#(also lemme tell you. you could not imagine a more perfect hole. i wish i had a dick and could fuck myself because my god)

[bittsandpieces]

you know how im always talking about not being able to cum without a vibrator? well. that might not be 100% true. as i may have just learned

[dangerouscommiesubversive]

someone behind me was tracing my steps / maybe you’re better off this way

Fandom: Kamen Rider Ryuki

Characters: Asakura Takeshi, Kido Shinji

Songs: "After the Fall," October Project & "Passive," A Perfect Circle (playlist here)

Takeshi’s sitting against the wall, bleeding out, and the mirror guy—Kanzaki, right—is standing over him, mouth twisted in something he vaguely recognizes as dismay. “I can’t use this, there’s barely any energy left,” he says, not to Takeshi, and there sure as hell isn’t anyone else in the room. “I’ll have to reset.”

“Hang on a second.” Takeshi coughs and feels his mouth fill up with the taste of copper, which isn’t such a bad flavor when you get down to it. “What about my wish?”

Kanzaki doesn’t even look at him, already fucking around with the mirror. “You don’t want anything, there’s no point.”

“Sure I want something.”

“…what on Earth could you want at this point? It’s all going to be reset anyway.”

Takeshi grins up at him, knowing that it’s sure to be an unnerving sight with his teeth all over blood. “Lemme remember.”

“Out of the question. Giving one participant unnecessary foreknowledge would interfere with the procedure.”

“Nah, nah, I’m not gonna interfere with shit. It was just a hell of a time.” Takeshi looks up just as Kanzaki is looking down and grins his bloody grin a little wider. “I like to remember times when I had fun. Looking forward to doing it over again. Let me remember.”

---

It’s not until he graduates university that Shinji realizes that he’s missing something.

Slightly after, really. He graduates, he works some shitty part-time gigs, he does some freelancing, and then Ookubo gets in touch and offers him a job at Ore Journal. That’s all fine, but when he steps through the door of the Ore offices he’s hit with a wave of déjà vu so powerful that he nearly trips and falls face-first into Reiko’s desk. Fortunately he catches himself before anyone notices. It had been bad enough trying to explain to his mother about the girl who lived in his mirror when he was thirteen; he can’t imagine how the people here would react to, “I remember walking into this room for the first time at least eight times over.”

He gets a grip on himself, but the feeling of loss stays. He’s missing something, and he doesn’t know what. Sometimes he’ll get a glimpse of it, he’ll pass someone on the street or overhear a snatch of conversation and a fragment of memory will overwhelm him, but he never gets everything.

From the bits that he sees, he’s not sure that he wants to get everything. It might be better to be missing something than to remember.

---

Takeshi’s known that he’s missing something for a long time now, and whatever it is, he wants it back.

He’s not exactly an educated guy, but he knows himself pretty well, and the idea that there’s a big chunk of him missing is galling. He can feel its absence. He can’t tell what it is, it hasn’t got any kind of useful shape, no edges that he can detect, but it’s his. And since he wouldn’t just go carving out part of himself, that means he’s been robbed.

He doesn’t take kindly to being robbed.

Mostly, though, he can ignore it, the way you ignore a hole in the wall that you don’t feel like repairing yet. He does what he likes, gets what he wants, eats when there’s food, and doesn’t think about it unless he reaches for something in his mind and finds that it isn’t there.

And then he sees the journalist.

Some sweet-faced kid, he is, showing up at a bar that Takeshi likes and bugging the regulars about a local ghost story that Takeshi knows for a fact is bullshit. He doesn’t try coming over to Takeshi’s corner, because the bartender visibly warns him off, but he’s talking to everyone else. That suits Takeshi fine. He can just sit with his drink and watch and remember, in shards and splinters, tantalizing and incomplete.

Kido Shinji is what’s printed on the business card he swipes from the bartender once the journalist leaves, with the address of a tea shop written on the back in pen.

Now there’s a name that rings a bell.

He stares down at the card for a moment, not sure whether he’s pleased or furious, and then heads out. Guy couldn’t have gone far.

---

Shinji gets through the door and is immediately handed an apron and a bandana for his hair. “Dishes.”

“What—Ren, I just got here.”

“Yeah, and there are dirty dishes. I don’t have time to deal with them, there are customers.” Ren squints at him for a moment, frowning. “What’s wrong with you, anyway?”

Shinji pauses in the middle of tying back his hair, uneasy. “I’ll tell you once there aren’t customers. Where’s Miyu—he’s still working, ok.”

Ren rolls his eyes. “Apparently that middle schooler who was here last week told all of her friends about him, he’s been busy all day.”

There are a lot of dishes piled up, and it keeps Shinji busy until Ren’s shooing out the last customers of the day. Atori’s different without the old lady, but it’s not a bad different; hopefully she’s happy in whatever warm place she moved to after she sold the shop to Ren. She’d certainly never seemed happy here.

He’s happy here. In a stable place, with a little bit of stable work apart from Ore, with people who inexplicably love him for reasons that none of them quite remember clearly.

When the last customer is out the door, Ren leans back against the counter, arms folded across his chest, and says, “So something’s bothering you, spit it out.”

Shinji frowns down into the dishwater. “I think someone was following me again today.”

“What, again? How long’s this been going on now, two weeks?”

“Three and a half. Ever since that thing I was looking into about the ghost, do you remember that one?” One saucer in the dish rack, start washing the next piece. “Maybe I pissed off the ghost.”

“You said there wasn’t a ghost.”

“Well, yeah, but what if there was and now it’s following me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re not being chased by a ghost.”

Shinji glances nervously over his shoulder, as if he’ll see his ghost reflected in the tea shop window. “How can we be sure, though?” He picks up another dirty cup and starts to wash it. “Some of the things I remember…”

Ren’s arms wrap around him from behind, chin resting on his shoulder. “They aren’t here,” more softly and gently than he usually speaks. “No ghosts. Just you, me, and Miyuki.”

“No ghosts.” Shinji takes a deep breath. “You’re right. No ghosts.”

---

The place isn’t tough to break into. Decent locks, but nothing Takeshi can’t get past with a crowbar. He lets himself in and looks around the vaguely-familiar tea shop with interest before heading past the counter and to the back. Stairs lead up to the apartment above, and sure, they creak a little, but that’s nothing to worry about. After all, he’s still got the crowbar if he really needs it.

Upstairs, the place is chaotic in sort of a cute way, decorated as it is by three people with clearly pretty different sensibilities, fragments of three very different lives on display. It smells faintly of frying oil, too. Someone made something good for dinner tonight. On a whim, he checks the fridge, finds a container of leftover gyoza, and eats them absently as he contemplates the shopping list stuck to the freezer door. Eggs, rice, sliced pork belly, in neat handwriting that definitely isn’t Kido’s.

He finishes the gyoza and the tail-end of a carton of milk, leaving the empty containers behind on the counter and picking up his crowbar again as he heads toward the back of the apartment.

There are three bedrooms, and none of them are marked, doors closed against the darkened hallway. Checking each one would be a hassle, and might lead to more trouble than Takeshi feels like getting in right now. Instead he just remembers how jumpy Kido seemed even before Takeshi started following him and lets intuition lead him to the room closest to the fire escape.

The door swings open, and the first thing he sees is a cloth square on the wall. A covered mirror.

There we go.

Kido’s asleep, sprawled across the bed with his head tossed back and his hair spread out on his pillow, throat pale and exposed. Alone, which makes things a little easier. There’s a computer desk set up in the corner of the room; Takeshi grabs the chair from it, drags it over next to the bed, and sits, resting the end of the crowbar on the floor as he’s saying, softly and cheerfully, “Hey, Kido. Wake up.”

A shift, an irritated mumble, “Not time to—” and then one eye opening halfway and the jolt, Kido scrambling upright in the bed, one hand flung out to the side reaching for something that isn’t there.

What isn’t there?

Splinters reform into another regained memory: a deck of cards in an elaborate case, gleaming purple metal smooth and cool in Takeshi’s hands. There’s a name that goes with it, or maybe more than one, faint and still lost but centimeters from the tip of his tongue.

Kido’s gone white as a pan of milk, hand still empty because they’re in a world with no decks, now, no monsters that Takeshi suddenly remembers with fondness, not nearly as much fun, and Takeshi leans forward on his crowbar and smiles, friendly, like, and says, “Come on, Kido, I remember you being more interesting.”

---

Shinji can hear his heart beating over the ringing in his ears. There’s a bit of light coming in from between the mostly-closed curtains, just enough to see by, and with his hand coming up empty and his unwelcome guest illuminated so that only golden hair and white teeth are visible, he is assailed by memory.

He knows this man.

From the corner of the bar where he’d been looking into that ghost story, sure, the one the bartender had told him not to bother, but also from before, from ten befores or more. A killer, vicious and cheerfully so, dangerous to be around, but beneath the adrenaline thrum Shinji can feel another pulse, pity, pity, pity, perhaps misplaced but still there.

He fights to get his breathing under control and says, “Asakura. What are you doing here?”

“You took something of mine.” Asakura’s head tilts slowly to the side, semi-friendly grin still visibly. “I came to get it back.”

“I don’t have anything of yours.”

“Never said you did. I said you took it. Didn’t say I thought you had it.”

“That…you know that doesn’t make sense, right?”

“None of this makes sense, Kido. We live in a world that revolves around a guy like you.” Asakura leans forward, one hand darting out to grab Shinji’s chin, ragged nails digging into his skin. In the dim light his eyes are flat and dark and predatory as their gazes lock, only taking on any gleam as he drinks in…something, whatever he’s getting from looking at Shinji like this. Shinji nearly asks, in fact, but he can’t quite speak, and anyway Asakura’s talking again, still as cheery and conversational as he has been. “Used to be, I got the deck in my hands and I’d remember all of it. That was the deal. Don’t know how the mirror guy finally bit it, but whatever happened, you’re the key to everything now.”

Shinji’s considering shouting for Ren, because even if he did have a dragon at his beck and call, the mirror is covered. Then, of course, he notices the crowbar. And Asakura continues to look at him, searching for something that Shinji is apparently giving him.

“Pathetic.” Abruptly, Asakura lets go again. “You used to be fun, Kido.” He stands, shouldering the crowbar like a baseball bat, and heads for the open bedroom door, only pausing briefly to say, “Call me if you ever decide to get the band back together, yeah?”

Shinji remains frozen for what seems like a long time after he’s gone, dizzy with memory and his heartbeat noisy in his own ears.

He doesn’t remember the end of things. None of the ends of things, actually, and he’s not sure if the others know that it happened more than once, how many times they were put through the same wringer. Whatever it was, though, whatever he or they finally did, it was permanent.

He never would have expected someone to resent him for it.

Finally he finds the focus to move, raising a hand to rub at the sore spots on his jaw before getting out of bed.

Miyuki’s bed is disturbed by unoccupied, and this fills him with a banked and indistinct dread until he comes to Ren’s room and finds them both there, Miyuki sprawled as inelegantly as always and snoring lightly at Ren’s side. Ren is awake, barely. “Bad dreams all around tonight, I guess,” he slurs as Shinji closes the door, and moves over to make space. “Wha’ was yours about?”

Shinji curls up beside him and says, softly, “Just ghosts.”

---

Takeshi strolls down the middle of the empty street, crowbar on his shoulder, in such a good mood now that he’s very nearly whistling. It’s a damp night; the streetlights make shadows in the fog that look like old friends he now remembers, any number of enormous beasts stalking him as he walks. Which makes him want to laugh, and so he laughs, and the sound bounces off the buildings and the fog in an echo that could go on forever.

“Goddamn,” he says to a fog-reflection that shifts and changes with every step he takes, now a vast snake, now a rhino, now a stingray. “That was a good time, wasn’t it.”

The fog makes no reply, but the shadow continues to follow him down the street as the echoes of his laughter die away, and after a moment, feeling almost jaunty, he starts to whistle.

[thevioletjones]

I’d love to see you tackle 5 or 44! Congrats on the Kudos!

Thank you! 5 was included previously, so just 44. 🙂 This one is explicit, FYI.

Prompt 5: “I still remember the way you taste.”

Cell Date

Getting smart about how he acted behind bars was really starting to pay off for Mickey. Not only was he staying out of trouble so that he’d have a chance of making early parole, he was also forging advantageous relationships, mostly with the guards and the old-timers that liked to do good deeds like helping other inmates get an education or decent legal representation.

Little things like that, plus abstaining from shanking for pay or cold-cocking bitches who got mouthy, were making this Mickey’s most pleasant and drama-free stint in prison since his unceremonious induction into juvie ten years previous.

Along with his cooperation and best behavior came some quality perks: first pick of audiobooks from the dude he helped in the library; extra jello, pudding, and french fries from that dude’s kitchen husband; extended yard and gym time when the guard he had people doing favors for on the outside was on duty; and the holy grail, his very own recently acquired smartphone, which he could keep with him in his cell whenever the right people were working, and otherwise stow with a friend when sweep checks were imminent. All he had to do to get safekeeping was provide phone privilege favors. Gave him an extra source of income too, when he sold video call time to inmates on the side.

Tonight, though, he was finally gonna have the damn cell to himself all night long. His bunkmate had just been released, no one else had been assigned to his bed yet, and the overnight guard was a friendly. That meant that at long last, he’d be able to have some kind of sexual escapade with his boyfriend for the first time since he’d gotten locked up nine months ago. As a bonus, they could maybe stay up shooting the shit too. But really, Mickey was horny as hell, and he imagined that Ian was too.

They had a kind of ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy when it came to banging other people while they were apart, but as a rule, they weren’t allowed to do it more than once a month, or with the same guy twice, blowjobs included. That meant a lot of lonely masturbation sessions on both sides of the prison walls.

It was cruel that the only relief they could get from each other was by proxy of their own hands anyway, but at least now they’d be able to watch each other and egg each other on. It wasn’t the most ideal situation ever, but it was way better than having to stick to innocuous topics on the prison landlines that ran out at the ten minute mark.

This was going to be a treat.

He waited ’til 30 minutes past lights out just to be sure the coast was clear, counting down the minutes like a fucking schoolgirl waiting to make an illicit phone call after her parents fell asleep. As soon as the digital display hit 9:30, he was eagerly punching in the memorized number, smirking as he selected the video option.

He actually felt nervous as it rang, irrationally worried that Ian would be indisposed despite their agreed upon time and date. It took almost four whole rings before the display lit up, and a buffering vision of Ian appeared.

Mickey’s smile couldn’t help but mirror the cheerful redhead’s, and it only widened when he heard his deep, familiar voice.

“Hey, Mick.”

“Gallagher,” he replied softly and full of affection.

“I can barely see you,” Ian said with a chuckle. “That's not really fair.”

“Oh, shit, yeah. Forgot. Hang on.”

He’d managed to get his hands on a clip-on reading light through the library contraband network, so it would have to do. He dug it out from the hole in his thin-ass mattress pad and clipped it to the bar of the lower bunk, angling it toward his face and flipping it on. It wasn’t exactly super-bright, but it was good enough.

“Happy now? This is the best I could do on the after-hours lighting.”

“Yeah, I am. You look good.”

“Shut the fuck up. You look way better. Like a free man.”

Ian ran a hand through his hair, and Mickey wished it were his hand. “It is a nifty advantage, but it’d be a lot better if you were next to me.”

“Yeah, no shit. I’m getting the rawer deal here.”

“Who’s fault is that?” Ian challenged with a raised brow.

Mickey licked his lips, humming. “Didn’t realize the purpose of this call was to get on my ass about gettin’ locked up. Thought we already did that fun routine.”

Ian sighed. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I just miss you.”

“I’m doin’ what I can, gingerbread. Might get lucky in the next few months. Been playin’ the game all nice like. No demerits on my scorecard.”

“I appreciate that. You know I’ll be waiting.”

“Mm.”

“So… what’s new?”

Mickey laughed. “You want me to recount the thrilling tales of the jailbird jerk-offs? How would that be interesting or entertaining?”

“I’m pretty sure you witness more random acts of weirdness than I do everyday. You want me to talk about my job and coworkers, or my niece and nephew? I’m sure you’re dying to know on all counts.”

“Yeah, you got me figured out, Gallagher. That’s exactly why I wanted this dimly lit video call with your pale ass.”

Ian snickered. “Is this the part where we jump straight to the sex?”

Mickey shrugged and scratched his balls. “I mean, if we were in person without that fuckin’ glass between us, we woulda already been bangin’ by now.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

“So?”

“What?”

“Show me your dick.”

Ian snorted, and it was nice to see him laugh unrestrainedly. They usually didn’t do too much laughing during his visits.

