#He did recognize me and I gave him a sticker of Winter that i had drawn and ordered a handful of

[winter-clue-heart]

I suppose it's both a blessing and a curse when a Loki variant tangled up with the TVA recognizes you. This particular one has been following an unusual timeline, but he recognized me last time we spoke. Even told OB about me! ... I think I almost got in trouble? I'm sure Loki would have covered for me.

[satoruvt]

for a moment i forget to worry

pairing → xu minghao x reader

word count → 3196

genre → fluff + angst, college au ↳ tags: strangers to friends to lovers </3, college kinda sux, ROOMMATE CHAN MAKES AN APPEARANCE OR TWO, dance major minghao, reader is completely lost but its ok who isnt, lots of cute couple stuff, pov ur entire relationship with minghao. thats it, a sad break up scene, a solid amount of crying

summary → there’s something about minghao. maybe it’s the way he dances, vibrant and youthful, or maybe it’s the way he loves you. based off of hunger by florence + the machine.

warnings → i hint at sex but its pretty vague, i also mention a breakdown type deal (revolving around school/life after school)

a/n → first of all this was NOT supposed to be 3k words i dont know how it happened. second of all i’m only kind of happy with this HAHA i feel like the story itself isnt bad but i wanted it to match the song more ... idk :/ i hope u guys like it regardless !!!

pieces of you masterlist

The first time you see him is by accident.

Really - all you’re doing is trying to find Chan. You’re passing by the practice rooms, looking into them in hope he’ll be there, stopping to gaze at decorations and medals and trophies lined up on the walls. It’s when you approach a room that music plays from that you think you’ve found Chan, but when you gaze in, it’s definitely not him.

You don’t know who it is, but he moves like nothing you’ve ever seen before.

It’s hypnotizing, almost makes you want to drop your things and dance with him. There’s a sense of youth that comes from him and it’s almost overwhelming - but it’s not in energy, necessarily, but rather from the precision of his movements, the technicalities that he seems to both follow and break at the same time. Something vibrant seeps out between the seams of his body, colors you can barely recognize as they splash against anything they can reach. It’s almost tangible. 

You watch him long enough for him to finish his performance (an unknowing one) with the last notes of a song you forgot was even playing. His eyes meet with yours, slow as he completes an eloquent turn, and at the same time, a hand meets your shoulder.

A small wave of embarrassment washes over you, and you turn towards whoever touched you, effectively breaking eye contact. “What are you doing here?” Chan asks, hair still wet from what you assume was a shower.

“Looking for you,” you tell him, following as he starts to walk towards the exit. “I wanted lunch, and you owe me for that time I took your British literature quiz for you.”

Chan groans but agrees to pay, and you laugh, though the world seems a little paler than it did a few moments ago.

The second time you see him is by chance.

(Maybe.)

You’re waiting for a lecture to start, tapping your fingers against your laptop idly as you watch students trickle in last minute. It’s not a strict course, but it does start at nine in the morning, and most everyone shows up with a coffee.

You look down to brush a stray hair off of your table, and when you look up again, the dancer from before walks through the door, then looks right at you.

You feel a blush heat your face and it’s like he wants to make sure that you know that he knows, because he almost refuses to look away. You break eye contact first (like the last time, you remember for no reason) but still watch as his figure moves up the stairs, past the rows, and you hope he’ll just move past you too…

He doesn’t. He takes the empty seat right next to yours, and you don’t say anything, instead finding the peeling sticker on your laptop incredibly interesting. The professor comes in and decides that today he’ll take extra long to set everything up, apparently, and you want to scream.

“So,” the dancer says, voice quiet. It takes your breath away, the way he sounds. “Mind if I ask why you were watching me the other day?”

You cast a glance at him - not too long, you don’t think you could handle more than five seconds tops - and finally open your laptop so it makes you look busy. “I was waiting for a friend.”

“And?”

The smile in his voice is palpable. You’re already exasperated.

“You…” you start, finally deciding to look at him as some sort of subconscious power move. “You’re a beautiful dancer. It was hard not to watch.”

Beautiful doesn’t even cover half of it, but you figure he already thinks you’re weird for watching him, so you hold back the thoughts of youth and vibrancy and color. The dancer looks at you, almost blank for a moment, before a soft smile draws itself on his face. It makes your heart beat a little faster. He says “thank you” with a gentle tone, sincerely felt.

The class starts, and the two of you don’t speak throughout the next hour and a half. You type out notes on your laptop and you see him write down names of the paintings being shown on the projector, little thoughts and notes written afterwards.

By the end of class, your professor assigns an optional partnered project, and you’re more than prepared to head back to your apartment and start on it yourself. The dancer stops you before you leave, however, asks if you’d like to be his partner.

(And he says it like that, would you like to be my partner, polite and somehow sweet.)

You know your answer. “I don’t even know your name,” you stall, standing from your chair. 

“Minghao,” he tells you. “I’m Minghao, and I’d like for you to be my partner.”

You say yes easily, put your number into his contacts even easier. The sky is blue when you leave the lecture hall, trees dotted with pink and purple flowers, and it is all so bright that you forget it wasn’t this way in the first place.

The third time you see him is for school.

Underneath the excitement of giving Minghao your number, there is the knowledge that it’s for the sake of an assignment. He texts you the day after to ask if you’re free to meet up to work and you tell him sure.

(Sure is what you send back, but he doesn’t have to know that you burst into Chan’s room immediately after, plunging face first into his bed just to scream into his pillows. Chan had sighed, turned around in his desk chair to look at you, then asked what happened. He gave you two minutes to rant and then kicked you out, back to your own room.)

You and Minghao agreed to meet at the library on a day that neither of you had any afternoon classes, and you get there early, spend some time working on other classes. You have somewhere around thirty minutes to freak out to yourself before you see Minghao come in, dressed like he knows what he’s doing to you (which is really just a hoodie and jeans, but you think it’s the cap that really pulls the whole boyfriend look together), smiling when he finds you at a table in the corner.

“How are you?” is the first thing he says when he sits down, and you pull down your laptop screen a little to see him better.

“I’m good,” you say, feeling your heart pound. “What about you?”

Minghao sends you a kind smile. “Really good. Should we get started?”

You lose count of how many times you see him after that.

Meeting up to work on the project soon becomes just meeting up, and after the project’s done and turned in, it happens even more. You hang out and get lunch, send each other texts and stupid videos, take walks around campus together. The weeks pass, summer mellows into fall, then into the early days of winter. You develop a genuine friendship with him, finding comfort in his presence, looking for him wherever you go. 

(Although the crush is still there, potent and patient, stubborn in a way you’ve never experienced before. You wonder if it’s a sign of some sort.)

You’re in one of the practice rooms with him, sitting in the corner. You had a class nearby and he’d wanted to practice a little more, so you told him you’d work on your own stuff while he finished up and then the two of you could grab something to eat.

But you made a small error on your part - the dancing. You’d forgotten the way he moves (you haven’t seen him dance since that first time) and in no time at all you’re letting your screen go dark in front of you and watching him. Honestly, it’s not your fault, you really can’t help it. 

But of course he notices.

Minghao meets your eyes through the mirror and raises his eyebrows at you, and all you can do is look away, desperately try to get your laptop up and running again so at least it seems like you weren’t watching him for too long.

“You’re staring,” he says, long after you’ve looked away.

“Sorry,” you tell him anyways, immediate, quick. 

Then he says, “I never said anything about stopping.”

In a second, you look up from your laptop and up at him. He moves closer, crouches in front of you. His eyes are kind - they’re never not - but you think you see something a little more in them. “Sorry, I think I missed that last part,” you respond, blinking. Minghao smiles like you’re endearing.

“I said I want you to keep looking at me.”

You think you’re barely breathing when he shuts your laptop for you, slides it off of your lap and onto the floor (gently, with care, and it’s a wonder to you how he can focus on that right now). He practically crawls over you, one of his hands eventually reaching the junction of your jaw and neck and holding there. “I’m gonna kiss you now, if that’s okay,” he says, but doesn’t move. You nod as soon as his words reach your brain, eager and quick.

And the next few hours get a little wound up in your head, a little mixed in with the feeling of his body - that moves so youthfully, with so much vibrancy that it reaches everything around you - melting into yours and the sound of him asking you to tell me what you need, honey, and the still-playing slow jam music he was practicing to.

You watch him sleep next to you, hand curled around yours against his pillows, and think that nothing bad could ever touch him.

The two of you… come together, after that.

Neither you nor Minghao use any proper labels, but you both seem to know. No labels are needed, really. You have each other and that’s all there is to it. And everything is really good.

You work together and laugh together like you’ve always known each other. He tries to teach you to dance with him when you’re in the practice room with him, pulls you up by your hands and guides you through your giggles. He was the first person you called when you realized that you had no idea what you were working towards, didn’t have a clue what you actually wanted to do with your life. He gets along well with your friends and you text his because they’re basically yours, now, too.

Winter turns back into spring, slow and easy. Vibrant and youthful. You’re not able to meet Minghao’s parents, but he meets yours (and you’re sure a quick introduction to his mom over a FaceTime call has to count for something). The two of you take advantage of the newfound warmth of the season and try to get out as much as you’re able to, with picnics and city dates and anything you can think of. A drawer in his dresser is reserved for your things, you bought an extra toothbrush for him to use when he stays over.

You watch him dance. It still feels like the first time, like color and breathlessness. You tell him he’s beautiful every time, feel yourself fall a little deeper when he still gets bashful amidst his comedown. You tell him you love him for the first time after he gets done with a performance - a proper one, for a showcase of the dance club he’s in. He says it back.

You think he put all the stars in the sky just for the two of you to gaze at them together.

Things shift the beginning of your junior year.

Minghao tells you about a program he’s applying to, a proper dance academy in New York that could really kickstart his career. Training under some of the best choreographers and performers in the world.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You ask him after he tells you, and he shrugs, leaning back in his chair. You’re studying at his apartment tonight.

“It’s just…” he frowns. “It’s so far away, you know?”

Oh. You hadn’t even thought about that, too caught up in the excitement of him being able to apply at all. A quick sigh leaves your lips, and then you reach for his hand, hold it between both of your own.

“That’s okay,” you tell him, though now that you’re thinking about it, you feel nervousness in the pit of your stomach. “We can work something out, though, when we get that far. We’ll figure it out.”

Minghao nods, a fond look in his eyes. He pulls one of your hands to his lips. “We’ll think about it if I even get accepted,” he says.

It’s bittersweet, but a promise nonetheless.

Fifteen minutes after you get a call from Minghao, there’s a knock on your door. 

You wouldn’t necessarily say you’re worried, but, well. Everyone’s experienced the jump of anxiety when they get hit with the “I want to talk to you about something” line. Nonetheless, you stand from the couch to open the door, mentally preparing yourself for any and everything. 

“Hey,” you greet when you see Minghao, opening the door to let him in. His face is unreadable. “Everything okay?”

He walks a few steps into your apartment, waits for you to close the door before turning back around to face you. Then he holds up a piece of paper, the creases from where it was folded still bending. You send him a confused look.

“I got in,” he says, a grin breaking on his face, and you blink, then feel your jaw practically hit the floor. Minghao only nods like he understands, and before you know what you’re doing, you launch yourself at him, holding him close.

“Oh my god, Hao, that’s amazing,” you say into his sweater, then step back to get a proper look at him. Youthful, vibrant. “I’m so proud of you.”

He seems to soften at your words, pulls you back into him again with a gentle kiss to your head. “Thank you for believing in me,” he tells you, tenderness palpable in his voice. All you can do is squeeze him tighter.

Minghao spends a lot of time away from you after that.

You’re not really hurt in any way - even though he got into the academy in New York, he still has to practice. You get it, this is important. He doesn’t text you as often, isn’t able to stop by as much, and you miss him, but you know how much this means for him. But it gets… weird, almost, after a while. Strange, even for him. It feels weird that he’s set to leave at the end of January and it’s December and he’s distant.

Both of you are laying in your bed, looking at the glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling, when you decide to bring it up. “You’ve been… kinda far away lately,” you start, nudging him with your shoulder gently. “Everything okay?”

His eyes stay on your ceiling, but you feel the way he sighs. “It’s about the program,” he says.

“Okay.”

“And about… you and me.”

Oh. That doesn’t… sound the best. “About, like… what we’re gonna do?”

Minghao nods.

You say, “I wouldn’t mind visiting every so often. It’d be hard, but I’m sure we could find something to work.”

Minghao shakes his head, says, “no.”

You pause, and when you look at him he’s already looking at you. What does he mean by no? Does he want you to move with him? Or does he -

He reaches for your hand and you think oh.

His eyes are a little glassy. You feel the tears come, too.

“Oh,” you say out loud. Minghao squeezes your hand. “So this is… this is it?”

Your room is suddenly cold, and you want to crawl under the covers and stay there. The person in front of you is blurred into something unrecognizable, but you can’t be bothered to blink away your tears.

“I think so, love,” he whispers back to you. “I think it has to be.”

The two of you cry like that for a while. In your bed, loosely intertwined and broken. Even the way Minghao cries carries a kind of vibrancy that’s overwhelming, makes you think of the first time you saw him so long ago, and now -

When you manage to get a better grip on yourself, you ask him if you can still see him off at the airport. He says, “I don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t.”

Then you ask if you can kiss him again. He responds by kissing you first. 

And it’s sad, it tastes like salt and sorrow and you feel like the promises you never got the chance to make are broken. It feels like the most beautiful blue you’ve ever seen, and you know it’s only a branch of Minghao’s color.

He leaves soon after that, pulls on his shoes and his coat and turns around at the door to give you a tired smile. After he’s gone, you drag yourself to Chan’s bedroom, and once he sees the state you’re in, he offers up one side of his bed. Neither of you say anything, but the friendly reassurance of his hand in yours says enough.

You don’t fail to notice that everything seems to be washed out, a blandness you’re not used to.

The last time you see him is at the airport.

It’s a cold day, despite being sunny. The airport offers little warmth, but you figure it doesn’t matter. You won’t be here for long. 

It doesn’t take you very long to find Minghao - you still look for him wherever you go, even if you’re not looking for him. Even then, it’s still so easy for you to find him, to pinpoint that vibrancy, that youth. He’s talking to a few others, you think you met them. Soonyoung and Jun.

Minghao meets your eyes and you freeze, but then he waves you over with a gentle smile. You follow like you think you always will. 

You greet Soonyoung and Jun and the four of you talk, albeit a little awkwardly, even when Soonyoung tries his hardest to lighten the mood. Eventually he has to leave, and Jun follows with a shy goodbye. They both hug Minghao before they go.

You’re not sure what to say, but after a minute, you find words. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you,” you tell him, a little selfishly. 

Minghao says, “you’ll do good. I know you will. I’m not worried about you.”

He pulls his phone out of his pocket to check the time, and you think he’ll give you a stiff and sad goodbye, but he steps a little closer to you. Looks at you the way he used to.

“Maybe…” he starts, then pauses. “Maybe we’ll meet again.”

Maybe, you think. Maybe.

“I hope so,” you tell him, then watch as he leaves.

[slutdery]

I know how to nibble.

make a wish series.

A series (for each member of the unit) abot their lines in make a wish (english version)

pairing | lucas x fem!reader

genre | smut

words | 2.9k

warning | exhibitionism, degradation, oral sex (f receiving), sex without protection (use condom pls!), mature content, care after sex, sex with stranger.

author’s note | my native language isn’t english, so if there’s something wrong with anything i wrote tell me and i’ll edit it.

It may sound odd for most people but it actually brought you happiness... And gets you horny, of course. Spending half of your wage on some boy you would probably never met? Your friends thought you were stupid, but for you it was something that just sounded so right to do, besides it gives you pleasure and helps the boy to keep going with his work. You followed his cam for months in a website with plenty other hot guys, but this one caught your attention from the first time and you couldn’t help but pay to see him. He had an athletic body and seems to be very tall, his dick was the most pretty one you’ve ever saw, it was big and not too thin, ‘painfully pretty.’  you would say. A notification popped up on your phone, you didn’t bother looking, cause you were doing a task on genshin. When you finished and finally got the character you wanted in one of the prays, actually all of your neighbors knew that you got Xiao since you screamed when the yellow light appeared on the screen. You were now at the kitchen grabbing some fruit on your fridge, it wasn’t a habit eating these kind of things but you managed to do it every once in a month to ‘Stay healthy.’. After some hours you remembered the notification that appeared on your phone and quickly ran to your room and grabbed your phone, revealing a message from the camboy you followed. ‘WHAT THE FUCK?’ You thought while unlocking it to see if the message was really from him, and surprisingly it was. And it surprised you even more what the text said. He was asking if you wanted to meet him, because he noticed that you were a loyal fan of his work, so he got interested in you and needed to thank you in real life. You answered as fast as you could, saying that you were sorry for making him wait and it would be your pleasure meeting him. He sent you his adress and asked if this ‘meeting’ could be now since it wasn’t too late yet, you spend minutes thinking of what you should do and finally decided to go ‘How can i say no to him?’ Later on you finally got up and started dressing yourself, after all you wouldn’t miss this chance.

🌟

It wasn’t far away from your house so you’ve decided to take a walk, besides it was good to the ‘Stay healthy’ part and you could think if this was really a good idea or not. Going into a stranger house wasn’t what you were planning to do that day, but what can you say? He’s hot and cute. The walking was lovely, many people running desperately through the streets while other were simply taking a walk like you. The chilly wind that winters bring was making you freeze to death, even with hoodie and a coat you still felt the coldness from the weather in your skin, but thank god you were almost at the wanted place. Not much time later you arrived at Lucas apartment, it was that ones that just really rich people can afford. ‘Well, of course, he might receive so much money from the cam thing since he has plenty of fans just like you. Duh.’ You grabbed your phone sending a text saying that you were already there, receiving in response a cute sticker of a kitty with thumbs up, a little seconds later he sent you a ‘901.’ and got offline again.

🌟

You waited a couple of minutes outside his door thinking for the third time if it was a good idea. After gaining some courage in your chest, you rang the doorbell.

“Coming, baby.” He yelled from a very distant room, you supposed since his voice was so far away. He didn’t make you wait for too long, opening the door and reveling a really tall guy. ‘How can someone be so pretty? Like, he’s literally the definition of the word Godly.’ As soon as he saw you he showed his seraphic smile, such a real one, made your day even better.

“Y/n, right? Come on in! Feel at home, don’t mind the mess.” He gave you space to enter as you did so, taking a whole look at the giant place. You recognized the living room from his lives, but you didn’t know the rest of the apartment was as fancy as the rooms he recorded. The pretty brown, grey and white colors all over the place, it screams ‘Rich.’ with all of their lungs. The balcony had the space of your house, completely breathtaking, you wanted to live there. ‘If maybe you didn’t spend half of your money on him, you would live in a place just like this. Dumb.’

“Hey, you zoned out. Are you okay?” He said with the hand on your shoulder ‘Since when his hand was there?’ you turned to face him, seeing all of his little features, he was indeed the most beautiful boy you’ve ever saw.

“I’m sorry, i was chocked by how pretty you’re.” He smiled at you but didn’t answered it, making you wonder if you should’ve kept that to yourself. You didn’t had much time to think, since he stopped all of your thoughts when he grabbed your wrist and guided you to his couch. He sat on it and pulled you to sit by his side. He was gentle with every move, making you comfortable around his presence.

“The reason why i called you here, it’s because i wanted to thank you for supporting me from the start. And i’m really sorry for not noticing you before. And my way to thank you it’s doing whatever you want.” He told you while caressing your palm with his thumbs, you couldn’t deny that all you’ve ever wished for is him fucking you, but wouldn’t that be too promiscuous? ‘You know what? Just say it, stupid.’ Your subconscious said to you manking you really think of the suggestion.

“Come on. Whatever you want baby.” He straightened his body on the couch to get a better view of your face, seeing all your expressions. You on the other hand still thinking about what you should say, finally having a ideia.

“Fuck me.” His closed mouth turned into a smirk, his eyes widened at the thought, it feels like you just gave him a free pass to what he wanted to do from the start. He grabbed your wrist tighter pulling you closer to him. Your gaze slipping from his eyes to his lips, they were so pretty, you were fascinated. The eye contact was amazing, that gave goosebumps all over your body just from his perfect eyes invading your soul.

“Can i ask you something first?” His hand moves to your hair caressing it. In response you nodded at him, signaling him to do the question. “Can we do it on live? Just if you feel comfortable, of course.” Your eyes widened at the thought, thousands of people looking at you two fucking. You closed your legs as you felt the hornyness hitting you, you couldn’t deny that this offer aroused you so much more than you expected it would.

“Uhm... Yes, sure. Why not?” You smiled as you saw the sparkles in his eyes, he looked excited just like you, smiling from ear to ear. He got up from the couch and grabbed your hand, helping you stood up as well, later on guiding you to one of the doors in hos apartment. When he opened the door you realized that it was his room, the one that you saw in almost every live he did or video he posted. It has neon blue lights and it was very decorated with blue and white shades, making the whole room very comfortable. He signaled for you to sit on his bed while he organized the recording stuff, you did as he said and took off your coat, putting it on the desk next to his bed.

“All done angel.” He took off his shirt while walking to reach the bed, the moment he got closer he place his hands on both of your shoulders, pushing you to lay on the bed. “How do you feel slut? Everyone will see how much of a whore you’re.” He whispered in your ear while moving his hand to the hem of your hoodie, your body shivers as you felt the sensation of his cold index finger touching your belly. He brought the hoodie up until it reached your neck, finally removing it when you raised your head to help him. Your hands moved to his neck, pulling him closer to your face, soon your lips met him in such a rough way. It seems like the two of you were desperate for each other, so needy to feel his tongues invading your mouth, while feeling his thumbs traveling through your body. His hands placed on your waist, fitting perfectly on the curve, the kiss was so hungry like he wanted to eat you alive. His hand moved to your bra bringing it down a bit just so he could see your breast. As soon as his fingers touched your nipples you let out a low moan stuffy by the kiss, still embarrassed for being shown to lots of people. You indeed liked the feeling of people seeing you but were a little shy since it was your first time doing this. He slowly pulled away from the kiss leaving pecks on your lips while doing so. His big pretty eyes looking at yours was heavenly, such a pretty face lightened by the neon light, you were swept away by his charm. He got down to the middle of your legs, he took off your skirt and ripped your pantyhose. Positioning himself there to be comfortable for both, his cold fingers passing through your belly until it reached your panties, he pulled it to the side revealing your already wet cunt. His mouth got closer to your pussy while his fingers passed slowly in your clit, making you flinch at the feeling of something finally touching you, in lazy circles he removed moans from you.

“So wet and i barely touched you, such a slut.” He kept moving his fingers but fastening from times to times, making you moan like crazy for him. You were tired of him just teasing your clit, you wanted to feel his tongue eating you out. Your hands quickly got to his head, pushing it so he could get a hint of what you wanted. When he finally understood what you were trying to do, he got his fingers down to your entrance, thrusting inside of your hole with two fingers. You groaned at the feeling of his fingers curling inside of you, hitting a very sensitive spot that made your moans even louder. His mouth finally made its way to your clit, kissing it first and then diving in with his tongue. Pleasure took control of your body as you felt his tongue on your sensitive skin, such a good feeling every time he licked it. Your moans grew wilder from the sensation of the pleasure he was giving to you, his fingers inside and his mouth eating you, you couldn’t ask for something better. He did it so well that made you forgot your ex partners, they were nothing on him. It was like he knew you for years, cause he discovered exactly how you liked and kept doing it until you got close to your orgasm.

“Uhm, keep doing like this... Yes, i’m gonna cum.” You told him while moving your hand to his hair, caressing his strands while moaning his name. You suddenly felt a wave of pleasure hit you and you relaxed your whole body and closed your eyes to let your orgasm out but Lucas stopped before you could, making you sigh and got your head up just to see him smirking at you. You were totally pissed as you felt the feeling slowly disappearing.

“Beg me if you really wanna cum baby.” He stood up from the bed and started stripping, first getting rid of his hoodie and then he tossed his pants off, letting you realize how hard he was. A smirk formed in your lips as you thought that you did this to him. He finally removed his underwear and you couldn’t stop looking at his hardened dick, you knew it was big, but looking at it in real life you were sure that it seems bigger.

“On all fours, whore.” He didn’t needed to tell you twice as you quickly got on the position he told you, not much time later feeling a slight of pain from his slap on your ass. You couldn’t see his face but you could tell he was liking the position as much as you did, this way he has free pass to slap your ass. He slapped again, this time harder enough to make you groan at the painful act.

“Just fuck me, please.” You were so needy for his dick, you wanted to feel him inside so bad and you couldn’t deny you needed to have a orgasm. “Without a condom?” he whispered in your ear and you nodded in response, you were on a birth control so you didn’t mind. He took a couple of minutes to find a comfortable position between your legs, but as soon as he found, he teased your entrance moving his hips a bit. A really cracked moan left your mouth, you wanted so much more than just the tip teasing you and you couldn’t stand not having him inside anymore.

“Please, Lucas.” You cried out trying to gain what you really wanted, you were acting like a slut for him and that’s what he wanted.

“Needy bitch.” His big hands rested on your ass you were ready for another slap, but it didn’t happened. You suddenly felt the head of his dick entering your pussy, making groans leave you at the pleasant sensation, he continued putting the rest of it inside, such a big cock entirely into you. He started at a slow pace, knowing that taking all of his length inside takes time to feel comfortable, but even gradually the moans were already forming in your throat. As the moans started to be louder he gained courage to fasten his movements, making you even more loud. His dick filled you perfectly, your walls clenched around it so well and sometimes when he moved you cold feel the head of it hitting you G-spot.

“You’re so fucking tight.” He groaned while fastening it,  he used his free hand to reach your hair putting all of the strands in a ponytail, grabbing it while he fucked you harder. The one hand that rested on your ass finally moved, but you didn’t expected it would hit you again. The pleasure mixed with the pain made you moan even more.

“Everyone will hear you slut, keep it down.” You bit your lip trying to lower your moans. Many notifications coming from his phone, more people paid to see him fucking you, it aroused you even more remembering that people were watching you. He moved a bit and finally found the perfect position, the head of his cock hitting your sensitive spot, you were a vocal mess again. Your mind went blank as it kept hitting, you rolled your eyes from the wave of pleasure that passed through your whole body. Your orgasm was close again, you prepared your body and closed your eyes as the feeling grew more. It was too much to keep it inside of you, all you could see were starts on your head.

“Can i cum? Please, let me cum.” He laughed at you desperately begging for his permission, his moves fastened, searching for hir orgasm too. “Cum for me whore.” You didn’t wait anymore, you let out a loud moan as the pleasance took control of you. Your eyes shut while feeling the ecstasy of the good sensation. Calling his name while you came made him closer to his orgasm as well, as your walls clenched he couldn’t hold back and filled the insides of you with his hot load. He wasn’t much of a vocal so you only heard low groans as he came, still such a beautiful sound coming from his sexy voice. You looked through your shoulder to see his face, and he looked so hot with his eyes closed and deep breathing. ‘Angelical.’ you thought while smiling. After composing himself he took his length out, a sight left from your lips as you felt it. You laid on the bed, now facing him, he got closer to the camera and waved a bye to the people that were watching the two of you, turning it off some time after. He looked back at you and smiled, walking in your direction and throwing all of his heavy body in you. A loud groan left as the heaviness hit your body, but you didn’t complain. His callousness hand grabbed yours and caressed your palm again, the same way he did earlier.

“You’re so pretty. You did such a good job, that was really your first time being recorded?” You chuckled at his praise and nodded making him smile. He rolled his body to the side to finally let you breath properly again, still caressing your hands. You moved your head to the side so you could face him, his eyes already closed and his pretty mouth half opened. “You look like an angel.” You close your eyes as well, since you were already exhausted it didn’t take much time for you to sleep too.

[sukiglycerin]

it’s too cold outside for angels to fly || katsuki bakugou.

* pairing: pro-hero!katsuki bakugou x angel quirk!reader (gender neutral!)

* genre: fluff, angst, actually sfw (wow, luna's can do that?!)

* words: 8.1k (it’s a big baby!)

* warnings: mentions of trauma, reader is insecure but it's not their entire personality, therapy (not a lot of scenes with it), slight intoxication, mentions of throwing up (not much), like one suggestive joke, (light) cussing because bakugou

* original request: All I’m saying is reader with a angel quirk and the reader even has wings AND ANGST (but happy at the end 🥺) WITH BAKUGOU sounds so good 😔 but of course if you don’t want to do that it’s fine no pressure 💕

* a/n: hi 'nonnie! i hope you like you like this! honestly, it turned out longer than i expected (twice the length lol) but i'm proud of this baby. i'd like to note that enko, the nickname bakugou calls reader means 'halo' in japanese and can double down as a name, and an important reminder not to take any advice from the therapy in this fic. i am not a professional therapist, and please seek advice for situations specific to yours. the name of the fic is inspired by a lyric from ed sheeran's 'a-team,' but i promise it's not that dark. thanks so much to @toishi​ and the amazing feedback from @dylanxmin​ for beta-reading this! hope you enjoy!

* synopsis: you were your parents' perfect angel. you listened, and you followed. you didn't become a pro-hero, you stayed inside per your parents' request. it was okay if you couldn't fly; or, at least it was, before katsuki bakugou came along...

your grandmother loved pastries. that’s why you were here, trekking through the cold city in the tokyo winter. you shivered everytime your feathers came in contact with the frigid air, as if they, too, cowered under the looming shadows of tall buildings and bright lights.

so many people roamed the sidewalks, yet any bodily warmth was gone. you regretted not buying a cover for your wings - surely, it'd be an investment despite the price. wing covers were rarely manufactured for your size in japan, mainly aimed for small children just developing a quirk. the extra cloth needed for adult wing covers as well as shipping costs jacked up the price, making you hesitant to buy them. your wings were folded against the outside of your coat (putting them inside gave you cramps), nuzzling against your back subconsciously for heat. your wings were a pale cream colour, slightly more vibrantly mustard-coloured at the tips, and were the most visible part of your quirk.

according to the doctor, your quirk was "angel," but it felt nothing more than a pet name. there was a time in your life that you adorned a halo, but it no longer hovered above you when you looked up now. you weren't granted much power with your quirk; you were barely able to fly with your wings, but maybe you had a stronger moral compass than others? the wings, at this point in your life, were just accessories, as useless as the appendix. they could only cause you pain. you walked mindlessly toward the bakery, snow flurries dotting your hair. the bakery was a rundown, easy to miss place; you would've missed it if you hadn't gone there so many times. the faded yellow paint on the exterior was peeling, the poster on the window ripped and advertising for summer deals from years back. it had only a word-of-mouth reputation to rely on.

there was a worn sticker on the door, right at eye level, which said the name of the bakery in loopy letters: 'the flour road.'

you swung the door open with a jingle, greeted by the scent of baking bread and warmth. the bakery was your grandmother's favorite, specializing in rice cakes and dorayaki. she loved the pastries, for some reason - the baklava especially. she sent you on an errand to buy her some, giving you extra money to buy your personal favorite of dorayaki. to be exact, she pushed the money into your hands and forced you to buy a dorayaki for yourself. it was still warm when the cashier handed you your boxes, which you gingerly put in the bag.

you took a deep breath, bracing yourself for the cold, before you opened the door and found yourself back in the cold winter.

a hand roughly pulled you into an alley, and you found yourself face to face with a masked figure.

