#Five BILLION years later hello

[sunrisetune]

Hi Goose. Another Dragon Age prompt -- I was trying for angstier, but I'm too sleepy, so here it is as it is: Anders attempts to fulfill a patient's last request, with or without help from Hawke (or anyone else you wish).

(ID: An edited ‘The Office’ meme, of a man looking off into the distance with a determined expression. The caption says, “I’m going to make this way angstier than it needs to be.”)

So I actually have more of this bc I can’t write short-fic to save my fuckening life, But I wanted to give you something before the new year! Therefore: Please accept this slightly reworked excerpt of a thing; hopefully it should stand mostly on its own?? \o/

- 740-ish words - Dashes of Hawke/Anders; Anders was right but he still absolutely did things wrong - And you know when sometimes people write a friendship route Hawke and (or / ) Anders where both of them are completely okay with Kirkwall being destroyed, or where Justice and Anders are chill with the amount of death the war causes because it's a ~needed price to pay~? Fuck those two interpretations specifically.

CW: The end of Act Three - violence, brief gore, mass / crowd death, children in dangerous situations, fire, suicidal ideation.

~

‘Pyre’

The chunk of what was once Chantry wall careened out of the sky and cracked the street in front of him. He flinched, his arcane shield flaring for a moment before the dust cleared. When it did he wished it hadn't, but forced himself to look. Stone, and flesh. A trail of blood seeping from underneath a wrinkled hand stuck out from the wreckage. Anders felt sick. Then he heard the wail, and went to them.

The poor elf woman caught under the wreckage refused to accept his healing, or his frantic instructions not to move. Instead she inched closer to her husband and pressed her cheek to his bleeding skull, murmuring comforts. There was nothing Anders could do for them, he realized-- half his face was gone, and with her chest in that shape, she had only minutes. She looked up at Anders through the mess of her hair. "Please," she said. "The baby." He turned. There, a few feet away-- she must have thrown them-- a bundle of rags the size of a young elf child. The bundle was breathing.  Anders looked back at the poor mother and nodded. Her eyes filled with tears of relief and pain. “Thank you.” He had no elfroot or lotus to ease their passing but she put her face to her husband’s and closed her eyes, and he cut her throat as fast and smoothly as he could.

Anders’ hands were shaking and still covered in gore, but he picked the child up, carefully. He checked their breathing, turning their face to his chest to give them some small measure of protection. At least there wasn’t any darkspawn blood on him. They’d make it to the alienage, Andraste willing.

He wove through the broken streets with his arcane shield shimmering dimly around him, his aura stretching as far as his concentration could spare, healing those around him for the few seconds they were close enough. It wasn't much but he could hope it might give someone another few minutes. Mechanically, he stepped around the corpses. All but ignored the screams coming from the burning stacks of hovels euphemistically called 'apartments' throughout Lowtown. The buildings were too cramped, too close together, and the fire spread like a ravenous beast. The most he could do was pray that they'd die quickly of the smoke.

It felt almost like he did on his worst weeks: everything so loud, the air itself ringing cruelly, nothing getting through to him. But something was keeping him just above that, like treading water in a freezing lake. Justice, trying to protect him. They were one now but nonetheless Anders hadn't felt the spirit so present in a long time; not furious, burying him in his own mind, but simply there. Sustaining. They probably wouldn't have been able to continue at all if it wasn't for Justice. Back in front of the ruined Chantry, after Hawke had thrown her dagger to the stones, Anders certainly wouldn't have been able to stand. (She shouldn’t have let them go. They should be dead. They should have paid--) They were hollow but for a viciously twisting rage; a great, helpless guilt. Rage at the templars, at himself. Them both. How dare his heart ache. How dare their eyes burn with more than the ashes?  How could they grieve when they were responsible for the suffering of these people? He'd lit the fire. Their home was burning. What could he possibly do for them now?

Something. They must do something.

It’s a monstrous thing, feeling such sorrow and certainty they'd do it again.

Amid all the chaos, his siblings face down their oppressors. More and more of them twist grotesquely into abominations as the fight continues-- Anders wants to scream at them in betrayal. Still others fall on their knees and beg before the steel struck through their throats. What kind of a way was that for mages to die? They were meant to fight! His fingers tighten on their staff until they're nearly claws of his own. It-- didn't matter. The world would know, no matter how many were dead. And he'd help them, he'd join the battle with or without Hawke, and do what he came here to. ('Without Hawke'. Anders couldn’t linger on that thought.) Maybe they could still save some of them, or maybe he could slaughter enough templars that some of this rage would ease.

Just not yet. The child in his arm breathed, fragile, still unconscious. If he could be a healer still-- even once more-- he had a promise to keep.

~

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

Also don't think anyone has said this (thats a joke) but like, art styles aside:

The animation, expressions, movement, everything of ATSV is IMPECCABLE.

Like insanely, ridiculously, almost mind bogglingly good.

[This is a MEDIUM length post]

The main strength is the Emotion -

In terms of animation, the range of emotions Miguel is capable of expressing is like... crazy good. Gwen's emotions ARE UNSPEAKABLY IMPRESSIVE.

LIKE...ANIMATING HER FUCKING BREATHING???? AND BLINKS!! AS AN EMOTIONAL CUE. HELLO???!!

And the movie hinges on this - almost every scene has an emotional cue that HAS to hit. Whether is Jess's looks of hesitation or Peter B.'s looks of horror.

And this may seem like the most ridiculous comparison ever made but like...

The Bee Movie and Across the Spider-Verse came out FIFTEEN YEARS APART.

THE BEE MOVIE...THIS MONSTRASITY that has plagued humankind - was made less than two decades from THIS:

The fact that we progressed that far as a society (pun intended) in that short of a time will never not baffle me.

I genuinely cannot name any other animated movie that:

Has multiple styles throughout the duration

Can seamlessly change styles without the viewer immediately noticing (like Gwen returning to her universe)

Show two or more animation styles on screen at the same time (and no, Roger Rabbit and Space Jam don't count - that's half live action lol)

Just off the top of my head - ATSV shows up to three styles in one scene: I'm mainly thinking of the scene that shows Hobie (customized - style 1), Peter B. (standard - style 2), and Miguel (a light stylized - style 3).

It can be brought to four if you want to count Miles/Gwen, though their style isn't visible.

I can think of a couple scenes that genuinely blew me away in terms of animation -

One being Rio's 'What-EVER?!' because of the little stance correction and head bob she does, because it's such a natural thing to do. And it adds so much to an already perfect line.

It's something someone would genuinely do IRL without even noticing.

Another I LOVE is Pavitr and Hobie roughhousing.

Like, I can't yell about these five seconds of animation more.

It's SO fluid it looks like Motion-Capture and I left the theatre googling is any Mo-Cap was used in the movie (and from what I can tell - no, it's all original animation).

The way Pavitr falls to the side and bumps them - This not only being a natural reaction to Hobie and his weight, but it also LOOKS natural. So much so you can see it affect Hobie's model too. The movement has kinetic energy on both models -

Which is AMAZING CONSIDERING THEY'RE ANIMATED ON LIKE FOUR DIFFERENT TIMES.

In this shot alone, there's the guitar, vest, AND Hobie, all of which have their own animation rules. Plus the outline on his guitar AND him. And then there PAVI too, who's running at a higher frame rate, touching and interacting with Hobie.

So much so that Hobie's model nearly wraps himself around Pavi. Pavi's hair is moving, Hobie's guitar is moving, there's movement in the background - and it looks GREAT.

PLUS THE CAMERA IS MOVING AND GOSTLING. IT'S NOT A STATIC SHOT. The models and camera are moving AS IF THEY'RE REAL when they're not.

That's - My..I CAN EVEN COMPUTE THAT.

But by far, I think the range of expression used on Miguel is like... Chef's kiss.

(of course I was gonna trick you into reading another post about Miguel. Uh-huh that's what's about to happen)

Like... are you kidding me?

NAH DEADASS ARE YOU KIDDING ME?????

The whole later half of the movie hinges on Miguel looking buckwild crazy insane and they NAIL that. And like-

Oh my god what the actual fuck

?????????????????????????? I........ I have nothing to add. After that picture......Nah... LMAOOO

(left: actual photo of Moche watching this happen)

But Anyway chile, This movie is like.. genuinely a modern marvel.

If Marvel gave Tim Gunn 4 billion dollars and five years, whatever live-action rendition he would have made would not even compare to ATSV on any conceivable level - that's how good it is so jot that down.

And like...don't even get me started on Hobie..his design..his representation...girl I will start crying in this Arby's do not play with me

I just felt that needed to be said.

you get what I'm saying yall know what I mean iight coo

Here's a picture of Hobie to cleanse your palette.

Bye.

[misojunnie]

Imagine Won's reaction when reader surprises him on tour? His eyes light up and he literally jumps and runs over nearly knocking everyone and everything over in the process. I live for soft Won. Could you please turn this into a drabble? 🥺♥️

✧ surprising bf!jungwon on tour!

ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ʚϊɞ.

Sweat dripped down Jungwon's forehead as he exhaled heavily. Three hours later, and the last concert in New York was over. After this, it was Aichi, then Konogawa, then Osaka as the grand finale. Aka, 28 days and 11 hours since he had seen you, 31 days and 13 hours since he would see you next. He thought he might die of a broken heart before he even got the chance.

Since you and Jungwon started dating, you hadn't been apart for more than a week. Despite his busy schedule and your own occupations, you managed to squeeze in time wherever you could. A kiss during dance practice, an embrace between train stations, whisking each other away for a brief moment just to say hello or press a chaste kiss to each other's forehead.

Without you, he felt like he was dying. He was beginning to think he was a little too clingy.

He sighed, patting Riki on the back as he passed by him, a stormy frown on his face. The younger boy took notice, a grin passing across his lips as he toweled the sweat off of his forehead.

"You missin' y/n?" he asked observantly, and Jungwon looked at him with a raised brow.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Pretty much," Riki chuckled, slinging his towel over his shoulder. A mischievous twinkle filled his eyes as he pointed down the hall. "The manager is asking for you. Down the hall, first door on the right."

"What does he want now..." Jungwon muttered, striding down the hall with his hands crammed into his pockets, shoulders hunched. His hand reached for the doorknob, turning it with a frown. "Hello? Manager-"

He straightened up as if pulled by a string, his eyes going wide as saucers the minute he laid eyes on you. A proud grin on your face, looking like a dream, in his own hoodie no less. It felt like someone had stole the breath from his lungs.

"Honey, I'm home!" you giggled playfully, eyes scrunched into smiling crescents.

He ran to you in the blink of an eye, his body colliding with yours as he reached for you, knocking a folding table over in the process, water bottles and various hair products crashing to the linoleum.

"Y/n!" he practically shrieked, his arms squeezing you so tightly it felt like your ribs were going to shatter. "What are you doing here?"

"I flew in to surprise you. Came straight from the airport." you laughed against his skin, his hair in your face as he nuzzled his face into your neck. "You miss me?"

"More than you can imagine." he replied, raising his head and pressing kisses all over your face, twice on your nose, once on each cheek, and longer one on your lips. "You smell good."

You giggled. "I'm wearing the perfume you like." He sighed contentedly. Just your presence had pushed him to the point of euphoria. He could already feel his heart mending itself back up again as you smiled at him shyly, grabbing his hand. "Wanna go to my hotel? We can order food and catch a movie."

"I'd love nothing more." His lips spread into a grin as he squeezed your hand enthusiastically, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips as he led you out of the room.

And he could've swore he saw you high five Riki as you passed him in the hallway.

ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ʚϊɞ.

a/n: oh my godddd this actual made me blush I could barely write. I love soft won too </3 also I'm sorry this took a million billion years for me to write, I was on vacation and got super distracted ;-; ty for the cute request!

[cryptidghostgirl]

Hello hi- back to my shenanigans again (the one with the fake dating + lobby portal + frozen half the pentagram surely not an OC ahahah anonymous asker) - anyway- heres some MORE angst.

Reader's past lover- died waaay before reader back in their teens because readers mother found out about their not so heterosexual relationship and decided to shoot them both but only killed one- reader escaping and killing her mom in return (let’s name her Charlotte- with mane wolf features- so wolf+fox+deer features a combination! ) and barely moved on after meeting Alastor like years later, yet still haunted by Charlottes dead eyes reader saw when she woke up from some sleepy poison. Now Charlotte is in heaven and reader in hell alongside their radio-lover lover!

Yet somehow- maybe though a very uncanonical accurate meeting where angels go down to see the new hotel after hearing sinners can get redeemed Charlotte (not to be confused with Charlie) is one of said angels and suddenly all those waves of emotions come rushing back and reader can do nothing but stare.

but oh wait! Angels/Winner dont remember their past life so reader goes to her- and shes just “Oh hello! Whats your name? :3” (shes an angel and loves the stars and plants and everything nice can do no wrong) “I-… I guess you dont know me in this lifetime” (AND DOESNT TELL HER THEYVE MET BEFORE because what good would that bring?)

But alastor is also there lurking in the back. watching them- he knew someone was in readers life before him but reader never said more than that. Will readers feelings for Charlotte come back? Will reader stay to the infatuation of murderous acts that Alastor bought them? Will reader choose the pure love that might not spring again?

The infamous blizzard demon overlord! that never dropped their mask around others that always seemed to have the upper hand in any situation, the cold- charismatic- brutal and ruthless overlord- suddenly speechless at the reappearance of someone they used to know. How will everyone react?! “Sweet as a pea, but sharp as a knife- now shocked like the stars have fallen”

GAAAH MY BRAIN IS TOO BIG ANF FULL OF ANGST!!!!! Heres some kisses too: maybe next fic its me x you pookie 😘😘🥰🥰😘😘😘😘

A/N What a wild way to close off a request, I honestly got so much respect for that. I don't do OCs but for the sign off comment, I'll make an exception. Also I am assuming you want this as a part two to Frostbite because she's still a blizzard demon?? Apologies in advance if I got that wrong. Also,, not you quoting something else I've written in your request. That's crazy, thank you so much for the love.

Day Lilies (Alastor x Blizzard demon!Reader x Angel!OC)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Part One: Frostbite (Alastor x Reader)

Warnings: Homophobia (from other people and internalized) and murder. Smoking/cigarettes and angst. Always angst. I think that is it, please correct me if I am wrong.

Word Count: 2,969

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List 

Alastor Master List

Click here and leave a comment if you want to be added to any taglists or send me an ask about it.

The best thing about the Hazbin Hotel, according to some, was the fact that not one but two overlords who had found a home there. The Radio Demon and the Frost. Feared, revered, respected, and making an appearance for the first time in seven long years.

Without Alastor and Y/n's help, Charlie would not have been able to achieve all she had and she was eternally grateful to the pair, even if they were a tad confrontational and violent at times. Deeply in love, indebted to one another in a billion and five different ways, Alastor and Y/n had worked hard for their life in the underworld. As the angel stepped gently out of the portal, following her superior, Y/n felt the pressure of that life as it began to crash down around her.

When Charlie had struck the deal with Heaven to have an angel come down to the hotel to track its progress and assess if any of its inhabitants were worthy of redemption, Y/n had thought nothing of it. Sure, it was a bit irritating but if anything, the deal seemed ripe for entertainment and thats really all she and Alastor were after at the end of the day. She had figured the angel would be some low ranking nobody. She had thought it would be amusing, that they would torture the poor creature, that things would stay roughly the same. Never in her wildest dreams had the notion ever crossed Y/n's mind that the angel might be Charlotte.

Of course, Y/n had known Charlotte must be in Heaven. The girl had always been so kind, so good to her very core. It had just all seemed so far away and now, somehow, there she was, peeking timidly out from behind the seraphim's back.

Charlotte looked different, having taken on some animalistic, wolfish features since her death. Sharp ears sprouted from the untamed mess of her hair, fangs peeked their way out from the corners of her lips but Y/n was sure. It was Charlotte. It was all in the eyes.

"Welcome, Sera." Charlie politely began, taking a step forward.

Normally, such a show of self restraint from the young demon princess would have caused curiosity to spark a fire in Y/n's chest. Now, she just stood beside Angel as Charlie had requested, eyes wide and mind reeling.

"Is this who we will be working with?"

Sera looked at the shy wolf of a girl behind her and nodded her head, gesturing for the girl to step forward.

"Yes." she replied, her voice cold and haughty, "This is Charlotte, she has been with us for a while and we trust her judgment on matters such as this."

"Oh how funny!" Charlie brightly exclaimed, "My full name is Charlotte too but, I go by Charlie. Do you have a nickname you'd prefer?"

"Just Charlotte is fine." the angel softly replied and Y/n's breath caught in her throat.

The girls voice was honeysuckle, it was sticky sweet teen love.

"Why her?" Husk asked and Charlie shot him a glare, "She just seems a little..."

Sera laughed lightly, a caring smile sneaking on to her face.

"She's a little shy, but she is smart. Even when she was alive, she had an ability to read people, to see right through to the essence of their beings."

Charlotte blushed slightly at the compliment, turning away.

The southern sun beat down over head, long grass whipping at their legs as Charlotte, running, dragged Y/n to the center of the field.

"Lottie!" Y/n exclaimed, half laughing, "Where on earth are you taking me?"

Charlotte glanced back at her companion, a mischievous smirk painting her lips that sent bolts of red hot fire through to Y/n's fingertips.

"You'll see."

After a few more paces, they came to a panting halt. Charlotte turned to Y/n, placing a hand gently over the other girl's eyes. With a guiding hand, she lead the blinded girl to a spot a little ways off where she had snuck off to earlier and set up a picnic. There was fresh fruit, Georgia peaches from her family's own orchard, and home made lemonade. Slowly, Charlotte gifted Y/n with sight.

Y/n's mouth fell slightly open as she surveyed the scene before her. Sixteen and in love, she turned to Charlotte, taking both the girl's hands in her own.

"When... how..."

"I know things have been rough at home lately. I wanted to do something to make you smile."

"How did you know? I never..." Y/n cleared her throat, "I never said anything... I nev-"

"You didn't have to. I know you, love. You never have to say a word."

Alastor watched his lover silently from the other side of the group. Charlie had insisted they flank the guests, dragging Y/n away from his side just as the portal had opened. She didn't show it, not obviously, but he knew something was wrong. From the second the portal had opened and the angels had stepped through, she had gone tense, her eyes fixed on the one called Charlotte, the tips of her frostbite blackened fingers tapped against one another in wild thought.

"Well," Sera sighed, looking around at the ragtag group of sinners and demons, "I had best be on my way. I will be back in a few days to pick Charlotte up, please be kind to her over the course of her stay."

With those parting words and a reassuring pat on the angel's shoulder, Sera stepped back through the portal which closed behind her.

"Well," Charlie began brightly, clapping her hands together, "let's do introductions! I am Charlie Morningstar and I run the Hazbin Hotel with my girlfriend, Vaggie."

Vaggie sent Charlotte a wave which she timidly returned. With a deep breath, Charlotte stepped towards the line of sinners before her.

"Alastor." Alastor hummed, grabbing Charlottes hand and shaking it harshly, "A pleasure to be meeting you my dear, quite the pleasure."

It struck Charlie as a bit odd he said and did nothing else but, she made no mention of it. In her mind, Alastor was simply on his best behavior as requested. In reality, he was far too focused on the way a slight flurry of snow had begun to settle on Y/n's sharp shoulders.

"Nice to meet you too." Charlotte replied, extracting her hand from his grip and moving down the line.

Y/n's heart pounded wildly against her chest as Charlotte grew closer. Her tail twitched behind her, flicking back and forth gently, and her breaths grew slightly heavy. Although he noticed the odd behavior, it was impossible not to from his place beside her, Angel said nothing. At long last, Charlotte came to a stop before her.

"Disgusting!" Y/n's mother's voice rang out through the yard, "You are both complete and utter disgraces!"

They hadn't meant to be found out. As far as Y/n's mother had known, Y/n and Charlotte were best friends. Charlotte had come over to help Y/n with her chores, they had been doing laundry out in the yard when Charlotte had playfully flicked water towards her beloved. One thing had lead to another and before long, they had been wrapped up in one another, planting a singular, soft kiss on each other's lips. Y/n felt Charlotte's hand tighten around her own, she took a step forward.

"Don't you dare speak to her that way!" Y/n yelled back, anger burning brightly in her eyes and adrenaline shaking her limbs with wild courage, "Don't you dare!"

Her mother scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

"She is a bad influence on you! The devil sent to curse me!"

Y/n's mother stepped forward, grabbing Y/n and wrenching her from Charlotte's grip. Charlotte tugged at Y/n's mother's dress as she dragged her girlfriend harshly into the small house.

"Let her go!" Charlotte cried, "Stop it! We weren't doing anything wrong!"

With a harsh slap to her face, Charlotte was sent to the ground. Her mother threw Y/n through the door, the unfinished wood of the floor sending splinters deep into Y/n's knees as she struggled to get to her feet. Her head had hit the corner of the table in her fall, the world was spinning. Y/n's mother grabbed the shot gun from where it lay beside the door. Just as Y/n managed to stumble to her feet, holding her swaying body up with a hand on the table she had hit, her mother stepped outside and slammed the door behind her, locking it.

Y/n rushed over, trying desperately to wrench it open to no avail. The anger had turned to panic as she heard her mother cock the gun.

"What are you doing!" she heard Charlotte yell and Y/n rushed to the window.

From her vantage point, Y/n watched her mother train the gun on Charlotte who had her hands raised and was stumbling backwards.

"Run!" she yelled, banging her fists on the glass, "Lottie, run!"

"Please." Charlotte was pleading, tears wetting her cheeks, "I promise I wont ever come here again, I wont ever come near her again. Please!"

"Lottie!" Y/n yelled again.

With no regard for her own safety, Y/n punched the glass of the window. The pane shattered around her hand, puncturing her soft skin. Blood, hot and wet, ran down her arm as she pulled her hand back to her side.

"Yeah, you sure as hell wont!" Y/n's mother yelled, her voice thick and low with rage, "You'll be dead!"

Y/n flung her leg over the window sill, shards of glass digging into her as she pulled herself through the hole she had created.

"Lottie!" she yelled again, "Run!"

Her screams were drowned out by the sound of a gunshot. Charlotte held her hands to her stomach, blood pouring from between her fingers. Their eyes met.

"Lottie!"

"And you are?" Charlotte asked expectently.

Y/n shook her head slightly, pulling herself from the depths of her memories. Everyone was staring at her, she had no idea how long the angel had been standing before her. She cleared her throat.

Alastor didn't know what was going on but, whatever it was, he knew he didn't like it. Using his shadows, he appeared behind Y/n and placed a protective hand on the top of her head between her horns. Her hair was damp from freshly fallen snow and Charlotte gasped slightly in surprise at his appearance.

"My dear," he grinned, leaning down to Y/n's ear, "you're snowing."

"I..."

Y/n looked up, her cheeks flushing pink and the heart on the tip of her tail puffing up as she realized what he said.

"O-oh." she stuttered, brushing his hand from her head and the snow from her shoulders as she regained control of her powers again, "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me."

The other members of the hotel watched in a mixture of shock and confusion. They had always known Y/n to be cold, to be harsh. They had always seen her devotion to the man behind her as infallible. No one had any idea what was going on but, the presence of the angel stopped them all in their tracks.

"It's quite all right, what's your name?" Charlotte asked again, her voice honey sweet.

Y/n took a deep breath, morphing her features into the closest thing to a kind smile she could muster.

"Y/n." she firmly replied, "I'm Y/n."

Her eyes scanned Charlotte's face intently as their hands made contact. She waited for the shock of recognition, for the tears her Lottie had always been so prone to. There was nothing.

"That's a very pretty name." Charlotte replied, "It sounds like it is from the same era as mine."

That raised some small hope in Y/n's chest. She took a step forward, bringing herself closer to the angel.

"Which is?"

"Oh, I don't know." Charlotte replied, her cheeks flushing pink with embarrassment, "Angels don't get to remember their lives on earth unless they are pretty high in the ranks. I've been told I was from Georgia though, that I died in the early 1900s."

Y/n froze, her breath trapped in her chest, a knife buried deep within her heart.

"Oh." she mumbled out in a broken whisper, "I guess you... you don't know me in this lifetime."

"What was that?" Charlotte asked, leaning in a bit.

Y/n shook her head, letting go of Charlotte's hand.

"Nothing. I... I need some fresh air, I think. If you would all excuse me."