“It’s not hard yet.”

“Well, what the fuck you waitin’ for? Shoulda started before I called.”

“God, Mick, you really know how to romance a guy on his first date in nearly a year.”

“If this is a date, you got a really low bar, man.”

“Haven’t I always?”

“‘Ey! Fuck you.”

Ian laughed again and it made Mickey smile wide. He was gonna get addicted to these phone interludes, he could tell.

“Which reminds me… I expect you to take me out a few times when you get sprung, Milkovich. Restaurants, clubs, movies, the works.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Exactly how many acts of penance are on your little atonement list?”

“As many as I want. You got a problem with that?”

“You know I didn’t get locked up on purpose, right? Cuz I think you maybe don’t know that.”

“I think that I want you to stop putting yourself in situations where one of the possible outcomes is getting locked up. Cuz then we’re forced to resort to one sad long-distance video wank every nine months, which kinda fuckin’ blows, and not in the good way.”

“First of all, as long as I don’t get this shit confiscated by one of the asshole guards, we can keep doin’ this pretty regularly. Secondly, we haven’t even gotten to the wank part yet, so don’t call it sad. Also, is sex all that matters to you?”

“Says the guy who just told me to shut up and get my dick out.”

“Like you said, it’s been a long time.”

“And I’ve already told you that I miss you and want you beside me. I thought you wanted your dick stroked, not your ego.”

“Good one,” said Mickey, reaching down to fondle himself. “So how we gonna do this?”

“The only way we can, I guess.”

“Fine. Do I get to ask you to start touching yourself now?”

Ian giggled. “Yeah, yeah, let’s get it over with.”

“What kind of attitude is that? Get the hell on board or this ain’t gonna work.”

“Calm down and get your cock hard, convict boy.”

Mickey didn’t need to be told twice. He slipped his hand under the waistband of his boxers, rubbing and squeezing gently.

“You gonna give me somethin’ to look at or what?”

“Gimme a minute, fool. It’s not gonna be very pretty in its current state.”

They both went non-verbal for a while as their arms started working, the only sounds being stray gasps, rustling noises, and slick skin against skin.

“‘Kay,” urged Mickey, “lemme see it.”

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“Fine, just flip the camera.”

Mickey pressed around and activated the rear camera with flash, licking his lips when the screen filled with Ian’s lower half, hand jerking his big dick in that perfect rhythm he remembered so well. It forced out a moan before he could catch himself.

“Mick,” Ian whispered, and he suddenly missed the feel of his boyfriend’s breath blowing hot against his skin as they fucked. And that just reminded him of the way he’d nip and lick at Mickey’s neck, or pinch his nipples at just the right time.

“Ian,” he groaned, his strokes getting faster and more deliberate now that he was fully hard. “Miss you.”

And that was definitely the lamest shit to say when you were supposed to be talking dirty for the purposes of video sex, but it’s what came out of his mouth on account of all the memories surfacing, coupled with the regret of not being able to put his hands on Ian or have Ian’s hands put on him.

Mickey had never wanted to suck a dick so badly in his entire life, simply because he was being denied the opportunity. He’d almost forgotten how delicious Ian’s cock really was. It could wreck him all night long, or Mickey could worship it a little on his hands and knees when the urge overcame him. He wanted it in him one way or the other. Keeping him away from it was cruel and unusual punishment.

“Wanna fuck you, Mick.” Ian was still using this soft, breathy voice that was making him crazy. “Wanna see your ass.”

Mickey’s hand faltered for a moment as he snickered. “How the fuck am I supposed to get you that camera angle right now, genius?”

“You really didn’t think this through enough first,” chided Ian.

“Suck my dick, Gallagher.”

“Mmm, I’d love to get my mouth on you right now. I still remember the way you taste.”

“Oh, shit.”

Mickey’s jerks got tighter with that fantasy egging him on, and silkier with the ease of the pre-cum oozing from his slit.

“You got something to stick up your ass?”

Mickey whined. “Fuckin’ wish. Don’t exactly got a dildo permit, and that’s the kinda contraband no one tries to smuggle or sell.”

“A finger or two will do, right?” asked Ian, pausing for a moment to squirt some lube into his hand.

“‘Ey! What the fuck? No fair! You want me to try and prop this thing somewhere so you can watch me finger myself without lube, and you’re gonna casually use some to jack off with right in front of me? Read the room, fuckhead.”

Ian chuckled. “Sorry, Mick. What happened to the mayo packets?”

Mickey grimaced, regretting ever having told Ian about sometimes using that condiment as lube when he wanted to spice up a solo sesh. “Shut the fuck up and just help me get a damn orgasm.”

“What else am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know! What am I, the video sex expert?”

“You’re not a sexpert?”

“Now is not the time for your lame jokes, okay?”

“Yeah, okay, but I’ve never done this before either, jackass. I already made my request and you’re ignoring it. You do that for me, I’ll do something for you.”

“Fine, but if I do this for you, I won’t be able to see shit while it’s happenin’, so you have to fuckin’ wait to blow your load, or I’ll never do this with you again.”

“So is that your request? To see me blow my load?”

“Bitch, do I need to explain how porn works to you? You know how at the end of the video, you get to see everybody come? Jizz flyin’ everywhere?”

“Oh, believe me, next time we’re actually together in bed, I will cover you in jizz from head to toe.”

“That’s a lofty goal. Could take a while.”

“I’m willing to put in the hours. Now… get to it.”

Mickey sighed and let his cock fall out of his grip, glancing around to try and figure out how he could set the camera up in a decent place to where it would actually get what Ian wanted in frame.

“You’re gonna have to tell me if I need to adjust it, but I don’t have a lot of options, so just tell me when it’s good enough. Don’t need to get all Scorcese with the precision.”

It took a couple of minutes to figure out something that worked, his erection flagging to half-mast as he concentrated on the task Ian had given him. He was pretty sure that Ian should be the one going out of his way to give Mickey a nice show, but he figured if he let Ian have one first, he could make requests for their next long-distance fuck date.

Once Ian said it was good, Mickey kneeled and sat on his haunches, body remaining upright. He could only imagine what his asshole looked like through that badly lit phone camera, but whatever. At least he didn’t have to look at it. Ian could go crazy for it if he wanted to, and apparently he was if the renewed moaning was any indication.

“Get it wet,” Ian directed.

Mickey licked his palm and gave his cock a few tugs to get it back into the game, then spit in his hand and did what he could to work it around his hole. He was crouched with the damn top bunk rubbing against his bent head, with no view other than stiff white sheets and his own thighs and dick.

Yes, Ian was going to owe him a nice fucking show for this crap.

“Well?” the cocky little prick demanded. “Play with it.”

“Hold your damn horses, I ain’t a cam boy,” retorted Mickey.

With a deep sigh, he emptied his mind of the discomfort of his position and the embarrassment of his actions, and just went for it, wetting his finger with his mouth, then shoving it in as far as he could get it on initial entry. It wasn’t very far, but he wiggled and shimmied it as he slid it in and out, until eventually it was in as far as it could go from the angle he was in. He could faintly hear Ian going to town on himself, and he once again longed to be the one doing it to him. Pressing his ass back onto Ian’s cock instead of his own measly finger. Getting Ian’s big hand around his own dick while he did it.

As it were, he had to use his left hand to get some action on his dick, and as soon as he got back into the swing of things on that score, he set about trying to hit his prostate with his right hand.

“Add another one,” rasped Ian.

“You’re gettin’ real mouthy, ain’t you,” Mickey complained, wetting his hand again before sliding in two fingers to the knuckles.

“Oh, sorry, am I supposed to just remain quiet during this phone sex?”

“Stop sassin' me while I try to hit the spot. Some of us don’t got long-ass E.T. fingers.”

Ian chortled. “Jesus, Mick. Can you not bring my favorite childhood movie into this? Plus, you don’t need to go that deep. Just flip your hand over and crook your fingers. You’ll find it.”

“You think you know my ass better than I do?”

“Probably.”

Mickey did as suggested, even though it was the weirdest combination of body angles. It didn’t do anything at first, then all of a sudden, “Oh.”

Both hands got fast and furious as he felt that familiar tingly throb building up inside. He let himself get lost in it for a few minutes, then came to just enough to realize that he wanted a visual of Ian to orgasm to. It’s what he'd been looking forward to all week.

All at once, he stopped, flipping onto his back and grabbing the phone. All he could see on screen now was the damn ceiling, which was annoying, but also hilarious, since it meant that Ian was probably holding the stupid phone a few inches from his stupid face.

“Why’d you stop?” asked Ian breathily.

“Cuz I wanna see you, numbnuts. As fascinating as your ceiling is, it'd be great if you got the main attraction back onscreen. Please and thank you.”

Ian tittered and angled the camera back down, pushing it past his sternum. “‘Kay, where’s yours?”

Mickey pointed his phone back toward his crotch, eyes extremely focused on Ian’s impossibly hard red dick and large pale hand, sighing when he touched himself again. He needed a finger or two back in his ass, though. He always came harder with something up his ass, and it reminded him more of Ian too.

But there was no way to film himself and still get a view of Ian, plus use both hands to get himself off. He had to choose one type of orgasm to have, and since he wasn’t entirely sure he could pop from anal only, he stuck with the jerking off.

Maybe Ian was right. He hadn’t thought this through enough. But he knew exactly what his daydreams would be scheming up until their next interlude.

“You gonna come all over yourself like I asked?” said Mickey.

“Just a sec,” Ian replied with a grunt.

Mickey’s hand synced up with Ian’s, flying up and down his length on the phone screen. “Wanna see it on your stomach and in your pubes.”

Ian’s moans and groans got louder and closer together, building Mickey’s excitement up to the edge.

And then of course his gay-ass boyfriend had to go and say some gay-ass shit like, “I love you!”

And then he was shooting jizz out the tip of his dick, letting it get everywhere.

And the effect was the same as a quality porno scene in that it made Mickey come too, eyes squinting shut as the sensations overwhelmed him. He wanted to throw the phone across the room, but he somehow managed to keep it resting against his chest and filming everything.

As soon as the last of it gushed out, he did let the phone drop next to him for a short time, and Ian must’ve been recovering too, because he didn’t hear any complaints. He reached for the toilet paper roll and wiped himself down as best he could, not bothering to put his shorts back on when he was done.

He flipped onto his stomach, picked up the phone and went back to the front camera, leaning it up against the wall as he burrowed a pillow under his chin.

“That was halfway decent, Gallagher.” He grinned in relaxed satisfaction.

Ian flipped his camera back too, lying on his side, and propping the phone up against what was probably the empty pillow next to him that Mickey should be on.

“You’ll get the real thing soon enough,” Ian replied with a sleepy smile.

“Fuckin’ hope so…” he trailed off in thought. “Sorry I can’t be there. It is my fault.”

“Nah, just forget about all that, okay? All we can do now is get through the time that’s left. But if you think I’m not gonna ride your ass the non-sexy way when you get out, you’re dead wrong. Not gonna let this shit happen again.”

“You want me workin’ some minimum wage bullshit legit job?”

“Yep. We know how to be poor, Mick. Tired of getting the shitty end of all the risk.”

“Your pillow talk could use some work, Red.”

“I know. Thanks for showing me your asshole earlier.”

Mickey laughed. “No sweat. Well, probly some sweat.”

Ian snorted and shook his head. “Shut up. I’m glad we get to do this. It’s nice being with you at bedtime.”

“Be nicer if it included your dick in my ass, but I guess it’s alright.”

“Want me to tell you about the boring shit now?”

“Might as well.”

“As long as you don’t fall asleep before you tell me you love me, bitch.”

Mickey frowned. “Normal people don’t shout that shit as they’re coming, you freak.”

“I don’t care when you say it, just fit it in.”

It wasn’t really something they could comfortably say to one another on their regular taped prison calls and visits. It was better for Mickey's orientation not to be common knowledge to the wrong people around the joint.

“I love you, you silly bastard, now tell me about your dumbass day.”

Ian smiled brightly. “Franny did the cutest shit…”

Mickey half-listened, content to be in the distant presence of Ian’s face, voice, and manner; imagining a day soon to come when they would be reunited for good in the great wide open.

[another-stark-sub]

Interruption - Tony Stark Imagine

Summary: You interrupt your fiance’s research, and Tony loves you for it. Natasha just had to call him in the middle of it all.

Warnings: no actual sex, more fluff than smut really, mentions of bondage, little bit of exhibitionism

Word Count: 2044

Being Tony’s fiancee came with weird moments. First off, he was the Iron Man, one of the legendary Avengers who saved the world, and sometimes the universe, on a weekly or monthly basis. So, you had your fair share of poisonous experiments locked in the house or random robots appearing. And you wish you were lying when you said one time you found a rock alien Tony forgot to tell you he was housing in the kitchen. 

However, what was before you was still weird. Not superhero weird, just weird, and very out of character.

Your fiance had been holed up in the lab for more than many hours. You let the first ten hours slide, but when sunrise was approaching, you had decided it was time for some sleep. 

And when you were at the lab’s doorway, you saw Tony talking to one of his suits. Not too weird. That was a common thing to see in the Stark household. But, what was odd was that Tony was on his knees, on one of the throw pillows that had gone missing months ago, and his hands were tied in an intricate knot.

 “Ok, now pull that,” Tony instructed.

The suit pulled. 

“Harder.”

It pulled Tony forward enough that if he moved a little bit, he’d definitely fall, face flat on the ground. Tony hummed and said, “Now, wipe the knot’s instructions from memory and try to untie it. Friday, time it, please.”

“Yes, boss.”

Baffled, you called out, “Tony?”

He turned to you and smiled. “Hey, honey. Just lemme get out of this, and I’ll be in bed soon.”

You scoffed. “You can’t kick me out of here, not when I’ve seen that.” You crossed your arms and sighed. “Uh, what is this, anyway?”

Tony opened his mouth just as Friday interrupted, “Twenty-three and a fourth.”

Tony inhaled through his teeth. “Ok, considering human error, twenty-eight, nine-ish seconds. Add it to the list, Friday. I’ll work on it later. Note that scissors might need to be used.”

You blinked a few times. “Would it be dumb of me to ask what you’re working on?”

His attention was back on you, and with a warm smile, he approached you and held your hands. “Never dumb.” He kissed your forehead and caressed your cheek before explaining, “I’ve been trying to see what knots we could use next time, but I don’t think I like any of the ones I’ve found.”

“Knots?” You laughed a little. “Like during sex, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“And what are you testing?” You didn’t really have a preference, honestly. You were just fond of bondage. Did Tony just prefer some ways to tie you up?

“Different things. Oh!” Tony let go of your hands and held them up above his head. “Friday, take a picture and record it under effects.”

“Done and filed away.”

“Thank you.”

You gasped and took his hands in yours again. Examining his wrists, yellow-ish purple bruises were already forming from the rope. “Your wrists.” You sighed. “Shouldn’t you be keeping these things safe, for superhero-ing and inventing? Not for BDSM trials?”

“Well, I need to make sure it doesn’t cause you too much pain.”

Just like that, your heart swelled. “You’re testing different knots for, well, for me?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Gotta make sure that my girl’s gonna be ok when I fuck her senseless, right?” With a swipe of his hand, the other still holding yours, a hologram popped up in front of you two. It resembled an excel spreadsheet. A name, a picture of the knot, description, time to tie, time to untie, both adjusted for human error, a picture of Tony’s various bruises from it. “See, I need to make sure I can tie it, that I can untie it if we don’t like it, see how much it hurts you or not.”

He kept babbling on, saying how it was important for him to know how it feels and to make sure you were safe, but you only heard part of it. You heard enough of it, because damn, your fiance was never more sexy in your eyes. And not only was he doing this for your safety and pleasure, but he was also doing it because your safety made him happy. 

How were you so lucky? A wonderful man, a genius, a hero was your fiance. He shared your kinks, respected the rules you two agreed upon, and went out of his way to make sure that the things that restrained you in the bedroom were things that wouldn’t hurt you when you didn’t want it to.

So, in the middle of his rant, something about the technicalities of it all, you grabbed his face and kissed him. 

Tony pulled away from you, his forehead still resting on yours. “Not that I’m objecting, but what?”

You laughed. “Cause you’re too good for me, and I think” -you bit your lip- “you deserve some sort of gift for that.” Before he could object or argue or say you were too good for him, you pulled him closer to you and kissed him, softer and sweeter, and when his hands finally held your hips, you hummed and asked, “Bedroom?” Plus, after some laborious exercise, he might sleep at a semi-appropriate hour.

“What’s wrong with here, sweetheart?” He mumbled against your lips. He kissed you again, his hands roaming down to squeeze your ass before lifting you up and wrapping your thighs around his waist. 

