” she grumbled, ushering Erin out before slamming the door closed. For a moment, the sand trickled under the door, a thin layer of moving earth. The lamia rubbed at her eye, attempting to free it of the grating foreign matter. She couldn’t be distracted, not now, not when they were under attack. “Is it still coming?? What do we do now??”

Miraculously, Erin had burst through the rooftop door without getting even one grain in her mouth or eyes, thank god. Her hair, her clothes, her shoes? That was another story. She was still shaking it off as she ran behind a vent, waiting, watching with Mila. “I don’t know, I don’t hear anything,” she whispered, staying still and alert. She couldn’t wrap her mind around what ominous thing was awaiting them on the other side of the door that was capable of sweeping a small beach worth’s of sand. “You alright?” She asked, noting the red eye and the way Mila was rubbing her eyes. It was still quiet though, too quiet, even as the sand continued to blow out from under the door. Erin glanced around, grabbing a piece of rain-battered plywood that had been left up there. It wasn’t much but it was all they had, save for Mila’s heels. “Stay here,” she instructed. “But keep those heels ready?” She tried to smile, but she couldn’t hide how terrified she was of what was possibly waiting for them on the other side of that door. She knew she sure as fuck wasn’t going to wait around for it to pounce though. Taking a deep breath, she paused, then yanked the door open, holding the plywood up, ready to strike. The door opened to--nothing. Erin waited, gripping the wood harder, but the sand just blew quietly on to the rooftop. But nothing. It was quiet, again. Eerily so.

Mila crouched behind the vent, still rubbing furiously at her eye. She couldn’t see well normally, and this was really putting a damper on what little sight she had. Instead she turned to her other sense, letting her bare feet feel the vibrations. Erin’s footsteps echoed through her body, and the soft drifting of sand, but no thunderous rumblings, not like before. She peeked out from her hiding place, her heels at the ready. “Do we need the heels?” She called, wishing there was a way for her stilettos to actually help. “Is it...I think it’s gone? Whatever the hell it was?” Whatever had been moving the sand, maneuvering it after them, seemed to have abandoned it’s hunt. One eye blurry beyond belief, Mila glanced around for any reflective surfaces. “Are we- is it fucking over?” She stepped out carefully, slipping back into her shoes. “I swear, most of my home visits aren’t quite so...eventful.”

The hall was empty, save for the layers of sand wisping around Erin’s feet. For now, the danger seemed to be gone but the foreboding feeling left in its wake was hard to ignore. It felt… unfinished. They’d gotten way too lucky to have run from not just one but two mysterious whatevers that had decided to knock down their doors and mirrors today. Tentatively, Erin stepped forward into the hall doorway, ready to swing if necessary. “I think we’re… okay?” It didn’t feel right to say it either. Her heart was still racing and she kicked some of the sand in the stairwell, as if she was waiting for it to spring back to life. She looked to Agent Darzi, letting out a breath. “I hope not, otherwise I’m going to have to decline a follow up.” She ran a hand down her face, contemplated dropping the plywood, opting to grip it a little tighter. Nodding at the other woman, she kept her eyes on the stairwell. “Are you sure you’re okay?” She asked one more time.

Mila smiled lightly, brushing the sand off her clothes where the grains fell lifelessly to the ground. “Don’t worry, I think if I have any further questions I’ll just email.” They made their way cautiously back down the stairwell, the building looking menacingly...normal. “Me? Oh yeah, just...tired I think.” Tired was an understatement. The pain in her eye subsided, making way for an indescribable fatigue. Then again, she had just run from two mystery monsters, in stilettos no less. “And I’m not even the one who got strangled. Make sure you get some rest, and uh...drink some tea?” Mila shuffled closer to the exit. “And I’ll send my assistant by to pick up the paperwork, I really ought to get home.” She could feel her muscles aching to lay down and honestly, she wanted nothing more than to take a long, hot bath in a room with absolutely no mirrors.

#wickedswriting #erin1 #potw: sand

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rae-is-typing · 5 years

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Universal Language

Description: You, music and the Avengers

Characters: You, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Thor, Bruce Banner, Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes, Wanda Maximoff, Peter Parker and Pepper Potts because I love her

Warnings: Mentions of PTSD, mentions of little Stevie getting beat up, and mild language. If there is something I missed, please let me know.

Disclaimer: Some are longer than others, some have dialogue, and I couldn’t think of anything for Rhodey (I’m so sorry!) Tell me what you think, I was trying something new for this one. If you want something more in-depth, lemme know :)

Word count: ~ 2.5k

Tony took you in when you were a toddler. He knew jack shit about raising a child, and enlisted the help of a nanny,. That is until Pepper made him realize how much he was missing of his daughter’s life. He didn’t even know you started crawling. However, he knew the only thing that got you to stop crying was music. He also knew that banging on things rhythmically was your favorite pastime. From then on, he knew that he was going to have a little musician on his hands.

Tony

In Tony’s opinion, the only good things your mother gave you were life and your knack for the arts, especially music. Rhodey and Pepper saw it, too. You took to music the way Tony took to mechanics. He loved your adorable pout when you were figuring the notes out, and the way your face brightened the room when you finally played it right.

The first thing he got you was a toy xylophone when you were three. He would watch you try and replicate the music he was playing over his speakers. You’d look up at him with tearful eyes when you couldn’t get it. He would gently take the mallet from your hands and copy the music, then he’d give it back to you so could copy him. Your giggles of glee when he played were something he’d never forget. He used his knowledge of the piano to help you learn music.

You were six when he got back from Afghanistan. Even at that young age, you knew things would be different. Your father had been gone for months. His arm as in a sling and he looked sick. He pushed you away for a few weeks after that, only staying in the lab, not even letting you stay in the child-proof area he had set up all those years ago. You didn’t understand why he was different, you only understand that he was different.

One night, you were playing in the main room. Pepper was done for the day, and Obadiah was far away and wouldn’t be back for a really long time; you were all alone with only JARVIS looking after you. You were trying, and failing, to play Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy. You kept hitting the wrong keys and messing up the rhythms. Frustrated, you huffed and crossed your arms.

Unbeknownst to you, your dad was behind you. He smiled softly, walked closer to you, picked you up, set you on his lap and played the phrase you were trying to. You demanded he play the rest. Soon enough, he had a sleeping kid in his lap.

You were eight when you had your first performance with an audience. It was a piano recital in a small auditorium at your school. He sat in the front, unashamedly cheering for you and loving you. He was there whenever you had solos, and he cried for a lot of them, not that he would ever admit that to anyone but you or Pepper. He records all of your performance, e even has videos of your progress from a four-year-old you playing Mary Had a Little Lamb to sixteen-year-old you busting out Beethoven like its nothing.

Now, he asks FRIDAY to play back recordings of you singing or playing. It helps him calm down, knowing he’ll always have a piece of what matters most to him with him at all times.

Steve

You met Steve when you were ten years old. It was the aftermath of the Battle of New York. Steve and the rest of the team, excluding Thor, had moved into the tower. While you were thrilled to see Natalie-Natasha again, you were a shy kid, opting to stay with Pepper or your dad and away from the others. The larger-than-life Captain America intimidated the shit out of you.

It wasn’t until you saw him sketching in the common are you began to consider him an actual human and not a walking action figure. You had been trying your hand at drawing for months, and while you had made considerable progress, your work always looked off for some reason. After watching him draw for weeks, you managed to snatch his sketchbook, flip through it when left to go get something from another room. He cleared his throat, startling you into dropping the book. You picked it up, heat in your cheeks, and sheepishly handed it back to him with a small, almost scared, “Sorry,”

He only smiled at you, ten-year-olds weren’t all that subtle when it came to spying. He sat you down on the couch, and began showing you all of the drawings he felt were appropriate. Some of them were memories of war-ravaged battle fields, and he didn’t want to give you nightmares. There were lots of old-timey Brooklyn, a man named Bucky, a vaguely familiar, but very beautiful woman named Peggy and Steve’s Ma, Sarah.

You pouted and explained that whenever you tried to draw, it never came out right. He nodded, then smiled. “I’ll tell you what, you help me learn Piano, I’ll help you learn to draw.”

Clint

Clint is a vent-dweller and, much like everyone else on the team, he struggles with PTSD. He uses the vents as a safe space, a way to escape the nightmares and the heartache from the past. However, he doesn’t like to feel alone. He often says above the lab to hear Tony’s loud music, snarky banter with his AI’s, and his empty threats to the ‘bots. Other times he’ll stay above the gym if he knows that Steve or Natasha are doing late night workouts. The soft grunts and the sounds of the equipment are sufficient to keep the loneliness at bay. On very rare occasions, he stays above the kitchen to hear Vision mutter to himself while attempting, and generally failing at cooking food.

Soon enough, he found the music room. Well, art floor.