It didn't take Alastor long to find Y/n once Charlie had let him return to his duties in favor of showing Charlotte around the hotel. She stood out in back of the hotel, her back pressed firmly against the wall and a cigarette crushed between her fingers. Shakily, she took a drag.

"What was that about?" Alastor asked, leaning up against the wall beside her and folding his arms across his chest.

"What was what about." Y/n cooly replied.

"Y/n, don't play dumb."

"I knew her back when we were alive, thats all."

"Is that all?" Alastor asked after a moment, "You seemed..."

He trailed off. Alastor was angry. He had always been the jealous type, protective to a fault. He could see how shaken up Y/n was however and so, running a finger over the ring he wore, Alastor took a deep breath.

"That angel, Charlotte..." her name lingered poisonously on his tongue, "it seemed there was something a lot more than just you knowing her."

"I picked these for you." Y/n bashfully stated, shoving a bouquet tied with a rough bit of twine towards the pretty girl beside her, "Here."

Tentatively, Charlotte took the bouquet from Y/n's hand. She held it gently, watching the way the breeze played with the petals.

"Georgia asters?" Charlotte hummed thoughtfully, "And yarrow?"

"My momma didn't used to be poor. She grew up in a rich family, gave it up when she married my dad. Her momma taught her floriography." Y/n's words came out in a big rush, they chased after one another in a breathless flurry of nerves, "It was big in the victorian era for fancy people, all about talking through flowers. She taught me asters symbolized wisdom, faith, and valor and that yarrow was for healing and... and love... besides, I know you like them. You're always staring at them when were out."

Charlotte looked over at Y/n who's cheeks were bright red. She smiled, her eyes shining.

"I love you too." she said, nudging Y/n gently with her elbow.

"Yeah, but..." Y/n sighed, running a hand through her messy hair, "I... god, Lottie! I don't just love you like a sister. Its... I understand if you don't wanna talk to me anymore I just couldn't... I couldn't keep it in anymore."

Y/n looked away, tears pressing hotly at the backs of her eyes. Charlotte's eyes went wide.

"I understand... I won't be mad... I just... I'll leave."

Charlotte's hand shot out, grabbing Y/n's wrist as she pushed herself from the fence they were leaning against. Slowly, Y/n turned to face her. Charlotte was blushing now too and looked away, still holding Y/n tightly.

"I don't..." she took a deep breath, "I don't love you like a sister either."

"It's wrong... it's so wrong... what would my mother say... what would your mother say, I-"

Charlotte cut Y/n off, standing on her toes to press a soft kiss to the slightly taller girl's lips. It was clumsy and foreign. Y/n trembled, her eyes fluttered shut.

"I don't care." Charlotte said, "I don't care."

"Yeah." Y/n sighed, taking a final drag from her cigarette before stamping it out beneath her heel, "Yeah."

"Do I have anything to worry about?" Alastor asked and Y/n's eyes met his.

He had known her long enough, he could see the conflict.

"She was my first love, Al." Y/n admitted, "We were girls together."

"You're my wife."

"It's different."

"Do I have anything to worry about?" Alastor asked again and Y/n looked back out at the sky.

"She doesn't remember me."

"But you remember her."

"But I remember her." Y/n confirmed, her voice cracking, "I couldn't forget if I tried. She haunts me, Al. She has always haunted me, since long before I even met you. Lottie died in my arms, Al. My mother killed her, shot her right in the stomach. I...."

Y/n trailed off into silence. It was more about her life before she had met him than she had ever revealed before. Alastor took a deep breath, conflicting emotions battling behind his eyes.

"What are you thinking about?"

He was trying to keep his cool, to save face. He was failing, anger and a secret fear ate away at the edges of his words.

"Day lilies."

"Day lilies?" Alastor repeated and Y/n nodded, meeting his eyes once again.

"A floriography thing again?"

Alastor knew of Y/n's interest in the symbolic properties of plants. It was one of the only things she ever spoke about concerning her mother and her shadowed past before that night in Mimzy's bar.

"Yes."

"What do they mean?" Alastor sighed, resigning himself to his fate because god, if Alastor knew anything he knew his fate was Y/n. She held his heart in the palms of her hands.

"Love for lovers. Love for mothers..."

"And?"

His heart pounded against his chest.

"And loss of memory."

----

TAGS:

the ones in red are ones I am not sure worked/having trouble linking.

@willowshadenox @i-love-jafar @elfyeet @reader3 @lazygirlfanfic0-0@kahlan170@wendyphan01203-blog @fairyv-ice @clarakainda @lunaramune @mcueveryday @luxky-aish @peterpankat @corvid007

[itsscromp]

hellloooo so i wanted to request something I've been thinking of for a while <3 you can just call me 🦇bat anon :D sooo i was thinking rocket raccoon x reader who is also a genetically modified raccoon by the hands of high evolutionary with the same amount of trauma and torture as rocket experienced, but they're more brain modified, so they look like a sorta normal raccoon but they're really REALLY overly intelligent and are agile and smart and all that, but they use a human body hologram, and when rocket met them he saw them as a human, but reader later revealed their secret and they connected with their trauma or something i dunno X( i just want someone to let rocket know he's not alone <3 if you're gonna do this, thank you :D if not, have a nice day anyway and i love your writing!!!

We're not so different

Hello there 🦇bat anon :D, Apologies for the delay in this, Now for this request, I had read over it and ultimately my brain has gone splat in the moment. BUT !!! I cooked another idea relating to what you asked. So I hope you like it. Warnings: Mentions of abuse. Word count:985

How you were brought into this world will continue to baffle you until the day you die. How many children have happy families, Yours was utterly broken, Your mom abandoned you before your first birthday, leaving you with your dad who turned to alcohol to cope with the stress. You would always have to bring him his bottle... unless you would cop something in the head. You still had the scar across your eyebrow from the shard cutting through, you were thankful that it didn't get your eye.

By 10 years old when you were on the way home from school as quickly as you could. Your teacher stopped you before you could rush home to talk about the results of your test. Heading home... Guess who was there.

"Where the fuck have you been ??!! I told you to get back as soon school finished."

"I... I know... The teacher just wanted to talk to me..."

"You got into trouble !!" He grabbed your arm and twisted it.

You yelped in pain and started to cry, You yanked your hand away and ran away, Having enough of his endless hurting. Running as fast as you could, You rushed down into the nearby park and fell over, started to cry. As you cried, you felt yourself getting dragged up by something in the sky, Soon being sent away thousands of light-years away in the galaxy.

The cycle continued just with your kidnappers, Whatever your dad did, they did ten times worse when you didn't do what they said. You didn't escape for another 5 years. Being placed into hiding on Knowhere and stayed there for the time being. At least you were free.

You took up some mercenary work with the ravagers, coming across Peter quill from time to time. And it just so happened that that day when the guardians of the galaxy were formed. The day you met Rocket Raccoon.

You knew straight from the start that the attitude that he pulled off when you worked together in prison was nothing more than a cover-up for a deeper trauma that he had witnessed. But it became more evident when you saw his drunken out burst in the bar.

"He thinks I'm some stupid thing he does !! Well, I didn't ask to get made !! I didn't ask to be torn apart and put back together over and over, turned into some... Some little monster !!"

"Rocket, no one is calling you a monster" Peter told him

"He called me vermin !! She called me Rodent !!! His bottom lip wobbled a bit before he grew angry. "Let's see if you can last after five or six good shots in your fricken face !!" He aimed his gun at Drax.

"No no no no !! 4 billion units, Rocket come on suck it up for one more lousy night and you're rich !!" Quill begged him to think rationally.

Rocket thought for a bit before disarming his weapon. "Fine... But I can't promise when this is over I'm not gonna kill every last one of you jerks."

He then bolted out of the bar, Your heart absolutely shattered hearing all of this. At this, you wanted to hold him and tell him that everything was ok... But you knew this wouldn't work knowing Rocket for the short time.

But regardless he needed someone right now, So you headed outside to find him. Looking around nearby until you found him in an alleyway crying softly to himself. You grew sad as you saw him... You walked over as you gently sat down across the other side, remaining silent.

He looked up and saw you, quickly regaining his composure. "Get lost y/n..."

"I didn't say anything" You softly said.

He opened his mouth before shutting it, His ears fully drooped. Crossing his arms as he looked away from you. "Why are you here ?? Wanna call me monster too ??"

You shook your head gently, Trying to figure out how to properly say it. "Rocket... Whatever it is... that you have gone through." You could feel his eyes glaring on you, almost to say choose your next few words very carefully.

"Whatever it is... I get it... I know what it feels like."

His eyes slowly softened a little, but still glaring at you.

"The scar... On my eyebrow... This was by the man who was meant to protect me..." You pointed to your eyebrow.

He inspected your eyebrow a bit before he looked down at the ground. "I... I'm sorry you had to suffer that"

"My whole life... And not even that... When I was 10 I was kidnapped from Earth, The people who kidnapped me... They endured so much pain on me... For 5 flarking years..." You moved your shirt a bit, showing scared underneath your ribs... this one hurt you the most, you couldn't even stomach to talk about it.

Rocket's eyes went soft, And soon, you could see a different side to him. "I'm sorry... I really am..." He hesitantly started to move, moving next to you. Wanting to be in your company and feel safe.

"Rocket, Whatever this galaxy throws at you... I want to let you know... I'll be there for you ok ??" You looked at him.

He gave it a bit of thought for a little bit before nodding. "Yeah... Same to you y/n" He looked up at you, saying it sincerely.

You smiled and gently raised a fist to him, he tilted his head a little bit in confusion. "What are you doing humie ??"

"You never heard about fist bumps ??"

He shook his head, wanting an explanation.

"It's kind of like a symbol of friendship on earth, so here" You gently helped him achieve his first fist bump, "There you go" You smiled,

You would always have his back, And he with yours. Always.

Taglist: @callofdudes

[battleangel]

4 Minutes Is An Eternity

I am 42 years old.

I was in college 20 years ago in 2003.

In just 20 years, I have noticed a profound shift in society.

I was born in October 1981 so I am considered an older Millennial.

I have noticed a signficant macro difference between Gen X & older Millennials vs younger Gen Z and Generation Alpha (the generation after Gen Z).

What is the one change across society in the past two decades that could account for this change?

The total ubiquitousness of social media.

Whats the change?

The shortening of attention spans and the shortening of the mind.

Songs used to be, on average, approximately four minutes long.

Go back and look at the Billboard 100 in 2003 and look at it today.

Something should immediately jump out at you.

Songs today are much shorter than 20 years ago.

Songs today are typically just under 3 minutes long.

How did we lose a full minute in only 20 years?

Billboard also recently announced they established a TikTok chart to track the success of songs on TikTok, which is the new radio.

You may not know who Flyana Boss is but if I say, "Hello Christ?" if you were on social media at all the past few months, your mind probably automatically filled in the next bar, "I'm bout to sin again".

"You Wish" by Flyana Boss was literally all over TikToks for you page and later Instagram Reels to the tune of over a billion combined views.

They cleverly had their director film them while they ran towards him in public places as the director ran backwards in front of them with a camera on top of his head.

It is an arresting visual and the views racked up as Flyana Boss started to get requests from local businesses in LA begging them to run through their restaurants and stores for the publicity on TikTok.

Flyana Boss are Black female rappers, eclectic and a total callback to 90s rappers like Missy Elliot.

The kawaii aesthetic, elf ears and relatable clever lyrics about life and sex resonated with people.

They provide an alternative to the Ice Spices shaking their ass in a deli.

They also represent the Sexyy Red "Skee Yee" phenomenon.

Sexyy Red was the first artist to top the newly established TikTok Billboard 100 chart (she debuted at number 1).

Whats the Skee Yee phenomenon?

Its never about the actual song anymore.

You've probably heard "Skee Yee" by now.

Or maybe you saw Sexyy Red in the MetLife VIP area meeting the Jets owner with a stack of 100s held up to her ear.

The truth is, despite literally billions of views on TikTok and Instagram, almost noone has heard the full songs for "You Wish" by Flyana Boss and "Skee Yee" by Sexyy Red.

Because of TikTok, all you need today as a music artist is a catchy 5 to 7 second jingle, verse, hook, chorus or bar and if you can film viral content to it that people either imitate or watch, you can launch yourself into music superstardom.

Flyana Boss has already toured with Janelle Monae.

They were virtual unknowns prior to Summer 2023 with a few hundred views on their respective Soundcloud profiles.

Sexyy Red released her first mixtape, "Ah Thousand Jugs", in 2018.

The Hood Hottest Princess had been grinding away for the past five years on mixtape releases and trying to go viral on Triller.

"Dogg Pound Town" blew Sexyy Red up earlier this year.

Its the song about her toes and ass being ate while she eats Popeye chicken.

She has fire engine red hair and facial tattoos.

If you have a TikTok or Instagram, there is literally no way you havent scrolled past Sexyy Red at this point.

This is the new way to make it in the music industry.

We see Lay Banks, a 19 year old female rapper, utilize this formula to great success with "Ick".

Lay hired the same director that Flyana Boss used for "You Wish".

Instead of running in public places, Lay was filmed rapping "Ick" at a gas station.

"Ick" is about a guy with a foot fetish and bad credit who kills Lay's lady boner and gives her the "Ick".

The hook at the beginning of the viral clip is "Lady boner gone".

Lay is an extremely high energy rapper with hard hitting beats, a sick flow and clever and humorous lyrics complaining about men being in their soft girl era with their credit cards declining.

Its the updated 2023 Missy Elliot "I dont want no one minute man".

Lay is also strikingly beautiful, young and knew that "lady boner gone" waa a viral TikTok catchphrase that would catch on and go viral.

She also cleverly asked female viewers to film themselves rapping the lyrics to "Ick" if any guys had ever given them the "Ick" and then she reshared hundreds of these Youtube Shorts, TikToks and Reels to her personal social media profiles.

Lay has already charted on the TikTok Billboard 100 chart and she has millions of combined views.

This is clearly the new path to musical success as Billboard has recognized by establishing the TikTok Billboard 100 chart.

What have we lost in the process?

To be very clear, I love all three songs and all four rappers (Flyana Boss is a rap duo), especially Lay Banks "Ick".

That doesnt mean that this is a good change for society as a whole.

We, to speak on a macro universal level, dont listen to full songs anymore.

Everything became a sound bite, a viral clip on the for you page before you scroll on to the next video.

TikTok replaced radio.

New music is now discovered on TikTok.

But only in 5 to 7 second snippets curated to blow up on the for you page.

What happens to the Radioheads, Slipknots and Deftones in this brave new world?

What happens to us on a macro level when our attention spans have been so shortened by social media we cant even be assed to sit through a four minute song?

Social media, including messaging apps, is constant and ubiquitous.

It is a pervasive and constant distractiveness and mindlessness.

Its constant scrolling, constant notifications for discord servers & Whatsapp group chats, likes on Instagram & TikTok, trending hashtags on Twitter, new uploads on Youtube.

Constant validation, constant distraction.

Doom scrolling, scrolling for likes, scrolling for vanity, scrolling for boredom, scrolling for depression, scrolling for jealousy and envy, scrolling to endlessly compare.

When TikTok surpassed Google as the number 1 website in the world last year per number of visits, Google removed the pages in their results and made their results pages endless just like TikTok's for you page.

Googles results page was the new limitless rabbit hole of Youtube Suggested Videos -- it never ends.

No more iconic "Gooooooogle" at the bottom of the search results with a different colored "o" above each individual page number.

Nothing ever ends anymore.

Coupled with nearly limitless options to binge watch on streaming services where all episodes are released instantaneously and noone ever has to wait for anything, there are no weekly episodes anymore, no mid-season hiatuses, there are no repeats, season finales that are breathlessly anticipated...

Everything is immediately and constantly at your fingertips.

Its a total closing and shortening of the mind.

It is the evisceration of our collective attention spans.

Multiple screens at all times -- flat screen TV, smartphone, tablet, laptop, Nintendo Switch, Xbox Live, Playstation Network.

Multiple inputs -- music on Spotify, podcasts on Youtube, streams on Twitch, sports games, competition shows and reality TV on regular cable, streaming shows on Netflix/Disney+/Hulu, multiplayer online games on Xbox, Playstation & Nintendo, group messaging chats on discord, Whatsapp, iPhone, Facebook Messenger & Instagram.

Everything is always on, especially you.

Theres always a buzz, theres always a noti, theres always an active discord server, theres always something to check, theres always something happening, theres always something to distract your mind.

Do not disturb is only for when you're asleep.

We were not designed for these constant notifications and interruptions.

They are short circuiting us as a species by design.

Everything became bingeable, nothing ever has to be waited for.

Once the show is released to Disney+ & Netflix, I can binge to my hearts content.

It is a relic of the old days to have to wait a week for new episodes of a favorite show and to have to wait months for a highly anticipated season finale.

Everything is bingeable, including you.

Everything is easily consumed and passed through like the ephemera it is, including you.

There is no permanence, there is no gravitas.

Everything is trending, everything is the now.

Everything is forgotten in 24 hours.

What genocide in Palestine?

There are people trapped on the Gaza Strip?

Emergency medical supplies, food, fuel , water and electricity are being cut off to the Gaza Strip?

Did Travis and Taylor already break up?

Its the shortening of collective memory, the evisceration of our attention spans and the shortening of the mind.

Everyone has already forgotten that Sexyy Red supported Trump on a podcast and posted a sex video of herself on her Instagram stories (right after the Trump story broke so no I dont believe Sexyy was hacked) -- both of these things happened last month.

Does anyone remember Biden brazenly, unapologetically and inhumanely telling reporters on video, Aviators firmly in place, that he guarantees "there will be no ceasefire" between Israel & Palestine despite 13k+ Palestinian civilians being murdered by the Israeli Defense Force over the past two months in one of the worst instances of ethnic cleansing this century?

That literally happened this month and its already been collectively forgotten.

Theres always a new Skims ad for undergarments that give you the perfect nipples.

Taylor Swift was being discussed on NFL broadcasts more than Patrick Mahomes while dating Travis Kelce -- now she has been disappeared from all NFL broadcasts as if she had never been endlessly discussed to begin with.

We are no longer being shown Taylor sitting by Kelces mom and Mahomes' wife and daughter.

But there has been no corresponding commentary at least making a joke about a breakup and a possible Taylor Swift song about same.

The NFL literally had Taylor Swift as their header on Twitter and now she is gone and they are acting like the above never happened.

I get it, the NFL wants female Gen Z to tune into their games but they literally had a slow mo of Taylor walking into Arrowhead Stadium.

Thats not drumming up female viewership, that is patently insane.

They were slow mo'ing Taylor high fiveing Kelces mom when Kelce scored a touchdown.

That is just downright bizarre and is not about increasing the young female demographic that watches NFL games.

It was creepy in how over the top it was.

Taylor was now the big topic of discussion during pre-game analysis of the Chiefs instead of Mahomes, Kelce, MVS, Pacheco, Chris Jones, Andy Reid.

It was an all out blitz for a month that went so far as Kelce being described as "Taylors boyfriend" instead of as a 3-time Super Bowl champion and star tight end of the Kansas City Chiefs.

Kelce was always the new Gronk, the current poster child party boy of the NFL.

But the slew of commercials, brand sponsorships and SNL hosting gig didnt come until Taylor.

Predictably, young female NFL viewership went up over 300%, Kelce gained hundreds of thousands of Swiftie social media followers then Kelce stopped attending Eras tour shows, Taylor stopped attending NFL games, the NFL dropped it like it never happened and switched their header to Vikings QB Dobbs.

Back to your regularly scheduled programming.

Movies are going to head in the same direction.

2 hours will no longer be the default film duration.

These conversations are already happening within the film industry as studios are pushing a "crowdsourced film by committee", a Choose Your Own Adventure clusterfuck where multiple endings are filmed for each movie and each individual movie theater audience decides the ending in real time as they watch.

Everything is instantaneous, everything capricious, everything fickle, any demand can be met.

What happens to a directors vision if the audience can just decide everything?

And bet that studio analysts and executives will be closely monitoring what audiences vote for and will change future films to align with those votes.

What happens to A Clockwork Orange?

What happens to the Stanley Kubricks, George Romeros & Quentin Tarantinos?

What happens to taking risks?

Will there never be another cult classic?

Will there never be another Rocky Horror Picture Show?

Would these future audiences have changed the iconic twists in classics like Empire Strikes Back and Sixth Sense?

Will all the sharp edges go away and will we be left with a frictionless existence?

Wheres the space for a nearly six minute operatic genre defying theatrical dramatic essence of drag singular revelation like Bohemian Rhapsody?

Will everything be safe, sanitized and sterilized?

What happens to horror movies that take risks and confront their audiences and skillfully mix gore, humor, satire, societal critique, snark, comedy, slapstick, survivalism, political commentary, dystopia, sci-fi and parody?

Will every rough edge be sanded away?

Do we want an existence like that where our art mediums no longer challenge, repel, confront, repulse, enlighten, elucidate and force us to take a look at ourselves?

Do we no longer want art that takes the piss out of us as an audience?

Do we just want all of the art and media that we consume to be like the Netflix algorithm, endlessly adjusting to our every whim and preference, tirelessly trying to please us in every way, never offending?

Do we never want to be shocked or angered by our art again?

Isnt that what art was supposed to be?

Do we always want to be perfectly happy and satisfied with everything we see?

What will happen to movies that are so bad they're good?

What will happen to guilty pleasures?

Will everything be bland and vanilla, too dull to offend or tittilate, instantly consumed and forgotten with all of the other endless media we are constantly bingeing?

Our existences have been Doordash'd & InstaCart'd.

Everything can be done for us, delivered to us, driven to us, picked up by us, ordered for us, shopped for us, cooked for us, prepared for us, written for us, applied to for us.

Theres an app for almost everything.

The age of inconvenience and frustration is over.

Everything is frictionless -- even our art and entertainment.

What happens to quirky oddities?

Random ideas and concepts?

Harebrained notions and acid dreams?

Paranoid androids and visions?

Night terrors and daydreams?

All of the above have led to crazy innovative mindfucky scripts, films, songs, album concepts, music videos and movie shorts.

Where is the space for body horror films and Takashi Miike?

When do songs become 2 minutes vs the current 3 minute average?

When do songs become 1 minute?

When do songs cease to exist and people just start to record the chorus or the catchy part for TikTok virality since thats all anyones listening to anymore anyway?

When do 2 hour movies become 1 hour?

When do 1 hour movies become 30 minute shorts?

When do movies in general just become instantaneously streamable shorts that are a few minutes long available simultaneously on every platform?

When will the concept of a full length movie that anyone would have the actual patience and attention span to sit through become anachronistic?

When do single player video games go away because noone has the patience to sit through a solo adventure and play through the game for the plot, storyline, twists and turns and all anyone wants to do is get online and just play against each other?

When do we lose our humanity?

[spandexinspace]

Hello if you have the time simply put who are brainiacs family members.. and like how are they related? I never knew he had relations of any kind but im picking up the house of brainiac event but twitter has pushed me down a rabbit hole and now im trying to piece together brainiacs family tree. I am in no way an expert in comics or well read in anything im searching things up but idk what different universes/ dimensions/ timelines mean and who/what is canon. thx 💜

So I made this family tree a few years, which is still largely accurate but I still kinda want to remake at some point. Still, a decent visualiser for now.

I think it's important to note that we don't really know what is and isn't canon right now. We will probably have a better idea of it come June-July, but at the moment everything is a little all over the place and it may also remain that way. Comics.

The ones we know are relevant to Williamson's story are Brainiac and, as per the most recent issue, the pre-Zero Hour version of Brainiac 5. I'm also reasonably certain we'll see Vril II and Brainiac 3.

But, the full-ish list:

Kaja Dox and her unnamed mother - Appeared in Humphries' Green Lanterns in a story set "10 billion years ago". We don't actually know if they're supposed to be related to the others, but we can probably assume as much.

Brainiac/Vril Dox (I) - Big man himself. You know him. Man of many faces and origins. Brainiac 12 and 13 are upgraded versions of him.

Vril Dox II - Brainiac's son. Initially adopted, later either a biological son or clone artificially aged into adulthood. In both versions granted as a boon to Brainiac by Colu's machine overlords.

Techne - Brainiac's clone daughter as introduced during Convergence. Maybe canon. Maybe not the child of the main universe's Brainiac.

Unnamed siblings - Techne had several mutated siblings who Brainiac appeared to have used for experiments. The same has been implied to be true for Vril. They're dead.

Project Alien Farm - A clone made out of Brainiac and Lex Luthor's DNA, probably meant to be a parallell to Superboy/Kon El. Had the misfortune of being born a few months before Flashpoint and hasn't been seen since.