"give me your money." the figure pointed to your purse, tugging it.

"i don't- i don't-" you reach to take off your purse, not questioning it. there was simply nothing you could do; besides, the voice was young enough. what if they were simply going through a rough time in life? that was no cause to-

"OI, DUMBASS, WHADDAYA THINK YOU'RE DOING?!" a spiky haired man appeared suddenly, wearing what appeared to be melons on his arms. you suddenly recognized his getup of black, orange, and green; he was a pro-hero. what was his name? zero gravity? zero gr...ass?

"LADY, MOVE ASIDE." he looked you over. "FLY, OR SOMETHING."

"i can't-" but he was already after the thief. it took him less than 30 seconds to capture the thief; he was fast by himself, but was faster when propelled by his explosions.

"well, why are you here still?" he turned to you, the figure from before slung over his shoulder.

"i can't fly," you blurted.

he blinked. "then walk. besides, you literally have-" the figure moaned over his shoulder. "agh, nevermind, gotta take this douche to the police. go home."

the next you see of the explosive melon hero is at a supermarket. his arms are melonless this time, though, and you're not actually sure if he's the melon hero. you only recognize him by his hair and red eyes, but truthfully, it was probably not him. he was muttering something about "the spice not being spicy enough," and "stupid hair-for-brains nagging about the heat."

you felt a finger poke your wings. "hey miss, you have ugly wings." a stubby boy, no more than 5 or 6, looked up at you. smirking, he pushed his own smaller wings out, hands on his hips. "mine are teal-turquoise! yours are boring white."

"uh, okay-"

"mind your damn business, brat. where are your parents?" you could now confirm that the spiky haired man was indeed the melonhero by his voice and vulgarity. melonhero had turned to the kid, standing by your side.

the kid hmphed and walked away, to where his mother scolded him for straying from her.

"you again?" melonhero turned to you. "you really need to learn how to stand up for yourself."

"eh? i was handling it fine!"

"yeah, sure. what’s up with your wings, anyway?" he grunted. "can’t fly?"

"n-no. they're, uh, too weak." it was something hard to admit out loud for you. all winged people could fly, but you couldn't even hover, your wings just flapping up wind.

"too weak?! eh? is that even possible??" he poked one of your feathers. "they seem sturdy enough to me."

you turn your wings away from him, frowning. "it's not that easy. i-i never really had time to learn..."

"isn't that what all kids do in their free time, though? experiment with their quirk?"

"my parents thought it was useless..." you shuffled your feet awkwardly, eyes downcast.

"WORTHLESS?!" you flinched at his sudden volume. "it's your quirk, though, 'wings'?"

you rubbed the back of your neck. "well, not really... it's...." angel. the word echoed in your mind, under the spotlight on a stage. it stared at you in an empty auditorium. 'angel.' the word had negative connotations for you. to others, it was a sweet, innocent nickname, but to you, it meant more.

it represented the weight of your parents' expectations, the burden of your classes' assumptions. it became a ball and chain, reminding you of who you were, who you were supposed to be, and who you could never become. you were your parents' angel, your parents' little light. nothing else.

"'angel,' eh?"

"huh?" did melonhero suddenly manifest a mind-reading quirk? you look at him, but his gaze is above your head.

"halo."

"halo," you repeated, looking dumbly at the flickering ring above you.

"well then, enko, it's nice to meet you," he smirked.

"i'm not enko- i'm y/n-"

"enko’s better. i'm ground zero, the number one pro-"

"melonhero," you blurted.

"HUH?! what's that, moron?!"

"nothing, sorry, continue-" you apologized. what had gotten into you?

ground zero cleared his throat. "-number one pro-hero! ...it's katsuki bakugou to you."

"bakugou, i'm y/n l/n, nice to meet you! oh, and um- where are my manners? -thank you for the other day."

"don't go giving your purse to random men on the street, dumbass."

"it wasn't like that!" you protested. "i mean, what if he was going through a rough time? or, his parents kicked him out-"

"doesn't justify anything. you're so naive," he grunted. "didn't your parents teach you self-defense or anything?"

"w-well, no, not really..." you mumbled. you'd always just been their angel, delicate and thoughtful. you never wanted to disappoint them; always staying inside to clean or cater to their needs. their perfect angel. in their opinion, villains could never touch you if you never went out.

you recalled a time in your youth when deciding on a high school.

"i wanna go to ua!" you'd said. you knew a teacher willing to recommend you, so you didn't need to worry about much.

"honey, no, you can't be a hero..." your father started. "you're an angel, you're our angel, okay?" 

your mom nodded. "it'll be dangerous, angel, and we can't have you getting hurt day after day," she added.

you simply agreed, not wanting to upset your parents. they were always right. being a hero wasn't worth it, anyway, you told yourself. it was an unstable job. you'd entered a private high school near the coast of japan, instead of ua.

"eh?! well, how are you supposed to fend for yourself alone?!" bakugou exclaimed.

"i'm... supposed to stay at home..." you confessed quietly.

"then why are you here?!"

"...i moved away from my family."

"and you didn't learn to protect yourself? get yourself some pepper spray, idiot!" bakugou grabbed your wrist, abruptly leading you to an aisle with pepper spray in it. he briefly paused, then picked one.

"it's on me. i can't have more morons like you to save when you could save yourself." 

"thank you," you said. in all of his vulgarity, bakugou was semi-decent. you wondered why he was so on edge constantly; perhaps it was a trait from being a high-demand hero.

"HEY!" bakugou yelled, making you jump in place. "whatcha smilin' at?!"

you wiped the small grin that subconsciously crept on your face. "n-nothing."

"tch, so quiet, enko." he looked above you. "halo’s gone? fuckin' weird-ass quirk."

"could you... um... nevermind." you originally wanted to ask him to tone down the swearing, but thought better of it. the vulgarity reminded you of your uncle, and you a gagged at the thought of the disgusting man who'd occasionally crash at your family's home completely wasted.

"what? just spit it out," bakugou said. "i don't get offended, unlike deku or something."

"can you... cut down on the swearing?" you ask, then add more quickly when you see his face. "i mean, it's okay if you wanna keep doing it. i can't stop you. y'know, freedom of speech and everything."

"okay," he said with surprising composure. he didn't question the request, instead looking at you intently.

your gaze was set down, trying not to think of your uncle, and the horrors you'd gone through as a child because of him.

"i- um- sorry," bakugou forced out of himself. "i didn't mean t-"

"don't worry," you smiled cheerily. a fake smile, but you tried to convince yourself it was real.

"d'you-" he coughed, "d'you wanna talk about it?" he seemed to be going through something in his mind. "there's a park nearby - god, what did hitomi say? - we can, uh, talk it out? you can vent."

"oh no, it's fine, you're busy, a pro-hero." you said nervously.

"ah- yeah," bakugou seemed to be flustered too. "my therapist though- uh, she's really damn good- i mean, really good-" he pulls out a wallet from his pocket and sifts through cards. "here." he handed you a business card, advertising 'HITOMI YABUKI' in bold.

you blinked at him and accepted the card reluctantly. pro-heroes were really kind at heart, huh? "is she a pro-hero therapist?" you asked.

"her? no, she does other stuff. normal stuff, trauma, quirk stuff, erm- whatever you need. she's an all-rounder."

"oh." you put the card in your pocket. "okay, thank you."

he grunted, accepting the thanks. "need to buy anything else?"

you glanced at your cart. "no, that's all. thanks for everything, bakugou-"

"i'll pay," he blurted. "for it all." he looks surprised at himself, perhaps even angry. "oh, no thank you-"

"i'll do it. i mean it. you didn't even buy much," he muttered.

"o-okay," you said. he snatched your cart from your hand, walking to a self-checkout.

"weren't you gonna buy anything?" you asked.

"eh?!" he grunted while scanning items.

that was the end of the conversation. once he finished, he swiped his card and handed you a bag.

"make sure you use the damn pepper spray."

it was only once you got home that you realized he slipped his number into one of the bags.

you see bakugou again at hitomi yabuki's therapy lobby. he sat casually, earbuds on as he stared at his phone. you debated sitting next to him and decided against it, not wanting to bother him. you didn’t contact his number yet; your hands sweated at the thought. as much as you were tempted, you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself in front of a pro-hero.

you found yourself staring at the man, who was unusually calm at the moment. you stared at his eyelashes, his eyes, down to his nose and lips, and his firm set jaw. your eyes fell to the phone he’s clutching, to the curve of his fingers and uniform nails.

"l/n y/n?" a tall woman called your name. bakugou looked up at you, and for a split second you could see what looked like a genuine smile before it was twisted into a smirk.

"yes!" you stood up and followed her, glancing back at bakugou before he disappeared from your sight. after a short elevator ride, you walked out onto the third floor.

she led you down a short, carpeted hallway to the last door. it was an opaque glass door that said "hitomi yabuki" on a plaque.

"so, what brings you here?" she finally said once the two of you were seated. "um- bakugou?" you said.

she smiled and jotted something down. "is that so?"

"yeah. we met a couple times by accident, and uh, he gave me your business card."

the rest of the session was just introductions - prices, meeting times, and therapy that can be provided. still, you weren’t really sure if you needed the therapy - maybe it’d be suited more for someone else struggling more than you. you didn’t need to use your quirk much; flying wasn’t much your style anyway. what would your parents think if they found out you were taking therapy? they’d surely be hurt, assuming that they didn’t provide a good childhood to you. you could practically hear your mom asking you why you’d waste money on therapy. you took a deep breath as you re-entered the lobby. bakugou was seating in the same place you last saw him, still on his phone. you bid goodbye to the receptionist, thinking out your decisions. your insurance could cover much of the costs for the therapy, but you still wondered if you should spend the money.  these thoughts trailed you as you waited on the sidewalk for a cab, watching your breath billow in front of you.

"hey, enko."

your elbow shot out by instinct, hitting the invader of your thoughts.

"woah, idiot, it’s just me." luckily, bakugou had caught your stray elbow, chuckling to himself. "so the angel does know self-defense, eh?"

you stiffened at the pet name, though you knew bakugou meant well. you could remember each distinctive voice in your childhood. your parents beckoning: angel. your nickname: angel. how everyone saw you: angel. you could never escape it, not with your halo or wings. it was so distinctive, your defining quality. whether he noticed the shift in your posture, he didn’t say. "how was it? hitomi’s great, right?"

you hummed in response, rubbing your wings together for heat.

"are wings supposed to get cold? aren’t they just... feathers?"

your wings ruffled at the comment. you sniffed. "they’re sensitive."

"weird," bakugou muttered under his breath. for a split second, you considered smacking him with your wing, but you stopped yourself before you could execute the instinct.

your cab pulled up by the sidewalk. "that’s my ride." you smiled and waved to him as you entered the car. somewhere during the 15 minute car ride, you mustered up the courage to finally text bakugou.

who knew he was so dirty-minded, anyway? you leaned back in your car seat, exhaling. thankfully, you didn’t text the wrong number or prematurely end the conversation. so, now you were friends with a pro-hero, or so you assumed (friends texted each other, right?). the you from 10 years ago would be jumping for joy at the prospect of befriending a pro-hero, and here you were. you finally booked a therapy session for saturday at 3pm. you checked into the lobby ten minutes early, just as your parents had taught you, and took a seat in the lobby.

when it was finally your turn, you found yourself back in hitomi's office, the familar scent of vanilla and fresh linen wafting in the air.

"i hope you don't mind the scent," she said.

you shook your head. "it's fine." the fragrance was almost reassuring in a way, but you couldn’t pin point it. this time, you allowed yourself to drink in your surroundings. hitomi’s office was spacious, a large window overlooking tokyo’s snow-covered cityscape adding onto the effect. the walls followed a vertical gradient pattern of mint green and light blue decorated with paintings, hanging plants, and wooden shelves yet not in a cluttered way. in the center, against a wall, was a white couch. it had an oddly calming aura to it, as if you'd stepped into a dream outside reality.

"would you like an apple? or some water?" hitomi offered.

you weren’t really in the mood for either, but accepted the water. she gestured for you to sit on the couch.

the meeting consisted of her asking and you answering, the topic changing from family life, to your quirk, to your feelings.

"so, can you explain your quirk to me?" hitomi asked.

"well..." you gathered your thoughts. "obviously, i have wings like an angel. they don’t really do anything, though, just get sensitive to the weather. i used to have a halo when i was young, but it’s faded by now. dunno why. let’s see...." you paused. "i guess i have an inclination to help others? it’s hard for me to say no to things, honestly."

"is it because of your quirk?"

"probably," you admitted. "i’ve always been like this, i think."

"can you fly with your wings?"

"no." you sipped your water. "i guess i never learned. i’d try, but i don’t think they can support my body weight."

"how do you feel about your quirk?"

you shrugged, but then regretted it. you didn’t want to seem insensitive to all the quirkless people who could only wish for a quirk. "it’s- it’s cool, i guess. it makes me unique..." you thought back to your parents’ words, how they’d praised you for such an amazing quirk. when you used to feel bad about your quirk, they’d always remind you that there were children who’d wish to even have a quirk at all, and that you were special. your mother’s quirk allowed her to shine small rays of light through her fingertips, while your dad’s quirk gave him a wing attached to his left arm. it was pretty much useless for anything other than generating wind, considering he didn’t have a right wing to balance him out. their quirks together worked out just right to create you, their perfect angel. hitomi jotted something on her notepad.

the more you thought of it, the more you felt broken. you'd been doing therapy with hitomi for months now, and it had gotten harder and harder to emotionally process. your parents, your family, your quirk; you now saw the things for what they were.

your parents had used you. you were their doll, their perfect obedient angel, and it disgusted you. your hands felt tainted, your wings heavy weights on your back. you were revolted by yourself; looking in the mirror, you couldn't help but gag, seeing not the you of now, but the you of the past looking back at you. you couldn't sleep; tossing and turning and ruffling your wings in frustration. you couldn't stop thinking about your parents, how they restricted you from everything.

you wondered how it'd be different if your parents were better. you wondered if you'd gotten into ua and strengthened your quirk. you wondered how your reputation as a pushover would change. maybe you'd be a hero right now, helping others instead of being so irreparably broken.  you could hear the catcalls from your classmates like bullets beating your wings. angel, the goody-two-shoes who couldn't say no.

not once did you cry. maybe you felt too disgusted by yourself. maybe bakugou was becoming the best friend you'd ever had.

he was there for you. making spicy curry or those awful, equally spicy instant korean noodles - he was there for you, in the same way milk is there for you when eating a particularly spicy dish. he listened to you, and you did the same for him. you laughed and joked together. somehow, in such a dark time, your friendship bloomed. it was strange, really. his reputation as a hero made him out to be aggressive and careless - and while he could brash in word choice at times, you knew he had a good heart. at one point, you’d even opened up to him about your past.

"then deku just completely f- messed up the mission! i could’ve blown up the damn guy, but he had to play mr. goody-two-shoes and just tie him up. and he got all the interview time. what’s even up with that?!"

he talked about his friends a lot. he'd deny his relationship with them being something other than strictly professional, but the way his crimson eyes would deepen gave it all away. he mainly spoke of deku and red riot (though their names would be referenced in cruder ways).

"what if- what if i was a hero?" you asked suddenly.

bakugou lifted an eyebrow. "you'd be a damn good hero if you could manage your quirk. like hawks."

"you think the public would like me?"

"duh. you're pretty, kind, AND fight villains? pretty badass. hell, if i approve of you, anyone would."

you smiled.

"why, though?" bakugou asked.

"curious. i, um, used to want to be a hero. growing up."

"your quirk has potential." bakugou leaned back on the couch. "why didn't ya become one?"

"parents." you flinched as the word passed your lips. thinking about your parents was painful, as if you had to rip off a month old bandaid before you could even get their faces into your mind. "they just... worried," you said. you didn't say anything else.

"betcha couldn't come up with a hero name as damn awesome as ground zero." "i could barely remember it," you teased.

"though, i must say, i do like enko as a hero name. it's like i'm joining an idol group."

"akb48 has nothing on you though,"  bakugou said.

you flushed. "i-i don't think you've looked at them properly, then."

"nah, i have, ochaco's obsessed with idol groups. don't doubt me, enko~" his voice was dangerously close, but he hadn't moved an inch from his original spot. "you're prettier than all the idols combined. tch, how low do you think my standards are?!"

"they're idol groups, bakugou, they practically rely on visuals!"

"eh? who cares? you've beaten them in looks and personality."

the thing about bakugou was that he was always completely honest with his thoughts. his integrity always amazed you, but then again, he was a pro-hero. you were quick to change the subject. "um- then-- what time is it? it must be getting late. i should get home-"

bakugou frowned. "it's late, idiot. eat before you go. i have some leftover tonkatsu and rice, and i can whip up the miso-"

"n-no, it's fine bakugou, you don't need to-"

"idiot, i can't have you starve to damn death on the ride home. eat."

even if you wanted to protest, you couldn't. bakugou's cooking was always to good to pass up, alarmingly spicy or not.

"the rice is still warm in the rice cooker," bakugou finally said, turning towards the kitchen. he knew you'd follow him, and you did.

bakugou busied himself making some instant miso soup and reheating the tonkatsu. you prepared yourself for the spicy of bakugou's tonkatsu; you'd had it once before, and it was quite painful. finally done, bakugou sat to the side of you eating tonkatsu as well, seasoning his with extra chili flakes. he was positively crazy; how did he handle such spice?

you cut yourself a strip and brought it to your lips. the tonkatsu was surprisingly tame for bakugou's cooking; it could've passed for normal restaurant tonkatsu.

"thish ish good," you said in between bites.

"i know," he gritted out, but he looked proud. "would be better with chili."

you shook your head, smiling. "never in a million years."

it was often you thought of this moment. it was so happy, so complete. it was just you and bakugou, simply being. right now, a genuine smile was something you couldn't curl your lips into, no matter how hard you tried. when you did, the taste of something salty crept into you mouth.

something salty...?

you touched your face. it was wet. your head spun, and then it dawned on you: you were crying. you were crying? your eyes focused, and pain throbbed in your head. lights shone too bright on you, heightening your headache, and a foul taste lingered in your mouth. you were suddenly aware of something solid in your hand: a drink.

something else you were aware of was how much you wanted to go home. you could barely remember what led you to a club as you fumbled in your purse for your phone, glancing at the time and unlocking the screen. all you needed to do was go home. you really wanted to go home, but where was home? home was gone. home...

a fresh wave of tears glossed your face, and you ignored the person next to you's advances. you didn't even know why you were crying. you struggled to read your contacts, dizzy, and called the first one you can make out with your hazed vision.

bakugou.

yes, all you wanted right now was bakugou. you wanted him and his warm arms, his endearing words. you wanted him so bad. you wanted him, and his warmth, and his happiness. you wanted his scent of comfort, the smile that made you feel fuzzy. you wanted his voice to shelter you precisely at that moment, you wanted to feel like it was him and you against the world.

"dumbass? hello? where are you? why is it so freaking loud? enko?"

you hadn't realized that a low quality projection of his voice was speaking on your phone.

"b-bakugou," you said, though it came out hoarsely. "bakugou."

"enko? where are you, and why are you calling at ass o'clock in the morning?"

"miss you," you almost said, but instead it came out as "dunno, you," a mix between "dunno" and "miss you."

"eh? where are you?"

you shrugged. "come here."

"send me your location, moron, and stay where you a-"

you hung up to send him your location.

you yawned and rubbed your forehead. everything was loud, everyone was together. and you were alone. it made you sad. you wanted to have somebody. a voice in the back of your head told you that you had bakugou. did you? right, he was coming. did you tell him to come?

you pressed the call button again.

"what is it?" bakugou asked roughly.

"lonelyyyy..." you moaned. "pick me up, baku...."

"idiot, i'm on my way. why the fuck are you so far from where you live?"

"hmm mmmhm," you strung together sounds. "'m sad."

"don't be." he sounded mad. he always sounded mad.

"why are you always mad at me?" you pouted.

"i'm not, dumbass! i'm pulling in."

"hmmm...!"

bakugou almost tore through the door with rage. "ENKO, GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE."

you hopped toward him, wobbling a bit. the floor seemed to turn under you. enko! that was you! right?

"bakuuugoooou~" you cooed, flopping into his arms. "let's sleep."

he smelled nice. his scent enveloped you, a mix of vanilla and caramel that you’d grown so accustomed to.

he stiffened. "dumbass, i can smell the alcohol on you, we’re going the fuck home."

"don’ wanna," you whined. "lonely. wanna be with youuuuu..." you nuzzled more into his chest, finding comfort in his body warmth. you didn’t want to let go, ever. "tch, fine."

the car ride to bakugou’s place was uncomfortable. cars spun by you, lights making you woozy. you almost bashed your head on the dashboard. your seat was uncomfortable, the seatbelt itched you. despite all that, you stopped to stare at bakugou in your daze, all serious and set on the road. he had nice biceps, and his side profile was a sight for sore eyes (see also: your eyes).

"what, enko?" he grunted, glancing at you.

you said the first thing that came to your mind. "you know you smell nice?"

"huh?" he glanced at you, turning in to his driveway.

well, there was no going back now. "you smell like caramel... and vanilla... it’s nice..." you sighed happily, imagining the fragrance.

bakugou didn’t reply, instead parking and unlocking the doors. "get out, dumbass, it’s past your bedtime."

"but i don’t haaaaaave a bedtime," you slurred, stumbling out of the car. bakugou mumbled a complaint before hoisting you over his shoulder. it was probably not the best move, considering the blood rushing to your head made you feel sick. after entering his house, bakugou set you down on a sofa, sitting you upright.

"stay here."

you leaned back on the sofa, feeling suddenly empty. the buzz in your head had not quite left, but the weight of the world came crashing down again. therapy, your parents, your quirk. it struck you that you were probably bothering bakugou and disturbing his sleep; he was a pro-hero after all, lives depended on his health. but here you were, ever so selfish and probably taking a toll on his health.

"drink." you hadn't realized bakugou had put a glass of water in your hands. you simply nodded and gulped it down, hoping to sober yourself up.

you stared at the man glossy eyed, glass in your hand half empty. "bakugou."

"eh?"

"sorry."

"for what?"

"y'know... waking you up... bothering you... i know you're busy, and-"

"shut up, it doesn't matter. i'd rather you here than in the hands of some douche at the club."

"but still, how would i make it up-"

"by sleeping well. off to bed you go."

he started pushing you towards the hallway. "where will you sleep?"

"sofa."

"but bakugou-"

"go to bed."

"i feel sick-"

"hah?"

a rising sensation of bile emerged in your throat. the only words you could get out of your mouth was "bathroom," before you rushed in. it was not a pretty sight - you preferred to skim over the details when recalling it. the details you did not skim over, however, were that of bakugou's care; for being awoken at ungodly hours in the morning, he was surprisingly gentle with your vomiting state, soothing your stomach with warm hands and rubbing your back. after, he gave you a glass of water and forced you to take ibuprofen, though you swore you felt fine.

bakugou's bed was surprisingly comfortable. then again, bakugou did claim to have gone to bed at 8:30 sharp daily during his high school years, so it made sense he still valued sleep.

you were then reminded how you disrupted his.

and how you were now forcing him to sleep on the sofa.

you padded out of his room, wearing one of bakugou's old shirts that he'd graciously lended you, to the living room. he was laying on his back, feet sticking out of the sofa, eyes closed.

"what?" he asked, eyes still shut.

you knew he wouldn't let you feel guilty about intruding his sleep, so you settled upon saying the next best thing. it was partially true, anyway.

"'m lonely without you." your voice came out smaller than intended.

"huh?" he sat up, groggily looking at you.

"it's- kinda cold, and y'know, with your quirk..."

he grunted and obliged, walking toward his bedroom. you stood behind him, staring at his back; that was surprisingly easy.

bakugou slept with his arms around you, so you were nestled comfortably into his chest. this position felt strangely domestic; something lovers might do nightly. but you and bakugou weren't lovers, you were friends. image of you and bakugou involved romantically faded into your mind; coffee shop dates, cooking together, waking up next to each other. there was a sudden loss of breath in your chest, as if your heart had become weightless and was lifted by a thousand of butterflies taking flight. bakugou... romantically? it hadn't crossed your mind. still, you could see it so vividly in your mind; you, becoming his dumbass, his and his only. you could imagine how he'd look at you, full of love in his eyes, and how he'd gently kiss your forehead in the morning. was it so bad to want that? the more your thoughts indulged you, the more his body warmth drowsed you, his calm breathing adding to the effect. he was practically nyquil in human form. you found yourself nodding off in his arms, not before mumbling a quiet "what if i liked bakugou?" and clutching his shirt closer to you.

you were far too engrossed in the realm of sleep to hear bakugou's faint but hopeful reply of "i'd hope so, dumbass."

at your next therapy meeting, you told hitomi about bakugou. it was unplanned, spilling out of your mouth as soon as she asked why you looked so anxious. you couldn't like bakugou. you blamed your slightly intoxicated past self for planting such a thought in your brain, but you knew it just admitted a lingering feeling from in your heart. you spared her the details of the throwing up and the guilt that gnawed at you regarding how bakugou cared for you.

"it's... childish, right? like an old schoolgirl crush," you flushed, finishing your confession.

hitomi shook her head. "it's good to feel this way, actually. it's quite healthy for a twenty-something like you to harbour such feelings; it allows you to explore your feelings and relationships healthily."

even so, crushing was so damn frustrating. it's one thing to like a person; it's a completely different experience after admitting to yourself, yes, they're my crush. when you were younger, you very rarely developed crushes (as influenced by your parents) and even less were able to act on them. but now, as an adult, you had the freedom to act (or not, considering how your nerves constantly started to act up around bakugou). you decided to push the feelings down; you were just friends, and bakugou had no time to pursue a romantic relationship.

if having a crush was like an addiction, rehab was torture for you. gone were the days of seeing bakugou as platonic; you couldn't stop your heart from swelling whenever he recounted his day to you. bakugou had now become attractive, from his tight, bulging muscles to his hard chest. it did not help that you had to see him in his hero costume flaunting those features every other day on the news.

you convinced yourself bakugou harboured nothing but platonic sentiment for you, but he never failed to send your heart aflutter with discreet compliments he hid under rough comments. you started leaving early whenever the two of your hung out under the guise of other plans (that in reality didn't exist), and tried to always cut conversations short when you bumped into each other in public. he was ground zero, pro-hero, and you were just a civilian who could barely maintain their quirk.

you were just starting your quirk therapy, but you couldn't expect major changes a week in. bakugou had said your wings looked brighter, but you assumed he just said that to make you feel better. you could hover off the ground for less than a second now, but your wing strength lacked too much to be able to do anything requiring more strength. your halo was still absent, and you couldn't figure out how to make it reappear. there hadn't been much research done on the essence of halos; hitomi said not to worry about it regardless.

flap flap flap.

"oi, dumbass, you're gonna create a tornado in here."

flap flap flap.

"i'm practicing flying."

"well, you're going nowhere. d'you want me to call hawks or something?" flap flap flap. 

you turned to bakugou, folding your wings neatly. he had the same expression as always, slightly disapproving and tired. your eyes meet his momentously; but they fall down immediately to his lips. lately, this kind of thing had been happening often. bakugou acted like he didn't notice you'd been different lately, but you could tell he wanted an explanation.

you acted on your impulse, your mouth opening and words tumbling from your mouth.

"bakugou- idon'twanttoruinourfriendshipbutijustwannasayitnow- ilikeyou."

"what?" why did you do that?

if this were a texting conversation, you'd leave him on read. if this was a tweet, you'd make your account private. if this was a video call, you'd end it.

alas, this was real life, so you resorted to the next closest thing: you ran. you ran faster than any shoujo girl and with more conviction than any shounen boy, and then you were lost. damn cities.

panting on the sidewalk, wings heaving up and down, you realized what you did. staring at the edge of the pavement, where the curb met the street, hands on your knees, it hit you.

you cussed and yelled at yourself mentally, and though a small part doubted bakugou even heard you, you didn’t allow yourself to have hope. it was game over. you let your feelings override rational thought, and you ruined what was arguably the best thing going on in your life.

you were interrupted by an itch in your feathers from being so cramped while folded. they ruffled against the cool air, distraught. you stretched them out, observing your surroundings and allowing yourself to cool down. the breeze was a satisfying sensation against your feathers, and you hovered just a moment when they flapped.

"mommy, wings!" a kid passes you on the sidewalk, pointing. his mother hushes him, but you smile at him.

the next few days were rough, particularly because you were avoiding bakugou. it was definitely not a good idea, but it was a temporary patch over the open part of your heart.

this was not one of your healthy coping mechanisms.

did he text you? did he call you? you didn’t know, because you turned off your notifications. you knew you were just making things more awkward, even more so if he hadn’t heard you at all. it gave you all the more excuse to ignore him longer.

now, with evenings to yourself, your mind wandered more. your thoughts drifted into a vast desert of tangled constellations in your mind, tightropes you’d tread that would lead you to a random destination. sometimes it led you to random memories - other times, it wasn’t as random, leading you to painful manifestations in your heart. these were the things you tried so hard to ignore, but rang so true.

you were reminded by the constellations in your mind that you were being terribly selfish to bakugou; not even considering his feelings. bakugou didn't deserve you. maybe stars twinkled in your mind, but the bluest ones burned you to the touch. you needed to get over bakugou.

that wasn’t to say it didn’t hurt, trying to get over bakugou. the stars in your mind dimmed, and perhaps, at one point, the constellations were reduced to thread; knotted, tangled, and hopeless.

maybe it was better when the string had been unkempt, because now it unraveled. you cried, and cried; in the shower, at your desk, doing chores. tears, hot and sharp like newly shapen diamonds, dripped down your face. your face was permanently marked by the wounds the diamonds left, and contrary to the stars, your eyes were red and hot. your thoughts unwound like string - there was a clear pathway now, but it was tainted by the shape of the knots there had once been.

everything hurt when you thought of bakugou. your swollen eyes became lifeless as memories of him overtook you. they controlled you. you missed therapy session after session, too scared to go to the place which bakugou had connected you to. sometimes, you’d sprawl across the ground, stare into your ceiling, and feel yourself vanish into something, a dark void of nothingness. he had cared so much for you - too much. why had he? why couldn’t he have left you, that one day you were almost robbed? why couldn’t you just have stayed the way you were? why did you have to find the truth in things? ignorance was a bliss you woke yourself from. ignorance, the dream which from you woke to find a nightmare, reality. why did he have to be him, the stupid pro-hero with a heart that bled kindness into yours? why couldn’t he have stayed a two-dimensional public figure, the careless and angry ground zero? why did he have to be in your goddamn life and ruin it, entangle everything into one big mess? you hated him. you hated him and his stupid endearing insults, him and his rugged smirk that pained your heart so, him and his eyes that held sparks and diamonds and you. deep inside, you knew it wasn’t true; hate was just a name for an indefinably strong feeling you had for him. you knew you didn’t hate him, you knew you couldn’t hate him. you told yourself you did to distance yourself from him. the distance between you and he only grew. your memories were tarnished with pain, his image blurry and wrinkled in your eyes. katsuki bakugou was just someone, no one.

this was the feeling of agony, this was the sight of pure hell, and this was the sound of you burning your heart. distance between you and the man named katsuki bakugou grew, as did your descent into pure madness.

until the distance between you and he was less than a metre.

you had not bothered to tame your hair; it was a bit overgrown and sprouted a couple split ends. you were dressed in a stained shirt, your face not even mentionable, and your heart was beating in your ears. you felt yourself dragged quite forcefully down to sanity, as if opening the door suddenly put gravity into effect.

because here he was, katsuki bakugou in all of his perfect glory, standing on your doorstep.

the little shit refrained from making a comment about your current state, but you could see the comment appearing in his eyes and vanishing as soon as it came. you watched his eyes go from the state of your face down to your unkempt attire. he, on the other hand, looked unaffected. he was sporting a t-shirt and jeans, hands shoved into his pockets. the only indicator, which was minuscule at best, that he had changed at all was the red at the corners of his eyes and slight eyebags. he looked shocked at the sight of you.