Just as he set you down on one of the lab tables, Friday’s voice pierced the air, “Ms. Romanoff is-”

“Put her on hold,” he told him. Tony moved to kiss your neck, and you moaned. You tangled your fingers in his hair, already drowning in the feeling of his lips on your skin and his body between your legs.

“She insists that it’s urgent.”

Tony didn’t say anything. He just smiled at you and kissed you. 

Natasha was calling him, insisting it was urgent. It must’ve been important. “Tony,” you mumbled.

“Yeah?” He went back to litter kisses on your neck and collarbone. Your button-up shirt was already being undone, and the part of you wanted to push him away so he could take that call was silenced. His lips were insistent and that nonchalant attitude was intoxicating. Plus there was a heat building in you, and if you stopped now you’d be dissatisfied. You didn’t want that. 

“Ms. Romanoff says she has Vision with her, and she will disable me if you don’t patch her through.”

Tony paused. He gazed up at you, in awe of how flushed you were just from a few of his kisses. 

You had to blink a few times, too focused on Tony’s chest moving up and down, so out of breath from kissing you and touching you. His hair was messy from your tugging and gripping, a few strands falling onto his forehead. Subtly, his hips went from lightly touching you to pressing up against you. 

Shaking your head and closing your eyes, you said, “Take the call.” You took a deep breath and reached for your shirt, but Tony stopped you. He smiled and leaned in close before pressing a kiss against your lips. “Stay.”

“Tony-”

He shook his head. “Stay.” He kissed you again and continued to unbutton your shirt until it was all undone. “Friday,” he said between kisses, “patch her through, videochat.”

Shocked, you pushed him away from you, just enough so his lips weren’t sealed against yours. “Tony, what-”

He silenced you with another kiss. His hand went to your thigh, caressing it and hooking it around his waist so he could grind his hard-on into you. 

“Tony.” Natasha’s voice came through, void of any emotion.

Tony pulled away from you. With a smile, he swiped thumb past your bottom lip, admiring how swollen they were.

You heard Natasha’s voice, you did, but with Tony in front of you with that damn smirk of his and his thumb gently grazing over your lip, you had no intention of listening to her. It was too hard to listen to her. Too drunk on him and his touch and too tired of holding yourself back, once his touch left your lips, you surged forward, aiming for a kiss.

Tony gave him, kissing you once before telling his teammate, “A bit busy here, Red.” Your fiance pressed his lips against yours and moaned loudly. Whether it was because he was that pleased by you or because he wanted to piss Natasha off, you didn’t care. You just pulled him closer, desperate to keep kissing him.

“You need to come in. We’re in need of your expertise, and Shuri’s out on another assignment.”

“Banner,” Tony mumbled against you.

“Off planet.”

As he moved to kiss your neck again, he said, “Kid’s smart.”

“On vacation.”

“Keener.” Finally, his hand came up to squeeze your tits over your bra.

“Tony!” you moaned.

Natasha rolled her eyes. It wasn’t the first time she had to witness the two of you like this. “Harley’s currently taking a three-hour exam.”

He growled. More frustrated at his fellow geniuses than you. Because, god, you looked divine. He pulled your bra down and latched his lips onto your nipple and sucked. 

You threw your head back, trying to catch your breath, and whined.

“Tony, you think I’d interrupt the two of you if it wasn’t important? Riri and Shuri and both out on missions, and Vision hasn’t been able to do it.” Natasha groaned. Her eye twitched, and she pulled a card she rarely pulled. “So, has your fiancee seen the previous versions of her ring yet?”

You squinted at the screen, half your attention still on the pleasure Tony was giving you. “What, ah, previous versions?” You smiled, dazed.

Tony groaned against your chest. “Baby,” he whined. He nipped at your nipple, and although he got a gasp from you, you still were thinking about your ring. The one he proposed with was your dream, not too gaudy, not too simple either, and crafted and designed by Tony, but there were previous versions?

You smiled at Tony and, even though you still craved his touch and the heat of his love, your daydreams of Tony working his ass off to build a perfect ring turned to reason, and reason won out. With a soft giggle, you reached out for your fiance. The poor thing had rested his chin on your chest, pouting. 

“You’ve got a job, Tone.”

“So?”

You buttoned up your shirt. 

“What? No, please,” he whined, reaching for your hands. 

You slapped him away and finished the last button. “Don’t worry.” You jumped off the lab table and kissed his cheek. “We will resume later. I need to thank you for being so good to me after all.” You nodded to the suit in the corner. “Go.”

Tony sighed. He readjusted his pants and kissed you quickly. “Love you.” He turned to the monitor. “Hate you.” And just like that, he was suiting up.

Natasha laughed. “Ah, my life’s complete. Sending you coordinates.”

“Will do.” He stopped his mask from covering his face to say to you, “Wait for me?”

“No promises.”

He smiled. “Good.” With a wink, his mask came on, the exit from the lab to the outside opened, and he was off.

You turned to the monitor and crossed your arms. “I expect to see whatever previous designs he showed you.”

“Will do.” The agent sighed. “Would it be too much to ask to have you two act professionally sometimes?”

You shrugged. “Me, not much at all.” You laughed. “It’s Tony you gotta convince.”

Natasha tilted her head. “I’m pretty sure you’d be hard to convince, too.”

You shrugged. “What can I say? I am Tony’s girl after all.” You flashed her a smile before hanging up. With a thoughtful hum, you said, “Friday, send a message to Tony for me, please. Tell him” -that familiar heat you ignored was steadily coming back- “that I’m starting without him.”

“He wouldn’t like that.”

You were practically bounding up the stairs to your bedroom, some toys you could use already in mind. “Planning on it.” 

“Ah, I see. Message sent.”

“Thank you, Friday!”

[miraculouscontent]

Kwami Buster reaction/analysis please!!!

You got it!

This episode is fun. Like, it’s a lot of fun. It feels like it’s been a while since I just had fun with an episode (I know this season doesn’t have a wide range to choose from there - probably still going to die when attempting to pick a top 5 - but still).

[Kwamitruster]

Just to start off, I’m legitimately surprised that it took this long to get a Ms. Mendeleiev akumatization. On the very small list of people I’ve been waiting to see akumatized, Ms. Mendeleiev has been on it since Season 1 and it’s almost weird that it took this much time considering that she’s basically the school’s only other notable teacher.

Of course, with kwami being what she was seeking before being akumatized… yeah, definitely makes sense for a season 3 episode.

I also enjoy that Ms. Mendeleiev is a bit hammy as Kwamibuster even though I question why in the world she’d go on a show like that to get an important theory out there; maybe she was just that desperate and they were the only ones who’d have her, who knows.

Kwamibuster also almost killed Alec so, y’know, that was great too.

AND MORE TIKKI AND PLAGG INTERACTIONS, YES.

I know we got some in episodes like “Sandboy” and “Reflekdoll”, but this is the prime Tikki-Plagg episode (which… yeah, granted, makes total sense considering kwami is in the darn title). It’s a little more of the same we’ve already seen, with Tikki just being like ugh Plagg why, but this expands on it a bit and has them meeting multiple times and also on Marinette’s balcony, which is nice.

And Marinette isn’t the one blamed for stuff this time, finally–

LIKE, REALLY, LEMME JUST SAY: it was so satisfying to see Marinette stay mad at Tikki for a bit (I was upset too when she tried to brush it off as “kwami nonsense” like excuse me???), and especially for Tikki to actually apologize in the end.

I do wish there was a little more on Plagg, but he does get berated a lot already so it was probably not even worth mentioning after the fact.

By the way, I choked with laughter as Adrien tried to scold SOMEONE ELSE for being irresponsible and almost getting captured. Dude, have you LOOKED in a mirror lately?

I guess the conflict concerning Tikki though is more about how believable it is that Tikki would do this sort of thing. It’s already one character flaw that Tikki seemed to have a hard time admitting that she made a mistake, but for Marinette to basically tell Tikki about how much she trusts Tikki and how she can be herself around Tikki, just for Tikki to not even look immediately guilty…

Yeah, that’s… not Tikki’s best moment there. I really think that Marinette bit wasn’t needed and made Tikki look worse than she needed to.

And speaking of Marinette–

[Mari-Net Result]

THE MIRACULOUS QUEEN HAS ARRIVED AND WE HAVE BEEN GRACED WITH HER PRESENCE.

So, not only does this episode have great Plagg-Tikki interactions, but it’s also Marinette doing one of the many things that Marinette does best. Before she’s even left Fu’s home, she’s already got her entire plan figured out to the last detail, and all we’re told about is her intending to let herself get captured, so we’re just left to guess until we see everything unfold.

And what a great bonus it was to see her wearing so many miraculouses at once. I always feel particularly spoiled when we get to see the design of various miraculouses (like how Adrien’s snake miraculous is really smooth and rounded while Luka’s has little ridges on them, then Marinette’s has a snake-inspired design that looks different enough from the miraculous itself).

(also, side-note: considering how different most of those miraculouses look on Marinette, I’m pretty sure the fox was intentionally similar to the original because she had to transform with it, so it had to be recognizable enough to the viewing audience; I imagine it might look different if she ever has the chance to use just the fox, but that’ll probably never happen)

Plus, there’s just something inherently perfect about the girl who can have 2928374 tasks at any given time using a miraculous that has the power to divide yourself so you can accomplish multiple tasks.

She should honestly keep it just for personal use.

And basically all of the miraculouses are very Marinette, like the ram miraculous becoming bows (is that a reference to that one 3D model of hers with the single bow? I hope so) and most of the miraculouses getting a pink/rose-gold color to them.

…She also looks so silly yet somehow so precious wearing them, of course.

Anarka would be proud, just sayin’. Have you SEEN all the accessories that woman wears?

…Actually, imagine Anarka with all the miraculouses. Like, don’t even take off the jewelry she already wears.

…I’m getting off-topic.

I think it’s interesting that Wayzz seems to have a lot of faith in Marinette compared to Master Fu. I mean, it makes total sense given “Feast”, which showed that Wayzz thinks things through a lot more than Fu, and… I don’t know. It’s just really sweet to see Wayzz believing in Marinette so strongly, and I already like Wayzz in general so it warmed my heart.

By the way, just a quick hooray for Multifox too, who is USING MIRAGE LIKE IT SHOULD BE USED; WHEN YOU’RE HIDDEN AWAY AND NO ONE CAN SEE YOU.

And… yeah, I know that we should probably see more instances of her being exhausted from using multiple miraculouses. I do think that her falling down before she’s even left the house set some expectations, and most other instances are either implied (i.e: the icons for the kwami starting to become more and more shattered the more she unifies) or is just Multifox slowly stepping out, hunched over and looking tired (which did at least make sense since she was the one unified the longest). She does get carried by the kwami throughout most of the episode so I’m not really that bothered about it, even with Fu and Wayzz talking about how special she is (this is always what I mean when I say that her crush on Adrien and her anxiety/clumsiness are massive nerfs that she needs; this girl would destroy the world otherwise).

But, of course, I can’t talk about Marinette wearing all these miraculouses and having this big plan and all these other things without talking about why she’s doing these things.

[Mousetrap]

Alright, everyone knew I couldn’t gush for long forever. Let’s get this over with.

The main thing that brings this episode down - and brings it down hard - is the identity shenanigans. Identity stuff has always been a sore spot in the fandom and this episode keeps poking and prodding at that spot like they’re trying to win an award for it.

It’s this whole thing about “giving up your miraculous” if you find out someone’s identity.

Marinette points it out to Tikki.

Plagg mentions it to Adrien.

Fu implies it to Marinette.

And then Tikki brings it up to Marinette.

Four instances in one episode. One would’ve already been distracting enough but this is four. Like, that’s already dumb, but the logic behind it makes no sense.

First off, the obvious: Ladybug and Chat Noir have been doing this for three seasons. I presume that Marinette would’ve just continued her guardian training had she found out Adrien was Chat, but still, she’s been Ladybug for a long while now and she’s good at it.

It just seems like the show only brought it up to make a point about why Marinette and Adrien specifically can’t know each other’s identities, but having it be mentioned four times and leaving so many holes just has it looking like a desperate attempt. Being so quick in an episode to essentially say, “Hey! If this one thing happens, prepare for two and a half seasons of content to suddenly mean a lot less!” was undeniably going to make people upset (think “Weredad”, but for identities instead of romance).

Secondly, yes, in a theoretical sense, someone figuring out someone’s identity may very well mean that they purposefully tried to figure out their identity, so they should get their miraculous revoked, but that is not such a simple case.

Let’s say that Chat just de-transformed in front of Ladybug. That would technically qualify since now Ladybug knows his identity, so should she get her miraculous revoked because someone else revealed themself and she couldn’t have controlled that?

Not only that, but it was Plagg’s fault that this happened and it’s hard to not let one’s mind wander. It’s not either Adrien nor Marinette’s fault if they’d accidentally figured each other out; it would be Plagg’s.

Thirdly, I am baffled at the idea that figuring out someone’s identity means that the person who figured it out gets their miraculous revoked. That just seems like a recipe for disaster, especially when the rule for temporary heroes (we’ll get to that, by the way) is that one can’t have the miraculous back if anyone else knows their identities.

Getting a miraculous revoked risks akumatization from the negative emotions that would stir up, and that akumatized person could very well just tell Hawk Moth about the identity of the hero they’d figured out, then everything is ruined, just like that.

And no, it’s not fair for, say, Marinette’s miraculous to get revoked because Adrien - hypothetically - went out of his way to discover her identity, but that’s the logical path to take if one is going to pull this “identity reveal = miraculous revoked” card.

Plus, if miraculouses were all about being fair, Chloe never would’ve gotten hers back.

The idea behind protecting one’s identity has always been about “protecting loved ones” or whatever, but then this episode comes along and takes the opposite stance, which is just confusing. It’s as if the rules apply differently just because one has a permanent miraculous, like, “oh, your loved ones would be in danger if they knew, but you won’t get your miraculous taken unless you figure out another hero’s identity.”

…Now, that said, even though that identity thing bothers me in the episode, the identity thing that doesn’t bother me here is when “Ladybug” tells “Marinette” that she can’t get the mouse miraculous back because Chat saw her.

The reason it doesn’t is because it’s not important for us as an audience to believe that Marinette wouldn’t be allowed to have the miraculous back. We already know that Marinette is Ladybug so she can’t really get the mouse back unless there are very specific circumstances involved.

The important thing is for Chat to believe that Marinette can’t get the mouse back and also that Marinette is not Ladybug.

Chat doesn’t know that Rena Rouge and Carapace know each other’s identities.

Max couldn’t have gone into the next room had he not been given the horse.

Chat can’t bring up Viperion without revealing that he’s Adrien (and Ladybug doesn’t know he’s Adrien either, nor is expecting him to be Chat, so she couldn’t make that connection). Not only that, but Adrien didn’t technically see Luka transform into Viperion, so plausible deniability there.

Ryuko hasn’t even happened yet because Fu isn’t on the run yet in “Kwamibuster.”

In addition, “Party Crasher” hasn’t happened (Fu is on the run then) so Chat hasn’t seen Viperion nor Pegase return as heroes. A hero being picked once doesn’t mean that they’ll be picked again, and Fu could’ve just said, “oh, I picked these heroes and it was an emergency.”

Also, it wasn’t just Chat who was there. Ms. Mendeleiev was there as well, and she’d just tried to out the existence of kwami. It was absolutely a mistake on the storyboarders’ parts to not show Mendeleiev being there as well until Mendeleiev approaches Chat, but she was indeed there and she would’ve seen Multimouse de-transform into Marinette as well.

It was also absolutely in-character for Marinette to have this big elaborate plan to clear her as Ladybug whereas Adrien was just like, “um–elementary school?” (he did actually call it a high school earlier but meh, details), so that was a bonus.

But… yeah, no, the episode is definitely not perfect. I mean, just off the top of my head:

- The show Ms. Mendeleiev is on is only fun because of the students’ reactions to it. I didn’t laugh at all otherwise.

- Marinette and Adrien do a similar ramble-y thing back to back which was already done in “Frozer” and I still don’t like it.

- I legitimately don’t know how to feel about Adrien only presuming that Marinette is Ladybug because of what he saw and not because he sees similarities between them. I mean, in a way, I’m glad I get to pile on more evidence to the “Desperada” stuff that was already there but this kid has like, no reaction to the idea that one of his friends is Ladybug. I’m not surprised exactly, but… I’m confused?