You were up late, practicing a solo that you couldn’t quite get, but weren’t ready to give up on. He paused, getting clear tone with his hearing aids in. He soon found himself up above the floor whenever you were playing late. The music was a nice distraction, and he could feel himself become happy with your progress, small feelings of pride swelling in his chest at your success. One night, he even left a note on the piano asking you to learn and play Clair de Lune for him. The next week, you told him to be there at midnight, and sure enough, the beautiful piano tune floated up to the vents.

Natasha

You’ve known Natasha since she was Natalie. You mostly kept your distance until one day. You were struggling to play something. You fumbled with your instrument, while penciling something onto the sheet music. She watched you for a couple minutes before asking if you needed help. You huffed out a petulant “No,” before proceeding to struggle for another five minutes. Defeated, you asked for help. She managed to help you figure out the fingerings and the accidentals.

You took up dancing a little later on, and she began helping you after your regular class. With her guidance, you quickly became one of the best dancers in your classes, always rising to the challenge with the work-ethic she helped instill in you.

Even later on, you became her pupil once more when learning to fight. She knocked you on your ass more times than you can count, and still does all the time. But, with her help, you’ve learned how to kick some serious ass.

Thor

It’s no secret that Thor is a big guy. He doesn’t know his own strength,and often breaks things when he wasn’t careful. Out of all the original Avengers, he intimidated you the most.

One day, you saw him holding your violin, examining it like a specimen under a microscope. You panicked, dropped everything and ran to him.

You demanded he stop, resorting to pulling the bow from his hands. He was confused at the tiny child pulling the interesting midgardian play thing away from him.

“Let it go, Thor! You’ll break it!”

Thor frowned, still holding the violin.

“My apologies, young Stark. I do not know what it is, I was merely trying to find its function.” He says, handing it back to.

You relaxed a little, the initial panic wearing off. “It’s a violin, it makes music.”

“How?”

You got into position, put the bow to the strings and drug across the strings. A note rung put, and everything seemed to click in Thor’s mind.

The next time Thor came to visit, he brought Asgardian instruments for you to learn, try and play. You may or may not have cried out of joy.

Bruce

Bruce is a ball of stress, and that is evident to anyone that’s spent any amount of time with him. He uses music as an outlet, letting the sounds wash over him and makes some amount of stress go away. But there are days that things get too overwhelming, there are days where the headphones and opera don’t work, there are days where he needs something more.

Bruce knows that you play, he knows about your talent, and he’s even gone with Tony to watch you perform. There was a day when he shyly asked if he could watch you practice. You were all for it. You practiced in front of him, and he calmed don a lot more.

It became a routine of sorts, you playing, him offering some constructive criticism when he could and you even taught him a few songs on the piano.

Sam

You took the initiative of catching Steve up with modern music. One day, he sheepishly handed you The List, Working your way down, you finally landed on Marvin Gaye. Steve called his friend Sam in so you both could gush about the icon.

You and Sam ended up screeching singing Ain’t No Mountain High Enough for him, and managed not to scare him off. You called it a successful day.

After that, you had put together a playlist for him, and had your dad create a portable sound system for his wings so he could fly listening to his fave.

Bucky

Bucky came to the tower after his time in Wakanda. Tony was wary, anyone in his situation would be. He wanted you to stay away from the ex-assassin indefinitely, and you didn’t blame him. You knew what Bucky did. However, you tried not to blame Bucky either. Steve explained the situation as best he could to you, and you understood that Bucky had been taken advantage of, used and manipulated.

Now that he was in the tower, Bucky wandered around the tower when he couldn’t sleep which happened to be most nights. One night, he heard something familiar, something that tugged at his chest in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Somewhere over the rainbow,”

He remembers a warm breezy day, the alley he pulled Stevie out the night before, reaming him for fighting more than usual because of the big day they had coming up. He cleaned him up. He remembers holding a washcloth to a small blond Steve as he tried not to hurt him too bad while he berated him for fighting again that week.

“There’s a land that I heard of once in a lullaby,”

He remembers walking with Stevie to the theater, paying too much for the tickets and sitting beside his best friend watching color appear on a screen for the first time. Bucky smiles, letting the feeling of nostalgia and the longing for a simpler time linger for a moment longer before heading to another area of the labyrinth to explore.

Wanda

Wanda moved in when you were 13. You were so happy that you had another female in the tower to bond with. When she expressed interest in music, you jumped at the chance to teach her something, anything really. You tried a few things. You started with woodwinds, she couldn’t figure out the embouchure. You moved onto brass, she didn’t like the sounds. You settled on stringed instruments. Her choice was the acoustic guitar, and she was good. She picked it up almost immediately, easily learning the fingerings and chords. Her favorite thing were duets with you, and you often played together whenever you two had time.

Peter

You saw how good Peter was for your dad. He finally had a mentee to teach. Tony really tried to get you into science, he really did. It didn’t work the way he thought it would, and damaged your relationship for awhile until he back off, letting you do you.

You were jealous, admittedly. You weren’t used to sharing your father’s attention with another person your age.

Then you got to know him. You found out through your dad that he was in marching band, and you needed to know more. You began spending a little time together, swapping band stories and laughing at memes. Soon enough, Peter hung out with you before going to working with Tony in the lab for a few hours. It was fun.

You learned the Mii Theme, the Kahoot theme and even put together a duet of meme music to annoy your dad with together.

Pepper

Pepper is your mother. No, she didn’t birth you, and you didn’t call her mom, but she has been there for you through everything. Through your father’s time in Afghanistan, the battle with Obadiah, your first day of middle school, whenever your dad was busy and you were upset, your first period. It didn’t matter, she was with you. She listened to you when you worked hard on a piece. Hell, she even helped you pick out your first professional grade instrument, despite knowing very little about them.

She encouraged you when were feeling less than, she helped pick you up when you were down, she taught how to act around the business assholes in Galas and events.

Pepper loved you and you loved her.

When the proposal happened, Pepper asked you to sing at the wedding. You took this role very seriously, singing ‘A Thousand years’ by Christina Perri and ‘Future Looks Good’ by OneRepublic.

When Morgan was born, you sang to her whenever you could. When she was old enough, you’d sit her on your lap and let her smash the piano keys like Tony did with you.

Pepper couldn’t think of a better older sister for her baby; she couldn’t think of any better daughters.

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brianna-lei · 7 years

Text

Butterfly Soup Asks #17

The squad playing Overwatch, yaoi hands, and more! man I still have a lot left in my inbox after this...

I’ve spent an obscene amount of time playing Overwatch so I have many thoughts on this Neither Diya nor Noelle have ever played a first person shooter before, but Noelle studies many strategy guides and videos to prepare beforehand.

Following her research, Noelle chooses Symmetra after memorizing the optimal turret and teleporter/shield matrix placements for each map. Symmetra is a good hero for inexperienced players because she doesn’t require aiming skills, but secretly, Noelle likes her because she is focused and serious. She’s scandalized by her default outfit, but can’t afford to get the Vishkar/Architect skins

Diya sees the dog helmet on Pharah’s Anubis skin and instantly unlocks it, automatically setting her as a Pharah main. Diya is the type to happily choose Pokemon based on cuteness instead of practicality, so this is typical Diya

Min ONLY plays these 4 attack heroes, in this order of preference:

Reaper (cool and edgy)

Genji (sword is a long knife. only chosen if the above is taken)

McCree (cool. only chosen if the above is taken)

Soldier 76 (a soldier, cool. only chosen if the above is taken)

She’s mechanically very skilled, but in her 100+ hours in game she’s never even ONCE selected a tank, defense, or support hero, not even in skirmish or training, not even when she’s the last one to choose and there’s no healer. Literally 0 minutes on her career stats.

Akarsha is an ironic Torb main and also a useless Sombra. During their first game together:

Akarsha, selecting Sombra: (affectionately) it's me

Noelle: How is that one you?

In spawn, Noelle can see Akarsha as Sombra with the Battletag “RedFart”

Sombra: (smugly) Hack the PLANET.

Sombra: (annoyingly) Miss me?

Noelle: .......... (the game hasn’t even begun yet and she’s already seething)

Diya manages to get a triple kill with concussion blast through sheer luck before accidentally killing herself with her own rocket. Min constantly spams “I need healing!” in impossible to heal locations, or when she's already being healed but doesn't notice. Whenever she dies she goes “res me”. Akarsha is nowhere to be found. In the kill feed, Diya has managed to accidentally kill herself again with Rocket Barrage. Noelle switches to Mercy and Min blames her for “not healing fast enough”. Eventually, infuriated, Noelle just screams into the voice chat “FINE! DIE ALONE, YOU FOOLS!!!!” and lets her teammates at critical health perish at her feet

the match ends in defeat but Diya got POTG for her triple kill

Noelle: Akarsha, what were you doing this last match?

