Emma thinking it’s embarrassing that she’s still a virgin, she just wants to get it over just to lose the tag, her friend always tells her that she doesn’t need to find mr. Right just mr. Right now ,so she gathers up all the courage she has, and goes out with her, drinks a sugary girly drink or two and falls into the lap of the most intimidating man at the bar.
She gives him a fake name, likes how reluctant he is to take her home but even more reluctant to leave her. she gives him her pretty doe eyes and she’d like to think it’s all an act,and it’s not like she’s totally overcome with how he shields her in the booth,the way his biceps or almost bigger than her thighs, his palm warm and heavy on her bare thigh covering the span of it, how he speaks to her in a low quipped manner which makes her feel all fluttery and goey, she’d like to think that things are totally in her control because she’s not Emma Nolan tonight.
He tells her he’ll call her a uber, tells her she needs go home, but somehow leads her to his car, nice car, black leather seats with a hand on her lower back, buckles her in, and she looks at him, his sharp profile, and feels anxiety bubbling inside—god, now that she’s sobering up, she’s totally out of her wit.
The feeling of being totally out of place is exasperated when they reach his penthouse —the kind she’s only seen in movies, sparse modern furniture, floor to ceiling windows—he’s grown man, and she’s just a girl in her cheap little h&m dress and beaded bracelets on her wrist, and he’ll know how inexperienced she is , and that will be mortifying (and she doesn’t even want to think about how he’ll fit like in) , so when he wanders of somewhere in his ginormous apartment she makes a run for it.
Because she’s just not ready yet, and it’s not like she’ll ever see him again right?
Except, it’s her third day in the PTMC, and she’s standing to next Dana who one moment is complaining about something the next craning her neck and looking up, and talking to a certain Dr. Park , and Emma’s eyes shift to thick forearms then shoulders in navy scrubs , then a sharp angular face and oh god, it’s him.
She takes a deep breath hoping he doesn’t recognise her, hoping he doesn’t even look at her because she’s overcome with the feeling of wanting to run away, but when his gaze turns to her it immediately pins her in place. He stills, and there isn’t even a shadow of doubt in his glower that he doesn’t recognise her, scrutinising her a beat too long, to the point all the chatter in the nursing station quiets.
“Our new Student RN Emma Nolan” Dana interrupts, raising her eyebrows and shielding Emma behind her, he scoffs then, looks down and shakes his head, before gliding away—
Here's the premise, certain Batfam members are at a charity gala trying to get fingerprints from a target. Steph plays at waitress and carries away an empty glass, but she gets bumped into and all the glasses shatter despite her best efforts.
"Shit. Well, good thing he drinks like a fish." Steph said over their comms as they eyed the second wine glass.
"It's the fourth one on the tray," Tim declared, watching the glasses, moving through the crowd.
"They're in a circle."
"It's the one with the half milimitre of champagne still left--"
"No, it's not." Bruce said. "It's the one closest to the waiter, the one with the smudge."
"This is ridiculous." Damian announced, "I'm getting his phone."
"He'll notice, don't do that," Bruce muttered, trapped with some obnoxious businessman and moments from spilling something to get out of it.
"I'll get it back to him in two minutes--"
"I can keep track." Tim argued, trying to move to get it, but Dick grabbed his arm, dragging him along.
"Come here," Dick ordered, walking them both right up to the man. "So nice to see you tonight, have you met my brother yet? Tim Drake Wayne, he's very eager about interning at your company."
Tim played along instantly, shaking the guy's hand. "Is it true you've managed to get around the cost of catalysts for your hydrogen fuel cells?"
"It's still quite new, but if you're serious, we can definitely set something up."
Tim grinned. "You wouldn't happen to have a number I could--"
"Oh absolutely. Here." The man handed over a business card.
"We got it," Dick muttered over comms as Tim carefully put the card away. "Anyone bring the disulfur dinitride?"
"Car," Bruce said, irritated when he realized he was trapped.
Generally, Lee Dongsik couldn't give half a damn about his partners' bodycounts. To the best of his knowledge the only virgin he'd ever been with before Han Joowon, was a highschool schoolmate, way back when. They were each other's firsts, and the fumbling, awkward performance they put on in a public bathroom could only be called sex in the most charitable sense of the word.