- Still going off of Adrien, Chat INTERRUPTS THE BATTLE TO TALK WHICH DISTRACTS LADYBUG ENOUGH FOR HER TO GET SHOT–I mean, like, Adrien/Chat is MOSTLY tolerable in this episode (”Awesome plan, girls!” was nice to hear) but I’d be lying if I said that moment didn’t grate a little on me. Save your internal struggle for patrol, Chat.

- Multimouse’s transformation track is AWESOME but the fact that she holds her pose while the background is still moving at the end looks strange to me when basically all other transformations have the pose and background freeze at almost the exact same time.

- Multimouse’s mask breaks in the model multiple times throughout the episode and it’s really distracting. Also, judging by the shot with Adrien giving Multimouse the ring, I think they shrunk the ring just slightly to fit around her waist, so her model size can sometimes be inconsistent.

- I want to know more about how Multitude works. Like, the dividing of it makes total sense, but can Marinette pick the size she wants? She divides into basically exactly enough Marinette to fit into the kwami mouths, and the fact that she’s the perfect size for it seems too convenient unless there’s a height limit based on how many multiples she has but she can go smaller if she wants. Does the division start at the height of her glowing white legs, so no Multimouse divided could be taller than that, and that’s why the division doesn’t seem to be based on her full height?? I NEED ANSWERS!!!

- I–I just… can we talk about “the mouth thing” in this show? I don’t want to say the cursed “v” word but with Gigantitan almost eating people and the actual POV shots for it, and now Multimouse riding in multiple kwami mouths (additional mention to that gross thing the Astruc head did in “The Puppeteer 2″), I’m just really weirded out, man! Like, can we not????

- I’m still mildly confused about how unifying and dividing works. I mean, unifying, not so much, since it seems like a very basic, “say the name of the new kwami and then the kwami you’re already transformed with, then unify”, but dividing is still weird. Like, after some thought, the best I can muster is that you say the name of the kwami you’re transformed with, then the kwami you’re taking away (as seen in, “Mullo, Trixx, divide!” and, “Mullo, Plagg, divide!”), unless you have to take away the kwami you’re transformed with, in which case you only say their name (”Mullo, divide!” and she becomes Ladybug instead of Multimouse). I feel like just saying the name of the kwami you want taken away should be enough and also be not as confusing, because I keep thinking that it’s an error (ESPECIALLY WHEN THEY SAY “TOPPO” AND NOT “MULLO” AND THEN DON’T EVEN GET THE KWAMI RIGHT WITH THE ICON USED FOR THEM).

- We didn’t see much of Mullo because the episode wastes so much time on characters talking. We see Mullo once when Ladybug divides them and then again when all the kwami are flying off with her, but that’s it. I presume they’re saving Mullo for the “official” mouse holder but still, just a line from Mullo would’ve been nice.

Ultimately, I think how one views the episode really depends on how much they’re taken by plot and lore. If one likes it for flavor, I think they’ll find the episode to be fun, but if details are important, I think it’ll be a little more frustrating.

For me personally, I can just edit out the identity mentions tune out the stuff that bothers me, because the main part of this episode that I focus on is the fun of Tikki-Plagg shenanigans and BLESSED QUEEN MININETTE.

It has a lot of flaws (I mean, I just went on for a good while about things that were probably nitpicks but still noticeable on first viewing), but… I dunno.

I like it. I think an episode like “Startain” is technically better put together plot-wise and has fewer things to complain about, but I like “Kwamibuster” more because it’s more fun overall.

[kaesaaurelia]

should auld acquaintance be forgot

This is a rough draft of the first chapter of a fic I’m writing, which will be called Hustler’s Blood.  It is Aziraphale/Crowley, with numerous OCs and historical figures, and is set in 1926 in Chicago, although it starts on December 31, 1925.

I’ve posted the first scene here before, as well as a few other bits and pieces, but since it’s New Year’s Eve and the fic starts on New Year’s Eve, and also since it’s my birthday and I just wanna, I’m going to share the whole first chapter here.

(I’ve been serializing it on fail_fandomanon but I’m a little over 100k words into writing it and it’s just reached the middle of the plot so it’s a lot to catch up on at the moment.)

6,666 words.  (There were 6667 but it was too perfect, so I deleted one.)  Small content warning for brief mention of pet death and resurrection.

Aziraphale looked right, then left, then walked into the dark alley in front of him. It was the fifth place he'd tried that evening, and the twelfth since he'd arrived in Chicago. Heaven had sent him to thwart Crowley's terrible wiles and keep him from pulling this entire city into Hell with him, but if even half of what he'd seen had been Crowley's doing, Aziraphale was going to be very impressed, and also extremely annoyed at his violation of the Arrangement.  Then, maybe it was rowdier than usual right now; it was New Year's Eve, after all.  Maybe things calmed down.

He knocked on the nondescript door in front of him. A hatch in the door slid back, revealing a suspicious-looking pair of eyes. "Yeah?" said the young man behind the door.

"Ah! Hello, thank you, the password is..." Aziraphale reached into the man's mind and plucked it out. "...Mirage."

The hatch clicked shut, the door swung open, and Aziraphale walked in. "Thank you!" he told the doorman, and looked at the scene in front of him. People were laughing and drinking and smoking and generally having a lovely time, although there was much more close dancing than was probably strictly necessary, and of course it was all dreadfully illegal and Aziraphale therefore disapproved wholeheartedly. He looked around for Crowley, or, failing that, a menu. He could really use a nice drink.

Aziraphale handed his coat and hat off to the coat-check girl, then returned to the door.  "Young man, I don't suppose you've seen my... acquaintance anywhere in here, have you?  Dark glasses, red hair... doesn't seem to know how to walk?"  Whatever form Crowley had taken probably had those three attributes.  Unless he'd been discorporated in the war.  Oh dear.  What if Crowley had an entirely new form?  Not that it was any business of Aziraphale's, of course, but it would make him much more difficult to find.

"You lookin' for Mr. Crowley?" said the young man. "You sure?" Behind him, the fistfight had metastasized into a brawl between four or five barflies.

"That's the one, yes! Where is he?" asked Aziraphale.

"Look, mister, I'm here to keep the trouble to a minimum --" Aziraphale somewhat doubted this, as no one had moved to break up the fight -- indeed, the patrons were cheering on their favorites and making bets "-- and I'd love to help ya out, but Mr. Crowley is kinda, uhh... he ain't gonna be happy if he don't know you, and I hear he's a lot of trouble if you do."

"I've known him for quite a long time. Trust me, I am aware," said Aziraphale. He smiled patiently, and waited for the boy to get on with getting him Crowley.

Aziraphale sensed a familiar twinge in the fabric of reality as the brawl ended abruptly. The last man standing cheered, and he could see money changing hands between winners of bets. "Well, uh... lemme see what I can do, okay?" said the doorman. "No promises."

"Oh, I don't think you'll need to go get him," said Aziraphale, for he could see a familiar swaggering figure coming towards them, pocketing a fistful of green paper and peering through dark glasses at the doorman.

"My ears were burning, is there something -- Aziraphale!" he said, breaking into a grin that made odd things happen in Aziraphale's chest. "How the Heaven have you been? He's okay, he's an old, old friend," he said, waving the doorman away.  He turned back to Aziraphale, still grinning.  "Hey! Come on to the bar, I'll buy you a drink!  Didn't think you'd turn up here."

"No, I would imagine not," said Aziraphale, trying to maintain an air of polite disapproval. "What happened to the Arrangement?" he whispered.

"Relax, angel, I haven't been doing anything," said Crowley, guiding him towards the bar.

Aziraphale glared at him, but followed. "You have!  You ended that fight early just now."

Crowley shrugged. "Would've gone that way anyway, though, eventually. I just sped it up a bit. What are you here for, anyway?"

"I was sent by Heaven to thwart whatever nasty things you're doing here," said Aziraphale. "Gabriel was very cross with me when he'd found out I lost track of you. Why didn't you tell me you'd left London? How long have you been here?"

"Why would I tell you?" Crowley asked. He was no longer grinning. "I thought you were sick of all that... hmm, what did you call it? Fraternizing."

Aziraphale stared at him, open-mouthed. "What -- that's not -- I didn't mean -- what about our Arrangement?"

"Well, since you called it off --"

"I did not! And anyway, you were sulking and I tried to wake you up but --"

"So are you saying you'd like to pick up where we left off?" Aziraphale wished he wasn't wearing those dark glasses, because then he might be able to tell what was going on in Crowley's head. Aziraphale thought he sounded hopeful, but maybe that was just wishful thinking.

"I..." He's tempting me, Aziraphale thought. He's only tempting me, and I should do my job properly, and I should never even have let on that I was here.

Crowley watched him silently.

"I -- I do, yes," Aziraphale admitted. The grin on Crowley's face made him feel a lot better about being a failure of an angel, though.

"Well, that's all right, then! Come on, I'll get you that drink."

"Are the drinks here any good?" Aziraphale asked.

"Mmmh." He made a sort of ambivalent whole body wriggle. "The recipes are good, but the alcohol they're working with is terrible. Been trying to fix that, but there's only so much you can do. Free will and all that. They keep cutting my stuff with drain cleaner and gasoline."  He made a face.  "At least I can report it as a success downstairs.  I'll see that you get something you like, though."  He sat down at the bar.

Aziraphale sat next to him, and it was remarkable how much better he felt now.  Wandering a strange city full of hooligans was all well and fine, but meeting up for drinks with Crowley was safe.  Crowley called over the barman.  "Oi, Pete!  Get me another old fashioned, and a gin fizz for my friend here!"

They weren't even supposed to be friends.

He's just tempting me, Aziraphale reminded himself again.  The problem was, all too often, it worked.

---

Crowley had been telling himself he was having a grand old time for the past few years, and especially this evening. Drinking alone was just how he happened to enjoy spending the evening. On New Year's Eve. It was fine. He'd picked the most raucous hole-in-the-wall he knew, or at least the most raucous one where they all knew him as Anthony Crowley and not any of his other aliases, and he had at least been enjoying seeing everyone reveling in ways they weren't supposed to.

(He'd been spending most of his free time as Anthony Crowley.  He had three other aliases, all with slightly different faces and bodies, but sometimes the roles he'd chosen for himself got tiring, and he'd... well, wanted to be recognized.  By anyone who happened to know him under that name.  Not specifically Aziraphale, but should Aziraphale come and check in on him, Crowley felt he shouldn't make it too hard for the poor bastard to see just how well Crowley was doing without him.)

If he was honest with himself (and he tried not to be) seeing all these attractive people with their equally attractive companions for the evening made him a little bit lonely.  He'd watched two couples break up tonight and another get together, and near the back of the room there was a group of three who seemed to be aiming to be more than friends by the first dawn of 1926.  He'd considered finding somebody, just for the night, but nobody really appealed.

Then the door had opened, and a chill wind had carried a slight scent of vellum and sanctimony to him, and he knew without turning around that Aziraphale was here. So he'd thrown his voice, whispered some insults from one zozzled patron to another, and started a fight so he had an excuse to not turn and look at the newcomer, to be totally absorbed in this fight, to make a bet...

And then he really, really wanted to know what Aziraphale was doing here. And to see him. And to talk to him. And to watch him try a really good cocktail and show him all the best restaurants in town and take him to concerts and impress him with how very well-connected and influential Crowley was now that he'd been free of the Arrangement for sixty-four years.

So he'd ended the fight with a snap of his fingers, collected his winnings, tried very hard to look suave, and then failed as soon as he actually set eyes on Aziraphale.  And now he was buying drinks. Well, not buying, precisely, but he was putting forth the fiction that at some point he would be paying for said drinks, and Aziraphale politely pretended to believe that.

"Ooh, this is good!" Aziraphale said, after a sip or two of his gin fizz.

"How long have you been in town?" Crowley asked.

"A few days. I spent Christmas on a ship to New York." Aziraphale wrinkled his nose. "It was a bit much. The food was good, though. You?"

"Oh, I've been here a few years. They wanted me to be sure the States didn't become a bastion of holiness overnight just because of this Prohibition nonsense."

"And?" Aziraphale asked.

"I traveled around, saw that humans still don't need much help humaning, and settled in here to take credit for whatever horrible thing they came up with next. Considered New York, stayed in LA for a few months, tried out New Orleans -- you really need to get down to New Orleans, angel, it's amazing, you'd love the food -- but this seemed to be the best place to hang around and watch everything go to Hell in a handbasket. Not so much going on that I can't keep track of most of it, but definitely plenty of havoc to be had. I did think I'd made an awful mistake in '23, because they elected a mayor who I think might actually... not be a crook --"

"Is that unusual here?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley snorted.  "Don't really pay that much attention usually, but everybody was so impressed with themselves for voting for somebody decent that I got worried."

"Ah, well."  He took a thoughtful sip of his drink.  "So what happened to him?"

Crowley laughed harder, and shook his head.  "That's the best part, angel!  The poor bastard's still mayor.  Everything he does to clean up the mess just makes everything worse!  I don't have to do a blessed thing.  I just write my reports and enjoy the show."

"Oh dear," said Aziraphale.  "You know, my lot think you've ruined this city personally."

"Nah," said Crowley, shaking his head.  "Barely touched it, really.  It was broken when I found it."  He shrugged.  "Fun, though.  So, what, did they send you here to clean my mess up?"

Aziraphale nodded.  He stared at his glass contemplatively.  Crowley watched him, wondering whether he saw it as half-empty or half-full.  Finally, he said, "I was worried about you, you know."

Of all the things Crowley had been prepared to hear Aziraphale say to him about their long absence from each other's company, this wasn't it.  "Worried?  What?  You were worried?  About me?"

"Well, you..."  Aziraphale trailed off.  "After our... misunderstanding, I stopped seeing you anywhere, so I --"  He was avoiding Crowley's eye now, looking over his shoulder at the other bar patrons.  "I checked in on you.  I -- I don't know if you remember..."  He looked down at his drink again.  Definitely half-empty, if Crowley was any judge of expressions.

"I don't," Crowley said softly.  He hadn't realized Aziraphale would care that much.  Or at all, really, given their last conversation.

An uneasy silence lay between them.  Finally, Aziraphale said, "And then when the war started up you were nowhere and I found a bunch of complete strangers living there!"

The expression on Aziraphale's face made him want to reassure, to apologize, to comfort.  To stop being everything he was.  "I thought you didn't want me hanging around anymore, that's all," he said.  "I thought you were done with our Arrangement.  And war is hell, so... I had a job to do."

"In the war," Aziraphale started, and then paused.  "Did you --"

"No, angel," he said, rolling his eyes.  "I didn't start the war, I didn't do much to make it worse, and frankly I don't know if I could have made it any worse than it was going to be already.  I did take credit for it because it got my head office off my back for a few years, and if you're going to judge me for that --"

"Crowley," said Aziraphale, looking wounded.  "I was only going to ask if you had to see much of the front."

"Oh."  Crowley took a long swallow of his old fashioned then, so as to avoid looking Aziraphale in the eye, not that Aziraphale could see his eyes.  (Thank Satan for small mercies.)  "Yeah.  I saw... enough."

"I'm sorry," said Aziraphale.

"Don't be.  Don't think I was ever really in danger, I just hung about asking questions, trying to get people to disobey orders, slack off...."

Aziraphale stared at him.  "That wasn't you, was it?  In 1914?"  Crowley frowned at him.  "Christmas?"

"That?  I thought that must be you!" said Crowley.  "Seemed exactly like something you'd come up with except for the football part, although I did wonder how you'd managed it.  Don't know how I'd even pull off something that big," he admitted.  "No, it wasn't me.  How could I possibly justify that to Downstairs?  It was so treacly too, and on Christmas.  Eugh."

"It most definitely was not," said Aziraphale.  "I got a very angry letter about it from Gabriel.  I'd sort of hoped it was you.  I thought... you know, you'd like people questioning authority and not doing their jobs, even if their jobs were murdering each other.  But I didn't tell Gabriel that, of course."

Crowley took another swallow of his drink, and said "Gabriel's a wanker."

"Crowley..."

"He is.  I loathe him and I think I've only ever met him properly once, but everything you tell me is always awful."  Crowley finished off his drink and waved the bartender over to get another one.  "He got angry at you for it?  What, did it show up in his miracle queue under your name by mistake?  Or however that works."

"He said it didn't show up at all and asked if I knew of any rogue angels operating on the Western Front.  I suppose I was the nearest agent they had.  I was... not really asked to leave London but I felt I should check in on the front every now and again.  You know, do some rounds at some hospitals.  Brush up on my French and German."  Aziraphale could have been discorporated, Crowley thought.  It was probably a good thing he hadn't known about it until now, although part of him mourned the loss of an opportunity to sweep in and be very impressive and good-looking and save Aziraphale's life.