Indigo/Brainiac 8 - An artificial being supposedly created by Brainiac 6 to go back in time to aid Brainiac in his mission. We've never seen Brainiac 6 in canon and she kind of just existed in her own corner with the Outsiders and Titans.

Pran Dox - Formerly the son of Vril Dox II. Only ever appeared in narration, we can assume he doesn't exist now.

Lyrl Dox/Brainiac 3 - The more canon son of Vril Dox II.

This is where things get a little spicy timeline-wise. There are essentially five different versions of the future of the DC universe. Each one is its own universe, but has been the canon future of the main universe before. Like this:

The first timeline is the pre-Zero Hour version, the second the post-Zero Hour/Earth-247, the third Earth-Prime, the fourth is an divergent version of the pre-Zero Hour, and the fourth is post-Rebirth. These characters exist within these timelines:

Kajz Dox (both versions of the pre-Zero Hour timeline) - The son of either Lyrl or Pran. Both have been canon.

Brainiac 4 (post-Zero Hour/Earth-247) - An unnamed female child of Lyrl.

Unnamed female Coluan (Earth-Prime) - A character who appeared for two pages in one comic. Probably Lyrl's daughter.

Post-Rebirth lacks a version of Brainiac 4. Among other things.

Querl Dox/Brainiac 5 - Exists in every timeline/universe. The great-great-grandson of Brainiac, by various means.

There are a couple of other characters who can sort of be considered members of the family, but they're not super relevant at this stage.

I don't know how understandable all that is, feel free to shoot me another ask if you want me to clarify anything.

[firediamondsv]

Introductions

Stephanie/everstar (they/them/theirs)

Hi, I'm Stephanie, or you might also know me as everstar. For most of my life, I've believed in what I call multidimensional theory. I believe that every show, book, etc. - any story - is a representation of another dimension. The characters in those stories are real people that exist out there somewhere in other dimensions, and writing stories is one way that we in this dimension can interact with them and learn more about them. I've also always had the uncanny skill of elaborate visualization, not only able to create scenes in my head but also to overlay images from my mind with what I see with my eyes. In this way, I can use this visualization to travel to other dimensions or interact with people from those dimensions in this one (which I call rl for short). It's this way that I met many people, including Valtor.

Valtor (he/him/his)

Hello, my name is Valtor. Many of you will likely know me from the show, or rl representation, called Winx. That thankfully showed enough of my existence for everstar to be interested in bringing me into their life. However, there certainly wasn't enough time in that season to convey everything I've experienced in the 10.5 billion years since I was created. There also isn't enough space to say everything here, but everstar's already taken care of that elsewhere. I'll give you an introduction-length overview of my existence, then. I was created 10.5 billion years ago by three evil beings (a concept equivalent to mythological gods in this dimension). They forced a purpose on me, to destroy the universe. They were incapable of anything even resembling love and instead only felt hatred and a desire for cruelty, even towards me. I experienced nothing but abuse from them as they forced me to destroy hundreds of planets, also eventually coming to be hated by most of the universe. I never wanted to hurt people, and this constant internal conflict and hurt I felt caused me to become something I never wanted to and hurt many people in turn. The overwhelming intense negative emotion led me to almost destroy the universe and completely lose control over myself. Before that could happen, I was destroyed, and five years later, everstar found the miserable dimension I was in, an afterlife only full of punishment, and helped me escape.

FireDiamond

I (everstar) had theories about Valtor's true intentions and identity, but needed to talk to him to confirm that. Realizing that my multidimensional abilities would allow me to do that, I found nonexistence, the dimension he went to after he was destroyed, and helped him escape. I was only looking for a good confrontation, some answers, and the ability to save an entire dimension from the potential return of a dangerous, powerful, intense person. Instead, after months of inadvertent interactions, I found someone who needed to heal from an impossible amount of trauma and a good friend. We've spent the last 11 or so years having various experiences in many dimensions, getting to know each other better, making friends across the multidimensional universe, and bringing back many of the planets Valtor was forced to destroy. His creators can't bother him anymore, and he's more or less at peace now. Well, I suppose we both are.

[pompadourpink]

hello mom! i was wondering if you had any advice about overcoming serious (permanent) illness while young. i know my goals really havent changed, but the way i feel about myself and the way i look at the world definitely has, and i dont really have a support system to navigate this. its just me trying to figure out how to make a life out of this on my own.

Hello darling,

I am going to guess that it is not sometimes that will greatly impact your life expectancy. I will say that I feel for you, having health issues is an exhausting experience, especially when productivity is expected from you on a daily basis to survive.

I would first recommend that you allow yourself to feel your feelings. It is not fair that we get thrown in this system without having a way out, that not being able to work will get you starving, not knowing how to stand up for yourself will lead to medical negligence, that we even have to pay for necessities. It is frustrating, especially when just a few decades ago, a family of five used to live comfortably on one salary made by a high school dropout. Accept that it is not your fault and that it makes sense that you are struggling, because things are objectively much harder these days.

Being somehow dysfunctional can lead to disappointment when you realise that you have to give up on certain dreams, and, again, feeling dejected by it is normal. Needing more TLC than others is typically seen as a weakness when it should not be, and above everything else, I really hope you understand, especially in your position, being the only one in your own team at the moment, the power of taking care of yourself in the way you need. Treat yourself like you would treat younger you if you had their custody, not like an enemy, or a source of shame, or a victim. You wouldn't despise seven year old you if life was too hard to go outside today.

Now, what to do:

I talked about it here: make your life as simple as you can. No need to talk yourself out of self-hatred for letting your flat turn into a dumpster if you physically cannot do that because you don't own enough things for it to happen. No need to remove the knots in your matted hair if it is too short to mat or if it is long enough that you can braid it tight and forget about it for a few days whenever that is what you need.

Make conscious choices when you give away time, energy, or money. Don't mess with whatever will lead to irritation or endanger your self-esteem and happiness. Be good at saying no.

Make joy a priority, whether it means listening to the Gipsy kings when you clean, getting pink sheets, baking and smiling to yourself because the house smells good, watching Mamma Mia weekly, trying watercolour, etc. If it makes you feel lighter, do it as often as you can and with your head high.

Make a short list of long-time goals, divide them into small bites and get cracking; if you are a visual, print a few pictures and make a dream board you can look at every day, remembering that all of that is on the other side of effort.

Find your people. There are billions of us and you need a handful. Go where you feel good, in real live or online, and be the friendly new neighbour. While you need to be comfortable with solitude, being loved will do amazing things for you, short and long term; it can be added to your list of goals and divided: make small talk at the supermarket, go to a workshop, give a compliment to a stranger. Trust requires vulnerability, and you might have to make the first move. The worst they can say is no. They might not.

Illustration:

Reddit comments, January 2020, about resolutions:

Reddit DM, a few hours later:

Signal DM, August 2024:

And she's been the light of my life ever since.

Love,

Mum

Fanmail - masterlist (2016-) - archives - hire me - reviews (2020-) - Drive

[littlemissagrafina]

Even Children Grow Up

A very, very late birthday fic for @justt-ppeachy

@comfortember Day 10. Breakdown + 27. Proud + 30. Moving Forward

Summary: He looked up, frowning slightly as he stared at Peter standing in the doorway.

"...Kid?"

"Hello there." Peter smirked, but underneath it was clear to see that he was nervous about something so Tony straightened and wheeled one of the extra lab stools towards him. He gestured to it with his head, and Peter crossed the room to settle on the chair.

"I need your help." The teen said.

Or

3 Times Tony realized Peter was growing up and the 1 time he knew he was already there.

Read on AO3

It wasn't as if Tony didn’t know how old Peter was. Peter's age wasn't something that Tony would forget, not after being without him for five years, or dealing with the knowledge that his kid had been swinging around the city since he was only fourteen. 

Tony may not have known him since the very beginning of it all, but he'd been there in the years since and both he and May could attest to the fact that it never got easier for them to handle Peter going out and up against the very worst of the city they called home.

Hell, the kid was just that. He was still a kid, and Tony found it difficult to think of him as anything other than that, especially after he and Pepper had Morgan. The little girl bringing out Peter's childlike side in ways that Tony hadn't seen before.

The loss and subsequent return of Peter and the rest of those who had been snapped by Thanos had instilled a heightened awareness of just how much Tony had left with all of the people he cared about. But somehow, he hadn't quite reconciled the fact that Peter being back meant he would continue to grow and to change. 

It was almost ironic. Where before, during the five years after the first snap, Tony had mourned the fact that Peter would never grow up, he now felt the opposite. Every time something happened to make Tony realise Peter was growing and getting older, the older man felt as if he was losing his kid.

And it just seemed as if those moments were happening faster and faster, leaving Tony behind as he tried to grapple with the reality that one day Peter wouldn't need him anymore.

~

1. Relationship advice

One of the first times that Tony truly realised the ways that Peter was growing happened just months after the reversal of the snap.

School had been put on a back-burner in most of the world following the return of billions if the population, but once the world was deemed settled enough– something Tony scoffed at because how could anything be settled in just months?– students across the globe found themselves back in their desks, moving on almost as if nothing had changed at all.

Tony knew that Peter was both excited and nervous to be back at Midtown. The teen had been lucky, or unlucky depending on how you looked at it, that very few of his classmates had been a part of those left behind in the first snap. It was something that made returning to class a bit easier for him, but he had told Tony that he was still unsure about just going back to normal.

Tony had almost chuckled, stating that he would be surprised if Peter wasn't unsure after everything that had happened, but both he and May and had made sure to reassure Peter that if he needed to, he could go back to school at a later time.

Even so, the kid had decided to take the dive and go back into the flow of high school life along with his friends. But Tony knew he'd had some days where he'd struggled with the way that the world had seemed to just move on after the Snap, and he'd had days where he felt as if he was moving on from the five lost years just as easily as those around him.

So when Peter had come to stay at the lake house for the weekend, Tony hadn't been surprised at the bounce in the teenager's step or his happy grin. Peter was, after all, one of the most bubbly people that Tony had ever met.

He was, however, surprised when later that night, Peter had knocked on the door to the small lab Tony had built up in the garage. The kid hadn't knocked on the lab door since the first few months after they had made his fake internship a real one.

He looked up, frowning slightly as he stared at Peter standing in the doorway.

"...Kid?"

"Hello there." Peter smirked, but underneath it was clear to see that he was nervous about something so Tony straightened and wheeled one of the extra lab stools towards him. He gestured to it with his head, and Peter crossed the room to settle on the chair.

"I need your help." The teen said.

Instead of speaking, Tony waited for Peter to continue. Sometimes he needed a little time to get his thought process together, and who was Tony to try and rush him alone. Thor knew how bad Tony was at keeping track of a train of thought at times. 

So he sat quietly, taking comfort in the fact that despite Peter saying he needed help, he didn't seem too anxious or upset. 

After a few moments, he was rewarded by Peter lifting his legs up to sit criss cross applesauce on his stool and shifting his compleye attention to the older man. And, honestly, Tony envied the kid’s balance at times. 

"What can I do, Bud?" Tony asked simply and saw Peter take a breath before answering.

"You know how MJ right?" The teen asked and Tony nodded slowly. 

"We'regoionadatendIneyorelp." 

The words fell in a jumble that Tony didn't even try to unscramble. He raised an amused eyebrow. "You mind saying that again, Pete?" He chuckled. "Maybe a little slower this time?"

"We're going on a date. MJ and I. And I need your help." Peter said again, thankfully much slower and more clearly than his first attempt.

Tony was momentarily blindsided before a warmth filled his chest as the words registered properly. "Always, Kid." He smiled at Peter, and his chest warmed even more when the nervousness shining in the teenager's eyes disappeared completely.

"Now," Tony clapped a hand on Peyer shoulder. "Tell me what we're working with here, Roo." And grinned as Peter launched into a tangent.

"So, MJ isn't into all that super girly stuff, right? But I know that she does have a bit of a romantic side too. I mean, I've seen a few classic romance or love books or whatever that are in her reading piles. So I don't want to do something that dismisses her feelings over being treated a certain way because of the stereotypes of being a girl. But I don't know what to do or where to take her that can be a little romantic too.

Mr. Stark help meeee." 

Tony was momentarily floored at the level of thought that Peter had obviously put into it, and how he genuinely wanted to do something that MJ would enjoy. For the first time since the reversal snap, Tony realised that Peter was really there and growing up and moving forward.

It felt like just last week that the kid had been fifteen and freaking out with Ned over a new Lego death star. Now, he was nervous and asking for help to plan the first date of what could turn out to be his first serious relationship. 

He shook away the train of thought. Peter had asked him for help and he was sure as hell going to step up and help. He could deal with his little revelation later. "Okay, here's what gonna happen, Pete." He dragged forward a hologram and gestured for it to hover in front of the teen. "We're gonna make a list of what you know MJ likes doing, and what you like doing too because you should have fun with this as well, yeah?" 

Peter nodded.

"Then, we're going to condense them into ones that fall into bitter categories and then we're gonna call in Pep for help so that she can help us with adding something a little romancy to it, how's that sound?"

Tony was rewarded by a brilliant smile and arms being flung around him.

"Thank you!"

~

2. Spiderman SOS

"Shit!" Peter yelped, ducking out of the way of a piece of steel rebar as it struck the wall of the building right where his head had been just a second before.

It was followed by three more, but Peter had just been able to shoot a week to pull himself away from them. Angry jeers and more projectiles shadowed him almost too closely.

Chancing a glance behind him as he swang around a corner, Peter's heart sank as he saw the damage that had already been done to two of the nearby apartment buildings. 

He never would have thought that getting Toomes locked up would be something that bit him in the ass over six years later, but here he was.

A glowing, purple orb whistled through the air and Peter let himself drop, bracing himself against a building as he shot a web at the chitari orb and swung it as far and high as he could before it detonated. He was lucky, the blast only just shaking some dust from the building, but he knew he wouldn't be quite as lucky if he kept up the way he was now. There were just two many for him to keep himself, civilians, and buildings safe.

"I need help." He murmured to himself.

"Karen! Call Mr Stark!"

~

Whatever call that Tony could have expected from Peter on a Thursday night, it wasn't this one. Although, considering who exactly Peter was, maybe he should have. Anyway, potato potato.

"Boss, you have an incoming call from Peter."

Tony waved his hand, knowing Friday would connect the call. "What's shaking, Kid? Homework by any chance?"

Tony's naive hope that Peter was home and not out causing shenanigans was dashed even as he thought of it. Who was he kidding, one of the things he admired about the kid was his endless ability to get into trouble even when his intentions were (almost always) good.

"Mr Stark, I've got a few of Toomes' buddies tailing me. There's too many for me to handle on my own and keep the damage and injuries down. Think you can send some back up?" Peter asked, the sound of his webs and small explosions were clear for Tony to hear over the call.

"I'll be there in five, Pete. You good to hold em' off until then?" Tony asked him, already activating his suit, the nanobots not even fully formed yet before he stepped out of the window Friday had opened for him.

He engaged the suit's thrusters, Peter's affirmative only just coming over the call line as he shot off towards Peter's location.

He arrived in three minutes, spinning out of the way of a small purple explosion. He dove, tackling one of the six baddies almost out of the air, allowing Peter to knock out and web up two of the others while they were distracted by Tony's entrance.

Iron Man and Spidey: 3

Crooks: 0

"Take that!" Peter crowed, latching a web onto the boot of Tony's suit and using it to launch himself at one of the three remaining men as they started shooting again. Tony cut the thrusters and dropped a few feet to get in closer range to the other two, raising his 'Force Shield' as Peter liked to call it.

The pale blue, glowing, energy field succeeding in deflecting and absorbing some of the chitauri energy of the small explosives that the last three of Toomes' old buddies seemed so fond of. 

Tony took advantage of a momentary pause in their assault and sent out a small modified EMP that he'd developed for the sole reason of knocking his enemies unconscious. He only used it when he had assurance that it would work, the decent energy surge it needed often rendering his suit less powerful in its own attack while the modified arc reactor upped the power levels again.

"They're out for the count, Boss." Friday's lilting voice said.

Tony hummed, turning to face Peter who had already webbed up the other guys, two of whom were unconscious, the other two glaring from behind the webs covering their lower faces and mouths. He watched as Peter knelt before each of them, checking their pulses for himself even though Tony knew that Karen had more than likely already confirmed that there wasn't anything life threatening other than minor scrapes and bruises.

He was struck by the difference in the way Peter handled things while he did his Spider-Man duties. Gone was the fourteen year old kid who had only wanted to prove he was capable and good enough to be an Avenger. Instead, Peter had grown into his role as Queens' protector; his maturity clearly seen in asking Tony for back-up. 

Peter had seen that he'd been in a bit over his head, had acknowledged that he couldn't always do it all on his own, and had trusted Tony to have his back.

And Tony was proud. Peter was growing and changing almost faster than he could cope with at times, but damn if he didn't admire the person his kid was becoming. Hell, the one he had become already.

Tony let his helmet lower. "Good job, Kid!" He held his fist up towards Peter, who's grin was visible even from under his mask, and knocked their fists together as he smiled proudly back.

~

3. Graduation 

Tony watched almost dizzily as Peter paced in circles around the living room, rambling on about the schedule for the day (as well as one hundred and one topics that related to the event in ways that only Peter could string together) and snapping his fingers and fidgeting with his hands until it so much that it started making Tony himself anxious.

Tony stood smoothly, ignoring the slight twinge of pain that coursed through his right shoulder and down his arm, grateful for the nanobot support that he, Peter, Shuri, and Cho had designed for his arm. As Tony moved to stop Peter as he rounded the couch close to where Tony had been sitting, he slid a hand into his pocket, pulling out a small bracelet almost identical to the kimoyo beads that Shuri had shown him.

This one, although it was also made from vibranium, wasn't designed for communication or any other technological uses. It was basically an indestructible fidget toy, which was exactly why Tony had made it.

The small vibranium balls could easily be pulled apart from each other and stick back together, a fact that Tony watched Peter figure out almost immediately when Tony handed it to him as the teen paced by Tony. 

Peter carried on circling the room, rolling the vibranium between his fingers. His hand twisted and pulled at it for a few minutes before he looked down at it. His head tilted and he looked up at Tony with the most adorably confused, puppy-like expression he'd seen. And it was Peter, he'd seen a lot of puppy-like faces from the kid.

"Spider proof fidget toy, Bud." Tony answered, knowing Peter would ask about it. "Shuri helped out to modify and remove the tech from it so it really is just a super strength safe fidget. You were starting to make me dizzy there with your pacing."

Peter flushed, a sheepish smile on his face as he shrugged. "Sorry. I'm nervous."

Tony huffed out a laugh and stood again, walking up to Peter and grasping his shoulders in his hands. "Believe me, I know." He said before he moved to sling an arm around Peter's shoulders and led him to one of the couches. He nudged Peter towards it before sitting on the coffee table in front of it.

"C'mon. Walk me through it all. I know that you know what you're doing. So while you tell me, I want you to focus and see that you know it. Because you do, Pete, and this is gonna be a piece of cake."

Peter exhaled shakily, before he slipped the beads over his hand and sat up straight.

"I'm going to have my notes, but I'm not gonna need them because I know it. I'm gonna follow on from MJ and–"

~

Tony grinned, sharing a proud look with May as Peter stood and made his way to the podium, fist bumping MJ as she walked past him after her own speech.

Tony watched as he squared his shoulders, took a breath, and smiled out at the crowd.

"Happy graduation Midtown!" He started, and Tony couldn't help the tears starting to sting his eyes if he tried. His kid was graduating. He was going into adult life, hell, he was an adult in many ways already. His maturity had proven it time and time again.

It was sad, and it was terrifying, but it was also exciting. His kid, May's kid, was growing up, and he couldn't wait to see everything he would become

~

+1. Nightmares

Peter flopped down on the couch, kicking his feet up onto Tony's lap as he did. Tony groaned, dropping his head back against the cushioned back dramatically.

"Pete, why must you insist on slamming various limbs into me anytime I'm sitting on a couch. You do know you're very boney and heavy, no?"

Peter shook his head with a grin. "Nope. And one," he said, holding up a finger, "I'm not heavy. A fact we both proved was cuz of my spideryness. And two," he held up a second finger, "I may be bony but that's a you problem to deal with. You brought it upon yourself in letting me have hugging rights those years ago. And now you've unleashed the beast. Deal with it, Dad."

Tony's heart swelled at the moniker. It was a relatively new thing, but it never failed to make him smile each time that Peter called him Dad.

He leant over and poked at Peter's side, laughing when Peter batted at his hand as he tried to squirm away, almost falling off the couch. "I suppose I did. Wouldn't change it, though. Even when you attack me with wayward limbs and leave me with grey hairs."

Peter grinned at him, eyes glittering. "Sap."

Tony just shrugged. "Ehh. I have a lot to be sappy about. Now go make the popcorn, would ya? Morgan won't eat it anymore unless you make it. She says that I burn it."

"That's 'cuz you do burn it." 

~

His lungs burned from the smoke and dust, clouds of it buffeting and swirling until Peter could barely see. His arms shook from the weight of the rubble trying to crush down on him, bits of dirt and broken cement and rebar still falling around him.

The load shifted, a tearing pain searing through his shoulder, and Peter buckled. It felt as if he was holding more than just the warehouse, it felt as if he was holding the entire sky. 

Voices echoed in his ears, a taunting blend of Toomes and Beck goading him. They flickered, only to be replaced by someone far worse.

Tony.

He lay crumpled on the ground at Peter's feet. His suit mangled around him, edges dented and some places ripped entirely open, crimson staining torn edges.

More weight shifted, and this time Peter did buckle. His knees slammed into the uneven and broken ground, agony shooting up his thighs as they strained and shook.

"No. No, no, no, hold it. Please." Peter heard himself beg, breath coming I'm harsh pants, dust and smoke choking him.

In front of him, Tony stirred. His eyes blinked open slowly, his skin almost white and expression creased in pain. He met Peter's eyes, something Peter didn't want to face flickering in them as he took in their positions.

"Mr Stark. Dad. You need to go. You need to leave. Please!"

"I can't."

Peter shook his head, ignoring that he couldn't feel his arms anymore. "Yes, you can! You need to!"

"Pete. I can't move." Tony's voice was rough. "The suit is dead and I- I'm hurt, Buddy. I'm not-" He breathed in shuddering and weak breath, a wheezing and wet sound echoed in his chest.

Peter's heart dropped, his hold slipping and rubble rained down around them.

Something hard struck him in the back, Toomes' and Beck's jeers echoed as everything crashed down.

And Peter screamed.

~

Tony wrestled Peter's flying limbs, talking desperately as he tried to get Peter to wake up. All the while, Peter's breathing got faster, his terror filled yells imprinted in Tony's mind.

Finally, finally, Peter woke up. His entire body lurching as he hiccuped, sobbing breaths catching as Tony helped him free himself from the tangled blanket, while making sure he didn't take a tumble from the couch, and dragged him into his arms.

With one hand, he started running his fingers slowly through Peter's hair, with the other he held one of Peter's hands against his own chest. He recited different measurements and formulas that were used both with their suits and and Peter's webs, stuff that Peter knew like the back of his hand.

It was one of the few things that could ground him and help his brain to focus on something else after a bad nightmare, and from the still hitching breaths and sobs, Tony knew this was a bad one.

Tony rocked them back and forth slightly, subconsciously mimicking the rhythm for when he had rocked Morgan to sleep years prior. He kept up a steady, yet quiet stream of words, only slowing once Peter's breath hand evened out and his sobs turned to slight sniffles.

His chest tightened at how easily he had slipped back into their old routine for when Peter was plagued by night terrors. It had been a long while since there had been one this bad, and although Tony knew from his own that they never truly went away, he had hoped that it would be different for Peter.

As the teenager clung to him, inhaling steadily in time with Tony's own breaths, Tony's heart ached with the desire to shelter him and protect him.

He knew he couldn't, though. Peter had to grow into his own and make his way in his life and future, and Tony refused to hold him back. Sheltering him and keeping him close, none of it would work. Peter would still go out as Spider-Man, he would still go off to college, take MJ out on dates, and experience life.

But it didn't mean that he wouldn't be there for when Peter did need him. Because even as he grew, Tony knew he would still need help, and care, and support. Maybe not in the same way he had previously, but that was okay.

Peter was growing, and Tony was so proud of him. But he would still be Tony's kid, and nothing would ever change that. No matter how old he was

[peakwealth]

Everyone Can Fly

Don’t touch my plane.

