#(that's like quentin and - okay there's just one it's quentin)

[abnormalpsychology]

thrilling sequel to my poll from back in January

[moinsbienquekaworu]

Y'know I was starting to miss the olden days Kylux thing where people would invent first names for Hux (Brendol Jr, Tybalt, Sheev, if you've got other ones I'm starting a list) but those James Bond fics are really scratching that itch! I should write down all those Q names they range from normal aliases to first names I have never seen before (ie I just went from a fic where his name was Alexander to a fic where he's called Quinlen?? my Star Wars brain does not like this)

[asterdeer]

the complete and total lack of closure for all of the characters I cared about besides sevika. pour one out for me, I’m taking a nap

[thoughtfulfiction]

Social Media QB

Author’s note: reposting my old work on this side blog! Let me know if you’d like to read a specific one. Thank you for reading!

The reputation of the Chargers social media team was unmatched. They are known for being funny and up to date on all memes and pop culture references while also showcasing players’ personalities. That alone made you apply and this past year on the job had really been a once in a lifetime experience. Working with Megan and the crew was a daily adventure and you were becoming more and more comfortable calling the guys your friends. It even got to a point where you didn’t even call them by their names anymore.

Quentin was usually just “Q.” JK was always “J’Kaylin”, Derwin was “3” and your favorite nickname was definitely calling Justin “Sunshine.” At first it was a Remember the Titans reference but it became a lifestyle. Everything and everyone revolves around the sun and that’s exactly what it felt like when you were at work. All of the players were important and special but you could just feel the energy in the room shift when Justin was there. It was palpable, it almost took your breath away sometimes.

Off camera he was goofy, funny and had this uncanny ability to make the world stand still for a bit, even just for a few fleeting moments where it felt like you two were the only ones in the room. But then reality would hit and you were reminded that you work for the team and he’d never see you in that way, he was just nice to everyone he encountered. But on camera? It was all fun and games. There was a running joke, mostly based on his real feelings, that Justin hated cameras. He couldn’t stand being the center of attention or having people perceive him so he avoided the social media team altogether when phones were pointed in his direction. 

But sometimes, a rarity, you were able to get him on camera, even if it was just for a split second. The two of you reviewed the questions he was going to be asked before their Hot Ones appearance and there was ALWAYS a discussion, more like subtle begging if you all were going to have him participate in any content.

“We need Justin for this new segment we’re doing, so you’re gonna have to talk to him.” Megan sighs, grabbing her Stanley cup that was sitting on the counter. She’d just finished editing a video where she and her assistant put fart spray on the tiny mic and could still smell the rancid scent until she grabbed some Lysol spray to de-funk the place.

You were going through photos taken during practice earlier that morning and deciding which ones to post and without looking up you asked her, “why do I have to do it?”

Lorren and Allie giggle in the corner, shaking their heads. “You cannot be serious right now y/n,” Lorren gives you a pointed look.

“What?”

“We all know you and Justin have a thing for each other. Even if you won’t admit to us…or yourself. It’s pretty obvious.”

You finally raise your head up from your laptop, staring at them while also wracking your brain trying to figure out when your innocent crush had become so painfully obvious. If the girls knew, then Justin had probably somehow caught on and the thought of that made you want to dig a hole right outside on the practice field and never come out. “Is—am I that easy to read?”

“No one blames you,” Megan runs a loving hand on your shoulder. “And I’m sure you’ve been trying so hard to hide your feelings that you haven’t noticed that he’s doing an even worse job of hiding his massive crush on you.”

The look on your face sends the room into a fit of laughter. “We’re being serious. The way he looks at you and acts around you. Anyone can see he’s into you friend.”

You weren’t convinced, “I need an example.”

“Okay fine,” Lorren stands up to prepare a demonstration. “He wasn’t ready to put the mics on when he was mic’d up until you walked over and helped him get the mic in the perfect spot in his pads. And then he wore the friendship bracelet for six weeks because you handed it to him.”

Allie pipes up to put in her two cents. “And let’s not forget when he had you driving him around the golf tournament and kicked Zion to the curb. There’s no way all of those are just a coincidence.”

“Fine. I’ll go ask him if he’ll shoot the video for us but I’m not going to lose my job because of a meaningless crush on the starting quarterback.”

You waited around for the guys to leave treatment after practice and caught up with him on his way out. “Hey Sunshine, quick question for you.”

His cheeks turn a light shade of pink and he gives you a small tight-lipped smile. “What’s up?”

“I need you to do me a huge favor and be in this tik tok. It’s a short game and it’ll only take like 15 minutes.”

His deadpan face and disappointed dad sigh has you practically begging, saying “please” in your finest sing-song tone.

“Fine, I’ll do it.” You knew he’d crack, he always did. “On one condition. You also have to participate.”

You hold your hand out and he engulfs it with his much larger one. “You’ve got yourself a deal Herbert.”

“Okay the rules of the game are simple,” Megan begins from behind her phone screen before hitting record, “we’re going to give you these Canadian snacks and you’ll rate them on a scale from 1 to 10. One being it’s awful I’ll never touch that again and 10 being a solid snack that you’d eat everyday if given the opportunity.”

You and Justin nod, diving in on everything from the ketchup chips to the toffee. The video didn’t take long as promised and the quarterback went about the rest of his day with no further distractions.

In your office a few days later on the team’s off day, you were contemplating your life. Maybe you should take a step back from him so people don't get the wrong idea. Sure, your coworkers were convinced the crush was mutual but what if he was just being nice? He was always so focused on football and making the most out of every opportunity. Why in the world would he waste time flirting with a social media manager? It just made no sense. Instead of continuing to run a million imaginary scenarios in your mind you packed up your stuff and tried heading out to the parking lot. Even after all this time you still struggled to maneuver all the twists and turns of the building and somehow found yourself walking past the quarterback room. You intended to just keep walking but he was in there alone and called out your name when he saw you.

“What are you doing here? I didn’t think anyone would be in the building today.” His bright eyes staring down at you made your heart feel like it was beating out of your chest. You desperately needed to get it together.

“I came in to finish up a few things but I’m heading out now. What are you doing? I think you’ve watched enough film to last you a couple lifetimes.” That gets a light chuckle out of him and he shakes his head, the two of you knowing that his quest for perfection would never allow him to believe he’s watched enough film. “Thank you for shooting that video the other day. The fans are gonna love it, they’re always begging us to get you on camera.”

“No problem, anything for you.” He clears his throat after whispering the last part, desperately hoping that you didn’t hear it. Even though you definitely did. You should go home for the day and leave him alone in the office so he can get back to work. You should stop staring at his lips that look so soft and just begging to be kissed. He should turn around and get back to the playbook and the computer but here he is, standing still, right in front of you.

You’re just there, waiting for someone to rip the carpet out from under you, to fall on your face, for someone to tell you that this isn’t actually happening. The space between your bodies diminishes significantly, so much so that you can smell the Dr. Squatch Birchwood Breeze radiating off of him. It’s intoxicating and you swallow the fear in your gut and ignore all of the common sense thoughts plaguing your mind, allowing you to feel.

The kiss is tentative at first, he pulls back slightly, whispering if it’s okay to keep going as you feel his breath against your lips. You don’t respond but instead pull him in closer, hearing a satisfied husky moan from him as he allows your tongue access to his. His right palm rests against your cheek until he’s tilting your head up ever so slightly to deepen the embrace and he pulls you in even closer, holding on for dear life while closing and locking the door behind you. It was so much more than he imagined, these feelings that he’d been pushing aside were being confronted and magnified by the second. This innocent crush that you had on him were genuine, real feelings that created a deep ache in your bones, actively being soothed with his hands all over you as the two of you made out like helpless teenagers.

You didn’t think you’d have the strength to tear yourself away from him…until his phone rings. He ignores it the first time but it’s all you can think about by the fifth ring.

“Answer it,” you whisper breathlessly and you can feel him hesitating to pry himself away from you. The heat that was radiating off of his body that you felt being so close to him sends shivers down your spine at the sudden distance. A thousand unspoken apologies are painted on his face as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. He keeps the call short and sweet but the look of devastation is clear when he hangs up. “You have to go don’t you?”

He nods. “I’m so sorry. We can—we need to talk about this I know. And I promise we will. I just—I need to take care of this.” He doesn’t want to leave, not like this. Even if he knows you understand. Justin presses a kiss to the side of your head and whispers another “I’m sorry” leaving you in the room to think about what just happened.

You walk around the empty parking lot until you reach your car, letting out a deep sigh at the thought of what the conversation with him is going to look like after this. You need to be mentally prepared for good news, bad news and everything in between.

He is the sun after all. And sometimes when you stand too close, you might get burned. And maybe, just maybe, you’d avoid the burn altogether and bask in the warmth as long as you can.

[dolche-tejada]

So I wanted to point out the usual nonsenses coming from Tony Stark antis and luckily enough, one of them made a post quoting pretty much most of their popular "arguments" (if I can refer to them as such), so let's take a look at this user’s main points and see how solid they are.

"Let's talk about the horrible shit Tony has done in the MCU"

Please keep in mind the "horrible shit" term all along during your reading.

"MCU Tony has mortared a city full of civilians"

Okay so first point and it literally never happened. USA's government did that to Wanda and Pietro's town, not Tony so I hope it wasn't too painful to pull this nonsense out of your ass.

"Been a complete dick to all of his teammates"

Oh no... he was mean to Steve and his coworkers during their first movie ? What a complete tragedy, what a heartless monster. Please stop the violins, otherwise I might weep.

"Made multiple misogynistic comments about women mainly Natasha (looking at you prima nocta scene)"

Okay so you gave only one example to back this up and it's when he was obviously joking with his friends. Even if that joke may be in very bad taste, that doesn't make him a horrible person like you tried to demonstrate, you're just nitpicking.

"Manipulated a 16 year old into getting into a war with his former teammates"

A) "a war" please don't make me laugh. For most of the only fight Peter take part in, both sides were joking with the other while fighting and weren't even fighting seriously, they were just trying to incapacitate each other. Things only get messy after Tony ordered Peter to step back.

B) Tony didn't manipulate shit. He hid no vital informations to Peter and while bringing a 16 year old to an arrest was indeed a stupid decision, he knew Steve wouldn't harm him and that Peter was strong, competent and equipped enough to deal with him.

"Thought he was completely justified for trying to kill Bucky for something Bucky did unwillingly cuz he was fucking brainwashed"

Why the fuck are you lying ? At no point Tony justified himself for this. He tried during the whole Civil War plot to ease things with Steve and this even after his best friend got disabled for life because Steve escalated the situation at the airport, only to learn then that his friend lied to him all along about his parents' death.

At this point Tony just didn't care anymore and while he was obviously wrong for trying to kill Bucky, it's not like he had no understandable reasons to go after him. Brainwashed or not, most people would try to obliterate their parents' murderer if he stood right in front of them.

"Repeatedly mocked Bruce Banner who was filled with self loathing and even tried to kill himself because of how much he hated being The Hulk"

Firstly he joked with him, not about him. Secondly, Tony was the only one who respected Bruce from the start and never treated him like some ticking bomb ready to explode.

"Created most of the villains in the MCU (Mysterio and Co., Vulture, Aldrich Killian, The Maximoff Twins, Justin Hammer, The Flag-Smashers etc)"

Okay, where do I even begin on that.

Quentin Beck was a narcissistic asshole who got mad because his boss called his invention "B.A.R.F", that and Tony tossing it aside because this tech was way too expansive for its very limited applications. So not Tony's fault if Beck had an ego more fragile than a soap bubble.

Hammer tried to destroy Tony's image and Stark Industries first, so Tony defended himself by revealing he crippled a man by trying to replicate his tech. Hammer fucked around and found out, not Tony's fault if he's an hypocritical idiot.

Concerning the Flag Smashers, the reason they became terrorists wasn't caused by Tony bringing back half of the universe, it was due to the Global Repatriation Council's disastrous resources management.

About Toomes, Tony had no prior knowledge of the contract he signed with NY and even if he did, leaving dangerous alien tech in the hands of random people is quite a moronic idea, as evidenced by what they did with this tech for years. Not Tony's fault if Toomes is delusional and sucks at his job.

Aldrich Killian ? Be fucking real, he became a super-villain just because Tony ignored him, an archetypal greasy-haired nerd who literally drools as he talks, for a pretty chick on New Year's Eve.

Like obviously, when a serial killer stab someone to death, the most logical reaction is to blame those who assemble knives at the factory rather than the murderer himself, makes perfect sense to me.

The Maximoff Twins, my god this argument again... Yeah let's blame the guy who designed and sold weapons to his government rather than, oh I don't know, the fucking guys who used them against civilians ??

"Which also means he's also had some hand in the deaths caused by all these characters"

Literally none of the characters you quoted became super-villains because of him.

"Created Ultron"

He intended to create a security system against other alien invasions and it resulted in a genocidal robot, which only happened because Wanda mindraped him some hours before. Tony is responsible for Ultron's creation, Wanda for what he became.

And I don't want to see anybody whining in my mentions that he already planned to design Ultron prior to her mindraping him, not when she had this fucking grin after seeing Tony taking the Mind Stone with him.

Let alone when she threw this line, later in the movie : I saw Stark’s fear. I knew it would control him, make him self destruct.

She knew letting him take the Stone would cause something awful that might also kill him and she used her powers to make him even more paranoid. She's responsible for Ultron going from "A suit of armor around the world" to "Genocidal Murder Bot", not Tony.

"Thought it was a good idea to have a newly created AI be exposed to The Mind Stone which caused Ultron to kill JARVIS and go rogue

A) Which again wouldn't have happened if Wanda hadn't mindraped him the same day.

B) He didn't consciously exposed Ultron to it, the Mind Stone corrupted the AI on its own, something Tony and Bruce had no way to predict.

C) Still not his fault anyway. Ultron is sentient, he takes his own decisions. Tony being his "father" doesn't change anything to this state of fact.

"Profited off of war by making weapons of mass destruction and selling them"

Something he's spent over a decade to make amend for, notably by closing his weapons division and dedicating his life and resources to helping people and saving the world.

"Bought illegally obtained vibranium stolen directly from Wakanda by Klaue"

False too. All we know is that they met each other at the time Tony was still designing weapons ; and that Klaue told him he was looking for something new. At no point was it implied Tony illegally bought vibranium from him.

"Technically responsible for more vibranium being stolen from Wakanda by Klaue due to Ultron"

This vibranium was already stolen by Klaue when Ultron met him.

"Being responsible for everyone who died in Sokovia's death because he made Ultron"

So following your reasoning, I guess Jeffrey Dahmer's parents are responsible for every murder their son committed from his own free-will ? Did I get that right ?

"Being unwilling to help Steve and the others fix the Blip cuz muh daughter"

My god, how dare he... being against playing with time and rather trying to accept what happened while taking care of his family.

And this when we know screwing up with time can cause world-ending events.

Truly a proof of how horrible of a human being he is, indeed.

Btw I like how you ignored that Tony changed his mind and helped them afterwards.

"Supported The Sokovia Accords which need I remind you all Tony is technically responsible for The Accords being made because A. he's the one who killed Wanda's parents (blah blah blah, a lot of false attributions later...) causing her to kill Crossbones and a building full of people"

Still isn't him who dropped those mortar shells on her house. Just like it's not him who pushed Crossbones to go suicide-bombers, wrote the Sokovia Accords and incited 119 countries to sign them.

"and B. he is literally responsible for what happened to Sokovia BECAUSE HE MADE ULTRON"

Already answered to this shit, let's continue.

"Referring to Wanda as "a weapon of mass destruction" in Civil War"

Lmao because she isn't ? No one forced Wanda to join a terrorist organization, pal. Just like no one pushed her to act as a weapon of mass destruction, by using her powers to send Hulk on a rampage across Johannesburg or by enslaving Westview.

"meanwhile HE is the REASON SHE has her powers in the first place"

Sure, Tony whispered in her ear every night to go serve as a guinea pig for Nazis in order to get her revenge on him. I forgot this part of Wanda's backstory, silly me.

"Falsely imprisoning the heroes that didn't sign The Accords because he's a cunt"

Tony don't have any power or authority to imprison people, and the heroes he stopped got incarcerated because they indeed broke the law, you jackass.

"Being technically responsible for all the deaths caused by Wanda in Wandavision and DSATMOM because if he didn't kill her parents with his mortar..."

I don't think you know what "technically" means.

"then her and Pietro wouldn't have went to Hydra thus not getting their powers from The Mind Stone"

You know what would have actually prevented all the deaths Wanda caused ? Her not willingly joining Nazis to get her powers and going on a murder spree.

"And you are probably thinking "But he sacrificed himself at the end of Endgame !""

To save the whole universe indeed. That and quite a few other things, such as :

Outright refusing to help terrorists and getting tortured as a result.

Risking his life to save Yinsen.

Saving Afghans villagers from terrorists.

Saving Pepper and SHIELD's agents from Obadiah Stane.

Actively saving people on a daily basis, and this for a decade.

Developing a shit ton of armors to protect people more efficiently.