He didn't want to think about all of that now, so he turned the conversation back to 1914.  "So... nobody did the truce, then?" Crowley asked.

"Humans did it," said Aziraphale.  "Must have.  Nobody else was involved.  Unless one of your lot had a very strange change of heart --"

"They didn't," said Crowley.

"-- or one of my lot thought, you know what, today I'm going to upset the Archangel Gabriel, it'll be fun!" concluded Aziraphale.

"Well.  Maybe.  I would.  I bet it would be fun," said Crowley.

"Yes, but you're a demon," Aziraphale insisted, in that infuriating tone of voice that suggested maybe Crowley had forgot.

Crowley ignored him.  "Why didn't they want it happening?  Really seems it ought to be right up your lot's alley."

Aziraphale shrugged.  "Wasn't part of the plan, I suppose.  Gabriel didn't really specify.  It is, after all --"

"Ineffable," Crowley finished for him, rolling his eyes.

Aziraphale made no reply.  He finished off his gin fizz instead.

"You can't plan for humans, that's the trouble," said Crowley.  "All you can do is plan for them to go haring off in some wild direction --"

"And whose fault is that?" Aziraphale asked, pointedly.

Crowley glared.  "I didn't make her eat the apple, you know.  Still don't see what's so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil.  For one thing, I'm not sure it took."

Aziraphale sighed.  "Much as I hate to admit it, you may have a point, my dear."

---

They soon got to reminiscing about times past, drinks past, temptations and miracles past, and somewhere after his sixth or seventh or... possibly tenth drink, Aziraphale stopped feeling guilty and let himself just feel warm and happy in this boozy, smoky barroom.  These newfangled sugary drinks really weren't as bad as he'd assumed they would be, and the people here seemed to be having such a good time.  It was a shame it was all illegal, and also apparently immoral.  Aziraphale was enjoying listening to Crowley tell a complicated story about an enterprising fellow he'd met in Cincinnati.

They both looked up from their conversation when a young lady shouted "Hey, it's almost midnight!" from one of the tables near the back of the room.

"Oh, are they going to be counting down to midnight?" Aziraphale asked.

"I s'pose so," said Crowley.  "In New York they have this... ball."

"Oh!  Like with masks?" Aziraphale asked.  He'd rather enjoyed those.  All the costumes were so much fun, and the food was usually quite good too.

"No, no, like... big round bastard," said Crowley, with an evocative gesture.  "Falls down at the stroke of midnight."

"Oh," said Aziraphale, frowning.  He tried to picture this, but it still didn't quite make sense.  Not that he was drunk.  As an ethereal being, he could put away a fair amount of alcohol, and all these silly sugary drinks couldn't possibly be very strong.

"You know, like a circle, but more," Crowley added.  His evocative gestures were getting more and more patronizing, and Aziraphale wasn't having it.

"Yes, I know what a sphere is, thank you very much," Aziraphale said.  "Why does it fall down?"

Crowley considered this.  Aziraphale was beginning to think Crowley might be a bit drunk, silly sugary drinks notwithstanding.  "Gravity?"

"So you don't know either," Aziraphale said.

Crowley chose not to answer this.  "I think they used to use them as... as a signal, for ships?  Only the New York one's just a signal for drunk people.  I think... I think they might have one at Greenwich," he said.  "For ships, not drunk people."

Aziraphale felt he was on firmer ground now that they were (conversationally) back in London.  "You know, they moved Greenwich."

"Did they?" Crowley asked.  "That must've been a lot of work.  Where's it now?"

Aziraphale tried to remember.  "Not in Greenwich.  I think it had something to do with trains.  To be perfectly honest I wasn't paying attention."

"I'll have to find out where they put it, then," said Crowley, making a face.

Aziraphale peered at him.  "Crowley, I didn't know you were interested in astrono--"

"I'm not," said Crowley.

Well then.  "So why are you --"

"To avoid it, obviously.  Last thing I want to do, find myself surrounded by a bunch of boffins who think they know everything about the stars."  Crowley somehow managed to visibly roll his eyes despite his dark glasses.

"I didn't know you were so against astronomy," said Aziraphale.

"I'm not against it," snapped Crowley.  "I don't want to talk about it."

"Well... that's fine, then," said Aziraphale.  He wished he hadn't brought it up.  Being back on good terms with Crowley had been so nice, for this evening, and he didn't want to lose that over... astronomy.  "So what happens at midnight?  The ball drops, and...?"

"I think they all kiss each other," said Crowley.  "You know, for luck."

"Oh!"  Aziraphale remembered a little village in Swabia with a tradition like that.  He thought it had been very touching.  Actually, it had been a bit more touching than Aziraphale was entirely happy with, in the press of humans enthusiastic to ensure their luck and their family's and neighbors' luck for the next year, so he'd gone invisible after the first few friendly little pecks on the cheek from people he'd never met, wishing him luck he didn't need.  He'd been biding his time, waiting on the right timing to perform a miracle.  "That's a nice tradition.  A bit lonely, though, if you don't know anybody."

Crowley shrugged.  "I'm a stranger everywhere.  I'm used to it."

Aziraphale realized then how much worse it must be for Crowley, who couldn't even feel the love and happiness of others as they shared their well-wishes en masse, of whom humans' first impressions tended to be untrustworthiness.  "No!  No, you aren't," he said.  "Not really."  He was having trouble putting this into words.  Maybe he had had a few too many drinks.

Crowley frowned at him.  "Sorry?"

Somewhere in the crowd beyond, Aziraphale heard someone shout "Ten!"

"You're not a stranger, Crowley.  Not everywhere," said Aziraphale.  It was, he felt, absolutely vital that Crowley understand this, especially right now.  Aziraphale didn't want to lose him again over astronomy or something stupid like that.

"Nine!"  There were more voices joining in.

"Ah.  Thanks?  How many of those have you had, Aziraphale?" Crowley asked, indicating Aziraphale's empty glass.

"Eight!  Seven!"

Aziraphale was having trouble concentrating on counting the drinks he'd had with everyone shouting numbers around him, so he dismissed this question.  He didn't see how it was relevant anyway.  "That has nothing to do with anything, Crowley," he said, over the entire rest of the room counting down.  "You're not a stranger to me, my dear."

"Aziraphale," Crowley said, sounding worried.

"Four!  Three!"

"You aren't, and you never will be, and I'm sorry we haven't spoken in so long, and --"

"Two!  One!"

Aziraphale decided, at this juncture, that since it was midnight, and since they were among humans who would presumably be expecting it anyway, he might just as well express himself more traditionally, as it were, so he leaned over and kissed Crowley.

His lips tasted like cognac and lemon, and he smelled good -- well, evil, technically, but in a way Aziraphale had always quite liked -- and it was all actually very nice until Crowley pushed him away, and said "Right, then, you'd better sober up."

"I'm sober!  I'm fine!  Can't be much in those drinks anyway, mostly sugar and --"

"Sugar and industrial alcohol, yes," said Crowley.  He stood, a bit wobbly himself.  "I'm sorry, I should have been paying attention --"

"I'm fine, Crowley, I'm not some lightweight," said Aziraphale, and he tried to stand too, but the room was surprisingly spinny and he ended up leaning against Crowley for support.

"Oof.  You definitely aren't," said Crowley, putting an arm around him.  "Come on, you can sober up or I can get you home, but I think you've had enough for now."

"I'm fine," Aziraphale insisted once more.  But, in order to humor Crowley, he tried to extricate the alcohol from his system.  Only it wasn't... normal alcohol, and he was having a bit of trouble, drunk as he was.  "Oh.  Oh dear."  He stumbled forward.  "Oh, you were right.  This is -- this is very strong stuff, Crowley."

Around them, people were singing Auld Lang Syne very badly.  They'd got through old acquaintance being forgot and never brought to mind, and now they were faltering.  Aziraphale considered helping them out, but all he remembered was something about cups of kindness, which he had probably had enough of tonight anyway.

"Come on," said Crowley, gently.  "I'll get you a cab.  Where are you staying?"  He managed to help Aziraphale through the smoky room, and with a snap of his fingers they both had their hats and coats back.

"Not staying anywhere in particular," said Aziraphale.  "I didn't think I'd need to.  Not as if I sleep."

"Ah," said Crowley, frowning.  He went strangely quiet as he held the door for Aziraphale.

The cold wind rushed into the room, crashing over Aziraphale like a wave.  It did clear his mind a bit, at least, as he stumbled into the alleyway.  He paused, waiting for Crowley.

"Well," said Crowley, following him out, "you could... you could stay at my place.  I've got plenty of room."

"Oh, I don't want to put you to any trouble," said Aziraphale, although if the headache he was getting now just from the minuscule amount of alcohol he'd managed to get out of his bloodstream was any indication, he would appreciate somewhere quiet and warm and safe very soon.

"It's no trouble at all," said Crowley, and he sounded like he meant it.

"Oh... fine," said Aziraphale, feeling he had put up enough token resistance to the idea to concede.  He leaned up against Crowley for support again.  "You are... such a good friend."

"I know," said Crowley, sounding miserable.  "Don't rub it in."

"Without you things were very quiet," Aziraphale said.  "Nobody to talk to.  I joined a club and that was all right for a while.  You might've liked it.  Or maybe you would have hated it, I don't know, but it would have been nice to find out."

Crowley sighed.  "I missed you too, angel."

---

The cab ride home was too long for Crowley's taste, but the last time he'd miracled a cab to go faster, the cabbie had panicked and they'd almost crashed, so Crowley put up with it.  He'd never bothered to learn himself; he hadn't enjoyed driving carriages with horses, because... horses, and he assumed cars would be much the same, only even stupider and harder to control.

Aziraphale was drunk.  Aziraphale was drunk and having trouble sobering up -- that was how drunk he was.  Aziraphale had been in the city for two days; had in fact only been in the States for maybe four days.  Had not known what the drinks on order were.  Crowley should've been clearer in his warning about the quality of American alcohol; should have mentioned that the reason they put so much fucking sugar in it these days was because it tasted extremely bad, was possibly laced with poison by the distributor, and occasionally made people go blind.

The actual government had been poisoning it lately too.  Crowley had written an entire report about it; governments murdering their own citizens for their own good always won him praise downstairs.  Well, not praise so much as grudging acknowledgment that that was actually pretty evil.

Anyway, Aziraphale would probably be fine in the morning.  At least, he would be fine physically.

Maybe he wouldn't remember kissing Crowley?

No.  No, Crowley always remembered everything he'd said and done while drunk, unfortunately.  It was probably one of the dubious perks of being a celestial being.  So Aziraphale would remember everything he'd said and did and he'd be horrified at himself.  And he'd be absolutely insufferable towards Crowley.

It hadn't even been a very good kiss, although Crowley felt that was probably because he'd been too surprised to respond in kind.  He looked across the back seat of the cab, to where Aziraphale was watching buildings go past, and decided he didn't dare ask for a do-over.

Hooray, 1926.

Ah, well.  He'd been hoping to invite Aziraphale back to his new digs for a nightcap anyway, so he could rub Aziraphale's face in just how completely, utterly, totally, undeniably, fantastically well Crowley was doing without him, but all those over-earnest pronouncements about what a good friend Crowley was had made him feel rather undemonically guilty about that plan.  He'd expected the Aziraphale who insisted they weren't friends and he'd got beatific smiles and endearments instead.  It had thrown him off.

There was also the matter of sleeping arrangements.  It was quite a large house, but there was only one resident, so Crowley had only bothered to put one bed in it.  Were Aziraphale sober, there was no question what Crowley would have done, given this predicament -- he would have apologized profusely, then suggested they share it, because obviously Crowley didn't have any other furniture at all upon which he could sleep; none of the couches would do, or the arm chairs, or even the pool table, oh no.  Because after all, if he was sober, Aziraphale would probably just opt to sit up and read all night rather than discomfort Crowley in any way.  It was fair if Aziraphale was sober.

(Read what?  Crowley's small and haphazard pile of paperback novels and pulp magazines?  Crowley decided that his first order of business once they pulled up to the house would be to miracle himself a library before Aziraphale could discover the lack of same.  And after that, he would just have to miracle a second bed.)

So Crowley sat in the back of the cab, watching the dark water of the lake lap up against the snowy beach outside, wishing things had gone differently.  He couldn't even put his finger on which things.  Should he have kissed back?  Should he have told Aziraphale he'd better go easy on the cocktails?  Should he have sought him out before sixty-four years had passed?

Maybe he just shouldn't have Fallen.  That would've solved pretty much all of Crowley's current problems neatly, and doubtless replaced them with an entirely different set of insoluble problems, mostly to do with Heaven being full of bastards with all the self-awareness of a chunk of pumice.  Also, he would never have met Aziraphale, so it was a rotten solution anyway.

"What a beautiful night.  From inside of a taxi, at any rate," said Aziraphale, watching the lights of the houses go past.  There were only mansions along this stretch of the road along the lakefront, and every light was blazing.

"From inside a taxi, lots of things are beautiful," said Crowley.  "You don't have to look too closely from inside a taxi."

They drove in silence for a few more minutes.  Crowley tried to watch the scenery passing by on Aziraphale's side, and not look at Aziraphale himself.  Now the mansions had been replaced with greystones and courtyard buildings.  Here and there tipsy people wandered out of buildings, or stared out at the dark, flat lake from chilly balconies.

"Crowley, I haven't ruined your evening, have I?" Aziraphale said, quietly.

The question took him by surprise.  "No!  Why would you say that?"

"Well, I mean, if you had plans..."

You showed up and you made my evening, angel, thought Crowley.  I can ruin my own evenings without you.  Aloud, he said, "I didn't, especially.  Er.  Speaking of plans, have you got any meetings with Head Office scheduled yet, or can we do brunch tomorrow?"

"Oh, heavens no, they're not expecting me to check in for a good long time.  To be -- to be perfectly candid I don't think they expected me to get here so quickly, my dear.  Should have some time to myself.  Brunch would be lovely."

Crowley grinned to himself, then remembered then that he barely knew any restaurants that were open in the daytime, because he only ever really had meals once every two weeks or so.  And surely none of the diners he frequented counted as good, although their rat populations had all taken a drastic hit as soon as Crowley had started coming around when he was peckish.  He'd have to call around to some of the people who showed up at his parties.

He wondered what Aziraphale would think of his parties.  Probably not much.  Not enough food.

He could fix that.

When they got to the house, Aziraphale stumbled out and handed the cabbie a fistful of cash before Crowley could stop him, and they made their way to the front door.  "Quite a house," said Aziraphale, looking up at it.  Crowley could not tell if he was being sarcastic or not.  "Lots of columns," Aziraphale added.  "And stairs."  Crowley realized Aziraphale had fallen behind, and went back to help him up the stairs.  "Thank you," said Aziraphale.  "What do you need so much house for?"

"What does anybody need it for?" Crowley asked, because if Aziraphale was going to be drunkenly judgmental about his house he'd also better sniff superciliously at everyone else in the neighborhood.

"Just asking.  I'm certain it's lovely," Aziraphale said.  He stared up at the house for a moment, and nearly lost his balance.

Crowley caught him and steadied him, then unlocked the door and held it.  "Come on, Aziraphale."

"Oh my," said Aziraphale, leaning against the doorframe and looking up at the vaulted ceiling of the entry.  "Looks almost like a chur--"

"If you must know," said Crowley, guiding him forcefully into the house with an arm around his shoulder, "I need it for parties."

"Parties?" Aziraphale asked.  They continued into the living room.  Crowley quietly added some built-in bookshelves and filled them with books while Aziraphale was looking at the grand piano.  Were those enough?  Aziraphale didn't even look at them as Crowley led him through a corridor and once more offered him help up the stairs.

"Sort of obligatory, parties," said Crowley.  He was trying not to enjoy how Aziraphale was leaning on him.  He could probably offer more support with his arm around Aziraphale's waist, but that seemed... dangerous.  "If you're going to show up out of nowhere being extremely wealthy and mysterious and clever --"

"Who's doing all that, then?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley pointedly ignored him "-- you've got to throw parties."  They paused at the landing.  "I'm practically carrying you up these stairs, you know, you should be nicer to me."

"I'm always nice, Crowley, I'm an angel.  Who do you invite?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley made a noncommittal noise.  "I don't really invite people, I just sort of decide, eh, it's been long enough between, let's have a party, and people think I invited them last week and show up, and sometimes they bring a friend or two.  Nobody I already hate, though.  Then I keep them around 'til the neighbors are angry enough to come over, or I'm sick of them, whichever comes first."

Aziraphale tsk'd.  "Poor neighbors."