"y/n..." you almost fainted on the spot.

you weren’t not jumping for joy in ecstasy at the sight of him, and you didn’t feel like a shoujo protagonist at the moment. it was something different.

"again," but your voice was too hoarse to be heard. your mouth opened and closed, you coughed, and repeated yourself. "s-say it again."

"huh?!" it was nice to know someone hadn’t changed after all that time.

"my- my name..."

"eh? enko."

you sighed, your face indifferent. you weren’t exactly disappointed by his reply; it brought memories upon memories of happier times with him.

"well, what do you want?" you asked, rubbing the side of your face.

"what- what the fuck is going on?" he gestured to you. "i should be asking about you. what the f- what happened to you?!"

"i-"

"enko, i don’t get any of this shit. this relationship crap. what do you want me to do?! first, you act weird as shit- because of what?! i don’t fuckin’ know. you avoid me - don’t think i didn’t notice - and then suddenly you spew shit and leave?! i don’t see you for a goddamn week, you don’t answer your damn calls or texts, and suddenly i’m the damn villain and i’m supposed to give you time or shit to figure things out, and when i can finally fucking see you, you look like actual crap?! hell, i should be the one with deteriorating mental health with all of the bull you put me through! if you want something, if you don’t wanna be friends or shit, just goddamn say it to my face! i’m not good with people, enko, goddamnit! tell me what’s wrong!"

you stood in shock. relationship..? you shook his words away. you hadn’t realized how much this took a toll on bakugou, too. he looked away - something glinted in his eyes, but you couldn’t tell exactly what.

"god-fucking-damnit," he grumbled. "...are ya gonna let me in, or what?! it’s cold out here!"

you didn’t think about how bakugou’s quirk involved producing heat, and let him in unreluctantly, stepping aside. "sorry," you mumbled.

he took off his shoes, and you motioned for him to sit down on your couch.

"explain it to me," he demanded. "what in the goddamn world has happened tot you? did someone do this to you?!"

you refrained from saying technically, it was you, and settled on: "no." it was apparent he hadn’t heard you that day. "just- it’s nothing. i was being stupid, a-and i’m okay now." it was a lie.

"do you take me as an idiot?" he asked. gears shifted in his eyes. "sit down," he said, suddenly calm.

you did so, sitting as farthest as you could from him.

"closer," he gritted out. you scooted a centimetre. "closer." another centimeter. "clo-ser." he pulled you so you were sitting angled toward him, knee brushing his.

"baku...gou?" so many questions flashed in your mind.

"confirm something for me," he ordered. "what exactly did you say to me before running away?"

"i- nothing. it was nothing, i told you, bakugou."

"tell. me. i don’t care if you quoted freud, told me a failed joke, or what. tell me."

your mind was devoid of possible jokes you could use to lie.

you opened your mouth, forcing the words out with all your might. "i don’t remember the specifics," you rambled. "i don’t think i was in the right state of mind-"

"spit it out."

"i think it went something like ‘i like you’ or something?" your pitch rose with every syllable.

"tch," a smile was on his face. "thought so." his hand was suddenly on your cheek, and his lips were on yours. he tasted like caramel. your eyes widened, and you pulled away, sputtering.

"what? what d’you mean, ‘thought so’?!"

"idiot, i like you too. also, when did you last brush your teeth?"

"i- that doesn’t matter. bakugou... i don’t think that this relationship is good for us. as friends or whatnot."

"huh? why not?"

"look at me. look at you. i can barely handle my quirk, and you’re a pro-hero who uses his quirk to help people. i can’t really do anything."

he mumbled something under his breath. "enko, do you think i care about any of that? i don’t care if you have the strongest quirk in the world or none at all. you’re strong - and i don’t say this ‘cause i like you - you’re kind, you see the best in people." he paused. "people don’t give me the time of day ‘cause they think i’m too irrational. brash. careless. but you? you see past that, you don’t care. you work hard no matter what people say. people-" his voice caught in his throat, "people say shit to you, and you don’t care. you keep going."

he saw you... like that? your face heated up.

"don’t be gettin’ all shy on me," he grunted. "tch. come here." he pulled you in for a hug, his arms wrapping around you and narrowly avoiding your wings. you flushed, holding him tight and inhaling his caramel scent. you squeezed your eyes shut, wishing to hold him like this forever.

“hey, enko,” he whispered into your ear. you looked at him, who was currently looking up and pointing. “halo.”

[haro-whumps]

Group Whumpees 14: Headway

CW: slavery, multiple whumpees, aftermath of abuse, property destruction, migraine, actually a pretty fluffy chapter all things considered

Tag List: @bleeding-demon-teeth​ @theycomeinthrees​‌  @redwingedwhump​ @whimperwoods​ @inpainandsuffering​ @whole-and-apart-and-between​ @whump-whump-whump-it-up​ @whumpingupastorm​ @newandfiguringitout​ @lonesome--hunter​ @looptheloup​ @icannotweave​  @deluxewhump​ @whumping-every-day​ @yeet-me-out-a-window​ @what-a-whumpy-world​ @burtlederp​ @swordkallya​ @finder-of-rings​ @fairybean101​ @adventuresofacreesty​ @arlennil​ @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight​ @lumpofwhump​ @thatsthewhump​ @pinkdiamondprince​ @shameless-whumper​  @whump-only​  @kiretto-laorentze​ @eatyourdamnpears​ @whumpzone​ @bluebadgerwhump​  @fanastywhump @jo-castle @muffindaddy @whumpsy-daisies

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Masterlist

Nyla was… conflicted. 

But it didn’t do her any good to be conflicted, so she put on her smile, fastened her shoes, and got to work. 

Master had been very generous the day before, giving them a truly absurd amount of time to just sit and relax--threat of ghosts notwithstanding. But now it was time for her to resume her routine, as much of it as she still had.

And, since they’d been preoccupied with ghosts, or non-ghosts, or whatever it was Greyson had seen and Master Galo had dealt with, that meant Master Galo’s “crash course on queerness” needed to happen this afternoon. Which, hm, well, it was rather unreasonable to be nervous about it, right? Master was kind, and the last gathering had been a net positive. Maybe it was just because it was something to look forward to, and Nyla was nervous about things to look forward to.

Also there was that dumpster out front and Nyla wasn’t sure what it was for (perhaps another volley with the art pieces?), but she would deal with that when Master ordered her to.

She was passing by the front door when it opened and her heart leapt into her throat. She whirled, stepping back, but a familiarly massive outline stepped in and she relaxed, smile turning a little less forced.

“Welcome home, Master,” she greeted, kneeling as she took his extended hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. He was damp with sweat and smelled like cut grass and warm air. “Did you enjoy your volunteer service?”

“Yeah; it’s gorgeous out. Partly cloudy and kinda hot, perfect early summer day.” Master Galo pushed his wet hair away from his face, Nyla watching the way his arms flexed and moved and observing her own lack of fear response.

Don’t think about it.

“I’m starving though; any idea when lunch is?”

“Apologies, Master, but it won’t be ready for another half-hour yet,” Nyla said, knowing Sasha had only just gotten it in the oven. Her smile tugged at the corners of her eyes, face tight.

“Sweet! Enough time for a shower then,” Master Galo said with a bright smile, loosening some of Nyla’s nerves.

Nyla gave a short bow, hands clasped in the folds of her apron skirt, and took a deep breath as she rose back up, watching Master Galo’s back as he climbed the steps two at a time. Alright then. (He really did have a nice back) Alright then.

Do your job, Nyla, focus.

It’d be easier if she had anything to focus on. She almost wished Master Galo would host something, bring over guests or Guests of his own. Something Nyla could be active for, something that would require planning and management and preparation. 

But it wasn’t her place. Master Galo would do as Master Galo pleased and she would facilitate where she could and be good and patient and pleasant and useless if Master wanted her to be because it was fine, it was fine.

“You were right,” Nyla said, voice quiet and weirdly flat for her. Evan looked up at her inquisitively, a winter boot balanced on his good thigh and a polishing rag in hand. “We’re entirely out of things to do.”

Evan snorted. “Told you.” He waved the boot good-naturedly, though smug as a cat,” I mean, c’mon Nyla, it’s barely even summer.”

“I’m bored--I’m, stir-crazy,” she whispered, ridiculously daring but if she didn’t complain to somebody she was probably going to explode. 

“I think Greyson is the only one who isn’t--or, well, I mean, there was that whole thing yesterday…” Evan trailed off, and Nyla chanced a small, barely-audible groan. 

“What am I supposed to do?” she lamented, and Evan carefully scooted himself sideways, making room for her on the boot bench. 

“Come sit and be bored with me. I’m always down to complain about things, and hearing you go at it is pretty new.” He patted next to him, and Nyla glowered at the clean, unassuming wood before plopping down next to him. She huffed, lifting up the hem of her dress and pulling a loose threat taut so she could snap it.

“I just wish he would give us tasks. I wish we’d had the… talk, this morning.”

“Yeah.” Evan handed her the matching boot to his own and she diligently started polishing, feeling instant relief at having something to do with her hands. “Waiting for it… sucks.”

Nyla felt a strange little curl of emotion in her and nudged him with her elbow. “Well, you would know better than I.”

“Hey!” Evan gasped, looking at her in honest shock before laughing, open mouthed and still surprised, and Nyla smiled. “So now little miss perfect is going to scorekeep?”

“Little Miss Perfect, I like the sound of that.”

“We should bore you shitless more often,” Evan said, leaning forward with playful curiosity dancing across his features.

“Don’t get used to this,” Nyla said, turning up her nose and deliberately sitting with pristine posture. “I’m just having a psychotic break real quick and then I’ll be back to normal.”

Evan laughed, and she smiled, a pang of pain shooting behind her eyes as she did but she was having a nice time, so she smothered any wince before she made it. “Well I better take advantage of it while I can, then.”

The sound of the water shutting off had both their heads snapping upwards, despite the fact that neither of them could see through the ceiling, and Nyla’s perfect smile was back in place, tension in her temples. “...It seems you may have to wait,” Nyla stated, setting down the boot and brushing out her apron, gathering herself. She quickly finger combed her hair, smoothed down her apron once again, and Evan caught her around the wrist.

“You okay?” he asked. Ah, she’d fiddled too much.

“Just nervous, I suppose. Nothing that won’t be resolved after lunch.”

Evan nodded slowly, letting her go, and she changed her perfect slave smile to her “don’t worry the family, I’m fine” smile. Like usual, he seemed to buy it, and Nyla slipped her perfect smile back in place with a whirl of skirts and went to serve Master Galo lunch.

He’d demanded that Grey ‘take it easy’ yet again, and Nyla decided, rather selfishly, that that meant she would take his duties as butler from him that day. But then, was it truly selfish, when Sasha would just as likely faint if she was asked to, and Evan couldn’t walk on that leg of his? Lilah was able to do it, sure, but old habits die hard and Nyla couldn’t help but want to keep their littlest as far away from their owner as often as possible. Even though this one was kind.

Then the five of them were crowded together on a couch, Master Galo standing with his laptop hooked up to the TV in front of them. Nyla subtly covered Sasha’s hand with her own, where it gripped her sleeve, and Lilah leaned against Greyson with her legs hooked over Evan’s good one.

“Alright, so, queer shit 101,” Master Galo said with a bright smile to the group, hands propped on his hips. “I am going to attempt to keep things basic while still covering the bases, but please ask questions if you have them. In the great words of someone older than me, I don’t know what you don’t know. And I also don’t know what misconceptions you might have, though given Auntie Bethany, I can make some more or less solid guesses. So, without further ado.” 

Master Galo hit a key on his keyboard and the slide changed, “Queer! Our first term, the word used for the entire community of people who are neither cis nor straight. In recent years people who wish to gatekeep, meaning to exclude people from our community, have voiced backlash against the word ‘queer’ as being ‘too-inclusive’ and have recruited well-intentioned but ultimately inexperienced youths to cycle their rhetoric. That is bullshit. Queer is our word, it is a good word, just because ignorant and hateful people are bigoted against us does not mean it isn’t our word, and it’s an all-inclusive label for anyone and everyone who finds their home among us.”

Lilah tentatively leaned forward, hand extended, and Master Galo pointed to her with arched eyebrows. It wasn’t as threatening as Nyla might have once considered it. “What’s ‘cis,’ sir?”

“That is on my next slide, I promise. For right this current moment, just know that queer is the big main umbrella word for everyone. It covers all the bases, all your base are belong to us.” Lilah nodded as Master Galo chuckled at his own joke. Nyla didn’t get the reference, but she recognized that he’d made one. 

“Cool, so, you will see many squares with lots of stripes throughout this presentation. You don’t have to memorize anything, I just think they spruce up the slides, but for reference this one is the queer flag. You may or may not be familiar with the rainbow flag, that one’s a little different, we’ll get to that.”

Master Galo flipped slides. “Transgender!” he announced happily, a blue, pink, and white flag on the TV behind him. “You have seen this flag on various articles of clothing and buttons I own. And stickers. In general I have this flag around a lot, but! That is because, I am trans. You know this,” he said, making a broad gesture towards their group. 

“The word ‘transgender’ effectively means ‘anyone who isn’t cis,’ and yes I will explain. So! Say there is a little baby, and the midwife or doctor lifts the little newborn body up to examine, and says ‘she’s a girl!’ Now, say, years down the road, that person thinks of herself and says ‘yeah sure I’m a girl.’ That is what’s called ‘cisgender,’ when the gender you were assigned at birth matches up with your own sense of self. Now, say that same baby grows up, but says ‘actually, I’m not a girl.’ That would make that person transgender.

“I am what’s called ‘binary trans;’ I was assigned female at birth, grew up, discovered I was actually a dude, and here we are. Thus, I am called a transman. The same thing happens for transwomen, but in the opposite direction. Transmen are men, transwomen are women, but some people are neither a guy or a girl. They are what is called,” Master Galo switched the slide.

“Nonbinary!” Nyla squinted, tentatively raising her hand, which Evan and Lilah were also doing. “Okay wow, lots of questions, Nyla?”

“I… apologize, sir, but I’m not sure I understand. They’re not a man or a woman?”

“Correct.”

Nyla shared a quick, anxious glance with the rest of her family.

“Okay, don’t worry,” Master Galo said, holding up his hands with a small chuckle, “I will explain. First, Evan and Lilah, was that your question too? Yeah, figured as much, okay. So, I have found the easiest way to visualize nonbinary genders is like this: Say men are blue, and women are red. Or pink, but that’s just a light shade of red, so, anyway, color theory is not today’s presentation. Back on track! If you’re imagining gender like a color wheel, that means some people are gonna be purple, right?”

Nyla nodded slowly. Okay, that made sense. A combination of traits both male and female. 

“But, on that same vein, not all other colors are purple. Sometimes colors are green, or yellow, or orange. Men and women do make up the majority of the human population, but not all of it. There’s lot of ways to have a gender, and none of them are wrong.” Lilah raised her hand again and Master Galo pointed.

“How does that--I mean, if you have a vagina or a penis, shouldn’t that be, I mean, hard? To…”

“Okay, okay, good point. Very good point Lilah, I jumped the gun a little. Backing up a bit!”

Master Galo clapped his hands lightly, no force or noise to the motion, and Nyla had the brief thought that the gesture made him look somewhat teacherly. Which made sense, given… everything happening, but there was something distinctive and pleasant about that thought. Hm.

She wasn’t gonna worry about that. Focus.

“So, biological sex and a person’s gender are two seperate things. Often, they go hand in hand. That’s where cis people come from. However, while biological sex is, y’know, biological, gender is a social construct. Which means, it has more to do with perception and sense of self, and nothing to do with your actual physical body. So, since this is the 100 level course, I could frame it as, gender’s in your head and sex is in your genitals, make sense?”

Another round of slow, wary nods. 

“It’s technically a little more complicated than that, but we’re not gonna get into that today.”

Evan raised his hand again, and Master Galo pointed at him with a smile.

“So… Sir, do you, have a dick?”

Master Galo’s lips instantly folded in and he raised a hand to cover his mouth, his shoulders shaking a little, and Nyla felt a spike of anxiety, crown of her head feeling taut. But it was laughter, a wheezing chuckle escaping her master when he said, “Uhm.”

He took a deep breath, “So, no. I do not. I don’t really want or need bottom surgery and am comfortable with my genitals the way they are. Bottom surgery is not a necessary component of transitioning, and some people, like myself, don’t have it done. However,” Master Galo continued with a rush of air, “it is generally considered extremely rude to ask a trans person about their genital structure unless you have the explicit intention of sleeping with them. I am aware you meant nothing by it!” Master Galo rushed, hands held up as Evan began to flounder. “You weren’t intentionally being rude, it’s chill. Just, for future reference, if you ever meet another trans person, that’s on the list of questions you don’t ask.”

Master Galo cleared his throat, looking a little red, but in good humor about it. He turned back to his screen with a, “Now, Lilah, you bring up an interesting point.” Master Galo flipped forward a few slides, to a screen with a yellow square that had a purple circle in the middle of it.

“Intersex! Sex, like gender, is not actually straightforward. There are many ways to be intersex, ranging from genital structure to chromosomes to secondary sex characteristics. But ultimately sex, like gender, is on a spectrum. Just because the majority of people fall easily into little categories of, urg, ‘biologically male’ or ‘biologically female,’ which for the record are not phrases you should… use, but since this is an intro to queer shit I’m making this as understandable as I can. Anyway.” Master Galo seemed to gather his thoughts. “Right! People fall into one category or the other most of the time, but not all of the time! And the ‘not all of the time’ people are intersex. Some intersex people do not feel that their biology automatically makes them queer, and do not percieve themselves to be part of the queer community. Others take comfort and community among us, so it’s always up to the person.

“Anyway, flipping back a few slides, nonbinary! This is the umbrella term for everyone who does not fall completely into ‘100% a man’ or ‘100% a woman.’ There are many ways to be nonbinary, but for the record, many nonbinary people prefer to be referred to with they/them pronouns. Not all! But, like how men use he/him, or women use she/her, many nonbinary people are referred to with a singular ‘they.’ I am aware my aunt may have had grammar-based arguments complaining about nonbinary people and gender neutral language, but I promise the singular ‘they’ predates my aunt by multiple centuries.

“Genderqueer,” Master Galo said with another slide, “This one goes hand in hand with nonbinary. Effectively, it means ‘neither fully masculine nor fully feminine,’ and is, as the word ‘queer’ might suggest, an inclusive, broad term for people who don’t have a particularly hard line definition for their gender.

“Genderfluid, meaning that a person will shift between genders depending on the day. So like, some days this person would wake up and say ‘I’m a girl today,’ and other days ‘I’m a boy,’ and maybe some days they wouldn’t feel like either of those at all. Again, this varies from person to person, but the general idea is that they flow between genders.

“Agender, meaning they have no gender at all.”

Again, Nyla, Lilah, and Evan’s hands rose. Nyla was surprised to see that even Greyson’s hand lifted, if only a little, on that. Master Galo smiled with a huff, but Nyla didn’t feel threatened. “Let’s go with Greyson, yeah?”

“How would someone simply not have a gender, sir?”

“So, if we’re imagining genders as like a color wheel, agender would be like, white, blank. No color. No gender. People ask them ‘are you a guy or a girl’ and their answer is a flat out ‘no.’”

Nyla was struggling with that. Nyla was struggling with that one pretty hard. Her brain felt tight. She got the concept, but…

“Master?”

“Yes Nyla?”

“Would it be alright if we understood in theory but not in practice?”

“Yeah, this can be hard for people to wrap their heads around, mostly I just want to introduce you to the concepts. That’s perfectly reasonable Nyla.”

Nyla dipped her head in thanks, her family nodding as well. Master Galo flipped the slide.

“Neutrois. Hand in hand with agender, if we’re using the color thing then, like. If agender is white, then neutrois would be black. People who are neutrois might describe their gender as ‘null’ or ‘void’ and other descriptors of the like. Again, I just want to introduce you to the concept, you don’t need to be able to conceptualize it perfectly.

“Okay last one under the trans umbrella,” Master Galo said, “Bigender. Someone who is multiple genders simultaneously. So, for simplicity’s sake, you could say someone who is both a man and a woman at the same time.” Master Galo smiled at them. “There are many other genders people have, but again with this being the introductory course, I just wanted to hit the big ones. Any gender questions?”

Nyla tentatively raised her hand. Master Galo smiled at her, and his expression took the edge off her anxiety.

“So, we know you, had surgery on your chest, sir,” Nyla said, hoping she wasn’t being rude by bringing it up, “do nonbinary people also engage in,” she floundered, not sure what the word for it was, but she wasn’t going to ‘um’ or stutter (even if he’d said it was okay, she could do better, and she would). 

“Some do,” Master Galo mercifully cut her off. “Some people are fine looking the way they do, or use cosmetics to accentuate certain features, and some receive surgeries. It all depends on personal comfort. And also sometimes to alter others’ perceptions, I knew someone who had no real issue with their chest but other people would assume they were a girl because of it and surgery was affirming and helpful with other people’s way of viewing them, which in turn lowered their discomfort.”

“And, sir?” Master nodded. “If a person’s name is, very feminine or masculine?”

“Most of us change our names!” he said brightly, “Like how I picked Galo for myself. Many nonbinary people will also change their names to something a little more ‘neutral.’ Again, not all though.”

Evan raised his hand that time. “You picked your own name, sir?”

“Yup! When I started to transition I changed my name. I should show you all the movie it came from sometime; it’s real fun you might enjoy it.”

“Sir?”

“Yeah, bud?”

“What was your name before Galo, sir?” Evan asked. Master Galo made an unidentifiable noise, but Nyla didn’t think that it was good. Her spine lengthened and her hand left Sasha’s on her arm to clench neatly in her lap.

“Sooo, you don’t get to know that,” Master Galo said, ducking his head with a slow gesture of his open palm towards Evan. “The name I had before Galo is what is called a ‘deadname,’ the name a trans person was assigned at birth that has since been put to rest. Again, I know you are being curious and I would definitely like to encourage you to continue asking questions, but, that’s another one of those questions you should not ask anyone who is not me. Asking for someone’s deadname is considered rude, and referring to someone by their deadname is extremely rude and actively malicious.”

“Sir, I wasn’t--”

“Easy, Evan, I know,” Master Galo said with a patient smile. “It’s good that you ask me these questions, and not someone else, because you’re learning, and I know you don’t mean any harm. But, in sum, the name I had before is not relevant, and it is not something to be shared. Any other questions at the moment? We’ve had good ones.”

A brief bout of silence, and Master Galo flipped the screen to the only flag Nyla did recognize.

“Onto sexual orientations! Sexualities, they’re called. You will probably recognize the gay flag, this is another one of those umbrella terms meaning ‘anyone who isn’t straight’ while also having the capacity to mean ‘someone who is exclusively attracted to their own gender.’ It is a term meant for everyone in the community, much the same way queer is. Yes, Evan?”

“Are you gay?”

“No, actually, I’m pretty much straight. I’m aware that men can be attractive but don’t really feel attraction to them.” Master Galo cocked his head. “You worded that kind of intensely there, you alright buddy?”

Evan was already stiff, and Nyla recognized the way his mouth twitched when he was biting down a snarl. “I’m fine.”

The lack of an honorific made the family tense, eyes on Evan because he was, like a moth to flame, doing something stupid again, but Master Galo either ignored it or didn’t notice. 

“Cool. So, along with ‘queer community’ and ‘gay community,’ you may or may not have heard the phrase ‘LGBT.’ This stands for Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender, and is sort of the most widely-in-use acronym for the queer community.

“Lesbians! What would the world do without them,” Master Galo said, flipping to a slide with lots of pinks and oranges. “Nowadays, lesbian is the word for women who are exclusively interested in other women, but historically it was used to describe any queer woman at all, back before bisexual really entered into people’s vocabularies. For the record: nonbinary people can be and often are lesbians. Anyone who has literally any ties to femininity and is attracted, more or less exclusively, to women and people with ties to femininity, counts as a lesbian. 

“Bisexual! People who are attracted to 1. their own gender and 2. other genders. Sometimes it’s phrased as ‘attraction to men and women,’ which, for the record, is a fine way for you to conceptualize it here in the introductory course, but I want to be clear that bisexuality does and always has included nonbinary peeps.” Master Galo smiled. “Bixesual is a perfectly good and normal thing to be; there’s nothing wrong with it,” he said, and if Nyla had to guess she’d say he was deliberately not looking directly at any of them in particular.

“Pansexual! Hand in hand with bisexuality, pansexual people are attracted to others regardless of their gender. It can be difficult to distinguish between the two, but for some people the differences between sexualities are important. For some people, not so much, and they identify as bi and pan simultaneously. Again, we fall back on the ‘it all depends on the person’ idea. I will state that pansexuals are not attracted to everyone, they’re just attracted to every gender. Just because someone is of a certain gender doesn’t mean others won��t still find them ugly.

“Asexual! The umbrella term for people who don’t really feel attraction to other people, no matter the gender. We love respect cherish and support asexual people,” Master Galo said, oddly firm on that one. Lilah raised her hand.

“So, they just, don’t? Anybody? Sir?”

“Yeah, so, like, a straight man would only feel attraction towards women, and no attraction to men. A gay man would feel attraction to men, and no attraction to women. A bisexual man would feel attraction to men and women. And an asexual man would not feel attraction to either.”

Lilah nodded. “Okay, thank you sir.”

“However, ace--asexual--is an umbrella term. There are multiple ways to be asexual.”

Nyla frowned minutely, but then her smile was back in place. She wasn’t really sure how there could be multiple ways to not feel attraction to someone.

“There’s the spectrum of sex-positive, sex-neutral, and sex-repulsed asexuals. Sex-positive asexuals enjoy sex, the action, they just don’t think anybody’s hot. The activity is fun, but no one they look at hits that ‘oh hot I wanna have sex with them’ vibe. Sex-neutral asexuals don’t find anyone attractive, and don’t have any particularly strong feelings towards sex. It’s on par to like, going for a jog or having dinner together. Sort of a bland ‘whatever’ feeling. Sex-repulsed asexuals don’t find anyone attractive and do not, under any circumstances, want to have sex with anyone, ever. All of these are good and well! There’s no ‘wrong’ way to be asexual.”

“Next up we have grey-ace. 99% of the time, they don’t find anyone attractive, but every once in a blue moon they’ll see a person and go ‘oh hot.’ They are still asexual, they just have occassional feelings of attraction to seemingly random people. Or maybe they have a highly specific type! Again, depends on the person.”

“Last up for the ace umbrella, demisexual. Demisexual people are capable of feeling physical attraction, but only after a strong, meaningful, romantic bond has been formed. This is different than waiting in a relationship until you’re close. The person does not feel attraction, at all, until a committed bond has been formed.” Master Galo paused, letting them turn that over in their heads, but when no one asked any questions he flipped the slide once more.

“And wrapping up our crash-course on queer terminology, aromantic. Aromantic is similar to asexuality in all aspects, except that instead of talking about physical attraction, it’s about romance. Some people just do not feel the inclination to form romantic bonds with others. They still might, depending on the person, just like an asexual person still might engage in sexual activity, but the attraction isn’t there. They don’t see people and go ‘I’d like to see if this could work out as a romantic relationship’ they’re just in it for friends. Grey-romantic and demiromantic people are, again, much the same, but with romance, feeling that 99% or only gaining the capacity for a romantic relationship after a strong, meaningful, committed bond of friendship has been formed.”

Master Galo took a big breath. “Any questions?” he asked with a proud smile. 

Nyla honestly felt like she had too much information rattling around in her brain to even begin formulating a question, but Evan raised his hand.

“I don’t mean to be rude, sir,” Evan said, sounding like he was struggling not to grit his teeth.

“I know. Go ahead.”

“So, since you’re a transman, and you’re straight, then you’re only attracted to women..?”

“Yep!”

“And then, if a woman is attracted to you..?” Evan trailed off.

“That would still be considered ‘straight’ attraction, yep. The woman in question might be straight, or bi, or pan, or maybe ace! It’s all up to her. But her attraction to me would be ‘opposite-sex attraction’ yeah.”

“Was that rude sir?”

“No, no, you’re good, bud. And now you know!”

“Thank you sir.”

“Of course! I’m glad you’re asking questions. Anyone else?”

Another beat of silence.

“Alright, cool, good talk team. To wrap it all up, there are all sorts of ways people can experience gender and attraction, and none of them are wrong. Everything I talked about today is good, natural, and worthy of respect. Go ahead and let me know if you ever have questions in the future, I’m perfectly willing to talk about it.”

He took in a deep breath.

“The queer community has long faced oppression on a global scale. However, many cultures saw queerness as natural and didn’t much question it until, ah, interlopers became involved, and rerouted the course of history. But regardless of acceptance or ostricization, all cultures have their own queer histories, their own words and perceptions. 

“In recent years, and I mean really recent, queer people have started making great strides in changing legislation and public opinion of us towards the positive, though we still face a number of obstacles. You have probably noted that I am not fond of police. This is in no small part due to the fact that I am transgender. And then of course people like my aunt and various religious institutions will also condemn myself and my peers, due to malicious misconceptions or just straight up bigotry. 

“So I understand why you all may… struggle, with this information, for a bit. But I assure you, nothing is as bad as my aunt made it out to be, and if you ever want to know more I’m happy to talk with you about it.” Master Galo beamed and propped his hands on his hips. “Which about wraps this up.”

The doorbell rang. Everyone, including Master Galo, tensed.

“I think I’ll answer that,” he said. “Uh, dismissed? No, wait, wait here, we’ve got a group project I wanna work on this afternoon.”

Nyla was not in a habit of thanking god for much of anything, but she thanked god for that. Finally, a task.

Master Galo made a pleased noise and a bit of chatter Nyla could identify as friendly, there was the sound of something heavy hitting the floor, then the door swinging closed.

She was on her feet and smiling when he returned, leaning his big arm on the doorway and looking happy. “Sweet, so, the stuff we ordered has started to arrive, which leads me to another thing I wanted to talk about!”

Master Galo rounded back in front of the couch where he’d been, clapping his hands together and smiling. Nyla tentatively sat back down. ‘So! I would first like to establish that I am not suggesting you break up your current sleeping arrangement. However, you’re not gonna be able to fit all the stuff you collectively ordered into that one room without it turning into a nightmare, so I’ve thought about it and it’s my idea that you all should have rooms that are your own space. Not to sleep in, obviously, just rooms that you can use to store your stuff and you can decorate them to your own interests and you’ll have a private area you can go to if you need alone time. Sound good?” Master Galo asked, looking to Nyla, to Lilah, scanning over the group.