Saving New York and the world overall from Chitauris.

Stopping Killian from taking over the USA.

Curing Pepper from the Extremis treatment.

Designing Veronica with Bruce.

Fighting Hulk to protect Johannesburg.

Saving the world once again, alongside the Avengers.

Awarding promising students with the funds to develop their own projects and inventions.

Granting his tech to Peter and designing for him two suits that allowed him to save many lives.

Saving Stephen's life from Ebony Maw.

Helping the Avengers to travel in other timelines.

"Let me ask you this : If Strange had hold Tony that the only way to defeat Thanos is if Tony sacrificed himself would Tony do it"

It's literally what happened during Endgame, you fucking bozo. What do you think was the meaning of this scene ?

And it's not like it was something new, he was always ready to die for others' sake, right from the start, did you even watched the first Avengers movie ?

No wait, even better : Have you at least watched the beginning of his first solo movie ?

I wasn't expecting anything from Tony antis but sucking that hard at watching a movie is quite impressive ngl.

"Bottom line is MCU Wanda sucks and Tony Stark sucks"

Yeah no shit, that's pretty easy to say when you're making up lies to support your hate boner.

So in conclusion, this dude has no idea of what he's talking about and neither does Tony antis in general for using these bs as arguments.

[theverystrangegirl27]

⋆⭒˚.Be My Once In A Lifetime ⋆⭒˚.⋆

Summary: You're a young actress with a supporting role in Inglorious Basterds. You and co-star Christoph Waltz grow closer under the pretense of practicing a scene together.

Warnings: smut, older man younger woman, vaginal sex, multiple orgasms

"You're kidding, right?”

The camera pans up your bare leg, revealing the tight black dress you'd been hassled into by Quentin and the costume designer.

Quentin paces back and forth in front of you, eyes squinted.

“No! I think this is perfect, maybe shorter heels, though.” He says, gesturing to the costume designer, who comes back with some tasteful kitten heels.

You've known Quentin for most of your life, having worked at the video store together and collaborated on many of your own short films.

It only seemed right for him to cast you in his latest project, though you don't understand why he'd want you, an amateur actress, working alongside legends like Brad Pitt and the talented Christoph Waltz.

The cameraman stops on your face, which you can see in the monitor, and you try to school it into a more pleasant expression but it's hopeless- you've never acted in a scene like this before.

“Quentin, are you sure I'm the right fit for this?” You ask, carefully walking down the short staircase.

He shoots you a look.

“Of course, I wouldn't have cast you if you weren't.”

You suppose he has a point.

“Besides, I think it'll be good for you to branch out and play a little dangerous, if you know what I mean.”

You can't help the laugh that escapes you as he raises his brows, obviously intending to cheer you up.

“Okay,” you agree, slipping off the stilettos and replacing them with the kitten heels. “Let's do it.”

That's how you end up beneath Christoph Waltz, or rather, Hans Landa.

The camera is zoomed in on both of your faces, Christoph tracing the line of your lips with his eyes as he recites the lines.

“The Basterds must know that I am not a stupid man.” He says, low and condescending. “To send a seductress after me, how infantile.”

Yet his lips draw nearer, his grip on your waist harsh and unforgiving. You look into his eyes, gaze cold as he looks back into yours. You arch, trying to get away, but he holds you tighter.

You gasp as he fingers dig into the dress, sharp blooms of pain growing from the skin there.

“However,” He begins, the corners of his mouth pulling into a horrible smile. “I would be more of an imbecile not to take this angelic little gift that was practically served to me on a silver platter.”

You feel yourself getting wet at the lilt in his voice, how hot his thigh feels pressed between your legs. You want him so bad.

He pulls you in, big hand spanning across your arched back, pressing you to him.

When his lips meet yours, you go a little weak in the knees.

You fight it at first, hands curling into fists against his chest, trying to turn your head away, but you can't fight the desire any longer.

You give in.

“And cut!”

Christoph pulls away, panting. Your chest heaves a little as you shakily pull air into your lungs, looking at the way your hand is still pressed against his chest.

“That was perfect,” Quentin praises, a wide smile taking up his face. “One more take, and I think we've got it.”

He comes up to the both of you, Christoph still holding you, albeit softer.

“Now, Y/N, the struggling was great, but maybe kick your feet out just a little. Really try to get away from this guy, but then, after a few seconds, sink into it like you did just then.” Quentin directs, and you nod, pushing a lock of hair out of your eyes.

“Christoph, don't be afraid to just-” Quentin makes a quick grabbing motion with his hands. “Latch onto her, really grab her.”

Christoph runs his hand down your back, and you can't tell whether it's intentional or not, but it makes you shiver anyway.

As Quentin walks away, Christoph turns his attention to you.

“I'm not hurting you, am I?”

You give him a reassuring smile, ignoring the way your heart does somersaults in your chest.

“No, I'm okay.” You say, and he smiles down at you.

“Tough girl,” He says, and you fight the urge to bite your lip. His gaze turns serious, business like. “You can really push back for me, I can handle it.”

You nod, blushing a little at the double meaning his words conjur. Soon enough, Quentin is calling action, and the two of you are back at it.

After the last take, Christoph and you are left on set together while the crew packs up, Quentin looking over the footage a few feet away.

Christoph slicks back his hair, watching you lean against the desk, kicking your shoes off idlily.

“Would you like to have dinner with me this evening, Y/N?”

The question is sudden, out of the blue. You look up quickly, and your suprise must show on your face because Christoph begins to explain himself.

“To discuss the scene, if you'd like.” He says, looking a little sheepish. It's so uncharacteristic of him that you don't think twice before saying yes.

“I'd love to.” You say, beaming at him.

The smile he gifts you with makes your heart flutter wildly in your chest.

That night, you meet at Christoph's hotel room. The suite is huge, yet not overly extravagant. It suits him well, you think, as he lets you in.

“You'll have to forgive me for running a little behind.” He apologizes as he fixes his jacket.

“That's alright.” You tell him, sending him a small smile.

He's wearing a simple black blazer over a white linen shirt, black slacks to match. Christoph is clean-shaven, and his hair is immaculate as always.

It takes everything in you not to drool.

He seems to be thinking the same thing because he's stuck staring at you, lips slightly parted.

“You look lovely.” He breathes.

It takes you by suprise, pink dusting your cheeks.

“I could say the same about you,” you respond, cheeky.

Christoph smiles, lips pulling back to reveal pearly white teeth.

“You flatter me.” He jokes, moving towards the door.

“This hotel has a wonderful restaurant at ground level, I think you'll enjoy it.”

You do, as a matter of fact. The red wine Christoph order's is delicious, paired with some kind of salmon dish you can't pronounce.

The whole dinner is spent laughing, bantering back and forth, and listening to Christoph’s many stories.

“I really can't remember why I did that particular film,” He's explaining, setting his empty wine glass down. “To tell you the truth, I was probably hard pressed for money at the time.”

He had shed his blazer twenty minutes ago, left in the white linen shirt that looked so, so good on him.

You press the tips of your fingers to your lips, giggling a little. The wine has begun to go to your head, making you feel light and airy.

“Well, we've all made desperate acting decisions.” You joke, your foot accidentally nudging his under the table.

Christoph looks at you, a soft smile on his face and an unreadable glint in his eye.

“Have we?” He asks, raising a brow.

You blush, sitting back in your chair and sipping the last of your wine.

“I mean, I was in these terrible short films during college, I'm sure Quentin can tell you all about them.”

Christoph surprises you by leaning forward, resting his elbows on the table.

“Tell me about these short films.” The way he enunciates the last two words makes you shiver a little, and you hope he doesn't notice. “Been in anything I would have seen?”

That startles a laugh from you, and deciding to match his energy, you too lean forward, propping your chin in your hand.

“I hope not.” You say, smiling wide as you look into his eyes.

They're so pretty. Christoph has this warm, comforting aura to him that you can't really explain.

You've seen him in American interviews, how he's often described as cold- his dry wit lost on the likes of Jimmy Fallon and Kimmel- but you can't imagine those people are describing the man currently sitting in front of you.

He laughs.

“Come on, I've told you about that embarrassing German television spot I did. You owe me.”

You bite your lip, looking down at the tablecloth before deciding on a story.

“You want to hear about my very first on-screen kiss?”

You wiggle your brows, watching as Christoph nods.

“I was twenty-two, and it was some student film Quentin had roped me into.” You sigh, thinking back on the film.

It wasn't very good - shakily filmed, poorly acted, and the worst part was the kiss.

You shudder at the thought.

“I don't think this guy had ever even touched a woman, let alone kiss one.” You say, Christoph huffing a laugh as you continue. “I swear to you, he leaned in, misjudged how close my lips were, and licked my chin!”

Christoph laughs along with you, shaking his head.

“God, what a nightmare.” He says, and you feel him gently tap your heeled foot. You furrow your brow, still smiling.

“You know, Y/N, you're an excellent kisser.”

Christoph catches you off guard, and you find yourself a little breathless.

“And you blush so prettily, my God.”

Now you're really looking at him, at the way his eyes are fixed on your parted lips, how his left hand is lying face up and empty on the table.

Is this really happening? You think.

With only a slight bit of hesitance, you reach forward, the tips of your fingers grazing his.

It's all the permission he needs.

Christoph takes your hand in his, turning it so he can trace your palm with his thumb. His hand is warm, strong against your smaller, softer palm.

You bite your lip, looking at him through your lashes.

“You know, when we first met, I felt like a dirty old man.” Christoph says, tone soft yet playful.

“Here's this beautiful woman, half my age, and I get to ravish her for the camera.”

He lifts your hand, intertwining your fingers with his.

“You don't know how many times I've thought about that kiss.”

It's a confession, something that makes your breath hitch and your eyes lock onto his.

“Christoph,” You begin, shocked.

Christoph is looking at you, so sincerely, your heart aches.

“If I'm misreading this, please, tell me now.”

Christoph has been the object of your desire for weeks now, working with him day in and out a specific sort of torture you can't begin to explain.

Of course you want him.

You squeeze his hand.

“Will you take me back to your room?”

Christoph grins, something salacious in it that makes you want to kiss it off of him.

He takes the hand he's holding to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it.

“Lead the way, liebling.”

*

*

*

Christoph has you up against the hotel room door, your dress pushed up over your thighs as he kisses you deeply.

You've never been with a man who kisses like Christoph does - with complete, sure confidence and finesse. It makes your insides hot and melt-y feeling, leaving you desperate for more.

Your hands clench into his white shirt, desperation filling all of your senses.

You want him so bad.

He pulls away slightly, eyes dark as he looks at the mess he's made of you.

“You'll let me have you, angel?” He asks, and you nod, eyes big as they take in the sight of him.

“Yeah?” He asks again, a slow, easy smile on his face.

“Yes.” You breathe.

He kisses you once, twice, three times before turning your body from the door, backing you up towards the bed.

“I've wanted to feel you for so long, beautiful girl.”

You pull the straps of your dress down, nipples hard in the cool air.

His eyes are immediately drawn to them, thumbs coming up to stoke at your nipples, the pads of them warm against your skin.

“Christoph,” you sigh, leaning up to kiss him again, one hand coming to tangle in his hair.

When you break for air, you move to slide your dress down your body, leaving in the black panties you had picked out for this occasion.

Christoph runs his hands down your body, eyes piercing as they take you in.

“God help me,” He mutters before leaning in, pressing you into the expensive hotel sheets.

You gasp, your naked back hitting the mattress with a surprising amount of force. You look up through your lashes at Christoph, who is leaning above you, undoing his belt hastily. You smirk, your hands sliding up his thighs and helping him with his fly.

“You wanna fuck me?” You tease, breathless.

Christoph swallows, his movement's slowing as he looks down at you.

“Liebling, fucking is for insolent, foolish boys.” He finally gets his pants down, boxers following soon after. Christoph leans down, and you think he's going to kiss you, but instead his lips find your ear.

“I'm going to make love to you, and believe me, you'll be thinking of me for weeks to come after I'm through with you.”

You feel yourself getting wet at his words, the promise of his dick finally getting inside of you, making you easy for it. Your legs fall open, Christoph making a home between them.

His face finds your neck, planting sweet, wet kisses to the skin there.

You want him inside you so badly, and you tell him as much, back arching when his fingers find your cunt.

“So soft, my beautiful girl,” He mutters, breathless as he rubs at your clit.

You close your eyes, hands scrabbling at his back.

“I want you, Christoph, please,” you beg, shameless.

He kisses you, silencing you. You get lost in the feeling of his hand on you, his lips devouring every moan and gasp he draws from you.

You huff, eyebrows furrowing as he rubs faster and faster on your clit.

“Oh my God-” You manage to gasp out, thighs clenching around his arm as you come.

Christoph works you through it relentlessly.

“There she is, that's my good girl. That's it.” He groans, forehead pressed to yours.

You whine, arching away from his fingers as the stimulation becomes too much.

“Please fuck me, please Christoph.”

He smiles, eyes meeting yours.

“I love the way you say my name.”

The two of you maintain eye contact as he enters you, agonizingly slow. You watch the way his breath catches, how his eyes flutter shut when his hips meet yours. That overwhelming, satisfying fullness makes you moan softly, hands gripping him close.

“You feel so good,” you tell him, all sorts of feelings bubbling up in you.

He rocks forward, hips meeting yours lovingly as he carves a home for himself in You.

Your eyes fall shut, head tilting back, and he sucks wet, lust filled kisses onto your neck.

The pace quickens, the headboard hitting the wall as you both grow frantic.

“You're going to come for me again, my angel, my pretty girl,” He pants, a hand coming up to brush your sweaty hair from your face. His palm is warm, and you tilt your head to kiss it.

“Yes,” your breath, hot, bubbling pleasure threatening to spill over you. “Make me come, please, please, Christoph-"

He groans, burying his face in your neck.

You wrap your legs around his back, wanting to keep him close, and the pleasure builds higher, higher, then-

“Fuck!”

You throw your head back, eyes closed and mouth agape as your second orgasm of the night overtakes you.

“Jesus, ich sterbe,” He groans, low and heady as he pumps you full of his come.

Christoph's hips stutter as your walls flutter around him, beckoning him further.

You hold him close to you as he rides out his orgasm, kissing his forehead.

Sighing and spent, he rests on top of you. You run your fingers through his hair, legs shaking as they unwrap from around his waist.

“Stay with me?” He asks quietly.

You put a hand under his chin, lifting it so your eye level.

You kiss him gently.

“I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.”

[fiapartridge]

so that fic about another guy flirting with hazel got me thinking…. let’s turn it up a notch 😌

somebody from another team flirts with hazel WHILE she and beckett are officially dating 🤭

robbers -> beckett + hazel 🏹🦢����

"she says, babe, you look so cool..." robbers, the 1975

pairing: beckett sennecke x hazel summary: when one of the players from the san jose sharks tries to flirt with hazel, beckett goes haywire... warning(s): lots of cursing LOL, fighting, blood (brief) author's note: i feel like beckett wouldn't hurt a fly but anything for his girl 💋 wc: 1.12k

Beckett didn’t like a lot of things in life: long division, beans on toast, spam calls from stupid telemarketers, and, oh, yeah, guys trying to take his fucking girl. 

It was a Friday night and the Anaheim Ducks were face-to-face with the San Jose Sharks. The score was 0-2 after the first period. The Ducks hustled down the tunnel, anger laced in their blood as they tried their hardest not to break a twig. It was the first game of the fucking season and so far, they were blowing it. The cheers from the crowd died down after the first Sharks’ goal, and even more so after the second. Everyone’s energies were draining—their confidence, too.

And the cherry on fucking top? Quentin Musty was flirting with Hazel—Beckett’s Hazel. He watched them talk outside the locker rooms; the way he stood next to her, his arm beside her head as she nodded along to something he said. It made Beckett’s blood boil. It should be him who’s all over her right now; who’s receiving her attention, her tiny smiles, and blushy cheeks.

He wanted to bash Quentin into a wall—especially when he watched the boy’s hand slowly move to her hair, sweeping a strand of hair from her face.

“Bro, get the fuck off of her!” Beckett shouted, walking towards them as Hazel immediately stepped back. 

To be honest, Hazel was tired of Quentin talking to her the entire time, only standing there so she could see Beckett before the intermission was over. She nodded absentmindedly to all of his stupid advancements, hoping that he would take a hint and leave her the fuck alone. And when his hand touched her hair, she immediately felt her body recoiling, moving to step away from the guy. 

The boys from both teams rushed out of their locker rooms to watch the scene, Mason scrambling to grab Beckett before he could throw himself at Quentin. Mason’s arms wrapped around Beckett, Trevor coming in to help as they dragged him away from the other boy.

“Chill, bro,” Mason said, throwing Beckett into his stall. “Leave that shit on the ice, okay? You want to fight him? Do it over there.”

Trevor stood in front of the fuming boy. His hands rested on his hips. “What the fuck even happened, man?”

“He was fucking out there flirting with Hazel,” he exclaimed angrily. Now he was upset over the terrible period and this stupid ass situation. “I’m not gonna let him talk to my fucking girlfriend like that.”