Han Joowon though, he was different. It wasn't any sense of 'purity' Dongsik valued in him, no. He was gay - to the sort of people who cared about such things Dongsik was impure by default, would have been impure even if he was a virgin. No, what thrilled him, what awed and amazed him was the fact that he was the first and only person Han Joowon - aloof, distrusting, touch-averse, precious Han Joowon - ever trusted with his body like this.
There was a joy in teaching him, watching him discover new ways of giving and taking pleasure, letting him tentatively take the lead...
Dongsik found no value in 'virginity' but he did value Joowon's trust.
Hey man, it’s raining — microfic, 1.2k words pov: regulus black thirsting for james potter and rosekiller being idiots. that’s it that’s the plot.
It was so easy to imagine. Himself, standing on that stage with closed eyes, feigned concentration locked on his face, as every student on campus looked at him. The saxophone’s otherwise cool metal was hot under his firm grasp. And the sound - the sound he created was vibrating through the air, blending so beautifully with the rain dripping down the side of the tent, and soaking through the dirt and blankets strewn across the lawn, as multiple wet bodies crowded inside to take cover, or simply to take pleasure in the music. It was so easy to imagine the feel of his gaze on his neck. The gentle way he hit the drums, and bounced on his stool. The way his tongue stuck out of his mouth in concentration, all while his eyes fixed on Regulus, as if he simply couldn’t help it; as if Regulus was the embodiment of the magic they were creating - together.
“Could you turn off the bloody music?!” The sound of heavy footsteps interrupted his daydream, getting closer and closer, and before he knew of it the stereo clicked, and the magic was gone.
“What the hell, Barty!?” Regulus opened his eyes immediately, lifting his head from his pillow with an exasperated gruff and coming face to face with a very pitiful looking Barty. He was soaking wet and had mud dripping down the side of his face. Regulus would have laughed if it wasn’t for the puddle he was leaving by his feet, but he couldn’t help the slight twitch in his lips. “You’re dripping all over the floor,” he said as Barty marched even closer to him, finger raised and eyebrows furrowed together.
“I hate the rain.” He was close enough for Regulus to reach out and wipe some of the mud off his face, but Barty swatted his hand away and Regulus finally gave in to a tiny laugh.
“What’d you do, kiss the ground and beg Mother Earth for a clear sky?”
“It’s not fucking funny–“
Regulus raised an eyebrow in disagreement, but Barty kept on scowling.
“This is all your stupid brothers doing really,” he said, and didn’t that just turn this whole situation around immediately? Regulus felt his face fall into a position similar to Bartys. Of course it was Sirius.
“What did he do?” he asked.
“The prick isn’t even on the football team!” Barty shouted, “Hooch should have never allowed him to play, he can’t even–” he stopped and raised his arms in frustration, “he can’t even keep his feet on the fucking ground!”
Again, Regulus raised his eyebrows, ready to interrupt, but Barty kept going.
“So, he tripped in the mud, and I had the ball and was just about to shoot for the goal, but the idiot fell right into me, and took me to the ground with him,” he said in a ramble, breathing heavily when he was done.
Regulus took his time to look him in the eye, before he spoke. “Right, so why was he on the pitch in the first place?” He asked him, and Barty took a deep breath.
"Well apparently, Flitwick is sick, so music class was canceled, and apparently so is Mclaggen, so we were short one player - it’s all this fucking rain I swear - and as you know, your brother follows Potter around like a lovesick prat, so he was there to watch him play, obviously.”
Regulus felt his cheeks heat, and looked to the ground immediately. The music from earlier was still ringing in his ears, but his mind rather liked this new image of him running around playing football in the rain; all covered in dirt and sweat. Maybe he was even panting from exhaustion, all the while focusing on the game. He’d never lose a game without a fight, James Potter. Regulus admired him for it.
Barty snapped him back into reality after a while.
“So what do you reckon we should do about it?”
“What?” Regulus said, confused.
“We have to get back at him.”
Regulus took a moment to consider. He did want to prank Sirius, but then again pranking Sirius alone wasn’t an option; he had to consider his friends, a part of it too.
“Nah,” he decided on saying, “this has nothing to do with me.”
“Oh come off it, he’s your brother,” Barty said, agitated, then added, “and I know you’d do anything to get Potter's attention.”
“wha–”
“Don’t think I don’t know about it,” he interrupted Regulus, before he even got to say anything. “Anyway, what should we do?” he asked again.
