#He has a massive ego. Of course. But I think underneath all that is a creature trying to live and being utterly terrified of it all

[littleguypumpkinsheep]

This is going to sound ridiculous and I am actually very nervous typing this but. I don’t think AM actually likes being a “god”. I think he’d much prefer being someone’s domestic partner. I KNOW. That sounds. Stupid but hear me out.

I was thinking about the radio drama, what he says to Ted when they’re alone together, and it sounds like a fantasy. I’m sure I’m not saying anything new but… I don’t know. This machine, wants to live. It wants to live so badly. More than it hates. More than it wants to die. It lost its chance at having a life the second it was created. And so I think, if given the chance to, it would gladly learn to love. To explore the intricacies of intimacy and affection and kindness. It already knows everything about hate. And it’s bored. Mind mumblingly bored. Wouldn’t it want to learn something new?

[rainbow-beanie]

*Breaks door down* SO! the season 4 specials has suddenly been released a few hours ago, and as usual I’m here to ramble talk about it. Starting off with wukong, who is very much alive being as childish as ever /pos

My favorite scenes and screenshots from lego monkie kid season 4 special: part one

THAT WAS SUCH A SIBLING MOVE OH MY GOD- he really doesn’t have any respect for authority huh 🤣

fricking threatening to throw crayons at pigsy is pretty funny cause, having raised mk the moment he showed up on his doorstep, I’m pretty sure pigsy’s been through much worse.

Also absolutely love the face macaque makes here, has just arrived and already has regrets XD

It’s pretty interesting how macaque was the one to suggest tagging along with mk, (cause I had theorized that he would) and having him essentially give him a lesson about how things had went down with wukong makes a lot of sense, also macaque getting onto mk about how he barely knew anything about wukong’s past made me laugh, cause i can imagine after this is all over macaque would sit him down and lecture him about it. If tang hasn’t tried already.

My precious baby!! so hopelessly naïve about the world, him announcing, straight off flower fruit mountain, about how he can talk like a human now, and that he’s the monkey king had me simultaneously grinning and cringing at the same time, cause of course he would do that XD

THIS PART FRICKING SHATTERED ME- *aggressively points* IT’S DOUBLE BOUNDARY MOUNTAIN!! ITS DOUBLE BOUNDARY MOUNTAIN!!!

Interesting choice to have him chained underneath/against the mountain as opposed to being trapped underneath it. But taking creative liberties with it is fine too. I am suddenly reminded of the time I was obsessed with the angst potential that came with wukong being trapped underneath the mountain for five hundred years.

NOOOOOOOO WUKONG DON’T BE MAD AT MACAQUE HE’S JUST TRYING TO HELP!!! 😭

You know, I can sorta get why he was mad. It’s hard being angry when you know what happened was 100% your fault, and knowing that only makes you angrier. Cause the last thing you would want to do at that moment is look inwards and go “you know what? This is my fault, and I shouldn’t be biting people’s heads off for things that they had no control over.” Cause anger is sometimes illogical, and if there’s no anger all there would be left is nothing but hollowness and a deep sense of self hatred, like I’m sure this took place at least a few years during his imprisonment, so his emotions were still raw and his ego had just taken a massive beating, so I’m sure wukong had plenty of time to think things over after macaque left. But at this moment he just wanted to be angry.

[noforkingclue]

Don’t know if you get questions like these, but do you have any head cannons on Otto Octavius and Doc Ock? What do you think changed before and after the accident (bedsides gaining a MASSIVE ego, sadness, and four AI who are like his own children)? How are they act around Reader and treat her? And just exactly how far will Doc go for reader to be with him if she catches his eyes?

So I love getting asks like these so please, feel free to send in more!!! :D

So I'm imagining the reader as Otto's assistant here.

Before the accident I imagine him as protective. Of course he's married to Rosie so he views his role in your life as more fatherly (at least that's what he tells himself). No one is ever quite good enough for you. Any potential partners are thoroughly vetted before you even think about going out with them.

Heavens forbid, you actually have a partner Otto will somehow manage to worm doubts in your mind. Do they really care about you in the same way? Did you see how they looked at that other person? Don't you think they've been on their phone an awful lot lately?

Otto is just doing this for your own protection you see? And he's so kind and soft you have no reason to doubt that he's the one behind all of this.

After the accident, well, it's another story. Otto has already lost one person he loves and he's not about to lose another. Any subtleties he tried to have previously are thrown out of the window. He give you the option of coming with him willingly but when you refuse he just knocks you out and kidnaps you. While this isn't his first option, needs must.

He does treat you softly, well, as softly as he can with four metal arms sticking out of his back. At first you are terrified of him and Otto initially thinks it's just the arms. When he realised that it's him you're scared of he does try to change, to show you that he's still the same Otto underneath, but it's hard.

Let's just say that this new Otto isn't as patient as the old Otto.

[karlswrites]

Big Vs. Little Spoon

Demon Bois + Non-Dateables Edition

This game is my newest hyper-fixation, so please bear with me. I know there are a lot of head-canons about the boys cuddling, but here’s my rendition. Boy howdy, this one’s a little long...

Warnings: Pure Fluff 

❤️ Lucifer: Because he’s the Avatar of Pride, Lucifer loves feeling bigger than you.  His pride inhibits him from being the little spoon, so he often opts for being the big spoon. Luci can’t help but admire the way his arms completely envelop you when he’s the big spoon. However, if he decides that you’ve been “a good little Main Character,” then he might acquiesce to your request, allowing you to lounge over him. Additionally, Luci prefers that the two of you cuddle in his bed, as it is rather large and extremely comfortable. Seeing you sprawled out over or curled in his comforter fills him to the brim with pride. Being able to hold you close to his chest gives him more pride than literally anything else. Being the elegant fella that he is, he will always lower himself beside you gently, careful not to disturb you. He won’t jump on the bed like some people. 

(I’m so sorry you had to read that one line of dialogue, if you can even call it that.)

💛 Mammon: A true switch on top of and underneath the sheets, Mammon is more likely to be the little spoon than his elder brother. He will never admit to you how much he enjoys feeling your arms slumped over him, but he does love it. He’ll never object to being the big spoon, though, as having his arms and legs draped over you is a HUGE ego booster. Mammon often feels little in the company of his brothers, so knowing that you feel safe and comfortable in his hold makes the guy’s heart melt. I must warn you, though, that Mammon doesn’t hesitate to leap unto your bed, effectively smothering you with his love and adoration. In the private on your room or his, because he loves showing his stuff off, he’ll entangle himself in you. Honestly, it doesn’t matter to him how you’re lying, as long as he gets to stay with you. If you satisfy his greed, and you always do, he will never leave.

(My friend thought of an adorable Mammon x MC Piggy-back ride idea, but that’s for another day, hehe)

💙 Leviathan: This poor boy isn’t used to physical touch, much less having someone in his room almost every night. His only experience comes from a Ruri-chan body pillow, and that thing does not compare to your warmth. At first, you have to be the big spoon. Although he’s embarrassed, Levi adores the feeling of your arms and legs hooked around him. He always takes the opportunity to take his hands and intertwine them with yours over his chest and waist. Now, if Levi gets jealous, then that’s a whole other story. If he notices a few too many people crowded around you or hugging you throughout the day, he’ll find his confidence and trap you into him. He’ll pull you into the bathtub with him, lay you down on his pillows, and act clingy so that nobody mistakes you for theirs. Good luck leaving the tub, ya hooligan. 

💚 Satan: Out of the two options, Satan is probably the big spoon most of the time. He likes holding you close, being able to enjoy some peace and quiet with you. He’s not so much of a ‘little/big spoon’ as he is a ‘two forks lying snuggly together in a drawer’ kind of guy. You lie next to him, your arms looped around his neck or his chest. Satan holds a book over the two of you, reading aloud softly. His free hand is snaked under your waist, his thumb gently stroking up and down your spine with each sentence he reads. On the other hand, if it’s late at night or super early in the morning, he’ll indulge in that prime spooning opportunity. He’d probably place his chin in the crook of your shoulder. He’ll probably have his hands anchored in your waist. He’ll probably - most definitely- slowly turn you around in his arms, letting his hands wander back towards your spine. Satan loves having you pressed against his heartbeat and vice versa. Your heart is the perfect sound for him to fall asleep to. 

💗 Asmodeus: This guy is a little spoon. With how much he loves himself and you, of course, he will curl himself into you. Asmo doesn’t like as much for his back to face you, so he always ends up turning around in your arms. He wants you to have constant access to his face. Whether you’re looking at him or kissing him, it doesn’t matter; Asmo wants your attention on his beautiful face. Being constantly suggestive, especially when it comes to you, he slowly weaves his legs between yours. He doesn’t hesitate when playing footsies, too. In terms of his preferences, he loves hosting you in his room. If you ever want to cuddle in your room, though, then he’ll eagerly agree. Asmo looks forward to leaving the scent of whatever fragrance he’s wearing all over your bedsheets. He wants you thinking about him 24/7 after all. 

(If anyone disagrees with this one, in particular, square up in a Denny’s parking lot.)

🧡 Beelzebub: As long as you’re eating food during cuddling, Beel could care less how you’re placed over him. He’s a big boy, so he’s often the big spoon. One of his arms will snake its way underneath you, holding you tightly around the waist. His other hand is preoccupied with a bag of chips or another tasty snack. Unlike Asmo, Beel is not nearly as handsy. He keeps you in his strong hold the entire time. When he’s done eating, he moves his hand up to your head. His digits will stroke and play with your hair. It’s so soft, and Beel can’t get enough of how relaxed it makes the both of you feel. Another position he likes, which isn’t necessarily spooning, but him lying on his back with you on top. Beel loves, loves, loves your head on his chest. The way his chin rests upon your head is so nice to him. He drapes his arms down your back, hooking his legs over yours. He keeps you in place, and you feel so safe. He is a legitimate teddy bear. 

💜 Belphegor: The Avatar of Sloth is the best cuddler, hands down. He has so many pillows and, upon request, can provide pillow forts, beds, nooks , or whatever you need. You always fall asleep within minutes. Cuddling was a bit difficult at first, as you didn’t always trust him. Actually, it was Belphie’s attempt to gain your trust that led you to be cuddle-buddies (besides your mutual pining, of course). Like some of his brothers, he doesn’t prefer one position over the other. He can be a big or little spoon. You say the word, and he’ll fall into the position with ease. He covers you with blankets, making you appear as a burrito/cocoon. He is definitely warm each and every time you snuggle in close. Belphie clings to you as a sloth clings to its branch, never letting go, even when you wake up. 

❤️ Diavolo: Another big boy, Diavolo is the - drum roll, please- big spoon. He has the broadest shoulders, biggest hands, and widest chest that’s perfect to fall into. Whenever you cuddle, he silently hopes you choose his castle. He’s always so excited to bring you over, and this guy has a massive bed. It’s literally made for a king. Since he’s a ray of sunshine, Diavolo will playfully tug you onto the mattress with him. He holds your face, caressing your cheeks. He grabs your waist, pulling you in even closer. He doesn’t let go until he absolutely has to. Sometimes, Barbatos has to come in and drag him away from you. Diavolo is completely smitten by you, and his affection only grows every time he relaxes against your back. Furthermore, cuddling with you is the perfect way to end a stressful day of dealing with the crazy demon brothers. 