* * *

RETURN TO ASIA, THREE YEARS LATER (2]

When Air Asia started operating out of Kuala Lumpur airport twenty plus years ago, it had two airliners and a lot of ambition. The idea was to transplant the European business model of low-cost carriers (Ryanair and Easyjet) to the tiger economies of Asia. From the beginning the company slogan was painted in unmissable letters on the side of its aircraft. NOW EVERYONE CAN FLY.

Today Air Asia has hundreds of Airbus planes and the slogan remains the same. It sends a fundamental message of a better life for all, of the democratization of prosperity. Before the pandemic Air Asia was carrying well over 80 millions passengers a year. That may not be 'everyone' in a potential market of billions of people, but it is a lot. And of course Air Asia is not the only player. Air India, long considered a moribund ´legacy’ carrier, recently ordered 470 new airliners. I read in the New York Times that eighty new Indian airports are planned in the next five years. Eighty.

The invitation to everyone in Asia to start flying - which is slowly but surely what is happening - will make many environmentalists squirm. But it symbolizes the promise of equal-opportunity progress and modernity: mobility, freedom, holidays, comfort. Goodbye to the dusty cast iron carriages of Indian Railways. Hello, Airbus.

The idea of reversing this message, of cancelling that promise would break the most basic social contract in Southeast Asia, namely the open-ended freedom to pursue a better life in return for keeping your head down. As far as I can tell this understanding has not changed yet, although the recent flutter of political protest over Chinese COVID policy, and the speed with which it was dropped, may suggest otherwise.

But telling people in still-developing countries that, regrettably, progress is about to stop in order to slow global warming, is not going to go down well. That story might possibly fly in the old world but not here.

In other words and to put it mildly, reconciling the genuine need for further economic development with the imperatives of the climate emergency is going to be difficult.

They meant it.

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

Those clips were from Bugle episode 4242. Hari Kondabolu’s next episode was 4247, just a few weeks later. There was a bit in there when he commented on how strange Andy Zaltzman’s style of humour is, but how he now just rolls with it and is used to it and know that some people get it, even if he personally doesn’t fit into it (because pretty much no one does). I was going to cut out that clip to add to this post, but then I decided to transcribe it instead. And then I realized I can’t just transcribe that one quote, I have to back up a bit and show context. And then I backed up more and more until I’d gone back to the beginning of the episode.

It's been a while since I’ve transcribed some of Andy Zaltzman’s non-sensical ramblings, so it seemed like fun to do that with these ones, even aside from the fact that they were leading to a moment with Hari Kondabolu that’s relevant to this post. So here it is – the first eight-ish minutes of episode 4247 of The Bugle (cut because this is going to get long):

Andy Zaltzman: Hello Buglers! And welcome to issue 4247 of The Bugle, audio newspaper for a visual world, with me, Andy Zaltzman. Fresh from the now-completed Bugle 15th anniversary live Bugle live tour. Thanks to everyone who came, and for the other 7.7 billion of you who were unable to make it, I expect your apologies and excuses – handwritten, to show you mean it – by the end of the week. It’s Thursday, the tenth of November, 2022, as we record. I am back in the shed of unquenchable factuitiveness in South London, where hope comes to die- sorry, where I come to record. And, joining me this week from just up the road, it’s the man who narrowly lost out, in 2020, to French film star Marion Cotillard to be the new face of Channel Number Five: Nish Kumar!

Nish Kumar: Numero Cinq, sil tu plait, Andrew. Cotillard – I don’t know what she’s got that I don’t have.

Andy Zaltzman: No. I don’t think that’s really a question that can be answered.

Nish Kumar: Apart from, based on a couple of interviews I read about fifteen years ago, some slightly contentious views on whether 9/11 happened. Allegedly – allegedly, allegedly – allegedly. Allegedly.

Andy Zaltzman: Well, I mean, apart from that, it’s very hard to – you know, it must have been a very touch call from Chanel, that’s all I’m saying.

Nish Kumar: Listen, Chanel. You’re not the only organization that can regularly produce odours of varying scents.

Andy Zaltzman: And, Nish, thank you very much for still doing this show, on what I know must be a very disappointing day for you. They’ve just announced the England Football World Cup squad, and, despite your impressive performance on Tuesday afternoon in comedians’ football, in which you scored an uncharacteristic number of goals, for you…

Nish Kumar: By “uncharacteristic, do you mean “more than zero”?

Andy Zaltzman: Yeah. You failed to make the cut. You must be gutted.

Nish Kumar: I was devastated, Andy. I put in a good shift on Tuesday. I know that Gareth was watching, on Zoom, I believe. It’s a double sporting disappointment for me today, Andy, because not only have I missed out on the England squad, but the Indian cricket team missed out on playing any good cricket this morning, in the T20 World Cup semi-final. And I received a text message from my father as soon as the game ended, that simply said “England”. Which is really evidence of the shifting loyalties of the British-Indian community when it comes to the game of cricket. We support whoever’s winning.

Andy Zaltzman: Um, joining us, from New York City, in the democracy-torn nation of the USA, it’s the man who came so close to being cast as Dr. Sofia Rikkin in the Assassin’s Creed film and computer games, before losing out to the French film star Marion Cotillard, making this the Bugle episode with the biggest collective beef towards the multi-award-winning actress. Especially if you factor in my ongoing resentment at being beaten by Cotillard for Grazia Magazine’s prestigious Best-Dressed Star of 2013 Award. But anyway, speaking through the tears, it’s Hari Kondabolu.

Hari Kondabolu: Hey, Andy, hey, Nish. Nish, I had a feeling you and I were going up for the same parts, I just didn’t think it was that one.

Nish Kumar: Yeah, I didn’t think – listen, I didn’t realize that you and I had both been picked to play Edith Piaf. But Cotillard got there again. Cotillard got there again.

Andy Zaltzman: So, Hari, we’ll touch on this later, but America, again, in the aftermath of democratically eviscerating itself, how is New York this morning, the day after the midterms?

Hari Kondabolu: [deep sigh] Well. You know, we still have good coffee. We’re still, uh, we’re still not under water, that’s good. Everything is going the way it goes every day. But the long-term ramifications of what may happen in the next several weeks is heavy on all of us. I don’t know if this means anything, but my son, I think from the tension of the election, shit himself today. Um, multiple times.

Andy Zaltzman: How old is –

Hari Kondabolu: He’s two. He’s two. But, still. Is that related? And he’s been doing it for two years, but to be fair it’s been a tense two years, he just keeps losing bowel control. And, uh, I don’t know, Andy. It’s sad to see him embarrass himself like that.

Andy Zaltzman: Yeah, but essentially, you have parented a piece of physical satire on American politics, the unstoppably shitting child.

Hari Kondabolu: “Parented” is polite. I am here, I am present, yes.

Andy Zaltzman: We are recording on the tenth of November. On this day in 1793, a goddess of reason was proclaimed by the French Convention. And this was a slightly lively decade for France, in which they ditched Christianity, and attempted to form a religion based on reason. It was called the cult of reason, it marked a departure from worshipping strange, magical deities. It was the world’s first state-sponsored secular atheist religion. So, would this signal a watershed moment in which politics cleaved itself away from its favourite mechanism of social control and indoctrination, towards a more considered, logical, humane system of truth, freedom, and rationality? Fuck no. It was absolute chaos. Within a few months, it had collapsed, and all the leaders had copped a bit of a de-noggining, courtesy of what the Australians would no doubt call “gillo” – the guillotine. Marion Cotillard’s views on the cult of reason, that briefly held sway in revolutionary France, were not made clear, in her appearance as Mal in the Christopher Nolan film Inception. And on this day…

Nish Kumar: What’s – what’s going on in the shed today, Andy? What’s happened here? What’s – I feel like I’ve let this go for as long as – I… I feel, in terms of representing the voice of the listeners on this podcast, I feel like I’ve let this go on for as long as I can possibly let it go. What’s going – have you just discovered the existence of Marion Cotillard?

Andy Zaltzman: No – no, I haven’t, actually. No, no – to be honest, I can’t remember how I began writing that bit. What I would say is it’s that time of the year, when I’ve sort of reached a point – obviously I wipe my brain clean on December the 31st every year, ready for a new year of news. And by mid-November, usually, I can’t take another fucking bulletin without screaming. And sometimes, you know, you just turn to another source for inspiration. And in this case, I think it must have been some kind of Wikipedia chain that led to Marion Cotillard.

Nish Kumar: I should say, having briefly Googled it, Cotillard did subsequently renounce her views on 9/11 being a hoax. So, she’s back on Team 9/11 Happened.

Andy Zaltzman: Oh, okay. And what about you, what side were you on? I can’t remember if you’d…

Nish Kumar: Andy, being asked “What side of 9/11 were you on?” is eerily reminding me of an experience that I’ve had with customs at an airport.

Andy Zaltzman: Well it’s good that that’s now on the record, Nish. I should hope to clear up any lingering confusion. Um… by the time you listeners listen to this, it will probably no longer be the tenth of November, since it’s already quite late on the tenth of November. It may well be the twelfth of November, in which case, on this day in 1927, the twelfth of November, Leon Trotsky was expelled from the Communist Party in the Soviet Union, leaving Joseph Stalin in undisputable control of the communist superblock. Marion Cotillard has never played the part of Trotsky, or Stalin, in any known film, or stage play. And in 1990, Tim Berners-Lee published a formal proposal for the World Wide Web, thus inadvertently paving the way for today’s Bugle podcast, featuring me, Nish, and Hari, in three separate locations – cheers, Timbers, much obliged – and also paving the way for numerous potential deep-fake videos of Marion Cotillard playing table tennis against Trotsky. How do you fucking sleep at night, Berners-Lee? This is on you.

Hari Kondabolu: You know, I know that fans of this podcast get you, and love you, because whenever I meet fans of this podcast after shows, not once have they asked me what I assumed they would ask me, which is, “Why is he like that?” They must get you on a level that we don’t.

Andy Zaltzman: Well that’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me, Hari. The sweetest thing.

Nish Kumar: The listenership of this podcast have clearly just sat there nodding their heads, going, “Yeah, yeah, he’s clearly just Googled Marion Cotillard. And it’s found its way into the text.”

Hari Kondabolu’s next Bugle episode is 4252, from February 2023. That’s the episode I’m on now, and I’m going to transcribe a bit of that, though I won’t start from the very beginning of the episode this time.

Andy Zaltzman: As always, a section of The Bugle is going straight in the bin. This week, billionaire luxuries. A special pullout supplement this week, in association with our proud commercial partners, Extravagans, the world leaders in exorbitantions, and opulentologicals. We bring you the must-be-seen-to-have for all the billionaires that we know our listeners all dream of being. Including the Betron-Ladouselle Riondutu range unopenable handbag. Do you enjoy looking minted but are tired of carrying stuff? The latest accessory from Betron-Ladouselle offers none of the benefits of a bag, but all of the visible expense. Modeled on a normal handbag but with no openings, the Riondutu handbag is made of pure fake anaconda skin, and vegan-friendly faux dolphin gills. Is there anything actually inside? Who gives a fuck? It’s obviously so expensive that the only people who would own it can afford to hire some to carry their bits and bobs for them anyway. Also, we look at the Afflu-Away wrist-coop, a gold-plated, fully functioning coop for small pet birds, to be worn in place of a watch. Ideal for hummingbirds, budgerigars, nano-parrots, and the very fashionable new self-trimming bonsai condor. And we review the Viticalt micro-vineyard 3.0-R, that’s the red wine version. The personal vineyard, which is the size of just four upright fridge freezers, can fit into most decently-sized yachts with minimal structural adjustments. The MV-3R can produce a vintage-quality wine in just 24 hours, speed-growing the grapes from aggressively modified seeds, using the mechanical auto-squidger to trample the grapes, ready for wining. Then hyper-fermenting the liquid, in anything from ninety minutes for a nouveau wine, to four hours for a mellower tipple. Priced at just 299 thousand pounds, the MV-3R starts paying for itself quickly enough, as each bottle produced costs just an estimated eight hundred pounds in grapes, electricity, and running costs. So it really is accessible to even the lowest grade of billionaire. And, of course, the jaccuzo-phone, a musical bubble phone that translates your bodily aura into relaxing, smooth jazz. All those must-have billionaire accessories are in our section in the bin.

Hari Kondabolu: …You are a fascinating man. I stayed quiet, I listened to every single word, and I kept thinking, “Wow, where does he find the time to write things like this? Or does it not take long at all?”

Nish Kumar: He has two children.

Andy Zaltzman: Yes. And they write most of it for me.

Nish Kumar: I’ve met your children, Andy. They’re far too sensible to write any of this sort of stuff.

Andy Zaltzman: Well my elder child did say to me, when they were, I think about eight years old, “Daddy, I’m getting too old for your jokes.”

Nish Kumar: I think it’s good that The Bugle, like the hit HBO comedy-drama series Succession, has now employed a wealth consultant.

Andy Zaltzman: Well, I think that’s all the money flooding in from our special offer on merchandise. Uh, [producer] Chris, is that still on, or is that finished now?

Chris Skinner: Hang on a second, let me go on TheBuglePodcast.com and find out, I’ve got no idea.

Nish Kumar: Jesus Christ. Guys, this is bad, even for us.

Chris Skinner: Uh, yeah, it’s still on.

Andy Zaltzman: There you go. Bugle merch, on sale.

Nish Kumar: Jesus Christ.

Hari Kondabolu: My Bugle socks have holes in them.

Andy Zaltzman: Oh.

Hari Kondabolu: Are there more Bugle socks? I would like more Bugle socks.

Andy Zaltzman: Okay. Right.

Chris Skinner: Well, go to the shop.

And that’s it, that’s The Bugle. I mean, they do then do about half an hour of everyone presenting their prepared material, normally topical but sometimes on broader political issues, and playing off each other during that. But these two bits from the beginning of the two episodes, before they get into the actual topical show, do give a pretty clear idea of where it’s going. I write a lot about Andy Zaltzman’s offbeat sense of humour, but it’s been some time since I’ve put a proper example of it on here, so there you go.

I will no go back to listening to Bugle episode 4252, where I’m continuing to really enjoy Hari Kondabolu’s multi-year journey of getting used to Andy Zaltzman. Also, they've now paired Hari with Nish Kumar in his last three Bugle appearances, and that's a good call. They're great together.

Hari Kondabolu did the first post-John Oliver Bugle episode, in October 2016. It was so fucking awkward. I don’t know why they started with that guest. Nish Kumar did the next episode, and that one went much more smoothly. The show was trying to prove it could still work after losing the force that had driven it for years, which was the best chemistry I’ve ever heard in comedy, between John Oliver and Andy Zaltzman. They could have started with a Nish Kumar episode – Nish immediately made it clear that for years, he’d been a huge fan of the original Bugle podcast, and of both John and Andy individually. John and Andy were both big influences on Nish’s comedy, the original run of The Bugle was a big influence on Nish Kumar’s comedy, and by 2016, Nish had developed both a personal friendship and a professional relationship with Andy Zaltzman, having worked with him in some live shows. He came out of the gate in his first episode spouting off running jokes from the original run of The Bugle, a way to reassure listeners that the thing they originally came for had not been forgotten, and the tradition was being carried on by people who were familiar with it.

So they could have made that the first episode of their 4000-series. But they didn’t. They made that the second episode, and they started with Hari Kondabolu, a man whom I’m almost sure had never met Andy Zaltzman before, had probably never communicated with him besides to set up that episode. He’d definitely never listened to The Bugle before. My best guess is he got recommended by John Oliver and they wanted to show that the podcast would still be international by starting with an American guest.

The interactions in that episode were not natural. Hari Kondabolu sounded like he had no idea what he’d signed up for. Andy Zaltzman sounded as though he had no ability to convince the listeners this could work post-Oliver, as he hadn’t managed to convince himself, and all the energy he might have used to try to convince anyone had to instead go into the difficult task of talking to a person he didn’t know. Andy Zaltzman often makes it sound like the task of talking to a person he doesn’t know requires Herculean effort, which makes his choice of profession surprising. I mean no offense, as talking to strangers is also a Herculean effort for me, but I did not choose to become a professional podcasting comedian. To be fair, Andy didn’t plan to be the host of a podcast with a rotating cast of guests from different countries either. He planned to do a double act with his close friend, but then Ricky Gervais recommended John Oliver to Jon Stewart when The Daily Show was looking for a new British correspondent, and plans had to change. Which is unfortunate, as it always is when plans change. I am a big fan of John Oliver’s work with The Daily Show, and I think Last Week Tonight is a well made and important piece of American media, but I also have such a powerful hatred for the concept of plans changing that I’m not sure they were worth it.

Anyway. This post wasn’t meant to be about that. This post is about how much I love the evolution of Hari Kondabolu on The Bugle over the years that followed 2016. As of when I write this (when the most recent episode that’s aired was 4266, and the post-Oliver episodes started at 4001), he’s their fourth most frequent guest, after Alice Fraser, Nish Kumar, and Anuvab Pal.

Over his episodes, you could hear him slowly figure out what he’d signed up for, and start playing into that. He and Andy even developed their own running joke, where at the beginning of all Hari’s episodes, Andy asks him how he’s doing, and he replies with an increasingly elaborate variation on “I’m an American after 2016, obviously it’s going fucking terribly, why do you keep asking me that question?” It helped that he sometimes got paired with other guests he already knew, and/or at least guests who are easier to figure out than Andy Zaltzman.

At some point I worked out that I had actually heard of Hari Kondabolu before getting into The Bugle, though I hadn’t remembered his name. I’d heard him interviewed on The Daily Show once, about the documentary he’d made about The Simpson, called The Problem with Apu. A 2017 documentary about growing up in America when he came from an Indian family, and there was hardly any South Asian representation on American TV besides the racist caricature Apu. A documentary I’ve now seen, it’s very well done and worth watching, and people should know that he’s said repeatedly on The Bugle that he no longer gets royalties from it but wants the message out there so he encourages people to pirate it.

I also got into his stand-up off the back of his Bugle appearances, first adding clips of him to the things I’d look up when having a night of clicking through stand-up clips on YouTube, and then finding his Netflix special, which is also good and people should watch it. He’s also got a new comedy special, from 2023, available for free on YouTube that I really enjoyed.

As far as I can tell, Andy Zaltzman has three different types of dynamics with people when he works with them. 1) Really strong chemistry where they clearly understand each other and play off each other easily: this one’s very rare and seems to only happen with people he knows well, but doesn’t even happen with all people he knows well – John Oliver, Mark Steel, Chris Addison, he gets there a little with Nish Kumar and Alice Fraser but even then there’s a bit missing. 2) He tries to force natural chemistry when it clearly isn’t there: this is stilted and normally not very successful on any level. 3) He just lets the lack of chemistry happen, and the awkwardness itself becomes part of what’s funny.

Over a bunch of years, I have really enjoyed hearing the relationship between Andy Zaltzman and Hari Kondabolu change from #2 to #3. They’re so different in their styles and approaches, and you can hear them enjoy each other’s material almost in spite of themselves, not have many ways to play off it that don’t require a stretching of their own persona, but they manage.

The above audio is a collection of Hari Kondabolu’s contributions to Bugle episode 4202, from October 2022. It’s only fair to Hari if I clarify that this isn’t everything he said during the whole episode – he did come in with some actual prepared material that he recited and some of it was quite funny. Not all of it was just him doing an exaggerated version of “phoning it in”.

But for some reason, he showed up to that particular podcast recording deciding he didn’t really give one fuck about anything, and would occasionally pipe up with comments to that effect. It’s such a fun contrast to his first episode six years earlier, when the awkwardness came from him not knowing what he was doing. Now, it’s still doesn’t run smoothly, but the lack of smoothness comes from him being so comfortable on The Bugle that he can just turn up and do this. Just jump in with Andy Zaltzman and Nish Kumar, be upfront about the various ways in which he naturally clashes with parts of what they do, not mind, let that be part of what’s funny. The clash can be very funny.

[thisisarcanereverie]

With a Heavy Heart (Marc Spector x Reader)

this is part 2 to "Light as a Feather" based off an ask from my 500 follower prompt list!

This is a Marc Spector x Reader Angst!

Warnings: Angst, no happy ending for Marc.

It’s been years since you last saw Marc. 

Nine to Ten years at least, but of course you could only remember only half of those, considering that you were one of the billions blipped by Thanos during the Battle of Wakanda. One moment you and Johnathan, your long term boyfriend at that point, were having tea and reading while it rained. The next thing you know it’s a completely different time of day and instead of one cup of freshly brewed black tea and a copy of “Oliver Twist” in your hands, you hold nothing. And your apartment was empty, and Johnathan was standing a bit aways from you equally confused. 

Once you both were caught up on what had happened, a sick feeling wretched itself into your gut. Five years, five years had gone by and you had no idea what had happened. Johnathan had left to look for his daughter while you went to call your family in Chicago. 

Your father had passed and your mother was still at home, having retired just a few years after the Snap. After making sure your siblings were alright as well, your fingers lingered on the call button after putting in his number. But called anyways, the dial tone only ringing for a few seconds before light breathing could be heard on the other side of the phone. 

“Hello?” a tentative, posh british voice came through, you sighed a quiet sigh of relief in knowing he picked up. That somehow he had made it through the blip. 

“Hi,” You said, “I’m sorry I must have dialed the wrong number by mistake.” Although you had met Steven, Marc’s alter, a few times throughout your friendship Marc had warned you to keep minimal contact with him. Saying that his life and Steven’s life should never become intertwined if at all possible. Hell he even paid rent for a flat a block away from the one he and Layla shared so that way Steven would never know. 

“Oh,” his voice crackled, “sorry about that.” You couldn’t help but laugh, you just lied to him about calling the wrong number and yet he was the one apologizing. 

“It’s fine,” you said, “have a good day Steven.” 

“H-how did you-” You hung up before he could finish the question as you began to go down the list of people you wanted to check up on. 

Later on that day you and Johnathan met in the park, where it seemed that stations were being set up for the people who got blipped. You and Johnathan sat next to each other on a bench, a trauma blanket wrapped around you both. 

“Five years,” You said astonished, “I still can’t believe it.” 

“Ava is fifteen years old,” Johnathan said, staring off into space with you, “she hardly remembered who I am.”  you both just sat there, that sentence hanging in the air. The sun sets and the lights from the park light up as people continue to bustle around you. At this point you’ve seen maybe a few families being reunited in a heart wrenching sweetness as tears were shed. All of it was bittersweet, your family was way out in Chicago and Mira, Johnathan’s ex wife, kicked him out. 

“(Y/n)?” 

“Yeah?”

“Let’s get married.” 

You looked beside you to see his gaze on you, the street light glaring off of the reflective surface of his glasses just a bit, but you could still feel his dark eyes and the serious nature of the question. 

“What?” was the first thing to come out of your mouth, unfiltered. 

“I’m serious,” Johnathan insisted, grabbing your hands in his large ones, “this isn’t about the five year blip or me being emotional right now. We just lost five years and I don’t want to lose another one without being married to you, or at least risk asking you knowing full well that you can say no.” He touched your forehead with his. “But please… don’t say no.”

You looked at him, truly looked at him, the way his hair fell in front of his eyes and his eyes were closed. You knew Johnathan well enough to know when he was trying to be brave, and right now you could see it. He was being brave by being vulnerable to you right now, this was him loving and trusting you enough to not break him. Something he rarely did, seeing as Mira nearly destroyed him. You smile as you bring his hand to your lips, kissing his knuckles before gently cupping his face, his thick beard tickling the palm of your hand. 

“Yes.” 

—

It’s been three years since you’ve come back from the blip. After taking some time to recover from the fallout, you and Johnathan worked for a while before being able to afford a small wedding. Johnathan had taken time to get to know his daughter again, and you spent time with Ava as well, she was a great kid. She was smart and confident. You and her had similar tastes in books, leaning more towards the classic romantic type. So you gave her a few Jane Austen’s and mixed in a few Emily Dickinson poems for variety. It was something you and her bonded over, and while you and Mira didn’t see eye to eye on some things, you tried your best to keep the relationship between you civil. For Ava’s sake at least. 

However the gentle tussling from the crib next to you reminded you of the other reason you kept things civil with Mira. You let out a gentle smile as you saw your son's dark eyes staring widely at you, a gleeful, toothless smile stretched across his face as he saw you looking at him. He had been a surprise to say the least, Johnathan had nearly fainted from excitement though. He was doting and experienced in this, which you were thankful for. He loved your son very much, just as loved Ava, and honestly you were the same. 