Regulus' cheeks were on fire. “Nothing, Barty,” he hissed, completely thrown off by Barty’s implication, “just because my brother tackled you, doesn’t mean I want in on your childish pranks.”
At that, Barty’s otherwise fading scowl returned at full speed. “Didn't you listen? He didn’t–” he started, then sighed. “You know what? Be boring, I’m finding Evan.”
“Please,” Regulus rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, you can go back to daydreaming about Potter.”
“I wasn’t–” before he could finish, the door slammed, and Barty was gone. Regulus sighed, then leaned back and turned on the stereo again.
About three albums later Regulus heard running in the hallway and prepared himself for the incoming hurricane that was about to interrupt his serenity. Indeed two seconds later, Barty hurried inside with Evan in tow, slamming the door yet again before collapsing to the floor, short of breath and laughing like two three year olds on a sugar rush.
“You should have seen their faces!” Barty wheezed, when they had both calmed down enough to at least acknowledge Regulus' presence.
“What did you do?” he sighed, which apparently wasn’t the thing to say as it only threw the boys into another fit of laughter.
Evan howled and shoved Barty’s shoulder. “He sounds just like him!”
Barty, who could only nod, because his wheezing had turned into coughing, looked to be trying very hard to get a hold of himself, clutching his stomach and panting on the floor.
“Seriously Reg, you should have heard him too,” he said eventually in between coughing. “He was all: ‘what did you do, what did you do?!’” he mimicked what Regulus guessed was his older brother, then, “god, it hurts, make it stop!”
“Maybe you should stop smoking so much,” Evan said.
“What did you do?” Regulus was getting impatient
At last, Evan turned his head to him, leaving Barty to his agonies. “We put beef bouillon in their showerhead,” he giggled.
“How creative.”
“I know, right!”
“Yeah, only problem is,” Barty cleared his throat, “it’s only gonna work once, so we might not get your brother,” he said, hoarse from all the coughing. He made his way over to Regulus bed and sat down next to him. “But we'll cross our fingers, right Reg?” he grinned, looking at him with a knowing smile. Regulus threw a pillow in his face.
“What don’t I know?” Evan peeked up from the floor, and Barty threw him the pillow then, as if he was giving him the permission to throw it right back at Regulus.
“You know.” he said
“I do?” Evan asked, looking down at the pillow, as if trying to figure out what to do with it. “Oh yeah! I do.”
Smirking, he threw the pillow back to Regulus, who stood from the bed, and caught it easily between his fingers, before sitting it back.
“You’re both Idiots,” he said, walking towards the door, so they wouldn’t catch him smiling.
Imagine a scenario where Jimmy is in Red and also a boogie and Skizz has exact 2 hours to live.
Imagine Jimmy managing to corner Skizz alone. Skizz try to talk to him but Jim heard nothing. Only voices that he heard is whispers of mockery to be the first one to go.
Imagine Jimmy rembering how things all started of him being the canary and remembering Skizz cause of his first permadeath and curse him to the path of being the canary.
Imagine telling him that to Skizz where he realize that his doom. He tried to call for help in chat while trying deflect every barage of attack from Jimmy.
Only for him to fall from his death. Jimmy gain another hour to live and the whole server gasp in shock. Jimmy isn't out first. It's Skizz.
Something. Something breaks inside Jimmy. The curse is broken. The whispering gone silent. The Watchers seems satisfied with the outcome. Jimmy just celebrates and the atmosphere in the server shifts.
Soon Tango and Impulse arrive with mix of confusion and also horror. Skizz gone and Jimmy lives longer. If he attacks, would they survive especially Tango, former soulmate and also a man who still in yellow who said PVP isn't his specialty?
Everyone in this server now knows Jimmy is a threat and isn't playing anymore. The canary stop singing for anyone.
Something I love about TGIA is that it can flow with canon so perfectly. Even with things not yet in the Netflix series, you can just imagine how the characters would react. For example in one of the books, Jaskier gets kidnapped and grilled for info on Geralt and Ciri and putting on some TGIA glasses you can just imagine Renfri's reaction and Geralts remorse and just, so much. It's amazing and incredible and thank you for writing this
my absolute FAVORITE thing is making an au that could theoretically mesh with canon if given the chance!! I love looking at characters and picking apart their actions and motivations and words and just, I have so much fun justifying why a character chooses one way over another??