Trevor shook his head. “Take the high road, alright? He’s just tryin’ to get under your skin. Just—don’t get mad at Hazel, okay? She looked a little shook up after that.”

Becket sighed, resting his head back against his stall before closing his eyes. “Fuck. D’you think she hates me?”

Leo joined the small crowd forming around Beckett’s stall, a cool towel wrapped around his neck as he shook his head. “Nah. For some reason, that girl could never hate you,” he chuckled.

Before everyone knew it, intermission was over, and they were back on the ice for the second period. Beckett stood on right wing, Trevor center, and Ryan Strome on left wing. And luckily for Beckett, Quentin Musty stood right next to him as a left winger. 

“Got a little heated back there, huh, Becky?” Quentin smirked during the faceoff. 

“Just get off my girl,” Beckett said, brushing him off. The only thing he cared about was that fucking puck. He wasn’t going to let a guy named Musty get to him.

“Your girl?” Quentin chuckled. “Not what she was saying when I was on her a couple minutes ago.”

Beckett shook his head, his grip tightening on his stick. Take the high road, alright? He’s just tryin’ to get under your skin.

“Maybe next time,” Quentin looked at Beckett. “Put that bitch on a tighter leash.”

Throwing his stick, Beckett lunged at Quentin. His fist striking directly at his jaw as the crowd gasped, not expecting a fight to happen before the puck was even in play—especially not a fight from Beckett fucking Sennecke.

Hazel stood up from her seat in the media room where she was working on graphics for the Ducks’ Instagram story. She watched from the TV that hung in the corner of the room, Beckett’s fist repeatedly hitting Quentin’s bloody face as the referees tried their best to break them apart. Her heart beat rapidly as she ran out the room and towards the tunnel. Everyone watched her run through the halls, trying to get to Beckett.

And when she saw him, a bloody lip and a stupid smile on his face, she wanted to rip him to fucking shreds. “Beckett,” she called, his head whipping to face her. “What the fuck just happened?” 

He walked slowly to her, grabbing her hand as she rolled her eyes. “He was talking shit about you, okay?”

“Yeah, well now you’re thrown out of the game,” she scoffed. “This is the first game of the fucking season. Now everyone’s gonna think you’re fuckin’ Matt Rempe or some shit.”

“Hey, I’m tall, but I’m not that tall,” he chuckled.

“Beckett—”

“I know, I know,” he sighed, rubbing his forehead. “It was just—the fucking things he was saying. I couldn’t let him get away with it, okay? Not when,” he stammered. “Not when they’re about you.”

Sighing, Hazel anxiously met his gaze. “What’d he say? ‘Cause I swear to you, I didn’t say anything to him, okay? I didn’t even want him next to me! He just kept getting closer,” she panicked, thinking he would be mad at her.

“Hey, hey,” he smiled. “I’m not mad at you. I know you didn’t do anything. Thank you for not doing anything,” he whispered. Pausing, he sighed again. “He called you a bitch. ‘Said I should hold you on a tighter leash.”

Hazel gulped, her heart plummeting. “Oh.” No one’s ever said that about her. Did he think she was some sort of slut?

Noticing her pull away from him, he held onto her tightly, pressing her against his chest. His chin rested on her head as they swayed side to side. “Hey, no one thinks anything bad about you, especially me, okay? It’s okay.”

Looking up at him, Beckett held her cheeks, his thumbs wiping the tears from her eyes. “Thanks for sticking up for me” she smiled softly. “You looked really cool by the way. I kinda dig the cuts,” she smirked, brushing over his wounded face. 

“I should get into more fights then, huh?”

“If you get into another fight I will personally beat your ass,” she grinned before sighing. “Thank you.”

He smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to her hand. “Anything for the princess.”

taglist! @bunbunbl0gs @crazy4smitty

[hart269]

Slithering Hearts

Chapter 2

Pairing : Regulus Black x Fem!reader

Synopsis : You begin an unlikely friendship with the little Black. And soon your whole life seems to have become a tumultuous pathway. The catch, James Potter is your brother.

Notes : A ride in Hogwarts express and the awaited House sorting

Masterlist / Series Masterlist

You were showing off your new owl to your mom, Euphemia, who smiled at the owl "He indeed is cute, what have you named it".

"Altair" you had exclaimed when James came running, more like dragging one of his friends.

"Mom, mom, meet him, It's Sirius" James exclaimed pointing at the other guy who stiffly bowed,

"It's nice to meet you Mrs. Potter".

Euphemia smiled pushing him up by his shoulders, "There's no need for such formalities dear". Sirius smiled, relaxing, then he glanced at you and smirked, "You must be the baby potter"

You turned at your brother glaring, "Baby potter", to which he just shrugged.

Turning to Sirius, you extended your hand, "I am Y/N Potter, one year younger, so not a baby".

Sirius chuckled shaking your hand, "If that pleases you".

Euphemia laughed, "Okay now, Sirius why don't you join us, we were gonna go for ice-cream". Sirius looked conflicted, "I would have loved to Mrs.Potter but my mother would kill me if I don't return back". Euphemia nodded, "Later then".

The rest of the shopping went by quick, you had brought many new books, like :-

"A detailed guide to mastering the first year " by Hana Dygh

"The Dark Forces : A Guide to self protection" by Quentin Trimble

with some other light reads. After you two had brought everything required, living and non living, you left the alley with a new member, Altair.

You were packed for Hogwarts, standing at the station you hugged your mom, while your dad was telling James to take care of you, since he was the older brother, which james grudgingly agreed to, earning a light slap on the back of his head. You hugged your dad and told them goodbyes, promising to write to them.

You got on the train with James, who wandered through the cabins before stopping on one where two boys were sitting and talking. One of them was comparatively small, with little eyes, while the other was quite lanky, with was a strange scar running down his neck, he was to first to glance up.

"Hey Mate", they all hugged each other while you stood quite awkwardly at the side, "And this is my sis, Y/N", you shook their hands as they introduced themselves,

"Peter Pettigrew, nice to meet you"

"Remus Lupin, pleasure to meet you"

"Pleasure to meet you too", you said shaking his hand, there seemed to be a wound on his wrist too, it seemed fresh, like an animal's claw, was he attacked, however you didn't stare, instead moved to sit beside James.

The train gate was banged open, huffing wildly, Sirius was standing there grinning, "Hello Guys" he grinned, however behind him you saw the same boy you had seen at the pet shop, he seemed almost embarassred at Sirius's antics, more so as everyone's eye shifted to him.

"This thing here is the new pride of the noble house of Black, Regulus" Sirius announced patting his shoulder.

The boy, Regulus seemed to cower more in itself, glancing tensely, until they landed at you, stopping in recognition. You smiled extending your hand to him, "Y/N Potter". He gently shook it. "Regulus Black"

The train ride was quite tense at first but then, it slowly eased into a more comfortable environment as everyone began talking about their summer, you learned about the various books Remus has read, about Sirius's "evil" as he claimed mothter. However, Regulus sitting infront of you was mostly reserved, so you tried your best to open him up.

"I named my owl Altair, what did you name yours?"

Regulus seemed to be lost in a deep thought, before blurting "Vega"

"That's a nice name"

"Thanks" he uttered the lightest pink dusting his cheeks.

The dusk came soon as the sun dipped into the horizon. The train landed at Hogmeade station, which you looked at wide eyed, it was a beautiful sight, you had heard them talk about it but it was different actually looking at it.

"Open your mouth a bit more and it will fall off" James snickered, leading you to hit him. "Okay, zouwu, first years go by the boat, don't fall in the river"

Sirius snapped his head at you, "Zouwu"

James turned excitedly, "It's a really funny story, on-oomph" James huffed as you hit him again, and fell silent after you threatened him with an embarassing story of his. They all went to the carraiges while you and Regulus joined other 1st years on the boat ride.

The boat you were on consisted of you, Rgulus, a girl named Ismelda and a guy named Barnaby. The dark lake was pitch black, with only the reflection of lights hung on your boats.

Barnaby searched his pockets, "Do you want to see in the black lake, I have someth-" a splash echoed as he slipped into the lake, without thinking you jumped after him, in the icy cold water. Seeing only darkness, you wildly flung your hand until your hand graabbed his leg, holding it you broke the surface, barely able to keep up, you felt two pair of hands wrap around you pulling you and Barnaby up, who coughed and gasped.

Regulus looked at you, "Are you okay?"

Barnaby spluttered, "I'm fine", causing you to snort.

Soon both of you were dry with a swoosh of Professor McGonagoll's wand, who looked at you pointedly, something about potters always present during troubles, and led to the great hall for house sorting. One by one students were called and sorted, leading a cheer from their respective houses. Regulus went before you, sitting apprehensively at the stool.

"SLYTHERIN"

You glanced at Sirius, who visibly slumped, eyes glinting with dissapointment. Regulus looked relaxed but solemn. And soon your name was called, before the hat covered your eyes, you saw James giving you a thumbs-up with a wide grin. Sitting in anticipation, you waited in baited breath, suddenly a voice spoke to you, in your mind,

"Hmm, you seem to have a wandering mind yet its sharp, theres bravery, potential"

Thrn it was a sharp silence, and a loud cheer as your ears rang and you tried to make sure you had heard correctly,

"SLYTHERIN"

[maybe-im-dark]

Half the boyfriend, half the fun

Chapter 2 | Chapter 1

The best way to pass the time until his legs fully grew back was to sit in Dopinder's car and eat samosas. Wade ignored Dopinder's complaints that his mother had baked them for him. She could make new ones. He had bigger worries. He couldn’t stop thinking about Logan and the fact that he was responsible for his condition. Damn, he couldn’t even remember exactly what had happened! If only he’d never convinced Logan to come along on this mission. But that was just another bad decision added to the long line of bad decisions that defined his life. He could practically hear his father’s voice. Idiot, faggot, loser! You can’t do anything right! Wade shook his head. No! He would make it right. He would find a way to fix this.

He pulled his phone out of his belt pouch and sent a text.

Wade: Hey :3

Negasonic Teenage Bitch: What do you want?

Wade: I need a fayvr. Big one

Negasonic Teenage Bitch: ?

Wade: Logan’s hewrt. U need to find out wat they're dooing to him

Negasonic Teenage Bitch: Find out yourself

Wade: I...may or may not be bent from the promises

Negasonic Teenage Bitch: Not my problem

Wade: Then I’ll brayk in

Negasonic Teenage Bitch: You’re gonna get in so much trouble

Wade: Aight bet

Wade looked down at his legs. A few toes were still missing, but otherwise, they were back in their scarred, pale glory.

"Dopinder, I have to go. You wouldn’t happen to have pants for me, would you?"

He eyed Dopinder’s jeans.

Dopinder shook his head vigorously. "No, you’re not getting mine!"

Wade sighed. "It’s probably for the best. These buns don’t wear Levi’s!"

Sneaking around the back of the building was easier than expected. There was no sign of security cameras, but then again, who needed them with mutants who could see through walls? Unfortunately for him, none of the windows were open, so his plan of entering quietly was thwarted. Concentrating, he scanned the ground until he found what he was looking for.

"Let him, who is without sin, cast the first stone!" he muttered with a grin, tossing a rock through the window.

After climbing inside, Wade realized he was completely lost. The mansion was a maze, and he’d only been there a few times. The wood-paneled walls all looked the same, and the portraits of old white men didn’t provide any hints as to where he was.

"Quentin, was that you? I told you to..."

Storm was descending the stairs. Her white hair was styled in a sassy pixie cut, and she wore a pink crop top with glittery letters spelling out, "RAINING ON YOUR PARADE."

When she saw Wade, she let out a sharp shriek and covered her eyes.

"Wade?"

"Yes?"

"Why aren’t you wearing pants?"

The mercenary puffed out his chest. "Marvel Jesus doesn’t need mundane things like pants!"

Storm sighed, still covering her eyes. "I’ll take you to the Professor."

Now wearing a pair of gray sweatpants emblazoned with the school emblem, Wade sat stiffly in front of Professor Xavier’s desk, arms crossed, staring at the wall. The spacious office felt confining to him, like a cage, despite the ample space and the light streaming through the tall windows. Behind the desk was a bookshelf set into the wood-paneled wall, filled with countless books whose gilded, ornate titles he couldn’t decipher. In one corner stood a large globe, and in another, a sitting area with a chessboard. On the desk itself were a few file folders, a Newton’s cradle, and a photo of the Professor himself, younger and with a full head of hair. Beside him stood another young man with his arm draped around him, presumably Magneto. It might have been more than a friendly gesture; they’d been arguing for decades like an old married couple.

"Wade," Charles said, giving him a calming smile. "Can I offer you something to drink?"

Wade shook his head defiantly. "I don’t want a drink. I want to see Logan."

The Professor’s expression turned somber. "You know that’s not possible."

"Urgh, okay. I’m sorry for calling you Egghead. Can I see Logan now?"

"I don’t think you fully understand the gravity of the situation, Wade. Something has nullified Logan’s healing factor. Dr. McCoy is currently treating him, and any outside influence could be harmful to him in this critical state."

Wade’s eyes narrowed. "So, what am I supposed to do now?"

Charles thoughtfully placed a finger on his chin. "Well, you could help by telling us what happened. Jean mentioned that you also lost your legs. A failed mission, I assume. What exactly happened there?"

Wade ran his hands over his face. "That’s the thing! I don’t remember! I..."

His voice broke. Loser. He was a fucking loser. The love of his life was fighting for his life, and his brain had decided to shut down. Logan was going to die painfully, and it was all his fault. Tears welled up in his eyes.

Charles took his hand and squeezed it gently. "I could help you remember."

Wade nearly jumped out of his chair. "Oh no! After Cassandra Nova—did you know you had a psychopathic twin sister?— there’s no way I’m letting anyone into my head again."

"I’ll only see what you allow me to see, and only with your consent," Charles assured him.

Wade swallowed and nodded. After all, this wasn’t about him. Charles slowly extended his fingertips toward him. He’d nearly reached Wade’s temple when the screams echoed through the halls. Desperate, raw, agonizing screams. Logan’s screams.

Wade burst out the door, ignoring the Professor’s shouts. He ran down the hallway, nearly tripping over his own feet. He didn’t know where he was going, just following the sound of the screams, his chest tight with fear. His bare feet slapped against the wooden floor as he followed the sounds to a door with frosted glass. It was locked, but that was no obstacle for Wade, who’d served in a military special unit. He pivoted halfway, raised his leg, and kicked hard. The door burst open.

Nothing in the world could have prepared him for the sight that greeted him. Hank was bending over an operating table. Logan lay on it, his torso crudely stapled back together at the hips. But that wasn’t the worst of it. What froze the blood in Wade’s veins were the tubes. Countless tubes and wires ran out of Logan’s body and back into him at different points. He looked like a machine. But unlike machines, he was screaming.

Wade was reminded of Weapon X. He quickly made his way over to Logan. Logan’s eyes darted back and forth beneath his closed lids.

"Oh God, what did you do to him?"

He reached out to stroke Logan’s face, but Logan’s hand shot out, gripping his arm. His eyes snapped open, revealing yellow irises staring at Wade from blood-red sclera. His lips parted, exposing razor-sharp fangs. Then he lunged forward and sank his teeth into Wade.

[srslyblvck]

the devil you know, avengers

pairing: avengers x fem!reader, bucky x fem!reader

synopsis: the avengers seem really desperate as they come to you—the person who went under their skin like no one else to help them win against hydra. while they are walking on eggshells around you, you are having fun causing chaos.

warnings: mentions of y/n (maybe), blood, violence, gore

word count: 1.2k

chapter: 3/?

author's note: important!! so, would you guys like a platonic relationship with the avengers or a romantic? If romantic, bucky or tony would be nice and suitable. so, platonic or tony or bucky?

series masterlist

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ BACK AT THE AVENGERS compound, the post-mission debrief had been mercifully short. For once, you didn’t get a full Captain America lecture on “responsibility” and “teamwork.” Mostly because Steve seemed too busy trying to process how you had gone through that many Hydra agents and returned looking like you'd stepped off a battlefield from a Quentin Tarantino film.

Now, it was downtime—a rare moment when the team wasn’t trying to save the world. You were lounging on one of the compound's couches in the common room, legs kicked up, the power-suppressing cuffs still firmly locked around your wrists. Annoying, but you’d gotten used to them. For now, anyway.

Natasha and Clint were seated across from you, playing some kind of ridiculously intense game of cards, while Tony stood nearby with a glass of something dark and expensive, scrolling through his tablet. Bruce and Sam were in the kitchen, debating the finer points of post-mission recovery snacks, and Bucky, as usual, sat in the corner, watching you with silent suspicion.

“So,” you said, leaning back with a dramatic sigh. “Anyone going to acknowledge the fact that I saved the day back there, or are we just pretending like that didn’t happen?”

Clint didn’t even look up from his cards. “Yeah, I’ll pass on the standing ovation.”

“You know, I get that a lot,” you said, flashing him a grin. “People pretending they don’t appreciate me. It’s cute, really.”