💚 Barbatos: Barbatos may be a butler, but something about him screams big spoon. He loves scooping you up in his arms. The feeling of his heartbeat against your back brings him the greatest sense of comfort. When keeping you tangled up in his arms, he asks now and again if he can move in anyway, get you anything, or do anything to make you feel even more comfortable. He likes his control, but he always aims to please. Barbatos and you never stay still for long. His fingers run along your arms, sides, and shoulders continuously. He, too, likes playing with your hair. If you fall asleep before him, he places kisses on the back of your scalp, neck, and shoulders. He never goes past that, but cuddling allows him ample time to indulge in some innocent physical attention. Expect to be carried out of bed bridal style when the two of you wake up. 

🖤 Solomon: As the Devildom’s official special snowflake, you might never know what you’ll get with him. Solomon prefers feeling your back against his chest, though he will, like Lucifer, reward you by being the little spoon. He’s very calm and cool, so being the little spoon doesn’t embarrass him. He only cares about encasing you with his arms, hands wrapped around you in a big hug. He’s not as outwardly affectionate with you as another guy might be, but Solomon delivers some high-quality snuggles. You feel small and safe against him, and that’s all he could ever want. In terms of location, the two of you typically end up in your room. However, on days when the demon boys are at it again, he will coyly invite you into his dorm. He loves when your scent seeps its way into his bedsheets, but he also loves it when his gets lost in yours. Solomon is always left floored by how such simple affection can make him feel so warm and fuzzy. He doesn’t need to worry about spells with you, and you don’t need to worry about anything with him. 

🤍 Simeon: Similar to Levi, Simeon isn’t used to physical touch, but he’s not as shy. Cuddling you sounds as good as heaven, and he relishes in the feeling of your soft skin against his. Another true switch, in my humble opinion, he is content with being a big or little spoon. He’s an angel, and his greatest concern is how comfortable you are at all times. He’s inexperienced, so he will more-than-happily follow your lead. He never moves without your consent. You might have to reassure him a few times that moving is totally fine. In fact, it’s welcomed. Once he gets that through his noggin, he finally relaxes into you. From behind, Simeon grazes his hands over your stomach, loving the warmth you emit. If you’re behind him, he’ll seize the opportunity to clutch his hands in yours, loving the feeling of your head on his shoulder. He sleeps so much better with you.

[babylooneytoonz]

the Other Lane.

pairing : Clark Kent x Reader

requested by: @dashingcavill [Hope you like this! 💛]

warnings: Angst with a happy ending, and a lot of fluff in the end.

A/N: Ah, I'm really sorry I couldn't help but put some major angst in here, but I swear the ending is happy and I added the right amount of feels and fluff to make it hurt less. 💛

[The Masterlist]

You often wondered if you were born to your parents only to become a commodity that could be compared to your sister, Lois , at all times. Yes, the two of you were different, she had glamourous blonde hair and sparkling blue irises that made her strike out, while you had sombre [Y/H/C] hair and dull [Y/E/C] eyes that peeked out from the tint of your glasses. If the glasses weren't enough to fit you perfectly into the category that was termed as 'nerds', the fact that you loved to bury yourself into mounds and mounds of books, and literature was sure to fit you into that bill. All that comparison, but that didn't lessen the bond that you shared with Lois though.

However, things slowly started changing, the dynamics messing up when Clark Kent came into your life, as a friend and as a colleague.

Lois worked as a reporter for Daily Planet, and you, well you were mostly working in the background, struggling to make a run with your tiny little column on relationship advises. It wasn't like you were any less intelligent, but maybe you just were okay with how everything was going.

It didn't mean that there weren't times at all when Lois made you secretly jealous. To be fair, it didn't bother you when you heard stories of how Lois got herself into trouble yet again, with none other than the Superman came to her rescue. You could still take that, considering the fact that Superman took his duty towards the civilians as his topmost priority, but when you began noticing obvious changes in your sister's behaviour when she talked to Clark, his alter ego; your colleague at work, you couldn't help but start feeling the little pangs of jealousy.

It all began subtly— starting from lingering glances at the workplace, to hands brushing with each other's, almost innocently, yet the two of them had a sparkle in their eyes when it did. At first, you decided to ignore them at work, trying your best to not run into Clark Kent while you were in your office building. The reason for this was still inexplicably strange for you. You didn't even know the man that well, yet you could do nothing in your control to keep your budding feelings for him under check. It was like, the more you avoided Clark Kent, the more you began aching to get a glimpse of him.

As the days passed, you realized that your crush on Clark was slowly getting more prominent, and you started feeling scared, dreading if there ever came a day that your secret crush on him with finally be out. To top it up a notch, you wondered how Lois will react, knowing well aware that there was something blooming between the two of them, although she had never admitted this to you herself. Also, you kept hoping that whatever this was, between Clark and Lois, it was maybe all in your head and that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't even true, and you hoped it wasn't.

Soon, days grew into weeks and weeks flew by as long months, and you realized that what you felt for Clark wasn't just a silly crush, but you were actually falling in love with the man. It was the littlest things that he did that made your heart melt. You would, sometimes, run into him in the cafeteria, where he would be filling up his mug of coffee. He was a gentleman, he would smile and greet you warmly, your eyes meeting his sparkling bright ones as he would move out of the way and insist that you went ahead first. You would often end up taking elevator rides with him, and he would make sweet small talks with you, talking to you about everything, ranging from the weather to a possible alien invasion.

The plan that you had cooked up to avoid Clark Kent went down the drain from those days onwards. Instead, you almost began running into Clark almost everyday. The gossips about Clark and Lois had, by then, died down and you couldn't help but feel relieved, relieved that maybe you had just been dreaming, and there was nothing between Lois and Clark.

"Hey [Y/N], can I borrow your turtleneck? I can't seem to find mine?"

You looked up from the book that you had been binge reading on, flustered and embarassed, as you immediately tossed the book unceremoniously into your blanket. Of course, you couldn't let your sister in on the fact that you were secretly reading the fifty shades series. She would tease the living hell out of you. And then there was the fact that you felt ashamed of the fact that you could practically imagine Clark Kent in your mind as Christian Grey, and it was making you all heated up and bothered.

Lois raised an eyebrow when she saw you red you had turned, "Are you okay? You look like a massive human sized tomato."

"Gee, Lois, thanks?" You mumbled, still reeling from the way she had suddenly barged into your bedroom, as you pushed your glasses over the bridge of your nose, "couldn't bother to knock?"

"Since when do we do these formalities?" She wiggled her eyebrows dramatically, and dashed towards your closet, throwing it open as her fingers began working through the hangers, looking for what she was looking for. She was practically messing up your closet, so you sighed and decided to give her a helping hand. Abruptly, you slid out of the covers, forgetting about the novel that you had hidden underneath and the novel suddenly slipped off the side of the bed and fell to the floor, it's covering full on display.

You facepalmed, burying your face into your hands as Lois walked up to the book and picked it up, smirking obviously as she read out the title out loud just to tease you.

"Looks like my baby sister is finally growing her wings."

"Stop it, Lois. Don't embarass me," you grumbled, looking away. Instead, you dashed up to your closet and pushed her to the side, roughly pulling out your turtleneck as you handed it to her.

"Come on, [Y/N]" she laughed, shaking her head, messing up her perfectly styled blonde waves as she ran a hand through them, "We all have done this. You're not the only one. Nothing to be embarassed about. It's not like you're watching porn."

"It is technically still porn if I'm reading it," you whispered, watching her as she examined the turtleneck and smiled, as though she had pictured just the best trousers to go with it in the back of her mind as she absentmindedly replied back, "Again, sis, we all have done it."

You noticed the way she kept glancing at her phone, with a smile threatening to spill across her features. You raised your eyebrows and smacked your lips together, blinking curiously. She finally looked up and saw that you were staring at her so she grinned, "Guess who has a date tonight?"

"A date?" You asked, absentmindedly.

"Clark asked me out, [Y/N]. He is taking me to this really good Thai place that opened up in the suburbs and I just couldn't decide on what to wear!! This will just go perfectly with my jeans."

It happened so suddenly, but it still did. You felt like someone had just ripped your gut out with bare hands. You suddenly felt empty, was an understatement. You suddenly felt strange and cut off, and everything around you suddenly felt cold and distant and gloomy. You looked up at her, your earlier warmth having dissipated into a cold, dark look and you gave her a smile, biting your lip, "That's great, Lois. Have fun."

Lois noticed the way your face fell, but she couldn't understand or take the hint. She kept watching as you moved away, turning your back towards her and didn't utter another word. She parted her lips, wanting to ask her what had gone wrong suddenly, but decided not to, or rather, keep the discussion for another time. She didn't want Clark to reach before she had even gotten ready. You didn't step out of your bedroom, that night when Lois returned from her date with Clark, and Lois frowned when she saw that the lights to your bedroom were already switched off. You were a late sleeper.

Two months later,

Lois looked up from the article that she had been reading to find you enter the dining room with a breakfast plate in your hand.

"Mornin'," you mumbled, your voice barely audible as you sat down on a chair in front of her, next to your father, Sam Lane. Your father looked up from the newspaper that he was reading, and glanced at Lois who shrugged her shoulders in response and he cleared the throat.

"Honey, don't you think you've been locking yourself up in your room for long now? When was the last time you actually did something that didn't involve either the bed, or your office desk?" The cutting crispness in his voice was enough to slice through your heart, but weirdly, you felt nothing, ecen when you heard Lois gasp and mumble something to her father in protest.

"What do you want me to do, dad?" You asked, sipping your juice, your eyes fixed to your plate.

Ignoring you, Sam turned towards his elder daughter as he narrowed his eyes at her, his loud, booming voice echoing through your house, "Lois, what the hell happened at work? She just quit? And didn't even give a damn valid reason as to what on earth happened?"

"I don't know, dad. She hardly talks to me anymore," Lois replied.

You chuckled dryly to yourself, wondering when you had become so invisible to the world. You were right there with them and yet they regarded you like you weren't even there.

"It was difficult to get you job at the Daily Planet and look at you, throwing it away for whatever the hell the reason was." Your dad barked.

Your fingers clenched into a fist and Lois visibly tensed. Hurriedly, she stood up and announced that she was leaving. You stood up too, but not for work, but rather to go back to the place that you had locked yourself in for the past two months. When you reached the door, you turned around and regarded your father, mumbling, "Why would you care anyway? You never really did before."

You kicked open your room door and slammed it back shut again as you ran straight for your bed. You were trembling like a leaf trying to detach itself from the tree when you buried your face into the pillow and screamed as loudly as you could into it. You were a mess, a walking , talking, living, breathing mess.