Akarsha: Turned invisible

Noelle: YOU'RE NOT ACCOMPLISHING ANYTHING WHILE INVISIBLE

Akarsha: There should be a card for “time spent invisible”

Only Min and Akarsha consider themselves gamers. Diya and Noelle will play Mario Kart at other people’s houses but don’t regularly play games Akarsha: besides DS games like Ace Attorney, she’s particularly addicted to MapleStory

Min: plays more console+pc games, likes CoD and Team Fortress 2

Sakura, Yuki, and Akarsha have all watched magical girl shows at some point. Akarsha’s favorite one is Madoka Magica.

Akarsha likes a lot of Ace Attorney characters and her favorite is Phoenix, she finds him relatable. However, if you ask her, she will answer “Spark Bruschel” (below)

She dreads it starting from the night before the presentation and have trouble falling asleep from anxiety. As the time to present approaches she’ll get more and more nervous and sweaty to the point that she won't have an appetite and her stomach hurts

As she's presenting, if she has note cards or a powerpoint to read off of, she stares at that the whole time and reads at lightning speed. Diya has to write down what she's going to say word for word, she can't just put chunks and phrases on note cards because she wont be able to construct a coherent sentence. her life flashes before her eyes whenever she stutters or messes up a sentence

If she doesn't have anything to read off of, she stares at inanimate objects instead of the audience, completely blanks out, and sometimes when she can't recover from that she panics and tries to end the presentation prematurely by suddenly going back to her desk. just bad all around

Noelle has good posture, the others are all pretty eh and slouch sometimes. In particular, Diya slouches a lot when she’s with Noelle because Noelle was taller than her in elementary school and Diya still isn’t used to the fact that she outgrew her.

It’s similar to how Min’s brain actually can’t fully process that she’s way shorter than Diya. When confronted directly with the fact Min will acknowledge it, but it hasn’t really sunk in, at all. Diya was only a little bit taller when they were kids, so in her gut that’s how it’ll always be. I experience this with my childhood friends too LOL I still instinctively feel like I’m taller than my friend who’s now like 5′8″ (I’m 5′2″)

THIS IS INCREDIBLY SPECIFIC ASJKDHFA

I feel like Diya and Hayden have long-ish hands because they’re big, but not yaoi hands level i dont know what to say

--Tumblr wouldn’t save my post after this, so I copied it into Word and pasted them back in. It worked, but now some of the asks ARE THE WRONG SHADE OF BLUE.....

(For those who don’t know, the song lyrics say “Her name is Noelle”) Yes, and this also reminded me that whenever Christmas songs say “Noel”, Akarsha annoyingly points it out like “it’s you Noelle”

It came from leftover dinner from the night before, which Noelle’s mom cooked

I have, I also love seeing all the different ways everyone writes the characters! Thank you fanfic writers!! ;u;

Hayden: 5′11″

Jun: 5′8″

adding this to the FAQ, thanks!

It’s not mentioned why she has a bandaid as a teenager. I have something specific in mind but it may come up in the sequel so I won’t say anything else about it

Here’s their birthdays from oldest to youngest:

Noelle: January 18

Akarsha: April 20

Min: July 4

Diya: November 26 I haven’t come up with the birthdays of other characters yet (except Jun, whose birthday is the same as Min’s haha)

Yes, stay tuned :>

Yup, that pose was reffed off of Trucy’s surprised sprite! I love how over-the-top it looks

OMG...I hate miscommunication as a cause of conflict in stories so don’t worry, there’ll never be a choice with disastrous consequences like that in any of my games!

I’m really glad to hear this, I sometimes wonder “should I have made them older?” but this is ultimately why I made them the age they are! I think a lot of people in their 20s instinctively feel 14 is too young because they’ve forgotten what they themselves were like at 14. I kept journals so I have evidence haha

You’re welcome, I’m really glad she was relatable!! Noelle has a Chinese name and goes to Saturday Chinese school, but I haven’t decided on what it is :( Maybe someday...

I REALLY want to sell Butterfly Soup merch like charms/prints/diya’s hoodie but bc I’m busy I haven’t had a chance to set it up yet >_> It’s my goal to accomplish this by the end of the year

It’s currently only available for the computer, sorry! There’s nothing questionable in this for 14 year olds -- there’s profanity, but there isn’t any explicit sexual content or nudity in it!

I’m glad that detail resonated with you!! I’m also self conscious of my hair (opposite problem, it’s EXTREMELY coarse) so I added it ^^;

A few were drawn from scratch, but most of them are at least partially drawn over photos I took

You can download it here, it’s a creative commons free song!

Yep this was fixed! I was so appalled this wasn’t caught before the game was released haha

Aw thank you!!

You’re welcome!!! The game hasn’t even been out for 2 months yet, I can’t believe people love it enough to replay it already ;u;

#my post #briANSWER #ask #homosushi #Butterfly Soup #overwatch

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imagine-loki · 7 years

Text

By The Willow Shade

TITLE: By The Willow Shade CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 18 AUTHOR: MaliceManaged ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine being a witch (on Earth) and accidentally summoning Loki. He gets angry and confused, but ends up actually liking your company and teaches you more magic. RATING: T NOTES/WARNINGS: This is the last chapter per se, but there’s an epilogue coming up.

____________________

When Loki caught up to Thor and the others they were in one of the training grounds and Fandral was suspended some six feet in the air before a thoroughly annoyed looking Willow, the warriors around them laughing at his predicament while he seemed to be apologising.

“Dare I ask?” Loki asked slowly, eyeing the floating warrior amusedly.

“He said he could teach me ‘useful’ skills,” Willow replied, not taking her glare off Fandral, “So I showed him I already know some.”

Loki laughed and walked up behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders and looking at Fandral. “I’m surprised you didn’t set him on fire,” He said lightly.

“Could you kindly refrain from giving the lady ideas?” Fandral interjected, looking between him and Willow warily.

“Oh, believe me; I thought about it,” Willow replied.

“That’s my girl,” Loki said proudly, squeezing Willow’s shoulders lightly, “You can let him down now, though; there’s something we need to discuss.”

“Fine,” Willow huffed, waving her hand and releasing the spell suddenly, causing Fandral to crash to the floor unceremoniously to the amusement of the others.

“Perhaps you should take this as a lesson not to taunt a seidr-wielder,” Loki said with a not-altogether-friendly smile before turning Willow around and leading her out of the training ground.

As they walked through the palace Loki tried to organise his thoughts completely before speaking to Willow. It wasn’t that he thought she’d say no to his plan, but he wanted to make sure she fully understood the scope of what it would change in both of their lives. It would be a bigger change for her and he didn’t want her to have second thoughts when it was too late.

“That was quite a show back there,” Loki commented after a while.

“Am I in trouble for that?” Willow asked, looking up at him with wide eyes.

Loki laughed lightly and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “No; you’re not,” He assured, “It’s good for you stand up for yourself, especially around them; they need to learn to respect you and your skills.”

“Kinda wish I’d known how to do that years ago,” Willow mused, “Would’ve saved me a lot of running.”

“Probably wouldn’t have been a very good idea,” Loki replied, “Midgard has rather forgotten what the universe around them is like.”

“Yeahhh; ten-year-old me wouldn’t have cared about that,” Willow said seriously.

“I’m sorry you had to endure that, Willow.”

“I’m not… much. If I hadn’t; I probably never would’ve been desperate enough for acceptance to have ended up summoning you.”

“There is that,” Loki conceded then stopped walking and turned to face her, “I know that I can’t erase the past sixteen years, but I can at least try to make the rest of them better.”

“You’ve already managed that months ago,” Willow replied a little confusedly, not sure where this was headed.

“I aim to continue that,” Loki began then took a subtle breath and looked at her with complete seriousness, “Willow; I would like for you to stay here, in Asgard, to live… With me.”

Willow blinked. “Can we… do that?” She asked with cautious hopefulness.

“We can if you want,” Loki replied.

“But… I’m still a minor; I’m pretty sure I can’t just move to another world just like that,” Willow pointed out, “What about my parents? Even if they don’t… want me… they’re still legally my parents; it’s their say.”

“Not for long, lítið einn,” Loki replied with a smirk, “But that can wait for now; I believe we’ve rather fallen behind on your lessons.”

****

‘For now’ turned out to be ten days, which was when Julianne was discharged from the hospital. In the meantime, Willow’s lessons had continued as normal and Loki finally showed her some of the palace’s secret corners not many beside him knew about, having had his confinement lifted. Willow had tried and somewhat succeeded in keeping the ‘I told you so’s to a minimum, especially after Loki took away her music player for two days in retaliation.

As they drove to Willow’s former home, a once again shapeshifted Loki absently toyed with a smooth green stone in her hand that she’d received before leaving Asgard. She hadn’t said a word about it but Willow could tell it was significant; the look on her face when Huginn had delivered it said as much.

“Okay, seriously; what’s with the stone?” Willow asked, unable to contain her curiosity any longer.

“Hm? Oh, this…” Loki replied distractedly, setting the stone down on the dashboard, “It’s a message. From Odin.”

“A rock?” Willow asked dubiously, “What happened to writing a letter?”