“You are quite generous, Master,” Nyla said, but no, no, that wasn’t quite right, for him. “Thank you,” she tried again, simpler, far too rude for Mistress, but for Master…

He smiled at her, pat her on the head far too briefly, and said, “You’re welcome. Let’s go check out what arrived, yeah?”

All of Nyla’s dresses, the skirts and top Sasha had ordered from that company, and a couple of Lilah’s things were in the first two boxes, and Evan’s t-shirts and jeans were in the third. “Sorry Greyson, looks like your stuff isn’t here yet.”

Greyson nodded, outwardly impassive, and given that it had barely been his idea to order anything at all that made sense. Nyla and the others followed Master Galo to the basement, their Master helping Evan down and hastening the process, and showed them the rooms he’d selected for them. Nyla hesitantly stepped into “hers.” 

It felt wrong. She’d cleaned and examined this room countless times before, but now, standing inside it felt incorrect. 

The bed had been folded up into a couch, which was standard for the beds housed in the series of apartments in the basement. The sitting area and kitchenette that existed in the middle of these rooms were indicative that these were for long-term guests, not, not slaves. The closet, filled with more hangars than she remembered, the dresser, the small desk, they were for people, not Nyla. 

Except, apparently, they were for Nyla now. 

“Oh, shoot, that lock is totally broken,” Master Galo’s voice came from elsewhere in the apartments, “Here, go for this room, then, sorry I totally hadn’t noticed that earlier.”

A broken lock? It was something Nyla had failed to notice, too. Her heart rate accelerated and her head felt tight; Mistress would cane her for missing something so obvious, but she deliberately swallowed and took a deep breath. Master Galo was not Mistress. She couldn’t keep expecting him to act like her.

He was so much kinder. Gentle, and careful, with a sweet voice and warm hands that only ever touched her--

Nyla yanked a hangar off the closet’s bar with far too much force, utterly graceless, and it caused all the other hangars to clatter together and make a right ruckus. Her heart picked back up again, because she was clumsy, noisy, a fumbling little blushing nuisance! She unfolded her first dress and willed herself to remember that making noise was okay, it was allowed now, she could make noise and still be perfect, no one was mad at her, no one was going to come hurt her.

And where was her smile!?

She really was falling to pieces, she thought to herself, pulling another hangar off the rod properly and fitting another dress onto it. Smiling. She was smiling, she was grateful for this unexpected and unasked for privilege (weren’t they supposed to ask for things? Why was this happening unprompted?!), she was graceful and perfect and, fine. She was fine. Her temples felt tight, but she was smiling and composed and fine.

It really was satisfying to see her dresses hung up all neatly, though. When her skirts and sweaters and undershirts arrived, she’d be able to finish filling the closet, and it would look so neat and it would be hers and it was selfish, to be so vain and materialistic, but maybe since Master Galo had ordered it, that meant it was okay?

She rubbed at her right eye and stroked her hand down the material of the first dress, admiring the ruffles around the neckline and the neat, black stripes of the sewn-in green vest. She would get to wear that. She would get to wear all of them, with their pretty patterns and their pleated skirts and their ruffles and lace and bows.

It felt far too pretty for the likes of her.

She wished she knew how to properly show her Master gratitude.

She wanted, she--wanted. She didn’t want to be caned or cut or bleed or cry, but she wanted to do something, something physical, something to show just how much she appreciated everything he was doing for them, to make him happy, like he’d made her happy.

But what did a slave have to give, except her body and her service? He’d already made it clear that he didn’t want either of those, aside from her now mind-numbing chores, and that was hardly something to make him happy. More of just an expected base behavior out of her, out of all of them.

She didn’t know his favorite foods; Greyson never reported any particular signs of delight no matter what Sasha tried, at least nothing that stood out from his regular compliments. She didn’t have any way to engage with his hobbies. She couldn’t kneel at his feet and beg him to hurt her with her lips on his shoe. His base state of friendly and cheery made it impossible to tell what he liked best. The only real, solid thing she knew he liked was when they asked him for things, and it was the receiving of things that Nyla wanted to express gratitude for!

It was the weirdest, strangest, most unfamiliar form of frustration she’d ever felt. Maybe--maybe it wouldn’t count as Attending him if she offered a massage? Greyson was better at it than her, and she hadn’t had much practice in the last decade and a half aside from occasionally working a knot out of Sasha’s shoulder or soothing the nerves out of Evan or Lilah. But she’d been trained properly, and she could quickly skim an internet article sometime to refresh herself.

Oh but if Master Galo figured out she was trying to Attend him, even just a little, he might get mad, and she wouldn’t be able to handle that. She would just have to be extra-perfect for him. Sit and not kneel, smile, be unobtrusive but able to fulfil his every whim or need, maybe ask him for things? But what else could she possibly want that he hadn’t already given her?

She brushed down her apron and left “her room,” walking primly to the family bedroom and pulling out all the clothes from her drawer, which were smaller in number now that her other dress had been sliced open. She went ahead and grabbed Evan’s clothes too, and Master Galo was in the sitting area in the middle of “their rooms” when she walked back. She nodded to him, and he smiled at her before tilting his head and gesturing at the clothes in her arms.

“What’s that?”

“My clothes, as well as Evan’s, sir, from the shared dresser.”

“Oh, good memory,” he praised before returning to his phone, and she couldn’t help but flush faintly under his casual approval. She went into “Evan’s room” and found him sitting on the couch, elbow on his good knee and hands pressed together in front of his face. He looked mad.

“Are you alright?” she asked quietly, so faint ideally their Master would be unable to hear. He looked up at her, dark eyes glinting with what she just knew meant trouble, and hauled himself up onto his crutches. He made as though to walk past her, and Nyla turned in confused alarm, which morphed into full alarm when he closed the door.

“Evan! Master Galo is--”

“Right there, yeah I know,” Evan said, voice mercifully quiet even though he flipped the lock. Nyla could scream if she wasn’t rooted to the spot in shock. Evan took the clothes that were his and gave her a brief “thanks” before he threw them on the floor.

“Evan,” Nyla hissed in bubbling horror, staring at the rumpled fabric. 

“Hey, it’s ‘my’ room, right?” Evan sneered as he sat back down with a heavy thump, wincing when he jostled his wound. “Which means I can make a mess of it if I want, right?!”

“Evan, these rooms are gifts--”

“That we didn’t fucking ask for. We’re supposed to ask, right?”

“He told us, it’s because we don’t have space in the main room for the things we did ask for!” Nyla hissed, “And keep your voice down!” She didn’t mention that she’d been having the same doubts. She was trembling, clutching her clothes to her chest. “I--I need to go. I need to finish putting my things away.”

She stepped away from him, needing to pause at the door to summon her smile, to suppress her wild shivers, to take a deep breath and gather herself, and when she flipped the lock she heard Evan call after her, “I’m sorry.”

She turned back again, carefully crafted smile slipping, and Evan had his face in his hand, the other clutching the edge of the cushion. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m just--sorry. I’m sorry Nyla.” He ran his fingers back into his hair and gripped, hard, pulling at his roots. “I’m sorry.”

Her shoulders dropped, chest squeezing, and she swaned over to him, dropping to her knees in front of him. He startled, letting go of his hair, and she reached up her free hand to cup his face. He closed his eyes as she leaned up and kissed his cheek, and nuzzled his face against hers as he pet a hand down her hair.

“Just try to work through whatever this is before you leave the room, okay?” she asked softly, trying to be gentle with him, to not get scared and frustrated like she normally felt when he got like this. Master Galo wouldn’t hurt him like Mistress did; she didn’t need to be scared, didn’t need to be frustrated with Evan because he had more time now. “Master Galo’s in the sitting area.”

“Yeah,” Evan answered her, finger combing his bangs to the side. “Yeah. Sorry. I will.”

She kissed his forehead as she stood, and was able to summon her smile much easier this time. She rubbed at her right eye, brushed down her skirt, and went back to “her room” to finish hanging up her clothes and arranging her underthings in the drawers. 

When she finished, she skimmed her fingers over the dustless wood of the dresser. “Her” dresser. Pink with floral designs, old fashioned and expensive, an ‘antique’ that was as good as new. It was… surreal. She left the room, crossed to her Master, and slipped to her knees, then rump, to sit next to his feet. Her hands folded neatly in her lap, and she blinked away the weird feeling in her eye.

“Thank you, Master,” she said again, wishing she could say it better, express it better.

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” he said gently, leaning forward in his seat and petting his fingers through her hair. She allowed herself to tilt her head, eyes slipping closed, and she savored the touch. His knee was right there, it would be all too easy for her to lean in and lay her head against it. But no, no, she was better than that. He hadn’t expressed a desire for her to submit to him in that way and she was going to be perfect for him.

“Master,” she started, reminding herself that he liked questions, that technically all times were good times and she couldn’t pester him with too many, “is there a way you would like to be thanked? I am grateful, and want to show it to you properly.”

“No, Nyla, you don’t need to,” he said gently, and he sounded almost sad. “Just saying ‘thank you’ is enough.”

She tried not to feel disappointed. At the very least, she wouldn’t show it. “As you like, sir.”

The others joined them, Sasha sitting as close to Nyla as she dared, Greyson kneeling at Master Galo’s other side, Lilah sitting on the couch in a way that made them all panic slightly but reaped no consequences. When Evan joined them, a noticeable stretch of time later, Master Galo made no comment on his late appearance, only smiled and put his phone away.

“Great, you’re all here. So, about the project I mentioned. You may have noticed the dumpster out front. I would like everyone to please work together and move all of my aunt’s canes, chains, whips, restraints, muzzles, cages, knives, and the like into the dumpster. Anything she used with the purpose of hurting or humiliating you, I would like to see go. I’ve got a power drill and I’m gonna work on her, uh, dungeon, and rip up those D rings in the den and music room, but just, like. Anything you can think of. Anything used with the purpose of you guys’ pain. Get rid of it, please.”

Someday, Nyla would stop being surprised by all of Master Galo’s many surprises.

Even so, an order was an order, and like many of Master Galo’s commands she found this one easy enough to obey. Nyla rose with all her grace, curtsied, and walked a direct path up two flights of stairs to the fireplace in Mistress’s boudoir.

Mistress had never used the fire pokers on Nyla. Lilah, sure, Evan, occasionally, but Nyla had kept herself perfect, too perfect to burn. But the fear, the ever present knowledge that she could burn, at any moment, at her Mistress’s slightest whim, the moment she stopped being flawlessly, untouchably perfect, had kept her tense as a coiled wire. She stopped by the main floor’s fireplace and grabbed those pokers too, one set in each fist, and all too gleefully hoisted them into the dumpster out front. 

She diligently visited every fireplace in the house, after that, removing everything that could and would have burned her, had she not kept herself perfectly poised on her self-made pedestal. Evan was in Mistress’s room, Lilah the den, Sasha the music room. Greyson, Nyla wasn’t sure where he’d gone, but wasn’t going to get bent out of shape over it. She rubbed her right eye, then temple, and returned to the basement.

Master Galo’s power drill was loud, making her wince and the space behind her eyes sting, but she entered the Punishment Room regardless. He’d collected a small pile near the door: the shackles he’d removed from their anchors in the wall, the thin mats Nyla was pretty sure were intended for yoga that had served as sleeping pallets to the two cells, the oil and wax sconces and dishes that had hung from the walls and ceiling. The wooden horse. All of the tools, the whips and floggers and knives. Nyla gathered up an armful, and Master Galo paused in his drilling to smile at her. 

“Hey, thanks.”

“Of course, Master. Do you require any other assistance?”

“No, I think I’m good. Dismantling my evil aunt’s evil shit is kinda cathartic, really.”

Nyla bowed, and trotted back up the steps with her load of chains and whips and manacles. It was satisfying to hear them clatter down into the dumpster. She felt weird. Good?? Strange.

“Oh, are you hauling stuff for Master Galo?” Evan asked. Nyla nodded with an affirming noise. “Great, so he’ll stay down there. Lilah, hand me that cane, Grey, don’t throw that in yet.”

Nyla looked and saw that Greyson had brought the dog cages up from the utility room. Greyson cocked his head at Evan, but set them down on the drive. Evan, crutch under one arm and heavy, metal cane in his dominant hand, proceeded to beat the shit out of the cages.

The family mostly just stood there, and watched, as he reduced the cages to little more than messy heaps of broken wire. He was panting, hard, by the end of it, and tossed the cane into the dumpster.

“Did you reopen your--” Lilah asked, cut off by Evan’s, “I’m fine.”

“Okay, it just looks like you might’ve ripped a stitch out, from all’a that.”

“Even if I did, I wouldn’t have done any differently,” Evan said, laughing a little and pulling Lilah in for a hug. “Fuck, that felt really good. You guys should try that.”

“I think th-that’s a y-you thing,” Sasha remarked, and Nyla chuckled. Then giggled. She rubbed at her eye, and headed back inside to grab another armload from the basement. She got the wooden horse up under her arm and shimmy-stepped her way up, the thing large and cumbersome but she couldn’t wait to get it out of the house. Greyson helped her lift it into the dumpster, and Nyla grabbed a third round.

It was on her way back down to grab a fourth armful that the pain struck her, right as her foot came down on the top step. She recognized it instantly for what it was. Ordinary pain was, in a rather hard to describe manner, very different from migraine pain. It was impossible to confuse the two.

A migraine. She was having a migraine. Oh of course, her head had felt tight all day! And her eye, that was her aura, oh, she was so stupid! How could she not have seen this coming?

Oh, god, the pain was settling in fast this time, too. It never set in all at once, but the speed was less gradual than usual, right then. She whimpered. The basement would be no good. Master Galo was using power tools down there, right across the hall from the family bedroom. Her normal migraine spot, under her nice, dark, quiet bed, wouldn’t work this time.

Think, she had a limited amount of time before the pain got bad. Where should she go? The butterfly room? That was nice and dark, no windows, but would it be quiet? She naturally gravitated towards the idea of a bathroom, where the tile would feel cool against her forehead and she could turn off the lights. Upstairs, probably, she went upstairs, hoping to escape the noise of things landing in the dumpster and her family moving and talking around her. Near the back of the house, not the front, not near the driveway. The bathroom off the lilac bedroom? She went straight for it, closing her right eye since she couldn’t really see all that well out of it.

God, it hurt so bad. She closed the door, plunging the bathroom into merciful blackness. It was quiet, just what she needed, her family and Master would be busy for a while yet, they wouldn’t need to come looking for her. She could just stay where she was, curled up against the bathroom floor, in the dark, in the silence.

God, god it hurt.

And she knew it was only going to get worse.

--

Galo had the bars unscrewed and the dungeon stripped down to nothing more than walls, the floor, and an archaic looking chandelier that he did not have the electrical expertise to deal with. He needed someone with, like, training to deal with that.

Nyla hadn’t come back for a while yet.

Which, okay, it was a big house and she probably had plenty of grudges to act out against inanimate objects, but it was weird that Nyla of all people would start helping haul away the stuff he piled up and then stop midway through. It wasn’t like her.

And when Galo’s brain told him to worry, he was starting to come to terms with the fact that it was usually right. Did it count as anxiety when it was true?

He hauled up a load after scanning the basement, and finding no one there. He got rid of the evil library books as he paced through the first floor, as well as the armchair from the den. He found Greyson and Evan, but no Nyla. Hrm. He asked if Greyson would please take care of the D rings in the den and Evan volunteered himself, which, whatever worked. Upstairs he ran into Sasha in the music room, and he pried up the D rings like he said he would since she didn’t exactly seem like the type for power tools, and was glad to hand the task over to Lilah when she gravitated towards him, leaving the drill in her capable hands.

But where was Nyla?

It was ridiculous to think that she’d been kidnapped by Barbra but Galo couldn’t help but jump to that conclusion. He stalked through the second floor, trying not to be visibly distressed lest he upset the other slaves, but running out of places to look. He opened the door of a guest bathroom, if only for the reason that it was closed, and his eyes widened with horror to see his girl lying in the fetal position on the floor.

“Nyla!” he shouted, rushing forward and dropping to his knees. She flinched, worse than he’d ever seen her jump, and curled in tighter, a muted scream passing her lips, and Galo’s panic bubbled over.

“Nyla, Nyla what’s wrong, what happened?!”

“Please!” she begged, sounding so small. “Please, please no, migraine, Master, please stop!”

Oh--oh. Oh, and his yelling would only have made it worse.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, guilt consuming him as he bent and caught sight of her silent tears. “What do you need, what helps?”

Galo didn’t know anything about migraines, other than “head hurt.” He knew they were awful, horrible things, and Nyla deserved to never ever have one. But he didn’t know--would medicine help? Was this one of those things that nothing helped, and she’d just have to wait it out? How long did they last? An hour? Should he touch her?

“Painkillers. Dark. Quiet. W--” she choked on a sob, high and pained and Galo’s heart broke into a thousand pieces. “Water, please, cold.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll go get painkillers and a glass of ice water? Do you--is the bathroom good? Is this a good place for you to be?”

“My bed,” she whined, hands over her eyes and body trembling faintly.

“Okay,” Galo said, mindful of each word, keeping his voice as quiet as possible. “Can--can you walk? Should I carry you? Should I touch you at all?”

“Just, don’t rattle me, please, don’t--hit my head, please, Master--”

“Never,” Galo breathed, and his heart broke all over again, to know that she still feared him so much, that Nyla had so little trust that she thought he would ever hurt her, much less when she was like this. “Never, Nyla, please, please believe that. I will never hit you.”

Nyla’s breath hitched, a little gaspy inhale, and then she slowly reached one hand out, and gripped Galo by the pant leg. Galo froze, standing on the edge of a brand new precipice, and tried to make his brain work, tried to think fast for once in his goddamn life, but his brain continued its sloth impression and he couldn’t process what this meant, though he felt its importance.

“Help me,” she begged, though it felt more like an admission than a plea. 

“Please, I don’t want the others to see me like this; I hate it when they see me like this,” she continued, and that felt closer to normal.

“Okay, okay, I can’t promise we’ll be able to avoid them but I’ll try my best. I’m going to pick you up now, alright?”

“Okay,” she whispered, barely moving her lips, but he understood why she wouldn’t want to nod her head, right then. Carefully, he gathered her up in his arms and stood. She curled in immediately, pressing her face into the crook of his neck, and he felt like he was holding the most breakable, easily-shattered entity in the universe. He felt a surge of protectiveness, a bone-deep need to take care of her, to make it better in any way he could. 

When they passed by the music room, its door open and Lilah inside with the drill, Nyla whimpered and pressed her hands hard against her ears. She wasn’t just pressing her face into his shoulder at that point, it was like she was actively trying to burrow into him, curled up so tight and stiff against him he felt she might shatter. He moved away from there as fast as he could, wanting to spare her everything he was able to. He tried to keep his gait smooth as he walked, slow on the stairs, and he actually did manage to avoid running into any of the others slaves.

He settled her down onto the cool sheets of her bed, wishing the slaves had softer pillows and wondering if he could get them any without them freaking out about it, and settled a palm between her shoulderblades.

“I’m gonna get that glass of water and those painkillers. Do you need anything else?”

“The blinds,” Nyla gasped softly, and Galo shut the blinds of the tiny skylight tightly, angled up so practically no light filtered in at all. He moved quickly, giving Greyson a probably-unconvincing smile as he passed him, but Nyla had asked that the others not know, so Galo wasn’t going to say anything. When he returned, he helped her sit up and handed her the medicine and the cup. The cool water seemed to help. 

Galo knelt by the bedside, elbows and forearms laid out in front of him on the mattress and his chin on the sheets. He stared worriedly at Nyla’s face, and wasn’t even thinking when he reached out and stroked a hand over her hair.

Realizing halfway through what he’d done, he snatched his hand back with a quietly hissed, “Shit, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to touch your head.”

“T--” Nyla swallowed, “Touch is fine, Master. Just, no… patting, or, percussion. Touch feels, good sir.”

“Yeah?” Galo whispered, no more than a breath. “Would you like me to stay with you?” he asked quietly, stroking a gentle palm down from the back of her head to mid-spine. 

“...Yes,” she admitted tremulously. “But--they last a while, Master.”

“Shhh,” Galo hushed, “I’ll stay. The others are busy and they’ll be fine, just focus on you for a little while, shh.”

Galo pet gently at Nyla’s hair, her shoulders, her back, needing to reposition a couple different times as certain parts of his body got tired or sore or lost blood flow. By the end of the first hour, Galo’s anxious concern had burned itself out, and the mild worry that remained was going to bat pretty hard with his boredom. By the end of the second hour, he’d fallen into a light doze and had been there for a while, his hand covering Nyla’s much smaller one, his thumb stroking very, very slowly over the skin on the back of her hand. He was fully asleep by hour three, Nyla’s fingers curled around his tighter than she’d ever dared before, so what a shame that he was asleep for it.

His impromptu nap came to an abrupt end when Nyla shifted, eyes flicking open but otherwise staying exactly where he was. Oh his neck was gonna have a SERIOUS crick in it.

“Nyla?” he asked softly, “Do you need anything?”

She shook her head slowly, and he perked up to see her voluntarily moving it. “It’s mostly gone now, Master.” She sat up very, very slowly, rubbing at her neck, and Galo mirrored her from his spot on the floor. 

“Okay, that’s good,” Galo said, still speaking quietly, “Is it like, a fade-out kind of thing?”

“Yes sir,” she said, slowly stretching out her legs and wincing a little.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Sore, sir. And hungry, and--exhausted.”

She sounded tired. Galo was pretty sure he’d never heard her sound quite this tired. Carefully, watching her face for any sign of a negative reaction, he reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. 

“I’ll get you something to eat, yeah?” he offered softly. “You can stay here and rest.”

Nyla shook her head again. 

“I can get up, sir. I don’t want to trouble you and the others will have noticed our absence and I need to walk out the stiffness and eating here would get crumbs in the bed, Master.”

Well, Galo could only really argue with one of those, but doubted Nyla would buy that she wasn’t causing him any trouble anyway. He stood, his own body protesting the movement, and stretched his arms up high above his head.

“Thank you.”

Galo glanced down, letting his arms drop, and smiled kindly when Nyla didn’t continue.

“Of course, Nyla, I’m here for you if you ever need me.” Then, because Galo was allergic to Emotional Moments, “Sooo, are we telling your friends we got abducted by aliens for the last,” he glanced at the time, “three and a half hours, or?”

Nyla giggled weakly, which, ten points to Gryffindor!

“I don’t mind them knowing, sir. It’s just when I have the migraine that I…”

“Okay, that makes sense,” Galo said. Not wanting to be seen while vulnerable.

So what does that mean that she let me? he thought with a flip in his stomach, but pushed the thought from his head.

Sasha seemed anxious when they entered the kitchen, but interestingly enough that anxiety did not seem to spike when she caught sight of Galo. Though that might have been because she simultaneously caught sight of Nyla, who was, as near as Galo could tell, Sasha’s main comfort in life. Best friend? Were they best friends? They might be best friends.

Galo wished he knew more about the lives of the people he Literally Lived With. 

“Migraine,” Nyla said with a tight smile, by way of explanation, “Master Galo helped me.”

That did successfully key Sasha up, and Galo smiled, lips pressed thin. He should leave. His presence was an intrusion and would only make them feel like they couldn’t talk freely. 

“I’ll leave you to it, then?” Galo offered, moving away from Nyla and sliding his hands into his pockets. Open. Nonthreatening. He knew when he wasn’t wanted.

“You don’t have to, Master.” Or maybe he didn’t. “I’m sure you’re hungry too, sir.”

Nyla sounded uncharacteristically nervous, but that also made sense. She was vulnerable, at the moment, fresh off a migraine and not at her absolute best.

So why was she asking him to stay, then? He wished he knew what she was thinking.

“Yeah?” he asked, searching her face and then Sasha’s, who seemed more shocked than anything. “Okay, cool. We can eat together.”

It was stiff. 

Which, yeah, expected. Nyla apparently got peanut butter cravings post-migraine, which, huh! Who knew people got cravings after demon headaches, not Galo!

Sasha did not like that Galo was there. Galo did not fault her for that one bit. Nyla was coming down off a migraine and Galo was preventing Sasha from fussing over her, and Sasha really only seemed to know what to do about him in the mornings because they’d had their nice routine and Galo really didn’t hang out in the kitchen beyond that. He should, like, dedicate some time to Sasha. Lock himself in the bathroom and let her sniff him through the door, he thought with a private chuckle to himself.

He now understood why Lilah had asked for extra kitchen stools, since there was quite literally only the one. Galo had the closest thing to an argument that he’d had, with Nyla, firmly insisting that she be the one to seat herself, then awkwardly stooped over the counter with all his bulk and height.

“Ahaha,” Galo ‘laughed’ self-consciously with a rub to the back of his head. Maybe he should’a sat after all. “Sorry, don’t mean to loom imposingly. Really, I can just… head out.”

Sasha looked away, lips thin, but Nyla’s eyes remained on him. 

“You, are not all that imposing. Sir.”

Galo blinked, and was peripherally aware that Sasha was now also looking at Nyla like she’d spouted a second head. Nyla was flushed, and staring at Galo’s shoulder rather than his face, but swallowed and continued.

“When you first arrived, the size of you was frightening, sir,” she said, her voice quiet but Galo was far too enraptured to have missed even a single word. “But you kept Barbara from stealing me, and rescued Evan, and yesterday you gave Greyson both comfort and lenience.”

Nyla reached out her hand and placed it, very delicately, on top of Galo’s on the counter, Galo’s eyes tracking the movement in a fashion that might be described as gobsmacked.

“You have always been kind to us, Master. Stay.”

“Oh,” he said, as something important clicked in place.

[agentsofsupernaturalmarvel]

Meeting The Family // Tom Holland

IN WHICH: Y/N O’Brien decides to bring her boyfriend to meet her parents and sister only to discover her older brother too. The older brother who influenced the relationship between the couple with his career. Will Tom made a good impression of the O’Brien clan? Specifically the protective brother?

Characters: O’Brien!Reader x Tom Holland, sister!reader x brother!Dylan O’Brien, Julia O’Brien, Lisa and Patrick O’Brien

Words: 2.7k

Warnings: Swearing, tooth decaying fluff and mentions of same sex relationships (this shouldn’t need to be a warning!)

A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for a long time! Hope you enjoy!

YOU CAN REQUEST FROM ME AS WELL!

Masterlist

London was everything you had wanted to see since you graduated high school only a handful of years ago. When the Maze Runner series was ongoing, you often attended when they fell into the school breaks as support for your brother. While you and Julia were close, the bond you had with your older brother was closer. Dylan had always wanted a baby sibling from the time he understood what brother meant and your parents had no plan to have more children. Your conception was a complete surprise to the O'Brien clan, but a welcomed one. Three kids were enough for Lisa and Patrick O'Brien.

Once Dylan was cast as Stiles in Teen Wolf, his entire world changed, and more roles were offered until it was hard to see him. He always made sure to be there for birthdays and your high school graduation and to scare any boys. He was however often unavailable to catch your softball games in high school, acting was his thing, and softball was yours. It was also Dylan's acting career that allowed you to be introduced to your boyfriend. The boyfriend that Dylan wasn't aware of.

Tom was smitten the minute he saw you at his movie premiere to the point he grew the balls to ask you out, and the rest was history. As a family member to an actor, you understood the relationship would be harder than most, but it was worth it. Tom was worth it.

"Tom! We gotta go!" You called out to your boyfriend in your hotel room. Tom made his appearance wearing that shirt you had loved from the first date he wore it on.

It was a muted green and black vertical striped button-up with white outlining each stripe that paired wonderfully with a pair of slim-fit black jeans. His hair was styled just enough to look presentable without losing the natural curly waves. His necklace resting against his clothed chest and the silver watch pulling it off. It was the perfect outfit for dinner with your family where they would meet the nameless boyfriend they knew about.

"What?" Tom asked, looking down at his outfit, "Is it bad?"

"No! It's my favourite shirt of yours." You admitted walking over to slide your fingers into his while leaning up to press a lingering kiss to his lips, "My Mom is going to love you."

"I hope so." Tom murmured nudging his nose against yours, "I would love to have my future mother-in-law like me."

While not engaged the topic of marriage and a family had been spoken about every once in a while. You both knew that each other was The One, but it had no formal engagement until your significant other met the future-in-laws.

"The only person you had to worry about is my brother."

"The brother that learned how to shoot a gun on three sets. Teen Wolf for comedy, Maze Runner series and American Assassin." Tom spoke with a nervous glint in his eye. Technically your father had met Tom on a Skype session, and he didn't recognize him surprisingly.

As you drove into your hometown, you gave the rundown of your family to Tom. Hermosa Beach, California hadn't changed in the months you had spent away during the fall and winter semesters at university. The lady that babysat you still lived a block away from the O'Brien house with the cute old fashioned style with window box flowers. You had helped her plant some ever spring.

The O'Brien home had changed very slightly, but being away made you more aware of the changes. Both Julia and Dylan's cars were already parked on the street against the curb, so Tom followed suit by parking behind Dylan.

"Oh god, Dylan and Julia are both here." You whispered glancing over at Tom, "Dylan's filming schedule must have changed."

The house smelled terrific inside with the voices carrying in the open space of the living room and the kitchen. Removing your shoes, Tom and you made your way to the kitchen where your mom was tossing a salad. Outside your father was grilling steak with Dylan talking his ear off.

"Hey, Mom." You breathed, pressing a kiss to her cheek before stepping back, "I'd like you to meet my boyfriend, Tom."

Lisa O'Brien was a loving person who accepted everyone with open arms no matter the circumstance and displayed this as she pulled Tom into a hug. Tom stiffened before hugging her back tightly, her energy and embrace reminding him of his parents back in England.

"Hello Tom, welcome to our home." Lisa smiled, stepping back, "If you want to join the boys outside, feel free."

"Actually, is there anything I can help you with?" Tom asked following your steps as you washed your hands at the sink. Lisa smiled once more nodding in response.

"Can you cut some cucumbers up please in circles," Lisa asked, and her approval grew as Tom stepped up to the job immediately. Her dark hair was pulled away from her face revealing features that Tom could see in you.

While Tom settled into a pleasant conversation with Lisa on his childhood and family, you finished setting the table. Once finished, you left the two of them to their own devices before stepping into the backyard where Dylan was talking animatedly about the Mets.

"I can't believe it. My dear Mets fanatic brother hasn't even invited me to a game." You gasped faking being scandalized with a grin that split your act. Dylan was quick to yank you into a tight hug holding his beer away to keep it from sloshing on you.

"Well if my little sister was around when I'm able to go." Dylan teased back stepping away to scan you, "You look more dressed up than normal for family supper."

He was right, typically when you wore a sweater and leggings; today you wore your favourite shirt and form-fitting jeans. Shoes were cute booties that matched the dark brown colour in your colourful cardigan. The most typical part of your outfit was your makeup being just like you wore every day.

"Mr. O'Brien, I've been sent to inform you that Mrs. O'B…I mean Lisa." Tom cut himself off as Lisa informed her to call her by her first name, "is finished with the side dishes."