Tony snorted from behind his tablet. “I think you’re confusing ‘appreciation’ with ‘barely tolerating.’ Common mistake.”

You sat up, stretching your arms out, the cuffs clinking softly with the movement. “Oh, come on, Stark. Don’t act like you weren’t impressed when I pulled that little vanishing trick earlier. Admit it, you thought I was gone for good.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, glancing at you over the rim of his glass. “Impressed? I was more focused on how Sam nearly had a heart attack when you popped up like a horror movie villain.”

Sam, hearing his name, poked his head out from the kitchen. “Yeah, don’t remind me. I don’t need that kind of stress in my life.”

You grinned. “What can I say? I’m good at making an entrance.”

“Or an exit,” Natasha muttered, throwing a card down. “You didn’t have to make that base look like a crime scene, you know.”

“I was being efficient,” you replied with mock offense, clutching your chest theatrically. “Besides, they were Hydra agents. No one’s shedding a tear for them.”

Bucky, sitting quietly with his arms crossed, finally spoke up. “Efficient? You looked like you went through a meat grinder.”

“Yeah, but it was a stylish meat grinder,” you shot back, giving him a wink. Bucky rolled his eyes but said nothing more.

Tony set his tablet down, walking over to where you were sprawled on the couch. “Okay, let’s talk about those cuffs,” he said, gesturing at your wrists. “How are you feeling? Any tingling? Loss of sensation?”

You waved your cuffed wrists in the air nonchalantly. “Feeling like I’ve been shackled for no good reason, Stark. Other than that, just peachy.”

Tony ignored the jab and tapped on his wrist as a holographic display flickered to life in front of him. “Good. Because those cuffs are tuned specifically to block your powers without cutting off circulation or, you know, frying your nervous system. Pretty cutting-edge stuff.”

“Cutting-edge? They’re glorified handcuffs, Tony,” you shot back, twirling your wrists. “And honestly, the fact that I’m still wearing them after all the fun I’ve had with you guys seems a little unfair.”

“Oh, don’t even start,” Clint muttered. “You got way too into that fight back at the base.”

“Yeah, well, maybe if you didn’t get winded so easily, I wouldn’t have had to,” you teased, leaning forward and throwing your feet off the couch. “Honestly, guys, it was like you wanted me to do all the heavy lifting.”

Natasha smirked at that, not looking up from her hand of cards. “You enjoy the heavy lifting.”

“Yeah, okay, true,” you admitted, tossing your hands up. “But you can’t blame me. It’s not my fault Hydra doesn’t know how to hire proper security.”

Tony walked over to the minibar, pouring himself another drink. “You say that now, but I’m the one who has to deal with the cleanup bill when you get a little too... enthusiastic.”

You leaned back again, propping your arms up on the couch. “Oh, come on, Tony. Think of it this way—it’s great for morale. I’m keeping you all sharp.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “By scaring the crap out of everyone?”

“Exactly!” you exclaimed, grinning wide. “Fear is a great motivator.”

Before anyone could respond, Sam emerged from the kitchen, holding a bowl of popcorn. “Can we talk about how you almost gave me an actual heart attack when you showed up on the quinjet covered in blood?” He looked at you with mock indignation. “I’ve had a long week.”

You gave him an innocent look. “I didn’t think you’d scare so easily, Wilson. You know, with all your fancy flying and all.”

Sam just rolled his eyes, plopping down next to you on the couch and shoving the popcorn bowl in your direction. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Next time, you’re sitting in the back with Clint.”

Clint’s head snapped up. “Hey, leave me out of this.”

You chuckled, grabbing a handful of popcorn and tossing a piece into your mouth. “You guys are too sensitive. You act like I’m the wild card or something.”

“Because you are the wild card,” Tony replied dryly, swirling his drink. “That’s literally your job here.”

You grinned wider, kicking your feet back up onto the coffee table. “I prefer to think of myself as... spontaneous.”

“More like a walking disaster,” Clint muttered under his breath.

“Hey, disaster with flair,” you corrected, pointing a finger at him. “Big difference.”

Steve walked in just then, giving everyone a once-over, his expression softening when he saw you lounging comfortably in the middle of the chaos. “Everyone getting along?”

You flashed him a playful grin. “As well as can be expected, Cap. We were just talking about how I saved the day—again.”

Steve crossed his arms, clearly unimpressed. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

You shrugged. “I’m just saying, Hydra didn’t stand a chance. Honestly, I made it too easy for you guys.”

Bucky scoffed. “You’re lucky we didn’t leave you behind.”

You smirked, raising your cuffed wrists again. “Oh, please. We all know I’m the life of the party.”

Before Steve could respond, Tony clapped his hands together, clearly ready to move on. “Alright, alright. Enough banter. Let’s talk about something important. Dinner plans.”

You perked up. “Oh, now we’re talking. Chinese, like I said. But not that Panda Express garbage. I know a place.”

“Yeah, yeah, you and your fancy hole-in-the-wall joints,” Tony said, rolling his eyes but clearly intrigued. “Alright, fine. I’m in.”

Natasha laid her cards down, looking up with a glint of amusement in her eyes. “As long as it’s not one of those places where the menu’s in another language and no one speaks English.”

You shrugged, leaning back with a mischievous smile. “Where’s the fun in that?”

The room filled with easy laughter, and for once, you could almost forget the tension that usually came with being around the Avengers. Almost.

Even with the cuffs on, even with their eyes still watching you like you were a ticking time bomb, you had to admit—you kind of liked being here.

Not that you’d ever tell them that.

[ckret2]

Chapter 35 of human Bill Cipher is still prisoner of the Mystery Shack and still handcuffed to Stan in spite of their mutual irritation: we return to them under attack by the tooth fairy and her dentist lackey.

In light of this terrible peril, Bill and Stan put aside their differences, politely agree to cooperate, and work together maturely to deal with the threat—

Haha I'm kidding, no they're screaming the most offensive things they can think of at each other.

####

Packed in a dark cluttered closet, trying not to breathe too much of the same air as Bill, under the sound of the dentist mauling his way through the bedroom door, Stan growled, "Okay, genius—do you actually have a plan for when we get downstairs?"

Bill had hooked his borrowed umbrella over his elbow to let him rummage through the closet's contents. Trying to keep his voice low, he said, "We can take the fairy ring down to the guest room and make a run for the exit in the floor room." His eyes lit up with delight. "Hey! Vintage congressman top hat!" He sniffed it. "It still smells like Quentin and peanut brittle." He put on the hat.

Eugh. Stan found himself glad he couldn't see in the dark. "Why the floor room? It's a lot faster to just cut through the living room to the gift shop."

Bill hesitated. "Sure. Fine—"

"What's the matter, Bill, you got a problem with the living room?"

"What?" Bill scoffed. "Of course not. I said fine. It's fine!" He found a large baggie full of teeth, popped it open and licked one to confirm they were real, and stuck the bag under his new hat.

"But it took you a second," Stan said. "If we head for the living room, you won't slow us down by trying to go the other way, will you?"

"Of course not," Bill repeated. It was a little less convincing than the last time. "I was just—trying to figure out if that was the fastest way—"

"Oh, really," Stan pressed. "You sure you aren't scared to go in there with me?"

Bill whipped around to stare at Stan in the dark.

"You think I haven't noticed how you bolt out of the living room any time I come in?" Stan asked. "Or how you flinch every time I raise my hand?"

Bill swallowed hard. "I don't know what you're talking about." He chuckled derisively. "I think you're fantasizing, Stan—"

"Do you really think I don't remember how you died."

Bill's voice caught in his throat. "You said..."

"Yeah, I wanted to see what kind of story you'd make up. You just can't stop talking down to me even when you know it's all lies," Stan said. "As if I'd ever forget seeing you on your knees, begging me for mercy, while I shattered your face like a cheap mirror—"

Bill shoved Stan against one wall, small hands wrapped ineffectively around his throat. "You don't know what you're talking about!"

"Admit it!" Stan shoved Bill against the opposite wall; Bill tripped and landed heavily on a cardboard box. "Admit that I killed you too! I played just as much a part in it as he did!"

"You did not kill me!" Bill stood on the box, even as it threatened to collapse under his weight, so he could scream in Stan's face, "You couldn't have killed me! I'M NOT CAPABLE OF BEING KILLED BY SOMEONE LIKE YOU!"

"THEN WHY ARE YOU AFRAID OF ME?!"

"I'M NOT AFRAID—"

An enormous drill bit pierced the wood between their faces. Bill and Stan screamed.

Just on the other side of the door, Pearl cried, "Careful! Don't hit the girl's teeth!"

Stan snarled, "You moron, look what you—!"

"You started it!" Bill pounded on the door. "Hey! Frankie! Is this worth it?!" He jumped back as the drill came through again, just in front of his sternum. It grazed Stan's bicep; he roared in pain. Bill shouted, "Was paying off your dental school loans worth this? Do you wanna be a murderer, kid?!"

"I can't stop now!" Dr. Illing was audibly sobbing. "You don't understand, I'm in too deep!" The drill pierced again, widening the hole he'd already started.

"If you think she's scary, you can't imagine what I've got—"

Stan clapped a hand on Bill's shoulder hard enough to make him jump; but he growled in Bill's ear, "Count of three."

Bill hesitated, squinting at Stan's future to see what he was planning; but nodded. "Fine." He didn't understand the purpose but he could copy the motion.

Stan put his hand on the doorknob. "One, two..." Bill squeezed his eyes shut. They slammed their shoulders against the door, Stan grunting in pain. Dr. Illing's drill caught in the wood, and they kept shoving it open, jamming the dentist between the door and the wall. Bill leaned against the wood with his full weight to keep Dr. Illing trapped, using his new umbrella to swat away the fairy buzzing in his face. Stan toppled an old fortune telling machine in front of the door to pin it in place.

Pearl barked, "You're useless, Frank!" She had drawn out a wand that looked like a metallic blue toothbrush and was aiming it at Bill's face. "I'll get those teeth myself if I have to!"

Wheezing through crushed lungs, Dr. Illing said, "But the treaty—"

"What treaty?!" From five feet away, she fired a bolt of mint white magic at Bill's horrified face.

Stan seized Bill's umbrella, opened it, and deflected the spell. It ricocheted off the umbrella and punched a flaming hole through the ceiling. From behind this temporary shield, Bill took out the teeth bag and flung a handful across the room.

Pearl gasped, abandoning Dr. Illing to dart after them. "Babies! I didn't hurt you, did I?!" Huh. More effective than Bill had expected.

"Go!" Stan ran for the door, grabbing Bill by the wrist to pull him along too. Bill snatched back his umbrella as Stan paused to shut the bedroom door behind them again. Even though Dr. Illing had shredded the wood around the latch, maybe he'd still struggle to figure out how to open it.  "Living room?"

"I said fine!" Bill shut his umbrella and used it to point toward the fairy ring. "As long as you don't act immature about it!"

"I'm the one being immature?! You're the one who's scared of a room!" They stopped in the fairy ring, too close to each other for comfort; and then, with a disorienting whoosh, they were standing in an identical circle of mushrooms in the guest room. "Why does it even matter so much whether Ford or me killed you?" Stan yanked the door open. "Why is it so hard to admit that I threw the punch that took you out?!"

Bill clumsily kicked several sliced mushrooms aside, breaking the fairy ring, and nearly fell as he tried to keep up with Stan's pace. "Because you didn't kill me! You can't kill me because YOU AREN'T IMPORTANT!"

Stan spluttered in outrage, turning to stare at Bill. "Not important enough to kill you?! How does that even make sense! What, you think you're—too good for a guy like me to take down?!"

Bill's eyes widened the tiniest bit, as though he'd just realized something. A sickeningly gleeful grin stretched across his face. "It's true! I've looked into countless universes! No matter where you go or what you do, you just don't matter!" He wrenched his arm free of Stan's grip with such an effort that he nearly fell down; but he raised his gaze again to Stan's face. "If anything, you just make everything worse."

Stan's hands curled into fists. "You'd better watch your mouth—"

But when Bill planted the tip of his umbrella in the carpet and raised his cuffed hand to point at Stan, he stopped. Just a second ago Bill had been whiny and defensive; but now his inhuman gaze transfixed Stan to the spot. There was power in that mad self-assurance Stan had only ever seen before in criminal lords who commanded hundreds of gangsters. Bill bore himself like an ancient god preparing to pass judgment on a mortal, and Stan had no choice but to listen in dread to his revelation.

Bill said, "You know, I first tried to work with Stanford in a universe where you don't exist? And I couldn't get into his head! He wouldn't give me a chance!" He jabbed his finger toward Stan's chest like a knife. "Because YOU hadn't ruined his life and made him desperate enough to trust an alien! And YOU hadn't spent your whole crooked childhood training him to put up with a con artist's lies—so he'd be ready when he met me. Isn't that funny, Stanley?"

The air rushed from Stan's lungs. His voice was thin and trembling with rage. "You just— You're trying to get on my nerves." He'd never heard anything before that sounded so terribly true. 

"So what if I am! It's still true!" Bill's laughter was like a shriek. "You were stillborn in that universe! Your brother had to grow up without a twin watching over him—so he actually learned how to make friends. And he was a big success at West Coast Tech. Your mother was devastated she'd lost you—but you know what's really funny?" He had the awful grin of a court jester about to deliver a punchline that would start a war. "I think your family loved that dead baby you more than they ever liked the disappointment you turned out to be—"

Stan socked Bill as hard as he could.

He expected Bill to flinch, to duck, to shield his head—something. Bill always flinched. Instead he locked up, facing Stan, wide-eyed and watching the incoming blow. The punch connected with his face with a sickening crunch. Bill toppled flat on his back. His top hat and umbrella tumbled across the floor. The chain jerked Stan down to kneel over Bill.

It was like a spell had broken. Stan stared down at Bill like an idiot. He felt like an idiot. The shock even snapped him out of his anger. He uncurled his fist, saw a smear of blood on one knuckle, tried to say something, and only managed to come up with, "Aw, jeez."

Bill was weak. He wasn't a demon anymore; he was a yappy chihuahua trying to sound bigger than he was because he was scared. Stan knew that. He was only kicking a washed-up loser of a con artist while he was down.

He'd been there before.

Bill had slapped his hand over his mouth and nose, fingers digging into the skin, eyes squeezed shut in pain.

Stan swallowed hard. "Hey, I didn't mean to do that much— I mean, you had it coming, but still... uh... you okay?" He awkwardly offered Bill a hand.

Bill reached up—and placed a bloody tooth, root and all, in Stan's palm. 

Stan stared. "Wh."

"Tooth fairy bait." Bill gave Stan a wild, bloody smile. "Thanks for the help. It's been loose for days."

Tooth fairy— Stan automatically glanced toward the doorway to see whether their pursuers were catching up. And only then did he realize they were in the middle of the living room, standing in front of Stan's armchair. He'd been set up.

He stared at Bill.

Bill glared up at Stan. Voice rough, he said, "Who's scared of you?" He spat a wad of bloody spit at Stan's face. The attempt was so weak it landed on Bill's own shirt. A far cry from the whiny triangle who'd tried to bribe Stan into sparing his life.

They both looked up at the sound of wood cracking. Stan said, "All right, we've got bait." He seized Bill's bloody hand and, with a grunt, tried to heave him upright. "Can we set a trap?"

Bill unsteadily climbed to his feet. "I guess?" Either he hadn't thought past getting punched in the face, or the blow had knocked his plan out of his head.

Upstairs, Pearl snapped, "Now hurry, before we lose them!" Dr. Illing's footsteps thudded across the attic floorboards.

"Move," Stan hissed, and when Bill turned to glance cluelessly behind himself at the door, Stan rolled his eyes and shoved him.

Bill tripped over the steps up to the gift shop and stumbled backwards through the swinging door, with Stan following. When Bill had steadied himself, he stared in wide-eyed bafflement at the door he'd just passed through. "How did I..."

"Focus, Cipher!" Stan snapped his fingers in Bill's face. "Gimme some nerdy magic. What traps fairies?"

Bill dragged his gaze away from the door and shook his head woozily. "Uhh... carefully-worded contracts... salt lines, iron..."

"You couldn't have mentioned salt when we could've reached the kitchen?" Stan looked around the gift shop. Iron, iron...

"Wow, that's a great idea. Remind me why we were so bent on getting to the living room?"

"Watch it. You've got a few teeth left." Stan smacked Bill's arm, making him jump, and pointed. "Got it! The old diving helmet!"

Bill squinted his eyes unevenly. "Oh yeah—the one Fordsy got ripped off on. Hey—didja know diving helmets are supposed to be copper, but he got sold a spray-painted—"

"For two minutes, please stop talking about my brother. Will it work?" 

Bill slowly traced a finger through the air as if he were trying to track the path of something only he could see. "Yeah, it could work."

"'Could'?"

The gaps at the top and bottom of the "Employees Only" door glowed bright blue. "Fresh blood," Pearl said, "they went this way!"

"Give me the tooth," Bill said. "And keep Frank out, we're dead if he gets in."