Loki breathed a laugh. “It’s a code, lítið einn,” She explained, “We came up with it when I was around your age. There was an… incident… after which I refused to speak for several years, so he and I found another way to communicate, one that only we understood.”

“Ohh, okay,” Willow said, choosing not to ask what the ‘incident’ was. If was enough to keep someone like Loki silent for several years; she figured it must have been bad. “So, what does that one mean?” She asked, glancing at the stone.

“It means ‘yes’,” Loki replied, eyes on the road, as they reached their destination.

After parking and telling Willow to stay in the car, Loki got out and made her way to the house’s front door, a few folded documents in her hand, and rang the doorbell. Soon Willow’s father opened the door and promptly started and took an instinctive step back when he saw who it was, the memory of their last meeting still fresh in his mind.

“Oh, good; you remember me,” Loki greeted casually with a smirk.

“Laurie!” Willow’s father almost squeaked, “W-what are you doing here?”

“We have business,” Loki replied, “Regarding Willow.”

“I haven’t touched her!” Willow’s father quickly said, “I haven’t even seen her since the hospital!”

“Oh, I know; she’s been with me,” Loki replied casually, “That’s precisely why I’m here.” She leaned forward slightly. “See; I intend to keep it that way. May I come in?”

She didn’t wait for a response, simply pushed past him none-too-gently and went straight to the dining table, passing a surprised Julianne on the way, sitting down on one of the chairs and looking back at them expectantly. Willow’s parents cautiously sat down across from Loki, wondering what exactly their daughter’s odd friend had in mind.

Loki unfolded the papers in her hand and laid them out on the table, producing a pen seemingly out of nowhere and placing in on top of them. “I’ve taken the liberty of bringing termination of parental rights and adoption forms, and…” She began then fished her phone out of her pocket to check the time, “The notary should be arriving any minute now.”

“You expect us to just… sign Willow over to you?” Julianne asked incredulously.

“You were perfectly content to throw her out on the street; don’t pretend you given a damn what happens to her now,” Loki replied sharply, “I’m giving you a solution that benefits us all. I suggest you accept it.”

“And if we don’t?” Julianne asked challengingly.

“Then I make you both disappear,” Loki replied almost sweetly with a smile that belied her tone, “And then I take Willow home.”

At that Willow’s parent shifted uncomfortably and Julianne visibly gulped. Soon after the doorbell rang again, startling them slightly, and Loki smirked at how nervous she had them before pointedly ‘asking’ one of them to answer the door. Once the notary was seated - Loki wasn’t quite sure how Odin arranged it, but she certainly wasn’t about to ask given that it saved her the trouble - things proceeded smoothly. Willow’s parents didn’t even bother to read the documents; they just wanted this over with and Loki out of their home.

After Loki signed the papers herself and copies were made, she bid them all a good day with a subtle sarcasm lacing her voice then left the house and returned to Willow. Willow unfolded the documents and read thought them carefully, curious as ever; when she got to the part Loki had signed she frowned slightly.

“Laurie Frost?” She read aloud incredulously, looking up at Loki with a raised eyebrow, “There’s something very wrong with you.”

Loki laughed. “It’s not that bad,” She replied.

“It’s terrible,” Willow deadpanned.

“Mm; perhaps,” Loki conceded, “But it served its purpose.”

Willow shook her head amusedly. “Soooo…” She began after a moment, “Do I call you ‘dad’ now, or ‘mom’? ’Cause, you know, on paper…”

At that, the smile fell from Loki’s face. “Willow. Don’t,” She warned.

Willow simply grinned widely. “Aren’t you glad you fell so low?” She teased, recalling Loki’s words at their first meeting.

#Loki #God of Mischief #Others #Submitted fic #submission #By The Willow Shade #malicemanaged #chapter 18 #earth #summoning #angry #confused #liking #company #teaches #magic

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justanontherwinchester · 7 years

Text

Hunters Don’t Cry: Part 5

Pairings: Dean x Reader x BestFriend Sam

Summary: Catch up here

The reader and Dean have to make a choice but can Dean step up to the plate?

Author’s Note: Thank you for so much positive feedback, lovies. You are all amazing! If you want to be tagged, please ask. Also I am accepting ideas for one shots/stories!

Warnings: Language

"Oh, their so perfect, (Y/N)." Sam cooed at his newborn nieces. They were perfect. They were identical, green eyes and ash blond hair. They looked like their father.

"Nine months pregnant and they come out looking like Dean." I sat in my bed holding one the unnamed newborns.

"He would be so happy right now."

"I know Sammy, I know." I looked at these little girls and I saw the world. They were my world and nothing else mattered.

"What are you naming them? This one already has Dean's mugshot face down." He grinned and tapped on her little nose. "Bop"

"Brinley Ellen and Brielle Johanna Winchester." I knew these two were going to be strong, so they needed to be named after strong women. I knew they were going to have hunting in their blood, but that world was behind me and they were ahead.

"You mean to tell me Sam was there the day they were born. Sam was the one who held my daughters? It was fucking Sam?!" Dean was screaming and being dramatic, like normal.

"Well it could have been you Dean, but here we are." I was standing across the room from him as he packed his bags. Our hunt was over and we were supposed to be taking time off. That wasn't happening. There was a Ghoul infestation in a small town in North Carolina, people were dropping left and right.

“Yeah, here we are. We are both grown adults now. Do they.. do they even know about me." His voice broke as he tossed his shirts on top of the other clothes. He was hurting, but so was I. I walked over to him grabbing his shirts and started folding them, how I used to.

"Of course they do Dean."

"Do they know me as their father?" He looked at me like I had ripped his heart in two.

"No." He looked away from me and clenches his fist. "You're Uncle SamSam's brother. You travel a lot and that's why you never visit. The stories Sam tells them, you're a superhero in their eyes." I felt the tears coming. "You are their superhero Dean. When Brinley grows up she wants to be like Uncle Dean. Brielle wants to be a mermaid. They are smart and strong. They were born to be hunters, but I don't want that life for them. I didn't get a choice. We didn't get a choice. I want them to be kids."

I've never seen Dean so emotional. I've never seen him this hurt. He pulls me into him, holding me but not saying anything. His hand rubbed up and down my back, just like he used to. His face was burrowed in my hair, nuzzling to get closer.

"I'll show you I'm a decent man. I'll show you I can be a good father. I want our girls home." That was the words I wanted him to say all along. "I'm so sorry for ever making you be alone. I would take it all back if I could. I can't. So I have to live with it. I don't ever want you to forgive me for what I did to you, to them. I can't forgive myself. I don't ever expect for you to love me but know I will love you until the end of time. Know that I will love them and never deny them. Even if one is weird and likes that Justin Beaver. I want nothing more than seeing their booster seats in the back of Baby, with you by my side. I want to accidentally sit on one of those damn Barbie dolls for the millionth time. I want to do it with you. Hell, I want a whole litter of Winchesters. I wanted that since we were young. I don't know what I was thinking when I let you go. But I fucked up and I'll never forgive myself. When you're ready, I would love to finally meet them. I want to know my baby girls."

I was crying, no, I was sobbing until I couldn't breathe. I knew Dean Winchester. This was my Dean who was talking. Whoever it was back then wasn't my Dean. Even then I wasn't ready, it needed to happen. Not right now though.

"I fucking hate you so much." My face buried deeper into his chest and he just held me tighter. "I'm sorry I didn't fight, Dean. I'm sorry I left. I was just done. I was just so hurt and lost. When you said those things to me, it was the straw that broke the camels back. Give us this hunt. It's going to be about two weeks, give me two weeks to decide."

"Okay." He let go and placed a tender kiss on my forehead. "Two weeks."

"Do you want to see them though?" He looked at me with a bit of confusion. I pulled the photo album out of my duffle, it wasn't much but it was memories. "From birth to now."

He started flipping through the album. He smiled and reacted to the photos better than I could have imagined. I pointed through guiding them.

"This was the day they were born." I was holding both of them, Sam was on my right and Samantha was on my left. "Oh, this was their first bath and this was their first birthday. Brielle loves cake but Brinley loves pie. Everything in pie form, that girl will eat. This was the first time they had spaghetti and here's Brielle holding a duck." In that moment, everything had changed. It was real. They were real to him. He kept flipping through the photos as he watched them age before his eyes. "They both love classic rock. Brielle enjoys AC/DC and Brinley swears Guns and Roses is the best thing in the world."

"Their beautiful." He wiped his tears and continued flipping through.

"They look just like you and act like it too. They are pure Winchester. You couldn't denied them if you tried."

"I would never want to." He came to the end of the book and was disappointed, he was wanting more.

"Samantha has basically every day of their lives recorded and tons more pictures. I can have her email the videos and we can watch them if you would like?"

"I would love that." He started to hand me back the photo album but I pushed it back to him. "I have multiple copies of everything, you keep these."

"Thank you." He started looking through again, taking in everything once more.