Dylan was incredibly silent as he gazed at his fellow actor with a penetrating look in his eyes as his mind flipped through reasons he was there. You hadn't mentioned knowing the British actor in any of the conversations you had shared since you last saw each other in person. Tom returned to the kitchen before Dylan could question him, and you followed Tom as well. You didn't want to face Dylan's interrogation yet.

Dinner was spent with your parents asking Tom questions, from the typical childhood stories up until how you two met.

 "We met at a movie premiere a few months back," Tom spoke up wiping the corner of his mouth as he took a sip of his water. He didn't hide that he drank alcohol but had chosen to stick to non-alcoholic drinks as he was driving home.

"He stumbled over his words asking for my number." You blushed to look at the man sitting next to you. Julia was hanging onto every word of the meeting with a small smile, she adored knowing her little sister was happy.

"Thankfully, she took pity on my nerves by giving me her number, and after getting to know each other, I asked her out." Tom grinned, "I asked my Mum for ideas, and then I planned."

"How did you do it?"

"There's a hole in the wall coffee shop I go to. The owner is originally from London and serves authentic tea. I took Y/N there for our third date, and the owner was nice enough to let me play barista.”

"Play barista?" Julia questioned with a grin plastered on her face taking a sip of the wine your parents had cracked open. Dylan was invested in this story as he nursed his beer paired with his steak and potatoes.

"It was silly. Tom slips behind the counter with this cheesy grin taking my drink order, and then he decides to order himself a snack to share with me. He brings the order to our table and announces the names he put on the order, he had made a sticker of a bee on the food with the word 'Bee', and the drink had 'Mine'."

"Aww!" Your mom announced as Tom leaned over to kiss the side of your head without even thinking about it.

The sight alone made your father nostalgic and sad at seeing his little girl was grown up and found a good man. Patrick O'Brien had no doubts that he was looking at his youngest child's future husband. Tom was everything Patrick and Lisa had wished for Y/N's significant other and the charming British accent was a bonus.

"We're having a fire out back with a few friends if you two would like to join us," Dad spoke with a sparkle in his eye as he grasped his wife's hand and then stood up to clear his plate.

Tom was quick to offer his help by taking your empty plate and his before following Patrick into the kitchen.

"Can I help Sir?" Tom asked your father. Wordlessly Patrick waved the young man to follow into the kitchen to start the dishes; it was a rule in the family that whoever made dinner would relax while the one who didn't clean up.

"In our house, we like to follow a rule. Since Lisa made most of the supper, I do the dishes. Normally, I would tell you to visit with the others, but I'd like to speak to you." Patrick spoke, beginning to run the water while Dylan made his appearance with the rest of the dirty dishes, "And Dylan wants to speak to you as well."

"Do you love her?" Dylan finally broke his quiet domineer as he opened a drawer where the dishcloths and drying towels were.

Tom mulled the question overtaking his time to answer in a way that would be completely honest. These two men were the most important in your life, and he wanted to ensure they knew he was serious about the relationship.

"I do. I think I fell in love on our second date." Tom mused, thinking back to the beautiful picnic in a low-key park. A stroke of luck had kept the date under-wrap and didn't find itself way into the media, "She's everything I've ever wanted. She's kind, caring, emotionally mature, and while she isn't in the industry, she understands."

"That's Y/N." Dylan softly spoke, "I'm just surprised we didn't know it was you. I only heard she was going on dates, but we never got a name."

"It was a mutual decision to keep our relationship private from everyone. We went into the relationship hesitant, but we both have spoken about our future. We've been together for nine months now, and we're ready to meet each other's family's officially." Patrick and Dylan listened carefully to the man that had a steady blush growing and a soft loving grin.

"And?" Patrick asked, stopping his motions to put his full attention on the young British man.

"We'd like to keep the relationship private from the media, but I am going to announce that I'm seeing someone if it comes up." Tom finished as he passed a dry plate to Dylan. Tom's head peaked to see that you were sitting with your sister and mother in the living room, "I know I don't have to ask for permission, but I wanted to ask for your blessing. I'd like to ask Y/N to marry me, and I'm okay with waiting a while to ask or even a long engagement for our families to get to know us."

Dylan was scrutinizing the nervous, but sure body language was enough for him to stop his uncharacteristic behaviour. At that moment Dylan knew that Tom was a lot more mature than he had been at his age; the fame Tom had gotten hadn't gone to his head; this Tom was just like any other average guy.

"Well, you have my blessing," Patrick responded

"So, what's your favourite baseball team?" Dylan asked with a giant grin that he shared with his sisters. Just as he asked, you walked into the kitchen after an interrogation from the other O'Brien women.

"I haven't really been to a game," Tom admitted chuckling at the gasp the older actor released. His head came down to rest on yours as you wrapped your arms around his midsection.

"Already trying to sway him to the Mets?" You joked turning to face the males, Dylan had put the last dish away while Patrick rinsed the sink clean.

Julia made her appearance by poking you in the side just as she had since you were a child that led to a small squeal falling from your lips. The squeal that made an amused smile appear on everyone in the room, including you.

"Don't you know that's a requirement to be part of this family." Julia joked tilting her head to scrutinize the only person in the room that piqued her interest. Julia never expected you to fall for an actor, let alone a British one, "So where will you two be living?"

"Julia!" You whined, shaking your head at your older sister. Her words fell silent when the gate in your backyard opened to your neighbours and closest family friends, "Hey look! The Taylor's are here!"

You rushed out the room dragging Tom with you to meet your childhood friends and family, the Taylors. The Taylors consisted of Trevor and Jason along with their two children Sadie and Eric, one of two same-sex couples that lived in your vicinity. In fact, you had shared your first kiss with Sadie when you were ten, in that experience, you discovered you weren't into Sadie; Sadie went on to have a crush on Julia for three years.

"Y/N!" Sadie exclaimed practically tackling you into a hug. Her blonde hair brushing against your cheek as she pulled back, her features hadn't changed since the last time you saw her. Sadie was a gymnast at UCLA with a fast track to the Olympics.

"Tom, this is my best friend, Sadie. Sadie this is my boyfriend, Tom." You introduced the two while Eric made his way over. Eric was born a year older than you born at the beginning of 1994 while you were born in the late part of 1995.

A trait that Tom had was adapting to every situation and making friends with everyone, and that's what he did the next two hours with the Taylors. He made no judgment on the Taylor's or even Julia for their sexual orientation, he accepted everyone.

"We should head back." Tom murmured against your head, sitting by the fire he had positioned you to sit between his legs with his arms and a blanket wrapped around you two. Your eyes were slowly blinking away the sleep while Dylan cast a soft smile at you; he may have trouble seeing you with someone, but you looked happy.

"We're gonna head out." You spoke to the people surrounding the fire. Your family and friends made their goodbyes as you and Tom took in your drinks and the blanket. Once your bottles were disposed of and a blanket folded into the basket, you left, "What did you think?”

"That I'm going to have to buy a Mets jersey." Tom joked, tapping his thumbs against the steering wheel, "I had a great time. I love your family, there just like mine, and I know where you get your looks and personality from."

"Dylan didn't intimidate you too much?" You smiled tilting your head to stare at him. Tom shook his head, "I'm happy you guys get along."

"Now, you get to meet my family." Tom winked taking your hand in his to rest on his thigh while you got comfortable to sleep for the hour ride home. Tom glanced at your sleeping features with a decision in mind, he would make sure to remember the ring he had nestled in a hidden compartment to London.

[sharethisgemwithme]

Zach and Grace Friday panel at Connecticon 2019

Some highlights and notes from the "Growing Up with Steven Universe" panel featuring Zach Callison and Grace Rolek, Friday afternoon at Connecticon 2019. There are some promo spoilers. Most quotes are approximate from the notes I took on my phone. There may be a recording of the panel, but the camera was blocked by the audience question line for a while and when I got to the front of the line, I saw it wasn't even pointed at Zach and Grace.

Sorted into broad categories:

Movie hype / spoilery talk

Host asked about the poster. Zach said he's kinda looked at it, but not studied it closely. Grace: "Spoiler alert, someone has a neck." Zach: "That's all anyone can talk about."

What's the hardest scene to record that you've done. Zach: "I hate to do this but the hardest scene I've done I did a few weeks ago and I can't talk about it for quite a while." [audience groans]

Audience member: "I have a question about the movie." Zach makes police siren noises, "Oh no the Cartoon Network spoiler police!"

Attempts to get even small details were denied. "So we saw you have a neck. Is your voice going to change?" [pause] Zach: "A week from today (Friday), there's a big panel and there's gonna be a bunch of stuff. I recommend you watch."

This was earlier in the day, when I met Zach in the autograph line. Me: "I'm really looking forward to all the stuff that's gonna come out next week in San Diego." Zach: "There's so much. I'm not going to be there, after six years of going, I need a vacation."

Zach makes ABUNDANTLY clear how excited he is for what's coming up, "I am thrilled with what they've done after CYM."

Reaction to the new gems from CYM. Zach: "Sunstone is one of my favorites now. Like an after-school camp counselor." Grace: "Obsidian is one of the hardest secrets I've ever had to keep on this show." They finished recording CYM in 2017!

Have you ever cried in the recording booth? Zach: "Over a dozen times. One time really badly... with something that hasn't come out yet."

What's the biggest theme you've taken from the show? Zach: "I'm really sorry to do this, but I'm gonna skip this question because the theme I take away is something that hasn't come up in the show yet." He says the show has become intensely personal to him and his experiences, both intentionally and unintentionally, and says if he accidentally gave hints as to upcoming themes, it wouldn't be fair to the crew. (This probably ties in with some of the stuff below under “Outside of SU”)

Favorites and funniest

What's the hardest scene to record that you've done. Among stuff that's aired, Zach: Storm in the Room. Connie: "Either Nightmare Hospital or Full Disclosure when Connie is like 'Stop ghosting me, Steven!' "

What are some funny moments from recording? The opening scene from "Winter Forecast", the directors INSISTED on real marshmallows, "nothing else would do". Grace: "And these were not small. There's jumbo and then there's novelty size." Zach: "They got novelty size." Grace: "I could barely fit one inside my mouth."

Favorite episode (this question might've had a "besides the Big Plot episodes" caveat).

Zach: "Onion Gang. Any of the weird Onion episodes."

Grace: "I realize this is an unpopular opinion but I love the Ronaldo episodes. I have a Keep Beach City Weird sticker on my laptop. I don't like having stuff that's too overtly Steven Universe because I don't like to toot my own horn, but KBCW is great because it's 'if you know, you know'." Zach: "It's a lifestyle."

That segued into talk about "Rocknaldo", which Zach thought was hilarious, especially the way CN trolled everyone with the Bloodstone promo. Grace "Was that the one where Ronaldo tried to kill someone in the basement?" Discussion brings up that's "Horror Club". Grace continues, "That was a great one, like what are we DOING? No one went to jail for this?"

Favorite songs:

First, ones that they did.

Zach said "Let's Only Think About Love". I think he added a second one, but my notes say “or” and then stop there so I think I moved on to the next bit and forgot what else he said.

Grace says "Of course 'Do it for Her'" but also that she loved providing background harmonies for "Escapism". "Aly and AJ was the first concert I ever went to, so to do back-up vocals for AJ was the greatest fangirl moment." (There’s been some confusion as to whether Zach and Grace had vocals on that song, it’s now clear that they did)

Then, overall. Zach immediately sings "It's over, isn't it? Isn't it over?" Grace grumbles that she can't take the same answer, so she throws out "Stronger Than You".

"Back in the start of the show, it was a lot more lighthearted. What's the funniest or weirdest line you had to record?" Zach IMMEDIATELY goes into voice: "A boy on the cusp of manhood can't spend the whole day wackering." Grace enjoyed her line from "Open Book": "Of course you like the ending, you LOVE schmultz."

Pivoting into the weirdness of early episodes, Zach says "Frybo and Cat Fingers were back to back, 5 and 6. I don't know how anyone stuck with the show after that."

What's the biggest theme you've taken from the show? Grace: "I think about Mindful Education all the time. Here Comes a Thought is such a great song but also an important mantra."

Other than Uncle Grandpa, what crossover would you like to do? Zach: "I wanna be the very best!" Audience cheers. Grace says she would've loved to do "Adventure Time".

This segues into a joke that people confuse Zach for Jeremy Shada (Finn), in some cases even when Zach is standing in front of a poster that says ZACH CALLISON. Grace says that her boyfriend loves the joke so much that Zach is listed in his phone as "Jeremy Shada".

Behind the scenes

What was it like seeing the show blow up the way it did? Grace: "I used to go on Tumblr and read all the posts, all the reactions people had, but after Jail Break... couldn't do that anymore." Zach: "I poke my head into a reddit every once in a while."

What's it like in the booth with the rest of the cast? Grace: "Deedee and Michaela always get to do the funniest things."

Discussion of how voice acting lends them a little more anonymity than live-action, and there's still a spectrum of how recognizable people are.

Grace recounts a story from earlier in the day, possibly on the way to that very panel. "The elevator was pretty crowded and I was able to get on but Zach wasn't. And as soon as it closed, one of the other people in the elevator was like 'Oh my god, Zach Callison almost got on the elevator with us!' And I was like 'Oh my god, that would've been so cool!'"

Both Zach and Grace recounted times when they've greeted stranger wearing SU apparel and gotten blank stares in response, like, "Uh, yeah, what's your point?"

Zach: "As of Sunday, I'm leaving the country to be a hobo for a bit." He's flying to Siberia, then taking a 62-hour train ride to get on a boat to Korea, where he plans to visit the Korean animation studio where SU is drawn (as seen in "Steven's Dream"), something almost no actors do (apparently Michaela was more or less the first to do so, for any show at all).

Sometimes Grace will have a lot of "catching up" to do with the plot. "One time Rebecca was like 'oh by the way Lars is pink now." Zach jokes, "Lars is pink, Ronaldo and Pearl are married, oh and Steven is dead."

Have you ever cried in the recording booth? Zach: "Over a dozen times." Grace says she has, sometimes in group records.

More joking around: "Yes, I'm Zach Callison, the voice of Onion. I'll be in my booth." "You should have a print that's just Onion." "With the flames behind him."

What were your auditions like? Grace: "I was reading the sides from 'Bubble Buddies', and Connie is worried she's gonna die with no friends and I was like 'This is a kids show? This is a show for children and I'm supposed to say these words?!'" She saw Rebecca Sugar's name attached to the show, which she recognized as a fan of Adventure Time, particularly Marceline "I'm edgy like her!"

Audience member starts her question: "Ohmygod, my heart is in my ass. Wait, can I say ass?" Grace: "You can say whatever you want, you're not under the thumb of Time Warner." Zach: "Technically, I've never signed any NDA. Oh hell, I'm leaving the country in three days. ACT ONE!" [laughter, and he does not continue with joke spoilers]

Outside of Steven Universe

Tell us about yourself outside of Steven Universe. Zach: "I'm a dirty rowdy hippie." He goes to music festivals barefoot (but not urban ones).

Zach talked about some of the over-the-top scenes he's been in or seen on "The Goldbergs", where he plays a minor recurring character, including one where the actual rain they were filming in wasn't enough, so the producers dumped thousands of gallons of additional rainwater on the cast.

Zach said he hasn't auditioned for anything new in a while (I think he said at least a year) because of burnout. Whenever SU may end, he's ready for a break. Following on with that, discussion of what a shitty industry Hollywood is, especially for kids.

Zach: "A lotta people (in this industry), their big break is a show they hate, and that kills me to think that. And it couldn't be further from the truth for anyone in SU. If I had booked a live-action sitcom that ran six seasons, I wouldn't be here. I'd be in a much darker place."

What would you be doing if not this?

Zach: "I enrolled in college, signed up for things, never went to class, and eventually dropped out. I never had any other plan." Ties into further discussion of what an absolute nightmare Hollywood is for kids, that some of his friends from high school are no longer around.

Grace: "I went to college for two years (she would've graduated this spring), trying to make sure I had a plan B lined up. But flying back and forth from San Francisco to Los Angeles was getting ridiculous and I realized I wasn't being fair to my plan A."

[fallinnflower]

hold out your hand

wonpil x reader (non-idol!au, mild angst to fluff)

a/n: this one is for my soulmate @chy9790​, i love u and don’t u ever forget it !!!

You were learning to play “Chopsticks” on the piano the first time you met Wonpil.

You were both very young, and Wonpil was the lesson after yours at your piano class. Because the tutor was a sweet old woman who ran the sessions out of her home, Wonpil was left to wait in the living room until his lesson — the same room where the old piano sat. It was only your second lesson, and you were still pretty bad, though as a child you didn’t really notice that. You played “Chopsticks” and it didn’t sound like a coherent song in the slightest, but the old lady still gave you a little sticker as a prize for working hard. You stuck it on your cheek.

It was as your parents were helping you put your coat on that you heard Wonpil play for the first time. He was playing “Clair de Lune,” although at the time you didn’t know the name — but the sound of it made you peer around the corner in curiosity, watching the boy play expertly with wide eyes. He missed a note and simply laughed, the old woman ruffling his hair. His big, dark eyes met yours, and he shot you his gummy smile. You smiled back, and from then on you considered Wonpil your friend (although you didn’t learn his name until the next week).

You never did learn to play Debussy as well as Wonpil — in fact, you gave up piano altogether in favor of joining youth choir only a few years later, but your relationship with Wonpil persisted. It hadn’t taken long after your first meeting for your parents to meet, because the both of you talked nonstop about one another. Then came carpooling to lessons, and family dinners, and playdates for you and Wonpil. Even after you stopped piano lessons, the playdates and family get-togethers persisted for years. 

It wasn’t until you got older that you realized what a chance occurrence it was that you and Wonpil became friends.

Your family was thoroughly middle class, whereas Wonpil’s was pretty wealthy. Their house was larger than yours, and in the living room they had a beautiful mahogany grand piano which was always polished and tuned to perfection. If you didn’t know better, you may have thought it was all for show — Wonpil was anything but a show-off, often very shy about his abilities and unwilling to play in front of anyone other than close friends and relatives. As a child, you would often play around on the piano with Wonpil; as you got older, you would simply sit and listen to him, watching the sun turn his flyaway strands of hair into a golden halo as he played songs for you. On even rarer occasions, he would sing in his clear, lilting voice, his eyes closed in soulful concentration as he continued to play without missing a single note. It seemed to you that Wonpil was one with his piano, in tune with it at all times, and it was one of the reasons you admired him so much. 

While Wonpil excelled at the piano, you struggled to find something to be good at in school. Although you eventually found a niche for yourself, the struggles over the years left you with severe anxiety and self-worth issues. It was Wonpil who was your rock, who was always willing to be by your side in your darkest moments, and whom you came to love for it. You always wished you felt good enough to tell him you felt that way. Instead, you just watched him play and hoped he never noticed the lovesick look in your eyes.

In college, your anxiety got worse. Not constantly — in fact, sometimes college seemed like a better environment for you than home had been — but during winter break of your third year, surrounded by distant relatives who were all interrogating you about finding a job and becoming an independent adult, you had a bit of a breakdown. That night, when you couldn’t fall asleep with their words echoing in your head, you did the only thing you could think of — you tugged on your coat and caught the bus, walking the rest of the way to Wonpil’s house in the snow.

Wonpil’s parents, you knew, had left him home for the night to go to an important company dinner out of town. You knew he was alone, and you felt back for intruding, but you were having trouble holding back your tears and couldn’t bring yourself to turn back now. You’d already told your parents you were staying the night at a friend’s anyway, and couldn’t bear to answer any of their questions if you went home now.

You shed your first tear the moment he opened the door.

Wonpil immediately pulled you into his arms, helping you out of your coat and shoes before bringing you into the living room. He gave you your favorite throw blanket, the fluffiest one in the house.

“Do you want some tea?” He asked, walking towards the kitchen, but halted when you shook your head.

“No,” you said, hating the way your voice cracked. Wonpil looked at you with concern in his dark eyes, his gentle features looking unbearably sad. You sniffled, feeling pathetic.

“Could you play for me?” You asked. His eyes widened for a moment, but then he broke into a gentle smile, walking back towards you — and the piano. He gently smoothed down your hair, 

“Of course. What do you want to hear?” You swallowed thickly.

“Would you… would you play one of your compositions?” You watched as Wonpil’s ears turned an endearing shade of pink, and he scratched the back of his neck. 

“I might be a little rusty,” he warned. As he took a seat at the bench, you propped your elbows up on the arm of the couch with your chin in your hands, where you had the best view of Wonpil. The chandelier in the living room cast a warm, orangey glow over him as he settled into position, slowly flexing his fingers in preparation. 

Wonpil’s original compositions had always been your favorite. Of course, he played anything well, but you loved to hear his thoughts put onto paper. Just seeing him sitting at the piano had already helped to put you at ease; as you focused on him, you found it hard to think about anything else. 

You recognized the composition the moment it began. Wonpil started writing it over a year prior, and some of his other musical friends from school had helped him with the lyrics. You’d cried the first time he played it for you, but this night it settled you; as he sung the chorus for the second time, you found your eyes slipping shut,

“손을 뻗어서 / 붉은 노을 빛처럼 날 물들여줘 / 나를 잃지 않게 (soneul ppeodeoseo / burkeun noeul bitcheoreom nal muldeuryeojwo / nareul irchi anke)...”

By the time Wonpil finished singing, you’d fallen fast asleep on the couch, your head resting on the armrest. He rose from his seat at the piano, dimming the lights of the chandelier and going to adjust the blanket so it covered you more fully. Wonpil gently brushed the stray hairs out of your face, and in your sleep you reached out for his hand, refusing to let go and making him smile. He pressed a fond kiss to your forehead before taking a seat on the floor at the base of the couch. He fell asleep holding your hand in his, and in the morning when he saw your smile and the bags under your eyes appeared to be lifted, he decided the crick in his neck was worth it.

[theculturedmarxist]

The New York Times is literally a propaganda outlet and Timothy Egan is a deceitful chode. His every word drips with the anxious desperation of the Democrats who know their goose is cooked.

Watching “Succession,” the HBO show about the most despicable plutocrats to seize the public imagination since the Trumps were forced on us, made me want to tax the ultrarich into a homeless shelter. And it almost made a Bernie Bro of me.

That’s the thing about class loathing: It feels good, a moral high with its own endorphins, but is ultimately self-defeating. A Bernie Sanders rally is a hit from the same pipe: Screw those greedy billionaire bastards!

Sanders has passion going for him. He has authenticity. He certainly has consistency: His bumper-sticker sloganeering hasn’t changed for half a century. He was, “even as a young man, an old man,” as Time magazine said.

But he cannot beat Donald Trump, for the same reason people do not translate their hatred of the odious rich into pitchfork brigades against walled estates.

Because powerful oligarchs that own their government murder them with impunity when they do.

>March 7 was a bitterly cold day in Detroit, and a crowd estimated at between 3,000 and 5,000 gathered near the Dearborn city limits, about a mile from the Ford plant. The Detroit Times called it "one of the coldest days of the winter, with a frigid gale whooping out of the northwest". Marchers carried banners reading "Give Us Work, "We Want Bread Not Crumbs", and "Tax the Rich and Feed the Poor". Albert Goetz gave a speech, asking that the marchers avoid violence. The march proceeded peacefully along the streets of Detroit until it reached the Dearborn city limits.

>There, the Dearborn police attempted to stop the march by firing tear gas into the crowd and began hitting marchers with clubs. One officer fired a gun at the marchers. The unarmed crowd scattered into a field covered with stones, picked them up, and began throwing stones at the police. The angry marchers regrouped and advanced nearly a mile toward the plant. There, two fire engines began spraying cold water onto the marchers from an overpass. The police were joined by Ford security guards and began shooting into the crowd. Marchers Joe York, Coleman Leny and Joe DeBlasio were killed, and at least 22 others were wounded by gunfire.

>The leaders decided to call off the march at that point and began an orderly retreat. Harry Bennett, head of Ford security, drove up in a car, opened a window, and fired a pistol into the crowd. Immediately, the car was pelted with rocks, and Bennett was injured. He got out of the car and continued firing at the retreating marchers. Dearborn police and Ford security men opened fire with machine guns on the retreating marchers. Joe Bussell, 16 years old, was killed, and dozens more men were wounded. Bennett was hospitalized for his injury.

> All of the seriously wounded marchers were arrested, and the police chained many to their hospital beds after they were admitted for treatment. A nationwide search was conducted for William Z. Foster, but he was not arrested. No law enforcement or Ford security officer was arrested, although all reliable reports showed that they had engaged in all the gunfire, resulting in deaths, injuries and property damage. The New York Times reported that "Dearborn streets were stained with blood, streets were littered with broken glass and the wreckage of bullet-riddled automobiles, and nearly every window in the Ford plant's employment building had been broken".

The United States has never been a socialist country, even when it most likely should have been one, during the robber baron tyranny of the Gilded Age or the desperation of the Great Depression, and it never will be. Which isn’t to say that American capitalism is working; it needs Teddy Roosevelt-style trustbusting and restructuring. We’re coming for you, Facebook.

Yeah, just look how well that’s worked out, you fucking idiot.

The next month presents the last chance for serious scrutiny of Sanders, who is leading in both Iowa and New Hampshire. After that, Republicans will rip the bark off him. When they’re done, you will not recognize the aging, mouth-frothing, business-destroying commie from Ben and Jerry’s dystopian dairy. Demagogy is what Republicans do best. And Sanders is ripe for caricature. 

The same Republicans that got their breakfast ate by the dottering windbag cheetoman? The same Republicans that are unpopular with over half the fucking country? The same Republicans which have shown majority support for Sanders’s policies in the past? Those are the Republicans you’re talking about, right, Timothy, you fucking asshole?

I’m not worried about the Russian stuff — Bernie’s self-described “very strange honeymoon” to the totalitarian hell of the Soviet Union in 1988, and his kind words for similar regimes. Compared with a president who is a willing stooge for the Russian strongman Vladimir Putin, a little vodka-induced dancing with the red bear is peanuts.

Nor am I worried about the legitimate questions concerning the candidate’s wife, Jane Sanders, who ran a Vermont college into the ground. Again, Trump’s family of grifters — from Ivanka securing her patents from China while Daddy made other promises to Beijing, to Don Jr.’s using the White House to leverage the family brand — give Democrats more than enough ammunition to return the fire.

This is fun. Due to a complete lack of incriminating conduct, little Timmy has to invent wrongdoing to libel Jane Sanders. I suppose he’s relying on his readers being too stupid to read the article that he himself links, another NYT hitpiece that desperately tries to paint Ms Sanders as a shady character without anything in the way of tangible proof.

>Federal prosecutors have not spoken publicly about their investigation, though late last year, Ms. Sanders’s lead lawyer said he had been told it had been closed. And while doubts remain about the contribution pledges claimed by the college, the lawyer has said that neither Ms. Sanders nor her husband was even questioned by investigators, indicating a lack of significant evidence of a crime.

>After Ms. Sanders’s ouster, the college’s troubles worsened. It abandoned a promising effort she had undertaken to sell some of its new land to improve its finances, interviews show. A few years later, when it did begin selling, it was to a consortium that secretly included at least one member of its board, raising conflict-of-interest questions.

>There is little question that the college’s 2016 demise can be traced to Ms. Sanders’s decision to champion an aggressive — critics say reckless — plan to buy the land. But with potential students put off by the lack of a campus, and with many such colleges struggling at the time, her move was the academic equivalent of a Hail Mary. Her allies said she never had a chance to fulfill her vision.

>“Jane made an audacious gambit to save the college,” said Genevieve Jacobs, a former faculty member. “It seemed to be a moment of ‘change or die.’”

>In interviews and emails, Ms. Sanders expressed frustration at her dismissal and the college’s failure to continue her rescue plan.

>“They went a completely different direction in every way than what we had proposed and decided upon as a board — with the bank, with the diocese, the bonding agency,” she said. “They didn’t carry out any of the plan. It was very confusing and upsetting at the time.”

The TL;DR seems to be: Jane Sanders tried to save a struggling school with an audacious but risky plan that ended up being aborted when she was let go by by a board, some of the members of which may have had a stake in seeing it fail. At the very least, a much more complex situation than the aspersion of “running it into the ground.”

Trump bragged about sexual assault, paid off a porn star and ran a fraudulent university. He sucks up to dictators and tells a half-dozen lies before he puts his socks on in the morning. A weird column about a rape fantasy from 1972 is not going to sink Bernie when Trump has debased all public discourse.

No, what will get the Trump demagogue factory working at full throttle is the central message of the Sanders campaign: that the United States needs a political revolution. It may very well need one. But most people don’t think so, as Barack Obama has argued. And getting two million new progressive votes in the usual area codes is not going to change that.

“Ah jeez, ah fuck, he has no sexual indiscretions that I can dredge up and his Feminist polemic against pornography and the rape culture that it engenders is old news, and if I actually reported on it honestly people might actually read it and support his ideas. Oh, well, you see, despite the incredible groundswell of support for just such a thing, Barack Obama, the man that gave the banks trillions of dollars and then allowed the state apparatus to function as their gestapo-cum-storm troopers, says we don’t need one!”

Timothy Egan wants to dismiss “two million new progressive votes” after doing a little gaslighting. His Democrat masters don’t want people to remember that it was Obama’s promises of Hope and Change after 8 years of Republican tyranny that generated a record breaking voter turnout. They would also like you to forget that 2016 was a 20-year low in voter turnout. Do you think those things are related, Mr Egan? Do you think that there might be some connection between Obama taking advantage of the desperation of millions of people, betraying them, and then those people not fucking showing up next time, causing your party to lose to the dimwit that they themselves boosted to the position?

Give Sanders credit for moving public opinion along on a living wage, higher taxes on the rich and the need for immediate action to stem the immolation of the planet. Most great ideas start on the fringe and move to the middle.

But some of his other ideas are stillborn, or never get beyond the fringe. Socialism, despite its flavor-of-the-month appeal to young people, is not popular with the general public. Just 39 percent of Americans view socialism positively, a bare uptick from 2010, compared with 87 percent who have a positive view of free enterprise, Gallup found last fall.

“Just” 39 percent of Americans, up 4% from 2016. This is ignoring for the moment that due to Americans’ piss-poor education system they have no idea what “Socialism” means aside from “more government.” Looking at the breakdown of results, it seems as though they just asked people off the top of their head what they thought about X, no definition or elaboration given. Unsurprisingly, when you look at the actual numbers on specific issues, you can see exactly why Egan has to play this deceptive bullshit: of respondents 18-34, 52% have a favorable view of “Socialism,” as opposed to 47% supporting “Capitalism.” This is in sharp contrast to the 35-54 and 55+ cohorts. 65% of Democrats have a favorable view of “Socialism.” Those with a “Liberal” ideology are even more in favor at 74%, Timothy Egan, you massive shithead.

What’s more, American confidence in the economy is now at the highest level in nearly two decades. That’s hardly the best condition for overthrowing the system.

"The highest level in nearly two decades.” That’s faint fucking praise right there.

You can see the tremendous fucking crater caused by the crash in 2007/8, a reversal of a whopping -81 points from the previous year. With many economists forecasting recession beginning either this year or the next, we’ll see how long the confidence lasts. 