"In there!" Pearl cried, and Dr. Illing's drill revved again. The door to the living room was a swinging door without a latch; curse or no, if Dr. Illing hit it, it would fly right open.

Stan yelled, "Hold it! Do not drill that door! It's... it's load bearing! Yeah, if you start hacking holes in it the whole shack could come down on us!"

The drill powered down. Dr. Illing said dubiously, "That doesn't sound right, but I don't know enough about doors to dispute it."

Pearl swooped under the door—carrying an armload of the teeth Bill had thrown earlier—but she turned around when she realized Dr. Illing wasn't following. "What are you stopping for, you idiot! He's lying! Doors don't work like that—"

"Hey, sparkles!" Bill held his bloody tooth up next to his head. "You want this?!"

She gasped in horror, clapping her hands over her mouth and dropping the teeth. "You knocked it out! You monster, what if you chipped it?!" She drew her wand again and, with a tiny shrill roar, she dove for it.

Bill pulled it out of her way with the grace of a matador dodging a bull. She wheeled around faster than Bill could react, flung a spell at his back, and made another dive for the tooth. Stan jerked him out of the way. Bill laughed, "Is that all you've got? I've seen better flying out of dandelion seeds!"

She whirled around to face him again with a growl of frustration, fluffy bob cut puffed up in rage, wings buzzing like the propeller of a fighter plane. The third time she dove for the tooth, she snatched it out of Bill's fingers.

And immediately rammed head-first into the back of the solid iron diving helmet. It rang out like a broken bell. She croaked, "ow."

Stan slammed the front window of the helmet shut. "Ha!"

"Yes!" Bill pointed at the helmet. "You're stupid!"

Dr. Illing—who had dropped down to the ground to peer through the three-inch gap at the bottom of the door—cried, "No!" He pounded on the door in frustration. It swung a few inches open. He stared at it in bafflement. It swung back and hit him in the forehead.

"Well, well, well. It looks like we've got a proper hostage situation, don't we?" Bill rapped on top of the helmet with his umbrella's hooked handle. "Better stay away from the sides, Pearly. What would you say touching iron feels more like—being burned, or electrified? I've always wondered, but never had an opportunity to possess a fairy—"

Stan elbowed him. "Ix-nay on the ossess-pay."

"Right, right." Bill turned to Dr. Illing. "It'd be pretty easy for me to bounce your patron off the walls of this thing. So how's about you drop the power tools and back away from the door?"

Dr. Illing gave Bill the despairing look of a man who'd been struggling to carry an impossibly heavy weight for decades, only for one swift jab in the ribs to make him drop it. But he got to his feet, and after a moment, his yellow tool bag dropped heavily beside the door.

Stan opened the door, slung the bag over his shoulder before Bill got a chance to rifle through it, and pulled out the drill Dr. Illing had been menacing them with. Holding Dr. Illing at drill point, he nodded toward the gift shop exit. "Get walking. Outside."

"But..." Dr. Illing tried to look past Bill and Stan to the diving helmet.

Bill slung an arm around Dr. Illing's back, aggressively encouraging him to hasten toward the door. "Don't worry about her! We plan to resolve this peacefully, don't we, Fisher?"

"Oh yeah," Stan said. "Nothing to worry about."

"But we're negotiating with the boss, not the lackey. So..."

Stan opened the door. Bill planted a foot on Dr. Illing's butt and shoved. "Out you go!"

Dr. Illing went sprawling across the porch. Stan slammed the door on him as he got to his hands and knees. He looked over his shoulder to give them a look like a puppy who'd been kicked out in the rain.

"You're going to be in so much trouble when I get out of here," Pearl yelled. She grabbed the bars across the window in the diving helmet, then gasped and withdrew her hands as the iron burned her palms. "When the fairy queen hears about this—!"

"That you were breaking into a human dwelling to try to rip my teeth out of my mouth?" Bill asked. "Oh, I'd love to know what she'll think of that."

Stan rummaged in the nook where Wendy shoved spare napkins and plasticware whenever she brought fast food to work. He used a few napkins to wipe off the bloody scrape the drill had left on his shoulder in the closet, and held a handful out to Bill. "Here."

Bill took them. "What?"

"Your face is a mess. Thought you might wanna—you know." Stan attempted to pantomime shoving napkins in his mouth. As much as Stan thought Bill had deserved the sock, he'd feel like a heel if he didn't help clean him up after the fact.

"Oh. Right." Bill attempted to wipe off his chin, then stuffed a napkin up in the gap where his tooth used to be and pulled it out to see how much blood it picked up. It was a lot. He shrugged and turned to the tooth fairy, grinning. "So. I believe we were negotiating?"

"I'm not negotiating anything with you," Pearl huffed. "Look at what you did to this poor tooth!" She was hugging it protectively to her chest, her thin blue dress stained with blood from the root. "Maybe I haven't obeyed the spirit of my treaty, but I've obeyed the letter of it, and the fairy court will back me up on that—"

"Again, you did try to rip my teeth straight out of my mouth in the middle of the night," Bill said.

"I never! A dentist did! If he happened to feel like giving me the tooth after that, that's his business, isn't it. I could have been aiming my wand at anybody, you don't know."

"Sure, sure! You did nothing wrong. You slid neatly through those loopholes. Maybe your court will even agree with you." Bill leaned closer to the helmet, grinning through the window. "But don't you think—if I drive over to Multnomah County, walk backwards into your queen's court, and tell her what you've been doing—she won't want to close those loopholes? No more hench-dentists."

Pearl had gone very still. "'Walk b—'? How do you... What do you know about our court?"

Bill laughed wryly. "Kid, I've known your court since before it moved to America. I've spoken with the ancestors of the ancestors of your queen. The fae tell fairy tales about me, so if you know what's good for you—"

"Easy." Stan put a warning hand on Bill's shoulder. "Just because she's not human doesn't mean you can just..."

"I know, I know."

Pearl had been watching Bill skeptically as he spoke, clearly trying to weigh how much of his boasting was true—but seeing Stan try to silence him apparently persuaded her of his honesty. Her eyes widened in alarm. "Who—What's your name?"

Bill cast a sideways glance toward Stan, then shrugged ruefully. "Afraid I'm not allowed to tell. You know where we are—even people like you and me can't afford to disobey the collector's house rules. You can call me Goldie Locke. And if you don't want me to negotiate your release with your queen, then you'd better be willing to negotiate with us. Are we clear?"

Pearl nodded.

"Wonderful." (Dr. Illing had circled the gift shop to the nearest window, where he was staring forlornly in at Bill, Stan, and the helmet containing Pearl. Bill waved cheerfully at him.) "I don't know about the Fisherman, here—but I, for one, would like to make sure this doesn't become a problem again. So how about this: if you promise to leave, never harass us again, never have your agents harass us, never via any means attempt to harm us or steal our worldly goods—teeth included—either directly or indirectly, and never return to this house, then we promise not to report your little dentist scheme to your queen. Does that sound fair to you?"

Pearl pouted; but she reluctantly nodded. "Yes, yes—that's fair. I agree."

"Hold on," Stan said. "Once she's outta here, how do we know she'll keep that promise? Shouldn't we get some kind of, I don't know, insurance?"

"She's a fairy," Bill said. "She can't lie even if she wants to. They're compelled to tell the truth. They can twist it, and they can try to get you with tricky wording, but they can't lie. Once they've made a promise, it's unbreakable."

Stan considered that. "Huh." He'd have to double-check that claim with Ford later, he'd know.

"Which is why I get along so well with them," Bill said cheerily, "since I never lie either."

Stan laughed loudly, smacking Bill's back. "Sure! And I'm the queen of England."

Bill mock bowed. "Oh my, your majesty. I had no idea." Stan laughed again.

"I agreed to your terms," Pearl snapped, "so set me free!"

"Hold on." Bill propped his elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand, leaning close to the helmet again. "I seem to recall I only promised not to tattle to your queen. I didn't promise to let you go." He glanced at Stan. "Isn't that what you heard?"

Now what was he up to? But Stan nodded in agreement. "That's what I heard, all right."

Bill winked. "Like I said: tricky wording."

Pearl let out a swear that sounded like tinkling bells and stomped her foot. "That's ridiculous! If you've already sworn not to tell the queen about my methods, you no longer have any blackmail against me! You can negotiate with her for my release now, for all I care!"

"Your tricky wording backfired," Stan said.

Bill didn't look bothered. "All right. I'm sure you're happy to wait right here until we make the long drive into town, aren't you. You do know where we are, right?"

The fairy's face immediately darkened. "You... I don't see why not! There's nothing to fear in this house."

"Isn't there? Want us to go wake up the head of the house, ask him to babysit you until we get back?" Bill asked.

Huff. "He's gone."

"He's back," Bill said. "If you're lucky, maybe he'll stick you in the freezer for an hour, so it won't hurt when he pins your wings to a cork board." (Stan blinked at Bill in amazement. Head of the house—Soos? Soos?)

Pearl shuddered. "You're a liar."

"Am I?" Bill raised his cuffed wrist. "I've worked with the queens of your queens. I have powers you've never dreamed of. Do you think I'm chained to a doppelgänger for fun?"

Stan said, "To a wh...?" but at Bill's sharp look, he fell silent. All right. A lot of phrases that didn't make sense to him had just flown by. Clearly Bill was using some kind of fairy talk mumbo-jumbo to give her a wildly inaccurate impression of what was going on in this shack. Stan had manners, he wasn't about to interrupt a fellow professional in the middle of conning a mark.

Pearl worked her jaw angrily; but there was something nervous in her gaze now, glancing between Stan's face, the handcuffs, and the rest of the shack. "Maybe you're not as important as you think you are," she said unconvincingly.

"I've got magic teeth, girl."

"Fine!" Pearl stamped her foot. "Fine, I'll negotiate with you! What else do you want?"

Bill pointed at her chest. "I want to choose my payment for that tooth there."

She hugged the tooth protectively, but said, "Fine."

Bill looked at Stan. "You want anything?"

He considered that. "Better-fitting dentures would be nice? Can she do that? Is that something I can ask for?"

"Yeah, you can ask for that."

"Is that all?" Pearl snapped.

"Dentures for him, payment for me, unenchant our door and take out the carvings you left in it, and..." Bill glanced at Stan again, who shrugged. Bill said, "Yeah, I think that's it. Deal?"

"Deal!"

Bill gestured toward the helmet, and Stan flipped its front window open. Pearl stepped out, hovered up level with Stan's face, and gave him a murderous glare; but she drew out her toothbrush wand again and flicked it at him. "There. Happy?"

Stan adjusted his jaw thoughtfully. "Yeah. Oh, those're real nice. Hardly feels like they're there."

"They're better than you deserve," Pearl said haughtily; then turned to Bill. "And you? What payment do you want?"

Bill grinned wide, pointing at the new gap in his teeth. "Solid gold replacement! 24k."

"Pure gold's too malleable for dental work."

"I don't care, this body's a temp. Gimme the good stuff."

She gave him a sour look, but again waved her wand. The blood evaporated from Bill's teeth and gums and a new tooth materialized in the gap, the exact shape of the original but shining gold. Bill licked it experimentally. "Yeah, that'll do."

"Now get outta here," Stan said, "and take your creepy tooth temple with you."

"Hmph!" She turned her nose up at both of them; then zipped across the gift shop, ducking down to snatch up a couple of dropped teeth as she went. She dipped under the door into the living room and was gone.

"Well," Bill said. "We ended up better than we started. Free dental work, a bag of tools..."

"A bunch of property damage," Stan said. "We should've asked her to fix the kids' door."

"Ah." Bill winced. "Nooo, no, probably best we didn't push our luck. Fixing the other door's enough."

Stan shook his head, without much real rancor. "Can't admit you made a mistake, can you?"

"That would be a lie, wouldn't it? And like I said, I'd never lie." Bill smiled impishly. His new tooth gleamed in the dim light. "Let's clean up some of the teeth and mushrooms, huh?"

####

Sweeping up the gift shop was awkward with the handcuffs in the way, but they worked out a system: Stan handled the broom while Bill knelt and held the dustpan. Bill had retrieved his borrowed top hat and umbrella when they went for the broom, and now he kept his cuffed hand on the umbrella, which limited Stan's movement. He almost fussed about it, until he realized Bill's hand was shaking, and each time he stood he leaned on the umbrella like a wobbly cane. Stan tried not to notice how Bill sometimes winced when he had to turn his neck.

As they awkwardly swept up the gift shop, Bill said, "Lucky you got the dentist to stop drilling the door in time, huh."

"What?"

Bill nodded toward the living room. "The load bearing door? I didn't even realize it was that important." He laughed flatly. "We'd really be in trouble if he'd managed to knock it out, huh."

Stan stared at Bill. And then he burst out laughing.

"What?"

"You idiot, doors aren't load bearing!"

Bill stared up at Stan, face slowly going red. "Well, wh— How was I supposed to know that!" Over Stan's laughter, he demanded, "Then why did you tell him it was?!"

"Eh, if he'd so much as nudged the door, he could've gotten right through. Even with that curse you put on him," Stan said. "I had to say something to keep his drill away from it."

"Huh."

Stan could practically see the gears trying to turn in Bill's head as he attempted to understand that information. Maybe he should lay off the poor guy. It was really funny that a little curse made him too stupid to work a door; but he'd turned around and used that same curse to save their hides, Stan should probably give him a temporary pass just for that. He cleared his throat and tried to think of another topic. "Using that tooth as bait wasn't a bad idea."

"Yeah, it was pretty good."

"You could've just asked me to knock it out, though."

Bill glanced up at Stan. His face said, No I couldn't.

Stan understood.

During Stan's decade of travel—thrust into the world far too young, scared, alone, and homeless, with nothing but his wits and a mask of machismo—he had seen, again and again, the truth in one of his father's most frequent lessons: if you weren't tough, then you were nothing. Didn't matter what kind of money, possessions, or friends you had. If you weren't tough enough, you could lose them all in an instant.

And so often, toughness wasn't measured by how many punches it took to knock you down, but by whether the first one made you flinch.

The best thing you could do for yourself was win a fight. But if you didn't stand a chance (and Bill—short, noodle-armed, tiny-fisted, barely able to control his body, facing a man who'd been boxing for fifty years—didn't stand a chance), then the next best thing you could do was show that you could take it like a man. It might win you respect. If it didn't, then at the least it might let you keep some dignity. Bill was desperate for dignity.

Stan had the feeling that Bill had played this game before.

Who had Bill been before Weirdmageddon? Who had he been, that he could call Stan nothing but a con artist and a complete failure who'd have been better off never born—and in between suggest that Ford only trusted Bill because he reminded him of Stan?

####

They cleaned up as best they could, then dragged themselves back to bed.

Bill gave Stan a hopeful look. "Do I get to sleep in the guest room now?"

"No." Ford would murder Stan if he found out he'd let Bill sleep on his bed, and in his final moments Stan would probably think the murder was justified. And that was assuming Bill didn't murder Stan in his sleep.

"Aww, c'mon!" Bill said. "And here I thought we'd bonded a little!"

"Are you kidding? After you said I'm the reason you fooled my brother and my family would be happier if I was dead?!"

Bill laughed lightly. "You're too sensitive!"

As they repositioned their cushions and mattress on either side of the ajar door, Stan paused. "Was that stuff true? Or did you just say it to get a rise out of me."

"What, everything about Stanford being an only child? Naaah—I just thought it would be funny to make you mad."

In his heart, Stan knew Bill had been telling the truth.

Maybe not about there being a dimension where Stanford grew up alone, maybe Bill had made that up; but if so, he'd only made up a fiction that echoed the truth. Mr. Hotshot All-Seeing Eye was right: Stan had only made things worse for the people around him. The best thing he'd ever done with his life was put it on the line to destroy Bill. And apparently, even that hadn't been good enough. 

Not for the first time over the past month, Stan wondered: if he'd never recovered his memories, would Bill have died with them? Was that the lifeline that had let Bill claw his way back? Would it have been better if neither of them had ever recovered? If they'd gone down into oblivion chained together?

Probably, on some cosmic level. Bill would be gone. Stan could've used his last few years learning to be a guy that brought more to the table than lying and punching. Everyone would be having a much better summer this year. But, on the other hand, Stan liked having his memories; and to be honest, Bill had been pretty worthless so far. Maybe it was okay that Stan had only done a C+ job at demon-killing. C+ was a passing grade; and he'd never been a straight A's kind of guy. 

They'd just have to grudgingly tolerate being chained together.

Stan said, "So was it 'funny' getting your teeth knocked in, too?"

Bill considered that; then let out an involuntary giggle. "Yeah, actually." He settled down on his cushion bed. "But—no, really, I never saw a universe where you two weren't inseparable as kids. I'm sure it happened somewhere, the multiverse is infinite—but I didn't dig that hard. Wasn't one of my priorities. I only needed one Stanford to get my portal running, and the one here did just fine."

Stan still didn't think Bill was telling the whole truth; but then, Stan didn't think Bill had been telling the whole truth earlier, either. Bill wasn't actually telling Stan anything about what the multiverse was like—he was just telling Stan how he wanted Stan to feel.