You placed the bookmark carefully inside your book to mark your place as you set it aside to pick up the giggling infant in front of you. 

“Hey little one,” You cooed as you picked him up and placed him on your hip, “did you have a nice nap.” He clapped his hands excitedly as a response, he was always so lovely when he woke up from his naps. And for a baby, he was pretty even tempered, barely woke up in the middle of the night. 

After changing him out of his sweaty onesie and diaper and changing him into a pair of fresh ones you made your way to the kitchen and placed him in the highchair and gave him a few toys to occupy himself with as you started on dinner. 

You had no sooner put the water on to boil when the light ring of the doorbell rang through the house. You checked the time on your stove, only for your curiosity to grow further. It was far too soon for Johnathan to come home early, and even then he wouldn’t use the doorbell. 

Making sure your son was alright you went to open the door, the frosted decorative glass on the wooden door obscured your vision of the person as you opened it to reveal the last person you expected to see. 

“Marc?” “Hey…” Marc greeted gruffly, “Do you mind if I come in?”

“Umm,” You were still processing the fact that he was there before you answered, “sure just leave your shoes on the rack over there.” You half expected him to put up a fight, saying that it was ridiculous, only to be surprised by compliance instead. He wordlessly toed his shoes off before placing them neatly on the rack and closing the door behind him. You backed up to give him some room to maneuver. The home wasn’t large, but it was enough. With a room for you, your son, and Ava when she stayed over. The living room was made for half tv half library, there was even a bookshelf in the dining room filled from floor to ceiling of your books. You would have loved more room, but based on the academia lifestyle you both lived and what you could afford at the time, the place was lovely. 

“So wha-” You were cut off as two muscular arms enveloped you and the familiar smell of sea salt filled your nose. His embrace on your frame was firm and you knew Marc long enough to know that either he was dying or something absolutely terrible had happened. 

Because he never, not even after you were blipped, visited you in person. 

And he never initiated a hug between you and even if there was a hug it would be light, almost like he didn’t want to touch you. You tentatively wrap your arms around him as well and give him an almost awkward pat on his shoulder. 

“Marc,” You said, “you’re scaring me.” You broke out of his hold easily after that. You put enough space between you so that you could look in his eyes. “What was that about?”

He didn’t answer for a minute, almost hesitating, before saying, “I don’t know,” He said, “I guess I missed you more than I realize.” 

“Well it has been over a decade since we last saw each other.” 

“For me it has,” Marc said soberly, “for you it’s only been seven or so years.” 

“Still it’s been a while.” You said as you made your way to the kitchen, hoping that the water hadn't boiled over yet. You turn the stovetop off as you grab your son out of the highchair. “So what do you need?” 

You enter the living room where he sat on one of the couches, his eyes focused on the ground. You casually waited for a reply, expecting something along the lines of Moon Knight related business, but you watched as he takes one shaky breath in before removing his eyes from the carpeted floor below him to you. You could see his eyes widen at the baby in your arms, looking widely at him, curiously. You saw him blink a few times. 

“You have a kid?”

You laughed lightly as you lightly bounced your son getting an excited laugh from him. 

“Yeah,” You sighed happily and looked at him, “his name is Jeremiah.” You make your way to place your curly haired son on the play mat in front of him. 

You could see Marc staring at him, just as curious as he was, but you know Marc well enough to know when something was bothering him. His shoulders were forward slightly, almost huddling in on himself. 

You casually sat beside him on the couch and watched as Jeremiah chewed on the teething rings in front of him. 

“How are you and Layla doing?” You asked, genuinely wanting to know if Layla was alright. 

“We uh,” He hesitated and was shifting his eyes away from you, “we aren’t on speaking terms right now.” You put a hand on his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” You apologized. 

“Don’t be,” He said, taking your hand off his shoulder, “it was my own damn fault anyways.” He fiddled with his fingers a second before asking, “where’s the father?”

“He’s at work actually.” 

“Anyone I know?”

“You might remember him,” You say faintly as you remember the night you met Johnathan. “You saw him walk me home that night.” A silence hung in the air for a moment. 

“Yeah,” He said, “I said he looked like he belonged at the bottom of a book avalanche.” You smile and giggle at the image that popped into your head of Johnathan getting into that very likely scenario. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” You said, “but why the hell are you here?” he was about to speak when you shut him up. “The truth this time.” Marc knew there was no way to win this fight. Not with you. 

“I don’t know where else to go.” He said, “I don’t have anyone else but you.” 

“You sure as hell don’t act like it,” You said as you let out a frustrated sigh, “same shit different story.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I called you after I got back from the blip, Steven answered, but later on, when you checked the news to see the snapped got snapped back you could’ve called me back. Talked to me. But you didn’t even care to send me a text message. I invited you to my wedding and you didn’t even show up.” Although you wouldn’t admit it it hurt when Marc didn’t show up it hurt. Marc hung his head in shame. 

“Something came up.” 

“Of course it did,” You replied as you breathed in deeply before letting out an exhale, trying to keep your temper in line. “Marc, if you’re looking for some kind of forgiveness I don’t know what to tell you.” You could feel his eyes on you as you kept watching your son play with the toys on the ground, completely oblivious to the somber tone of the conversation you were having. 

“I forgive you,” You let out, “but you can’t keep doing this. I’m not just something you can drop and pick up any time you want…Not anymore.” You smile as you see your family portrait hanging off the wall. You, Johnathan, Jeremiah, and Ava. “I have others in my life now, those who depend on me, and I on them. My life doesn’t revolve around you anymore.” 

Those final words hung there, heavy and you could see Marc shaking slightly. After a very long pause he spoke. 

“I’m sorry,” he said so quietly. If you had not been right next to him you wouldn’t have heard him. “I’m sorry for everything I put you through, you don’t deserve any of it.” 

“Thank you,” You said looking over at him and wrapped your arm around him in a half hug, “thank you for saying that.” 

Time passed on and you decided to order dinner instead. You had asked Marc if he wanted to stay for dinner but he declined. Something about an early flight back to London in the morning. 

Much unlike how he entered your life, that loud little boy that was your friend, he left your door quietly with a sad look in his eyes. 

Marc didn’t know what he was looking for when he came there. When the blip happened, he knew immediately you were one of them. That you were gone, it ate at him, he started getting more reckless and more unhinged. He stopped pulling back punches, he wanted to make everyone suffer. The image of you dusting away haunted him, much like your smiles and laughter. It echoed through his brain, even as he laid next to Layla, his heart hurt. 

What hurt the most, however, was how much more aware he was of how awful he was to you. He never texted you back, he didn’t even know you moved until a year had passed! He was cruel, keeping you close but never close enough to touch. He lied to you, he laughed at you, he manipulated you, and Marc felt sick to his stomach. Because you were never like that, not to him. You were kind, even as he was throwing up in the toilet hung over and shouting profanities at you, you stayed by his side so he wouldn’t be alone. You knew him, mind and soul. You accepted him for him, however broken and sharp his edges were. 

Marc had known deep down that you loved him, people don’t stick around for that long and not love them in some way. And that terrified him, so he kept pushing the thought away and married Layla. It wasn’t until the last night he saw you, he made up some stupid excuses to see you. He didn’t realize he missed you until you were gone, and when he saw you that night. Your hair done up and a carefree smile on your face as you walked with the man beside you. Peppery unkempt hair and a thick beard. Glasses resting on the bridge of his hooked nose, the way you both talked to each other, like you had known this man just as long as you knew Marc. The way your eyes glittered when you saw him and the way Marc saw the connection between you two, the level of understanding that he knew he would never have with you or anyone. His heart pounded and he resisted the urge to punch the man's glasses off his face. 

Marc thought he knew you, but you proved him wrong. You knew him, but he didn’t know you. It was like he was exposed, vulnerable, and he hated it. So he lashed out, like he always did and now he was paying the price. 

When he saw everyone got snapped back that day, and that for the first time in five or so years, your contact came up in his call history. He hovered over the call button but decided against it, he didn’t want to call and have it be some sort of cruel hallucination. He didn’t think he could handle it.

Then the invitation to your wedding came, you and Johnathan Levy. He spent that day in bed, staring out the window, feeling like a coward. He couldn’t face it, so much was already happening in his life at that point. He had just defeated Ammit, Steven knew about him, Layla signed the divorce papers. So that white paper on his table mocked him, calling him out on being a coward, because rather than putting on a brave face and congratulating you, he stayed in London and did nothing. 

The guilt ate him up, until there was nothing left. He tried everything he could, writing it out, talking to a therapist, but nothing helped. So finally, he listened to Steven and Jake and booked a plane ride to Boston. 

He was at your front door for seven minutes before he finally had the gull to ring the doorbell. When you opened it, it felt like he could breathe. You were young, you both used to be the same age but the blip changed that. Your hair was longer than he remembered and you had this glow about you that you never had before. It wasn’t until later it was because you were finally happy. 

His heart plummeted to his feet when he saw the baby on your hip, dark curls and eyes looking at him, reminding him that you weren’t the person you were all those years ago. You have changed. 

As you both talked his mind wondered, if he had been kinder, if he had been better, if he was someone else. Maybe this could’ve been his life, that would’ve been his kid and you his wife. But that was a far off dream now, one that he could never have. 

And as he closed your front door, after your talk, he told himself to let you go. He needed to let you go. You no longer needed him, you were finally happy and content, you made yourself a loving family and he needed to let you go. 

But each step he took away from your door, memories of your life together, from children to fighting deities together, flashed. Made each step feel heavier than the last, all he wanted to do was beg on his knees and tell you he was sorry, over and over and over again until he felt some sort of weight being lifted off of him. 

He closed his eyes and tried to remember the face you made, smiling as you held your baby in your arms, he tried to sear that into his memory. Every last detail. 

And then, with a heavy heart, he got on the bus to the airport, knowing he would never see you again.

Taglist:

@simonsbluee

@yuki235171

@dopeqff

@themapoftinyperfectthings

@later-gators12

@lovepeaceorelse

@ahookedheroespureheart

@8hgel

@onestopficshop

@missdragon-1

[hansensgirl]

push it to the limit.

summary. | As he watches you ogle the man who would pop champagne moments before touching heaven, he puts his foot on the gas pedal and his hand on one of the levers, ready to push it to the limit. Maybe this time, you’ll finally notice him.

warnings. | Non/Dubcon, watersports, obsessive behaviour, coercion, bribery, dark themes, drinking (champagne), hate fucking, unprotected sex, rough sex, public sex, dumbification, degradation, dirty talk, humiliation, breeding kink, choking, allusions to anal, reader is really rude (so is Niki), *sexism/misogyny/paying for sex (see a/n), and more. 18+, MINORS DNI.

word count. | 8.4k

pairings. | Dark!Niki Lauda x Reader, James Hunt x Reader (it’s one-sided).

author’s note. | please enjoy, and please don’t forget to reblog! if you take ANY inspiration from my fics (i’ll know, trust me) and you don’t give credit, you will be blocked and i’ll let others know. *he talks about paying you for sex as a way to degrade you, it’s brief and in german! it does not reflect anything about me or my blog. we are pro-sex work here! it’s just fiction.

“Look! There he is!” a small voice tells you, pointing somewhere with a great distance. You’re not sure how he manages to spot his favourite racer from so far. Among the sea of heads, your younger brother sits on your shoulders. You can feel him touching you down to your bones, and you try to ignore the pain just for him. “You sure? You said that five times before, y’know,” you denote, and you hear the six-year-old groan. “Yes, I’m sure! Look, he’s drinking that nasty stuff like always,” he adds, and you realize he’s talking about James’s signature champagne.

“It’s not nasty,” you mumble under your breath, remembering the way the pleasant liquid felt and tasted against your tongue. Sticky gold is what you’d describe it as, and you recall how it stained your skin. Shaky hands are bound to tremor even more under pressure, and your friend is an absolute clutz. It’s no wonder she made such a mess, as it is one of her best traits. But a particular pair of hands that seemed to have Midas’s touch cleaned you up, and you still to this day wish you were awake to thank them. You have many regrets, but that’s just a small one.

“Can we go closer to the fence? I want to try and talk to him,” your brother politely requests, and you let out a heavy sigh. Your mouth is pressed in a line, and you begin to shift your feet. You’ve got boots made of suede, a brown colour that always seems to go best with your all-black outfits. There’s a matching jacket on you as well, and it has fur on the cuffs and collar.

“What’s the marvel of watching it in person rather than watching it on television? Out here, we struggle so much, and you can barely even watch them properly. On the television, well, you see it all, and you can be as comfortable as you want,” you wonder out loud, and the child holds onto you tightly. He squeezes your head tightly, and the ribbon in your hair begins to fall in your face. It’s white silk, with a lovely hem to it. You save it for these races your sibling always wants to go to. Your other coloured ones are left for daily excursions, and sometimes a good party, too.

“Excuse me!” you loudly call out, and other women cast you nasty glares. You’ve seen those same looks one too many times, and you don’t pay any mind to them. If they truly care about their spots, they’d stand up and fight for them. But they’re just like babies with a piece of candy in their tiny fists. Maybe a jellybean, or perhaps even a pack of those oh so enjoyable Sour Patch Kids. “Why do you like only him?” you ask, raising both your eyebrows as you get closer to the fence. “I like James and Niki!” he exclaims loudly, and you loop your fingers between the holes of the fence.

“Niki? As in Niki Lauda? That arrogant, Austrian asshole?” you question in shock, not minding your foul language at all. “Yes! The guy that Dad hates. He’s cool, and he’s fast,” he explains, rolling his eyes. “Honestly? There’s nothing cool about him. He’s just… fast. James is the cool one,” you argue, and you can hear him groaning. “You like James Hunt because he looked at you that one time,” he snaps back in annoyance, and you sigh dreamily in remembrance. “Exactly! Now I need to look for Niki, I wanna say hi to him!” your brother exclaims, and your eyes scan the entrance area for Niki Lauda.

“Don’t just say hi to him; ask him for an autograph! We can sell it to one of his fans afterwards. They’re always dying for anything of his,” you propose, and your brother simply ignores the swindling ways that you’ve inherited from your grandfather since you were a kid. It’s the reason why you tend to find purses with deep pockets and smooth zippers that don’t pinch on the inner fabric. You reach into your bag, and you grab a marker that you’ve always got with you.

The crowd gets louder and louder, almost as if you’ve got headphones on your head and you want to turn down the volume, but you keep hitting the wrong button. A woman shrieks in your left ear, and a man whoops in the other. More bodies press against you, and with the marker in between two of your digits, you hope that you don’t return home with billions of bruises. On the big screen, recaps from the previous races are being played. It’s win after win, all on behalf of Niki Lauda and his incredible luck that doesn’t seem to have any end.

You’re finally able to make out what people are screaming; the curly-haired man’s name. “Niki! I love you!” they all shout, and you wonder if any of them like James. It seems like you haven’t found your people, and maybe just for today, you’re the odd one out. “Seems like you’re not the only one that has Niki amongst their favourites,” you grumble, and your brother lets out a giggle. A few moments later, he sits up far more proper on your shoulders. The hand with the marker in it grabs onto one of his legs, and you make sure he doesn’t fall down and ends up being the true loser of this race.

“Niki! I’m your biggest fan!” he shouts at the top of his lungs, using his full voice and then some. You look over to the entrance, and you spot the brooding Austrian wrapped in red walking out with a deep frown on his face. You fight the urge to roll your eyes, but your brother doesn’t care about your deep annoyance towards his idol. Niki shoots a look over to where you’re both standing, and your brother waves his arms from side to side, trying to get the racer’s attention. Even if he doesn’t, you have a feeling that Niki will be more displeased than anything.

It only makes sense, as he always acts that way with his fans though they’re the only people who appreciate him.

His nose is upturned, and he tries to pinpoint your brother and his powerful screams. High-pitched yet so loud, it’s no wonder why his tantrums are the root for almost all household headaches. “He’s looking over here,” you tell him, and your brother nods. “Yeah, because of me! He’s going to come, and I’m going to meet him!” he squeals, somehow connecting none existent dots to fuel a form of hope that dwindles inside him. You can be mean, but you’re not cruel. So you won’t be a realist, and you’ll let the youth on your shoulders believe what he wants to think.

“And when you meet him, ask him to sign something,” you advise, not letting go of your chance to make a few hundred dollars. He doesn’t say anything, but you know he’s pondering whether or not he should do it. “Niki! I love you!” the woman next to you screams as if she’s using every bit of her energy to get him to notice her. Your head already starts to ache just a bit, and you wish you brought some form of a pain killer. Niki saunters over to the fence, and for some reason, you don’t feel proper behind the fence.

It’s the way he carries himself with the highest of heads, a sort of confidence dragging with his every step. He knows he can do anything right now, and everybody except you would love him for it. He could make an entire turn and not greet his fans, and they’ll laugh it off. You’ve witnessed his haughtiness, and there’s no doubt inside you that you’ll see it again. “Niki! Good luck on the race!” a person says, and the rest of the crowd laughs at them.

“Dude, he doesn’t need your luck,” someone next to them says before elbowing the poor fan’s ribs. You can hear them wince in pain before they start to scream at the racer once again. Niki raises his hands up to his chest, almost as if he’s surrendering to something. That bratty smirk of his is replaced by a cheerful smile, and while everyone adores it, you see right through the façade. “Hello, everyone!” he greets, and you already want to roll your eyes until they fall back into your skull.

Niki stands right in front of you, and you try to look somewhere other than his face. Your view darts wildly until you finally settle on looking at the exceptionally boring asphalt underneath your feet. The screaming quiets down, and you wonder if everything is okay. “Uhm, Mr. Niki Lauda? I love you! I’m such a big fan! I watch all of your races, and I try to go to them all! Can I have an autograph?” your brother gleefully expresses, and you snap your head up at his words.

Much to your dismay, you lock gazes with the man you hate most in this entire stadium. His eyes are rather dull, yet they’ve got a sort of darkness in them that makes you feel just a tad bit uneasy. Both begrudgingly and excitedly, you hand the marker to your brother, who, in turn, gives it to his idol. Niki takes it gratefully, and he raises his least dominant hand. The other fans try to reach for it, for him. But he ignores them, and he gives a high-five to your brother.

You can’t hear the sound of their palms meeting because the displeasure of the crowd drowns it all out. “What do you want me to write it on?” Niki questions, taking the cap off of the marker. “Uhm, my shirt?” he offers, stretching the red fabric towards the elder. You observe as the racer awkwardly signs his name on your brother’s clothing, and you know that your Mother is going to be more than angry. Your Father, on the other hand, will be filled with pride and excitement.

“Thank you so much!” the child squeals, and Niki simply waves his hand as if it was no big deal to him. But you know that deep down inside, he was probably a bit annoyed. “Do you want an autograph, Miss?” Niki asks, and you take note of how his demeanour has changed. His features are softer, and his eyes seem to be lit up. “Oh, uh, no, thank you. I’m waiting for James. I love him a lot,” you tell him, pushing your shoulders back in confidence. The people around you let out gasps, and they follow their sounds up with whispers that aren’t so hushed.

Niki’s face drops, and you give him your fakest smile. He stares at you, almost as if he wants to lash out and scream. Maybe even call you a name or two. “That’s alright,” he assures after a while, and you have the urge to say something snarky. He hands the marker back to your brother, who is too busy being in awe of his favourite racer to listen to you being on your worst behaviour. Niki walks off, but this time, his stride lacks his boldness. “He’s so cool!” your brother squeals, staring at the Sharpie. You sigh, knowing that you two will constantly butt heads over Niki.

“Well, I beg to disagree.”

“Niki! Is everything okay?” one of the mechanics asks, and the star nods his head mindlessly. Instead of pressing him for some sort of answer, he leaves Niki alone to mull all by himself. There is not one person who dares to talk to him before the race unless it has to do with the car or the competition itself. It’s out of pure fear because nobody likes to face the Austrian’s wrath. From screaming way too loudly to piercing, uncomfortable stares, he never knows how to properly communicate with others.

He gazes at you from just a few mere metres away. His eyes are like ice, and he hopes you can feel the coldness from where you are. He really fucking hopes you do. You’ve got that sultry look to you, and it’s not cast towards him. No, it isn’t at all, and it irks him all the way to his bones. You ogle James fucking Hunt. Of all the other inferior racers there, you choose to admire James, and Niki hates you both for that. At every single race, he’s seen you show up to, you never look at him.

You don’t acknowledge him at all. It doesn't just hurt his ego; it also breaks his heart. Your preference and love for the Englishman injure those butterflies inside Niki’s stomach, and yet they still continue to flutter. The funniest, most ironic part of everything is that the races you attend always end with Niki being the winner. Never James. But you still idolize him over the Austrian, and he’s tired of it.

“Make sure it goes fast, okay? Fast, but nothing should catch on fire or malfunction,” Niki tells his technicians, and they halt what they’re doing. “But, Sir-” one of them starts, and Niki closes his fist for them. “No,” he simply states before crossing his arms once again. Niki looks back over to you, and you’ve now got a smile on your face. He loves the sight, but he knows his adoration will turn sour in a few seconds once he follows your line of gaze. So he chooses not to, and he decides to use you as his motivation.

The racers all go to their cars, and they pull their helmets on. Some are dressed in black, some in white, and only two in red. James and Niki. Niki is surrounded by his team, and James has twice the number of people next to him. Along with mechanics are girls in short skirts with jackets similar to yours. Deep down, you wish you could switch places with one of them, but maybe it isn’t as good as it seems to be. Perhaps your spot behind the fence with your younger sibling is what’s meant for you.

Your neck is more than exhausted. Your shoulders have a unique pain to them, one that not even doctors can begin to describe. Your bones are in desperate need of a crack, and your muscles crave a lengthy stretch that’ll leave you shaking. Yet, you continue to stand there with no complaints ready to fly off your tongue. The whooping behind you is so loud, but you’ve gotten used to it. “C’mon, Niki! You can do it!” your brother cries out, clapping his hands in excitement.

Niki flashes a thumbs up, and he looks at you one last time. As he watches you ogle the man who would pop champagne moments before touching heaven, he puts his foot on the gas pedal and his hand on one of the levers, ready to push it to the limit. Maybe this time, you’ll finally notice him. Perhaps this time, you’ll realize he’s the best racer there is. He takes a deep breath, and he reassures himself that he’ll win as always.

“I have a feeling Niki is going to win this one,” the lady next to you says, and her friends nod their heads in utter agreement. You want to ask why she thinks that, but you’ve already left a bad taste in the crowd’s mouth. “Do you think Niki will win?” you ask your brother, looking up at him as best as you can. “I think so, but maybe James will surprise us!” he predicts, and you nod your head. “I hope James wins,” you whisper under your breath. Your bottom lip falls victim to your teeth, and you gnaw on it out of stress.

You keep your sights on James, and occasionally, you glance at Niki. Perhaps it’s simply just morbid curiosity that’s eating at you because there’s no way you’d just casually look at a man you despise with all your heart. As all the racers go to their designated spots in their cars, excitement fills your stomach. But it’s mixed with fear, as anything can go wrong at these tracks, and that’s the last thing you want to happen. You get lost in your thoughts, thinking about all possibilities.

Who will win? Who will get hurt? Who will get angry? Who will become sad? You ask yourself all these questions that don’t truly matter much to your life, and yet you still try to find an answer inside of you.

Suddenly, the sound of engines revving and then taking off fills your ears. Screams follow them up, and you realize that the race has started. You wait until every single car leaves your view before looking at the scoreboard. You can’t bear to watch them risk their lives while you stand not so comfortably yet safe behind a fence. “Oh my God! James is in the first place!” you squeal like a kid in a candy store, and your brother claps.

Some of the people around you cheer for James, and others for Niki. But you ignore them, and you simply focus on what the orangish-yellow neon lights say. Some names switch spots rapidly, perhaps too quickly for you to keep up with. But you stay trained on the upper two; I. HUN, II. LAU. The former stays on top for most of the race, and the latter switches with him every now and then. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” you nervously mumble, hoping that the Englishman stays on top.

“Seems like your favourite is going to win,” the known lady cleverly smirks, and you give her the side-eye. “Yes, because he’s good at what he does,” you confidently agree, hoping that you won’t have to eat your words in the next few minutes. She chuckles before shaking her head. “No wonder you don’t like Niki Lauda,” she expresses, shaking her head practically in some form of awe. “What are you talking about?” you annoyingly press, already growing tired of whatever conversation she’s trying to make.