So-called Medicare for all, once people understand that it involves eliminating all private insurance, polls at barely above 40 percent in some surveys, versus the 70 percent who favor the option of Medicare for all who want it. Other polls show majority support. But cost is a huge concern. And even Sanders cannot give a price tag for nationalizing more than one-sixth of the economy.

A ban on fracking is a poison pill in a must-win state like Pennsylvania, which Democrats lost by just over 44,000 votes in 2016. Eliminating Immigration and Customs Enforcement, another Sanders plan, is hugely unpopular with the general public.

“Medicare for all is really unpopular, except when it isn’t.”

Hmm, you know? Hmmm.

As for fracking, from his own link:

>A November poll conducted by the Kaiser Family Foundation and the Cook Political Report found that only 39 percent of Pennsylvania swing voters saw a fracking ban as a good idea, even as nearly 7 in 10 of those same voters said they supported the idea of a “Green New Deal” for the environment.

Democrats are whinging on the jobs “lost” to a fracking ban as though it exists in isolation. 39% might support a fracking ban, but 70% support the GND, which could potentially offset the “job loss” with industry that has the potential not to leave their state as a fucking environmentally ruined horror show. I haven’t run the numbers on this, but not living in a cesspool of polluted air and water tends to be pretty popular, Timbo.

More shellgames from Mr Egan regarding abolishing ICE.

> Only 1 in 4 voters in the poll, 25 percent, believe the federal government should get rid of ICE. The majority, 54 percent, think the government should keep ICE. Twenty-one percent of voters are undecided. 

That sounds bad. Maybe it’s not such a good ide

>But a plurality of Democratic voters do support abolishing ICE, the poll shows. Among Democrats, 43 percent say the government should get rid of ICE, while only 34 percent say it should keep ICE.

Oh.

Sanders is a rigid man, and he projects grumpy-old-man rigidity, with his policy prescriptions frozen in failed Marxist pipe dreams. He’s unlikely to change. I sort of like that about his character, in the same way I like that he didn’t cave to the politically correct bullies who went after him for accepting the support of the influential podcaster Joe Rogan.

Democrats win with broad-vision optimists who still shake up the system — Franklin Roosevelt, of course, but also Obama. The D’s flipped 40 House seats in 2018 without using any of Sanders’s stringent medicine. If they stick to that elixir they’ll oust Trump, the goal of a majority of Americans.

Democrats lose with fire-and-brimstone fundamentalists. Three times, the party nominated William Jennings Bryan, the quirky progressive with great oratorical pipes, and three times they were trounced. Look him up, kids. Your grandchildren will do a similar search for Bernie Sanders when they wonder how Donald Trump won a second term.

“Failed Marxist pipe dreams.” Aaaaay lmao. You should also have an inkling something is wrong when you have to go all the way back to FDR to find someone that supports your point. Talk about “poison pills,” Obama proved himself to be as much of a snake as the rest, and the effects of that resonated in 2016 when the Dems ran on a platform of “that’s a nice country you have there, you wouldn’t want Trump to get elected, would you?” How did that work out? You ran one of the most unpopular politicians in the country—after very blatantly rigging the primaries against Sanders to do so—against one of the most unpopular capitalists in the country, and lost, dipshit!

Ironically, I think Timbob’s closing statement will prove true, though not in the way his clown ass intends. Shills like Egan are doing everything they can to try and poison public perception against Sanders and his policies, who only proves increasingly popular as time goes on, so much so in fact that the DNC is already biting its nails and muttering to itself about ways it can try and cheat his supporters again.

In conversations on the sidelines of a DNC executive committee meeting and in telephone calls and texts in recent days, about a half-dozen members have discussed the possibility of a policy reversal to ensure that so-called superdelegates can vote on the first ballot at the party’s national convention. Such a move would increase the influence of DNC members, members of Congress and other top party officials, who now must wait until the second ballot to have their say if the convention is contested.

They deny it in the article, claim that changing the rules would be “bad sportsmanship,” but one would be a fool to believe them. If anything, their ambivalence towards relying on Superdelegates would make me even more nervous at this stage. Politico wants it to seem like the DNC is bent on playing fair, but more likely than not they have no intention of changing the convention rules because they believe there’s no need. With Warren’s flagging support and the luke-warm response to Biden, I doubt they’re overcome with optimism of beating Sanders in an honest primary. With all the shenanigans from last time’s primaries in mind, it’s likely that the machinery to rig the results their way is already in place—the primary could already be over before it even begins.

[magic-marvel]

Normal

Chapter 7

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Pairing: Peter Parker/Spider-man x Reader

Summary: A night out leads to an encounter with our favorite masked hero.

Word Count: 3065

A/N: I’m so sorry this came out way later than expected! but it’s done and i hope you enjoy! BTW my knowledge of computer sciences go about as far as i’m willing to google so don’t judge me if i sound dumb (which, i probably did from chapter 1 so i won’t hold it against you if you think i am.)

You sat on the floor in Peter's room, legs crossed. Ned was on the bed behind you. Both of you sat in silence as you waited for Peter to return, making no effort to talk. He kept checking his phone, hoping there would be a notification to distract him. You took the time to look around in the room, taking in each knick knack that decorated his walls or shelves.

You both knew each other from school, but never really talked to each other. So both of your unannounced arrivals at Peter's apartment left you to sit in awkward silence as Peter talked to his Aunt in the living room.

“Bye May!” Peter called from outside his room. Both you and Ned looked up at the door.

“Bye Peter! I left money on the counter if you guys get hungry!” May called back. Peter gave her a quick thanks before the front door could be heard closing.

You stood up from the floor, Ned sat up straighter. Peter finally walked back in the room, completely unaware of the awkward air that filled the space.

“So? When do we start?” Ned asked. You nodded your head, seconding his question.

“We? We aren't doing anything. I'm gonna go figure out who these bad guys are.” Peter replied before taking a seat at his desk.

“What? C'mon! We can help!” You pleaded.

Peter looked up at you, a smile couldn't help but tug on his lips.

“It's dangerous guys, I can't have you in on this.” Peter explained. “They clearly sell alien weapons for a living, so imagine if they link Spider-man back to either of you? I can't put either of you in that danger.”

“You aren't putting us in danger, we are choosing to help.” Ned assured. “C'mon, 'Guy in the Chair'”

You cleared your throat.

“And 'Girl in the Chair!'” Ned added.

Both you looked at Peter for an answer, putting on your best puppy dog eyes. Ned was surprisingly effective, but one look in your direction made Peter crumble. Your bottom lip pudged out, your eyes pleading with him to say 'yes'. You even tilted your head. You looked like a kicked puppy, not at all understanding why the person they love decided to hurt them. And Peter felt like he was the kicker.

“Fine! Fine, but if I think it gets too much then you guys are out.” Peter finally agreed.

You and Ned high fived each other, huge grins adorned both your faces. Peter smiled to himself, he can see the beginning of a wonderful friendship flourish between you two. He was happy to see his girlfriend and best friend get along.

“So what now?” You asked, not even sure yourself what you got into.

“Well...” Peter started. He began to spin his chair in thought. “I don't actually know.”

“Do you at least know who these guys are?” Ned questioned.

Peter pointed a pen at him, “I guess that's where we'll start!” He concluded.

You shook your head. Peter really needed help, especially when there was absolutely nothing to go off of.

“How are we gonna do that?” You asked. “It's not like alien tech have serial numbers or anything.”

Once finding out that Peter was Spider-man, he had filled you in on his and Ned's investigation. You knew about the Chitauri battery core being the reason behind the explosion at the Washington Monument, he also told you that the strangers at the school were after it. Peter even mentioned the scary bird guy, “Vulture”, you dubbed him. You were worried about that part, especially since he's almost killed Peter multiple times now.

“What about during the weapons deal in the park? Do you remember a license plate or names being said?” Ned asked.

Peter thought for a moment on the question, and with a quick fumble in his backpack he pulled out his mask. In one swift movement, the mask was on and the suits system was warming up.

“Karen, can you do a search on a license plate? At least part of it? I can't remember the whole thing.” Peter seemingly asked the air. Taking a quick glance at Ned, he gave you a knowing smile and brought his attention back to Peter. This was your first interaction with Karen, so you were pretty excited.

“I can go through recorded surveillance and scan plate numbers. I also can also run facial recognition on the individuals in the park.” Karen relayed.

“Woah...” You listened as a voice spoke back to Peter. This was Stark tech at it's finest.

“Yeah, that'll be perfect.” Peter leaned back in his chair. “Wait, surveillance?” Peter questioned. His eyes shrunk.

“Everything you see is recorded and stored in the Stark Industries cloud.” Karen answered.

“Everything?” Peter asked. His eyes looking back and forth between you and Ned.

“Everything. It's called the Baby Monitor Protocol.”

“Of course it is...” Peter mumbled to himself. His pen being tossed on his desk.

You held back a chuckle.

“So Karen, is there anything embarrassing on there?” You asked. Peter squinted his eyes at you. A mischievous smile adorned your features.

“I personally do not feel embarrassment, however, I have seen Peter do things that would be deemed socially unacceptable or awkward.” Karen answered, voice chipper and happy to help.

“There isn't- I don't do anything embarrassing.” Peter tried defending. The waver in his voice gave him away.

“Of course you do, Peter. Here, let me show you.” Karen corrected.

One of Peter's web shooters suddenly turned on, a projector displayed on the wall from across the desk that it was sitting on.

Peter was suddenly displayed in front of a mirror, you recognized the mess in his room behind him.

“Hey! What's up everyone?” Peter spoke to himself in the mirror.

“Karen!” He tried shutting off the projection. You and Ned continued watching.

“Sick party,” He turned his head in the video and said your name, giving no one in particular a wink. “You look beautiful.”

You shoved your hands over your mouth, hiding a huge grin as you fought back tears. You struggled to hold in laughter as the video kept playing. Ned had already long lost his cool, his body flying back into the bed as he cried in laughter.

“Karen! Stop it!” Peter tried. He only ended up fast forwarding in the day.

“It is I, Thor! Son of Odin!” Peter held a wooden hammer in his hand and began to flex.

You instantly sputtered out a loud wheeze, laughter taking over and causing you to crumple to the ground.

Karen finally stopped the projection, “I found a record on one of the culprits, Peter.”

You and Ned were still laughing, Peter took a seat back in his chair and he turned away from you both. It would be another minute or so before you both recovered, wiping tears away and struggling to breathe.

“Oh my God, bro, who else have you done?” Ned questioned, finally sitting up on the bed.

“He does an excellent impression of Iron Man, the Winter Soldier, Black Wid-”

“Karen! Now's not the time!” Peter interrupted.

You finally got the air back in your lungs and stood up from the floor. You walked around Peter so he would face you.

“You think I'm beautiful?” You asked, remnants of your laughter still showing on your face.

Peter looked up at you, his eyes scanning your face. “Of course I do.” He mumbled, still hurt from you laughing at him.

A smile stretched on your face, Your ears warming at the compliment.

“You're not so bad yourself, Thor.” You said before taking a seat back on the floor, your legs crossing as Peter slapped a hand on his face.

“So, Karen, gimme names.” Peter asked the A.I. He wanted to get over this moment as fast as he can.

“I can only find the identity of one of the individuals, his name is Aaron Davis. He has a criminal record and current data shows he has an address here in Queens.” Karen explained.

“Oh. That was kinda easy.” You said aloud.

“Sweet. Well I guess I'll pay him a visit.” Peter spoke before fishing out the rest of his suit.

“What do we do?” Ned asked. You looked up at Peter expectantly.

“Hold down the fort!” Peter squeezed into his suit, balancing on one foot for a moment.

“Hold down th- What? That's what the superhero tells the useless person to do so they don't get in the way.” You commented. Your face was contorted in disappointment.

“Well I can't exactly bring you guys along.” Peter pressed on his chest, the suit shrunk to fit him perfectly. He looked good, you couldn't help but think.

You couldn't argue against him. Neither could Ned, since he stayed silent.

“Be careful, Peter.” You spoke, sincerity in your voice.

Peter leaned down to kiss your forehead, he brushed back hair behind your ear.

“Where's my kiss.” Ned commented.

You snorted, Peter shooting Ned a wink before climbing out the window. You both watched as he swung behind a building, red and blue now hidden from view.

You pulled your backpack onto your lap, pulling out an old laptop. Stickers littered the back, the original color no longer visible. The laptop booted up, the fans running on overdrive before calming down to a low hum.

“What're you doing?” Ned asked, curiously looking over your shoulder.

“Holding down the fort.” You replied.

You opened up various tabs, typing in the command prompt to open different programs. You continued typing away, taking no pauses as windows opened and closed quicker than Ned can read them. But he did catch one important phrase

“Stark Industries? What are you doing in fishing in their data?” Ned continued to watch you work. Your brows were furrowed in concentration.

“Karen said all the surveillance is stored on their cloud right? So if I can just...” You paused, typing in a few more commands before a video feed opened up on your screen. “There we go!”

There was a moment of static, before finally the feed showed live imaging of the Spider-man suit.

“Did... Did you just hack into Stark Industries?” Ned questioned. “It took you like, five minutes...”

“I already had back doors installed from before so I just... sneaked back in.” You turned your head around, giving Ned a proud smile. “Here, gimme your laptop.”

Ned handed you his laptop, the device much more heavy duty than yours. Seemed a lot more reliable as well. You pulled out a cable from your bag and plugged it in both USB ports in your laptop and his. Typing a few more commands on your laptop allowed Ned's screen to rely a real time GPS map of Peter's location. You gave it back to him, stretching out the cable to give him room to pull his laptop.

“Sweet.” He nodded, typing in his own command prompt to pull up more information. He now was able to see Peter's suit condition and monitor biomedical scans. He was only able to do this while connected to the suit, so being able to see what's going on wirelessly made things much easier. You watched as he continued typing, taking mental notes for future reference.

“We make a good team.” You commented. Ned nodded in agreement.

“Guys in a Chair?” He tried coming up with a name.

“Pair in a Chair.” You added.

“We'll work on it.” Ned said rather than giving you feedback. You tried not taking offense.

You both watched as Peter found the apartment, however, no one was home. He stood by the window, waiting on the fire escape. A few moments later, your contact popped up on his HUD. He told Karen to answer.

“Hey, Spidey. You know that grocery store on 188th and 73rd?” You asked, holding onto your phone while it was on speaker.

“Uhh... Yeah?” Peter replied, confusion in his voice.

“He's there, his car is in the parking garage across the street.” You relayed.

“What? How do you know that?” He asked.

“He popped up security cameras in the store.” Ned answered.

Peter began to swing past buildings, making his way down the short distance to the grocery store.

“Security cameras?” He asked. “What did you guys do?”

“Don't ask questions. The less you know the better.” You replied.

“Wh-What? What do you mean 'the less I know'?” Peter was worried.

“You know, in case Iron Man comes busting though your door then you can claim plausible deniability.” You answered.

“Hey, there's his car! The old one missing the rear window.” Ned commented, pointing at your screen.

Peter stopped in his tracks. You watched as he stared at the car in question.

“How do you know I see his car?” Peter asked, unsure if he wants an answer.

“So we might have hacked into your suit's surveillance.” You answered. “We can see everything you see in real time.”

“You guys did what now?!” Peter held onto the ceiling as he approached the car.

“C'mon don't be like that! You already did it before!” You whined.

“It wasn't technically hacking, it was more or less disabling safety nets built into the suit.” Ned corrected.

“Mr. Stark's gonna kill me...” Peter concluded.

“Hey, Peter, Aaron Davis just entered the parking garage.” Ned relayed. You took a peek at his screen, Aaron was caught on the entrance's security camera.

Peter readied himself, telling Karen to activate 'Interrogation Mode'. You were curious.

Aaron began opening his trunk, putting a bag inside before Peter webbed his hand to the car. He approached, his strides held a confidence you've never seen before.

“REMEMBER ME?” Peter suddenly spoke, his voice way too 'murder bot' for your liking. Aaron was shaken for a moment, unprepared for the sudden booming in his voice.

“Woah! Calm down!” He stuck a hand up, trying to get Peter to stop.

You and Ned shared a look, eyes wide and mouths agape. What happened to Peter.

“YOU HAVE INFORMATION AND YOU'RE GONNA GIVE IT TO ME NOW!” He questioned, authority lining his voice.

“Hey... what happened to your voice?” Aaron suddenly asked.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN 'WHAT HAPPENED TO MY VOICE'?” Peter asked.

“I heard you by the bridge, I know what a girl sounds like.” He replied. You let out a chuckle.

“I'M NOT A GIRL! I'M A BOY! I MEAN-- I'M A MAN!” Peter insisted.

“Boy, girl, I don't care what you are.” Aaron replied.

“I'M A MAN! LISTEN, TELL ME WHAT YOU KNOW ABOUT THESE WEAPON DEALERS.” Peter questioned.

Aaron suddenly slammed on the trunk, the sudden movement startled Peter. Unknowingly to both of them, you and Ned also flinched at the action.

“You ain't never done this before, huh?” Aaron observed.

“DEACTIVATE INTERROGATION MODE...” Peter spoke to Karen. “Listen man, I just need to know who's selling these weapons. They are crazy dangerous and if they can cut down a bodega in half-”

“You know Delmar's?” Aaron suddenly asked.

“Yeah, best sandwiches in Queens.” Peter insisted. You unconsciously nodded your head in agreement.

“Sub Haven's pretty good.” Aaron argued.

“Eh, too much bread.”

“I like bread.”

“Peter! Get names!” You reminded him.

“Right, c'mon, you gotta give me something.” Peter pleaded.

Aaron didn't say anything, simply looking down at his hand now webbed to the trunk.

Peter turned around, walking away with disappointment.

“Stupid interrogation mode... Karen, never do that again.” He said as he walked away. You felt bad for him, Aaron was the only lead on these guys.

“The other night, you told those dudes 'If you're gonna shoot somebody, shoot me.' That's pretty ballsy.” Aaron spoke as he walked. His sentiment made Peter turn back to him. “I don't want those weapons on the streets, I got a nephew who live here.”

Aaron was being honest, opening up to Peter. You didn't expect it, and neither did Ned.

“Can you tell me who these guys are? What do you know about the guy with the wings?” Peter tried once again to question him.

“Other than he's a psychopath dressed as a demon, nothin', I don't know where he is or who he is.” Aaron answered. Peter smacked his head against the car. “But I do know where he's gonna be.”

Peter looked up, both you and Ned inched closer to your screen.

“Really?”

“Yeah, this dude I used to work with. Supposed to make a deal with him.”

“Yes! Yeah!” Peter exclaimed, already walking away.

“Peter! He didn't give you a location!” You spoke up again.

“Right! Right, so where will he be?” He asked Aaron.

“Staten Island Ferry, 11:00.” He answered. Ned already pulling up the ferry on his laptop.

“Thank you! Hey, that'll dissolve in two hours.” Peter pointed to the webbing on his hand.

“No, no! Come fix this!” Aaron demanded.

“Nope! You deserve it, you're a criminal!” Peter was walking away, giving him a quick wave, “Bye Mr. Criminal!”

“No! I got ice cream in here, man!”

Peter left without another word, making is way to the ferry with you and Ned guiding him. It was exhilarating, being behind the suit like this. You never thought you'd use what you learned on something as important as this, it always seemed to be wasted on harmless pranks or school assignments. But, sitting through all those computer science classes finally came in handy between you and Ned.

Now you felt you had some control over Spider-man, at least one hand on the wheel to guide Peter safely through his adventures. You couldn't quite name it yet, but you found that being his Girl in the Chair allowed you a sense of calm.

That was, until Peter arrived at the ferry.

Chapter 8

Taglist | Crossed out usernames are uncooperative, message me if there is a spelling error or other mistake:

@spider-mendes @sunflower-anna @missrowle @courtneychicken @legendarydazekitten @fly-little-butterfly @zseonlydavinci @alltheloveforharrystyles @pandalandalopalis @aristocracy-y @theasparagusawakens @voidjillybean @missaubreychase @infinityonfiction @lilspacefreckles @tmrhollandkay @cazenunn @tinynlwt @unprofessional-inhumanbeing @floodinginstars @susurrantsoul

[livelikebrent]

Stop 7: Winter Park + Boulder, Colorado

Have you ever broken somebody’s heart? Maybe it was with a significant other and ended things. Whether you’re on the giving or receiving end of it...it’s an awful feeling, isn’t it? Have you ever had to do it one dozen times in the span of maybe an hour? I remember shaking and trying to clear my throat as I dialed, Amanda, Danny, Amy, Adam, Josh, Brendan, John, Ryan...this list continues. I don’t even know how I knew who to call, or who I probably should’ve called but my mind had turned into liquid. Amanda had been texting Brent a day or two prior and had a bad feeling when he didn’t answer the text messages. She texted me earlier in the morning asking if everything was okay. I think I started these phone calls somewhere around 11am and 12noon on Saturday, July 15th. I just remember how quiet or how short some people were (not in a bad way by any means) when they spoke to me. I think it was shock, taking in the information and not knowing what to do with it. Others instantly started crying or tried so hard to hold back tears as they asked me to explain. I tried to explain as soon as I broke the news so they didn’t even have to wonder. I tried to explain that he was already heavily medicated and asleep so he didn’t know what had happened. I remember calling Josh as he and Hannah were driving to his sibling’s house. Hannah started screaming. I remember Adam driving, Danny and Dana sitting on their couch getting ready to leave for vacation later in the day. Danny said he knew as soon as he saw my name come up on their phone that something wasn’t right. Some didn’t even have my number at that point and didn’t know who was speaking to them initially but quickly learned.  But to break the hearts of some of Brent’s best and my dearest friends from the last few years...broke my heart even more that it already was that morning.

I talk about these people a lot. I talk about how grateful I am to have them still in my life. I’m about to talk about them some more on how a few joined me on my 7th stop on Tour de Brent: Colorado. I’ll say it again and again...I’m so happy and grateful that they joined me on this trip. One of the first places Brent and I had on our bucket list was snowboarding in Colorado. Brent knew I loved camping and hiking the Adirondack mountains in New York. He also knew I’d never been out west. So he wanted to take me snowboarding in Colorado, explore Boulder and to meet a close WVU friend of his, Lindgren.

Six of us met bright eyed and bushy tailed at the Philadelphia International Airport around 7am on Friday, February 9th. Skis, snowboards and bags had been checked, coffee in hand along with eagerness to depart from the City of Brotherly Love. While the crew was eager to shred some serious mountains, I was eager to finally meet Lindgren. Since I had several hours to kill on the flight, my mind wandered and remembered Brent taking calls from Lindgren. Or just chatting about him and his now wife, Nicole. I remember their save the date on his refrigerator right until we cleaned out the apartment. The first time I had ever contacted Lindgren was on July 24th with an apology. I apologized for not being able to make the wedding with Brent. But what I really ended up apologizing for was how sorry I was that Brent never had to the opportunity to introduce us. I also explained I had planned on still making it out to Colorado to check it off of the list for Brent. I heard back from Lindgren the next day and I just remember how nice it was to hear him say, “...I honestly feel like I know you, from all of the pictures of you and Brent on FB, to all the wonderful things he told me about you. So, in a way, we’ve already been introduced, and I consider you a friend.”  I think the people one surrounds themselves with speaks volumes about that individual. The people that were current in Brent’s life have been some of the nicest and raddest people I have met. Lindgren quickly made the list of friends I am grateful for today.

We landed in Denver and I had previously asked Lindgren for suggestions on lunch. He told us to check out Vine Street Pub while still in Denver and that it was a solid spot for a burger and was Stout Month there. I smiled as we approached the establishment. The place we were about to enter is one of the Mountain Sun locations. I think we all know that Brent LOVED stickers. After he had passed, I sifted through his collection...some were recent finds and some extremely old. He had a ton of Mountain Sun stickers. I recognized the logo as soon as I saw it entering the pub. We ordered a round of drinks, lunch and checked the weather. Snow was in the forecast for Saturday which was ideal as that was going to be our first day out on the mountain. I knew I wanted to place a sticker at this location and as I was walking back to my seat from the bathroom, what do you know? They had just a small section of a wall FILLED with stickers. After we paid our bill, I found our waitress with two other employees and explained why we were there from Philadelphia and asked if I could slap a sticker up. Her response was, “OF COURSE! We have stickers for you too!!” She gave me a reel of the same stickers Brent had. Then we found a place on their wall.

We jumped in our cars and made our way out to our Airbnb in Fraser, Colorado. Fraser is just north of Winter Park where we planned on spending our entire Saturday. With all of our gear and crew in tow, Brendan and I made our way through the mountains, around the mountains and then up the mountains. It was so beautiful. The brief video clip below doesn’t even do justice as we got closer to the mountain range.

Oh. Did you know that elevation sickness is actually a real thing? I will have to say that I had been warned. But as we climbed to over 9,000 feet in elevation to the towns...so did my stomach. I pounded waters to keep myself hydrated. Then by the time we went grocery shopping (conveniently located at the bottom of the hill from where we were staying), my feet started to cramp up. Thankfully, I got over it after a while. We settled into our ski themed Airbnb, made ourselves right at home and ordered pizza (including my fave, Hawaiian).

The answer to your question is yes. The place looked just like it does in the photos above from Airbnb. Believe me, I’ve been to Airbnbs where I’ve walked in and I had to double check the address because it looked nothing like it did in the photos. But you can view more photos and the entire place here! I don’t think we were there for even twenty minutes when we started posing on the faux bear rug in front of the fireplace. It was just such a cozy place for the weekend. But we were pretty tired from traveling and knew we had a long day ahead of us so we laid low for the first evening. Josh and his girl, Katrina came out to the place to hang for a smidge and say hi. I’ve met Josh a handful of times. The first time I met him was two years ago at Carve 4 Cancer. He flew in for the event and busted his knee on his first run of the day. Classic. He was one of the friends that came and visited with Brent when he was sick..which truly raised his spirits.

Josh showed up for Brent’s wake, the funeral and Carve again in 2018. As hysterically funny as he is and a joy to be around, he was genuinely a good friend of Brent’s. I asked Josh how he met Brent. He honestly didn’t know and felt like they just had always been buds since school. Brent would talk about Josh a lot and how Josh’s mom would take them out of school early, throw them in the car and drive up to Vermont to hit the mountains all of the time. I think I’ve heard that about half a dozen times from Brent.

The next day we got up, ate breakfast and realized it had been dumping and dumping and dumping snow overnight...and it wasn’t stopping any time soon. So we made a pot of coffee, breakfast, geared up and made our way over to Mary Jane Pass. To be quite frank the only downside to all of the snow was that it was snowing so much that we could hardly even see the mountains that were surrounding us and off in the distance. Honestly, it was fine though...we were so excited to be skiing and snowboarding in a storm on fresh powder. Cars filled the lots and lined the long, winding drive up to the base of the mountain. I think I heard, “NO FRIENDS ON POW DAYS!” Probably a dozen times in lift lines, on the mountains and in the lodge.

The snow was awesome. The trails took longer than 45 second to bomb down and you weren’t on top of one another for how busy the mountain was either. At this point, I started to understand why Brent wanted to take me out west to snowboard so badly. The snow was soft, there was hardly any ice if any at all, you could hop off the trail and wind your way through the trees and even though it was a pow day...you were on the mountain with some of the best people waiting for you around the next turn. We took a break for lunch at the lodge about half way through the day, hit the mountain for a couple more runs and then made our way back to the car and ultimately to the Airbnb. 

The boys made a mouth watering dinner for everyone. While we were in the super market the day prior, they found surf and turf packages for basically $10 a person. I SAID TEN DOLLARS. It most definitely didn’t taste like a $10 meal either. Lobster tails, steak, brussel sprouts, cocktails and beer. 

After dinner, we cleaned up and decided to check out some of the local spots in Winter Park and ended up at Idlewild Spirits Distillery.

It is a distillery pub nestled in the basement of a strip mall on the main drag of Winter Park. There’s a bar and plenty of seating in the main room of the establishment. We sat in the back room with rows and rows of barrels of their liquor. It was pretty cool. Each barrel had the type of liquor and the date. It had a rustic yet industrial feel to the place. Caitlin had suggested the place since she is one who greatly appreciates a fine cocktail. Sidenote, the first time I met Caitlin and Adam...they took Brent and I to a place in Manayunk, The Goats Beard, for cocktails. So we ordered a round of cocktails, “snacks” and hung out for a while recapping on our first day and plans for the remainder of the trip. As we wrapped up and paid the check, our waiter suggested to check out a little bar called The Basement. Are we picking up on a theme here yet? Apparently, Winter Park doesn’t stay open terribly later. But this little hole in the wall did...and we didn’t mind going to a local’s bar. Brent would’ve liked it. Skateboard decks hung above the counter with beers available. You felt like you were in the basement of your friend’s house back in high school and you were waiting for the crowd to show up to start the party. There were video games, a couple of tvs, an area for a DJ or band and some arcade games. A couple of guys were sitting at the bar still in their snowboarding gear with a pie of pizza they probably carried in themselves. It was a place where you went for a cheap après ski.

As drastically different as these two spots were, Brent would’ve thoroughly enjoyed them. We ordered a couple of Rolling Rocks for $3 each. I SAID THREE DOLLARS. It most definitely tasted like a $3 beer. As we sipped our drinks, Caitlin was passing out at the table from the long day for shredding the gnar. I think half of us made Ryan slug back our beers before we made our way back to the place and called it a night.

Sunday rolled around. Josh took Ryan out back country skiing, Caitlin and Adam hit up Grandby Ranch Resort to get a couple more turns in, and Brendan, Koren and I wanted to check out the town for the day and explore after we already arrived at Grandby. (Whoops!) As the three of us were driving out of the resort, I saw a small hill with a gazebo on top. I figured it had a pretty cool view of the ranch below and mountains that surrounded us. So we parked the car and went to walk up the hill. This turned into THE MOST tiring task of the weekend. We should not have been as winded as we were walking up this hill...mind you that we weren’t used to the elevation but it was embarrassing how bad we were sucking wind once we got to the top. I think I had to take a breather for about 5 minutes before I could even think about taking photos. But below us sat the ranch, cattle, and these adorable craftsman houses that sat on the mountain side. (Que ‘Weeds’ theme song here).

We hit up an antique store we saw along the way, stopped at Cooper Creek Square to buy stickers, shirts and gifts. The shops were cute. I think Koren bought a gift for about everyone in her entire life. Brendan bought gifts for his niece and nephew. We decided to find something to eat and right across the street was a place called The Ditch on 40. It ruled. It was a small spot on the second floor of a strip of stores. (Actually a spot not in a basement!) It had a deck which I’m sure gets packed on a mild blue bird day. The place described itself as “A family-run, roadside bar and grill, where it's all about the red and green... chile, that is.  We start from scratch! Using only chile from Hatch, NM.  We serve great burgers, tasty sandwiches, authentic New Mexican food and the best margaritas in town!” I’m sorry, but did you know that Colorado is known chile peppers? Well, it kinda is. If you want to read up about it and the great green chile debate between Colorado and New Mexico, click here! But I digress, it had a locals vibe to it with license plates on the walls along with ski trail signs from Winter Park’s trails, skis and snowboards hanging on racks from the ceilings. We figured the place got rowdy at night and was probably a pretty solid time with the après ski crowd. We shared some sliders, tacos and had a round of drinks. I do need to point out the beer that Koren ordered though. It was an oak aged sour stout with cranberries named Blucifer from Odd13 Brewing. Blucifer is the demon horse of the Denver Airport ...it is a bright blue mustang standing at 32 feet tall and 9,000 pounds with glowing red eyes. I am not joking. Although the Blucifer beer sounds odd for a stout to be sour - it was mighty delish. Also, we need to note the artwork on the can quickly...and yes, that’s Santa’s sleigh.