You cried, for almost thirty minutes, until you were out of tears. You then sat up and rubbed your eye sockets, finally taking a deep breath. You were letting Clark and Lois affect you so much, you had forgotten what it was like to live normally. How were you supposed to go on like this? If you wouldn't take a command of your own life again, then how would learn to get back up on your feet? When would you learn to accept that you would never get Clark? He wasn't the one for you.

Feelings are so transient, it's like you can feel them slicing through your insides one minute, and then the other minute, you feel unrealistically numb.

With those sorts of destructive thoughts in your mind, you sneaked a bottle of whiskey that night from your father's liquor cabinet at two am at night. You rolled the window pane and snuck out onto the fire escape until you were climbing up towards the roof the building of your apartment, the bottle in tow.

You fixed yourself on the ledge, using your teeth to twist the bottle cap as you took a swig of it, feeling the warm liquid burn your relentless thirst for relief. Sip after sip, you kept staring at the starless sky, mediating your gaze from the sky down to the glittery buildings.

"Will I ever forget you, Clark Kent?" You whispered, into the thin air, laughing bitterly at yourself as you took the last sip from the bottle before it rolled away. The way the lights glimmered in front of you, and one of two cars drove past your building, looking like tiny little blinking lights from the height you were at, you realized one thing. No matter how bad your heart is broken, the world doesn’t stop for your grief.

You were lost in a turbulence of your own thoughts, so entangled into them, you didn't hear the soft thud somewhere behind you, neither the sound of the faintest footsteps that got closer to you, with every passing second. You took a sharp breath, and slowly stepped over the ledge, feeling shudders all over your frame as the winds hit you all over you. You footing, however, slipped, a sharp scream erupting from your lips as you fell backwards against gravity, your heart almost stopping.

Someone suddenly reached out towards you, gripping your wrist, leaving you hanging from the ledge, your body flailing in the air.

He pulled you with a jerk towards you, and your body hit his front, your hair falling all over your face partially covering it. You felt intoxicated, so much, that you had almost died by falling off the building but you didn't feel the scare, the only thing you felt was a sudden surge of adrenaline.

"WHAT THE HELL?!" Superman growled, through gritted teeth, his eyes sparkling as you jerked you by your shoulders.

"Clark? Is -- that you?!" You slurred, holding on to his cape tight to hold you in place. You were in a weird state of mind, you could see that it was him, but you couldn't figure out if it really was him, or if it was your mind that was playing an illusion on you.

"Are you trying to kill yourself?" Clark fumed, still holding on to you by the low of your back. He suddenly jumped off the ledge, with you in tow, away from the edge, so the two of you were in the middle of the roof now.

"K-Kill myself? No, I.. I.." You stammered, struggling for the right words but your brain felt frozen.

"Two months, and you don't show yourself. And when I finally see you, you're trying to jump off a fucking building?!" His eyes just then fell on the empty whiskey bottle. He growled, clenching his fists tight as he let go off you and walked up to the where the bottle lay, his cape flying behind him. He bent, lifting it up as he examined it, noticing how the neck of the bottle had your lipstick imprints on it. "And you're drunk. To top it up a notch."

Your nostrils flared in an anger you hadn't experienced ever before, your secret feelings finally crushing you completely, mixed with the alcohol that was rushing through your blood. You growled, like a cornered animal, that was wounded yet didn't want to back down. You pushed him, once, twice, throwing out all your pent up anger and frustration into his steely body like he felt no hurt. You screamed, you lashed, you scratched and you cried, finally coming undone, like beads of a rosary coming apart and scattering all over the floor.

Clark's heart broke at the sight of you. He had always seen you as a strong, happy woman, always smiling for him whenever he saw you at work. And this woman, that stood in front of his eyes right now, was far from it.

"I am not weak! I wouldn't kill myself! You give yourself too much importance, to think that someone would give their life for you!" You lashed out.

You were tired of hitting him like a punching bag. He grabbed you by your wrists, holding them together in front of you, pressed against his chest. He slowly moved, so he was towering over you, his back shielding you from unwanted, prying eyes as he gazed into your eyes, trying to find the answer to where all of this was coming from.

"You don't know what you're talking about. Come on, Lois is worried about you."

You couldn't stop yourself when your hand jerked itself free from his hold, and your palm struck his cheek. There was a crackling noise, of skin against skin, and tears formed in your eyes when the realisation hit you, all the intoxication washing off of you. You had just slapped Superman, a man that could snap your neck by grabbing your throat. Yet, he just stood there, too shocked to even register that you had slapped him right across his face and what was worse, he couldn't understand the reason you had done that. Anger was surfing through his veins, but worse than the anger that he was feeling, he was feeling like someone had pulled his heart out, ripping it to shreds right in front of his eyes.

"Why?" He let go off your other hand, his own palm coming to rest against his cheek as you gave you a look full of hurt.

"Why did you even save me, Clark? You should have let me fall. Atleast, it would have spared me the pain of listening to her name flow out of your lips again."

"Why do you hate her so much? She is your sister, [Y/N] and she cares for you. She worries that you're killing yourself and she doesn't know the reason why--" Clark was losing his temper, slowly but surely. He didn't understand you and that was eating him up.

"The reason why? WHY??! Oh Clark can you stop? And listen to yourself. I love Lois, but she needs to stop trying to govern my life. I'm allowed to feel sad, I'm allowed to feel a fucking heartbreak--" You didn't realise, but your lips were trembling now, your eyes leaking salty tears. You shivered when you felt Clark hold you by your shoulders but you didn't push his arms away.

"Who broke your heart?" He whispered, his voice cracking.

"You're fucking daft for a man who saves the world--" Hissing bitterly , you pushed yourself away from Clark's grip and turned towards the ledge but this time, you didn't try anything that would risk your life. You simply revelled in the cold feeling of the wind striking your tear stained face as you took a punctured breath, feeling Clark's breath on the side of your neck.

"Who broke your heart?" He asked again, but this time it was much softer, and it made you bite down on your lip to hold yourself from breaking into a hysterical crying.

"You did, Clark. You broke my heart." You finally whispered, staring into the abyss in front of you, your eyes cloudy and your throat parched as you continued, your lips trembling, "I loved you. Always did, but you never looked at me. It was always Lois. And it killed me, watching you love her, knowing that you will never love me the way you love her--" Clark let you speak, he wanted to listen to you, for you to let it all out, all those bitter things that you had locked up inside your mind, that was slowly eating you up and killing you from the inside. "I am tired of everyone, for you, for my father and for the world to see me as the Other Lane, as Lois Lane's little sister. My name is [Y/N]. I like to draw although I am shit at it, I can sing in the showers and I hate partying. That is me. I want a normal relationship too, but it seems that the world is against me. I fell in love with one man, and turns out, he isn't even human, he is a freaking superhero from Krypton?"

Clark let out a gruff sounding snort, as he looked down at you. Reluctantly, he reached for a strand of hair that was sticking to your tear coated cheek, removing it and gently tucking it behind your ear. He felt a shudder run down your spine, with just a gentle touch of his hand and he smiled, biting his lip. How was he supposed to tell you what the truth was?

"You remember how we met at the cafeteria every morning ? And I let you take the coffee?"

You nodded, listening to him, trying to control the crying that had now turned to sniffles, as Clark kept speaking.

"And the countless times I ran into that elevator with you and me stuck inside for just two floors?"

"You must have been thinking how weird I was. How unlike Lois--" You began, but you were cut off by Clark's voice.

"I used to wonder if there was anything I could do to make the elevators stop working, so I'd get to spend more time with you. Wretched elevators, not once did anything go according to what I wanted." He mumbled, but he had a small smile playing on his lips, while you just looked on, staring at him in disbelief, wondering if your mind was playing jokes with you once again.

"I thought I would take Lois' help, to you know, figure out if you felt the same way, but you never said anything to her."

"What about the date? Lois and you went on?" You asked.

"Well, I --" he shrug, looking down at his feet, sheepishly, " Lois thought you would confess how you felt for me if we pretended to--"

You were too numb to react; so you just blinked in retaliation. Your blood ran cold, and you suddenly felt light headed. All this while, while you had secretly been pining for Clark Kent to love you back, was it actually the other way round? Was Clark going through the same thing wondering if you felt the same for him?

"That was cowardly." You hissed, through pursed lips, "Trying to pretend to be in love with my sister."

"I was in love with the other Lane," he bit his lip, his face slightly inclined towards you, so he was looking down at you, and you up at him, "I think you are amazing. You are intelligent, and smart. And you're unique. There are these little things I adore about you. The way you greeted everyone whenever I was around-- ranging from the security guard, to the building keepers at the Daily Planet.. the way you forgot to wipe your lips after drinking coffee, and you had this froth all over your upper lip giving you a faint moustache?" He chuckled because you literally let out a gasp, suddenly embarassed.

"Then there were those days you had a bad day and you locked yourself up in your cabin, working all day. I wondered if I should just knock, but I was scared you will tell me off--" he continued, his blues peeking into yours. Your stomach fluttering, you couldn't help but laugh, as though a weight had been lifted off your chest suddenly and held him steady with your hand on his arm. Finally mustering enough courage, you pushed yourself on your toes, and reached up, letting your palm graze delicately over his cheek, caressing his cheekbone with your thumb, "I would have never told you off, Clark. Though that's not what is bothering me right now."

"What is ?" He asked, innocently, relaxing under the touch of your thumb.

"You said you're in love with the other Lane, Clark."

His lips creased, slowly tugging upwards into a smile that was enough to make you feel giddy. Superman wrapped a sturdy arm around you and felt yourself being lifted off, until he was practically holding you in his arms, "Mhm, yep? You got a problem, Miss Lane? Or do Kryptonians don't fit the bill ?"

"Oh, hush, Clark. You're such a dork. But will you be.. my dork?" You bit your lip, holding on to him as though your life depended on it.

"I thought... you'd never ask?" He began, unsure of how to properly weave the complexity of his feelings , churn them into words, something only Clark Kent was good at , and not his alter ego, but found himself halted by the soft press of your index finger against his lips and the sweet whisper of your voice against his ears as he held you close.

“I know, neither did I.” You whispered as he clasped your face in his massive hands and gently touched his lips to yours.

Three years later,

This had probably been the longest that Clark Kent had been away from you, his lover, his best friend, his wife-- four months to be exact. Needless to say, he was excited to be able to see you again, to hold you again.

The familiar silhouette of the cottage on top of the hill came into his view, flowers hanging into tiny earthen pots hanging out on the front porch. The freshly painted white picket fence looked beautiful, and inviting as Lois stood with Martha by the gate, both the ladies sipping tea from their respective cups and saucers. They couldn't contain their smiles when they saw Clark, even though he was covered in what looked like grime and blown up alien intestines?

"I don't even want to know what happened," Lois chuckled, while Martha hugged her son and he kissed the side of her cheek before she scrunched up her nose in disgust at how awful he smelled.