And Bill could have said that everything he'd said earlier was true. But he didn't.

"You really are a pretty good liar, Cipher," Stan said. "It's too bad you're a lousy dirtbag bent on world domination, or you could've made a decent partner-in-crime."

"Yeah?" Bill settled down, holding his broken umbrella to his side and laying his free arm over his collapsed top hat, as if he was worried someone would steal them in his sleep. (Stan would have to get that umbrella in the morning. It had been fine for Bill to keep it while they were fighting for their lives, but he couldn't keep a blunt weapon covered in metal poky bits indefinitely.) "Well, my schedule's clear and I'm bored. Let me know if anything comes up."

"Don't count on it." Stan slid their chain under the door and pushed it shut.

Bill had wiggled out of explaining why he wouldn't admit that Stan had killed him; but Stan didn't think he needed to ask again. He kinda had an idea. He was at that age where he was starting to worry what his obituary would say, too. "Killed by his dimension-hopping long-time nemesis with 12 PhDs" probably sounded a lot better than "Killed by a crooked grifter in his underwear." The first one might let you keep some dignity.

####

Dipper and Mabel came home shortly after dawn. The light was already on in the kitchen; Mabel curiously ducked in to see why. "Grunkle Stan! Bill! What are you doing up so early?" She paused. "Is that my top hat?"

"Mine now."

Stan and Bill were sitting at the kitchen table, with two plates of eggs and bacon (Bill's eggs had chocolate sauce), and mugs of, respectively, coffee and Mabel juice spiked with ground-up caffeine pills. Stan had a bandage on one arm. They looked exhausted. Their wrists were still handcuffed. 

"Oh, you know—" Stan yawned, "—just... full of vim and vigor today."

Dipper surveyed them, tried not to laugh when he saw the cuffs, and asked, "Did you guys even get any sleep?"

Stan grunted and looked at Bill to field that one.

Bill said, "By the looks of it, more than you two did." Dipper's and Mabel's hair were tangled messes, and their clothes were stained with dirt and grass. Dipper looked like he'd fallen on his side into a mud puddle. "How'd the monster hunt go?"

"Partial success!" Mabel said. "The thing that was stealing Pacifica's alpacas came back and we froze its leg! We followed it back to its forest lair and rescued the alpacas! Including Giorgio!"

"The anomaly got away, though," Dipper said, more to himself than anyone else. "But how? It was ten feet tall, it couldn't have hidden. Unless it was... abducted, maybe? In some invisible space ship...?"

Bill rolled his open eye. "Hey—how many of the alpacas were shorn by the time you got to them?"

Mabel gave him a surprised look. "Everyone but Giorgio. How'd you know?"

"We don't need to know," Dipper said quickly. "We can figure it out on our own. C'mon, Mabel." He headed upstairs. Mabel shrugged apologetically, and followed after him.

Stan watched them go, then asked Bill, "So what did take the rich kid's exotic sheep?"

"Freak in the woods who really likes wool suits."

"Huh." Stan sipped his coffee. "It's not dangerous to the kids, is it?"

"Not as long as they don't try to film him." Bill picked up a strip of bacon, tiredly tried to stick it in his eye, sighed, and redirected it to the correct hole.

From upstairs, Mabel shouted, "What happened to our door?"

Stan winced. "Don't worry about it, sweetie! I'll fix it later."

Bill said, "We didn't clean upstairs, did we."

Stan tried to remember what all had been left behind. Bedsheet hanging out the window, teeth on the floor... "It's—it's fine. Those kids love mysteries."

"Ha. Yeah, the boy would probably just get mad if we told him what happened before he figured it out himself."

There was the faint sound of the vending machine opening. A moment later, Ford walked in with an empty mug of coffee. "You're up early," he said. "Did you sleep well?"

Bill gave Ford a sleepy smirk. "Aw, I didn't know you cared."

Ford shot Bill a glower, did a double take at the top hat, then shook his head and looked away. "I wasn't asking you. I hope you got a crick in your neck that lasts the rest of your life." (Bill laughed.)

Stan shrugged off the question. "Oh yeah, no problem. Got comfortable and didn't move all night."

"We barely even noticed the cuffs," Bill said, stifling a yawn. "Slept like babies."

Ford raised a skeptical brow. Still, he nodded and went to get coffee for himself. Stan had a broken umbrella hanging from the back of his chair; Ford assumed it was yet another confiscated weapon and picked it up to move somewhere Bill couldn't access it. "Well, I'm relieved that at least nothing weird happened last night."

"Yeah, nothing weird at all," Stan said.

"Most normal night of my life," Bill said.

There was a knock on the door. At this hour of the morning? Ford said, "I'll get that."

He answered the door.

On the porch was a haggard, slumped, very sad looking man in a white lab coat. Nearly on the verge of tears, he asked, "Can I please have my ability to open doors back? I—I had to sleep outside last night. So many bugs."

Ford stared at him. "Only the person who cast the spell can lift it. Just a moment."

He ducked into the kitchen, glared at Bill, and said, "'Slept like babies,' did you?"

Neither Bill's nor Stan's innocent smile was convincing.

Ford focused on Bill's mouth. "And where'd you get that tooth?"

"Ah." Bill looked at Stan.

Stan cleared his throat. "So the good news is, we've got a great story for your journal."

####

(And that concludes the tooth fairy arc! If you enjoyed it, I'd love hearing from y'all! I'm really proud of how this whole plot came out. Next week we start on the absolute stupidest plot arc you've ever seen.)

[rei-ismyname]

X-Men #6 FROM THE ASHES

Last issue is starting to make a lot more sense - I think Jed McKay might have strong feelings about the Morrison era. Spoilers, obviously.

Hi Xorn! Hi Magneto! Good to have you join us. It's nice to see Magneto is progressive, polite and welcoming. It's still an ideological regression from where he was at in X-Men Red/RoM/Uncanny X-Men #700, but I guess he's mostly scenery in this comic sadly. As a fellow disabled burden on society I empathize with him, but I'd like to see him still be a character of focus. Otherwise, why put him in the book? It's a shame his moment makes Xorn look like a fool - is that really his first question? Dude is a fucking monk and these people are right there.

He's wearing his Morrison/Quitely uniform too, which is not a great comparison to be drawing imo. He was last seen hanging out with his brother and Legion in Way of X, but I suppose this is as good a place as any for him to be now. Hopefully we see more of him.

Look how much Quentin has grown since Riot at Xavier's. Or maybe he's depressed. Either way he's definitely looking sharp. Idie notices one of the protesters throwing up the M.

People want Beast to solve their problems but he doesn't have the same experience and knowledge as old Beast, not that X-FORCE Beast did any of that. It's a character beat, but one we've seen before. Maybe he'll learn magic again! Magik is still very defeatist it seems, and perhaps her determination is waning. Can't say I blame her.

Quiche is dope but jokes about it aren't. Not this millennium. The Glob/Quentin dynamic is another Morrison callback. Don't worry, there's plenty more this issue 🙄. One pitfall with light-hearted quippy nostalgia is it undermines serious events happening next to it and gives mood whiplash. Somehow Idie knows Ilyana is communicating secretly with her brother. It doesn't come up again. Based on how McKay has been seeding beats we'll find out in issue #10.

Okay, so we know Magik is smart and now Idie does too. It'd be nice if more of this team started acting like friends - maybe this is the start of something beautiful. I can't say I buy Magik undermining Cyclops on a whim but she lays out the dilemma then puts Idie in charge.

They walk into the trap by putting Cobb Sr to sleep. Idie's secret is pretty cute and an effective 'cost of magic' shorthand. I am wary that it refers to nostalgia about a time that was already hyper nostalgia, but I'm getting used to it. We get to see the Cobb family dynamic, utterly predictable.

I enjoy everything on this page.

- Cyclops and Psylocke sparring

- Expanding on Hank and Mags' budding relationship with reference to their history.

- Building on Beast's fear of becoming a monster again.

- Magneto being emotionally supportive.

No new information here, though I love a jab at Fabian Cortez. This is more of a reference than anything else, though it's good to see some self awareness from Max. Although, Cortez showed a lot of growth on Krakoa.

This is a nice moment too. This version of Hank was a massive horn dog. Not saying that's where it's going but he's gregarious and it does make sense to have him be welcoming to another non-passing mutant. Glob too, though he comes off as massive dork. We still don't know much about Jen or Ben which makes it hard to get invested. If they do stick around they'd be inflating a cast that's already being covered unevenly.

Okay, Piper is here and Scott isn't pleased. Idie would have a point but it would have taken 2 minutes to talk about it. Yeah she asked for help and came willingly but as Scott says she's a minor. Her home life looks miserable and tracks closely enough to many queer experiences, but society unfortunately says children are property. It sucks, but she needs support. Nobody wins when her mother calls the cops. Is this about Piper or Idie here? I would love to see Idie being the moral core of the team but this just makes her look naive and impulsive - which is at odds with her 15+ years of characterisation. She was in jail last year!

Piper reveals that the 'Wild Sentinel' was after her and the Iron Night was her 'fault.' It's left on a cliffhanger but let's hope this doesn't torch the X-Men's relationship with Merle, Alaska.

The Morrison thing - Psychic rescue, Quentin and Glob, scientists making mutants, Cassandra Nova, Xorn is still in his uniform from the time, wild sentinel mention (which is super bizarre and out of place.) It's a lot and I'm probably missing stuff. My question is who this is for? New readers will just be confused. Morrison super fans are more likely to roll their eyes, judging by responses to last issue.

Overall this issue was pretty good. It progressed the plot, gave us time with the 3 characters who'd been ghosts, introduced new information and setup conflict with the town for next issue. I really wish the creative team would get their batting average a little higher in terms of solid issues. 33.3% is low enough in the abstract to make me drop the book - and this is one of the better ones. I know we can do better than this and it disappoints me how aggressively mid the X-books are right now.

I'm starting to recognise the formula they're working off, with information dribbling out at a snail's pace to the point that any issue becomes skippable then ending on a cliffhanger that's rarely paid off quickly. Uncanny has the same issue, which makes me think it's an editorial problem. Hell, solicits usually give more information than issues do. I'm not talking about tropes, I'm talking about the narrative tricks that allow them to publish issues that move at a glacial pace and use nostalgia to disguise the characters not being developed. One can hope :)

[37sommz]

❁ : l'amour de ma vie . . .

✼. masterlist — taglist — request. ✼. genre: fluff. ✼. wc: 6k.

as much as michaela adores her sister, courtney, it's hard to find joy in leaving the year behind when courtney's love life is coming home for the first time. the new year brings michaela old friends in a brand new package.

✼. warnings: general language warnings. people in love.

✼. notes: look at me being consistent. she's a writer (for real this time!!) this one was genuinely so fun to write. don't know if courtney & daniel are endgame but it might be a cute little side plot for future storylines. literally sat at my computer googling 'what do australians eat' before giving up :)

000.⠀⠀DECEMBER 31, 2020    ›    Gold Coast, Australia.

The Sommers' kitchen of their Gold Coast home, was aflutter with movement. Michaela's hands moved swiftly as they chopped vegetables for the New Years' Eve party. The room filled with the aroma of marinating meats and baking cookies, a contrast to the typically aroma-less existence Michaela lived in her Turin apartment. She felt a gentle warmth spread through her, a comfort she hadn't experienced in a long time. Her mother, Miriam, hummed a song Michaela couldn't recognize while stirring a pot of chili on the stove, occasionally adding a pinch of this or that from the spice rack.

Courtney, phone clutched tightly in hand, couldn't contain her excitement as she danced around the kitchen island. Her laughter was high-pitched and infectious, causing even the stern-faced Miriam to crack a smile. "Okay, okay," Courtney said, her thumbs typing away on the screen, "He's definitely on his way. Should be here any minute."

Michaela, her knife hovering over a cucumber, raised an eyebrow. "Who is this mystery boyfriend that's got you all giddy?" she teased.

Courtney giggled, her cheeks flushing. "You'll see," she sang, sidestepping her sister's question.

Michaela couldn't resist the bait. She set down the knife and leaned closer, curiosity piqued. "Is he from around here? Did you swipe right on some guy who got rich after high school?"

Courtney rolled her eyes dramatically, her thumbs still tapping out messages. "Don't be nosy Mick," she hummed, her smile still embedded upon her face.

Miriam, noticing the playful banter between her daughters, decided to join in on the bit. "She's been like this all week, Michaela," she said with a knowing smile, "It's like watching a teenager fall in love all over again."

Michaela's curiosity grew. Courtney had always been the more serious of the two of them, her Master's Degree in Chemistry from the University of Sydney was proof enough of the trait. So, the thought of her sister being swept off her feet was both thrilling and slightly concerning.

"You're not bringing an eshay home again are you, Courtney?" Ella asked, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth as she correctly used the Australian slang. 

Ella Marshall had been Michaela’s closest friend since she was a teenager. The Brit was a classmate of Michaela’s when she first moved to England and they had stuck by each other’s side ever since. They didn’t get to see each other often with Michaela’s racing travels and Ella’s pursuit of her public relations degree, so the chance to share New Years’ together in Michaela’s childhood home was a welcome one. 

Courtney rolled her eyes again, a sarcastic laugh leaving her mouth before flipping her younger sister’s friend off. Miriam scolded her daughter with a disapproving look, turning around just as Ella returned the gesture with one of her own.

The front door swung open and in stumbled their father, Tobias, with their uncle Travis and his wife Beena close behind, lugging a suitcase that was practically bursting at the seams. Quentin, their two-year-old son, was perched on Travis' shoulder, his eyes wide with excitement at the sight of all the new faces and smells.

"Look who decided to join us," Miriam said, her voice a mix of surprise and warmth as she wiped her hands on a dish towel and approached her brother-in-law and his wife. She kissed them each on the cheek before taking a suitcase from Travis' hand. "You're just in time to help set up."

Travis, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, looked over at his wife and son. "It's a miracle we made it," he said, setting Quentin down gently on the tiled floor. "This little rascal had us chasing him around Heathrow."

Michaela couldn't help but laugh. "Sounds like he's got the racing gene," she quipped, winking at her young cousin. Quentin giggled and ran towards her, his chubby legs moving at a surprisingly fast pace for his age. She scooped him up in her arms, feeling the weight of his pure joy, and spun him around. As they twirled, she felt the stress of her breakup and the looming season melt away.

Travis, his Australian accent thick despite years away in London, nodded in agreement. "He's a little terror, that one," he said with a proud smile. "But we wouldn't have it any other way." Beena, ever the perfectionist, picked away the lint from her husband's shirt as he pulled her into his side.

Michaela felt a pang of nostalgia, looking at the love between her uncle and his wife, and the easy conversation between her parents. Her thoughts drifted back to Olivier, and she couldn't help but feel the easy nostalgia turn to sadness. Their breakup had been mutual, but the ringing in of the New Year made it feel much more final. Hearing the boisterous laughter of her cousin as he bounced between adults, she pushed the feelings aside, focusing on the laughter and chaos that filled the home.

"Courtney, can you grab the drinks from the fridge?" Miriam called out, her eyes never leaving her cooking.

"On it," Courtney said, separating from her phone for the first time since Michaela had arrived home hours ago.

Michaela took a moment to study her sister. Courtney had always been beautiful, with their mother's sharp features and their father's warm hazel eyes, but there was something different about her. A lightness in her step and a twinkle in her eye.

"I don't know what's gotten into her," she whispered to Ella as she planted a kiss on Quentin’s cheek, "But she's gone a little crazy, hasn't she?" Ella could only hum in response as she found herself caught up in entertaining the toddler in her friend’s arms.

Quentin giggled and leaned into Michaela, wrapping his arms around her neck. His chubby fingers played with the ends of her hair as she spun him around again, the room becoming a blur of color and laughter. As they stopped, Courtney reappeared, her phone glued back to her hand. Quentin reached out for the older of his pair of cousins, Michaela swiftly handing him over to her smiling older sister.

"So, what's the secret?" Travis asked, his gaze bouncing between Courtney and her phone. "I haven't seen you be this excited for anything ever." Beena looked over at the chemist with her husband's words, a knowing smile playing on her lips.

Michaela's eyes narrowed as she watched her sister's reaction. Courtney's cheeks flushed as she avoided eye contact with everyone, her giggle turning into a full-blown laugh. "You're all going to find out soon enough," she teased, her fingers poking at Quentin's full cheeks, receiving his loud giggles in return.

Travis glanced back at his wife, exasperated, as she chuckled in amusement. "Boyfriend?" She questioned out to Tobias who could only nod with a dramatic roll of his eyes. "She won't tell us who he is."

Michaela's curiosity was piqued even further. "Why not?" She asked, handing her father an iced tea before huffing loudly as she dropped down onto the couch next to him.

Courtney looked at her with a smug expression. "Because it's more fun this way," she replied, bouncing Quentin on her hip as she walked out of the kitchen, her phone chiming.

Michaela watched her go, feeling a mix of amusement and annoyance. Her mind raced with the possibilities of who this mystery man could be. "It better not be anyone I know," she murmured to herself.