Crowley left him to hang onto the banister for balance while he went to inspect one particular section of the wood paneling.  There was a forest motif here.  Or rather, a garden motif.  "Oh, don't pity them, angel, they deserve to be upset.  I returned their lost cat once and they've hated me ever since.  Couldn't stand the thought of it rubbing... cat elbows...? with new money.  Somebody'd hit it with a car, too, it was an awful job getting the poor thing back in working order."  Crowley found the tree he was looking for, pressed the third apple up, and the panel swung open.  "Be careful here, there's a step up," he said to Aziraphale.

He'd sort of hoped Aziraphale would say something about the secret door, like maybe, "Oh wow, a secret door," or "What an impressive secret door you have," or perhaps even "Take me now, you beautiful secret door owner!" but Aziraphale seemed unmoved, and merely took his offered hand and stepped through the secret door as if it was a blatant and conspicuous door.  "Well, that is a pity," he said.  "Still, you did them a great kindness."

"Oh, don't, angel, don't act like I did them a favor.  I reanimated their cat.  It's probably haunted or something," said Crowley.  "Perversion of nature, sort of thing."  The cat seemed pretty normal, from what Crowley had seen of it, but sometimes it left eviscerated birds on his doorstep, and tried to trip him when he went out to get the mail.  So probably it'd been a bad deed.  (Crowley did not know much about cats.)

"I don't think that's how it works, my dear," said Aziraphale.  He stumbled a bit, and when Crowley caught him, he beamed apologetically.  "I'm so sorry, you're being terribly hospitable and I'm..."  His face was so close Crowley could feel his breath.

He swallowed, and looked away.  "No problem at all."

They were slowing down now, because Crowley, specifically, was slowing down, because this whole "Oh, by the way, I only have one bed in this whole mansion, whatever shall we do?" conversation felt much less fun to have now that it was imminent.  They'd shared beds before, in other times and places when that was perfectly normal for two man-shaped beings who were merely friendly acquaintances, and it had been... well.  It hadn't been much, but it'd been nice.  This wasn't that, though; this was Aziraphale sloppy-drunk and overaffectionate, who would already wake up the next day and realize he'd done too much.

Crowley finally lost his nerve, and decided he'd have to just make a new bedroom.  There were plenty of other rooms here; it was only that they were unfurnished and completely packed with smuggled liquor.  The Canadian whiskey would be easiest to replace, so he sent a hundred and sixty-one crates of Old Log Cabin into the lake.  Then he realized he didn't know what sort of decor Aziraphale would like, except that probably it would be hideous and incorporate tartan, and he froze up.

"Is everything... all right, Crowley?" Aziraphale asked.

"Fine, just -- fine," said Crowley.  "Which... which bedroom would you like?" he asked.

"What are my options?" said Aziraphale.  "Can I see them?"

"No!" said Crowley.  "I mean.  Not all of them.  It'd take a while.  Just, you know.  Describe... a bedroom."

"It doesn't really matter, Crowley, I just need somewhere to rest while this awful stuff makes its way out of my blood stream," said Aziraphale.  He was frowning at Crowley, which Crowley didn't like, and then suddenly he was smirking at Crowley, which Crowley liked even less.  "Have you got any tartan?"

Crowley knew he had been caught now, but there was nothing for it.  "I might do," he said, faintly.  "What, er, sort of tartan?"

"Oh, there's a lovely pattern I just don't see enough of these days," said Aziraphale, and he went on a long drunken ramble about the particular history of some ill-fated Scottish clan, and by the end of it Crowley still didn't know what bloody colors the tartan was, but he sort of wanted shortbread now.  He managed to get a color scheme out of Aziraphale (red and green, with occasional rogue blues and yellows, because fuck consistency) and tried to make the bedroom cozy, and by the end of it he was slightly regretting dumping all that whiskey into the lake, given that he could use some of it now, and that Aziraphale probably floated better.

Instead, he opened the door to the former whiskey storage room, and waved Aziraphale in.  "Oh, it's lovely!" said Aziraphale, seeing the awful, hideous room Crowley had made for him.  He beamed at Crowley.  "Thank you for everything," he said, eyes wide and earnest, and he took Crowley's hand, and squeezed it.  He looked at Crowley, expectantly, still holding Crowley's hand.

Crowley panicked slightly.  "Yes -- well -- it's nothing.  Goodnight!"  He took his hand back and retreated quickly to his own bedroom.  Upon arriving there, he took his glasses off and placed them carefully on the nightstand, sent his hat and coat down to the hall closet with a dismissive wave of his hand, and then fell back onto the bed, clawing his hands down his face.

[winteriron-trash]

The Fires We Were Forged In [Part 1]

A/N: Okay, I lied again. Here’s another canon-compliant Endgame story. Sort of, I guess. Yes, the Loki and Bucky story is coming soon, it’s still getting edited a bit but for now, I wanted to post this idea that came to me when I saw a post circling of texts Peter sent to Tony’s phone post-Endgame. (If someone has credit pls lemme know, I can’t find it) So, here this is. Stick through the angst for the ending, I promise it’s worth it. :) I can’t tell how many parts this will have without spoiling the ending, so just read on. I’m not self-centred about my writing but I promise this one is good.

Warning for Endgame spoilers and all that. Enjoy!

-

Peter wasn’t the best at coping. In fact, if there were a scoreboard kept, he was pretty sure he’d come right in last at the worst at it.

And sure, no one blamed him. No one blamed anything except for themselves, really. Peter felt it in the looks anyone wore whenever… that name was mentioned. Everyone, even people who weren’t involved, found a way to blame themselves. Carol wished she’d been the one to use the stones. Rhodey wished he’d stopped Tony. Pepper wished she’d intercepted the gauntlet to keep it away from Thanos. Steve wished he hadn’t ripped the Avengers apart.

Everyone blamed themselves because really, how else were they supposed to cope? How else were they supposed to handle the fact that the Earth’s best defender was gone, and they had to live to watch him go?

It hurt. It hurt worse than the burn in Peter’s throat when he screamed himself raw. It hurt worse than the bloody, bruised, probably broken knuckles Peter got from angrily punching the stray suit he came across when they were cleaning the workshop out.

Peter was horrible at coping.

He was gone. Tony. Iron Man. Tony goddamned Stark, the man who’d built his own legacy with scrap metal and a genius smile. The man who believed in Peter when no one else would even look at him. The man who killed Thanos and saved the universe, even if it cost him his life.

The man who fucking left Peter alone and sobbing at last nights because why the hell did Peter deserve to lose another father figure? Let alone, one like Tony?

Peter blamed Tony, and that was maybe the worst part of it. Everyone else blamed themselves, but Peter saw through it. No matter who’d’ve done what, Tony was the one who had to do it. Strange even said so. Tony Stark had to die for the universe to live.

Fate was a cruel thing. And Peter blamed Tony for being selfless enough to comply with it.

Still, Peter didn’t hate Tony. He just… he missed him. Same as everyone else. Peter tried his best to put himself back together and move on. He was an Avenger now, that was his job.

And it wasn’t so bad. Morgan was adorable, Harley was cool when he wasn’t being a dick, and Nebula was so much kinder than her metal exterior let on. Peter had a new family, one that mourned with him and didn’t blame Peter when he had to leave the room whenever someone even said Tony’s name.

They understood. It was as infuriating as it was comforting. To be surrounded by pitying looks and shoulder pats and soft voices asking Peter if he was okay.

No, Peter was not fucking okay.

But he tried to be. He tried to cope and find what helped him feel a little saner and put together even in his worst moments. It wasn’t perfect, but it was all he had.

Peter’s best and possibly also worst coping mechanism ended up being texting Tony.

Well, not Tony. Tony’s old number, that was now just a void for Peter to scream into when he needed it.

Peter remembered when Tony gave him that number. The idea of having Tony Stark’s personal number in Peter’s own phone was something that had Peter bouncing off the walls for days. He relished in it, sending Tony constant texts that started out as Spider-Man updates, but digressed into just random things that happened to Peter and he felt the need to tell someone about.

And Tony always answered. To every single text. Sure, the answers were brief sometimes, just a few emojis and a ‘good job, kid’ if it was something like Peter telling Tony he aced a test. Sometimes the answers were longer, more heartfelt when Peter admitted he was scared of his role as a hero. Tony was always there.

So sometimes it was just nice to send a text to a dead number, and imagine what the response would be.

Peter would send anything, really. Some days it’d be test scores, the next it’d be a picture of Morgan attacking Harley with his own potato gun while Nebula tried to suppress a smile in the background. There’d be heartfelt texts, sometimes. Ones of Peter promising Tony how much everyone remembered him, and how his sacrifice was so worth it, seeing all the happy families reunited.

Peter thought if he promised Tony that his sacrifice was worth it, maybe Peter would start believing it too.

Even if Peter could never really accept that the loss of a man that great could ever have a price.

Which was why Peter had his bad nights. His awful nights where everything hurt and all he wanted to do was destroy anything he could get his hands on, just hoping to feel something.

Those nights, the texts were angry. They were a jumble of words and letters of Peter yelling at Tony, demanding why he’d left his family behind, telling Tony that they didn’t fucking win, that nothing could ever be a win when Iron Man was dead. It was a desperate plea for help, at it’s core.

Peter was trying to pull his act together though. And it was going… well. He’d gone sixteen days, seven hours, and forty-three minutes since he was texted Tony’s dead number. The last text he’d sent had been out receiving his early acceptance letter from MIT. He was doing well.

But Peter was bad a coping.

So when a bad night came again, like they always did, Peter was curled up in the corner of his room, sobbing. He’d already punched a hole in his wall and broken a mirror. Peter ignored the glass. And the blood.

Instead, he grabbed his phone, with shaking hands, opening the last contact he should be opening like this.

Oh well.

The text Peter sent was hardly coherent. There were spelling errors, mixed up words. It didn’t matter. All that matter was the page long angry rant of pain as Peter yelled at Tony for leaving them all behind. Demanding that Tony come back, begging Tony to come back.

Why wouldn’t he come back? Why did everyone else get to come back?

Peter was crying so hard by the end of the text he wasn’t even sure if he sent send before chucking the phone onto his bed. He hugged his knees and sobbed, pushing himself further into the corner.

Peter hated everything. He hated Tony, he hated Thanos, he hated the Avengers, he hated Spider-Man, he hated-

The phone chimed.

Peter was so genuinely confused, he stopped crying for a second. His screen was lit, and from across the room, he could see the notification for a new text message.

Feeble, awful, senseless hope built in Peter as he crawled on his hands and knees through broken shards to grab the phone. It didn’t make sense, it couldn’t be him, but there was a part of Peter that wanted, so fucking badly. An awful selfish part that made Peter hold his breath as he took three tries to unlock his phone and open the message.

‘I’m really so sorry, but I just got this number. I think you’re looking for someone else.’

Oh.

Peter wanted to scream again.

The only thing he had left of Tony and even that had been taken away from him. The universe really did hate Peter, didn’t it?

With a soft sniffle, Peter managed to type out an apology and a promise to not contact the number again. Even as typing the words out made his heart feel like a twisted coil in his own chest.

‘It’s fine. You wanna talk about it? You seem like you need to let some stuff out.’

Peter paused. He did want to talk about it. Especially to someone who didn’t know him or anyone else that he knew. Just… a stranger.

‘Yeah. That sounds kinda nice.’

‘Cool. You’re talking about Iron Man, right? We all miss him. It hurts, having to see him everywhere but know he’s not really here.’

‘Yeah. It really sucks.’

‘Did you know him personally?’

‘He was my mentor, I guess. I looked up to him so much.’

‘Not to go out on a limb, but are you that spider kid in Queens people keep talking about? Everyone said that he went up into space with Iron Man when the first attacks came.’

‘It’s Spider-Man.’

‘I’ll take that as a yes.’

Peter didn’t realize his face was dry of tears until he smiled. Actually smiling, without hiding anything underneath it felt… nice. Really nice.

‘You can’t tell anyone you know Spider-Man. I’m an Avenger, you know.’

‘Like people would believe me anyway. An actual Avenger? Have you met Pepper Potts?’

‘Mrs Potts and I talk all the time. I’m really close with Morgan.’

‘Yeah, their kid, right? This has really gotta suck for her. Losing a hero is nothing like losing a father.’

‘I know how she feels. I think she understands it a lot more than people are willing to admit. No one wants her to have to grow up this fast.’

‘How can she not, being surrounded by superheroes like you?’

‘Fair point.’

Peter spent the rest of the night texting the… new person.

And the rest of the next night.

It became a kind of routine. Peter never asked anything about the person, and they never really offered the information. They both seemed fine with that, really. Even though Peter still didn’t have the heart to change the contact name, it didn’t hurt as much, or even at all some days, when he saw it. His new friend was funny and smart enough to keep up with Peter, always teasing him about whatever he was on the news for that week.

And always being there for Peter in his worst moments. In the moments where all Peter could manage to say was ‘I hate him I hate him I hate him’ over and over again until his fingers were numb, they stayed with him.

It was better than any therapy session Aunt May dragged Peter to.

Peter did feel bad about it, some days. Dumping all his problems on this random person, no matter how much they assured Peter that it was fine, as long as they were paid back in information about his suit. Which Peter didn’t care enough not to share because it was really cool, to be honest.

On the week Peter was packing up for MIT, he found himself complaining to them.

‘Moving for college sucks. It’s stress and too much work.’

‘Mood. I’m in my first year at MIT, it doesn’t get any better once classes start.’

‘Wait, really? MIT?’

‘Yup. Jealous, spider boy?’

‘Not really, it’s where I’m going too.’

‘For real? Nice job. He’d be proud of you, you know.’

Peter smiled softly at his phone. ‘Yeah, I know.’ He thought a quiet moment. ‘Hey, since I’ll be there in a week, how about we meet up?’

The few seconds it took for Peter’s message to be read, then to watch the typing were agonizing.

‘You sure you’re okay with some rando knowing your secret identity?’

‘You’ve helped me through so much, I feel like you already know me. Let’s go out for coffee, it’s the least I can do. Please?’

Another agonizing pause.

‘Fine. But I pick the coffee place.’

Peter grinned.

Peter and his texting buddy planned their coffee meet up for a few days after Peter officially moved into his dorm room. He’d sent a selfie so they would recognize him, which got Peter a snarky comment that he looked just as dorky under the mask that made Peter laugh.

If Peter thought the anxiety of moving into college was bad, it had nothing on meeting his friend of months for the first time. A friend that he didn’t even know the name of.

Oh god.

Peter arrived to the coffee shop ten minutes early and spent five of those ten minutes feverishly checking that he got the right place and time and date. He chose an outside table, so hopefully, he’d be recognized more easily. Since he couldn’t exactly look out for someone he didn’t know the face of.

Peter spent the next five minutes playing on his phone, switching from app to app, not having the concentration to commit to anything.

After that, he began counting the minutes that his friend was late.

What if he’d been set up? What if it was just a big joke? What if they were going to scam him?

At seven minutes in of internal panicking, Peter’s attention was pulled from his phone by shouting.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! The professor would not shut up! I ran here, I’m so sorry!”

The young woman standing in front of Peter’s table did look like she’d run there. Her dark skin was flushed with adrenaline, frizzy black hair in a mess falling out of her hair tie. She blew it out of her face with a scowl. The woman practically threw her stack of binders and lose papers onto the table, revealing the Iron Man shirt she was wearing that hung loosely, slipping off of her shoulders.

Peter gave her a long, blank stare. “Are you…”

She plopped down in the chair across from Peter. “Hey, spider boy.”

Peter smiled so wide it hurt. It’d been a while since he’d worn a smile like that. “It’s just Peter. Peter Parker.”

The woman smiled back, extending her hand across the table. “Cool. I’m Riri Williams.”

[jbuffyangel]

Blessed: Arrow 7x13 Review (Star City Slayer)

It may be difficult to form coherent thoughts right now because of all the screaming, but I shall do my level best fam because WE ARE HAVING A BABY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Warning: gif explosion ahead.

Let’s dig in...

Olicity and Mia Smoak

OLIVER AND FELICITY ARE HAVING A BABY 

AND IT’S A GIRL

AND SHE GROWS UP TO BE KAT MCNAMARA FROM SHADOWHUNTERS

I AM DYING Y’ALL!!!!!!!!!!!!!

WE’VE WAITED SO LONG FOR THIS DAY!!!!!!

WHAT A TIME TO BE ALIVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

EVERYTHING IS AMAZING!!!!

Of course, there are plenty of other things to discuss in the episode and we’ll get to it, but right now I want to bask. 

This reveal was EPIC. 