“You’re both egotistical and full of yourselves. You do it because that’s who you are, and Niki does it for his own reasons, like pure enjoyment. It’s so obvious for you to dislike him because he’s a reflection of you, and you hate that,” she states, proud of herself for whatever reasons. “That’s dumb, and so are you. He does it because that’s who he is. I do it because I don’t like some people—such as yourself—and because I have plenty of reasons to be prideful. Not egotistical,” you snap, and she raises her hands as if she’s surrendering.

“Sure, whatever you say.”

Your mood has turned absolutely irritable, and the bitterness has claimed you entirely. You realize that you haven’t checked the places since before speaking to the lady, and you get excited. Flicking your head up, you expect to have your preferred person’s name at the very top, but instead, you see the name of the one and only Niki Lauda. I. LAU, II. HUN. “No, no, no!” you panic, watching as James stays in second place. None of the names change places at all, and you find yourself to be absolutely crushed. “Yes, yes, yes!” the crowd cheers and your face has fallen in disappointment.

Niki’s name gets announced, and everyone is absolutely elated. Everyone apart from you. Your brother celebrates the win from his high spot, and everybody jumps for joy. You stay silent, and you try your hardest to not swallow your pride. Each driver gets out of their cars slowly, and they congratulate the Austrian with smiles on their faces. You stare at him callously before you notice that James is still grinning. Despite not winning entirely, he never actually lost. So there’s no reason for you to be so dull and gloomy.

He walks off with his posse of men and women, and you realize maybe it’s time for you to head home as well. “So, your favourite won,” you say to your brother, and he giggles. “Yep! And yours lost!” he jokes, and you let out a forced giggle. “Yeah, yeah,” you brush off, making your way through the energetic body of people you strongly dislike.

Niki is engulfed in overly suffocating hugs. Some hands shake him, and some even slap him on the back, not so lightly. He doesn’t know which pairs belong to which bodies, and yet he goes with them all anyway. “You did great, Niki!” one voice praises. “Yeah, great job, Niki!” another adds. He thanks everybody in one sentence, and he pulls away once they start to mingle amongst themselves. The fantastic win of his isn’t what’s on his mind. It’s the thing that’s been etched and burned into his brain for him to think about, even though it should be appreciated now.

No. You’re what’s on Niki’s mind, and he has no intention of letting you leave.

He looks over at the swarm of heads that may have drowned you, and he can’t find you there. Not one trace of you is left behind, and his blood boils. Do you truly hate him to the point where you can’t even stay back for a few more seconds? Niki swears in Austrian under his breath, and he frustratingly walks over to the crowd. Fingers that aren’t yours reach out for him, and he ignores them all. “Have any of you seen that woman with the little boy on her shoulders?” he angrily questions, cracking his knuckles in anticipation.

His heart is still clamouring wildly in his chest, practically beating against him to be let out. “Uhm, she just left… She went that way! But I could easily replace her if you want…” a woman flirts, and Niki completely ignores her words after he gets what he wants. He leaves abruptly, and they are still yelling after him. “So eine verdammte Schlampe. Ich kann es kaum erwarten, dir eine Lektion zu erteilen, du hast darum gebettelt, seit ich dich gesehen habe,” he grumbles, walking through the crowded entrance.

Niki emerges with perseverance and even more anger than before. He searches through the sea of racing enthusiasts, and he spots you being bent over. It’s a wildly lewd position for you to be in, and Niki finds himself feeling flushed and displeased at the way you let others leer at you. He should be the only one to see you that way, nobody else. The Austrian wants to storm his way to you, to grab you and drag you somewhere more private so that he can put you in your place, but he knows the current setting isn’t right.

“Uhm, Mr. Lauda? Would you like a drink in honour of your win? It’ll be on us!” a shy waitress offers, appearing out of nowhere. He jumps in fear, but he quickly calms down. “Well…” he ponders, even though he’s not a fan of drinking after a race. In a trice, the lightbulb in his brain goes off. It shines brightly, and a clever idea starts to nag him. “Do you, uh, mind doing me a favour? I’ll even pay you extra,” he quickly prompts, and the waitress smirks. “Sure!” she agrees, carefully balancing the glasses on her tray.

“I need you to take all these glasses—maybe add some more champagne and make sure they’re really full—to that person over there,” he instructs, pointing to where you are. He watches as you wave to your family, who drives off without you. “The one with the brown jacket?” she double checks, and he nods in assurance. “Yeah, that one. Take them to her, and tell her they’re from someone who adores her and her love for champagne quite a bit,” Niki directs while trying to hold in a villain-like laugh.

“Ok! Then I just leave?” she asks, tilting her head innocently. “Yes. And don’t mention my name or anything about me at all,” he adds quickly before placing a hundred-dollar bill on the tray. The waitress slips it into her pocket before walking to where you’re standing idly. Niki watches the innocent worker make her way towards you until he realizes he should hide away before she makes a mistake.

“Excuse me, ma’am? Hi, I have something for you,” a waitress tells you, and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “I- What? I never ordered anything, I think you have the wrong person,” you tell her, turning your back and facing elsewhere. “No! I have the right person. They said they’re someone who adores you and your love for champagne!” she gleefully clarifies, and only one person comes to mind. James. You let out an excited, eager gasp. One that can’t be rivalled by any of Niki’s fans from his win.

She hands you the two full glasses, and you can just tell that the golden liquid is of high quality. You get drunk quickly, perhaps a little too easily. But that’s never stopped you from enjoying yourself at all. “Thank you so much! Oh, and I’m sorry for being rude at first,” you softly whisper to her, and she simply waves you away. “No worries,” she reassures, and she walks off before you can finish your first glass.

Tilting your head back, you bring the first flute to your mouth and you down everything it has to offer in just a few gulps. The drink slides down your throat with such ease. It’s brut, and it has a sort of bitter yet sweet taste to it. Sighing, you smack your lips and take whatever is left of the first glass gratefully. You then switch the glasses around with shaky yet skillful hands. “Thank you, James, for being such a lovely guy,” you murmur to yourself, dragging out the last letters of each word.

The alcohol quickly settles inside you, and it starts to distort you as always. Blurry eyes and a hazy mind, you’ve turned into a drunken mess in a matter of a few seconds. You slowly sip on your second and last glass before your temptations grow tired of your sluggishness. You down the entire thing until there’s a small drop at the bottom that just won’t budge. You let out a tiny sound of amazement, and you find yourself wanting to have some more. You lick your lips, trying to search for a slight hint of the sort of melon flavour until it goes away.

“Uhm? Does anyone know where that waitress went?” you ask loudly, and those who hear you shake their heads ‘no.’ “Damn,” you frustratingly mutter, lightly stomping your foot against the concrete. You roll your head backwards, in both a stretch and a habit. Your mind feels heavy, but your bones and muscles are even more burdensome. You bring your skull back to its normal position, and you decide to go look for her. Stumbling clumsily, you walk back into the dreaded arena where everyone is still celebrating Niki Lauda’s victory.

Niki watches you amongst a crowd of fans who are trying to form some sort of discussion with him. They hound him with all kinds of questions, some about the race itself and some about the esteemed racer and his personal life. Like a hunter stalking his prey, his eyes stay trained on you until you disappear behind the red door that leads to rooms that only named people are allowed to go to. “So, what are you going to do now, Mr. Lauda? How are you going to celebrate?” one of them asks, with a sort of sultry tone to their voice that he fails to notice.

“I have plans with a friend of mine for tonight,” he briefly states before pushing through them and following you into the stadium. “Can I join?” another asks, and he simply ignores them as they call after Niki with even more curiosity. It’s not hard to spot someone in bright red overalls suddenly walking into somewhere he shouldn’t be, but it’s easy to pay no mind to him because he’s a champion and most people who see him aren’t.

“Where, where, where are you, kleine Maus?” he hauntingly calls out, and his voice echoes back. Niki can hear the sound of your shoes clicking against the ground, and he decides to follow it. He tries his hardest to calm his heart down, but it’s hard to both hold your breath and make sure you’re not nearing cardiac arrest. The racer quickens the paces of his feet, practically jogging towards you as you decide to turn around and forget about the champagne.

Your jacket slips off your shoulders as you whip your body around, and suddenly, you’re pushed against a wall. The brick is painted over with a sort of cream colour. You begin to panic as strong hands keep you from fighting your attacker. “Du bellst wohl nicht nur, kleine Maus,” he notes out loud, and you don’t understand a word of what he’s saying. The voice is familiar, though, except for the fact it’s a few octaves deeper than you last heard.

“Niki?” you question, halting your flailing fists and restless legs. “Yes, kleine Maus?” the man questions and your jaw drops in shock. “What the fuck?! Are you insane? Get off of me!” you scream loudly, and his hopes of getting you still begin to die like a flower in the wintertime. Niki grabs ahold of your wrists in his dominant hand, and he swiftly turns you around and stomps on your ankles. “Help!” you cry out, but his other hand presses your face against the wall.

“Shut up, shut the fuck up,” he orders in your ear, pushing your white ribbon out of your face. You listen to him, but you disobey his commands at the same time. Writhing around, you try to escape the claws that squeeze you tightly, and you fail miserably. “Cute. Now stop fighting me, or else I’ll hurt you so badly you wouldn’t be able to go to anyone for help,” he threatens, and you gulp thickly in fear. Your saliva tastes of alcohol still, and you regret ever coming to the race.

“Good girl. See? That wasn’t so hard. All you need to do is listen to me,” Niki instructs, talking down to you like you’re some child who doesn’t know any better. “Why?” you choke out through gritted teeth. Your cheekbones rub against the brick, and the pain is gruesome. “Because I need to put you in your place. Do you seriously think you can just mouth off to me like that? To disrespect me like that? To prefer that pathetic racer over me?” he asks, and you let out a whimper. Each of his words sinks into you like needles filled with anesthesia.

They numb your mind until you realize what’s really happening, but by then, it’s too late.

“Well, obviously, I prefer James over you! Look at you, you’re rude, and you’re a horrible, shitty person. Now get off of me!” you lash out, even though your body doesn’t move. Niki simply laughs like a maniac, and you find yourself wanting to take back your words. “Maybe I’m so rude because I like you. Like how little boys tease little girls when they have crushes. You do know what a crush is, right? Just making sure since you’re so cold-hearted. Bet you don’t know anything other than hatred,” he spits, and you’re pretty offended.

“I know what you’re talking about! I’ve had feelings for people, okay?” you bite back, and Niki becomes curious. “Really? Let me guess. James Hunt? Some old boyfriend of yours? A man at a party who cleaned you up because you don’t know how to take care of yourself?” the Austrian questions, and you don’t realize who he’s talking about until you look at his hands. They’re the same as those gracious ones, except they’re more rough and lack gentleness. “That was you?” you ask, and you’ve lost all fight in your body at the realization.

“Well, of course, kleine Maus. Someone had to watch your back, and that someone is me! Du bist nicht so klug, wie du dich selbst darstellst, ganz ehrlich. But that’s okay, it’ll be okay. It’ll be just alright now that I’m here to put you in your place,” he reassures you, and you don’t even have the energy to ask him what he means. “Look, I’m sorry, I really am. I’ve learnt my lesson now, can you let me go? I won’t tell anyone, Sir, I promise!” you plea and your words start to blur into one another.

“I don’t think you’re sorry, kleine Maus. I need to do what’s necessary because I’m fucking tired of you and your bullshit,” Niki snaps, and you whimper from the harsh tone of his words. His change in behaviour gives you whiplash, and you realize that there’s no way out of whatever he has planned for you. “So careless, so mean, so ignorant… So clumsy. I guess you aren’t as independent or as strong as you claim to be,” he whispers, and he causes tears to sting your almost empty eyes. They hurt, and they carry such maliciousness to them that you can’t help but be terrified of Niki.

A hand comes up to the waist of your jeans. They flare out at the bottom, and well, they look pretty damn good on you. But maybe a little too good because they make Niki think wild thoughts. He expertly takes the buttons out of their holes, and he unzips your rusted zipper. “P- Please, Niki,” you beg one last time, but Niki ignores you. He pulls down your pants against your protests, and he lets them get tangled with your tired feet. Your bare ass is exposed to the cool air of the arena, and goosebumps begin to rise on your skin.

“Such a lovely ass, kleine Maus. Maybe I should fuck it instead of doing what I had planned. Would you like that?” Niki politely asks, and your eyes nearly fall out of your skull. “N- No, thank you, Niki,” you shakily reject, and he nods. “You see, unlike you, I’m not so mean. So I’ll spare you, but only this once,” he cheerfully tells you, acting as if you’re supposed to start jumping up and down at his words. The closest thing to gratitude he’ll ever get from you is silence.

Niki still has a tight grip on your hands, and with your legs now immobilized from the mess by your feet, you can’t do much to save yourself. He wraps his arm around your waist, and he grabs at the crotch of your panties with no care at all. The cotton bunches up, and his fingers graze lightly against your folds. You try to ignore his touch, but he does the opposite and forces you to focus on it. He’s frozen, and you’re waiting for his next malevolent move. You can hear his heavy breathing, and he angles his digits upwards so he can touch you even more.

You press a fist against the wall, and you try to brace yourself as best as you can. Unexpectedly, a fierce pain strikes you in your hips, and it hurts more than you can describe. His hand has left you, and you can feel the air breeze against your pussy. Your panties are on the floor, ripped into a shred of fabric that no longer has any good use other than reminding you of how you could’ve avoided this entire situation. “I’ll get you better ones, don’t worry,” he reassures you in a humorous manner, and you squeeze your eyes shut in annoyance.

Instead of having your hips jut out for easy access, he pushes your torso against the wall until there’s a pressure inside your stomach. Instead of pain, it’s a sort of tingling sensation that makes your eyes bulge out in shock. “Uhm...” you hesitate, and his ears perk up. “What is it?” he frustratingly asks you, and his harsh tone snivelling. “N- Nevermind,” you mumble, and you just try to take deep breaths. “Are you ever going to shut up?” Niki questions as his other hand skillfully unzips his red overalls.

He’s wearing a simple pair of shorts and a t-shirt for the hot weather and occasional coolness. You keep quiet, not sure if you should answer him or not. Niki grumbles in another language that you don’t understand, and you realize that no matter what you do, you’ll always make him angry. Even your begging doesn’t bring you any fruits of labour. Only disappointment.

His shorts join the pile of clothing on the ground, many colours clashing that leave his eyes to be sore. Sunset pink panties, pale blue jeans, vibrant red overalls, and black shorts. It’s a fashionista’s worst nightmare. His hard cock is left in his boxers, and he’s just too impatient to fully undress. He throbs out of want and need, with a swollen tip that leaks with pre-cum. “I know this isn’t so… What’s the word you people use? ...Ah, romantic! I know this isn’t so romantic, but it’s not supposed to be. I’m the only one who’s supposed to enjoy this, not you. So I don’t care if you want to fake a smile or anything like that, all you need to do is not say anything,” he explains, and you nod your head.

“O- Okay, Niki,” you assure, and he lets out a groan that is followed by his tongue clicking against his pearly teeth. “Dumb whore,” he spits, and his hand wraps around your throat. You’re inebriated beyond belief, and you don’t realize he can crush your windpipe in a split second until he whispers in your ear. “Can’t do one thing right, can you?” he retorts. The grip he has on your wrists suddenly loosens up, but you’re too sluggish to fight him. And even if you try, you’ll end up a pathetic loser with even less honour than before.

The fat tip of his large cock presses against your mildly slick pussy. “You’re already wet for me, kleine Maus! Oh, such a whore. You say you don’t want this, yet your little cunt is telling me otherwise. Maybe you should use it to think instead of your empty brain. You’d end up in better places if you did so,” he advises, and you try to tune him out. But he’s like an alarm that just won’t stop until you do something, and yet, you’re helpless. “Ich kann es kaum erwarten, dich zu meiner Hure zu machen. Wie viel verlangen Sie? Einen Dollar? So oder so, du wirst von mir gefickt werden,” Niki snickers, and you have a feeling his words lack kindness.

But who the hell are you to worry about kindness?

Niki pushes his hips forward as his cock slowly sheathes itself inside of your tight pussy. The way you hug him makes him moan immediately, and he wonders if he’s the first you’ve ever had. “Jesus Fucking Christ, you’re so right, kleine Maus,” he groans, slowly bottoming out inside of you. You’re biting down on your wobbly bottom lip, trying your hardest to keep quiet and not let out any cries. The pain is searing. It’s the worst thing you’ve ever felt, and it ingrains itself into your mind until it’s all but an illusion. You’re practically about to be torn in half from his cock, and you’re at an impasse.

The racer curses as his balls rest against your ass, heavy and swollen. He’s deep inside you, filling you up until you’re bursting and you don’t know what to focus on; the pressure in your stomach that just seems to grow with each passing second, or the pain that leisurely turns into pleasure you’ll be addicted to? Everything is so much all at once. “Feel that, kleine Maus? Do you feel how deep inside you I am? Good, because you’ll have to get used to it,” he tells you, and you writhe around.

“So desperate already…” he whispers, watching as you can’t stand still at all. Niki’s hand leaves the base of his cock, as he thrusts his hips forward to elicit a reaction from you. He holds onto you tightly, and your body jerks from his movement. Your swollen stomach is pushed further against the wall, much to your dismay. You let out a gasp, and you try to close your legs as much as Niki will let you. He chuckles before he drags his cock backwards. His tip is the only thing inside you, and he suddenly begins to pump into you roughly. “Oh my God,” you whimper quietly, and your words are drowned out by the sound of skin against skin.

He thrusts up into you at a quick pace, one that your fingers or past lovers could never rival. It seems as though he’s fast when it comes to almost anything. “Die beste Muschi, die ich je hatte,” Niki whispers. Your pussy slickens up as he fucks you, coating him with your sticky wetness. The sight is something to behold, and his cock slips in and out of you with each thrust. “Make some pretty noises, kleine Maus. I want to hear how much of a slut you are for my cock,” he demands, and a loud moan moves past your lips without warning. It’s lewd and pornographic, yet it’s not as debauched as the sounds your wet pussy makes.

“Yeah, that’s more like it, hure,” Niki praises, and you mewl once his cock begins to touch that sweet spot of yours. It makes you go dizzy and hazy, and it also makes your legs weak. You involuntarily stop clenching your thighs together. Each thrust brings you against the wall, and you feel like you’re about to explode. Your pussy clenches down on Niki’s cock tightly, and his motions stutter. “Are you going to come already, my little slut?” he questions, slowing down his thrusts just to see you get frustrated. But the reaction you have is quite the opposite of what he wants, and he’s confused.

You let out a shaky breath that is filled with relief. You try to cross your legs together and push your ass backwards so that you’re far from the wall, even if it means that you’re closer to Niki. Your efforts don’t do much, and you want to wail in defeat. Niki observes you carefully before he shoves you back against the wall. You cry out before whispering a simple ‘please’ to him. He doesn’t realize what you’re talking about until he watches you place one of your hands on your stomach. You splay your fingers out delicately, and Niki chuckles.

The hold he has on your hips goes away, and he reaches for your hand. “Shh, it’s okay,” he reassures, and you furrow your eyebrows in both confusion and surprise. Niki pulls his cock out of you until you’re an empty, gaping mess. Suddenly, he presses down on your bladder until warmth trickles down your legs, soaking the fabric at your feet. A few tears leak from your eyes, and Niki watches as you burn up with embarrassment and shame. The pain and pressure in your abdomen go away as you finally alleviate yourself.

“Dreckig, dreckig, kleine Maus,” he degrades, and you don’t have it in you to be offended. The streams of liquid eventually come to an end, and you’re so ashamed. You press your face against the wall and wait for Niki’s next word. But he doesn’t say anything at all. Zip, zilch, nada. Instead, he pulls his hand away from your stomach and uses it to silently guide his cock back to your drooling, aching hole. “Couldn’t help yourself, I know. It’s okay, it’s not entirely your fault, liebling,” Niki tells you, even though he’s more patronizing than comforting.

“Es ist nicht deine Schuld, dass du nicht weißt, wie man etwas richtig macht. Keine Manieren, keine Höflichkeiten... Ich verstehe, dass du so bist, aber ich bin hier, um dich zu ändern. Ich bin hier, um dir beizubringen, dass du unter mir stehst und dass du nichts anderes tun solltest, als meine Hure zu sein und mich zu verehren,” he continues, and you’ve decided to give up entirely. You forehead rests on the white brick, and Niki begins to fuck you roughly once again.

He pounds against your sweet spot relentlessly, not one error in his rhythmic thrusts. “Poor little thing acts all tough until it comes down to it… And now look at you, you’re a complete mess with my cock stuffed inside this perfect pussy,” Niki grunts, leaning his body forward. His chest is right up against your back, and his chin rests on your sweaty shoulder. Your white ribbon is a tangled mess, the two ends of it twisting together and falling in your face. The silk material is no longer cooling, and the styling purpose of it has lost its touch.

The plunges of his cock are more deep than quick, and each shove of his hips sends you spiralling in pleasure. “F- Fuck,” you moan, seeing stars in your vision as your legs twitch from overwhelming gratification. “Yeah, you like that? You like the way my cock makes your pussy feel, kleine Maus?” he questions, and he further pushes his head down until his mentum digs into your skin. You wail loudly out of pain before nodding your head desperately. Niki squeezes the sides of your neck even more, but he also pushes down on your windpipe until you’re gasping for air.

You wheeze resoundingly, and the sound of you suffering for breath sends even more blood down to Niki’s pulsating cock. “Say it, tell me how much you love my cock and how much of a slut you are for me,” he demands, and you grasp at whatever’s left in your vocabulary. “I- I love your cock, Niki. I’m such a slut for you and your cock. You make me feel so good. I love your cock so much,” you pathetically mewl, and you can feel a form of tightening building up in you. Your lower abdomen burns up with searing flames, ones that trail all the way down to where you’re both connected.

You get wetter and wetter, more loud and desirous as your climax builds up. It’s like a staggering tower that reaches up to the sky and past the clouds; it has an end, but it keeps growing. “Are you going to come, kleine Maus? Are you going to come around my fat cock? I know you are. C’mon, do it,” Niki urges, and you moan his name loudly. “Do it, come on my cock right fucking now, or else I’ll make this worse for you,” he demands, and your back arches violently. You let out a gasp as your jaw goes slack. Red fills your vision, and you’re clamping down on his cock.

You moan his name loudly, and your juices coat his already sticky cock. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you mewl, digging your nails into your skin as you struggle to keep quiet like he ordered you to do. Your pussy spasms wildly, and your clit throbs, desperate for a few fingers to rub it. Your legs shake just a little bit, and you find yourself meeting Niki at his every thrust, desperate to keep going. Your ass moves backwards, and his hips move forwards, and the Austrian fucks you through your orgasm. Your nerves have sparks flying from them, and every part of you is sensitive.

“You’re so pretty when you come, kleine Maus. You look just like a desperate whore,” Niki grunts, and he can feel himself inching closer to his own climax. It’s like the light at the end of a tunnel or the chequered flag that usually waits for him at the race track before he’s announced to be the winner. “I’m gonna come inside you, kleine Maus, even if you don’t want me to. I’m going to fill you up with my seed and make you all nice and round. That way, you’ll know who you belong to, and you won’t be whoring around for the James Hunt you love so much,” he whispers in your ear, and you rapidly shake your head.

No, no, no, no.

“Yes, yes, yes, kleine Maus, you’re going to take my seed because I said so. Now stop fighting me,” he moans in your ear, and his thrusts grow sloppy and lazy. Niki shallowly fucks into you, and his balls begin to tighten up. His chest rises and falls, and he can feel his high beginning to climb up to the sky. Up, up, up, and away. Niki moans out the little pet name he’s applied to you, and he entirely shoves his cock inside you until he can’t move anymore. Growling, he comes inside you without a care in the world.

The raging, red tip of his fat cock is so deep. White ropes of his seed shoot into your womb, filling you up until you’re an upset, messy cumdump. “This is all you’re good for, kleine Maus,” Niki whispers in your ear, reminding you of your so-called place that he believes you belong in. His cum drips down your inner walls and leaks past his cock, and your fluids mix with each other. Niki’s cock twitches inside of you, but he remains as hard as a rock.

“Can’t wait to see you with my baby, kleine Maus. And I can’t wait to see James’s face when he sees you with me. Er wird so schockiert sein, dass sein Gesichtsausdruck unbezahlbar sein wird,” Niki laughs wickedly, and you can’t imagine you’ll ever meet anyone as cruel or as twisted as he is. “Can you get off of me now? I want to go home, and I want to stay as far away from you as I can,” you snap in both annoyance and exhaustion. “Nu-uh,” he tuts in a disciplinary manner. “You’re not going anywhere, kleine Maus,” Niki tells you. He tilts his head up until his lips touch the skin of your ear.