I walked out of Dean's "room" and down to the room Tiffany now claimed. I looked through her cracked door as she was packing

"Knock knock." I opened the door as she looked at me. "Mind if I come in?"

"Sure, come on." She had more clothes than any of us and nothing was proper hunting attire.

"You know if you are going to become a hunter, you have got to find some form on sensible foot wear." I grabbed one of the stilettos on the bed, knowing I would die if I wore a pair of these.

"I can't become a hunter. I'm not like y'all." She sighed and looked at me, worried.

"Well not with that attitude." I responded. "You've been in this life now, you can't walk away. With how many things out there that want to kill the Winchesters, you have to be."

"What's the point. Dean never loved me. Sam hates me and so do you. Why should I stay?"

"I don't hate you. Im sorry about Dean and Sam... that one you will have to figure out on your own." I sat down on her bed and leaned back.

"You busted my face two days ago."

"You ripped out my stitches."

"Sorry about that." She apologized.

"Sorry about everything else."

"It wasn't your fault. I was stupid. When I saw Dean in that bar, I made the first move. He pushed me away the first few tries, but after he got drunk, I took advantage of that. I fell for him and I tried to do everything I could to make him love me like he loved you. He talked about you in his sleep, sometimes he would moan your name during sex. I was just a rebound. Dean's not a bad guy. I didn't know the truth and I tried to feed on it so he wouldn't leave me. I was scared I was going to end up back in that town, with my alcoholic father and abusive ex-husband."

"I forgive you, a million times. You won't ever have to go back there. It will take some time, but having you around will be a good thing. You're going to be a great hunter. Also I know this really great guy that I think would be perfect for you."

"You guys rebound fast from relationships." She was laughing as she finished her packing.

"It's a hunter's thing. Hit it and quit it. But really, he's a great guy. We are going to meet up with him when we get to North Carolina in the next few days."

"What's his name?"

"Garth." I walked out of the room, leaving her to ponder about Garth. He was a good guy and he deserved a good girl.

I saw Sam in the hall, rolling his bags out by his door.

"I just hear you tell Tiffany about Garth?" He asked, laughing.

"Shut up, they would be good together." Sam just shook his head, thinking what we both were thinking.

"I overheard you and Dean..."

"And...."

"I think it's a great idea. Also I've missed the munchkins too. I have a bag of things I've been picking up for them over the past few months and I don't have anymore space."

"You are going to spoil them, Sam."

"Just wait till Dean starts." I rolled my eyes at the thought of Dean getting the girls a remote control car or a Swiss Army knife. "I think this is going to be good."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"But what do I say? Hey baby girls, meet your dad, it's really Uncle Dean?” I threw my arms up and leaned against the rotting wall.

"You'll figure it out, you always do." He walked back into his room and shut the door behind him.

I heard whispering from back down the hall. It was coming from Dean's room.

"I promise the moment I meet you two, I won't fuck that up. I promise to never leave you again. I'll teach you how to rebuild a car engine, we can play dress up, and braid Uncle Sam's hair while he sleeps. I'll be the best dad I can be. I'll protect you and love you no matter what."

He traced their faces with his finger. I knew Dean would make a good father. I find myself a decent mom. The problem is, how will we be good together and save the world at the same time?

Tags: @redlipstickandthewinchesters @charred-angelwings @mattory-reylo-shipper-offical @strawberryjuiceboxxx @keep-calm-and-omfg-jensen-ackles

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural one shot #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean winchester fanfiction #Sam Winchester #sam winchester fanfiction

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the-baddest-bitch · 7 years

Text

Mr. Han Will See You Now - Chapter 2

The Clock Strikes (Ding, Dong)

Rated 14+ for extensive cussing

Read Chapter 1 here:

Jumin’s door was open when Yoosung arrived at the office, as it usually was. (Yoosung still didn’t know exactly what time he showed up, even after almost 5 months of working for him.)

Jumin immediately called him into his office, also like usual, to give him his list of tasks for the day. The only thing not like usual was the beautiful woman lounging in Jumin's office.

Putting her attractiveness aside, Yoosung wondered what exactly she was doing here. She didn't have the air of a businesswoman at all, and she didn't have a briefcase or anything with her. He also doubted that she was here for any advertisements, since Yoosung was the person who arranged those type of things. So….why is she here? It was actually starting to piss him off a little bit, and he wished he didn’t know why. It shouldn't matter to him if Jumin got a girlfriend. Shouldn’t. If only it didn’t. Yoosung had started developing a crush on him, and he desperately hoped it was fleeting. He didn't even understand for himself why he had the crush. Jumin was a total asshole. (He wasn’t really, but that’s what Yoosung often told himself in vain attempts to quash his feelings. It didn’t work.)

He swallowed his irritation at her presence and addressed his boss first.

“Good morning, Mr. Han.” Jumin averted his eyes from the woman and looked at him.

“Good morning, Assistant Kim.”

All in all, it was an abnormal situation, given that Jumin wasn't Chairman Han, and would never bring his girlfriend to his workplace. But still, his boss was utterly nonplussed. Yoosung did his best to act unaffected as well, though it was difficult not to sneak glances at her every once in awhile; she really was quite stunning.

“What’s my first task today, sir?” Yoosung fought to keep his expression neutral and his gaze focused on Mr. Han, but it was a fierce battle. He only half listened to Jumin’s words, more focused on the woman. He felt his anger flare at the appreciative gaze she sent towards his boss. His attention snapped completely to Jumin when he called his name.

“Is something amiss, Assistant Kim?” Well, shit.

“N-n-no, sir.” He shook his head frantically from side to side. “I apologize.” Jumin nodded.

“If you say so.” Jumin turned towards the woman. “Please excuse my assistant, he’s quite young.” The woman laughed as if it was the funniest joke she’d ever heard, and not-so-slyly reached over the desk to touch Jumin’s hand. To his utter disbelief, Jumin smiled at her and didn’t retract his hand. Yoosung quickly turned away and excused himself before any of the many emotions he was feeling had a chance to show on his face. Neither person seemed to care about his abrupt absence.

He trotted over to his desk and plopped down, barely bothering to pull his chair out all the way. Hardly two seconds later, he realized his grave mistake. He had forgotten the stack of papers that Mr. Han wanted him to take care of. Shiiiiiiit. I’ll look so incompetent if I go back in there now. Shit! And she’s in there. Should I just swallow my pride and go?

Luckily, one of his problems was solved when he heard quick, tapping footsteps approaching. Another problem arose when he realized it must be her. They were the only three in the office, and she was the only woman.

Yoosung quickly opened his briefcase, hoping she’d simply set the papers on his desk and then leave. Since the universe never seemed to rule in his favor, she did not simply leave.

“Umm, excuse me. You left these in Jumin's office.” Jumin? She calls him Jumin? Who are you, woman?

Yoosung shoved down his anger and spoke in a professional tone as he turned around.

“Yes. Thank you.” He didn't want her reporting anything bad back to his boss, so he kept as polite as possible.

“You're welcome!” She turned to leave and Yoosung let out a premature sigh of relief.

“You know - and this is just between you and me - you're a very handsome young man. And you're hardworking. I’m sure you'll make a wonderful husband.”

“Oh. Ah. Um. Thank you…” The woman giggled. It was a very pretty sound, quite like the rest of her. Yoosung gave as polite a smile as he could.

As soon as she left, he dropped it. Now he was confused. If she was dating Jumin, why would she flirt with him? Did that even count as flirting? He wasn’t often flirted with, but he was pretty sure it did, given all the hair tossing and batting of eyelashes she'd done. Well shit. I have to tell him. I can't let Mr. Han be with a cheating woman. He already hates gold diggers, this kind of thing will make him hate women altogether! But...when? I can't now, that'd be weird. Plus I just got to work, so I can't take a break. Damn.

Yoosung continued working at a solution as the other employees trickled in. Some of them he made conversation with, others he didn't. A surprising amount of people at the office liked to spread rumors about him; namely how he got to be Jumin Han’s assistant at such a young age. Those were the people he didn't talk to.

When his lunch break finally came, he took his chance. He knocked politely on Jumin's door, and waited. Jumin called him in after a moment, and he opened the door.

He quickly prepared himself mentally, in case the woman was still there, and went in.

He cheered a little inside his head, relieved that he wouldn't have to fake niceties again.

“Yes, Assistant Kim?”

“I apologize for interrupting your work, Mr. Han.”

“What do you need?” Jumin seemed impatient today, and a bit more irritable than usual.

“U-um. That woman. From earlier. Who was she?” Jumin sighed.

“Is that what you came to talk to me about?” Jumin shook his head ruefully. “I will never understand young people and their constant need for romantic relationships.”

“What sir? Oh! No, no. It's not like that.”

“If you say so.”

“I do! I swear! But, anyway. Who was she?”

“Her name is Seo-Yeon.”

“I see. But, well, who is she?” Jumin looked at him blankly.