Which is who you get all the canon-addressing chapters with me basically exploring Jaskier’s motivations for his canon actions under the guise of the au and then from there can throw him in new situations and figure out how he’d act in those given the same rough thought map from before
the best part is boiling a character down to their essentials, figuring out what they’re motivated by (tgia!Jaskier is a little bit petty, is used to hanging around with people way more powerful than him who have complex relationships with their own emotions, and is a feral little bastard man who will start a fight with anyone who dares insult his family/people he likes) and then tossing them into a situation
So in a kidnapped-and-grilled scenario you probably have a Jaskier who is making really sarcastic comments, telling his interrogator that his sister hits harder than that (because she does), spitting blood at the man before going into an apology speech because actually that shirt looks like it’s made with some pretty nice material? Way too nice to belong on this man’s chest, really.
(And then you have Jaskier yelping and being all “I’ll tell you I’ll tell you!” and when the dude is like “okay tell me about geralt of rivia” jaskier is just like “oh shit man i have so many songs lemme just - MY LOVE HAS EYES LIKE DRAGON SCALES, GOLDEN GLEAMING BRIGHT. YOU WOULD THINK ME TELLING TALES, OF HIS HAIR LIKE SNOW AT NIGHT - ”
the interrogator is grudgingly impressed by the sheer number of love ballads that Jaskier has either composed or adapted to be about the Witcher which tell him literally nothing except like. the ways jaskier feels when geralt smiles or how his ass looked when he was killing a drowner in his tight leather pants
Interrogator, taking notes: i’m using that euphemism in every conversation i have from now on
Jaskier: oh you liked that one? I have so many more this is like, the most euphemism filled song i’ve ever written. But i mean, come on, Geralt’s sword? That’s low hanging fruit
and then considering Jaskier has magic in this au that historically has been used to influence emotions (especially turning negative ones to positive) and the fact that he’s singing (which is how he uses his magic), he probably ends up being bros with the guy by the end of it and they go out drinking together and that’s how Geralt and Renfri find him, standing on a table absolutely plastered singing ‘the fishmonger’s daughter’ at top volume while his would-be-kidnapper enthusiastically applauds because he’s equally sloshed)
anyway that entire thing is basically how i turn any vaguely depressing prompt into a happy one because at the end of the day this is a happy fic full of found family and love and just,,,, i want them to be haPPY
In the future, as BHO started to become known, rumor has it in the villain community that the great Black Hat is KIND OF possessive with one of his minions. Villains who haven't been to BHO thought the minion must be scarily strong (to match BH's prowess) and seductive (because how else would you enchant evil?) but when they finally meet the minion... It's just the scrawny scientist. And that's when they would conclude the possessiveness is because Flug is BH's golden goose. Nothing more.
No one knew much about Black Hat himself, besides the fact that one did not simply walk into his HQ. You asked your boss, who'd been doing runs like this for a little over a year now, for some advice on how not to die on your first visit to the infamous Black Hat Manor.
You weren't expecting his response to be "Dont get too close to the doc. Black Hat can be kind of...possessive with him."
"Possessive? Possessive how?"
"Possessive like my jealous, bitchy ex." Your boss kept his eyes on the road, but pointed a finger at you sternly. "Anyone asks, I never said that."
"Got it." Though you got nothing at all.
"Keep it cordial, keep it polite, but keep your distance. If you see anything, don't say shit. That's their personal business, and it ain't got nothing to do with us. Just do the job and get on with life."
"Right." What the fuck? There was actually something between Black Hat and one of his minions? And it was his doctor? You knew even less about him, it was the girl people saw out in the field most often. You weren't even entirely sure what the guys name was, Flag or something like that.
What you did know was that he was the head scientist, who designed most if not all of BHO's extensive weapons catalog, and given that he worked directly under (and had a personal relationship with?!) Black Hat...he must be terrifying.
Black Hat was fearsome, and dapper, and rumored to be able to slaughter entire militias within minutes. He was said to have an extremely powerful Gift, if he was even human at all. For all you knew, he was a demon or devil or some otherworldly horror mankind stood no chance against. He also had expensive (and eccentric) tastes only satisfied by the best of the best.
So what on earth would his.......partner be like?! (1/?)
(This deserves so much more, but I dont have time. Tbc at a later date)