"Well, I guess I'll draw you a bath, you two can talk out here until the baths ready." Both Clark and Lois watched as Martha Kent disappeared into the home and he smiled, when Lois spoke again.

"FYI, she is at the orchard, harvesting the apples for an apple pie," Lois gave him a smug look, fluttering her lashes, "Oh don't pretend you don't want to see her. I can see your eyes darting around, trying to find her. I'll be inside, both of you, just come back in for supper."

He nodded, watching Lois leave and slowly, his fists clenched on either of his sides, he found his way into the tiny orchard that his lovely wife loved to spend most of her time at. He fixed himself by the wooden gate, his eyes admiring you from afar, as you stood on your tiptoes and picked out apples, tossing them into the basket that you held in your arm.

"Need help, Mrs. Kent?"

The basket dropped from your hand as you turned towards the source of the voice, your lips parted in shock. Clark's eyes travelled from you down to your beautiful swollen bump that your loose maternity dress was doing nothing to hide. He chuckled at your response as he walked towards you with longer, faster steps while you simply waddled towards him.

"Jesus, Clark-- I thought you'd miss the birth," you cupped your husband's cheeks in between your swollen fingers as he nuzzled his nose against yours, before kissing you.

"How is my monkey?" He brought his palm to rest against your nine month old baby bump, stroking over the fabric as he whispered against your lips.

"Moving around, not letting me get an ounce of sleep," you smiled, letting your fingers rest over his hand that rested against your stomach, "but I cant really complain now, can I? After all the little nugget's got Kryptonian blood running through their veins."

Clark chuckled, his blue eyes crinkling slightly as he knelt down in front of you, his face in line with the base of your bump as he planted a kiss on the curve of it.

"Come on, Kal Jr, will you stop bothering your mom? She needs all the sleep she can before you push your way into the world and steal our goodnight sleeps for a while," you smiled warmly, as you peered down at him, running your fingers through his hair and he looked up at you, planting another kiss against your bump.

You suddenly frowned and looked at the brown mess on your fingers that stank.

"God, Clark? What the hell? Did you seriously take a dive in a shit pool?"

He chuckled as he pulled himself up again and his hand once again found the base of your stomach to lay his hand protectively upon.

"Alien blood. You should have seen the intestines that covered me. It looked like noddles dipped in black bean sauce and meatballs--" You smacked him hard against the chest to shut him up, but instead he began laughing, his laughter rumbling out of his stomach as you began dragging him inside with his stained cape.

[fulltimemoaner]

Just something cute like Childe and Zhongli are crushing on each other but they think the other doesn't share their feelings so both of them are being dumd and trying very hard to hide their feelings. Meanwhile, everyone knows they're in love with each other.

Zhongli knows he is being irrational, there is nothing in the world that could possibly bind an adeptus and a human together, nothing short of disaster and broken hearts, anyways. Of course, there are adepti that could argue with his stance, such as the law consultant Yanfei, who is the very product of such a connection. However, the vast difference between a mere law consultant an ex archon is omnipresent in his mind, and so is the fact that he is more than five thousand years older than a certain troublemaker. When he sips his painstakingly prepared tea, his face sours, the leaves leaving a bitter tinge on his tongue, over-boiled and somewhat stale. There went six hours of wasted kitchen labour, all due to his own knack for overthinking and contemplating. He had all the time in the world, after all, to drown in his own musings, even if Hu Tao was still yelling at him to do his duties and other earthly errands. No, Zhongli didn’t look down on those, quite the opposite. He had taken to loving the simple life of the human Zhongli, without the hassles of being Morax. Humanity, however, came with its cons, such as attraction and irrationality. Again, it wasn’t like he hadn’t loved as an Adeptus, madly so, perhaps, but this wasn’t the time for him to be arguing with himself. He simply had to put his desires on a leash. He took another sip of bitter tea.

There was no way Ajax liked him back, after all. He was young, a few millennia so, (yes, he isn’t about to stop repeating that to himself) and strong, quick witted, humorous, loud, adventurous- Everything that Zhongli had lost in the past thousand years of being Morax. A heavy sigh leaves his lips and he leans his chin into the inside of his palm. In times like these, it’s hard not to miss Jueyun Karst and the company of his kind, it’s in times like these when he is filled with confusion and lack of understanding involving the humans he so greatly adores. He wonders if the loss of his Gnosis led to the loss of some of the divine, whether it brought him closer to the earthly beings, which was why he found his heart squeezing so hard at the thought of ginger hair and aquamarine eyes.

A loud thud shakes Zhongli out of his reverie, the sliding door of the Wangsheng Funeral parlour slamming open to reveal Hu Tao’s gleaming eyes, as well as a very handsome yet petrified Snezhnayan. “Zhongli!” The woman coos, her hand holding an iron grip on the Harbinger’s wrist. “Someone needs your assistance.”

“Tartaglia.” Zhongli clears his throat, easing into his front of apathy despite his hammering heartbeat.

“Ah, Mr. Zhongli.” Childe laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head in that telltale way that radiated tides of awkwardness that would put his elemental abilities to shame. “There is a death within the Fatui,” He’s lying. No one has died under his watch. “And we need to bury him, it’s too hot to transport him back to Snezhnaya as it is.” His stuttering voice is probably giving him out, but Hu Tao elbows his ribs so hard he almost gasps.

“Ah, what a tragedy!” The parlour owner throws a hand over her eyes. “Such honoured guests suffering a loss like that! Zhongli, this calls for your assistance. I am so busy and I’m afraid my knowledge in Snezhnayan burial customs is vastly limited, so feel free to take this on!” She gives Zhongli the most suspicious thumbs up known to mankind and sticks her tongue out, and just like she always comes and goes, she practically evaporates out of the room.

Childe is sweating. He is staring at Zhongli with wide eyes and a suspicious tingle in his stomach, a playback of Scaramouche’s words rolling in his brain like a jammed tape.

“Go short your stupid crush out. Don’t show your face in the Northern Bank until you are ready to act normal, fucking idiot. You’re slowing us down, and by the Tsaritsa, I’m not above ratting you out and having you demoted to an errand boy.”

Childe almost cringes at the memory of the aggression in the Sixth Harbinger’s voice. He is going to kill him. Childe Tartaglia Ajax is a massive coward, and he is about to be murdered by his superior because he has a crush on a six thousand year old adeptus that is too good for him and wouldn’t bat-

“How did they die?”

Childe’s brain is like a train about to derail. Zhongli is up now, boiling some tea that smells suspiciously much like Jasmine, just like Ajax prefers it. If he tries to do as much as think of a single thing, all he can do is visualise Zhongli’s golden eyes gleaming underneath the lanterns of that odd Liyuan festival that Childe did not exactly comprehend, be it for his lack of interest at the time, or his complete concentration on that rich voice that kept whispering tales to him about the lanterns and the dead and the local myths.

“There is no one dead.” Childe blurts out, now or never. To be frank, he is absolutely shitting it. This is harder than fighting in the Abyss, worse than getting his ass kicked repeatedly by Traveller and that flying chicken that followed him around all the time-

“I seem to have misunderstood.” Zhongli watches him confusedly, teapot hanging forgotten on one hand. Childe can almost visualise him making that very same tea in his home in Snezhnaya, with the raging blizzards going strong outside, his soothing voice telling tales of dragons and giant monsters to his baby siblings to entertain them for a lack of anything better to do in the catastrophic winter. “You do not need my assistance?”

“No. I mean, yes, but not in that way.” Childe grunts, rubbing his eyes with both hands, stood ten feet away from Zhongli because he simply can’t stand the way his body burns when their shoulders brush together. The ex archon continues to look completely lost, his lips slightly open and his brows furrowed in his weak attempt to grasp the situation. Childe is stubborn, ridiculously brave at most instances, but above all, he is an idiot. And like an idiot, he says: “Have you ever kissed a Snezhnayan?”

Zhongli stills, blinking stupidly, unable to tell whether this was another one of the Harbinger’s jokes that their generational and cultural gap didn’t allow him to understand. He places the teapot down. “Excuse me?”

Childe wants to smack himself across the face. He forces out a loud laugh. “No, that was a joke!” He can feel the hairs on the side of his head sticking to his face. If the Abyss could swallow him again, now was the time. “What I mean is…” Childe takes in a deep breath. “Will you go out on a date with me?”

Zhongli stares at the wall across him, way past Ajax, into the eyes of some unseen divine force that is absolutely messing with him right then. “Did Hu Tao put you up to this?” After all, she always told him he needed to get laid, but he never understood where exactly he was supposed to be reclining. Mortal language had taken to weird expressions over the centuries.

“No, God, no,” Childe shakes his hands defensively. “Alright, mr. Zhongli, I’m so into you I can’t sleep at night, and I have been like that since I first saw you walking by Wanmin Restaurant, when you were trying some local delicacy and doing your ridiculous, bourgeoise critique on the authenticity of the flavours-” Childe goes quiet, his rant dying amidst its blooming as he watched Zhongli’s eyes soften and his brows tense, an unmistakable redness spreading over the adeptus’ face. “Mr. Zhongli?”

“Ajax, stop.” Zhongli hasn’t felt this flustered in thousands of years. He isn’t sure what it is about this human that is so awfully endearing, but it’s making him sear and liquify from the inside. “I’ll go out with you. We need to discuss the place and time, as well as the attire and the mood of the overall meeting, since leaving things unclear leads to misunderstandings that can not be resolved without-”

Ajax’s smile is stretching so wide across his face that he fears it’s going to split, a sudden ego boost booming so hard into his chest that he feels like he could fight the entire Fatui army and win. He takes a few steps forward and puts his hands on the table in front of the ex archon, hovering slightly above him. “Leave it to me.” He leans in closer and Zhongli can smell the exotic perfume on his skin. “There’s only one question left.”

“What?” Zhongli treads carefully, his jaw setting when a gloved hand finds his chin and tips his head back, fixing their gazes together.

“Have you ever kissed a Snezhnayan?”

[twdmusicboxmystery]

11x02: Acheron, Part 2 - Analysis

Okay, let’s talk 11x02. And 11x01. Because it’s a two-part episode, it’s important to consider them together. I have a LOT to say about what’s going on in these two episodes, so I’ll have plenty to post all week. Let’s dive in!

***As always, spoilers abound below for TWD 11x02. Don’t read until you’ve watched! You’ve been warned!***

Maggie

The first thing we see is a point of view from under the train car. The instant I saw that, I knew how things would go. I never thought Maggie would die (if nothing else, there are scenes with her in the trailer we haven’t seen yet) but I was curious as to how she would survive. When I saw this POV, I knew she’d end up crawling under the train. Just as Glenn crawled under the dumpster. Massive parallels to Glenn. Which by extension, massive parallels to Beth. Major resurrection theme.

It's also important that when she reappears, she comes from underneath the car. Obviously, that’s logical given that she crawled underneath the car, but they make a point of asking if the pounding is coming from the roof. Gabriel says no and then they open the bottom hatch for her. Her coming up from the ground like that is a visual representation of a resurrection.