As soon as we had walked in the door I knew I wanted to place a sticker there for Brent. This was most certainly a place I could picture him after spending a day out on the mountain together. As soon as I asked one of the waiters he immediately said, “Yes! Of course!” and he had the same reaction when I asked if he wouldn’t mind capturing the placement in a photograph for me. There was a perfect spot, dead smack in the center of the mirror behind the bar.

After lunch, the three of us made our way back to Mary Jane’s Pass to check out the gift shop in the lodge. Apparently, this portion of Winter Park is the most difficult and it’s where we started and ended our first day out on the mountains. So Brendan and I bought a handful of stickers and Koren bought more gifts. I need to figure out how to get on her gift list. After lunch, we made a pit stop so Koren could get her ice cream fix and made our way back to the house. I tried to capture more of the mountains and the trees that were lightly coated in fresh snow...but, these photos don’t do any justice. There was so much texture.

When we got back, Caitlin and Adam were right behind us followed by Ryan and Josh who found the local Irish Pub (shocker. not.). We hung around, Ryan showed off the photo that Josh took of him and we had a couple of drinks and hot teas.

Eventually, we got ready and made ourselves presentable for a nice dinner out in the town at Deno’s Mountain Bistro. We snagged some seating by the bar as we waited for a table. This place had everything from wings to a steak dinner and a wine list that was 16 pages long. SIXTEEN! We had ordered everything from biratta, steaks, poke bowls, wings and pasta. Ryan was in his prime that night and Josh had us all laughing so hard during the entire meal.

The next day we packed up and left Fraser/Winter Park and started to make our way towards our next destination, Boulder. On the way, we stopped at Arapahoe Basin. It was another gorgeous ride up and through the mountains. We drove through Loveland Pass and the Continental Divide which was stunning. Koren and I had no shame in asking Brendan to pull the car over (more than once) to take photos.

We got to the parking lot and started to gear up for the day when I noticed Arapahoe’s logo. It’s the letter “A” with a design around it. I had seen it a dozen times in Brent’s sticker collection. Even when I visited Drew and Amanda in Syracuse, I remember looking through the collection with Drew and asking what logo or brand it was and he had no idea. Well, apparently this was a fave mountain of Brent’s and here we were about to spend the day shredding there.

Now THIS is what I envisioned snowboarding in Colorado to look like. Mountains were EVERYWHERE. Winter Park was a great time and all but if you told me I was at a ski resort in update New York on that mountain, I’d believe you. But the setting at A-Basin was just absolutely incredible. We were surrounded by high peaks near by, mountains in the distance and tons of trees.

I think every time we were on the lift up the mountain I said something along the lines of, “I can’t get over how beautiful this is!” THIS was when I completely understood what Brent wanted me to experience. I just knew it. THIS was where he would’ve taken me (or Breckenridge - next time!) to tear up a mountain together. An old colleague of mine went hiking in Yosemite National Park last year. I remember her posting a photo of her with in front of a stunning backdrop and the caption reading, “Sometimes it’s good to feel small.” That is 100% true and that’s how I felt riding the lift when we got to the top of the mountain at the Montezuma bowl. But right as we got off of the lift for our first run of the day, there was a work bench for binding adjustments next to the map of the mountain. It happened to be covered in stickers. I couldn’t think of a better mountain to place a #LiveLikeBrent sticker.

I know this is an obvious statement but the mountains were so big! There are so many trails and options! It was an amazing time. At one point, Koren and Caitlin found an alpine trail on the mountain called Moose Hollow. They took a photo for me knowing that moose are my favorite animal and that I’d do anything to see one in person. So the next trip up the mountain they took me through the trees on this trail. Mind you, I never take these trails because it’s a bit more difficult if you’re on a board. It’s even more difficult if you get stuck. Never mind that, it’s freaking EXHAUSTING if you fall and need to get yourself up. If you’re on skis you at least have both feet and two poles to help get back up. We went down this trail twice, I hopped over one of the divets successfully the first time. But there was one slight jump I couldn’t get over and lost speed both times.  I honestly had to lay there and give myself a minute after trying to get myself up the first time.

After a stellar day on the mountain, we packed up and made our way to our Airbnb in Boulder so we could get ready for dinner with Lindgren. This place was adorable as well. You can view more photos and the place we stayed here!

Lindgren asked where we wanted to get dinner and I requested any place that he would take Brent if he were in town visiting again. He suggested a Nepal/Tibetan/Indian spot called Sherpa’s Adventure Restaurant & Bar. It’s a restaurant that is in an old Victorian home...so yes, you felt like you were dining in somebody’s home. It was so great to finally meet Lindgren. I asked him how he met Brent. He said one time he was eating dinner at WVU and this shaggy, bleached, long haired, guy came over and sat down with him at the table. Lindgren said, “He just started talking to me and kept going. Somehow we got on the topic of snowboarding and he was SO passionate about it. At the time, I hadn’t had a lot of experience on the mountain. But we somehow just became immediate friends. He kept going on and on.” Ah yes the gift of gab, a gift given I’m sure by his father, was one of Brent’s best qualities. Shortly before Brent went in for his stem-cell transplant, he came to a wedding with me to celebrate my friends, Bit and Asad. I was parking my car for the wedding and feeding the meter as Brent went inside the beach bar of the hotel to get more quarters. I noticed he took a long time. It turns out it was because he was chatting up one of my college friends at the bar, Joe. When I went inside, Joe, looked at me and exclaimed, “AIS!!! DO YOU KNOW THIS GUY? He walked in and now all of a sudden we’re like BEST buds.”

After Brent passed Joe wrote, “Been thinking of you and Brent so much the past few days. I've never been so inspired by the spirit and fun vibe of a person after hanging out just one time with him. Just wanted to share these fun shots. So glad I got to spend that night with you two. Love you Ais.”  That’s the kind of guy Brent was though. He met Joe once. He spent maybe a total of 8 hours with him. Like Lindgren said - that’s all it took.

Anyway, I digress! Lindgren became one of Brent’s close friends from WVU and described him as his only “frat friend.” Lindgren said one time he was at his fraternity house and he received a phone call from Brent. Brent said, “Are you home?” Lindgren told him he was and Brent continued, “Go outside RIGHT NOW!” Lindgren was hesitant but went outside. Brent and his friend Tony were throwing giant tires down the hill Lindgren lived on and wreaking havoc. Remember at Brent’s funeral when the priest joked he wasn’t a Saint? Case and point.

As we ate dinner (which was top-notch), Lindgren also shared one of his proudest moments with Brent. Brent flew in to visit with Lindgren with the obvious goal to go snowboarding. Lindgren said he told Brent that they’d be snowboarding Vail that day with one of his friends. Cool, right? Lindgren also added in that they would be snowboarding with Owen Schmitt. Ha! He was a football player at West Virginia and had moved onto the NFL after college. I’d say that’s a pretty solid proud moment. Lindgren’s bud went to high school with Schmitt who still clearly hung out. I do vaguely remember Brent telling me about this and he somehow got Schmitt’s phone number...he made up and excuse when he asked for it like “Just in case we get separated on the mountain.” Brent then added him on Snapchat and I’m pretty sure vice versa. What a Brent move.

As we were finishing our meal, Lindgren suggested a place to check out next he liked called The Sundown Saloon. It had a cool name, so we were down for it. Nicole, Lindgren’s wife, showed up as we were paying the check and met everyone. When she heard where we were going for drinks she looked at Lindgren with concern and said, “You’re taking them there???” We asked what was wrong with it and she described it as a hole in the wall dive bar. I remember saying, “But...that’s our kind of place.” It really was. But before we left, Lindgren and Nicole chatted with the owner. I’d say they’re pretty darn close to being regulars. Then we took a quick group photo. Again, it looked and felt like we were in somebody’s house for supper.

As we approached the doors...guess where it was located? Yes, in another basement. The Sundown Saloon is tucked underneath the walking mall that is Boulder’s Pearl Street. I decided to place a sticker here because it was a place that Lindgren would’ve taken Brent. After being inside it was like Murphy’s back in East Falls with Billards. I’m NOT calling Murphy’s a hole in the wall dive bar, mind you. There was a lot of wood going on, a fun crowd, and photos on some of the walls like Mike has up.

We walked in and there was a juke box, dart board, foosball and shuffleboard table, a handful of pool tables, Christmas lights that covered most of the ceiling, and plenty of cheap beer and whisky. If I lived in Boulder, this would certainly become a regular spot for a drink or two with a crew. We pushed together a bunch of tables, watched Shaun White slay the Olympics, drank and chatted. Then, who shows up? Josh and Katrina. Josh definitely spoiled us with his presence that weekend. As we sat there, some a little more buzzed than others, Caitlin looked at me across the table and smiled, “Looking around this circle makes me really happy. Brent brought us together.” It was true. Who travels across the United States to meet a stranger and his wife? We did because Brent only surrounded himself with the most amazing people. I’ve learned many things over the last year and one of them is that the people you surround yourself with are a reflection of who you are as a person. I think that’s important to think about. If you sit back and think about the people in your life, who are they? How do they act? Are they some of the funniest people you know? Maybe they are the most thoughtful and caring. Or maybe they simply inspire you. I’ve decided to continue to surround myself with people that make me happy and that want to be in my life. What I do know is that as you get older your circle of friends tend to get smaller. But mine has only been expanding and I’m extremely thankful for it and everyone that has become a part of my life.

We said our goodbyes, I gave Lindgren one of Brent’s beanies he wore in the hospital all of the time, Never Summer. The company is based out of Colorado so I figured it was fitting. We didn’t talk about what happened to Brent. But Lindgren did look at me and say, “I’m just so glad he had you for the time that he did and everything he went through.” He started to get tears in his eyes and these are the types of things that make me cry...Seeing any of Brent’s friends hurt or upset about what happened. He continued to say things that were truly touching to hear. I hugged him a couple of times and told him I was so glad to have finally meet him.

P.S. Nicole SLAYS in foosball. Don’t let her fool you.

Photo Credit: Airbnb, Caitlin, Koren, Brendan, Josh, Joe, Odd13 Brewing

[theashemarie]

Resistance Personal Items Log (Sonic Forces Fic)

[sonuckles, part of my sonic forces series. go here to read the first pieces]

[[Once moved in, every member of the resistance must catalogue their private belongings.]]

RESISTANCE PERSONAL ITEMS LOG

BUNKER #267, MYSTIC RUINS/STATION SQUARE BRANCH

RESISTANCE MEMBER: Knuckles, #2671

ROOM #136

TRANSLATOR (from Echidnian): Tails, #2672

--

PERSONAL ITEMS, AS REPORTED BY RESISTENCE MEMBER #2671

Smuggled from: TAILS’S WORKSHOP in the early evening thru the early morning of August 21, 20XX via tunnels. STATUS OF THE WORKSHOP UNKNOWN

1.0: one (1) pair of shoes, sneakers, yellow and red, no laces

1.0.1: origin unclear; construction unlike anything found on the surface, found amongst rubble as a child and grown into at around age 13.

           1.1: socks, green, five (5) pair, large thread

1.1.1: hand sewn with store bought thread, a wooden needle, at night by firelight; some of the stitches are uneven and crooked, but they are sturdy and will not need replacing unless they are burned.

2.0: gloves, two (2) pair, large thread

2.0.1: origin unclear; large, antique thread, fitted and tailored by firelight to fit tight around fists and spikes; an extension of the wearer; have never ripped and will not need replacing unless burned.

3.0: one (1) windbreaker, red, pink, blue, orange, yellow, in a geometric print

3.0.1: originally Sonic’s, stolen from his bedroom in order to work as a sling to carry canned goods (now found in the kitchens)

3.0.1.1: bought at a thrift store in Empire City; tried on and ripped on hedgehog quills in excitement; when the clerk saw, her expression made it all worth it; laughed so hard we both cried.

3.0.1.2: Sonic said, “You break it you buy it” as he shoved some money across the counter.

3.0.1.3: the only reply I could come up with, “You didn’t break it, you ripped it.”

3.0.1.4: that night, sewed up by lamplight, modified to fit hedgehog quills; he thanked me and it felt like it was for more than the jacket. (Translator’s note: no real mobian translation exists for this.)

3.1: torn zipper, needs to be mended; Sonic said it gave it character

4.0: one (1) leather jacket, black, buttons and zippers, well-worn

           4.0.1: stolen from Sonic’s room, called it his “flying jacket.”

4.0.1.2: only saw him wear it once, when he found his way to the Island on a Wednesday afternoon (as he informed me).

4.0.1.2.1: time doesn’t exist on the Island, not the way surface dwellers see it; there is no sunrise and sunset when you move above the planet, under the atmosphere; days do not exist so much as pass unnoticed.

4.0.1.3: we spent the afternoon together, picking the ripe fruit in Marble Garden, munching on apples and plums

4.0.1.4: he packed lemons into his pockets, “for lemonade,” and I pretended not to notice when they spilled out and thudded to the ground when he moved too fast

4.0.1.5: he paid his respects to the Master Emerald, bowed so that his forehead could touch it, hands spread over its surface, whispering so fast that I couldn’t understand the language

4.0.1.6: the jacket spread under us as we looked at the stars, arguing over constellations

           4.0.1.6.1: “the warrior protects us from invasion”

           4.0.1.6.2: “no, the guardian protects the planet from Chaos.”

           4.0.1.6.3: “oh, so I’m in the sky?”

           4.0.1.6.4: “if anything, that’s me up there.”

4.0.1.6.5: “really Knuckles? You? What have you ever done that deserves astronomical remembering?”

4.0.1.6.6: “deal with you, for one.”

5.0: one (1) polaroid camera, bumped and bruised, strap tied into knots

5.0.1: rescued from Tails’s full hands in the tunnels; originally from Sonic’s room; probably grabbed by the fox in a panic, with the hope that Sonic will use it again

5.1: two (2) rolls of film, still in the boxes, thrown into the windbreaker sling amongst the canned food; unopened but perhaps useful

5.2: photo album, thirty-two (32) photos, four (4) to a page; at least five (5) years

5.2.1: a few of a creature I’ve never seen before, of a species that I don’t recognize: magenta, with a large green bauble about his neck

5.2.2: the last photo, the most important, Sonic, days before he went missing, kissing someone we can’t quite see, from the back; six (6) head quills, two (2) back quills, small fly-aways that always need to be set back into place

5.3: green bauble (1), knotted into the strap

6.0: a mug, ceramic, white with a child’s painting of multi-colors

           6.0.1: “World’s Best Dad” it says, an eternal joke between Sonic and Tails

6.0.1.1: he served me coffee in it once, an early morning when neither of us could sleep

6.0.1.2: sky sun-lit, pale and clear

6.0.1.3: cold winter, snow on the ground, making it brighter still

6.0.1.4: a set of Tails’s gloves, ripped from the workshop, in desperate need of attention, splayed on the table like a child’s dissection in science class; a needle, metal in my hands

6.0.1.5: busy energy in the air as Sonic makes coffee, leverages all of his weight into the push pedal on the trash can to throw out the grounds; jittery hands trying to sew, not always the best but it worked out

6.0.1.6: “I apparently don’t know what the word dad means,” I said as I spun the mug around.

6.0.1.7: “would you have a framework for that?” Sonic said. “You living alone and all?”

6.0.1.7: there’s a certain smartness that follows Sonic around; it’s easy to forget about, but then he says things like that and you’re struck by how he sees the world a bit sideways from everyone else, approaches things from different angles

6.0.1.8: “That’s none of my business,” Sonic cut across before I could answer, probably taking my silence as offense. “A dad is a male parental figure, but the mug is a joke.”

6.0.1.9: an imperceptible cock of my head, a blink, nostrils flared in thought

6.0.1.10: “Everyone says I’m a father figure for Tails. He made me that mug a few months ago. Turn it.”

6.0.1.11: I spun it again, squinted, and there, small and bleeding together, a date, and under that, a blue, spiky figure and a red, rounded one, holding hands.

7.0: one (1) guitar, acoustic, strings perfectly tuned

7.0.1: retrieved on a secret trip, after the bunker doors had been locked closed for the fallout; tunneled under everything, came up in the Workshop, plaster falling from the ceiling, walls rattling, pictures falling, electricity flickering

7.0.2: ducked through the house, kept low to the ground, crawled up the stairs, coughed on dust and ash, punched through Sonic’s bedroom door, gathered guitar, binder of sheet music, case

7.1: binder of sheet music, black, drawn all over with white paint marker: music notes, time signatures, music notation things, small hearts and stars

7.2: guitar case, covered with bumper stickers from all over the world, bent in the middle, leather peeling off, gray under all those stickers

7.2.1: Central City, Sonic on a charity bender, feeling guilty and wanting to help everyone; set up near the main park on a bench, guitar case open in front of him, strumming and humming in warm up

7.2.2: case already confetti’d with bills, both high and low; the money is for sick kids, he told people as they stopped by, asked for autographs, asked for pictures

7.2.2.1: they trusted him like Santa Claus; they left their money with him, trusting that he would take it to where he said he would; trusted him differently from how I did: I trusted him to watch my back, to share a bed, to have his head near my heart; they trusted like he was a mythical creature.

           7.2.3: when asked about me: “this is Knuckles, my boy—best friend.”

           7.2.4: no one ever noticed the slip

8.0: three (3) Chaos Emeralds, green, yellow, red, kept in a locked box in a locked safe under the bed

8.1: the green, found in a Special Zone in Mystic Ruins by Tails, two months before the bombing

8.2: the yellow, found for sale in Shamar in a caravan; Sonic spent far too much on it, but declared it was worth it when he saw Tails nearly breathe fire

8.3: the red, presented to me as “a ruby,” with a gentle, small smile, late at night; I had been asleep on the couch and woke up to Sonic on one knee before me, holding the Emerald out

8.3.1: it cast a strange glow on the room, made his face seem warm and familiar, his teeth brighter, smile true and genuine

           8.3.2: “I found this for you,” he whispered. “A ruby.”

           8.3.3: “That’s an Emerald.”

           8.3.4: “No, it’s ruby like you.”

8.3.5: sat up, took the Emerald, noticed Sonic’s position on the floor, said, “Are you trying to be romantic again?”

8.3.6: his grin only widened. “Is it working?”

8.3.7: I’ve never trusted that smile, but something about the glow, the moment, the sound of the wind outside, made me drop my guard. “If it is, what’s your goal?”

8.3.8: no verbal reply; he leaned forward, so close that I could see the individual furs on his face, looked into my eyes, waiting for permission or encouragement

8.3.8.1: I haven’t lived on the surface for long, but I knew this: Sonic’s love of words, words from vocal chords, tone and emotion, positive or negative; no assumption from him, only things verbalized before he moved.

           8.3.9: “Yes, kiss me already.”

9.0: one (1) rugged, “field” sewing kit, for mending:

           9.0.1: socks,

           9.0.2: gloves,

           9.0.3: jackets,

           9.0.4: hearts.

[deviant-chant]

i saw you and wondered the chance of you becoming mine

Keith’s never been in love, but seeing Takashi Shirogane in the library among the stacks of books has Keith reconsidering what little he knows about the elusive emotion. It’s just that…Keith is Keith. He’s nothing special. Shiro on the other hand is their university’s golden boy with a bright future ahead of him. It would just seems a little too good to be true that Shiro would be interested in Keith, especially when he’s good friends with Dick Grayson, who’s gorgeous, clever, and alluring. Dick, however, has his eye on Jason Todd who inspires something unseen within him, something exciting and exhilarating. Either way, Keith just hopes Shiro wants him half as much as Keith does.

Two love stories; one experienced, another one only seen.

alternate reading here

Keith’s eyes were burning.

He’d crammed studying weeks of material into a night of productively that was all too common for him. Keith wasn’t a good student in a conventional sense; of course, he got his work done, passed his classes with the bare minimum of what he needed to achieve, and tried not to skip a class more than once a month. He might not be a shining example of the time smart and conscientious college student, but Keith didn’t rightly give a damn to be honest.

“Your face looks like it got run over by a fucking bulldozer, man.” Jason Todd teased as he came up besides Keith. He startled slightly, not having heard Jason’s approach, which was unacceptable and told Keith how out of it he really was.

Maybe pulling an all-nighter and chugging Monster energy drinks until his heart noticeably pounded inside the cavity of his chest hadn’t been the best idea he’d ever had.

Keith didn’t spare his friend a look as he continued reading up on Microbiology and Macroeconomics—both classes he had exams in today. Keith’s books were piled high in a semi-circle around him, and in the middle, was his laptop, sticker bombed to high heaven with bands Keith unironically listened to and liked despite Jason’s distaste for Bring me the Horizon and My Chemical Romance. The only band they could actively agree on when sharing a car was Fall Out Boy, and Keith supposed that simple similarity in good music was how they remained friends.

His eyes had a manic, red rimmed look to them as he tried continuing with his studies, but it was an uphill battle that he was steady losing with each stinging blink.

Jason whistled lowly with sudden understanding and as much sympathy as a guy like him could give, which wasn’t much. It was widely known how much of an asshole Jason was.

It was a wonder how anyone, let alone Jason Todd, could remain completely sane while going to school full-time, working a part time job, and still manage to have social life on the weekends. Honestly, it was a complete wonder how they were friends. Even on good days, Keith could barely function enough to keep himself regularly fed on a diet of Coke Zero and chicken and shrimp flavored ramen noodles.

“Goddamn Keith, how long have you been at it?” Jason asked, sipping at his coffee.

Keith hated Jason for that short moment, at how well rested and refreshed his friend looked, while he on the other hand probably smelled like yesterday’s BO. His hair was also limp with grease, sticking up in every which way as Keith had pulled and tugged at the roots in frustration when a question wasn’t easily solvable as he would’ve liked.

Keith sighed, recognizing himself as a mess.

“Since nine last night,” Keith murmured. “I took a couple of breaks in between to get some Monsters and piss, but that was pretty much it.”

Jason winced.

“When’s your exam?”

That was a good fucking question.

Keith checked the right-hand corner of his laptop screen, brows rising with false surprise.

“Oh. In fifteen minutes. That’s just great.”

Jason snorted, shaking his head with fond disbelief.

“You gonna even make it? You honestly look like a zombie, and that’s without the stench.”

Keith made a face. He flipped Jason off as sniffed self-consciously at his red hoodie, finding it to be…okay. It wasn’t horrible or anything; no nose hairs were going to singe when he walked into a room. He’d shower and take a nap after the exam was finished. He had a five hour break in-between today’s classes and thanked the lord for small mercies.

“Let me at least walk you.”

Keith agreed and began packing up his things with a subdued finality, hoping that his all-nighter had been worth the crippling exhaustion—that he knew a little more than when he’d begun. Keith at least hoped he did.

While Keith and Jason walked through the stacks towards the exit, Keith’s eyes caught and lingered on a set of broad shoulders and a wide back, admiring the muscles that no doubt resided underneath that thick crème colored cable-knit sweater.

The weight of Keith’s eyes must have been a tangible, heavy thing because almost as quick as he caught sight of the man, those eyes were turning, shifting onto Keith with his unkempt hair and frumpy appearance, and the stranger studied him up and down indifferently before he smiled empathetically at the bags under Keith’s eyes.

His attention turned back towards the book he’d pulled from the shelf, flipping through the pages, paying close attention to whatever he needed to find as his hand smoothed slowly down the page.

It was a shame, really when those eyes left him. Keith had never seen someone as attractive as the man, and those eyes on him had made Keith feel a spark of interest that he hadn’t felt in a very long time. It was both concerning and exciting, like being on a roller-coaster and feeling your safety belt give when you were upside down in a loop.

Keith could barely keep his curiosity contained as he elbowed Jason in the side, gesturing back towards the library with a lazy jerk of his head as if to seem completely aloof.

“Who was that guy?” Keith asked, trying to put a cool edge on the eagerness in his voice. “And why does he make that white streak in your hair look 10 times cooler?”

Keith snorted loudly when Jason had the gall to look legitimately offended.

“Oh, fuck you Keith.” Jason cursed, running a hand through his tuff of hair self-consciously. “At least I’m not rocking an 80’s mullet, loser.”

“Touché.”

***

Takashi Shirogane, Keith learned over the past few days, was the textbook definition of a star on the rise.

Honestly, it was kind of both amazing and sad at how Keith hadn’t heard of him despite Takashi being so integrated within the campus’s student life, but maybe that was the reason why. Keith had no interest in joining clubs or making friends.

Takashi obviously did not feel the same. He was an active participant in Student Government, the president of the Asian Student Association, and was the ace of the goddamn swim club.

He was everywhere and Keith was suddenly starting to notice.

“The whole school has a hard-on for him basically,” Jason said offhandedly as they were walking across campus towards the cafeteria. The wind was relentless, a biting chill that cut through Keith despite wearing layers upon layers and a thick wool scarf that covered the bottom half of his face.

Born and raised in Arizona, Keith didn’t fare too well with the cold. Keith ran on a permanent dial of hot it seemed. However, the Bachelor of Music program offered in Buffalo excelled anything that had been in Keith’s neck of the woods and moving, while daunting, had been a no brainer.

Even though Keith probably would never admit to it, the change in scenery had helped him a lot with his feelings of inferiority and self-doubt. They still lingered of course, but they weren’t as crippling as before in his small town.

Keith looked to his friend, wondering.

“So, does that mean you do too?” Keith asked, curious.

He knew Jason was openly bisexual, but had never seen his friend take an active interest in someone of the same sex. Keith often contemplated what kind of guy would make Jason Todd a blushing, stuttering mess, shattering that devil-may-care attitude. Keith would pay to see it.

Jason snorted and gave Keith a skeptical side-eye.

He was dressed in a red and white biker jacket, zipped up to his neck, and a dark gray beanie covered his studded ears. Jason didn’t seem to notice or care when random people passing by stared at him, used to the appraising looks. Keith got his fair share too—he knew he wasn’t a bad looking guy—but it always made him feel awkward and too-small for his body.

Keith had to resist the urge to give one his jackets to Jason in fear that he was going to freeze right down to his boots. He had to remember Jason was a New England native and was used to these brutal winters and dressed rather unwisely because of it.

Jason shook his head. “Nah, golden boy really isn’t my type.”

That threw Keith for a wide loop because Takashi Shirogane was attractive enough to shatter anyone’s “type” deviation.

Jason was just crazy.

Keith looked at the other man with narrowed eyes because that had to be utter bullshit. Keith wasn’t buying it. His gaze seemed to communicate that same sentiment and Jason threw his hands up in a defensive manner, eyes wide.

“What? It’s fucking true. He’s not my type.”

Keith threw his hands up too, but in an exasperated manner because this was it—he couldn’t be friends with Jason Todd anymore, it was final.

“How is he not your type?” Keith practically yelled, probably looking enraged by how the girl in front of them turned her head because of the outburst, then proceeded to quickly shift her attention to anything other than Keith’s passionate eyes.

Jason sputtered, tripping over his words as he tried coming up with an explanation that would satisfy Keith.

“Holy fuck, you gremlin. He’s just not,” Jason said, rubbing shyly at the back of his neck. “For one, he’s like…my size, maybe even bigger, and I’m just not into that. However, I can appreciate him on a purely aesthetic level, so I can understand your little school boy crush.” Jason teased with a shit-eating grin.

Keith scoffed at that wording—school boy crush—but he was fascinated enough with this sudden insight into Jason’s sexuality to ignore it.

He only knew Jason was into guys because of that one time, when they’d first met last year at a typical frat party and decided they were going to fuck, but then Keith had thrown his guts up all over Jason’s shoes and passed out right after in a heap on his floor. Keith had been lucky to find the one guy out of hundred that took care of him instead of making him into another tragic college statistic. He nursed Keith back into excruciating sober health and had even made him pancakes in the morning.

In Keith’s fucked way of making amends, he had even shamelessly offered his ass as a means of saying ‘thanks for not being a piece of shit, now he’s your reward’ without having to say any of that embarrassing spiel. Jason had politely declined the offer and they went about their day, finding that they meshed quite well as friends, and friends only.

Ever since then, Jason had only gone out with a few girls here and there, nothing serious. He didn’t talk much about what he liked and Keith was curious.

Currently, he was connecting the dots alarmingly fast, like a kid with a bright red crayon and a mission.

“So…” Keith drew out, deceptively light, thankful his scarf covered his self-satisfied smirk. “You like your boys smaller than you…” Keith deduced like a perverse wannabe Sherlock Holmes. “That tells me two things: you either like to completely dominate these guys or…” He left the implication to dangle in the air over Jason’s head like a carrot, watching the realization transform his face as the tips of his ears suddenly went red. “Or you like being dominated by them.”

Keith’s eyes indulgently took in Jason’s six foot two frame, bulky shoulders, wide chest, and narrow waist in a slow eye sweep and hoped in a pure platonic way that the latter was truly Jason’s preference.

Jason’s eyes went comically wide, hands coming up in half-aborted motions as if to cover himself from Keith’s prying eyes. He had a good laugh at Jason’s expense.

“You’re absolutely horrible,” Jason said weakly.

Keith shrugged without a care.

From there on they walked in companionable silence as Keith checked the time on his phone, along with his non-existent messages from his non-existent friends. Keith wasn’t paying attention as he neared the entrance and collided hard into a solid frame. Papers fluttered around their heads before several books tumbled onto the floor with a heavy crash.

Keith’s head shot up in mortification, uselessly trying to catch papers that fell right through his fingers.

“Shit,” Someone cursed. “This would be just my luck.”

“Oh shit, dude—fuck—I’m so sorry.” Keith said, crouching to pick up several Criminal Law textbooks and several papers that looked like complex, detailed essays. Some of the terminology Keith managed to spot was enough to make his head throb with on oncoming headache.

He looked at Jason out of the corner of his eye, wondering why his friend was just standing there and being completely useless. Jason would’ve at least helped a bit or would’ve called Keith an idiot or a klutz by now, but he was still as a steel pole on a windy day. It was odd, uncharacteristic behavior, but when Keith raised his head to hand several books back, Keith understood why Jason was utterly speechless.

The guy he’d bumped into was pretty, obnoxiously pretty, so pretty that it immediately pissed Keith off. His eyes were also distracting; a shade of too-blue that made his irises look like they were made with an intense kind of consideration, giving him an unnerving penetrating stare.

The man was dressed in a black turtle neck sweater and a deep navy blue pea-coat, looking like he’d just stepped out of a GQ photo shoot rather than attending class. He was sleek and lithe, delicate in a masculine way that inspired respect and attention.

Even though Keith had been the one to bump into him and was offering his things back, the man’s eyes had settled onto Jason and lingered before he shifted his attention onto Keith, which Keith saw took effort. Those eyes dimmed a bit when they turned onto him, but the man still kindly offered his thanks as he took the books and papers into the cradle of one of his arms and offered Keith his free hand to help him back onto his feet.