"What was that, sweetheart?" her father asked, turning to her with a smile.

Michaela's cheeks heated. "Nothing," she said, sipping her tea to cover her embarrassment. 

She didn't want to admit her fear that Courtney might be dating someone from the paddock, someone who could complicate their lives even more than they already were. But she couldn't shake the feeling that her sister's more frequent "innocent" trips to see her sister's races were not so innocent after all. Courtney had never particularly enjoyed the smell of burning rubber or the high-speed crashes that Michaela seemed to be enamored with.

The sound of a car engine approaching the house echoed through the house and Courtney's eyes lit up brighter than they had been all day. "He's here!" she squealed, bouncing an overjoyed Quentin on her hip before bolting to the door.

Michaela felt a strange mix of excitement and nerves. She had no idea who Courtney could be bringing home, but she knew her sister's taste was much different from hers. Courtney took off towards the driveway with her cousin still resting on her hip. Beena began to call after the excited 26-year-old but was quickly soothed by her tired husband.

"Let them have their fun," Travis said, his eyes never leaving his wife as he spoke.

Michaela nodded, taking in the warmth of the room as the anticipation grew. The engine grew louder until it was right outside the door, and she couldn't help but lean over the couch to get a peek through the window. She couldn't quite make out the identity of the tall figure with a dark mop of hair as he opened the door of his sleek G-Wagon. Her heart swelled for a moment as she watched him scoop up Courtney in a loving embrace that calmed Michaela's nerves. He turned to introduce himself to the suddenly timid toddler nestled in Courtney's arms, reaching out to lift him from his girlfriend's hip. Michaela felt the tension melt away from her shoulders. It was clear this guy—whoever he was—intended to treat Courtney and her family with kindness.

As Courtney and the mystery man made their way back into the house, the chatter grew more intense. The man looked up, catching her eye, and a jolt of recognition shot through her. It was Daniel Ricciardo. Her eyes widened and she sat up straight, her heart racing as she took in the sight of her sister's new love interest. Daniel was a friend, sure, but also a rival on the track. They had always maintained a close friendship, but the sight of him with Courtney was surprising to say the least.

"No fucking way," Michaela whispered under her breath as Daniel's eyes locked onto hers, the surprise etched deep into her features. She had seen the Australian driver in many different lights—behind the wheel of a Formula 1 car, in the media spotlight, and even at a couple of awkward dinner parties their teams had thrown—but never as a potential brother-in-law.

“Is that Daniel?” Ella trailed off, her almond eyes tracing over the tall figure and his dark hair. 

Her father and his brother shared in Michaela's surprise, their eyes widening in recognition. Daniel had been a household name for the Sommers family, as every Australian driver before him had also been. But seeing him here, in their home, holding Quentin in his arms and he exchanged a sustained kiss with Courtney, was something none of them had expected.

The three finally made their way to the front door, Courtney swinging it open with an air of carefree happiness in her actions. Michaela felt the air leave the room as Daniel stepped into the house, Quentin in his arms, a sheepish grin on his face.

"Hi, everyone," Daniel said, his Australian accent thick and familiar. He looked around the room, his eyes lingering on Michaela before he nodded a greeting in her direction. "Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and all that jazz." He held Quentin easily in his right hip, his left hand balancing a six-pack of Tobias' favorite beer and a bouquet of Miriam's favorite flowers.

Miriam was the first to recover from the shock, a smile spreading across her face as she stepped forward to take the gifts. "Thank you, Daniel, you didn't have to," she said warmly, her eyes flickering between Courtney and Daniel, trying to gauge the depth of their relationship from his gesture.

"Couldn't resist," Daniel said, winking at Quentin, who was now playing with his dark curls hair.

Michaela's brain was racing. Courtney and Daniel? She had known that Daniel had a soft spot for her sister, but she had never seen it manifest into anything more than casual flirting and banter at the races. The sight of him holding Quentin and the ease with which he slipped into their family setting was surprisingly natural.

"Well, look who the cat dragged in," Travis said, his voice booming with a mix of surprise and good-natured teasing. Daniel let out a light-hearted chuckle as he carefully placed Quentin on the ground. He then warmly accepted the greeting, firmly clasping hands with Travis in a traditional masculine gesture. As they greeted each other, Travis gave a friendly pat on the back to the Renault driver.

"You alright, mate?" Daniel asked the day trader, a member of Michaela's family he had gotten to know quite well over two years.

Michaela felt a knot in her stomach as she watched Daniel interact with her family members. He greeted Beena, a respectful kiss to her cheek as he casually recalled the editorial she had been working on the last time he saw her in Silverstone. When he greeted Michaela's father with a firm handshake, Tobias brushed it off, drawing him into a quick hug instead.

"Welcome to the madhouse," he said, his gruffness belying the affection he had for the younger more.

Michaela felt a strange mix of emotions—shock, curiosity, and a hint of protectiveness for her sister swirling in her gut. Courtney had always been the brainy one, the one who never stepped a toe out of line. To see her with someone like Daniel, a man who lived life as if it were a continuous party, was unsettling. But as she watched the way his eyes lit up when he talked to her sister, she couldn't deny the genuine connection between them.

"So, you two are..." she began, her voice trailing off as she searched for the right words.

Courtney beamed, her eyes sparkling. "Dating," she said, her voice filled with a giddiness that was unusual for the typically composed woman. Michaela's eyes nearly twitched as she watched her sister's manicured fingers reach for her boyfriend. Courtney leaned into the Perth native with a lovesick expression on her face, one hand wrapped around his bicep and another resting proudly atop his chest.

The room was silent for a moment, the only sound was the sizzling of meat on the stove and the distant pop of fireworks. It was Miriam who broke the silence. "Well, it's about time you told us," she said, her voice filled with a motherly warmth. "We've been waiting for you to bring home someone special for ages."

Courtney blushed, looking down at the floor, while Daniel's grin grew wider. "It's been a bit of a whirlwind," he admitted, glancing down at Courtney who was now clutching his hand tightly. "But she's worth every second of it."

Michaela couldn't argue with that. Her sister looked happier than she had seen her in years. The way Courtney leaned into Daniel, the way he looked at her with such affection—it was clear this was more than just a casual fling.

"Well, come on in," Miriam said, breaking the silence with a warm smile. "Let's get you something to drink."

Michaela couldn't help but watch as Daniel stepped further into the house, his arm casually draped around Courtney's waist. She had seen him charm sponsors, journalists, and fans alike with his easy-going manner, but this was different. This was personal, and she wasn't sure how she felt about it.

As Miriam led the way back into the kitchen, the sound of her sandals clicking on the tiles, Daniel looked over his shoulder at Michaela. "Surprise," he mouthed with a wink.

Michaela felt her cheeks heat up as she nodded, still processing the revelation. Courtney had always been the more cautious of the two, and to see her so openly affectionate with someone was a shock. As they all moved back into the kitchen, she couldn't help but feel a bit like an outsider in her own home. The conversation between her family and Daniel grew more relaxed as they discussed the couple's relationship, leaving her feeling slightly left out.

"I'll be right back," she murmured to her father, who simply nodded with a gentle squeeze to her shoulder, and Ella whose attention was planted firmly on the surprised couple. Michaela excused herself from the room, needing a moment to collect her thoughts, to make sense of the new dynamics that were unfolding.

Michaela stepped out onto the porch, the balmy Gold Coast evening air wrapping around her. The scent of barbeque and chlorine from the neighbor's pool mingled with the distant smell of the ocean, reminding her of childhood summers spent at this very house. She leaned against the railing, taking in deep breaths. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore provided a soothing backdrop to the rush of emotions running through her mind.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the soft thud of the kitchen door closing behind her. Daniel's footsteps approached and she felt his presence before she saw him. He leaned next to her, looking out over the well-manicured lawn that led to the beach.

"I know it's a surprise, Mick," he began, his tone sincere. "But I promise, I'm not here to mess with Courie's head or anything. I really like her." The casual nickname, one only Courtney's closest friends used, slipped out of Daniel's mouth with an ease that only increased the pounding of Michaela's head.

Michaela turned to face him, her expression a mask of skepticism. "You know what you're doing, right?" she asked, her voice a mix of protectiveness and curiosity. "Courie's not exactly the grid bunny type."

Daniel chuckled, leaning back against the railing. "I know, and that's what I like about her." He took a moment to survey the view, his eyes lingering on the horizon where the sky was beginning to lighten with the promise of a spectacular New Year's sunset. "She's got depth, you know? Makes me think twice about shit just so I don't embarrass her."

Michaela couldn't help but smile at that. Her sister had always had a way of making people want to be better. "So, how did this happen?" she asked, gesturing between the two of them.

Daniel shrugged, a boyish grin spreading across his face. "We just sort of clicked," he said, his eyes shifting towards Courtney as she chatted with Beena, Ella, and Miriam in the kitchen. "It started out as friends, you know, just catching up at races, flirting just to flirt. But she's got this... I don't know, this spark that just makes you want to be around her."

Michaela studied him, looking for any signs of deceit or insincerity, but she found none. At that moment, she knew that her sister had chosen well. Despite the initial shock, she felt a sense of relief wash over her. Maybe this was what Courtney needed—someone to challenge her—to bring out the side of her that was hidden under layers of academic seriousness and family responsibility.

"Well, don't let me keep you from her," she said, pushing off the railing. "You guys have a lot of catching up to do. I know she just got back from that big conference in Singapore." When Daniel failed to stifle a laugh, Michaela stopped to eye him skeptically.

"What?" She muttered, unamused.

"You're telling me you didn't know she was going to see me?" Daniel said, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "I picked her up from the airport, you know."

Michaela's eyes widened. "No, I had no idea," she replied, trying to keep the surprise out of her voice. The revelation that their relationship was more serious than she had thought made her feel even more protective. "But I'm happy for her, for you both." She meant it. Despite her reservations, she knew Courtney was capable of making her own decisions.

Daniel's grin grew. "Thanks, Mick. I know we're both a bit... unexpected, but it works." He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And just between us, I'm kind of relieved you're cool with this. It would really suck if you didn't approve when I've already told her I love her."

Michaela's eyes went wide, and she slapped his arm. "What?" she hissed, half-laughing. "Shut up, how long did it take you?"

Daniel nodded, his cheeks reddening slightly. "I might have jumped the gun a bit," he admitted, a sheepish look on his face. "But she's just..." he trailed off, his gaze drifting back to the kitchen where Courtney was now helping Miriam prep the table for the meal.

Michaela felt a twinge of something in her chest—envy, perhaps? She had always been so focused on her career that she had never allowed herself to truly open up to someone the way Courtney had with Daniel. The sight of her sister in love was both beautiful and unsettling. It was a reminder of what she had given up to pursue her dreams.

"She's everything to me," Daniel finished, his brown eyes glazing over for a moment as he watched Courtney approach the sliding door. The sight of him looking at her sister like that, with pure adoration, was something new to Michaela. She had only ever seen that look on her parents' faces, a look both heartwarming and disconcerting.

"Well, don't fuck it up," she said, her voice softer than she had intended.

Daniel chuckled, turning to look at her with a knowing smile. "I won't," he promised, his hand resting on her shoulder. "Your sister's got a killer disappointment face."

Michaela rolled her eyes, shoving him playfully. "That's not what I meant and you know it," she said, but her voice held no malice. The tension between them had dissipated and she found herself smiling back at him.

"I know," Daniel replied, his eyes still on Courtney. "But seriously, I'm going to make sure she's happy. She deserves it."

Michaela nodded, unable to argue with that. She knew that underneath Daniel's golden retriever persona was a genuine heart. He had been there for her countless times during the tough moments of her career, offering advice and a shoulder to lean on when things got too heavy.

They both turned as Courtney and Ella stepped out onto the porch, Courtney’s eyes searching for Daniel while Ella’s held concern for Michaela. Courtney looked beautiful, with her hair down and a flowing dress that caught the light just right. When she saw her boyfriend, she beamed, their hands involuntarily reaching for each other as if controlled by a magnetic force.

"Everything okay?" she asked, her gaze flitting between Daniel and her sister.

Michaela nodded. "Yeah, just catching up," she said, her voice lighter than it had been moments ago.

"Good," Courtney said, stepping closer to Daniel. "I didn't mean to keep you waiting."

Michaela felt a pang of something she couldn't quite identify—it wasn't jealousy, but a strange sense of displacement. She had always been the one who knew all the details of Courtney's life, the one her sister turned to for advice. Now, here was Daniel, fitting into their lives so seamlessly, with secrets of his own. She pushed the feeling aside, reminding herself that it was her sister's happiness that mattered.

"That's okay, hon," Daniel murmured, pulling Courtney back into his side with a shared smile.

When Ella silently pretended to gag behind their backs, Michaela rolled her eyes dramatically as they became lost in each other's gaze. "Okay," she huffed, pushing herself off the railing behind her. "We’ll go help Mum and leave you too alone."

Courtney giggled as Daniel wrapped an arm around her waist, his eyes never leaving hers. "Thanks," she called after her retreating sister, her voice filled with affectionate teasing. "We'll be back in a minute," she hummed, her eyes still focused on Daniel's.

Michaela's heart warmed at the lovesick tone in her older sister's voice though the moment was quickly shattered in typical Daniel fashion with a cheeky, "We're gonna make out for a little bit."

Michaela and her best friend groaned with a hint of genuine disgust as Courtney could only giggle in response. She turned to head back inside, shaking her head. 

The sound of their laughter followed her into the kitchen, where Miriam and Beena were busy setting out plates and silverware. She felt a strange sense of familiarity wash over her as she took in the scene—it had been so long since she had been part of their domestic routines. Despite the chaos of her career, the comfort of her family's warmth remained unchanged.

The evening rolled into night, and the party grew louder and more festive. The smell of BBQ filled the air as additional guests spilled onto the patio, their laughter and chatter blending with the distant pops of fireworks. Daniel had fit into the celebration so well that it was as if he had always been a part of their family gatherings. He had even charmed the toughest critic—Michaela's grandmother—who couldn't resist his charm and his genuine interest in her stories Michaela had heard about a million times.

Michaela found herself watching Courtney and Daniel from a distance, the way they interacted with each other, the way they shared a secret language of looks and smiles that she hadn't noticed before. It was clear that their relationship was more than just a fleeting attraction—there was a bond between them, a quiet strength that seemed to anchor them amidst the whirlwind of their lives. Daniel seemed to anticipate Courtney's next move throughout the night, casually handing her a napkin or a salt shaker before she could ask for it with a soft peck to her forehead and a whisper of an inside joke.

The party was in full swing, and the family had moved into the living room to watch the countdown on the television. Quentin, now sleeping soundly in Courtney's arms, had been the life of the party, dancing to the music and playing with the confetti that littered the floor. As the clock struck midnight, everyone shouted their goodbyes to 2020 and welcomed the New Year with a chorus of cheers and the popping of champagne bottles. The sound of glasses clinking and kisses on cheeks filled the air.

Michaela couldn't help but feel a pang of loneliness as she watched her sister and Daniel share a passionate kiss in the corner, their love on full display. She had never felt like this before, not even when Olivier had been so distant when they were together. Her thoughts were interrupted by a gentle tap on her shoulder.

"You okay?" Ella’s voice was a soft rumble in her ear. She turned to find her friend’s concerned eyes searching hers.

Michaela forced a smile. "Yeah, just tired," she said, taking a sip of her champagne. Ella had become friends with Michaela in a similar fashion. An introvert lost in her thoughts as she sat alone before an extrovert forced her to open herself up, Michaela knew she could see right through her facade.

"You know, you're not alone, right?" she said, her hand coming to rest on her shoulder. "You don't need to be with that arsewipe to be loved. We're all here for you."

Michaela nodded, feeling a lump form in her throat. "I know," she replied, her voice thick with unshed emotion. "It's just... different now. Everything's changing."

Ella squeezed her shoulder. "Change isn't always all bad, Mick," she said, her own eyes misting over with emotion. "Look at you—Miss McLaren. You've come a long way from giving those boys night terrors in your go-kart."

Michaela chuckled, the memory bringing warmth to her chest. "Yeah," she said, looking around at her family, "But it's weird, you know? Courie's always had her head in books and now she's got Daniel Ricciardo whispering shitty jokes in her ear."

Ella laughed, taking a sip of her drink. "Well, Daniel’s not the worst person in the world for Courtney to be dating," she said, her eyes lingering on the couple across the room. "Remember when your Mum's sister started dating that comedian after her divorce?"

Michaela snorted, the memory of her aunt's unexpected romance bringing a smile to her face. "Yeah, I didn’t even know she could smile," she said, her gaze drifting back to her sister and Daniel.

As the party wound down and guests began to say their goodbyes, the family gathered around the kitchen table, the warm light from the pendant lamp casting a glow over their tired but happy faces. Courtney, now yawning, shifted Quentin in her arms, his body rigid with sleep.

"I can't believe we're already into 2021," Courtney said, her voice filled with wonder. "Feels like just yesterday we were all freaking out about Y2K."