“I still have to celebrate my win with you, and I’ll make sure to push you to the limit, kleine Maus.”

[folkloreguk]

French Class [2]

A/N: I hope you all enjoy this part! I’m excited to put out more parts soon!

genre: optional bias (m) x reader (f), smut, oral (f receiving), car sex, dirty talk, college!au, nerd!reader, fuckboy!bias

words: 4.4 k

✽series masterlist✽

taglist (lmk if u wanna be added!): @lovely-ateez

“And then he asked me if I would wear his tie around my neck while he- Hello? Earth to Y/N? Are you there?” Your roommate, Chohee, waved her hand in front of your face from across the table. You had occupied the seats in the back of the Chinese restaurant, in a niche where you were mostly hidden from other customers. Turns out, for all the spicy stories she had in store – as always – that had been a great idea.

“I swear your thoughts have been all over the place lately. Are you sure you have nothing to talk about?” She twirled a strand of her dyed pink hair around her fingers while she mustered you suspiciously.

“I’m sorry, I zoned out. It’s nothing, I’m just tired. I’ve been studying day and night. Looks like you’re the only one with the stories today. Just start again from the part where he got the whipped cream from the fridge,” you said.

“We went over that part five minutes ago! Have you paid any attention?” Chohee shook her head with a grin. Then she began her bedroom-adventure story from the beginning, because she knew as well as you, she loved talking about it.

Truth was, you had one hell of a story to tell. And no, you had not been paying attention. Not because you were tired. Not because you had studying on your mind. But because one hundred percent of your focus was currently directed at the boy only a few tables from yours. You only saw the back of his head, but there was no doubt about his identity. The mop of hair was unmistakable. Plus, he was in his famous black leather jacket. There was no mistaking this piece of clothing. It was decorated with white splatters of acrylic paint and had his name written messily across the top of his back. You could just about make out the tips of the letters as he leaned back comfortably, legs spread on his chair, chatting to his friend.

Chohee had no idea about the grip the person behind her had on you. She was your closest friend, and yet you hadn’t broken the news to her: You were hooking up (and not just once) with the so-called “hottest guy on campus”. AT least those had been her words when she had first told you about him. Lately you had to admit, you were starting to agree. It wasn’t like you wanted to keep secrets from her. In fact, on many occasions you had almost crumbled and told her the full story. Had she not been such a chatterbox, and did she not love gossiping as much as she did, you swore she would already know about your little arrangement with him.

She was aware of this much: You and him were casual friends. Study buddies, one would say. You had subtly passed over the little details of your friendship. How grocery store visits sometimes turned into visits to his dorm because of a simple text of his, or how you had sneaked out on more than one occasion in the middle of the night because he had told you his dormmates weren’t home. It wasn’t weird to Chohee that you brushed over the particularities of your “one-night-stands” when you returned in the mornings. You had never been as big on sharing as she was.

Maybe you wanted to keep things to yourself out of fear what people would say, too. You couldn’t care less whether people knew you were sleeping around. But everyone knew him, or so it seemed. Girls wanted him. Boys wanted to be him. All you desired was his friendship and some fun. You had no interest in being known on campus or having people you’ve never met giving you the side-eye over having sex with an oh-so-special boy. One day you would tell Chohee all about it. You weren’t technically lying. Just not sharing the entire story.

“Remember how I said H/N was the hottest guy ever?” Chohee suddenly said. The sound of his name made your head snap back to reality.

“Oh, now you’re listening, I see. All it takes is for me to mention your new bestie,” she teased. “You shouldn’t get too attached to him. I have a feeling that girls are interchangeable to him, either way. Anyway, I’ve decided I find his friend Korain much more attractive, since I’ve been hooking up with him.”

Would it be weird to correct her? To promise her, when you had more time and weren’t so distracted, you would lay the truth on her? He isn’t like that at all, you wanted to say. Yes, he liked female attention. But that didn’t make him a bad guy. Would it sound crazed to explain how he knew how you took your coffee, and how he sent you pictures of your favorite animals before your exams to take some of the nerves away? Or how he reported that it took him exactly 1,012 steps to get to your dorm from his place? Multiple times you had tried to count the distance yourself, but you never seemed to have enough focus to make it. Something always caught you off guard. You had doubted his credibility, but he swore he wasn’t bluffing.

Speaking of his friend Korain – who was at this very Chinese restaurant with H/N – he was suddenly making eye contact with you. Before you could slide lower into your seat like a frightened animal, he had grinned at you. Oh no. Prompted by his friend’s smile in your direction, H/N now turned his head. You were thankful Chohee was still deep in her explanation on why she had changed her opinions on the two very boys only a few tables away. If only she knew.

H/N’s eyes caught yours and a smirk plastered on his face. You assumed the tiny smile you sent him would do, but no. The two young men had collected their things and were getting ready to leave. The exit was the opposite direction, and yet H/N took the long way there. His stride was that of a model as he approached your table.

“Y/N,” he said, voice sweet like sugar candy and his smile charming like famous artwork. “You wanna hang at the library later?”

Chohee was now eyeing him as if she was your bodyguard and he was an obsessed fan who had crossed into your personal space. All you could think of was how you wanted him as your dessert. Now. But you had an exam coming up in a few days. So, his invitation fit just right.

“I’ll be there.” You smiled politely. He gave you a raised eyebrow, but then nodded, said goodbye, spun around and followed his friend out of the restaurant. When you looked at Chohee, she was already giving you eyes that asked a billion questions at once. Fantastic. Now you’d have to explain that “hang at the library” was not some sort of codeword for sex, but you had – against all odds – convinced the local prince of fuckboys that studying wasn’t such an atrocious idea after all. But fate saved you before you could begin your clarification.

“Oh no! Where has the time gone? I have to get to my afternoon lecture!” Chohee exclaimed, quickly gathering her purse and jacket. “My professor will curse me if I’m late again!”

And with that, she scrambled up from the table. “Don’t think you’re getting off easy just because I have to go! I demand a good story when I get home!”

You knew she was just being dramatic, and should you decide to keep everything to yourself for another month, she wouldn’t be mad. And yet, the urge to tell her crept up on you as you watched her hurry out of the door while waving one last time. Your morning classes had been the only appointment in your calendar for the day. So, with nothing else to do, you fished for your phone to message him for a time to meet at the library.

~

“What were you being so weird for earlier?” he asked as he plopped down on the wooden chair across from you. His books slammed on the table, and you flinched a little. Boys.

“Thanks for reminding me why I chose to sit in the group project area today. Could you be any louder in a library?” you said. “And thank god we’re the only ones here.”

“Thanks for reminding me that you’re still great at avoiding questions,” he returned.

“I just didn’t want my friend to ask questions.”

“So you talked to me like a five year old would respond to their kindergarten teacher? Are you embarrassed to be seen with me? The guy with the reputation?”

“No, I’m not. Wait? What? And what kind of reputation would that be, if I may ask? The you-only-sleep-with-a-girl-once-reputation?”

“You should know the nastiest rumors mostly prove to be false. I was thinking of something more delightful. Like a gives-the-best-head-on-campus-kind of reputation.”

You snorted. “And who is going to do the research to prove that?”

“Why don’t you look around and report back to me?” he smirked.

“No thanks. I’m already hooking up with a guy who’s more than a handful.”

He faked taking offence in your words with a theatrical gasp. “Is that so? The girl I’m hooking up with isn’t much better. Always asks to hang at the library like she doesn’t beg me to fuck her the second we get out of there.”

“Let me remind you that you were the one who suggested this place today,” you said. “I was ready to jump into your bed and you had to stall time like this.”

“Are you for real? What are we still doing here, then?” he asked, and you tilted your head with a suggestive grin that mirrored his.

15 minutes later:

“Who the fuck stores five umbrellas in their car?” You kicked another one off the backseat you were lying on. Your bra was exposed beneath your shirt which he had pushed up on your chest and was now attacking the exposed skin with hungry kisses.

“That’s what you get for not getting it on in the library,” he muttered against your skin without looking up.

“We’d be asking to get suspended from there by doing that,” you said. “And I cherish my library very much.”

He only made a snickering noise and shook his head before he went to take off his shirt – and promptly hit his head on the car roof. “Ow! This sucks. I can barely move.”

“That’s what you get for not waiting until we’re at your place,” you teased him with his own words. But judging by the prominent bulge in his pants, you supposed you didn’t want him driving anywhere. Not with naughty things on his mind, and with you next to him to only make him hornier. Your eyes fell on the dark purple spots on his abdomen, and you grinned.

“Wow. Someone must have worked hard to make that stomach even prettier,” you said.

“Yeah, you would know all about that, wouldn’t you?” He bent down to your ear and his husky tone sent cold shivers up your spine. Of course, you knew. You were the one who bit and sucked the hickeys into his skin two days ago, after all. His hands palming your boobs through your bra drew out a desperate sigh from you.

“Let’s play a game. What do you say?” he asked.

“What kind of game would that be?” Your interest was roused. He was lost in thought for a moment, hands slowly running up and down your exposed legs. Luckily, you had opted for a skirt today. All he’d had to do was to push it up to your belly and get rid of your underwear after your short but very steamy make-out session on the backseat. The cool air on your exposed core was only magnifying your impatience.

“Whoever comes first, loses.” You couldn’t suppress a chuckle at his idea, and he eyed you with indignation. “You don’t like it?”

“Everyone knows women take longer to orgasm than men do,” you said. “Are you trying to dig your own grave or what?”

“That’s why I’ll have a head start,” he announced. His hands circled the skin close to your core, creeping up your thighs slowly.

“And what’s the prize for winning?”

“The loser owes the winner a favor.”

“Too vague. I don’t trust you with that.”

“I don’t trust you, she says as she waits for me to fuck her in my car,” he mocked.

“I don’t trust your crazy ideas,” you clarified. “What about this? The winner pays for the loser’s next meal when we eat together.”

“Deal.” He slid his fingers over your pussy, and you crumbled into a whining mess within seconds. No matter how much your head denied it, he really was the best. He caught your clit between his digits and your eyes rolled to the back of your head for a moment.

“Shit, you only turn me on more if you’re going to moan like that.” He lowered his head and spit on your center, and the laughter that had been bubbling in your throat died in an instant. His fingers rubbed your nub fast and spread his saliva – without doubt his attempt at tipping you closer to the edge before he had even begun to fuck you.

“Too bad you find me so hot,” you said, and let out a purposely dramatic whimper, followed by his name in your best fake-porn-voice. His smile had something wholesome, as if he was admiring his friend making silly jokes, but also a glint of playfulness. You knew had been a mask when he bit his lip and exhaled slowly. With ease, he slid his middle finger into you. As he curled it against your sweet spot, he bent down to suck on your clit and your back arched at the sudden pleasure.

“Too bad you’re going to lose,” he said, and then continued his antics. Had he continued this way for another few minutes, his words wouldn’t have been so far from the truth. But you had other plans.

“Are you going to fuck me now?” you asked. “That’s enough of your head start.”

“I only just tasted you. Why would it be called a head start, if you’re going to stop me two minutes into giving you head?” he asked and you would’ve slapped his shoulder, had he been close enough. Instead, you closed your eyes for a few seconds. He was the competitive one here, and you didn’t mind enjoying yourself for now. Sighing in temporary defeat, your head fell back onto the seat. The sun was shining its last rays through the car window. They caught in his curled eyelashes and on his skin, coloring him golden.

“That’s a good girl,” he said, arm snaking around your thigh. He held on to you, but it wasn’t as if you could have moved away from him. Your head was right by the car door. His lips around your clit paired with his finger steadily rubbing against your sweet spot inside of you made you feel like floating. His free hand touched your leg gently, caressing your skin as if he wasn’t also simultaneously pushing you to the urge to yell out his name in pleasure. You tangled your fingers in his soft hair, as if you needed to do so to keep him in place. But something in the back of your mind still had a desire for winning. Trying to collect the last bits of your dwindling sanity, you hatched a plan. Good on you – you knew just what rode him into madness.

“I- I need you to fuck me, please,” you begged, making sure to add an extra layer of tragedy to your voice. “Please, I want it so bad.”

He looked up at you, a dark glint in his eyes. Of course, he did. All was going according to plan. It wasn’t like you had known him all your life, but you were perfectly aware of one thing. He could never resist your dirty talking and begging.

“Please?” you bat your eyelashes ever so longingly at him.

“Is that so?” He was now straightening up. His black pupils were dilated, and he was looking at you with the expectation of a loyal puppy waiting for his treat. You grabbed the front hem of his pants and pulled him towards you. In a moment, you had unzipped the material for him.

“I want you to fuck me like you did the first time we met. At the party,” you said. “Do you ever think about it, too?”

“Fuck, of course I do,” he said. Faster than you could register, he was ripping a condom wrapper and sliding it onto his free length. His cock stood angry and hard against his stomach. Perhaps your dramatic words weren’t so far-fetched. You couldn’t wait for him.

“Then do it, please,” you said. “Right now, this pussy is all yours. Use it the way it should be used.”

He muttered a swear under his breath and you knew he was in the palm of your hand. His hot breath fanned your neck as he bent over you, cock aligned with your exposed core. For a moment his length slid through your wetness, and he groaned at the warmth that was about to engulf him.

“I’m so fucking wet,” you moaned. “And all for you.”

You would have been lying if you said you weren’t enjoying the exaggerated show you were putting on for him as much as he did. Although, you weren’t sure whether you were allowed to call it exaggeration, at all. Your walls clenched around nothing as the tip of his cock touched your juices and he eyed you like he could’ve eaten you up right then and there.

When he finally entered you, he instantly sighed. His eyes were shut tightly as he dealt with the impact of feeling you around his shaft. A small spark of triumph went through you. That was, until he pushed your legs up and snapped his hips against yours. A sharp, sudden burst of pleasure shot through you and the coil in your stomach tightened all at once. You suspected your plan was backfiring slightly. Your words not only appealed to him and his famished mind and body. They also got to your head, and there you were, barely able to contain yourself under a load of blind hunger.

“You want me to fuck you senseless, huh?” he asked. His words went straight to your core. Nonetheless, you had a goal to work towards and you weren’t set on giving up.

“Yes, oh my god,” you whimpered. “That’s all I’m asking for. Please, I know you can. You always fuck me so well.”

In response, he rammed his body into yours so abruptly, you gave off a noise of surprise and pleasure at the same time. He bent his upper body over yours to support himself. His hands lay flat on the seat on both sides of your head. His thrusts made your legs shake now and then, when his cock hit that one spot inside of you. It was causing you to see entire galaxies on the inside of your eyelids. When you blinked up at him, the sun had disappeared beyond the horizon. Darkness had always suit him better than the golden sunset, either way. The muscles in his arms flexed and his eyebrows furrowed, and for a moment you called victory yours. But you couldn’t be sure for longer than a moment.

Because from one second to another he straightened up and slowed his thrusts. The gradualness had something equally as striking. He dragged his cock through your scarlet walls and his fingers found your clit. You drew out a ragged breath and cursed him for regaining the upper hand. Yet, you quickly abandoned the thought of defeat. When you allowed yourself to feel the pleasure, every last thought vanished at last. You moaned and whimpered helplessly. Without overthinking, you wrapped your hand around his wrist. He shot you a confused smirk.

“Too much, baby?” he said. “Think you won’t be able to handle it? A shame. It would really be too bad if you lost. You were doing so well up to now.”

You swallowed, hard. His patronizing voice tugged at your nerves and yet you loved when he spoke to you this way during sex. And he was aware of it – hence his knowing grin.

“Don’t stop moving,” you asked him to keep up his thrusts. “It’s not fair, otherwise.”

“Oh no. I would never dare break the rules,” he said.

He did as you said, and it only made things more mind-consuming for you. You were again reminded of the small tornado raging in the pit of your belly, threatening to consume you all over. It was only a matter of time. But what he could do, you could do better.

“Do you like fucking me in my skirt?” you taunted him, blinking ever so sweetly. Your eyes were dripping honey as you put on your most innocent gaze. “Am I pretty like this?”

“You’re the prettiest,” he muttered, biting his lip as if he was stopping a thousand moans from spilling out. “So. Fucking. Hot.”

“If I wear this skirt to class tomorrow, and you see me in the halls, will you think of this moment?” you asked. His fingers on your clit were shaky and moving unevenly. You might have been digging your own grave along with his. You didn’t care. Too many lectures you had wasted, barely able to concentrate because of the boy on top of you.

“Definitely. You weren’t wearing that earlier, at the restaurant,” he said. You wondered how many people had ever seen him this way – utterly breathless, all his cool vaporizing at once.

“Good observation,” you said, but you were struggling with your words as much as he was unable to keep calm. What was meant to sound lazy and seductive had morphed into a whimper and small sighs. “I wasn’t. I- I put it on just for you.”

He cursed again and abandoned all his remaining self-control. His grip on you was iron-tight and you clenched your fists. Oh, how you wished you could have buried your head into a pillow, or better even, the crook of a neck. Instead, you moaned his name almost soundlessly and searched for his dark eyes.

“Say my name again,” he demanded, like it was his last request on earth. So, you obeyed, only because you would have done anything for him right now, if it meant that he would keep fucking you that way.

“Oh my- my god,” you moaned. “Please don’t stop, fuck-“

“You look so hot right now, baby,” he groaned. “Shit- I could come just looking at you.”

“Then do it,” you said. Challengingly, you both smirked at each other. It lasted only the blink of an eye. You felt your insides twist before you could have prevented it. And all of a sudden, you crashed. Your intense orgasm erupted, and it took you several seconds to realize it, but then you heard it. His high-pitched moans, quiet and curse-stricken, could only mean one thing. You weren’t the only one, and therefore not the first to reach your high. A content smile spread on your face as his messy thrusts went on for a short while and you bathed in the remaining moments of bliss.

Silence set in as you both kept still to catch your breaths. You worried he would pin the loss on you, nonetheless, and inwardly braced yourself for his accusations. But to your surprise, he only laughed and collapsed on top of you. His breath tickled your neck slightly.

“We’ll be splitting the bill, I suppose?” he said. He straightened up to look you in the eyes playfully.

“Looks like it,” you said. You guessed his fighting spirit had been appeased and his energy had been spent on better things than arguing with you. You never minded it.

~

“Did you have a nice study session? Does the library lady assume you’re homeless and actually living there, yet?” Chohee teased as you entered your shared kitchen. She was typing on her phone but looked up when you only laughed.

“Is that a hickey?” she asked, and you knew you were done for. “What exactly is it you were studying? H/N’s body?”

“I guess I should tell you. Sooner or later, you’ll know,” you relented.

“Tell me what? Oh my god. Are you guys dating? Are you dating H/N?”

“No! You know I have no time for a boyfriend,” you said. “But…we’ve been hooking up.”

“Damn girl,” she said. “What do you have on him that he keeps coming back?”

“Excuse me? Am I really that boring of a company?”

“No. You’re the best company I could ever ask for, obviously,” she said, smiling at you. “But you remember his reputation. He sleeps with the same girl only once.”

“It’s just a stupid rumor,” you said. “Besides, we’re not just hooking up. He’s my friend. You already knew that.”

“Friend, huh?” Chohee asked. “Alright. So, you’re telling me he can hang out with you without trying to get it on?”

“He can, actually. And let me tell you, he’s cool. And pretty funny, too,” you said. She raised her eyebrows at you. “We’ve set some rules. We hook up, but also hang out as friends. Neither is allowed to be upset when the other turns down sex. We can both hook up with anyone else, still. No jealousy, no attachments. Just a good time.”

“Alright,” Chohee nodded. “If you’re so close, do you think you could introduce me to some of his friends sometime?”

You laughed, nodding. Chohee and H/N had quite some things in common, you realized then. Maybe that’s why you liked the two of them so much.

“Let’s see how long that lasts, then. Don’t wrap him too tightly around your finger, or he might trip and fall,” she winked. It was your turn to raise your eyebrow. Whatever she might have been insinuating – you had zero plans of making it reality. (Yet.)

[duuhrayliegh]

Hello, darling! I was wondering if you could right some Bucky x reader, where the reader worked along Sharon during Civil War and she meets Bucky. Then she runs always with Sharon and meets Bucky again in Madripoor and continue their story. I hope that makes sense. Thank yooouuuu✨✨✨

hey babes!! yes i absolutely can! i kind of gave more background than i meant to making it way longer, but i hope you enjoy it anyway! i do want to continue this story and most definitely will be so be on the lookout for the other parts of it lovie <3. i hope you still enjoy it even though it isn’t quite what you asked for yet :)

A Friend of Yours

FATWS SPOILERS

warnings: not much, canon lvl violence, some suggestive stuff closer towards to end, language, i think that’s it

word count: 6140 i went a bit overboard, it’s fine i’m totally fine

a/n: i got this request and then didn’t stop writing all day. i didn’t get anything else done all day. i got home at like seven-ish? and i’ve been sitting on the floor of my bedroom just writing this fic (for context it is now 12:47 pm where i’m at)

check out A Friend of Yours - pt. 2 and A Friend of Yours - pt. 3

p.s.: this is the first fic that i’m writing with an actual ‘x reader’ i’m so proud

xoxo ray

ray’s m.list

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

You grew up with Sharon, the two of you were best friends from birth it seemed. Honestly, Peggy raised you more than your own parents did. When Aunt Peggy got Sharon her first thigh holster, she got you one too. You enlisted together, moved up the ranks together, everything. So, it was of no shock to anyone that after the fall of SHIELD, you both moved together into the CIA’s Joint Terrorism Task Force.

You were inside the hotel with Sharon, Steve and Sam when the bombing on the UN took place. The look of unbridled fear that fell over Steve’s face as they announced Barnes as the primary suspect was heart wrenching. You weren’t able to watch it for long because your phone was already ringing off the hook.

“Look, you need to get me more information, and now.” You gritted into your phone speaker before quickly hanging up the phone and turning to a crestfallen Steve who was still watching the news casting. Sharon ended her phone call and turned to you.

“We have to go to work.” A few short hours on a jet later, you and Sharon were coordinating the operation. Close by, Steve and Sam were awaiting new information. Steve had this insane plan to find Barnes before the whole rest of the world did. Like that’s going to happen, it took the world 70 years to find Barnes. Of course, Steve and Sam are going to find him in about half that time.

You followed the blonde woman into a busy coffee shop and up to the counter. She slid a manila folder over to a well disguised Captain America. “Tips have been pouring in since that footage went public. Everyone thinks the Winter Soldier goes to their gym. Most of it’s just noise, except this.” Sharon was talking quietly, trying to not draw attention to the fact that she was committing a serious offense.

“We have to give the briefing, like now Shar, so we have to go.” The two of you pushed off the counter and you turned quickly to say one last thing. “And you better hurry. They’ve given the order to shoot on site.”

You left the shop quickly and made your way back to the white tent, passing the redheaded spy who was watching you like a hawk. A look of understanding crossed her features as you kept a calm facade. She fucking knows, how the hell could she read you that easily?

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

The next time you saw any of them, they were exiting the back of an armored prison van. It was no surprise that his eyes flitted over to his best friend from childhood. You glanced over at Barnes, who was strapped in all different ways, and your heart hurt for him. You tried not to pity him, you know you would’ve gotten a slap on the wrist from Aunt Peggy about it.

Bucky must’ve felt you looking at him because his steel blue eyes locked with your pair. This was the first time that you’ve ever actually seen the man in person. It was startling, in a good way. You grew up going to the Smithsonian and hearing Aunt Peggy’s stories about the great James Buchanan Barnes. You never thought that you’d get the chance to meet the man you did a history report on your freshman year of high school.

“Y/N?” Sharon’s voice cut through your thoughts, recalling you to reality and out of your past. “We have to go. We’ve been assigned to monitor Steve and Sam while they’re here.” Sharon was clearly not a fan of this, which made you laugh loudly.

“Oh, score! We get to babysit Captain America and the Falcon!” You spoke in an unnecessarily upbeat voice and then clapped your hands together. “Our dream job! Let’s go, Shar!” She stared at you for a millisecond before slapping a hand on your shoulder.

“Let’s go, you fucking dork.” You followed her through the office building into the control room where you observed Tony talking to Steve. Apparently, the conversation was not going well because both their faces held angry glares. Eventually, Tony left the room, leaving Steve alone with his thoughts and that can never be good.