“Seo-Yeon.”

“Okay, uh. That’s not what I meant, but that’s okay. Anyway, I think she was flirting with me, and I just thought you might want to know.” Jumin raised an eyebrow.

“Why would I want to know that? Your romantic relationships are your business, Assistant Kim. If that's all, then please leave.” Jumin made a slight shooing gesture with his pen. “We both have work to do. I've allowed this since it's our lunch break, but please don't waste our time with silly conversations.”

“Yes, sir-Wait. So you two aren't together?” Jumin shook his head.

“That was my sister. She was in the country for once, and Father wanted me to show her around the office.”

“...Oh.” Well, shit. Now he looked even more like an incompetent fool.

“Yes.”

“Well then. Please excuse me, Mr. Han. Please forgive me for bothering you.” Jumin nodded slightly at Yoosung as he backtracked sheepishly to the door.

“I-I'm very sorry sir.” Yoosung tried to hide the embarrassment written on his face as he retreated back to the safety of his own desk.

His day just went downhill from there.

As he was leaving the copy room, he bumped into some guy who was entering.

He'd dropped all his papers, of course, and the coffee he'd been carrying covered them both.

“Ah! I'm so sorry!!” Yoosung quickly knelt to retrieve them.

“You little shit! Watch where you're going, for Christ's sake.” The man glared at him, and Yoosung shrunk back.

“I'm really, really sorry. I should’ve been paying more attention. I’ll pay for your dry cleaning. Or a new shirt.” The man looked down at him.

“Damn right you- Hm. Wait a sec. I might consider letting you pay me with something else.” Yoosung furrowed his brows in confusion.

“What?”

“You've got a real cute face, you know?” The man caressed his cheek. When Yoosung cringed away in disgust, he pinched it.

“No, thank you. I'm not interested.” The man narrowed his eyes at Yoosung.

“Wait a minute. Aren’t you Jumin’s assistant?” Yoosung nodded slowly, not sure what his position had to do with anything. The man scoffed. “I get it. You're his bitch, and now you're too good for the rest of us.” Yoosung blinked.

“Uh, what? That's not...that's not our relationship at all.” I kinda wish it was, but that'd just cause problems, sadly. The man sneered.

“Sure, bitch. Just get out of here. Just sayin’, he obviously didn't hire you for your skills.” The man gestured at his soaking shirt, and pushed past Yoosung.

He took the asshole’s advice and left as quickly as possible. What the hell was that about? I understand that coffee stains, but come on. That was just weird. I'm “Jumin's bitch”? How did that rumor get started? Honestly? He treats me exactly how he treats the other employees. Is it just cause I'm so young?

He couldn't shake the uncomfortable feeling that talking to the man had given him. Sure, he liked Jumin, but it was probably just a crush that would pass. And Yoosung “obviously wasn't hired for his skills”? What the hell? What else could he have been hired for? C&R wasn't that kind of place. He kept trying, in vain, to push the event from his mind, but he just couldn't.

The next week was definitely not the best. He couldn't count how many people had bumped into him or “accidentally” knocked papers out of his hands in the halls. He didn't know how many people gave him sidelong glances and then looked away right after he caught them, as if they hadn't done anything. He had no idea what he'd done to upset so many people. Someone had even scrawled his cellphone number in one of the stalls in a bathroom. Things escalated to a breaking point when he found a note laying on his desk after he came back from his lunch break.

It was just a plain white envelope, marked only with his name, and he had no idea what it might be.

He figured he should read it immediately, to make sure it wasn’t anything important, so he opened it. He had a slight feeling of apprehension - all that happened this week hadn’t been conducive to any feelings of comfort. His eyes roved over the words, and his apprehension was taken over by confusion as he read the words “Die, Assistant Slut” and an address. He realized in horror that it was his address. It curled beneath his shaky hands, and he felt a photograph underneath the paper. He slowly unfolded it, and it was just as he feared; the picture was of his apartment door. They, whoever ‘they’ were, hadn't just found his building, they'd found his actual apartment.

It was that moment when Jumin texted him. So, he went to his boss’s office, shaking slightly, and unknowingly still gripping the paper in his hands. How could someone have gotten his address? It was listed in the company records, sure, but those were classified, so that only the really high higher-ups could see them. Did someone...follow me home? What the hell have I done to deserve this? I don't want a fucking stalker!

He knocked on Jumin's door, as per usual, and opened it.

“How can I...how can I help you, sir?” Yoosung took a deep breath.

“I need you to look over this plan.”

“Alright.”

Jumin started to explain it in more detail, but Yoosung didn't hear a word. Nothing felt real. It didn't feel right that he should still be here, acting like nothing at all was different, when quite a few things were different.

Yoosung finally recognized a pause in Jumin's speech.

“Uh. Yes, Mr. Han. Please excuse me.” Yoosung turned towards the door, planning to try and calm himself in the bathroom.

“Assistant Kim. Wait a moment.” He turned back towards Jumin.

“Yes, sir?”

“What was the last thing I asked you? Before this question.” Shit. He knows I wasn't listening.

“...Did you ask me if I understood, sir?” Yoosung cringed at his own question. Now it was obvious he hadn't heard a word, without a doubt.

“I did, but the fact that you had to ask me that shows that you did not, in fact, understand.” Yoosung gulped and averted his eyes.

“Look at me, Assistant Kim.” He did.

“This isn't like you. Why are you so distracted? Being distracted won't help you keep your job.” Yoosung swallowed and nodded.

“Yes, Mr. Han. I'm sorry. It's just that, recently, some of the other staff have-no, that doesn't matter. Today, I found this note on my desk.” Yoosung passed the note to Jumin, who had a quizzical look on his face.

Jumin raised his eyebrows as he read the short note.

“Is this...some sort of prank done by your friends?” Yoosung shook his head.

“No. I-I don't really have any friends here that are close enough for that.”

“I see. Do you know who did this? If it wasn't by someone you're close to, this could be a serious threat to your safety.”

“No, I've got no idea who would've done it. I don't know how they found my place either.”

“This must be formally addressed. This type of behavior will not be excused. I never thought I'd see this type of nonsense in my own company, but I suppose every place has its bad apples.”

“But sir, what if-” Jumin raised a hand.

“No. This is unacceptable. I will handle it, so go back to your work. Let me know if anything else happens.”

He was afraid to protest anymore, so he did. And nothing else happened for the next few days.

Then, Sunday night came.

Yoosung was in his small kitchen, cutting up onions with tears in his eyes, when his doorbell rang.

Was I expecting company? Or mail?

He wiped his hands - and eyes - and went to look through the peephole. He saw no one, so he opened the door to check for a package.

What he saw lying on his doormat was indeed a package. Of the suspicious, unmarked box sort.

He lifted the lid off it, and at first, didn’t completely understand what exactly he’d been sent. Then, the smell reached him and he knew.

Yoosung gagged and tripped backwards, almost falling, in an involuntary reaction to the dead animal on his doorstep. He could hardly even tell what it was, since it was so horribly mangled. He stood back up on shaking legs and spotted a paper attached to the animal. He didn’t want to touch it, but he figured he should see whatever it was that whichever sick bastard killed the poor thing wanted him to know.

As he bent closer to it, he saw that it was - or used to be - a tabby cat. He got as close as he dared and picked the note off gingerly. The smell was overpowering, and he gagged again.

He unfolded it, trying to avoid the dried blood that spattered it, and had to read it twice before he fully absorbed the contents.

Dear Yoosung Kim, This is what we do to little pussies that run and tattle to their bosses. P.S. Heard that you want to be a vet. Have fun fixing this mess.

He dropped the note and stepped quickly back into his apartment. Was that...was that a threat? Holy shit. What if whoever left this is still out there? Oh shit. He slammed the door and fumbled with the lock, fear suddenly overtaking all other thoughts.

Yoosung slid down to the floor, leaning against the door. He started to feel like he was going to hyperventilate.

He remembered what Mr. Han had told him earlier that week. ‘Let me know if anything else happens.’ He patted himself down, looking for his phone, without luck. He realized he’d left it in the kitchen while he was cooking. Yoosung quickly double checked the locks and raced into the kitchen.

Jesus Christ. He thought. What the fuck is wrong with these people? Am I honestly that horrible?? That a poor, innocent cat had to die?

He saw it lying on the counter, next to the knife he’d been using to chop onions, and grabbed it. He turned to the living room, but thought twice and grabbed the knife as well.

He flipped through his contacts with shaking fingers, and finally found the correct one.

The phone rang, (and rang, and rang) and Jumin picked up after what felt like an achingly long time.

“This is Jumin Han.” Yoosung felt grounded at the sound of Jumin's voice, and a bit of the tension and fear he felt dissipated. Not enough to make him feel better about the situation, but enough to lighten his load. He set the phone on speaker and put it in front of him, on the floor.

“Hello, Mr. Han. It's Yoosung Kim.”