Michaela's father scoffed in disbelief at Courtney's misguided reminiscing. "You were five years old, what do you remember about Y2K?"

Courtney shot him a playful glare. "I remember enough to know it was a big deal, Dad," she slurred, and the room was filled with laughter.

Michaela watched the exchange with a smile, feeling a strange mix of nostalgia and anticipation. Her own future looked so different now—both personally and professionally. She had a new team, new challenges, and now, a new dynamic in her family. As the night grew quieter and the last guests trickled out, she found herself sitting on the porch with Daniel, Courtney, and Ella, the warm breeze carrying the faint scent of fireworks and the distant murmur of the ocean.

"So," Ella began, her voice a bit tipsy from the champagne, "What's the deal with you two? How long have you been keeping this a secret?"

Courtney's cheeks turned a rosy shade as she met her sister's gaze. "August?" She hummed, turning to Daniel for confirmation. He nodded with a knowing smile. "Yeah, since Barcelona, actually."

Michaela's eyes widened. "Barcelona?" She repeated, trying to recall the race weekend. It had been a pretty good one for her, finishing 6th after having qualified 11th. "How did I miss that?"

Courtney and Daniel shared a knowing smile. "It was the weekend you had that big meeting with Ferrari," Courtney said. 

Michaela nodded as she remembered that initial meeting with Mattia Binotto. The one where he reassured her that Ferrari was keeping their options open for 2021. The meeting before he completely shattered all her dreams just two months later in Imola. 

"I had a layover in Spain and just... decided to surprise him."

Michaela couldn't help but chuckle at the image of her sister, the meticulous planner, pulling off a spontaneous rendezvous. "So, what happened?" she questioned, genuinely curious.

"Well," Daniel began, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "Your sister showed up at my hotel room with nothing but a bottle of wine and a goofy grin."

Michaela playfully smacked him on the arm. "That's enough," she protested, though the corners of her mouth twitched with amusement. Courtney rolled her eyes. 

"You know what we mean," Ella said, poking the older of the sisters in the side. "How did it all start?"

Daniel leaned back in his chair, his eyes thoughtful. "It's hard to tell," he admitted. "We've known each other for a while, obviously. But it was just... one of those moments where everything makes sense."

Michaela nodded, understanding that feeling all too well. Her own career had been built on moments like that—instances of clarity and purpose that had propelled her to where she was today. "So, what's the plan now?" she asked, looking at the couple.

"Well, I finally convinced her to take one of my Renault polos," Daniel said, his voice filled with contentment. "But I'm hoping she'll join me on the European leg of the season."

Courtney blushed even more deeply, and Michaela felt a twinge of happiness for them. Despite her initial surprise, she couldn't deny that they made a good pair—both strong-willed, but with a tenderness that seemed to bring out the best in each other.

"You guys are going to be a nightmare at the races," Michaela teased, her voice filled with affection. "Everyone's going to know."

Courtney looked at Daniel, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Maybe that's the plan," she said, a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth.

Ella groaned dramatically. "Please tell me you two won't be wearing matching outfits," she said, her tone half-joking, half-horrified.

"Oh, you know it," Courtney quipped, her voice filled with playful spite. "It's going to be a sea of that god-awful yellow and black." Michaela laughed, shaking her head. 

"And I’ll have that atrocious papaya car to look at," Ella muttered jokingly, taking another sip of her drink. 

The conversation grew more comfortable, the three of them discussing their upcoming travels and the excitement of the new season. Despite her initial skepticism, Daniel had managed to charm his way into her good graces, and she found herself warming to the idea of him being a part of her family's life.

As the night grew late and the party wound down, Daniel and Courtney eventually disappeared upstairs, leaving Michaela to sit on the porch swing with her best friend and her mother, the three of them lost in thought as they watched the last few fireworks light up the night sky. Miriam reached over to grab her hand, giving it a comforting squeeze.

"You know, I never thought I'd say this, but I'm happy she chose him," Miriam said, her gaze still on the distant explosions of color. "He's a good man. And he makes her happy."

Ella nodded, the swing creaking gently beneath them. "Yeah," she murmured, her voice a little thick. "They do seem good together."

Miriam leaned closer, her eyes searching her daughter's face. "And what about you, darling? How are you holding up after everything with Olivier?"

Michaela took a deep breath, the cool night air brushing against her cheeks. "I'm okay, Mum," she said, her voice steady. "It's been a tough few months, but I've got a great season ahead of me with McLaren. That's all I need to focus on."

Miriam studied her for a moment before nodding. "You know, sweetheart, love isn't just about the big moments," she said softly. "It's about finding someone who supports you in your dreams and makes you happy in the quiet moments too."

Michaela's eyes searched her mother's, finding a well of wisdom that she had missed. "I know," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's just... different without him, that's all."

Miriam leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. "You're stronger than you think," she assured her. "You've come so far, and I know you'll find someone who loves you just as fiercely as you deserve."

Michaela swallowed the lump in her throat. She squeezed her mother's hand and felt the warm embrace of her best friend’s arms wrap around her, a rush of love and gratitude. "Thank you, guys," she said, her voice small. "I just hope I don't screw it up when I do."

Miriam tilted her head, her eyes filled with warmth and understanding. "You won't," she said firmly. "You're a Sandile. We don't screw up love, we just take our time to find it." Michaela smiled at her mother's use of her maiden name.

The porch light cast a warm glow over the three women, creating a warm bubble as the rest of the house grew quiet. "I know it's hard to imagine now, but love has a way of finding you when you least expect it," Miriam continued. "Look at Travis and Beena. They've been through hell and back, and they're still madly in love."

Michaela nodded, taking a moment to reflect on her mother's words. The thought of finding someone who truly understood her, and who could handle the demands of her career without feeling overshadowed or left behind, was something she hadn't allowed herself to dream about for a long time. But watching Courtney with Daniel had sparked a hope within her, a hope that maybe, there was room for love in her fast-paced world.

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[kalinara]

So aside from the "Scott in a speedo" bit, (which I've seen folks dismiss as a joke, but honestly, never really sure how that works as joke that those two characters would make, but okay), there's one scene that, to me, makes the Throuple explicitly canon.

So these are two pages from X-Force #18. And it may be surprising to see me positively reference a Ben Percy comic, since his work generally isn't to my taste, but there you go.

So on its face, this is a pretty standard Ben Percy, Logan and Jean scene. There's some cute banter/flirtation and a bit of making out. Logan's theoretically got plans but he doesn't seem averse to some additional activity first.

But there's also a LOT to unpack here.

First: This cute makeout session is taking place on the Moon. You know, THAT Moon. In the Summer House. And Scott, as we see at the bottom, is physically present.

So if the impending make-out session hadn't been interrupted by Quentin Quire shenanigans, it might well have resulted in a trip to one of the bedrooms.

You know. The adjoining bedrooms. With no doors.

Second: Scott appears to be dressed for bed when he comes in. He asks Jean if she's coming to bed. Indicating that they likely had plans to sleep together, at least in the same bed.

Which means, Jean was making out with Logan right before she goes to bed with her husband. And again, if not for Quentin Quire's nonsense, it might have continued. Again, right before her plans to go to bed with her husband. The logical interpretation then is that her next step would likely have been to ask Logan to join them.

Third: As annoying as I've always found Logan's entitlement toward Jean to be, I generally think he's portrayed as too honorable to make out with a woman in the house she shares with her husband.

I note also that Scott's position in the doorway, and the lighting, makes it unlikely that he wouldn't have seen them making out before they pulled apart. He seems pretty unbothered.

Now naturally this only proves polyamory, but even if you go with the official stance that this is just a V situation, ne'er shall the penii touch. There's a lot of weird implied voyeurism here. Which leads to:

Fourth: Scott asks Jean if she's coming to bed. With Logan here. He wasn't present to hear Logan talk about vampires, so he doesn't really know if Logan is staying or leaving. Which means that he's happy sleeping with his wife, with Logan in an adjoining room with no door. (He's also a polite guy, he has to realize the next logical step would be Jean asking the man she's making out with to join them, he seems fine with that idea too.)

Even if they're not directly fucking, there's a three way relationship here. Personally, though, I'm taking this to mean they're all three fucking. It's just that the men are too...men to talk directly to each other about the whole thing.

[gyll-yee-haw]

Hi! i just had a great idea ok ok so what if you did like a 7 minutes in heaven with one of jakes characters? (detective loki? mysterio, literally whoever you want)

Yeah but what about all of the options above 🤭

I selected a few of my faves <3

Characters: detective Loki, Quentin Beck, Billy Hope and Donnie Darko

Warnings: kissing, fluff, some nsfw, fingering, they all kinda end suggestively, y'all might accuse me of favoritism cause Dave's got the biggest one (he IS my fave, sorry)

---

Detective Loki

100% would act like he thought games were stupid, but the MINUTE he was set up with you to go to the tiny room, would get butterflies in his stomach

I'm thinking like college student! David? Who's like super shy and doesn't have many friends, never talks to anyone, but has a massive crush on you

The moment you walked in and closed the door, he would immediately get nervous and start babbling "this is so stupid, we don't have to do anything, we could just wait here and..."

But he had no idea you were obsessed with that handsome mysterious guy who wore too much black and only ever smiled at you

"I know. It's okay if you don't want to, but..." You gave him your best doe eyes. "But I... just didn't wanna waste the opportunity"

His eyes widened. But he recovered from the shock pretty quick, getting closer to you

You smirked and leaned towards him

And you just know he's a face grabber, oh he is

Stroking your cheek gently as his tongue danced sensually with yours

Suddenly your body was against his, his hands on your waist

And the clock accused that the quickest 7 minutes of your life had passed

You two left the room straight to your dorm...

Quentin Beck

The way he is, he probably planned it for weeks and found a way to manipulate the game so he would end up with you

Ugh he's so cocky about it

Already grabbing your ass on the way to the room

Would tease you non-stop, drive you crazy

Whisper the filthiest things to you mid kisses

Would find a way to get 7 more minutes, even of he had to KILL someone

Billy Hope

Straight to the point, he's gonna finger you in there

Bring you so so so close, just to edge you

"Aw no, baby, looks like time is up" he would say with that shit eating grin

You would find a way to go in there with someone else after, to make him jealous

"What's wrong? It's just a game :)"

Yeah man, you would regret that afterwards...

He would have to show you that you belong to him, by making you cum until you couldn't feel your body anymore

"What's wrong, baby? Didn't you put on that ridiculous show because you wanted to cum? Well, take it now"

Yeah :)))

Donnie Darko

WOULDN'T IT BE CUTE IF IT WAS HIS FIRST KISS

And he had this MASSIVE crush on you, so his friends would set you up

He would be so nervous :(

But when the time came, he knew it was HIS CHANCE

And he blew your mind

Such a great kisser

Such a sweet boy <3

You left the place absolutely in love with him!

The two of you were never apart again, his friends almost regretted it

He's so clingy bf material, I love him 🥺

[coraniaid]

Headcanon that I've been playing around with for a few days: what if the reason the Tento di Cruciamentum -- the test Buffy is forced to undergo in Season 3's Helpless -- is so hard to square with a lot of the show's established lore is that, in a very real sense, it doesn't exist? What if it isn't the rite of passage that every Slayer goes through that Giles tells Buffy it is?

Let me explain: I think there are two main issues with the Cruciamentum as presented to us. One issue is that it doesn't really make sense as worldbuilding (but then, what part of Buffy's world-building would survive any serious scrutiny?). The other -- more serious -- issue is that, depending on when Giles is meant to have found out about it, it retroactively does very odd things to his character.

As an attempt at worldbuilding, then: the Cruciamentum doesn't make sense on the grounds the Council's leader Quentin Travers gives to justify it. Quite simply: what on earth are they testing for and why? The whole point of the Slayer is that she has superhuman strength and reflexes! Testing how well she'd do without those atribbutes is pointless: if she didn't have those things she wouldn't be the Slayer!

If the Slayer is meant to find out about the test and her own Watcher's role in subjecting her to it after the fact then it damages her relationship with the Council for no obvious benefit. If she isn't ever meant to find out, then … okay, if she survives you now know she (might) be able to survive a similar situation if it happens in the future, only it won't because you won't do it again. (And maybe she won't survive a second time anyway; but she'll certainly spend a lot of time needlessly worrying about the possibility.) If she doesn't survive, you now need to find and train a new Slayer from scratch. And if this was the point all along, there are much easier ways for the Council (who explicitly have "wetworks" teams and the resources to hire professional assassins) to get rid of a troublesome Slayer. I mean, why don't they just shoot her? Or if they're poisoning her anyway (which they're doing to rob her of her powers), why not inject her with something fatal?

And, although I realize this isn't true outside of the canon of the TV show, it's noteworthy that the Cruciamentum is almost never brought up again after Helpless. Indeed, it's very hard to square the existence of the Cruciamentum with any of the show post-Helpless. Whether with Faith (who's supposed need to go through her own Cruciamentum is consistently ignored) or with the Season 7 Potentials (if "every Slayer", as Giles tells us, undergoes the Cruciamentum on her eighteenth birthday, it must logically be the case that no Slayer is ever called after her eighteenth birthday. So how old is Kennedy?) or with Buffy being allowed free access to the Watcher's Diaries (surely she'd notice, at some point, that a lot of Slayers happened to all die on the same birthday? wouldn't she think that was strange?).

For Giles the key question seems to me to be when exactly he knew about the Cruciamentum. If he always knew, even before he ever met Buffy, I kind of think that retroactively poisons her relationship with him in much the same way that the Normal Again retcon poisons Buffy's relationship with her mother. Keeping something like that secret for months or even years is quite straightforwardly monstrous. His various speeches to her in Prophecy Girl or Lie To Me or Innocence about being on her side and offering her nothing but respect read very very differently if you assume that all this time he knew what he'd be putting her through if and when she made it to eighteen. His efforts helping her study for the SATs -- and admonishing her seriously that this is a "rite of pssage" -- takes on a pretty sinister second reading. And so on, and so forth. It just doesn't really work. I can't convince myself the Giles of the first two seasons of the show -- or even the Giles of Dead Man's Party -- knew anything about this.

No, I think the only way of saving Giles as a character, and the only way of making sense of how quickly Buffy forgives him, is to assume that the Cruciamentum is something that Travers surprised Giles with. Something he didn't know about until, at most, a couple of weeks before the test itself. Something that he was told he had to go along with if he didn't want to be replaced, something that every Slayer before Buffy had been through, something that she'd survive as long as he'd trained her well and she was a better than average Slayer (which, being Giles, of course he'd assume she was). I think this explains why he's still so angry about it, and yet why he doesn't simply refuse outright: he's deliberately not been given enough time to think things through.

(Even so, the decision he does make is pretty terrible; I don't think there's any arguing about that. I still wouldn't blame Buffy if she never forgave him; and I don't think he'd have any grounds to complain either.)

Furthermore though, the way the Council deal with Giles after Helpless -- officially firing him, but not doing anything to stop him from continuing to act as Buffy's de facto Watcher, sending a very junior and unpolished replacement who lets himself be bossed around by his predecessor -- doesn't really make sense either. Travers makes a show of firing him in front of Buffy and suggests he have "no further contact" with her, and Travers threatens that he'll be "dealt with" if he interferes with the new Watcher or countermands his authority "in any way". Only, uh. Giles does all that, and suffers exactly no repercussions.

In Season 5's Checkpoint Giles will claim that the Council are "the best in the world" when it comes to bureaucracy and pulling political strings, and in that same episode Travers threatens to have him deported. So if the Council wanted to make sure he wouldn't have further contact with Buffy, why not just … do that? If they don't want Giles to be in Sunnydale -- or anywhere even close to California -- we're told they have the means to arrange that. And yet they very obviously don't.

Putting these strands together -- it's very hard to make sense of the Cruciamentum as a mandatory test for all Slayers; it seems plausible that Giles only found out about it from Travers at very short notice; the Council had the ability to make Giles "firing" more permanent and never took it -- I think it's credible to suggest that … well, that the Cruciamentum doesn't exist.

Whatever evidence Travers used to convince Giles of it was somehow fabricated or faked. Maybe there was some sort of test like it, centuries ago, and Travers could just pretend it was still being practiced. Maybe there never was. Maybe it's like one of those supposed medieval torture methods that the Victorians used to love to make up. Maybe Travers just decided that, with the properly trained Kendra gone and a new Watcher heading to Sunnydale anyway (we know that Giles has told the Council about Faith, remember), it wouldn't hurt to try something that would either rid him of a particularly irritating Slayer and leave (what he assumed would be) a more malleable replacement who didn't need to be found, or, failing that, would at least damage Buffy's relationship with her Watcher. Maybe he's happy for Giles to carry on providing free instruction and training to the active Slayers; he just wants to make sure neither of them trust him too much. Maybe the events of the episode played out almost exactly the way Travers wanted. Maybe the Cruciamentum never existed until he made it up.

Or, okay, yes, maybe the Cruciamentum is just a much bigger deal in fanon than it ever was meant to be in canon and, like most of Buffy's often silly world-building, you're just not meant to think about it too hard. Both good options.