It actually exceeded my expectations because I didn’t think we’d get all the goodies all at once. “Star City Slayer” is basically my Christmas Wish List and Beth Schwartz just put delightful rainbow colored check marks after each request.  *falls to knees to worship Beth*

We knew Arrow was dropping a bomb because Kat McNamara gave us all a heads up in her promotional press tour for “Star City Slayer.” But it’s wasn’t just one bomb. It was several.

First, Felicity is alive which DUH. 

This reveal felt fairly perfunctory and it tells me the Arrow writers didn’t really expect us to believe Felicity was truly dead because, as I always say, they ain’t that crazy. You do not throw out the lightning in the bottle. You keep the lightning in the damn bottle for as long as you possibly can until she starts screaming to get out and you are absolutely forced to let her go otherwise you’ll be charged with kidnapping.

But was I laughing my ass off at all the antis who thought this was their year and Felicity was truly dead? You’re damn right I did. SUCK IT HATERS!!!!

Everything was revealed to us in the last three minutes of the show, which felt like the writers throwing a confetti and glitter bomb at us in a dark hole. 

AND I WILL TAKE IT. Please and thank you. 

We already had a mountain of evidence Mia is Olicity’s daughter, but there are extremely big hints throughout the episode telling us exactly where we are headed.

There is an absolutely beautiful transition from Felicity’s face in the darkness to Mia’s face.  In fact, Felicity’s face almost melts into the Mia’s, so it is pretty damn clear Gregory Smith (the director) is trying to draw a substantial connection. These kinds of shots are important guys. This is how Arrow Arrows. Transitions, cuts, focused shots – it’s all trying to tell the story visually. When Arrow cannot give us the answer directly then they will drop crumbs the size and weight of anvils.

Dinah and Zoe are using Felicity’s Archer program to find where she planted the bombs, but thus far haven’t been able to locate them. Roy believes Felicity could have hid the bombs in the old, but still secret, Team Arrow bunker. But of course we know two people who are already in the bunker!

Mia and JJ tranquilize everyone, tie them up, and begin the interrogations. I like these kids. They’re nifty.

Mia wants the codes to the Archer program from William so she can find Felicity. Nobody questions Mia’s ability to kick William’s ass, least of all William, so he doesn’t last long. He also wants Mia to stop hitting Zoe. Awww… this is the Arrow equivalent of these kids playing Legos together.

Mia tells William Felicity is alive. It’s unclear if Mia knows because she has actual proof or if this is more a gut feeling type of thing. Either way it’s significant. Felicity’s circle of trust is pretty limited in the future. If she trusts Mia then she is incredibly important to Felicity. The only other person Felicity has reached out to for help was William, her son, and she sent him to get Roy, the brother-in-law (I’m just calling it like I see it).  QUEEN FAMILY REUNION!!!!

This whole “Felicity is evil” angle is total crap too. Toss that nonsense out the window.

I think Felicity, Mia and JJ are trying to stop the destruction of Star City by infiltrating the Glade because Rene’s Chief of Staff is evil. Even if I’m wrong about plot points I am not wrong about Felicity being one of the good guys.

Mia can’t quite figure William out and the feeling is mutual. 

William not a vigilante like Zoe, but finds himself embroiled in this bomb plot.

The differences between the two aren’t difficult to see. Mia is street and William is luxury condos. William is tech and Mia is Krav Maga. William is gentle and Mia is punch first ask questions later. To say these two come from different worlds is an understatement and yet they find themselves circling around each other. 

She mistakes his interest in Felicity as romantic and we all gagged right along with William.

Mia’s reaction to Felicity being William’s step mother was a massive tell, which means Oliver isn’t the only one in the family with a terrible poker face.  

Source: plotbunnyshipper

It was similar to Mia’s reaction when William told her Felicity was dead. 

There is a person who cares under that hard exterior. There is someone who loves under all that pain. Sounds like someone else we know doesn’t it?

Oliver made his famous chili tonight, which is something the comic canon nuts have been after for years. But Arrow is going to put their spin on it. The comic canon folks will get their chili, but Oliver is making it for Felicity and William (and not LL like they want and ridiculously still believe they’ll get). It was two spicy for William, but Felicity was having seconds because SHE IS INCUBATING THEIR LOVE CHILD!!!!

Source:  lucyyh

Stan the Fan, who was fantastically creepy, put some kind of drug in the chili to paralyze Oliver, Felicity and William. They went to the hospital and Felicity commented on the “mountains of blood” staff took to confirm there were no lasting effect.

DID SHE SAY BLOOD TEST? 

I didn’t jump off the ground quite yet at this point. It was a fairly offhand remark from Felicity and I wasn’t sure if they’d reveal she was pregnant at the same time they confirmed Mia’s identity. I know I know. It makes complete sense to do it at the same time, but since when does Arrow ever make complete sense? I was being cautious.

And then all the bombs drop. 

Source:  oliverxfelicity

Felicity gets a call from the hospital regarding her blood test and SHE’S PREGNANT!  THIS IS WHEN THE SCREAMING STARTED!!!!

We immediately cut to the flash forwards.  Mia & JJ are fighting Dinah, Roy, Zoe and William. This is a fantastic fight sequence. It really feels like the old guard meeting the new. Roy gets the upper hand on JJ, but Mia gets the upper hand on Dinah. That’s my baby girl!!!!

William nervously holds a gun on Mia, but she’s cool as a cucumber. She knows he won’t shoot.  

And why? *saythewordssaythewordssaythewordssaythewords*

Source:  katie-mcgraths

BOOM!

BLACKSTAR IS MIA SMOAK!!!!!!

THAT’S DAMN RIGHT SHE IS!!!!!!!!!

My screaming went ultrasonic STG. 

It’s so much goodness all it once I almost hyperventilated. 

This reveal was like setting off fireworks in this dystopian nightmare world. 

I AM ALL IN ON THE FLASH FORWARDS.

Is it awful William and Mia don’t know each other? Of course it is. My heart is broken Oliver and Felicity didn’t get to live an idyllic life, raising their babies in peace, and the city is still a hot mess 20 years in the future. I wouldn’t have picked it as a storyline, but if I was writing this show then Olicity would’ve been married in Season 3 and we’d be on our second set of triplets by now.  

I don’t know how the family became splintered, but I am dying to find out. I want to see Felicity reunited with both her son and daughter. I want to know what the hell happened to Oliver. I absolutely want to see William and Mia’s relationship as brother and sister develop. It reminds me of the Season 1 between Oliver and Thea or more accurately Oliver and Emiko now. If everything is a mess in the future then at the very least I want to see the Queen family fighting to make it better. SIGN ME THE HELL UP!!!!!!

It’s not just about the Queen family either. Roy and Dinah officially confirm Connor Hawke is John Diggle’s boy JJ. Finally someone from present day recognizes these kids. 

It’s clearly been YEARS since Dinah or Roy have seen JJ. What the hell happened? Where is Diggle? (Thank you David Ramsey for confirming you’ll be in the flash forwards).  If JJ is working with Mia and Felicity then hopefully it means Diggle is as well.

“Star City Slayer’ felt like the birth of new OTA (William, Mia and JJ). Did you notice how JJ came running in as Mia interrogated William and Dinah, all protective and concerned for her? My ship is setting sail!

Kat McNamara said in her TVLine interview, “Beth has said they’re trying to combine the best qualities of Oliver and Felicity — his physical strength and her intellectual strength. “ 

And she is the best qualities.

Mia is the perfect blend of Oliver and Felicity. Everything we saw in the show was put there for a reason - the scotch,

the fight style, 

her reaction to Oliver’s documentary, 

her reaction to Felicity’s death, 

Mia’s intellectual smarts 

along with her street smarts. 

It was all to show Mia’s connection to her parents. We didn’t imagine anything family. This fandom called it right from the start.  

Let’s rewind a bit and go back to present day. I love how Felicity finds out she is pregnant. A blood test is irrefutable proof. Sure, pregnancy tests have come a long way, but you always get a blood test to confirm. I was happy to skip the whole “Is she sure?” trope.

It’s the perfect way for this child to happen.  I never thought this baby would be planned. Look at Oliver and Felicity’s lives! It’s going to be difficult to find “a good time” and Felicity is extremely pragmatic. I like how Mia’s arrival is unexpected. That’s life folks. If you want to make God laugh tell Him your plans.

If you are screaming “But birth control!!!” lemme tell ya I know plenty of folks who have gotten pregnant on birth control. It would be easy to miss a step here or there given the craziness of Oliver and Felicity’s lives.  I am also of the opinion Oliver “The Sex God” Queen has super sperm.

Felicity is understandably stunned, but she instinctively puts her hand on her belly as she watches William being ushered away to Central City with his grandparents for a “normal life.” 

This is the life Oliver and Felicity chose, but it’s not the life their children chose. Felicity’s desire to protect William and her unborn child is completely understandable and what any mother would do. This news is unexpected and life changing, but Felicity’s hand over her belly shows her instantaneous love. Even though this child was unplanned it is already adored.

Source: olicitygifs

I’m not sure if the costume department specifically chose red on purpose, but Felicity finding out she’s pregnant dressed in a red sweater is a beautiful visual call back to Arrow 3x01 “The Calm.” 

This is the episode where the seeds of this future were sewn. Their dinner at the Italian restaurant didn’t meet the qualifications of a first date, even though it came with all the nerves, because Oliver and Felicity already knew each other really well.  They were already in love.

This was never about one date, a one night stand or even a fling. Oliver put those days behind him the minute he realized he loved Felicity Smoak. 

It was always about forever for him.

Oliver is not a man of many words and it’s difficult for him to talk about emotions or the past. But Oliver owed Felicity the truth after their “ruse” to stop Slade. She needed to know there were no lies in that “I love you.” 

Oliver tells Felicity how much she means to him and the life he dreams of having with her.  

Felicity waited two long years to hear everything Oliver said.

This is why their breakup was so painful. 

Oliver wasn’t just saying no to a relationship with Felicity. He was saying no to everything he dreamed. He was walking away from lazy days in bed, 

failed omelets, 

love ferns, 

brown bag lunches,

soufflés, 

ying yang kisses,

Christmas trees, 

vows in the park,

homework help,

video game wars,

breakfast for dinner, 

Thanksgiving,

and experimental cookies.

Oliver said no to a home, children and a love strong enough to build it all around.

Oliver could picture that life any time he looked at Felicity. He saw their children in her eyes. He knew exactly what he was giving up.  Oliver gave himself one moment to live that dream 

and love the children who would never be.

Anytime you think Oliver only loses I want you to think back to “The Calm.”  You think back to the beginning of the series and remember how far Oliver Queen has come. Remember everything he has built with his blood, sweat and tears. We’ve gone from a man who was emotionally cut off, suffering under the weight of his pain, because of his self hatred and guilt, 

to one who believes he deserves to be loved, fights with everything he has to hold on to love, and shines his light for the world to see.

The fans didn’t introduce the Olicity baby into the story. 

The writers did and they did it for a very specific reason. 

This has always been what Oliver is fighting for. Arrow is not just about saving Star City. It’s about saving Oliver Queen too. Felicity’s love and the family they will build together is his salvation. 

This family is everything Oliver dreamed of. It’s everything he believed he didn’t deserve. It’s everything he’s fought to earn. Love, family and purpose. This is what it means to be alive. From the moment Oliver stopped surviving and truly started living again, this is the promise he’s always been headed towards.

Mia is the fulfillment of that promise. 

She is the final piece to the puzzle.

Mia closes the loop around the life Robert and Moira Queen wanted for Oliver.  The life they died to give him.

Maybe the Queen family is broken and splintered in the flash forward, but they will be put back together. Don’t doubt it for a second. Arrow is mass array of broken pieces which will ultimately fit together to unveil the final image. Salvation for Oliver, Star City, his family and the team is all the same thing. It’s all connected. You don’t get one without the other.  Oliver will save his family just like they saved him. 

It’s also important to remember how far we’ve come as fans who love this romance. We were told constantly Olicity would never happen. The NOlicity haters, L*urivers and antis from every nook and cranny said everything we saw on screen was our imagination. There was never a chance for Olicity. The writers would never abandon comic book canon for a love story of their own creation.

And yet… they did. Felicity became the female lead. Olicity became the central romance of Arrow.  We didn’t imagine anything. Everything we saw was intentional. It was real. The smile was magic. 

Her belief made him believe. 

The lie was the truth. 

The kiss led to 

the sunset drive. 

Everything broken 

would be repaired. 

Shame 

would bring forgiveness.  

The bouquet 

promised the wedding.

And the dream 

would become a reality.

Oliver and Felicity are blessed, and we as fans, are blessed to have them as our OTP.

Olicity and William Clayton

Oy. What a couple of weeks with William. He still hasn’t coughed up a reason for his expulsion, so Oliver and Felicity play good cop/bad cop with him over breakfast. 

Is anyone surprised Oliver is the good cop? No. 

He wouldn’t have been on the damn boat banging his girlfriend’s sister if Robert and Moira Queen said no when he was two. The fact Oliver continually found himself in trouble with his parents is a clear indication whatever discipline the Queen’s used didn’t work. 

In fact, I remember Oliver having this fight with Moira in Season 1 over Thea. It’s a different story when it’s your kid, you’ve been in prison for several months and you just want bond with “Buddy.” Well, hike up the big boy pants and strap on those green tights Oliver. You’re a father now which means NO PANCAKES.

Felicity is the most adorable bad cop to ever walk the face of the earth, but her husband knows better than to question her benevolent rule. 

Bae is still Queen.  Felicity says one word and it’s see ya pancakes. 

Oliver even takes William’s knife and fork away. I died. He’s like a light switch she can flip on and off. Let’s see what else Felicity can make Oliver do!  Sounds like a good use of 45 minutes to me!

Source:  myhauntedblacksoul

I have to be honest if I was expelled, refused to explain why, copped an attitude and stormed out on my parents I would not live to tell the tale. Instead, I would be buried in the backyard next to our pet bunny Petunia. I had no desire to piss my parents off. I valued my life thank you very much.

William does unload on Oliver and its pretty friggin great. The attitude needs to go, but William makes some valid points. 

There’s been a lot of discussion about the “mistakes” Oliver has made and what he needs to do to be a better leader. I’m drawing a blank whenever this topic comes up around the Newbies because they are all awful and Oliver should’ve let them rot in Slabside.

However, the next phase of the Oliver Queen evolution is listening and his teachers are his wife and son. Keep your expectations low fam. Oliver is still a heterosexual male. There’s only so much listening he’s physically capable of doing.

William is cheesed off Oliver went to prison without discussing it with either Felicity or him (FACTS KIDDO), because his father does whatever the hell he wants to do (TRUE STORY). Simply because Oliver was heroically falling on the sword doesn’t erase his inability to ask for opinions. 

Oliver feels this is an unfair characterization, but we only need to look at Felicity’s face and to know William’s remarks are on target.

Source: olicitygifs

Felicity changes into her good cop hat and approaches William with Oliver’s world famous chili and a Rubik cube lesson. 

(FLASH FORWARD CALL BACK!)

Source: ebett 

Oliver acknowledges William’s right to be angry and apologizes. The kid has been through a lot in the last couple years, which is why Oliver wants to bring him home. 

It is at this point Samantha Clayton’s parents show up on Oliver and Felicity’s doorstep.  

That’s right folks! A ticked off William called Grandpa and Grandma to complain. Jeez William. This is how those awful Lifetime movies about custody battles begin. Put down the phone dude.

I’m laughing right now because I’m imagining calling my grandfather to complain about my parents. He would have reached through the telephone to bop me on the head. Then he would’ve said my parents were amazing, I’m the luckiest girl on the planet and I should apologize right the hell now. Then he would’ve sent me fifty bucks. My Papa was the best.

Grandma and Grandpa Clayton have a different approach. They want custody of William. Sigh. I’m not saying they don’t have a point. They didn’t know Oliver was the Green Arrow and the dude is convicted murderer. He just did time in a maximum security prison! Also, he knocked up their daughter and his Green Arrow activities are pretty much the reason she’s dead. So Oliver isn’t going to win the Claytons over anytime soon.

They may think it is an open and shut custody case, but WHERE THE HELL WERE THEY? 

There were plenty of times the Claytons could have intervened, but it takes William calling and complaining for these two to get off their asses? The kid was put into Witness Protection for god sake. Open and shut I think not.

Obviously, Oliver goes growly papa bear and tells them nobody is taking his son. Damn right. He didn’t even get that mad at the Claytons until they insulted Felicity’s ability to parent. I thought Oliver was gonna put an arrow in them. DO NOT SPEAK ILL OF THE WIFEY. HE WILL COME FOR YOUR LIFE AND A LIFE IS WHAT HE WILL TAKE.