“Do you need something?” Yoosung was grateful for his boss. He was quite lenient with accepting calls from Yoosung late at night. It made the blond very glad, but he didn't quite get why. Jumin had even told him that he hated receiving calls at night.

“Um, yes. Yes sir. It's about th-the note thing.” He wished his nervousness didn't show as much as it did.

“Did something else happen?” Jumin's general deadpan gave way to - what sounded like - the beginning of anger. Which was unusual, since Jumin didn't often get angry, or emotional at all, about anything. He always said that being emotional was a waste of time and energy, so why would he be getting emotional over something that happened to Yoosung?

“Yeah. There's a-a,” Yoosung paused, taking a breath to steady himself once more. “A dead cat on my porch.” He trailed off at the end, despite his best efforts.

“...What?” Jumin sounded borderline confused and incredulous. Yoosung repeated himself.

“So that is what you said. Did you see who left it?”

“I've got no idea. They just rang my bell and disappeared. They might still be out there somewhere. I don't know.” Yoosung's words sped up as his breathing because uneven. He gripped the knife tighter with both hands, until his knuckles became white.

“I see. I don't think they'd still be near you, waiting for you to call the police on them, so I believe you should be safe. Nonetheless, they know your address, and they've become aggressive.” Jumin paused, and Yoosung knew he had his thinking face on. “Driver Kim will pick you up. Be ready in half an hour, at most.”

“...Huh? Um, what do you mean, sir?” Jumin sighed, and Yoosung could practically see him pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I mean that you are going to come live with me.” Yoosung blinked, apprehension temporarily forgotten, as Jumin's words sunk in. He was going to live with him? His boss? His crush? (He wasn't sure it could even be called a crush anymore, since his feelings for him had grown ever more as the days went by.)

“I-I-I couldn't possibly do that. That's completely inappropriate for our relationsh-” Jumin cut him off.

“You most certainly can. The behavior of these other employees is the only thing that's inappropriate in this situation.” Yoosung stayed silent, thinking about Jumin's words, and trying to find another acceptable rebuttal.

“But...Why do I need to live with you?” He cringed as soon as he said it, and hurried to amend himself. “I-I-I mean. I could go live with another person, and not have to trouble you?” Yoosung realized it still wasn't the strongest argument.

“Do you know anyone else with a state of the art security system and on-call bodyguards 24/7? If so, please feel free to ask them.” Dammit. He was completely right. Of course he was! He was like a lawyer. He never asked questions he didn't already know the answer to.

“I…” Yoosung knew it was useless refusing now. For some reason, his boss just refused to give up. “Alright. Thank you for your kindness, sir. You really don't have to do this.” And that was the thing. He didn't have to. So, why was he?

“Yet, I am. You're the second best assistant I've ever had, and I don't want to lose you.” He supposed that made sense, since receiving threats in the workplace would definitely drive some people to quit that workplace. He sighed.

“What time did you say Driver Kim will be here, sir?”

“Half an hour. At the most.” Yoosung nodded, though no one was looking.

“I suppose I'll see you soon, then?”

“Yes. Be careful.”

“Thank you, Mr. Han.” Yoosung ended the call. He was about to be stuck in an awkward predicament. On one hand, he'd be living with the object of all his sexual and romantic desires for an indeterminate amount of time. Anything could happen! On the other hand, that person was his boss. Anything could happen.

Yoosung ended the call, and Jumin smiled a small, secret smile to himself. The circumstances were rather unfortunate - and quite terrifying, in Yoosung's case - but the outcome was all that mattered. He'd be living with his favorite and most useful subordinate for an indeterminate amount of time. Hopefully, he'd finally he able to get to the bottom of all the irrational thoughts he'd been having lately. Best case scenario, he'd do something about them. Worst case scenario, he'd be forced to get rid of them. Needless to say, he was hoping for the former.

The second he arrived at Jumin’s penthouse, Yoosung felt that things were going to change. Drastically. He didn’t know if it was just him being paranoid, or if his gut instinct was right.

He looked at the familiar - and completely normal looking - door, wondering why he didn’t want to go inside. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been in Mr. Han’s place before! His boss often had him come over to pick up Elizabeth 3rd, or to drop off Elizabeth 3rd, and occasionally to catsit Elizabeth 3rd. It’s different this time, Yoosung. You know it is. You know how strong your feelings for him are. You have to be careful.

Yoosung felt like all hell would break loose as soon as he opened up the door.

He turned the knob, putting aside his irrational thinking. Jumin was sitting on his couch - still in business-wear - with a book in his hands. He hadn’t been reading it. He’d just been holding it in his hands, waiting for the door to open. Waiting for him to arrive. Yoosung couldn’t fathom why he’d sit, holding a book, without reading it. Especially in anticipation of his assistant arriving to his house. Mr. Han sure is an odd duck...Oh, Jesus Christ. I sound like my mother.

“Hello, Mr. Han.” His parents had painstakingly drilled politeness into him, so Yoosung broke the semi-awkward silence first.

“Hello, Assistant Kim.” Jumin stood up as he said it, leaving his book on the couch.

“You can leave your things by the door. I’ll have someone get them for you.” Yoosung nodded, and gently set down his suitcase, only for it to fall over with a resounding thud. He looked at it in dismay, but didn’t pick it up.

“Will I be sleeping out here, sir?” Jumin scoffed. Yoosung didn’t understand why.

“Of course not. You’ll be sleeping in my room.” Yoosung swore he felt his heart stop for a moment. Bitch say what?

#MHWSYN #jusung #jumin x yoosung #mystic messenger #mystic messenger fanfiction #my work #fanfiction

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polarizeapps-blog · 7 years

Text

alex gaskarth

the writer !!

just wanna apologise here too cos the submit box won’t let me edit the full layout of the app or stay that way when i copy and paste… fml.

name/alias: eve pronouns: she/her timezone: GMT other characters: nope! anything else you want us to know: i’m in another group so my activity could fluctuate but i imagine i’ll be on the dash pretty often!

the muse !!

name: alex gaskarth age + birthday: 29, 14th december job: vocalist of all time low gender + pronouns: cis male, he/him

faceclaim: n/a

secret: I just want to apologise for how long this is… Alex’s secrets kinda grew arms and legs the longer I played him. So, it’s summarised, and then the full version is below it, along with a bit of history about he and John O’Callaghan’s relationship since it’s relevant (I should be joining with the Johno reserve but if they don’t join then I’ll edit some things later!). BUT I’M REALLY SORRY BECAUSE IT’S HUGE.

SUMMARY

Alex’s first girlfriend falls pregnant with their child aged sixteen, but aborts it without his knowledge. After their break-up, Alex suffers a groin injury in gym class that leaves him infertile, and heartbroken over the idea that he could have been a father had it not been for the abortion.

Later in life, Alex’s second girlfriend falls pregnant after sleeping with him and an unknown man around the same time. They were, however, not together at the time, and she is unaware of his slim-to-none chances of conceiving. She’s aware he doesn’t want to be with her and is too afraid to reveal the child could be his, and chooses to raise it never attempting to find out who the real father is. They remain friends and Alex dotes on the little girl he calls his niece.

A twisted, drug-fuelled relationship with a third girl on tour results in her six-year-old son accidentally consuming ecstasy belonging to Alex while in his care. He saves his life after the child suffers a heart attack but the mother is understandably sickened and furious with Alex, refusing to let him see the boy ever again and cutting all contact with him.

Alex sleeps around even more to cope afterwards, including with fans of his band (never underage though), and is eventually diagnosed with Histronic Personality Disorder and sex addiction to go alongside his lifelong struggle with anxiety.

Lastly, Alex got together with John O’Callaghan in the summer three years ago. At first it was just sex but soon became more. At one point, John was struggling with the idea of falling in love with Alex, and broke up with him. The abandonment sent Alex into a downward spiral and he was taking more drugs than he ever had. He eventually overdosed by accident and ended up in hospital; John attempted to visit but to no avail. Days after being released, Alex overdosed again – this time, purposefully. The mixture of drugs in his system gave him a heart attack. Despite refusing rehab or therapy, Alex went on to make a full recovery these past few months, and he and John got back together whilst he was in hospital. They’ve been going steady for a while now, openly in love with each other, but Alex still struggles to fight his demons. His addictions still taunt him daily. His boyfriend doesn’t know his second overdose was an attempted suicide, either.

DETAILS

At aged fourteen, Alex got his first girlfriend, whom he lost his virginity to at fifteen, and that relationship went on to last until he was sixteen. They broke up due to feeling like they needed to explore new things – they were only young, after all.