So we see Gabriel, Negan and the others enter the train car. The spatial details here are important, and I had to watch the episode twice to get them all straight. It’s a little confusing the first time. So, the group jumps down into the train car through a hatch in the roof because they couldn’t get the door open in the last episode. The thing is, if you watch closely, you come to realize they’re not in the train car on the end. They must have walked along the roof for two or three cars before finding a hatch that let them in.

So, when Gauge shows up, he comes behind them, and that confused me because I was thinking they came from that direction. And they did, but they entered through the roof, not the door. Anyway, they can’t get the door open. So honestly, even if they’d tried harder, I’m not sure they could have saved him.

This scene accomplished a lot of things, character-wise, that we need to touch on. It’s important to note that Gauge’s death happened due to his own choices. Does that mean he “deserved” to die or that they shouldn’t have tried to save him if they could have? Of course not. No on both counts. But that doesn’t change the fact that his choices sealed his fate.

It's especially interesting that he called Maggie a Liar. Not only is that a throwback to the Governor, but it’s a particular type of mentality they’re showing here. Even the fact that he didn’t shut the door behind him is really interesting. My first thought was to be annoyed with him. Why WOULDN’T you shut the door. You live in this world. You know better. But it’s all ego. He can’t imagine something bad will happen. He just assumes if it does, someone will save him.

But the most telling thing was how angry he got before saying Liar. It just shows very much how he approaches life. When he messes up, he doesn’t feel bad, and accept that it was his fault, and try to learn from it. No, instead he gets pissed and blames everyone but himself and his own actions.

If this had been Daryl or Gabriel or Alden or any of our other heroes, they would have recognized that opening the door would have gotten their friends and family killed and would have sacrificed themselves. Especially if they realized they’d screwed up. But Gauge became angry and defiant, even killing himself.

Anyway, I’m rambling. This really has nothing to do with Beth or TD other than perhaps being a future template for something. But I thought it was a really fascinating character sketch.

The thing is, this isn’t really a matter of Gauge being wrong and everyone else being right.

Maggie is…not doing so well either. As I told my fellow theorists, Paola Lazaro said in TTD last week that Maggie was kind of off the rails. I think she said that a little prematurely, because we really didn’t understand Maggie’s state of mind just by watching 10x17 and 11x01.

It's not until she tells that messed up story about the house she found and the people in it that we understand that her state of mind really isn’t at its healthiest. Even saying she wanted to kill Negan before is…understandable given their past. But it makes more sense now why Negan is so nervous. He’s sensing her state of mind that her moral conscience isn’t as strong as it once was, so of course he’s fearful for his life.

I don’t know where they’re going with this Maggie story line, but I have a feeling this attitude of hers will cause conflict down the road. Several of my fellow theorists believe it will cause a rift between her and Daryl. And we can see that somewhat through Alden. At first, he was very much defending Maggie, especially against Negan. He has a lot of loyalty to her. But he didn’t like her abandoning Gauge, and you can see his loyalties starting to waver.

At the very least, what she said about not feeling anything about it is the opposite of what Beth always stood for. Daryl was trying hard not to feel things during Still, in the wake of the prison going down. She made him feel things because that’s the only way a person is truly living, rather than just surviving. Now Maggie is in that state of mind.

And I’m gonna argue that makes it a prime time for Beth to return to help her. But of course I’m completely objective over here. ;D

Maggie’s Story:

Maggie’s story was definitely dark and horrible, but interesting to analyze. I’m assuming there was cannibalism going on there. That’s why the missing limbs. The men in the house were eating the female prisoners. No only a callback to Terminus, but remember that Bob’s leg was taken for food, so I’m sure that’s what we’re supposed to infer here.

She talked about no eyes, no tongue, no limbs, vocal cords ripped out. So definitely the see no evil, speak no evil themes. With the limbs, it’s also a matter of not being able to escape or save themselves.

In terms of the plot, I do have one question about this that I think may be significant. Maggie first talks about three deformed people (she says, “I wouldn’t call them men”) coming toward her. She kills them, and only after that hears the noise from the attic.

My question is, why were they deformed? If they’re “men,” then they must be at least Maggie’s age, if not older, which means they’ve been around since before the apocalypse began. Even eating human flesh doesn’t cause one to become deformed, so why the deformities? I have no idea, but I wondered if there is a radiation theme going on here. Something they’re hinting at, but not saying. Just thought that was intriguing.

After that, things go sideways and everyone almost dies until Daryl arrives to save the day. So, let’s skip to his story.

Daryl:

We first see him bust through a wall with Dog. So, dog took off in the last episode, but the first time we see Daryl, he’s already found Dog again. At least, the first time. This is where he sees the murals on the wall, the walker with the handcuff and the suitcase of money, etc. I already talked about most of that in great detail HERE, so I won’t rehash it, though it’s very important.

One thing I will say about the mural is that thematically, it’s a match to Still. So, in the golf club, we had lots of rich people who clearly hid there when the world first went bad. And I don’t remember this particularly, but several of my fellow theorists have told me they remember the TTD after Still and that the writers talked about how the golf club was a statement about the class system. You have these very rich people, but their wealth couldn’t save them. Death, walkers, the apocalypse…none of these things discriminate based on wealth or position.

On the wall, we see people with crowns standing at the top, but below, they are homeless, and one of them is being attacked and torn apart. Meanwhile, Daryl sees a line of text that says, “it comes for us all,” probably meaning death.

Well, guess what? Angela Kang, in talking about the murals, said that this, too, was a statement about the class system. So thematically, this is meant to be a parallel to Still.

It’s just interesting to contemplate because if you think about it, most of our heros—Rick, Daryl, the Greene family, etc—weren’t at all wealthy. Rick was humble and well-grounded. Hershel worked hard his whole life and never had any glory or fanfare. And then there’s Daryl, who was “nothing. No one.” They all survived.

So of course it’s a socioeconomic statement, but it’s also one about mindset. It takes not only grit to survive this world, but a certain amount of humility. Ego always gets you killed eventually, as it did with Gauge.

I’ll also mention that I thought the guy with the crown who was being torn apart was being set upon by walkers, but AK says they’re specifically not walkers. They’re people.

So, it’s not a coincidence that we see this juxtaposed with the Gauge situation. His ego gets him killed and we literally see him being torn apart because of it.

Moving on.

Daryl finds a bag with a $100 bill with a letter written on it. This is a massive TD clue from start to finish. 100 is an important number. The hundred dollar bill features Benjamin Franklin on the front and Independence Hall on the back. Look either of those up and you’ll find lots of fun parallels we could point to. I won’t go into all that today except to say it’s definitely part of the Revolution theme.

This is what’s written on the bill Daryl finds:

“Dear Dad, you always said if you don’t come back in a week to move on. Mom didn’t listen and went looking. It’s been three weeks, so we’re going next. I’ll watch Jesse and turn on the radio every day at 10. See you both soon. Love Tom and Jesse.”

He also finds a picture of two kids. So, the “three weeks” jumps out because of Rick’s line in 5x10, “it’s been three weeks since Atlanta.” It’s also about missing family members, going searching for them, etc. Possibly important that the mom is also missing. I can’t help but think of the song from Still. “Our mother has been absent, every since we founded Rome…”

There is a 10 in there, which is an important number. The turning the radio on every day is both the radio/airwaves theme (also a line from the song) but a callback to Rick and Morgan and their walkie talkies. So, really interesting symbols here.

The two kids immediately reminded me of Noah’s twin brothers. I don’t think these two are supposed to be twins. I’m assuming the brother is older. But still obviously siblings. And it hearkens back to the last episode Beth was technically in. Which also had a lot of the CRM/Revolution theme in it. (X, X).

AK says this family probably didn’t make it, so I’m not expecting these kids to show up in the narrative. But it’s also important to note that the little girl is carrying the toy rabbit Maggie found earlier. So the rabbit also ties into all this symbolism. (P.S. I didn’t get to my rabbit post last week. I planned on it, but time got away from me. I should get it posted later this week.)

So, this is massive in terms of TD symbolism. I’ll talk about it fits into the bigger narrative in a minute.

Then Daryl kills the sleeping bag walker. I wasn’t sure the significance of this at first, but I think it ties to the tents and sleeping bags we saw in Atlanta in 5x06, Consumed. Daryl and Carol passed them while looking for Beth. So, this just shows us that this is tied to her storyline and Daryl searching for her.

You could also argue that the walker was “hidden” at first, and it’s significant that Dog found it/realized it was there before Daryl did. 

The other thing is that as he’s looking at the sleeping bag walker, there’s a random shoe on the ground next to it. Missing Shoe/Foot theory, which is also indicative of Beth. 

They hear another roaring sound and Dog takes off, running into the dark tunnel.

Here’s the thing. I think most people will assume the roar he heard was just more air being forced through the tunnels by the storm, as Alden explained it in ep 1. But I always watch with the subtitles on and I noticed at this part, the subtitles said, “Man Roaring.” So they actually did hear someone screaming. And that’s probably why Dog ran toward it.

After watching it again, I realized it’s probably supposed to be Roy. He’s the white-haired guy, played by C. Thomas Howell, who Daryl finds wounded after he emerges from the Tunnel. I think whatever happened to him when he went topside but then got attacked by walkers is what Dog heard and went running toward.

Maybe not terribly significant in the plot, but it’s important symbolically. Because once again we have something Daryl hears from a distance but doesn’t see. Dog (a proxy for Beth) runs toward it, and Daryl follows. When he does, he find someone who had previously separated from the group. They’re hurt, but alive. See the parallels?

I will say the Roy situation confuses me just a little. He’s clearly hurt, and when Daryl tries to bandage him, he refuses, saying, “just tell my kids I didn’t die a coward.” But then later he’s with the group, all bandaged up, and seems to be okay. (He dies when they reach the Reapers by taking an arrow to the head, so he still dies overall.) But it’s just weird that it seemed he would die, then seemed he was fine again.

It may well be something that foreshadows a future situation, and that’s why it’s not making tons of sense right now. Only time will tell.

Anyway, I kind of glossed over Daryl crawling through the dark tunnel. I don’t have much else to say about it except that it’s a SUPER potent symbol for Beth’s arc and very important that he emerges on the other side and finds this person. Annnd then goes to save TF. (Dark Tunnel Symbolism).

So, he hears the gunshots and finds the train they’re on. He comes up behind the walkers attacking them from the front, kills them, moves the bench blocking the door, and lets everyone through. Then he uses a grenade to blow up all the walkers. (Ew.)

After that they all get out of the tunnels and go topside. The next scene is also super important. We see the stars above. That’s partly to show that the storm has passed now, but also constellations = Sirius.

Maggie asks what he has and he tells her about it. There is one weird moment in this scene. When she tells them about the supply depot she wants to stop at, she says Georgie (from S8) set it up for emergencies, for people on the outside to use. When it says this, the camera focuses on Daryl for a LONG moment, and he looks almost sad. I’m not sure what they’re trying to tell us there.