“How you doing, Cap?” You asked as you less-than-gracefully plopped yourself into the chair across from him. He looked over at me and released a heavy sigh.

“Honestly, Y/N, not that great at the moment.” He looked at you with his iconic mom Steve stare. Wow, so that’s what it’s like to be on the receiving end of that. Sam walked in and sat next to you. You drowned out their conversation as your gaze focused on screens outside of the glass office.

The video feed of Barnes in his metal cage was displayed on a TV screen. How is this considered humane? Obviously you knew that the CIA had pushed boundaries in the past, but this was just insane. “Are those restraints really necessary?” Sam seemed to be just voicing his thoughts, not expecting a response back.

“Well, he is considered an international terrorist, so yeah, they’re kind of necessary.” You said quickly and then muttered under your breath, “No matter who thinks that it’s excessive.” Steve’s gaze met yours and he was about to speak when Sharon walked in and dropped a paper in front of Sam.

“The receipt for your gear.” A scoff sounded from Sam as he glared at Sharon.

“‘Bird costume’? Come on.” Always quick to defend your best friend.

“Hey, we didn’t write it up.” It came off snappier than you had meant it. Sharon shot you a look, signaling you to back off. You raised a brow at her as she leaned over the table to the intercom buttons.

The audio from Barnes’ evaluation echoed through the glass room. Everyone around you was unsuspecting the four of you listened in. The psychologist was talking to Barnes, who seemed incredibly closed off. Who could blame the guy though?

“I’m not here to judge you. I just want to ask a few questions. Do you know where you are, James?” The psychologist paused for a second, looking down and off to the side. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me, James.” The caged man spoke for the first time.

“My name is Bucky.” His voice was rough from not being used. A look crossed Steve’s face and he turned to Sharon.

“Why would the Task Force release that photo to begin with?” Sharon’s body turned to face the man speaking to her. Her brows furrowed while she answered.

“Get the word out, involve as many eyes as we can?” Your head tilted, trying to follow Steve’s train of thought.

“Right. Good way to flush a guy out of hiding. Set off a bomb, get your picture taken. Get seven billion people looking for the Winter Soldier.” Oh shit.

“You’re saying someone framed him?” You wanted to believe it with every fiber in your being.

“Steve, we looked for the guy for two years and found nothing.” Sam reminded in a calm tone.

“Yeah, you didn’t bomb the UN though. That turns quite a few heads. Especially if prominent people like King T’Chaka end up dead because of it.” You made a good point, but there were still pieces missing.

“That doesn’t guarantee that they would find him. It guaranteed that we would.” Sharon and Steve began examining the room around them. Your attention returned to the audio emitting from the intercom.

“You fear that,“ the doctor paused, “if you open your mouth, the horrors might never stop. Don’t worry.” He glanced down again and moved his hand to swipe something away.

“Guys?” You pointed to the screen as the doctor held up his pointer finger.

“We only have to talk about one.” All of the sudden, the screens went dark and the lights flickered off. Secretary Ross was yelling at technicians to get his video back. Tony was speaking to his AI, Friday, about locating the source of the outage. Steve and Sam tensed at the thought of what could be going on with Barnes.

“Sub-level five, east wing.” was all Sharon said as the pair ran off. You looked at her and threw your hands in the air.

“What the hell do we do now, Shar?” She glared at you as she started reasoning with you.

“They’re stronger than we are. If they can contain whatever the hell is happening down there then great. In the event that they can’t, we’ll be up here with Natasha and Tony to deal with it.” You nodded quickly as you both ran out of the room.

You quickly followed Natasha, Tony and Sharon to the main level of the building. Clearly Steve and Sam were unsuccessful in containing the situation because Barnes could be seen through the glass, fighting his way to his destination.

Tony stunned Barnes with a previously concealed Iron Man glove. Barnes started towards Tony and quickly attacked. After Barnes bested Tony, it wasn’t long before Natasha rushed the man alongside Sharon. It wasn’t hard for Barnes to throw Sharon across the room. Natasha took the opportunity to launch herself onto his shoulders, which caused Barnes to slam her into a table with his metal hand wrapped around her neck.

She mumbled something to him as you kicked his ribs, releasing his chokehold on her. He stumbled backwards, his hard gaze landed on yours as he approached. Your eyes locked on his as the two of you traded blows.

They weren’t the same eyes as before. Those eyes were soft and remorseful, these were hard and unattached. There was no emotion behind the pair staring at you. The fraction of a second that you were analyzing his eyes in your head was enough for him to catch you off guard. His metal fist landed in your rib cage. The opposite hand jabbed at your face, busting your lip and sending you flying backwards.

You hit your head on the concrete below, making your eyes roll back. The wind left your lungs and you gasped to get it back as Barnes and T’Challa fought in the background. It was a few minutes later that a concerned Sharon made her way over to you.

“Are you okay?” You looked her over as she did you, checking for any severe injuries. You offered a small nod, not wanting to shake your head too much in fear of a concussion. “Let’s go check in with Ross.”

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

“And how the hell did Rogers and Wilson even know where to find Barnes?” Ross’ voice boomed through the office. No one said anything, not wanting to incur the wrath of Secretary Ross. “I’ve already allowed Stark 36 hours to find them and bring them back here.” Ross turned to you and Sharon standing in the corner of the room. “If they contact any of you, report it immediately.” Rounds of ‘yes, sirs’ bounced around the room, then chaos ensued as everyone got back to trying to clean up this mess.

“Carter. Y/L/N. Elevator now.” He raised two fingers to point toward the elevators before walking into one. It was just the three of you in the enclosed space. He clicked the button for the ground floor. “I know you have some kind of connection to Rogers but do not let that cloud your judgement. The both of you are CIA agents first.”

“We understand, Secretary.” The elevator doors opened again and you went to step out when Ross stopped you again.

“I mean it, girls. This is your job on the line here.” You and Sharon shared a look before continuing walking. Did he just call us girls?

“Do you think that was supposed to be intimidating?” You laughed under your breath as you went out to the parking lot. Sharon sighed and shrugged her shoulders.

“Probably.” She looked at you over the top of her car. “You don’t have to come with me.”

“Where do we start?”

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

Getting that fucking shield and bird suit wasn’t easy. They had moved it from the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre to the US Embassy to await transport back to the States. It made it easier but still damn near impossible to get. Thankfully, you and Sharon are good liars. Skills of a misspent youth.

The two of you walked in the front door and displayed your badges. “We’re here to pick up Captain America and the Falcon’s effects.” The man behind the counter didn’t even question it. Man, they need better people at the Embassy.

“You’ll have to sign some paperwork saying you picked it up.” There it is. You both flicked a brow and Sharon held her hand out for the clipboard. Small scratches from the pen in her hand were echoing throughout the empty building.

She handed the clipboard back to the man behind the counter. “Okie dokie, just pull your car around to the side of the building and we’ll get you loaded up.” He shot them a small smile and turned around to file the papers.

“That was easy enough.” You whispered to Sharon as you left, not wanting your voice to carry. You walked to your car that was parked in front of the iron wrought gate. Pulling your car around to the side of the building, you popped the trunk. The gear clad Embassy soldier carelessly tossed Sam’s suit inside before gently placing the shield on top of it.

“Hey, if there’s a scratch on that suit, it’s coming out of your paycheck buddy.” You held your pointer finger up to the man’s unimpressed face.

“Y/N, let’s go. We’ve got to get these to the jet or Ross will have our heads. Remember it’s our job on the line here.” What Sharon said made you laugh big while hauling yourself back into the driver’s seat of the car. As you pulled out into the street, Sharon was typing away on her phone and pushing it to her ear.

“This is a secure line but I don’t know for how long, so don’t talk just listen.” She took a deep breath and then continued. “We want to help. Meet us under the bridge on Route 6. We’ll be there in two hours.” She ended the call quickly and threw the phone outside the car. Glancing over at you, she nodded and sighed again.

“We’ve gotten this far.” You had one question burning in your throat that you were afraid to ask.

“Where do we go after they’ve gone?” She looked at you and she was biting her lip, something she only did when she was incredibly stressed.

“I don’t know yet. Do you have any ideas?” You smiled and thought of the one place that you wouldn’t be followed.

“Yeah, I’ve got one, but it’s rough.”

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

The drive to the underpass wasn’t a hard one. You had beat the boys there so you and Sharon were sitting in the car. You had the radio playing softly in the background.

“Who the hell do you know in Madripoor?” You laughed and shrugged.

“I’m supposed to tell you all my secrets for free?” You shook your head and shifted in your seat to face her fully. “I was tasked with tracking some artwork down there. One of my assignments when we went through initiation for the Agency.” You picked at the holes in your jeans. “I thought it was just all fake stuff, but I researched it more and more. Turns out, the underground artwork dealing is really lucrative over there.”

Sharon stared at you in amazement. “What did you do, Y/N?” You smirked.

“I haven’t done anything.” You held her gaze, “Yet.” She released a small laugh and her mouth hung open a bit. “I may have a warehouse out there.” You squinted one of your eyes, and leaned forward. “And the apartment above it.” She was going to say something when an old ass blue Beetle pulled up behind you.

“Now how the fuck did they all fit in that tiny ass car?” You both laughed as you stepped out of the car with big smiles on your faces.

“Not sure you understand the concept of a getaway car.” Steve walked up to Sharon and they began talking as she popped the trunk, revealing their gear. Your attention was on the men in the car behind them. Barnes was stuck in the back away from cameras and Sam was lounging in the passenger seat. Your eyes met Barnes’ again, they were back to the remorseful pair you saw the first time.

“You know he kind of tried to kill us.” You waved your hand in gesture to the man in the car.

“Sorry, I’ll put it on the list too.” He glanced back down at Sharon, who had migrated closer to him. “They’re going to come looking for you.”

She nodded, “I know.” Then the most awkward kiss in all of kissing history took place. Your brows shot up then furrowed quickly, a small wince overtaking your face. They pulled apart and traded more words. Sharon began walking back to the passenger side of the car.

Steve turned around and you looked back at the two men in the car. Both of them were wearing proud, smug grins. Steve threw his head back as if he was berating them.

“About damn time, Cap! She’s been pining over you for God knows how long now.” The windows were down in the Beetle so the other two heard you shouting at their friend.

“Y/N!” Sharon was a bit embarrassed.

“What? It’s the truth, Shar!” The two of you began bickering like an old married couple as you started the car again. Steve got all he needed from the trunk and shut it quickly, slapping it twice. You began driving off with Sharon giving you directions to an airport on the opposite side of the country.

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

That was the last time you saw Steve. Last time you saw anyone for a while. You had been dusted in the Blip. Sharon had followed you to your apartment in Madripoor. The two of you were able to figure the city out pretty quickly. Learning the ins and outs of the island, where to go, who to sell to. One afternoon, you and Sharon had been surveying a Van Gogh piece for your gallery when you flew away. In the middle of a fucking deal, what perfect timing.

Five years later, you were reunited with an even more successful Sharon. “I kept your room the way you left it.” She said as she led you through your shared home. “I figured that you’d be back and you’d be pissed off if I fucked with anything.”

You smiled at the woman gratefully and hugged her. Neither of you let go for a while. When you did, she started filling you in on everything. She had continued to split all her profits and had been depositing the money into your account. “Even if you didn’t come back, I could’ve used it if I needed to bug out. Win-win.” She explained with a smile.

The two of you had about six months of getting back into the groove of things. It was quickly cut off by a ping of your phones one day. A look of confusion and anger crossed her face, “Are you fucking kidding me?” She locked eyes with you and told you to get your gear.

“Where are we going?” She threw her phone at you and you looked at the screen. As soon as you read the notification at the top of it you understood. Repeating your question from before, you tied the knots on your Converse. You followed Sharon to the Low Town side of the island.

“Now what the fuck are they doing here, do you think?” The two of you camped outside of the Brass Monkey nightclub, ready for whatever came your way. Deciding that you were too visible to everyone else, you moved to the building across from the club. Something is bound to go wrong and the first place they're going to get ran to is this dead end alley.

Sure enough, not even ten minutes later, Sam, Barnes, and Zemo got cornered in the alleyway. Sharon had decided to stay on the ground floor next to the door. You shot two of the assassins following the group of three and Sharon took out the final one.

You made your way back down to Sharon, who was still holding her gun up. “You cost me everything.” She focused her gun on Zemo.

“Sharon, wait. Someone recreated the super soldier serum and Zemo had a lead.” Sam remarked calmly, trying to diffuse the situation.

“Explains why you guys are here and Selby’s dead.” Your brows shot up at that, must of been new information that she got while you were upstairs.

“Why are you here, Sharon?” Sam questioned.

“She was one of the ones who stole Steve’s shield, remember?” You stepped forward, raising your gun to gesture to the men in front of you. “And the wings, so your ass,” you waved at Sam, “could save his ass,” at Barnes, “from his ass.” You lowered your gun and stepped in front of Zemo, staring the man down. Your fist balled and you launched it at Zemo, landing a solid hit to his cheekbone.

Barnes grabbed your hand, twisting your body to slot against his with your arm bent behind your back. He leaned close to your ear, breath making shivers trickle down your spine. “I only let you do that because I’ve wanted to for a while now, so don’t get any more ideas.” Your breath hitched because of the proximity of the man behind you.

“Alright, give me my Y/N back.” Sharon said, lowering her gun to holster it. Bucky held onto you for a few more seconds than necessary and then pushed you towards Sharon as he released you. You scoffed, then shoved your gun into the waistband of your jeans. Sam and Sharon had already started their own conversation by the time you calmed down enough to face Barnes.

Sharon bobbed her head to you, an unspoken language between the two of you. After bringing them into your home, Sam began admiring the artwork in the first floor gallery. “Looks like breaking the law is treating you two well.”

“Before even graduating into the Agency, I had a place over here. Never had any intention on using it, but here we are.” You started, “Then, after having to flee Berlin, for you,” You shot a look at Bucky, “we figured if we had to hustle, might as well enjoy the good life. Do you know how much we can get for a real Monet?”

“Deactivate your hustle mode. You sell fake Monet’s.” Sharon shot him a look, about to defend us when Zemo cut in.

“No. She means real. This gallery is specialized in stolen artwork. Monet. Van Gogh. All the classics.” Sam made a face of disbelief.

“It’s true. You know, half the artwork in museums like the Louvre is fake. Real stuff sits in places like this.” Bucky gestured to the gallery. Sam pulled his phone out of his suit pocket.

“Okay, guys, I see what you’re doing. You’re more worldly than good old Sam.” He was typing furiously as he spoke. Bucky passed him, soundlessly following you and Sharon to the upstairs apartment.

“Yeah. What’s Google say?” Once the five of you got upstairs, Sharon began walking them into her office, telling them that they needed to change because we were hosting clients. It didn’t take long for the men to switch outfits. It was refreshing to see Barnes in something other than combat gear or a torn Henley. Sharon followed you in the office, making a remark at Sam while he apologised.

“Look, you know the whole hero thing is a joke, right? The way you gave up that shield, deep down, you must know it’s all hypocrisy.” She said as you plopped yourself on one of the plush chairs across from the couch, holding a clear glass full of whiskey.

“He knows. And not so deep down.” Zemo added quietly, since when is Zemo informed? Sharon glazed over his comment, opting for asking about the new Cap while filling a glass for herself.

“Don’t get me started.” Barnes spoke for the first time since being downstairs. You narrowed your eyes at the man.

“Please. You buy into all that stars and stripes bullshit.” You swung your glass to Zemo, “Before you were his pet psychopath, you were Mr. America! Cap’s best friend.” His gaze darted over to you, nose wrinkling at your comment.

“Do you know who I am?” He tried to be intimidating but it was just funny to you. You were taking a drink to moisten your throat to fire back a witty comeback, when Sharon spoke for you.

“Oh trust me, she knows. She did a report on you freshman year of high school.” You started choking on your drink as Sharon smirked from the couch next to Barnes. His brows raised and a smug smile graced his face.

“She did now?” Clearly he was a different man from the last time you saw him. Meeting his eyes for the fourth time ever, you were surprised with what you saw. There was almost a hunger lingering behind his eyes.

“Most definitely. I don’t even know how many times she went to the Smithsonian to see the exhibit about you.” You glared at Sharon, who continued to talk, unbothered by you. She raised her own glass to her lips, speaking into her cup, muffling her words.  “Honestly, think she developed a little crush.” Barnes’ eyes never left your face, his mind racing.

“Wait, so the entire time you were helping me and Steve, you had a crush on Tin Man?” Sam interjected, wanting to be included in the conversation. You rolled your eyes and gave a subtle nod to Sam. The action wasn’t missed by Bucky.

“Which is why I think it must’ve been really hard for you to ask him of all people for help. They comin’ down real hard on you out there?” You asked Barnes with a smirk and a head tilt towards Zemo. “I know he fucked you up real good, triggering the Soldier, Barnes.”

Sam laughed beside him. “Dude, that’s basically what you told Walker.” Barnes threw a glare at Sam, who had clapped a hand on his metal shoulder. The conversation dissipated after your comment, guess you killed the vibe.

Sam turned to a relaxed Sharon, “We need your help.” Her body tensed, neither one of you was ready to throw yourself back into enemy territory. “I can get your name cleared.” He dangled a huge bargaining chip in front of her face. You knew Sharon was eager to get back to the States. She misses her dad. It was unfair of Sam to use that as a way to gain her favor.

“Haggling with someone’s life like that isn’t okay, Sam.” You said quietly, focusing your gaze on the glass in your hand.

“It’s not like that, Y/N.”

“Yes, it is, Sam.” You said firmly. “You can’t just say something like that. I know you’re an Avenger. That’s great shit, but you need to realize that if you can’t deliver on your word, we go to jail or worse. You know that.”

“I don’t trust charity, Sam.” Sharon said from beside Barnes.

“All right, a deal then. You help us out, and I get your names cleared.” Your nostrils flared and you shook your head. Sharon agreed, blinded by the possibility of seeing her family again. You don’t doubt that she thought through all the outcomes, it just wasn’t the route you would’ve taken.

“We sell to some pretty connected people. Lay low, blend in, and enjoy the party.” She got up, exiting the office.

“Try to stay outta trouble, boys.” You said placing your glass on Sharon’s desk as you left. “We’ll see what we can find.”

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

You were standing next to Sharon when the three men joined the party. Leaning over to Sharon, you told her you were going to get a drink from the bar. You pushed your way through the crowd, planting yourself on a stool in front of the countertop. Nodding your head at the bartender, they passed you a bottle of club soda.

“Not drinking tonight?” A raspy voice questioned over your shoulder. You turned to face the owner as you shrugged your shoulders.

“Already had my fill. And technically, I’m supposed to be working, Barnes.” Your eyes met with his again. You couldn’t tell if it was the light in the room or if it was just him, but they were a deeper shade of blue than before. He leaned his weight on his elbow that was resting on the bar top next to you. He was so close you could feel his body heat rolling off him in waves.

His eyes roamed your face, stopping on your lips as he spoke. “You know you can call me Bucky, right?” You made a face, bringing your bottle to your mouth. He watched intently as your lips wrapped around the opening.

“We’ve never had a single conversation before today. And the first time you actually met me, you twisted my arm behind my back because I punched the dickwad standing next to you.” You took another sip and his eyes drifted down to your throat. He watched as it bobbed when you swallowed.

“So, yeah. I’m going to call you Barnes.” You leaned closer, “I’ve never been given permission to call you anything else.” You could tell you struck something. Something that he didn’t even possibly know about. His face heated and he had to clear his throat before speaking.

“Um, okay. Well you can call me Bucky or if you want, James.” Your brow quirked and you pulled back to take him in fully.

“How many people have you let call you that since you got your free will back?” Your tone was serious, but your face held a smile.

“None, doll.” His eyes ran over your face again. “I just want to hear how it’ll sound coming from your mouth.” One of his metal fingers came up to rest on your bottom lip as your smile grew.

“James.” You whispered, just for him. What he was giving you was a privilege, one you were going to revel in. One corner of his mouth tugged upwards.

“Again.” He growled as his finger remained on your lip.

“James.”

“Again.”

“James.” The party around the two of you faded away. In your reality, it was just you and the man in front of you. A peaceful place, where nothing could change what was happening right at that moment.

Of course, reality is a bitch. And you never got what you wanted. Your jaw clenched as soon as your phone pinged. James dropped his hand from your face as he read the text with you.

Found Nagel. Meet us outside and if you find Bucky, tell him too.

You scrunched your nose and bit your lip. James’ hand was quick to pull your lip from your front teeth, before resting there for a second as he studied your face. He stepped back quickly, nodding his head for you to follow him.

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

You don’t know how the hell Sharon managed to find him, but she did. You were in a shipping yard for storage cars. “Madripoor could give New York a run for its money.” Sam said as the five of you weaved your way through the containers.

“With a bounty on your head, the longer you’re in Madripoor, the less likely you’re ever leaving.” She glanced down at her phone in her hand. Nodding toward a red container, “Alright, he’s in there. Container 4621.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out five earpieces.

“We’ll keep watch while you guys talk to Nagel. But hurry. We’re on borrowed time.” You said as you watched everyone situate their pieces. Sharon turned around and began walking down an aisle not far from the container Nagel was in. You stopped James before he could go anywhere.

“Hey, be careful.” His eyes met yours and they were back to the normal steel blue. “Don’t forget who you are, James.” Something flashed behind his eyes, but his face showed no change.

“You too, Y/N. Don’t make me come out here and save your ass.” His eyes flicked down quickly and a smile spread quickly. “I mean, not that I would mind.” You rolled your eyes and shoved his shoulder, turning and walking down the aisle Sharon did.

“So,” She was leaned against a rusted container with a smug smile. “You and Bucky, huh?” You groaned and stood next to her.

“I don’t know, Shar. Neither one of us should be in a relationship. Especially since we’re both Enemies of the State, well one of us is, the other one was.” You turned your head to look at her. “What do you think about all of this?” She opened her mouth to speak when you both heard something ricochet off a metal wall.

She raised a finger to her mouth and crouched down before pressing that same finger to her earpiece. “Guys, we have company.” She took off down one end of the aisle and you down the opposite, ready to attack from both sides. There were three men walking towards Nagel’s container, you shot a look down to Sharon and she nodded.

She came from the back with a baton, whacking the last guy once in the knees and once in the head, disarming him. When the front man turned to help his comrade, you did the same move to him with your own baton. You both continued trading blows with the men. You had effectively taken out the first man, using his thigh to latch yourself to the third man’s shoulders. Situating yourself to use your body weight to flip him over, definitely knocking him out.

“Every bounty hunter in the city is here. We gotta go now, boys!” You yelled to your earpiece as you watched Sharon fight off another opponent.

It wasn’t until the gunfire started that Sharon said something else into the piece. “Guys, we’re seriously outta time here.” You both split off, out of each other’s view, battling your own demons. You were currently dealing with two of those said demons, when a third approached from behind. Locking you in a chokehold as the other two continued punching your ribs.

One of the hunters was suddenly ripped away from you. Punches were landing and groans were echoing through the alleyways. You threw all your body weight forward, throwing your assailant over your shoulder. Two gunshots rang out and then a third one, which landed a bullet hole between your aggressors eyes. Your head whipped around to face James, whose arm dropped back to his side.

He walked towards you, putting a hand on your back leading you to where Sharon and Sam were standing. Zemo pulled up in a blue convertible car, “Supercharged.” was all he said. Sam pointed his finger at the man in the driver’s seat.

“You’re going back to jail.”

“Do you want to find Karli or not?” James sighed heavily, his shoulder sinking with the action.

“He’s right. We need him. And there’s two of us, and at least twenty of them.” James got in the front seat, leaving the door open for Sam.

“Fine. But if you try that shit again--”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Zemo raised his hands in surrender. Sam turned to Sharon.

“Well, that was one hell of a reunion.” You leaned over the open door to talk to James. He looked at you with a sad face.

“Why don’t you come back to the States with us?” He tilted his head. “We could clearly use your help, doll.” You smiled at that and licked your lips before responding.

“You know we can’t. Not yet anyway.” He placed his finger back on your bottom lip, maintaining eye contact. “This isn’t the last you’ll see of me, James. That I can promise you.” He smiled and dropped his hand back to his lap.

Sam climbed into the seat behind James. “You’re not going to move your seat up, are you?” James smirked before replying.

“No.” You watched as they drove off, desperately wanting to see James again already.

You turned back to Sharon and the two of you began walking back towards High Town. “I think you should go for it.”