At least, that was what they told everyone. And while it was partly true, their relationship had grown particularly strained after Alex got her pregnant recently after they turned sixteen. There was some debate about whether she should abort or not, and she ended up doing so without fully consulting Alex first. They had agreed to leave it for a weekend and think about what they both wanted, make a decision from there… but she went with her mother to the clinic and got the baby aborted on the Saturday afternoon. Her parents had always hated Alex, and her older brother thought he was bad news too. Alex was heartbroken, but he understood it was ultimately not his decision, and they would have struggled to handle a baby at their age anyway. Though, he couldn’t help but feel her parents had talked her into it to spite him, and the fact she’d went through with it was painful to think about. Even so, their relationship continued for a few more months after that, and only their parents ever knew about the pregnancy. Despite their relationship ending on a fairly mutual note, they didn’t keep in touch after high school.

Soon after the break-up, however, when Alex was just barely seventeen, he suffered an injury in gym class to his groin – hit in the balls by a baseball, something he would’ve laughed about, had it not been so serious. It rendered him infertile. There was little to no chance he would ever conceive a child. Alex was only young, but he’d always pictured himself being a dad someday. He was crushed to think that if his ex hadn’t aborted, he could have had his chance to be a father, before it was too late. His whole life would have been very different, but he could’ve had a kid. He kept that to himself though, too hurt to explain it to everyone – too much of a long story to spill to his friends that he’d gotten his girlfriend pregnant and hidden it from everyone. It wasn’t like he was in a relationship with anybody who wanted a child; he didn’t see any need to talk about it. Not even to his parents.

When Alex was eighteen, he met a girl a couple of years older than him, and she soon became a serious girlfriend of his, lasting until he was twenty-three. In that time, his band took off, he bought a house… he grew up. He and this second girlfriend had a mutual break-up upon realising they had no time for each other, with their careers both needing serious focus to stay afloat, but subsequently stayed firm friends. Secretly, Alex also wanted to lead more of a ‘rockstar’ lifestyle – it was only after this break-up that he became truly promiscuous.

Some time later, when home from tour, he went through a short period of hooking up with this ex. Her feelings for him began to resurface, but it was more than obvious Alex wasn’t looking to rekindle anything. Upset, she goes out drinking and has a drunken one-night stand with a nameless man in an attempt to feel better. Only after this does she realise she’s fallen pregnant. Unaware of Alex’s infertility, she was embarrassed and alone and scared. Convincing herself that even if the child was Alex’s, he wouldn’t be interested, she fabricated a lie for her friends and family about the father, telling them he was simply a man she’d been in the early stages of dating who didn’t want to know. She made her peace with never knowing if the daughter she gave birth to months later was fathered by Alex or her nameless hook-up. She and Alex stayed friends, and he didn’t think twice about the dates lining up, because why would that beautiful little girl be his?

When Alex was twenty-four, he entered a rather complex relationship with a single mother, her son only six years old at the time. She worked in the music industry and home-schooled him due to their sporadic travelling – his father had been out of the picture since he was very young, so she and her child were even closer than most mothers and sons.

This woman dabbled in drugs occasionally for recreational purposes – Alex understood it to be an escape for her. Their fling began when he shared his coke with her one night, finding there to be a connection, and not just because of their high. They slept together and it was the beginning of several long months of sex, drugs, and growing ever-closer to her and her son. The pair were a little more than friends-with-benefits, but never in love. Never ‘together.’ Neither could commit… through fear or just not wanting to. But Alex doted on her son and became a huge part of his life for a while. The three of them seemed to just amble along like a fake family. And it was actually quite lovely, for a time. Just what Alex needed, though it made him ache for a child of his own.

It was near perfect.

Until Alex fucked up.

Often, he would get high when she slept over and chose not to do it with him. She would sleep and he would snort. One night, he left out a small clear bag of his ecstasy pills, passing out in a stupor before he could store them safely; something he rarely forgot to do. Alex had promised to watch over her son that morning, as she had things to do, but Alex barely awake when the child arose. He got to the ecstasy pills before Alex even noticed they were still out – and subsequently had a heart attack.

It was only Alex’s quick reactions that saved the fitting child and got him to a hospital, but his mother was understandably not thankful for this.

She screamed at Alex that evening once her son was stable, tearing him apart for almost killing him, her baby, her whole world. Alex’s guilt was something that ‘consumed’ seemed too small a word to describe. He was completely heartbroken; he loved that boy, would never do a thing to intentionally hurt him.

The mother kept the story away from the press once popular music magazines caught snippets of why there had been ambulances on the tour, and Alex’s involvement in it was near enough erased. She didn’t want her child’s face and name plastered all over the internet, and she didn’t want a damn thing to do with Alex (or drugs) ever again. And a story like that would keep her forever tied to him. Hopeless Records got involved, helped she and Alex form a lie about some unknown person from the ensemble tour leaving drugs lying around (not on the All Time Low bus), to save Alex’s career and the band’s image, and keep his now ex-fling happy. She cut all contact and threatened Alex to stay away from her son, not even allowing the guilt-ridden man to say goodbye to the child he’d fallen in love with over her.

Alex entered a period of sleeping with anyone and everyone after the incident left him completely devastated. He had been promiscuous before, but this time, he was almost always drunk and/or high, and he wasn’t opposed to sleeping with fans. He lost count of the amount of All Time Low ‘groupies’ he fucked. They were never under-age, but he targeted them because they were often easier than seeking someone out in a bar after a show. It was too much effort for how depressed he was – he just wanted to fuck and forget. Rumours of it circulated the internet, but he ignored them, as did his record label, but none of it helped All Time Low’s image.

Slowly, though, that faded to black. He got a hold of himself again, though it took a while. He got better. As better as he could manage be. He totalled that he had slept with around a hundred-odd people in his lifetime, with the number increasing every time he felt too sad or just wanted a little fun.

Alex had suffered from anxiety his entire life, but was only after everything happened with the boy and his bouts of using sex to cover his emotions that Alex got diagnosed with something else – Histronic Personality Disorder (HPD). He was told it was on a more minor level, but he was still a sufferer, paired with a mild sex addiction. Read more about HPD here.

To this day, Alex struggles with everything that’s happened to him, but he tries not to let it swallow his life up. Sometimes he fails.

JOHN/ALEX HISTORY

In August of 2014, Alex began hooking up with The Maine frontman, John O’Callaghan. They grew closer over the following months, friendship blossoming when Alex went to stay in Arizona for a while that autumn, and then making their relationship official in February 2015 and announcing it to social media and their friends March 2015.

They helped each other. They healed each other.

Things were plain sailing until, that October, Alex finally admitted to John that he was in love with him. John panicked and left the house for several hours, returning to an upset Alex to say he loved him too. For Alex, the most blissful week of his entire life followed… until John sat him down, telling him things were too overwhelming, and that it didn’t feel right – he didn’t love him, and he felt they should spend some time apart. Crushed, Alex fell into a pit of depression. He tried to cover it with his old ways, partying and sex, but he was often drunk and never far from any sort of drug he could get his hands on. John had to watch from a distance as Alex slowly destroyed himself.

Finally, John realised he was in fact in love with Alex, but talking to him was impossible. Every time he tried, Alex was high, and talked nonsense until he grew hysterically upset. And in turn, John couldn’t handle that.

It was only when Alex took things too far and ended up in hospital on an overdose that John finally came to see him, but Alex screamed and got so upset that John thought it best he just leave again. Days after being released, Alex hadn’t learned his lesson. He overdosed again – purposefully this time. It resulted in a heart attack but he was taken to hospital a second time and now, months later, has went on to make a full recovery despite refusing therapy or rehab afterwards.

He never told John that he tried to kill himself with that second overdose. He didn’t think he needed to know. But Alex still battles his demons daily, despite finally going steady with John and getting his life a little more on track. His addictions taunt him. His fans and family and friends don’t know just how bad things were, either. They knew he had a bit of an addiction going on, knew that he’d went to hospital for taking it too far, but didn’t know it was a heart attack. Didn’t know he wanted to die that night. It was too upsetting – Alex didn’t see the need to let them all know.

He can’t give into everything though. He won’t. It would kill him for real this time.

the interview !!

*answer the first two questions ic or ooc! these do not have to have lengthy answers. a few sentences will do just fine!

how hard is your character trying to keep this a secret?: since alex has a variant of secrets… he very much wants all of them to stay on the down-low. but he would be most devastated if people knew just how much of a wreck he was in his personal life because he tries so hard to seem positive and like a good influence.

how would your character react if the secret got out to everyone?: he would be crushed, embarrassed, humiliated, angry… you name a negative emotion, he’d probably feel it. alex can be a dramatic boy at the best of times and he’s still kind of fragile so anything major could push him back towards the addictions that call to him so loudly.

are you okay with your character being talked about on the gossip blog?: yes!

the accounts !!

main blog: http://alxandr.tumblr.com/ hangouts account: [email protected] sideblog: http://thornedboy.tumblr.com/

anything else?

the john o’callaghan reserve should be joining with me! alex and john have been in a long-term relationship for a while now. and thanks for reading over my app! also, i’m sorry if his secret sounds a bit disjointed/strangely written here and there, it’s been written and re-written for so many apps now, sometimes i miss things when i’m editing it!

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