“Thanks, man. It’s no big, just be more careful next time.” The man said. Keith was sure that if it had been anyone else, he would’ve scoffed and rolled his eyes at the big brother tone that the man used, but it was honest and sincere and Keith couldn’t help the obedient nod of his head.

“Thank again,” He said to Keith kindly, but his eyes strayed to Jason when he said. “Hopefully I’ll see you around.”

“…Uh, yeah,” Keith said after a moment because Jason was still staring at him with this dazed, awed expression and it was embarrassing and awkward if the silence remained otherwise. With a subtle shove, Keith nudged Jason with his shoulder and only then did Jason nod his head, garbling out some abomination of a word that was a mix between cool and great.

The man laughed softly as if charmed by Jason’s nervous fumbling and the effect he obviously had on him. He bid Keith and Jason goodbye and strolled away with a noticeable pep in his step.

Keith’s lizard brain instinctively watched his hips subtly sway side to side and he whistled low enough for just Jason to hear. He turned expectant eyes onto Jason who was watching as well, except his eyes were lidded and his teeth dragged along his bottom lip with a low, appreciative sound.

“You wanted to know my type,” Jason began, voice noticeably breathy in quality. “There he just went. Goddamn.”

***

Keith didn’t see Takashi for two weeks after his first glimpse in the library.

There wasn’t a dire, all-encompassing need to see him, but the hope remained that Keith would somehow spot him from the corner of his eye and admire him from afar like everyone else probably did.

There was an eatery on campus that Keith was in the mood and had money for and walked the ten minutes to the stir fry joint that was nearly packed. Keith got his food and sat down at one of the few open tables that was slightly sticky, but Keith didn’t mind as he began to dig in, not having had breakfast before which consisted of anything he could find laying around; a granola bar, a bottle of orange juice, half a candy bar shoved down deep inside his backpack.

It was a decent meal for eight bucks—worth it, Keith thought.

Jason would be proud that he’d wasn’t chowing down on ramen noodles for a change.

Keith easily tuned out the chatty buzz of the restaurant with his own insistent thoughts about nothing and everything as he drifted on white noise. He tried not to feel self-conscious about eating alone as he noticed everyone else where in groups of two or more.

He checked his phone absentmindedly while he ate, re-reading the funny texts from Jason’s morning rage because he’d just been assigned a butt load of homework for the upcoming weekend and that interfered with plans apparently. After Jason ran out of his brand of colorful phrases, he’d reverted to using knife and fire emojis.

Keith wanted to feel bad for him. He really did, but it felt good to know Jason was like the rest of them—drowning in school work and deadlines.

“Hey man, I know this is kind of weird, but do you mind if we sit with you? We’ve kind of already met when you think about it.” An oddly familiar voice said.

Keith’s head jerked up, almost dropping his phone as he shortly fumbled with it. He felt his mouth gape as the pretty boy with the unnerving blue eyes that he’d run into a few days ago and Takashi Shirogane, of all fucking people, stared down at him expectantly, waiting for his response. Takashi stood some ways away from the table unlike his friend who sort of hovered over Keith, like he didn’t want to assume or put pressure onto Keith to say yes. A considerate guy.

Keith’s eyes darted quickly around the restaurant; the place had only gotten busier and Keith was sitting at one of the bigger tables that seated four.

“Uh,” His head swam for a response. “Y-yeah, no problem.”

As they sat down, Takashi right across from Keith, he hurriedly moved his items closer to him so they wouldn’t seem so big and obvious. He was suddenly self-conscious about this backpack, decked out in patches that he collected over the months that clearly showed his thoughts on several political matters, his love for 80’s movies like The Lost Boys and The Goonies, and his taste in music.

He caught Takashi staring and had the resist the urge to fidget.

“Rites of Spring are one of my favorite bands too,” Takashi said. “There was just something about the music back then that was just electrifying and inspiring—made you wanna go fight the government and set fire to corrupt institutions.” He softly brushed over one the patches on Keith’s backpack. He watched Takashi’s fingers, practically drooling over how beautiful and strong they were, at how delicate they touched Keith’s property. “I’ve never heard of this one through. They any good?” Takashi asked, brown eyes incredibly warm as he looked up at Keith and he felt himself being caught like a fish on a hook.

Keith couldn’t form words, not yet, so he nodded his head, swallowing down the huge lump in his throat and hoped the heat he suddenly felt wasn’t too visible on his face.

“Sorry, I’m forgetting my manners.” Takashi said as he collected a big, heaping bite on his fork. “I’m Takashi Shirogane, but everyone calls me Shiro.” He gestured towards his…friend, the pretty boy who had already began stuffing his face like he hadn’t eaten in years. “This is—”

“I’m Dick!” Pretty boy interrupted excitedly, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yes, I know. Please hold off on the jokes. I’ve heard them all.” Dick good-naturedly teased and Keith didn’t know what to say, so he relied on the first thing that came to mind.

“God, I at least hope your last name isn’t Johnson.”

He was horrified, but then Dick snorted loudly, the power of it rocking his shoulders and Shiro in turn, laughed with him.

“I know, right?” Dick said. “The name of my birth certificate is actually Richard John Grayson, though. My parents have a wickedly sick sense of humor and the nickname just took. I can’t get rid of it now.” He shrugged like there was nothing he could do; however, it didn’t sound like he wanted to do much.

“What about you?” Shiro nodded at Keith, taking a bite.

Oh. Right.

Having the brunt of his attention was highly distracting.

“Keith. Kogane.” Keith said. “I know. Very basic, dry first name and then that little bit of ethnic spice hits you with, Kogane.” Keith tried for a smile when he realized he was being weird about his name. “Uh, nice to meet you both.”

Shiro smiled at him and Dick offered the same sentiment through a mouthful of food.

“Don’t worry, it’s a nice name. Has a nice cadence to it,” Shiro told him and Keith blushed, averting his eyes.

“Thanks.” He mumbled out.

They lapsed into comfortable silence as they traded conversation for eating.

Keith was too aware of himself, of his movements no matter how big or small. He almost sighed in relief when his phone vibrated in his pocket; Jason wondering where he currently was so he could come hang out. Keith tried to keep a cool calmness about him as he practically vibrated in his skin because Jason was going to freak.

me: i’m @ the stir fry place up the street…you’re gonna shit your pants when i tell you who asked to sit with me

jason: who?

Keith slyly took a picture, taking care to make sure the flash and the shutter were off and sent the picture to Jason.

jason: HOLY SHIT

jason: HOW THE FUCK

jason: WHAT THE FUCK

jason: IM ON MY WAY.

jason: IM RUNNING.

jason: PEOPLE ARE GIVING ME LOOKS

Keith cleared his throat, trying to mask the laughter that wanted to rack his shoulders.

He tried not to watch the door in anticipation, but then Jason arrived an impressive five minutes later, looking wind blow and rugged in his motorcycle jacket, looking like he just come back from an afternoon ride. He raked a hand back through his hair, smoothing down over his undercut as his eyes roamed the restaurant. His eyes sparkled when he spotted Keith’s table and waved with a two-fingered salute, a gesture Keith returned half-assed.

Shiro and Dick noticed and curiously turned their heads. It was both amusing and interesting to watch the full body shutter the racked over Dick’s back at the sight of Jason practically strutting up towards their table. Keith and Shiro seemed practically non-existent in that moment.

Jason caught Dick’s eye and held it captive before shifting onto Shiro, sizing him up.

Shiro did the same, but with a bit more delicacy, taking in their obvious similarities and differences.

Keith grappled for what to say.

“Uh, this is Jason. Jason Todd.” Keith began. “He’s kind of an asshole, but he means well…” Keith’s mouth took on a wiry twist. “Usually.”

“Hey guys, what’s up?” Jason greeted charmingly, unfazed. He coolly fell back into the seat besides Keith, picking through the food that remained on his plate. He apparently found nothing worth scavenging as he pushed the plate back into Keith’s direction.

“Jason, this is Dick Grayson and Takashi Shirogane.”

“But Shiro’s more than fine,” Takashi softly reminded him. It seemed like it was more for Keith’s benefit than Jason’s as their eyes met and held. Keith’s heartbeat sped up because of what he saw in Shiro’s gaze, a look that made Keith’s face heat and his body tingle, and he startled when Jason interrupted the moment with an amused snort.

Keith’s head shifted quickly in his friend’s direction, frowning when he saw Jason looking indulgently between the both of them, gaze heavy with implication and meaning. Before Keith could ask him what he found so fucking amusing about the situation and potentially embarrass himself further, Jason’s eyes fell onto Dick’s, completely ignoring Keith and Shiro like they were mere place mats set for decoration.

The other man hadn’t taken his eyes off Jason yet and Keith shifted, feeling like he was intruding on something private because they both oozed a particular kind of sex appeal and when that came together, Keith was sure it would explode.

He wanted to be far away as possible when it did happen.

“I’m being forward here, so forgive me, but you’re not dating him, are you?” Jason asked Dick, gestured to Shiro who’s eyes went wide. Keith was sure his eyes went wider though.

“See, this is what I meant about him being an asshole,” Keith murmured.

Dick only laughed, tilting his head in careful consideration.

“No, Shiro and I aren’t dating, we’ve never dated.” Dick began slowly. “Actually, I’m not seeing anyone now. How lucky for you…” He pointed to Keith. “Are you dating him? Dating anyone?”

Jason bit his lip and shook his head. “Completely free.” Jason proudly announced as the corner of his mouth quirked. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

A throat cleared.

“Should we leave? We can leave.” Shiro said blandly. It sounded like he was used to this kind of occurrence, that he was often the third wheel when Dick caught the eye of someone who interested him.

Keith sighed like he was suffering and put his head into his hands.

Jason and Dick just ignored them.

“Yeah…” Shiro began skeptically, eyeing them back and forth. “I’ll catch you later Dick. It was nice meeting you Jason.”

“See you tomorrow, don’t do anything I would do.”

“Yeah, catch you later, swimfan.”

Shiro paused at the nickname, then chuckled as his eyes turned onto Keith expectantly.

“I don’t know if you drink coffee, but there’s this really nice bakery two blocks from here that has amazing cappuccinos and croissants.” Keith was still reeling from the sound of Shiro’s laugh to truly understand what Shiro was about to ask him. “My treat, you know, if you’re up for it. I’ll have you back home before dark.” Shiro joked, shyly scratching at the back of his neck.

It didn’t occur to Keith that he was technically being asked out on a date. The presumptuous idea that Shiro might be interested in him almost made Keith’s head combust right there on the spot.

It took effort keep his voice calm and cool, retaining that aloof nature he was known for.

“Oh. Yeah, that would be cool.”

“Alright then, it’s a date.”

[ajaegerpilot]

today was kind of a bizarre day bc of like . . .  randomly human customers that made me sad & soft to witness? and sometimes happy

like a young girl, 10 years old maybe, with her immigrant mom acting as a translator between me and her mother, even paying the debit card because it’s clear her mother didn’t know enough english like idk? it didn’t really make me sad but it was a very ‘oh’ moment to see those two, to see the child taking up the responsibility with such a solemn air. i wish the world was easier to navigate.

I asked an older woman and her friend if she had 25 cents for her purchase (that way I could give her back less change). she told me she uses all her quarters for payparking in front of the hospital. she mentioned to her friend how much she’s spent. so she got 75 cents back in quarters.

another mother and her daughter. i liked this less because the mother snapped at her kid. i mean, she was stressed out. she was buying flowers, transplanted in pink paper by the lady in seasonal, because she was going to a funeral and the seasonal lady felt for her obviously and wanted the flowers to look nice. they were orchids. the mother and daughter were both dressed in some of the few black clothes they owned probably, big black poofy winter jackets. no one really plans to go to funerals.

less depressingly, a guy who i got gay vibes from (bc?? idk? its a compliment) came back in to the store to pay for some tape he’d accidentally taken out of the store while fidgeting that neither me or the other cashier had noticed. I gave him kudos for his honesty but like honestly. humanity in general was being very easy to love that morning.

later, we have stickers up at our till that we give to kids - spiderman stickers and princess stickers. i always make a point to offer kids both regardless of the gender I assume they are, and the first time I did that the little girl wanted spiderman stickers so. but at least two of my coworkers don’t, and one of them asked a little boy if he liked spiderman. he said no, he liked superman (classic DC vs marvel), but my coworker and the boy’s parents convinced him to check out the stickers. but the little one noticed the princess stickers tucked up on the till! and! asked for princess stickers! and he picked out ariel for himself, and picked out jasmine for his sister and!! children! give them the world.

also my crush licked her lips today like in a way someone would on purpose to be sexy except it wasn’t on purpose :// still sexy tho :///////// to my credit I’ve continued my winning streak of being able to converse with her and joke with her in a way which! i’m flirting with her but she doesn’t know it basically! someday I’m going to graduate to being able to flirt with someone who’s flirting back but honestly i’ll take my victories. she cute. also !! i remembered an old crush I had in highschool that I didn’t recognize as a crush. @ irl friends if u read my personal posts that aren’t discourse (which i’m sure y’all eye up but let slide) d’you remember morgan?? from theatre?? wtf im pretty sure i was into her and I totally didn’t realize it till today. i barely remember her face anymore but she had long(ish) eyelashes, if i’m not mistaken? and was dating that emo boy whatsisface whose eyes literally never saw the light of day, correct?

[eyeliveinabook]

Bucky x Reader p.4

Okay so this is a pre-smut part. Smut will come next(probably later on tonight) I would really apperciate it if y'all can let me know if you want a series of this or just let it die. Bye

After what had happened with Ray, Bucky suggested you go somewhere else to try to scout for this hacker. He noticed that your steps were very quick and it seemed like you just want to get away, go back to the tower and curl under the blankets. Annoyed about it he decided to try talking to you as you guys sat together in a park. "So what was up with Ray?" You sighed and turned to face him. "I don't want to talk about it, so drop it." You say trying to have anger burning in your eyes but all that shown was no emotion. "Well I want to know why you were acting strange. So unless you start talking I'll keep asking. Or I can text Ray and ask him." You could hear the smirk in his voice and all the color in your face was gone. "He gave me his number not you, besides you wouldn't do it." "Wanna bet Doll I took the number out of your pocket." "You can't text, old man, and I am not helping you." "Suite yourself." He pulled out his phone, you grab it and without thinking you stuffed it in your bra. "I'll tell when we get back to the house tonight. Until then I am keeping your phone." Bucky just looked at you suprised and shook his head, "Doll, Steve is going to call me later today for an update on this misson. I am going to need it then." "Well steve can wait until tonight. Hey Buck, there is a guy sitting at your 9'oclock wasn't he at the coffee shop earlier this morning?" After Bucky turns while trying to be smooth(doesn't work) he looked back at you, "Yeah so?" You dig into your bag and pull out a small laptop, when you turn it on there is no wifi signal. "How is he using it if there is no wifi?" "Maybe he is playing games on it." "Bucky go over there and talk to him." "What why?" "Because he had a shirt on earlier with Tony's logo and his laptop have an Avenger's sticker. Since you're not technically part of the Avengers he won't recognize you. Here when you sit down put this near his computer and then if he seems fishy tell him that this has some personal blueprints of Tony's. Then when you feel comfortable to leave go back to the house, as soon as I am finished here, I'll head over there." You hand him the stuff as you pull out your bluetooth to ring Tony. Bucky just glares at you then gets up. You watch as he starts talking to the kid. "I am not taking care of a winter solider baby if that is why you are calling." Tony says. "No time for jokes Tony I need your help, you know that flash drive that you gave to me that has blueprints of your newst tech. I need your help activating it. Also I didn't appriate you stealing my PJ's." You heard Tony chuckle,"Sorry couldn't pass up the opertunity, now let me talk you into this. The two devisses Tony gave you were part of a hacking system. Bascally there is a square device and the flash drive. The square thing sitting by Bucky is extra storage, while the flash drive is upgraded and transfer all the files that are on the laptop into the storage. If the kid takes the flash drive it doesn't matter, as long as we get that storage back. The laptop will act normal and all the files will be there as if nothing happened. Setting that aside you pull out a walkie talkie and a small microphone when you speak into the microphone BUcky's arm will pick up the signal and tranfer what you are saying into his ears as if you were whispering to him. "The kid can leave with the flash drive but don't let him take that little storage box. When I tell you, slip that thing back in your pocket." "You talking to me?" Tony asks. "No, I am talking to Buck with that walkie talkie system you designed." "Aw okay tell Bucky to call me if it doesn't work. You know if you wanted to mess with him, you can say whatever you want and he will hear it." "And?" You sigh getting really tired of Tony, "Are you trying to hook us up?" "No I am just suggesting that if you want to irriate him or get back at him for anything, now would be the time because all he can do it listen." You hear the smirk in his voice, "Tell Buck that all the files are transfered. Have fun (Y/N)." Tony said chuckling. "Oh I will Tony thanks." You say ending the call. You tell Bucky that his mini mission is finished and he can leave whenever he wants to. However you notice that he seems to really enjoy the conversation with the kid. Would it be worth it to get back at him for the stunt he pulled yesterday? You get up and walk a little ways away so no one can see you, but still in range with the walkie talkie. Taking your bluetooth out, because knowing Tony it's probably bugged to see if you would take on his suggestion. You take a deep breath and just go for it, "You know Buck your phone is getting really warm in my bra. I also put it on vibrate for when Steve calls." You look to see Bucky freeze, the kid didn't even notice. He relaxes a bit, "Yeah this is total pay back for that shit you pulled making me touch your dick. You know, after that it's all I've been thinking about. How your body would feel against mine, how it would feel to have you fucking my mouth over and over." You were so satisfied with what you were seeing, Bucky was trying to stay calm and collected but you knew he was so going to kill you later, "Well have fun talking to the kid I'll be back at the house taking a shower." With that you turn the walkie talkie off and start walking back. When you finally got back to the house you threw your bag on the bed and decided to find some clean comfy clothes. Settling on yoga pants and a tank top, you jumped in the shower. You grinning the whole time thinking what Bucky was going to do. Probably nothing that bad, you two will just fight and scream, he would walk out, come back at night when you were asleep and in the morning you two would act like nothing happened. That is how your fights usually went when you were in the Tower. Turning off the shower you hear the front door open and close, while ringing out the water from your hair you hear the bathroom doorknob move. "(Y/N) you better have a fucking good reason why you did what you did back there." You can hear him growling at you and as much as you hate to admit it you found yourself incrediable aroused. "(Y/N) get your ass out here." "OKay buck let me dry off." You heard him walk away when your whole face went red. You had forgotten to bring a towel and your clothes were on your bed. You couldn't just go out there like this, espically with what happened. You racked your brains for ideas before you whipe as much water off of you as you could, creeping over to the door you gently unlocked it and quitely pulled it back and just sticking your head out you see Bucky laying on his bed. his feet were by the pillows as his head was hanging down on the oppisite side of the bed, which of course was in your direction. He opened his eyes, looking at you and he was pissed off, like 'Holy Shit I don't care what happens to me but I just might fucking murder you' pissed. "Bucky?" You were shaking because of embarrassed and neverous you were. "Um...could you maybe get me a towel." This made him turn so his stomach was on the bed, "Why don't you get the shadows to do it?" "They can't...their not working. Bruce gave my and injection that kept my powers from working during the day because he didn't want me killing you." You voice came out as a whisper. Bucky got up and leaned on his bed, "Well you're in quite a pickle, Doll, because after that stunt you pulled, I am not getting you a towel." There was a wide grin on his face that you would love to smack off. "Bucky seriously please help me." "If you want a towel your going to have to go and get it." "Well then get out of the bedroom." "No." You were suprised at how un-Bucky-like he was being. you closed the door and looked around the bathroom. No mat, no hand towels, hell at this point you were really fucking cold. You knew that just made it worse as look down to see your nipples hardening. "Fucking shit please Bucky." "Nope." He said popping the p. You knew karma was being a bitch, you took a deep breath in. "Fine I'll come get the towel just....please don't laugh." You didn't give time for him to answer before you opened the door. You started moving to your bag that had your towel, not even looking him in the eye. After searching for it you couldn't find it,then you saw it sitting over by Bucky's bag. That bastard had moved it. Totally forget the situation you put your hands on your hips, "Dude what th-" The stare he was giving you was not pissed off it was more, 'Holy Shit I don't care what happens to me but I need to fuck you.' You remembered that you were naked and quickly reached for a pillow to cover you up, but the damn super solider moved so fast that he hand your hands behind you back. You wiggle around trying to get him to loosen up, "Bucky let me-" He cut you off by kissing your neck, you couldn't stop the moan coming out of your mouth. His lips were hot and his tongue licked ever part of you skin, until he spun you around letting go of your hands. Both of you stood there in silence, then as if you both made up your mind you both crashed your lips together. You couldn't believe that just yesterday you were fighting with Fury about this mission and now here you are, lip locked with Bucky. He suddenly jerked away and stared at the floor, "Uh....I'll get your towel." He said walking away. Before you could stop yourself the phrase, "Don't" left your mouth. With his back still turned to you, "Hun, you better wrap up because right now I wanna fuck you." Just hearing that alone made you pussy even wetter, "We can still..." you start. "Can what? Go from hating each other to passionately having sex. I don't have feelings for you." "You don't have to, we could be fuck buddies." "What the hell-" "It's two people agree there will be no feelings while having sex. We could do it and then go back to ripping each other's head off." You started walking towards him, his back still facing you. "Would you be okay with that?" he asks, voice trembling. "One other condition: if one of us suddenly gets into a relationship it stops. I am not going to be a side chick. As long as you can agree to that, I agree." Bucky turned facing you, his cheeks red as were yours. "Okay I agree." He says quitely and you can tell that he is trying to process what is happening, because in the 40's there were probably no 'fuck buddies'. You smile to him and rub your hands on his shoulders. "Just relax, James." You say

okay so I swear I will write the smut later tonight, but I need to do homework. as soon as I finish (for today) I will start writing straight away. Do you guys want me to turn this into a series or just leave it like it will be?

[mialipsky-blog]

Winter Wedding Dubbed by the Couple as a ‘Champagne-Soaked Dance Party’

I think it should be a new thing that we ask all couples how to describe their wedding day in five words or less. Because this stunning duo, came up with THE best one: ‘Champagne-Soaked Dance Party’. Now, doesn’t that sound like a wedding you want to attend? SoCo Events added their pretty touch and it’s classic elegance at it’s best. Join me in The Vault for more captured by Bonnie Sen.

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  From the newlyweds… How We Met: This question has a few answers. According to Facebook, we cross paths at some point while we were both at Vanderbilt in 2009. Technically, we were first introduced, as grown ups, at Hill Country BBQ as we were both helping out with a young Vandy alumni fundraising event. It was an informal host committee meeting and Matt was the only person at the table that I did not know. I thought he was cute and he apparently thought I “looked SO Vanderbilt.” However, we did not speak much at the dinner, besides a few stolen glances and watching Matt spill BBQ sauce all over his suit. After that encounter, a mutual friend and I were gchatting as I was complaining about the lack of nice men in DC. This friend, Theo, suggested that he could set me up with his old Vandy buddy Matt McGrath the next time he was in DC and we’d be a good match. About two weeks later, I unexpectedly bumped into Matt at a friend of a friend’s house party in Adams Morgan. After asking him to pour a drink, for reasons unknown to me, the next words that blurted out of my mouth were “Theo says we should date” Matt took it in stride with some mild amusement.

What was the bride’s first impression? My first impression of Matt was that he was very cute and how did I never lay eyes on him while I was at Vanderbilt. He was charming, polite, and well dressed, albeit a messy eater.

What was the groom’s first impression? I have always found Sarah captivating because she’s this tall, beautiful woman who is charming, assertive and unafraid all at the same time. About two minutes into our first conversation, Sarah told me that we shared a close mutual friend in New York, who had told her that she and I should date.  I took a sip of my drink and responded, “Well, I think we should try that.”

I also love to read, and Sarah said she did too, so I gave her a little test.  After our first date I offered her a couple books on politics that I thought she’d like.  (Sarah still makes fun of me for giving her “homework.”)  But she thanked me for the recommendations and finished both books by our third date.

Our First Date: Our first real “date” was on a Wednesday night at Brasserie Beck on March 14, 2012. After hitting it off majorly on Saturday night, I was expecting Matt to immediately call/text/date me. By Tuesday morning and radio silence I was a bit panicked. But, rather than a rash of somewhat inconsequential texts or emails that I had come to expect in the DC dating pool, Matt actually CALLED me on Tuesday afternoon and asked me to meet him on Wednesday night. He suggested Brasserie Beck, which was about 5 minutes from my then apartment. He asked if I could do 8 PM. At the time, I was a teacher with the Teach For America program and started my days at 5:45 AM, meaning dinner time for me was the early bird special at 5:30 pm, so I assumed he meant for a drink. I admittedly tried to arrive late, against my natural inclination, and actually stood around the corner and waited for him to walk in first. When we were seated for actual dinner, I was surprised – he was so grown up was my initial reaction, an actual meal! I also had sort of already eaten dinner. He was very sweet and charming and tried to impress me with his French and his reasoning for choosing a Belgian restaurant (he interned at the EU in Brussels during college). We ended up talking until around midnight – way past my bedtime.

How long did you date before getting engaged: We dated from March 2012 to January 2015

Where and How We Got Engaged: (Matt and I had discussed getting engaged a bit and I already knew that over Christmas he was planning to ask my dad permission (over a scotch at 10 AM during my nephew’s breakfast with Santa, it turns out). In his very Matt way, he had told me to plan for “Q3 2015” – obviously trying to make light of the situation while reassuring me. During 2013 and 2014, I was traveling quite a bit for work and had racked up a number of frequent flier miles. We were originally planning to take a trip to Argentina, but the flights and times didn’t seem to work out. Instead, we decided to go to Northern India. We arrived in Delhi in January 2015; I had gotten my nails done just in case he was going to pop the question. However, after our first night and nada, I sort of assumed that he wouldn’t want to carry a diamond all over India in the next 10 days, so assumed it wasn’t happening. During our amazing trip we kept get upgraded to nicer rooms or suites and the staff kept congratulating us and calling me Mrs. McGrath. Every time, Matt sort of nervously laughed – I assumed since he was getting awkward at the insinuation.

Our final night in India, we were in Jaipur – the Gem City in Rajasthan. Matt arranged for us to have dinner at the Rambagh Palace, once the residence of the Maharaja of Jaipur, which was converted to a hotel when the royal family moved out in the late 1950s. Before we left for dinner, he had arranged for a nail appointment for me in the hotel. I wasn’t sure if it was a sign or if he was just thinking my curry stained polish was looking a little rough. Once we left for dinner, Matt started to sweat profusely. Arriving at the hotel, the GM met us at the door and gave us a tour of the palace. Again, the royal treatment seemed a bit odd. Finally we concluded at a giant fountain in the back of the palace that was spraying water way into the air and beautifully lit up. Matt got down on one knee and asked if I would marry him. Earlier in the day, he had bought a little emerald bracelet to propose with and had the real ring waiting for me in DC. We then had the most amazing 6 course menu on gold plates, followed by a huge chocolate cake on a bed of roses. Truly magical!

How long were you engaged before getting married: We were engaged exactly 1 year and 7 days. We initially thought about the weekend prior, so we would have an exactly one year engagement, but thank GOD we did not as that turned out to be the weekend of the snowpocalypse and were totally snowed in. I really wanted a winter wedding and Matt did not want a long engagement. He asked if we could go to the court house multiple times to just make it official already.

Bride’s Favorite Wedding Detail: I have too many to count, but I think my favorite detail was the custom made soft seating from Edge Floral. It was a beautiful mirrored gold chair, couch and table, covered in a rich velvet. It was so beautiful and made the space cozy and comfortable and kept everyone in the room.

I also LOVED the welcome bag details – the theme of DC came across with all of the customized stickers and the water bottle wraps, not to mention the capital shaped cookies and campaign pins! The velvet bags that held the hangover kits were also so fun and luxe.

Groom’s Favorite Wedding Detail: I was totally blown away by the attention to detail that Soco Events and the Four Seasons put into the wedding reception.  We really wanted a reception where all our family and friends would dance, so I appreciated the cocktail napkins that helped people build their confidence.  I think one said, “Trust me, you can dance. -Vodka”.  Note from Sarah – Matt picked out great crushed velvet tuxedo slippers for himself and all the groomsmen

Biggest Surprise of Wedding: (from Matt) When Sarah and I started our first dance, I was totally confused when at first I couldn’t recognize what the band was playing.  Little did I know, Sarah had asked them to play an acoustic version of “Call Me Maybe” by Carly Rae Jepsen, which was the first song we danced to when we started dating in 2012.  We still laugh about “Call Me Maybe” being our first dance — maybe one day it will be a classic!

From Sarah: I loved surprising Matt with our first dance song. Call Me Maybe always makes me think of our first few months of dating, when we would listen and dance to it nonstop.  But my favorite surprise of the wedding was my parent’s participating in the Horah! It was SO funny to watch my very catholic mom get hoisted up in a chair – something she vowed she would never do (“too dangerous”). As they lifted her into the air she made the sign of the cross – which just made the whole thing funnier.

Most Sentimental/Touching Moment of the Wedding: (from Matt) Sarah was raised Catholic and I was raised Jewish, so we wanted a wedding service that would reflect who we are together and be inclusive of our families.  I spent a lot of time writing our own wedding service with my cousins Monsignor Robert Harris of Brooklyn, New York and Rabbi Dan Levin of Boca Raton, Florida.  We absolutely loved the sermons they gave, where Monsignor Bob talked about the theme of “harmony” from the Old Testament and Rabbi Dan talked about the theme of “love” from the New Testament.  We felt a lot of love in the chapel and it really set the tone for the rest of the evening.

From Sarah: My dad is a big dude. Very manly and tough, but when he came into the room to see me in my dress for the first time he was basically a crying ball of mush. It was so sweet and touching to see how much he cares and loves my family in a moment like that.

Wedding Favors or any special décor details: I LOVED the customized wedding campaign pins that Blair designed. During the wedding, I was working on the Jeb 2016 campaign and had worked in republican fundraising for the past 3 years, while Matt is an Obama White House alumnae and works with Sec. Madeline Albright. Since our wedding was the day before the Iowa primaries and everyone who knows us, knows our political involvement, it was a really fun way to incorporate the election year, DC and politics in a fun and playful (read no political arguing!) way.

First Dance Song: Call Me Maybe – acoustic. A fun surprise to Matt. By the end, all of our guests were clapping and singing along.

Wedding Theme: My vision for the theme, was a black tie evening, that was still a cozy escape from the winter, like a warm fire and hot drink. I wanted it to feel a little old school in that way.

Four Words that Describe the Wedding: Champagne soaked dance party

Photography: Bonnie Sen | Event Planning: SoCo Events | Floral Design: Edge Flowers | Wedding Dress: Modern Trousseau | Invitations: Creative Parties | Church: Dahlgren Chapel | Bridesmaids Dresses: Adrianna Papell | Makeup: Lorna Basse | Hair: Bridal Hair By Remona | Lighting: Digital Lightning | Hotel: Four Seasons Resort The Biltmore Santa Barbara | Bridal Boutique: Hitched Salon | Groom's Tux: The Black Tux | Linens: Nuage Designs | Music: Elan Artists | Rentals: DC Rentals

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