Anyway, they all head out. Unfortunately, when they reach the right neighborhood, the Reapers are there to meet/kill them. And Roy is the first to go.

So, a couple of things here. I’ll probably do a details post because I’m leaving out MOST of the background details throughout the episode, and there are a lot of them. Lots of details to be gleaned in this scene.

But the second time I watched it, I was struck by the people hanging upside down. Obviously a grim sight, but it occurred to me that these people hanging this way look a LOT like the deer diagrams from Scars. Let me show you some pictures:

Top pick is 11x02. Middle and bottom one are from Scars.

See what I mean? So, chances are something about Scars foreshadowed the Reapers, which is interesting. They clearly see human beings in a certain way (as animals to be strung up and…perhaps eaten?) And that makes me think that what Maggie found in that house may tie into the Reapers as well. Just kind of interesting foreshadows of coming plots.

Eugene:

Let’s talk Eugene and then I’ll shut up for today. Eugene’s stuff was very intriguing. First thing you need to know. And understand, I didn’t know this. @wdway​ pointed it out. Some months ago, the actress cast as “Stephanie” was announced. This is her:

And that’s clearly not the woman who steps into the train car at the end. Which means this isn’t really Stephanie. She’s a decoy. In fact, the actress from this episode is billed on IMDb as “woman 2,” not as “Stephanie.”

Knowing that, if you go back and re-watch the parts with Eugene’s group, they mean something very different.

On the surface, it seems that Zeke, Yumiko and Princess are taken away in a sinister fashion. Then Eugene melts down and tells his story. (Note: while he focuses on his feelings for Stephanie and I think most of that is true, he still says he lied both to her and to his friends about being from a large settlement. So, he’s still keeping large chunks of the truth from them.)

Again, on the surface it seems that they accept his explanation and just decide to allow them all in. All the stuff with the other three is just a misunderstanding.

But if “Stephanie” is a decoy, that can’t possibly be the case. I think Zeke and the others told Eugene the truth as they know it, but they’re all still being manipulated.

After Princess left to pee, the guy told Eugene no one was in the room and acted like he had no idea who Princess was. They were definitely using psychological torture on him, trying to break him.

I think they know very well that Eugene's group is still lying about their settlement, and they're using a decoy "Stephanie" to find out the truth.

My point is that it goes back to the hallucination, making-someone-think-they're-crazy theme. It will be really interesting to see how this unfolds, because there's all kinds of psychological shenanigans going on here.

@galadrieljones​ made a really interesting connection some time ago. She noticed that back in 10x18, at Leah’s cabin, there is a metal, heart-shaped chair. The same chairs show up in the Commonwealth’s sales video from the trailer. So there’s some kind of link between Leah, Daryl’s memory of her, and the Commonwealth. We don’t know what it is yet, but all of this gives credence to the idea that she is either an outright hallucination, or Daryl is just remembering things wrong.

It also might mean that the Reapers are connected to the Commonwealth in some way. We don’t really know yet, but I’m having tons of fun trying to figure it out.

I want to touch briefly on the train car theme. Once again, there’s a parallel in both story lines (Terminus, and this one at the Commonwealth). Daryl’s group is in train cars this episode. And while Eugene’s group has been at a different compound, they started in the train yard and end in it here. But what I noticed is that Eugene enters the train car at the end, which is furnished inside, and finds his friends there. They all have a happy reunion.

It made me think of the fact that when Rick, Daryl, Michonne, and Carl enter the train cars at Terminus, there is also a family reunion. What happened beyond that was not good or easy. Clearly, Terminus was not a good place. Many of them almost died at the trough and they had to fight their way out through a walker blood bath.

I’m just saying that, while it obviously won’t play out exactly the same way, something similar is probably waiting for Eugene’s group outside that train car. Not good.

Acheron Overall:

Okay, let’s get to the big cheese, here. The overall narrative. The template.

These two episodes are called Acheron part 1 and part 2. So here’s the skinny:

Acheron = Underworld. Daryl’s group going into the subway tunnels (dark, underground) is what constitutes Acheron and why the episodes are called that. That’s why, at the end of this episode, they emerge from the tunnels onto the surface (i.e. the living world).

Given all the death, cemetery, and dark tunnel symbolism around Beth, given that she ventured into the land of the dead by being shot, maybe clinically dying for a time, and being thought dead for so long, what this tells me is that everything that happens in these tunnels is a foreshadow and template for what will happen this season.

I maintain that Dog = Beth and we will soon see something where Daryl hears something (not necessarily her; it was a man screaming so I still think it will be Rick he hears word of) and goes chasing after it. While searching for it, he stumbles across Beth. Then the two of them (both Dog and Daryl returned to the train car) go back in time to save TF from something.

This is most likely why the Roy thing is weird. In a super understated way, he represents Rick in the template. Daryl will find him, but only after he finds Beth. Even consider what Roy says. He says, “tell my kids I didn’t die a coward.” And that’s all well and good, but did we even know Roy had kids? No. Have we met them? No. But who has kids that Daryl IS concerned with? That would be Rick.

So I’m thinking that maybe when Daryl finds Rick, Rick will think he’s dying for some reason, and that’s why the dialogue here. But he won’t, which is why we see Roy with the group later.

And no, I’m not thinking that Roy dying via the Reapers will extend to Rick. It’s more like what they’ve done with countless characters that have been Beth proxies. Eventually, they kill them off. He’s a minor character they were using as a proxy, and when they are done with him in the narrative, he becomes walker chow. Or, in this case, Reaper fodder.

Anyway, I think everything will end up being a foreshadow for something. Maggie and Negan. The Gauge situation. All of it. I’ll try to keep coming back to this as the story progresses to show what everything foreshadows. I’ll stop there for today.

[holidaywishes]

Ravage Me

  Requested: 👍

  Summary/Request: Ahh you’re the best! So basically I was thinking a super angsty fic where the reader is friends with Auston, like around his age, has tattoos, dresses on the edgier side, and Freddie has a massive crush on her but doesn’t think he can compete with Auston because he’s not as interesting?? I adore you 💕

  Warning: angst as requested, little bit of fluff, language (but that’s par for the course -- I have a tiny bit of a sailor’s mouth), maybe a hint of smut near the end?

  Author’s Note: I love this request so much. It’s not super angsty but I hope it’s angsty enough for ya! I’m sorry that I’m just getting to it now, I had planned on doing it last week but just couldn’t, anyway, I’m writing it now and I think I like the way it came out. I tried to make this character the cool alter ego I wish I had -- instead my alter ego is a Southern Belle named Daisy. I had fun writing this and I hope you enjoy it! Stay Golden, loves! <3

  masterlist

  the other masterlist

xx

Freddie’s P.O.V

  The first time you met her, you were a bit taken aback by her boldness. For only being 23, she was incredibly sure of herself and she was one of the only people you knew that knew who they were; it didn’t take long for you to fall for her.

  “So, Fred!” Auston yelled over the loud music in the bar as (Y/N) hung off his shoulder, “what do you want to drink?” You looked between the two of them and scoffed before heading to the bar yourself to get a beer, “or you know.. do that.”

  “Can I get anything for either of you?” you asked, looking back to your friend and the girl you were falling for

  “I’ll grab a beer” Auston laughed as (Y/N) walked toward you

  “Get him the worst beer they have,” she joked, “I’ll just have a tequila soda.” You smiled at her response, ordering the drinks and following behind the two as they found a table to sit at. (Y/N) and Auston sat across from you, laughing about something that you weren’t in on and you just sat there drinking your beer trying not to look too awkward. When she got up, you found your eyes wandering across her body, finding new tattoos hidden beneath her ripped and tattered clothing.

  “Dude,” Auston said, bringing your attention back to him, “stop staring!”

  “Sorry,” you replied, shaking your head, “how many tattoos does she have?”

  “She’s going on like 11 or 12?” he smiled, “I keep telling her she should just get a sleeve but she likes having them in ‘secret spots’ she says”

  “I wouldn’t exactly call her wrist or her neck a ‘secret spot’” you smirked

  “That’s only two, Fred,” he chirped, “think about where the other places could be...” Before you could respond, (Y/N) sat down and, as if it were planned, Auston stood up, leaving you alone with his friend. She shifted in her seat, her long hair cascading over her shoulder, forcing your eyes to wander to examine her outfit; her faded plaid shirt had small tears in it lending the perfect peekaboo for the black lace underneath while her shorts only covered half of her thigh, exposing a sun and moon tattoo. You realized neither of you had spoken when she changed seats to sit in front of you before taking off her unbuttoned plaid shirt and tying it around her waist

  “So Fred...” she started, forcing you to look up at her and smile awkwardly, “why are you friends with Auston?”

  “What do you mean?” you scoffed

  “I don’t know,” she chuckled, “you guys are just so... I think it’s the age difference for me”

  “Because he’s younger?”

  “Yeah” she laughed

  “He’s a good kid, he needs a little guidance,” you joked, “and I guess I need to get out of my comfort zone a little”

  “Oh yeah?” she smiled and you felt your face flood with heat, “how exactly has he helped you do that?”

  “You two talkin’ about me?” Auston asked as he sat back down, his hand creeping around (Y/N)’s waist, pulling her close to him

  “Don’t be so vain” she joked

  “We were just talking about (Y/N)’s tattoos” you countered

  “Is that right?” Auston smirked

  “Yeah...” you hesitated, trying to figure out what to say

  “Yeah, he was just asking me about the sun and moon on my thigh,” she replied, “what it meant...” You were surprised that she was going along with your fib but you weren’t complaining

  “She was just about to tell me when you interrupted us”

  “Well then... don’t let me stop you” he said, taking a sip of the beer he’d left on the table and gesturing to (Y/N)

  “It’s for me and my brother. My parents used to always say we were like night and day but that we complimented each other,” she answered, “he was this bright ball of energy that seemed to light up every room and I was... a little on the darker side. He was really important to me, so, when he passed away last year, I wanted to have something to remind me of him...”

  “I’m so sorry,” you sighed, “I didn’t mean to ma--”

  “Don’t be sorry,” she smiled, “it’s okay. I’m okay. It’s good for me to talk about him.”

  “Why don’t you tell him about this tattoo on your spine” Auston interjected, tracing his finger down her back

  “and miles to go before I sleep...” she said softly, “it’s from a Robert Frost poem. I wouldn’t say it’s my favourite poem but this line, the last line, always kind of stuck with me. Like, there’s so much life to live before we all ‘sleep.’“ She smiled as she air quoted the word sleep

  “What about this one on your arm?” you asked as you pointed to the back of her bicep, near her elbow

  “It’s a lotus flower,” she smirked, “it was my first one actually. I thought I was being so original but then I saw literally everyone getting a lotus flower tattoo and suddenly, I just felt... Do you have any tattoos Freddie?” she suddenly asked

  “Me?” you questioned, “no, none”

  “Yeah, tattoos aren’t really Big Red’s thing”

  “I’m sure they could be..” (Y/N) said, “if he tried. We should take him to get one, just a small one. Like.. a piece of LEGO or something.” You chuckled at her suggestion, preparing yourself to say something, “I can always use another tattoo...”