I know William is going through stuff, but this is a really dick move. He knows Oliver and Felicity adore him and threatening a grandparent custody battle simply because he’s mad at Dad is completely inappropriate. Anyone can discipline this child at any time. I’ll wait.

Oliver finally finds his angry voice! 

There ya go big fella. It’s the same one you use to interrogate suspects, but with less torture.  And they say the hood didn’t prepare him to be a family man. Pfft.

Oliver and William basically have it out. 

As parent versus child fights go this is a pretty good one. Obviously, Oliver wants to have his son home and give him a normal life, but there is no normal when you are running around in green leather pants shooting arrows every night. 

Am I saying Oliver and Felicity should immediately ship William off to his grandparents? No. There’s a way to build the Queen family version of normal. They’ll do breakfast for dinner, but will occasionally be held hostage. It’s a give and take.

Parents have jobs where their lives are at risk every night. Do police officers ship their kids off to the grandparents? No. Do John and Lyla, who work for the least secret spy agency in the world, ship JJ off to Lyla’s parents? No. Zoe isn’t going anywhere. So why is William flipping his shit?

Source:  olivergifs

Because William lived ten years with his version of normal and that life was with Samantha. It was a life with no masks, kidnappers blowing up islands or incredibly dull mob bosses. As wrong as it was to keep Oliver out of William’s life, Samantha did insulate their son from all the crazy.

William’s mother died pretty recently and this child has adjusted to a lot. He meets his father, but loses his mother. He gets to live with his father and gains a step mother, but he has to move away from his friends, school, grandparents and city. Then, just when he’s adjusted, everything is torn away again. His father is sent to prison and he’s put into Witness Protection with his stepmother. I understand why William is having difficulty adjusting to the Green Arrow life.

Felicity broaches the subject, but even discussing letting William go tears Oliver apart. 

Source:  olicitygifs

Felicity thinks William is old enough to decide for himself what kind of life he wants to live. And right now that life is with his grandparents.  So Oliver lets him go.

Source:  thegayfleet

This is why I’m still mad with writers for killing Samantha. 

If the intent was to protect William from all the insanity of Oliver’s life then why kill his mother? Why bring back Raisa? Why send him off with the grandparents when William simply could be splitting time 50/50 with his mother in Central City? 

Samantha’s existence didn’t preclude Felicity from having a relationship with him. It would have been interesting to see Oliver, Felicity and Samantha co parent.

The only reason Arrow killed off Samantha was to make Oliver a full time father and for the whole father/son sin cycle to continue. Eh. That was never a good enough reason for me, but especially now because they are looking for an escape hatch to throw William out of.  If the endgame was always to route William back to Central City then they should have left his mother alone.

The argument Oliver and Felicity can’t provide William protection or a normal life, when they achieved those things all last season while living a pretty idyllic life, is a lot of nonsense.  Yes, I know Oliver went through a time in Season 6 when he hung up the hood, but Felicity was still on the team. And Oliver suited back up eventually. William could adjust to the new normal just like JJ and Zoe have.  Are JJ and Zoe getting shipped off to their grandparents? No.

It’s difficult to believe Oliver and Felicity willingly letting William go, even though I understand the kid’s frustration and anger. 

Oliver is right. William can’t call his grandparents for back up anytime he’s mad at his parents. But by letting him move to his grandparents, Oliver and Felicity are just reinforcing this behavior! The Queen family needs to learn to fight without someone packing up and moving.  

Perhaps, if we didn’t have the flash forwards we would see Oliver, Felicity and William work through this, but the writers want some distance between the three to sell the future storyline. I’m still not even sure this is the “abandonment” William is still bitching about 20 years from now, because guess what son? You left Oliver and Felicity! Not the other way around. It still boggles my mind Oliver and Felicity would allow this given how hard they fought to reunite their family this season.  

It seems a little ridiculous to me William peaces out after his dad is released from prison or Felicity being so willing to let him go.  William’s present day storyline feels slapped together with tape and glue. It flies in the face of everything this family established in Season 6 for the sake of the flash forwards. I’m having a very difficult time buying any kind of separation between William, Oliver and Felicity no matter how ticked off this kid is.

Of course, as William is walking out the door Felicity finds out she’s pregnant with his sister. I have no idea why William doesn’t know about Mia. I don’t think Oliver and Felicity said goodbye to him forever in “Star City Slayer” so there’s a lot of plot holes needing to be filled. I can’t even venture a guess and I really don’t want to. There’s too much information we don’t have and it feels like a fruitless endeavor. My plan is to wait and watch.

Curtis Holt

The Olicity baby wasn’t the only thing on my Christmas Wish List! Beth booted Curtis Holt off my show too !!!!!!!! YAHOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  

Honestly, I felt a little bad for Echo because this was the least important development in the episode. The Olicity baby bomb blew him out of the water.

No, it doesn’t bother me he isn’t dead. I’m perfectly fine with Arrow shipping Curtis off to Washington D.C. for his dream job. I didn’t need him dead. I needed him GONE.

At first, I wasn’t quite sure what route Arrow was going. He tells Diggle about the job in DC but then John, who is determined to piss me off at every turn this season, offers Curtis a bigger job at ARGUS. 

He’ll be in charge of their science division because what would we do without Curtis! HE IS SO VITAL. 

Dammit Diggle! You had one job! JUST LET HIM GO.

Curtis goes out into the field with the team to hunt the Star City Slayer and I felt certain we were headed into L*urel L*nce territory. She decided to suit up “one last time” before taking her DA job and then BAM! Arrow right to the gut.

Amazingly, Curtis makes it out relatively unscathed and he even saves Dinah’s life with one of his T-spheres. I think. I didn’t really care other than he wasn’t dead. I was too busy thinking, “Shit he better not take John up on the ARGUS job.” 

But I was prepared folks. As long as I got an Olicity baby I was prepared to deal with whatever other disappointments came my way.

But NOPE! Beth decided to be Santa Claus and give me allllllllll my goodies.

Curtis decides to take the job in DC. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! The minute Curtis said it I went online to buy him 15 plane tickets – one for him and his 14 PhDs.

Of course, he gives full ownership of Helix back to Felicity. 

See this is why he needs to go. He acted so magnanimous - like it was his to give. Curtis gives Felicity some pompous talk about finding her purpose. OMG THIS GUY IS TOO MUCH. IT WAS HER COMPANY AND YOU ROAD ON HER COATTAILS. MAYBE SHE WOULD HAVE HER “PURPOSE” BY NOW IF THE WRITERS WEREN’T CONSTANTLY SIDE LINING FELICITY TO GIVE YOUR USELESS ASS SOMETHING TO DO. Ugh. Is the plane here yet? I’m so done with this douche.

Anyways, what matters is Curtis Holt is GONE!!!!!!! 

And it looks like we’re full steam ahead on Smoak Technologies. 

Source:  felicitysmoakgifs

I don’t know why Arrow continually compartmentalizes Felicity. It seems to me she could be deputized and work with Team Arrow as Overwatch while creating Smoak Tech. Maybe that will happen, but for now it seems only one activity at the time. But at least her storyline won’t be stripped and ransacked to serve Curtis Fucking Holt anymore. WE CONTINUE TO BE BLESSED FANDOM. ALL MY PRAISE TO JESUS AND BETH SCHWARTZ.

Stan the Fan

Last, but certainly not least, “Star City Slayer” finally delivers a villain worth watching. Stan the Fan is back and is more creepy, diabolical and terrifying in one episode than Diaz was for a year and a half! 

Brendan Fletcher is a genius and the smartest move Arrow made was not killing him off at the end of the episode. WE WANT MORE STAN!

The back story even made sense. WILL WONDERS EVER CEASE? 

Stanley was abused and tortured by his parents until he finally killed them. Stanley’s older brother, who always tried to protect him, was horrified when he found out.  So, Stanley killed him too. Now he seeks out older brother types to look up to and endear himself to. Stanley tries to protect his new “big brother” just like his brother did for him. He kills anyone he believes are bad for the person he admires – friends and enemies alike.

Okaaaaay. My man Stan has some legit issues. 

Oliver: My teammates would never hurt you.

Stan: But they’re still bad for you!  Worse even because they don’t understand you.

Soooo… not for nothin’ but I found myself nodding along with Stan the Fan. 

He was making many of the same arguments many of us have made about the Newbies. 

Is Stanley wrong? Are we wrong? HELL NO THEY ARE THE WORST! Is it a little worrisome I’m agreeing with the psychopath? Well sure, but I think it’s find to agree with crazy people when they make sense.  Did Stan back into the right opinion via Insanity Street? Sure, but facts are facts no matter what route you choose.

I also completely understood his desire to hang out with the Queen family and make a new team just the four of them. I’ve had that dream myself. 

But let’s be clear - I’m not a crazy fan like Stan. I AM COMPLETELY RELAXED ABOUT OLIVER QUEEN!!!

Slicing Dinah’s throat was a step too far over the line though Stan my man. 

Source: arrowdaily

I just want her to take a job in Central City like Curtis moved to DC and bring Rene with her. Relocation would have been fine. You didn’t have to fricassee her vocal chords, bro.

I think the scariest movies are when you are physically restrained from defending yourself in any way. You can’t move or scream. The scariest Buffy the Vampire Slayer episode is “Hush” and it remains one of the most terrifying hours of television I’ve ever seen. I’m still traumatized.

Obviously, Oliver can take Stan the Fan in a blink of an eye so the paralyzing drug really shifted the power dynamic. It made Stan a real threat not only to Oliver, but his whole family. 

Source:  plotbunnyshipper

It’s completely unnerving to listen to a powerless Oliver Queen trying to reason with Froot Loops. Stephen Amell always does such a great job with making his voice melodic like Oliver is trying to lull Stanley into submission.

But you can’t fix crazy Oliver! I love how the Queen family worked together to stop him. William slides the bottle, 

Felicity pisses Stanley off to get him to attack her, 

and Oliver takes him out in one shot. BAM! 

That’s how we do! It’s gonna be so great when all four members of the Queen family are reunited, kicking ass, taking names and saving the city together.

Stray Thoughts

Wait. So Bl*ck S*ren isn’t even IN the episode where Mia’s parentage is revealed. HAHAHAHAHA. Obviously, KC was on her honeymoon and that’s lovely, but it never ceases to amaze me how wrong her fans are. Just when I think they’ve hit a new low they reset the whole scale by digging even deeper into the Pit of Wrongness. Am I being petty? YA DAMN RIGHT I AM.

Ben Lewis’ scream when Dinah shoves William off the platform made me laugh until I cried.

Roy’s parkour made its triumphant return!

When my parents asked me to unpack the groceries it wasn’t a request I could refuse. My parents are lovely people, but next to Oliver they look like the Gestapo! Someone in the Arrow writer’s room needs to take a parenting class.

Felicity’s apartment security system is great and everything, but can’t she install a camera or something so they can see who the unidentified persons are? It’s called The Ring. Quite handy.

Loved the pink. Felicity was checking off all her signature colors. Source:  lucyyh

Dinah lost her Canary Cry. Since she was having trouble dealing with being an outed meta it’ll be interesting to see what her reaction is. She doesn’t need to be a meta human to be part of Team Arrow. Although, I think this gives Team Arrow more of a reason to occasionally reach out to Bl*ck S*ren. 

This was such a mom moment. Source: EBETT

This was such a dad moment. Source:  olivergifs

Followed by another mom moment.  Source:  olivergifs

The woman loves her man and his chili. Source: feilcityqueen

This is the zenith of my shipper life. I have reached the top of Everest. Time to take stock of my OTP journey.

One taught me patience

One taught me pain

One taught me love

Thanks to @callistawolf for the review title!

Disclaimer: Any gifs on the blog are not mine. If you would like a gif removed from my reviews, please message me. 7x13 gifs credited.

If you’d like to support the blog, please buy me a cup of tea!

[hornyforgrapes]

would you. be willing. to write griffin fingering himself. asking for a friend.

i GOTCHA buddy. i had a LOT of fun with this one. hopefully shipboys is your thing also damn? this is the first time i’ve written Generic Bottom Griffin TM since my very first fic

#nsfw #fingering #masturbation #nickgriffin #sexting #santanico.txt

Griffin falls asleep while texting Nick. He doesn’t like doing that, but he can’t help it, sometimes. The two hour time distance rarely impacts their work schedule, but when they’re trying to just be themselves, it can be exhausting.

And Griffin’s exhausted as is.

Griffin wakes up with a start at four in the morning. He isn’t sure why - he doesn’t have to be properly awake until eight, and he didn’t plan to get up early - but he’s awake, eyes wide and the only sound in the room the ceiling fan.

Then, Cecil, scratching gently at the door.

So that was it.

Griffin flicks on his light, opens the door for the cat, and crawls back in bed. He feels wide awake, but he’s sure if he turned the light back off and crawled under the covers, he could get back to sleep in ten minutes. He checks his phone instead, and there’s a stream of texts on the lock screen, reminding him that they’d been texting before he passed out.

Nick R.

U asleep?

Shit ok u def are haha sorry

I know it’s late. But i miss u. Can we facetime tmrw? Lemme know

There’s a twenty minute break at midnight for Griffin, and then Nick continues.

Nick R.

Sorry this is really shitty but fuck i’m trying to sleep and i just can’t think abt anything else

I miss fucking you

Is that too forward? It’s just been a really long time

Griffin stops scrolling, sets the phone down and presses the heels of his palms to his eyelids. Nick should be sorry. This is an awful way for Griffin to start his day. He shifts a bit, then looks back at his phone. He wasn’t anywhere near the end of the texts.

Nick R.

I don’t tell you every time i jerk off, obviously. Lol that would probably get annoying

But when i do it’s cuz of u, every time

Like right now

I’m thinking abt you looking at me, flat on your back, digging ur nails into my shoulder

I miss fucking you w/my fingers and just watching u

Fall apart u know?

Sometimes i just get this urge to fuck you til you cant walk straight

“Shit,” Griffin says out loud, drops his phone. There’s no need to be subtle or pretend, Cecil doesn’t give two shits, so he yanks off his boxers and scrambles for the lube. He warms it up in his palm, gives his cock a few hurried strokes. He gets hard embarrassingly fast, it takes almost nothing.

He looks at his phone, with his other hand, sitting back and jacking his cock, more slowly now.

Nick R.

My hand is nothing compared to u

Your ass your mouth i don’t care

I miss you just tight around me

Miss fucking you so hard the headboard hits the wall

Griffin i miss you

Griffin stops again. He’s nearly at the end of the texts. They’ve been sparsed out, maybe a minute or two between every other message. Griffin shifts, sits up, lets go of his cock and spreads more lube on his left hand. He sits with his knees apart, focuses on finding the right angle. He teases his hole with the tip of a wet finger, circles the ring of muscles and sinks inside. It’s not as good as Nick - his fingers, his cock - it can’t be, but it’s something.

Griffin manages his cock and his ass together, jerking off steadily as he pushes in a second slick finger. That’s easy enough, and he doesn’t need to fuck himself too deep for the sensation to rocket into his dick. It’s all just hot, solid sweetness, and Griffin thinks about Nick. Thinks about Nick’s cock, the head against his hole, the way Nick’s face tightens and his eyebrows furrow and he groans as he bottoms out. The way Nick says, “God, you’re so fucking perfect,” and showers Griffin with pointless, honey-sweet praise.

Griffin’s jacking himself harder, each upward stroke bringing him closer, and just the fullness of his fingers is enough to make it perfect. He groans out Nick’s name as he comes, can’t help himself as he spills hard into his palm, squeezing around his fingers.

“God, shit,” Griffin breathes, sliding his fingers out and looking at his nasty hand. He’s a little dizzy but he takes a trip to the bathroom, washes his hands, brushes his teeth, takes a piss and then rinses the sweat from his face. He crawls back into bed and looks at his phone, embarrassed he never finished Nick’s texts.

Nick R.

Wish u were here is all

Sorry i know this is gonna suck to wake up to

But i just came so fuckin hard just from thinking about fucking u til u cried

Love ya

Haha

Night

Griffin laughs, drags his fingers through his hair before he texts back.

Griffin

Welp

Woke up at 4am and saw these

U can imagine how my morning started

Okay maybe not. I fingered myself and jacked off

So not so bad.

Miss ya too

Griffin wonders, vaguely, if Nick’s still awake. Probably not if he was sexting at eleven and it’s two, now. So Griffin turns off his phone screen, puts away the lube, strips his bed of the sheets he had stained (it’s just a tiny spot but enough for him not to want to deal with it right away), and positions his pillows to fall asleep again.