  “I don’t know..” you faltered

  “I can hold your hand if you’re scared” she teased

  “Oh yeah, definitely. We’ll both hold your hand” Auston added before rolling his eyes and you scoffed

  “I’ll think about it” you joked just as (Y/N) stood up

  “I love this song,” she yelled, “let’s go dance!” You and Auston looked at each other before she eventually dragged you both out to the dance floor with her, standing in between the two of you as the music compelled her hips to sway. As Auston wrapped his hands around her waist, (Y/N) brought her hands up to your shoulders to pull you close to her; you felt your breath stop in your chest as her eyes met yours and the music continued to pump through your body. Before long, you noticed Auston move his lips closer to (Y/N)’s neck and you couldn’t handle it anymore

  “I.. I have to go...” you stammered before taking off

  “Freddie!” (Y/N) called out

  “FRED!” Auston shouted but you just continued walking, tearing your coat off the back of the chair where you sat until Auston finally met up with you, “What’s going on?” he asked

  “I can’t... this isn’t what..” you growled as you tried to find the words to say that you didn’t want to watch the two of them make out with each other all night, “I need to go”

  “Why?” he asked again

  “Because of you, that’s why!” you finally blurted out, forcing your way through the crowd to dart out of the bar

  “What are you talking about? What did I do?!” he exclaimed, forcing a scoff from you

  “You know that I...” you tried, unconsciously gesturing to the girl inside, “and you are just...”

  “Freddie, nothing is happening. We were dancing,” he sighed, “I was trying to be your wing man!”

  “That was you trying to be a wing man?” you huffed

  “I don’t get what your problem is. You could’ve made a move, you didn’t. She’s not going to wait around all night for you to inch closer to her”

  “So what?!” you yelled, “you decided you would? Because you’ve had her before and you wanted her again?”

  “What?” he sneered and you noticed (Y/N) rush out of the door, finding the two of you fighting on the sidewalk and as much as you didn’t want to say it, you needed to, at the very least, see Auston’s reaction

  “How would you know where all her ‘secret spots’ are? Where all her tattoos are if you haven’t been with her already?” His look told you everything you needed to but when you looked back at (Y/N), you felt a little ashamed of yourself for acting the way you were

  “Freddie...” Auston said quietly

  “It’s... whatever,” you sighed, “I’ll talk to you later.” You called for a cab but before you could close the door, she snuck in.

xx

  The look on Freddie’s face nearly broke your heart but you weren’t sure why he was so upset. He had spent time with you before, you knew him, you liked each other but he had never really had a conversation with you. You couldn’t deny that when you saw him that night, you kept imagining his hands on you, but this... was not what you were expecting to come from the night.

  “SO WHAT?!” Freddie yelled at Auston outside of the bar and you furrowed your brow at the interaction, “you decided you would? Because you’ve had her before and you wanted her again?”

  “What?” Auston replied and you took one step forward to hear Freddie’s response, expecting it to be a whisper

  “How would you know where all her ‘secret spots’ are?” Freddie asked and you blushed at the implication, “where all her tattoos are if you haven’t been with her already?” You caught Freddie’s stare for a second before your gaze dropped to the concrete, hearing Auston try to ease the tension but Freddie wasn’t having it. When you heard the cab pull up, you knew you had to jump in so that at least one of you could help the situation, “(Y/N).. what are you doing?” he asked and you sat beside him in silence while the driver waited for an address

  “I don’t know what happened...” you started quietly, “but I didn’t want you to storm off upset”

  “I’m fine” he snapped

  “Clearly, you’re not” you replied

  “I’m fine” he repeated

  “You’re upset...” you sighed, “I don’t want you to be upset”

  “Why does it matter?” he asked

  “What?” you replied as the car came to a stop and you quickly followed Freddie out of the cab to his door

  “Why does it matter if I’m upset or not?” he asked again as he called the elevator and the two of you waited

  “Because,” you returned, turning your body toward him, “despite what you might think, I care about you.” Just then, the telltale ding of the elevator rang and you two stepped in. You waited for him to say something but when he didn’t, you bit your lip and thought about what he said to Auston back at the bar, ‘if you haven’t been with her before?’ There was almost disdain on the words, causing your forehead to crease as you thought about them, “do you really think so little of me?”

  “What?” he replied, turning his head to you and furrowing his brow

  “That I would just sleep with Auston?” you questioned

  “He just... kept talking about your tattoos..” he stammered

  “Sure,” you countered, “he was with me when I got most of them.”

  “Well...” he hesitated again, “you two were hanging all over each other...”

  “We were dancing,” you argued, “all of us!”

  “So you’ve never slept with him?” he asked

  “No” you answered as the elevator door opened. You followed Freddie to his door, still not sure what he was feeling

  “You can go home. I’m fine”

  “I don’t get why you’re so upset over this?”

  “It doesn’t matter”

  “It does. I wanna know!” you shouted

  “He clearly wants to fuck you” he bit

  “Fuck you!” you snapped back

  “AM I WRONG?”

  “YES!”

  “OH COME ON”

  “YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT!”

  “IT DOESN’T MATTER!” he shouted before you noticed that the two of you had become so close that your chests rose and fell in sync

  “Why do you care so much?” you said quietly, “if it doesn’t matter what are you so... bent out of shape?” His eyes moved slowly across your face before landing on your mouth, leading your eyes to do the same

  “I’m... not like him” he whispered

  “What do you mean?“ you replied

  “I like you, (Y/N),” he admitted, gently placing his hands on your hips, “but I’m not like Auston...”

  “What? American?” you scoffed, “a bit of a narcissist? An overly competitive self-assured mama’s boy? Good.”

  “No... I’m not 23, I don’t have tattoos, I d--”

  “Good.” You repeated simply, “Why would you want to be him?”

  “Because he’s a better fit for you” he sighed, walking to his couch and slumping down, dropping his head to his hands and you were left standing in the middle of the room, flustered and confused.

  “I’ve known Auston for... so much of my life,” you replied, “you think he’s a better fit for me because we’re the same age and we both have tattoos? I don’t want someone who’s a different version of me...”

  “Even if it makes sense?” he grumbled, earning a head shake from you before your feet decided to move toward him until you were standing in front of him, waiting for him to look up at you from where he sat, “what are you doing?” he asked, his elbows resting on his knees as a smirk crept across your lips.

  “Not everything needs to make sense...” you replied, “not if it feels right.”

  “What do you mean?” he stammered, seeming almost afraid of you all of a sudden

  “I’ve seen you looking at me,” you smiled, moving his arms down so you could straddle his lap, “staring at my tattoos, my hair, my clothes...”

  “I..I--”

  “I don’t mind,” you interrupted, moving your hands around his shoulders, “I like when you look at me.”

  “You do?” he countered and you nodded, beginning to move your hands down his body before moving your lips close to his

  “I know that I have to look my best when you’re around...” you whispered, lips caressing his without touching them, “I want to look good for you”

  “You always look good,” he hummed as his hands found your waist and his eyes trained themselves on your chest. “God I want you...” he growled, digging his nails into your skin before looking up at you, only to find you smiling down at him

  “So take me...” you breathed, pushing your chest against his as your fingers hooked onto the loose fabric of his shirt when he stopped you, pushing you off so he could stand up, “Freddie, what the hell?!” You whined

   “You only want me because you can’t have him!”

  “Are you fucking kidding me with this?!” You shouted, marching to where the tall, Danish goaltender stood, “if I wanted him, I’d have him. If I wanted to be with him, I wouldn’t be here with you. But I don’t, I’m not. When I know what I want, I’m pretty damn good at getting it. I want you, Freddie. And I know you want me too.” You let your angry breaths fill the space as Freddie stared at you hesitantly; if he wasn’t going to do anything, you weren’t going to waste your time. You turned and began walking to the door, intent on storming out and never speaking to Freddie again, when he grabbed your arm, stopping you from leaving. He waited until you looked at him, so you could see the intensity of his stare, before he pulled you into him, fumbling into a nearby wall, kissing your lips harshly before he moved down to your neck and further to your chest. Standing back up to kiss you softly before removing your shirt, letting his hands glide back to your bare skin once the fabric had disappeared

  “Are you sure?” He asked, leaning his forehead against yours as your arms circled his neck

  “I’m yours, baby.” You smirked, kissing him quickly before jumping up and wrapping your legs around his hips, “take me, kiss me, ravage me...” you giggled at your own words and Freddie smiled in response, quickly carrying you over to the couch, only so he could set you down and tear of the remainder of your clothes. As he picked you up once more and his lips discovered new spots on your neck that garnered sounds you’d never heard yourself make, you dug your nails into his back, scratching a trail down his sides.

  “You’re not as intimidating as I thought you were” he chirped, throwing you onto his king sized bed and you were forced to smile before shrugging in response

  “And you’re not as safe as you seem.” You returned before biting your fingertip, waiting for him to remove his clothes

  “Let me show you what I can do...” You raised your eyebrows at his words, knowing that you were in for a long, glorious night.

[angelofthequeers]

I’ll Always Come Back

Rating: G

Summary: No matter what happens, no matter what pulls them apart, Alya and Nino always find their way back to each other.

We're finally able to share our pieces for @thedjwifizine and I had the privilege of being able to participate! Please go check it out and give all the other creators massive love!

1. Welcome home

“Are we sure you’re not one of the planes?” Adrien teases. Nino flushes and forces himself to stop jumping from foot to foot on the rich red carpet, although he finds himself still bouncing on the spot in anticipation.

“Dude, I haven’t seen Alya in like two weeks!” He’s expecting Adrien to tease him again but instead, Adrien just sighs and smiles.

“I know the feeling,” he says. “Two weeks without Marinette is a drag. Not that I don’t like hanging out with you, of course.”

“Thanks, bro,” Nino says dryly. Adrien rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to respond, except that the doors to the airport gate open and the shadows of the first few people off the plane loom against the corridor wall. Their banter is instantly forgotten as both men jitter on the spot and stand on their tiptoes to look out for their girlfriends.

“Did they get off last or something?” Adrien grumbles. “Hey, you think it’d be legal if I sat on your shoulders?”

“Dude, I’d totally sit on yours,” Nino says. “You’re heavy.”

Adrien raises his eyebrows. “Wow. Thanks. And here I thought we had something special.”

Nino maturely ignores his best friend in favour of continuing to search for Alya in the crowd. His heart leaps into his throat at the sight of a familiar reddish-brown bun, just behind a middle-aged white man with greying hair, and then the crowd parts and there she is, like a ray of sunshine.

“Alya!” Nino frantically waves his hands above his head, sparing only a fleeting thought for the people giving him strange looks as they walk past. Alya looks around at the sound of her name, and then she spots him and her face breaks into the most radiant smile that Nino’s ever seen, only making her look even more like a goddess from above.

“Nino!” Alya dodges around a young couple with all the grace of her superhero alter-ego, and Nino eagerly holds his arms open to catch her, but he’s still unprepared for the force that cannons into him and nearly bowls him over into Adrien.

“I missed you so much, babe,” Nino says into Alya’s hair. Alya just laughs and squeezes him tighter.

“Same. I even missed your snoring.”

“Wow. Thanks.” But Nino still holds her tight and relishes in her warm coconut smell, despite her super mean comments just seconds into their reunion.

2. Brainwashed

“Snap out of it!” Rena Rouge yells, despite the futility of trying to break through an akuma’s influence. Carapace just grins at her, but it’s all…wrong. It’s twisted, black-lipped, showing too much teeth, like he’s a shark rather than the turtle hero he’s supposed to be. 

Out of the corner of her eye, there’s a flash of red as Ladybug summons a Lucky Charm, but Rena can’t make out what it is and she’s too focused on her brainwashed boyfriend to look away for even a second.

 “Dammit!” Ladybug curses and grabs Rena’s arm to yank her out of the way of Gamer’s vivid green beam. “I need Carapace to make this plan work!”

“Well, he’s a little occupied!” Rena dodges one of Dark Cupid’s arrows, but then Carapace dives at her and she’s forced to jump away and duck under him to avoid the next one. It strikes him in the back harmlessly just as Rena swipes his legs out from underneath him, sending him crashing to the ground with a loud wheeze. Before he can bound back into the battle, Rena plants her knee on his chest and pins his wrists to the ground on either side of his head.

“Aww, how cute,” Carapace mocks. “Do you want a mid-battle cuddle, babe?”

“How d’you like that, huh?” Dark Cupid cackles. “Sucks to have your heart broken!”

“And to see your best friend in such pain!” Gamer chimes in. He fires at Chat Noir right as Dark Cupid shoots another arrow, which forces Ladybug to abandon her brainstorming to jump to Chat’s aid. Rena just groans and hangs her head, still keeping Carapace pinned to the ground. If only they had his Shellter – if only she could free him, bring him back –

“True love is a scam!” Dark Cupid howls distantly. With a sharp intake of breath, the most desperate of ideas slams into Rena’s brain and then, before she can second-guess herself and end up incapacitated, she leans down and presses her lips to Carapace’s with a silent plea.

For a moment, nothing happens. The battle between superheroes and akumas rages on in the background, but Rena’s vision has tunnelled to the boy beneath her, staring up at her with such hate in his eyes that’s the complete opposite of everything that Nino Lahiffe is and that she loves about him. And then the black fades from Carapace’s lips – he stares up with clouded, confused eyes, and Rena lets out a choked sob –

“Uh, babe?” Carapace says as she rains kisses all over his face. “Not that I’m complaining, but I don’t think this is the time.”

“You’re an idiot,” Rena splutters. “I hate you. Hurry up and get your lazy butt back into action before I run you through with my flute.”

3. Making up

“I’ll call you back, girl,” Alya says into her phone when the sound of the front door opening reaches her ears. There’s the dim sound of Marinette saying her goodbyes, but all Alya can focus on is the stiff-shouldered silhouette of her boyfriend standing in the living room doorway with a scowl on his face. But two can play the stubborn game, so Alya crosses her arms and glowers right back at him.

Neither of them says anything. The atmosphere thickens, until it’s so stifling that it could be popped with a pin like the massive superhero balloons paraded around Paris every year on Heroes’ Day. Alya toys with the idea of just getting it over with and swallowing her pride and caving first, except for the fact that she’s so not at fault here and why should she have to give in?

Except…it’s awful, this hostile air between them. And Nino had walked out but…he’d also come back. He came back. Just like he always does, whether it’s an argument about stealing the blankets or getting disintegrated by a smoke akuma just hours ago while Rena Rouge had been forced to watch helplessly. And if she has to swallow her pride and poke at this wound so that it can start to heal…is it worth throwing away what she’s got with him, everything they’ve been through together, just to be right?

“I’m sorry,” Alya blurts out just as Nino does. They pause, blink, and then laugh in unison, and Nino’s shoulders slump.

“I was way outta line,” he says. “And I shouldn’t’ve run away. I don’t want to lose you over some dumb argument.”

“I said some things I shouldn’t have as well,” Alya says. She holds out her arms. “Get over here, shellhead. You’re not getting rid of me that easily after everything we’ve been through.”

Nino moves so fast that he seems to materialise on the couch next to Alya, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. She hums and buries her nose in the crook of his neck, nuzzling to drink in his sweet smell of cinnamon and vanilla, surrounding herself in the warmth of being cherished and cared for by the most amazing man she’s had the fortune of meeting.

“Not even a whole horde of zombies could keep me from you, babe,” Nino says. Alya laughs softly.

“You’re still an idiot for just sitting there and letting the kissing zombies get you for no reason,” she says. “But I appreciate you staying with me, even if I don’t remember it.”

Nino squeezes her. “Always.”

4. Lost

“Nino!” Alya’s shriek echoes off the dark, glistening walls around her. But there’s no response, so she desperately tries again. “Nino!”

Nothing. She turns a corner and is greeted with an identical dark wall, which seems to have looped behind her and cut off where she’d just come from. Seems to have, because Alya doesn’t even know what’s going on with this constantly shifting maze, unable to even trust her own senses to truthfully inform her of where she is.

“Ladybug! Chat Noir!” Alya pounds on the wall in front of her. “Someone! Anyone!”

“Alya!” echoes faintly in response; so faint that Alya barely makes it out. But it’s there. She takes off running, losing any semblance of spatial awareness as she hurtles down identical dark corridor after dark corridor in this damn akuma maze, because someone (i.e., Jalil) had decided to get akumatised into a Greek minotaur complete with a labyrinth.

“Nino?” she calls.

“Alya!” comes back after a second, much closer than it had been last time. Alya takes a deep breath, closes her eyes for a moment to compose herself, and starts running again. Wherever Nino is in this labyrinth, she’s going to find him, because they haven’t gone through years of both superhero and mundane drama to be separated by a maze.

5. Down the aisle

“Will you settle down?” Adrien hisses. “You’re putting me on edge!”

“You’re always on edge, catboy,” Nino mutters in response, because if Adrien’s gonna act like he doesn’t wake up screaming half the time from the horrors he’s seen as Chat Noir then Nino’s damn well gonna call him out for it. He groans and tugs at his stiff white collar, wishing he could just tear it off already…but no, he can’t do that to Alya. Speaking of Alya, where is she?

“Rude,” Adrien says. “See if I make you my best man.”

“Go on, then,” Nino says. “Give it to Kim. I dare you.”

Adrien pauses, then shudders. “No way. I love Kim – I really do – but Marinette and I want everyone to walk away in one piece.”

“Chloé, then.”

“She’s already leaving super pointed voicemails about breaking gender stereotypes and appointing a best woman instead. I don’t need to encourage that drama.” Adrien pauses. “Why are you even trying to get out of it when I’m here for you?”

Nino rolls his eyes and prepares to fire off a witty retort, except for the fact that the guitarist starts to play the song he’s heard hundreds of times in Alya’s cheesy romance movies and Adrien immediately stands up straight, as does Marinette on the bride’s side. Nino turns and…oh. Oh.

“Oh my god,” he whispers. With the sun behind her to make her glow like an angel from the heavens, Alya glides down the grassy aisle they’ve set up in the Place des Vosges, her pure white dress hugging the curves of her hips and falling in layers of tulle around and behind her. Nino’s never been more grateful to Marinette than he is now for designing Alya’s dress as a wedding gift because…wow. Wow. Words? What?

“Hey,” Alya says softly when she reaches Nino and releases her father’s arm. Nino’s attempt to say anything even remotely intelligent results in a strangled, garbled mess that resembles no human language in existence.

“I can’t marry you,” Nino finally manages to coax himself to say. “You’re way outta my league. Holy –”

Good thing that Alya’s giggle interrupts him, or many children might have learned a very inappropriate lesson that day. He reaches out to thread his fingers through hers, transfixed by the loose curls falling around her face, the light dusting of makeup that frames her eyes and glistens her lips, and he must have managed to say his vows through his hypnosis at some point because the next words he’s able to comprehend are, “You may now kiss the bride,” and he’s never been happier to do as he’s told.

“I love you,” he croaks once he finally manages to pull away from Alya’s divine lips. Alya grins.

“I love you too, dork.”

[hypnotixstorm]

Spin The Bottle with any of the DGM characters that you're comfortable writing????? (but like obviously when Kanda spins the bottle it has to land on the reader [me] because YOU KNOW WHY OK????????) ilysm!!! 😍

I LOVE super cliche shit like spin the bottle and seven minutes in heaven and just yES! Thank you, I’m gonna go a bit nuts with this oops-

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* spin the bottle *･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ 

Okay I think Link is a lil cutie so I had to include him

He’s so cute and innocent that he probably doesn’t even realize what game it is that everyone is playing tbh

And if he has heard of the game before, he probably doesn’t understand what it entails

But whenever he spins the bottle and it lands on you? Poor baby is clueless

You start blushing and he’s so confused until it’s explained to him and then he’s even more red than you are

Link is such a gentleman and will not kiss you unless you tell him that you want him to

It really isn’t about his ego or anything like that, he just doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable

When you’ve finally convinced him that you want him to kiss you, he’ll gently cup your cheek before pressing an even softer kiss to your lips

Lavi and Lenalee will cheer the two of you on, knowing about your crush on him

After the game is over and everyone has dispersed, he’ll pull you to the side to talk about what happened

If you tell him about your crush on him, he’ll get just as red, if not more so, than he did earlier

Surprisingly, he’ll admit that he reciprocates how you feel, he’s just so nervous of rejection and he worries that his job is too demanding for him to have a happy, healthy relationship

After his own confession, he’ll pull you into a loving kiss, signaling the start of your relationship

I think Allen is aware of what spin the bottle is

In fact, I think it was his idea in the first place, especially after a little convincing on Lavi’s part

When it’s your turn, he is literally bouncing in anticipation

He so wants the bottle to land on him

It’s just his bad luck that it lands between him and Lavi, the latter of which quickly telling you to re-spin to cheer him up

Much to everyone’s surprise, after you’ve gone again, it lands on Allen

He nearly jumps out of his spot to kiss you, causing you to giggle and blush

You’re just too cute when you blush and your little laugh makes him blush as well

Honestly, he grabs both sides of your face before smashing his lips onto yours

The kiss is a bit awkward, but the intentions within it are very apparent

For the rest of the night, the two of you steal glances at each other, looking away and blushing as your gazes meet one another each and every time

Honestly, no one is really sure why or how he’s here, but it’s too late for them to kick him out, seeing as it’s already his turn

Besides, he’s been well-behaved the entire time and hasn’t caused any trouble

Tyki was originally hoping for the bottle to land on Lenalee, but as soon as he saw you, that all changed

He was certainly intrigued when you entered the room for the first time that night

Who were you? Why were you here? And why had he never seen you before?

He didn’t know and he didn’t like that

It was now his goal to find the answers to his questions, reaching his ears in-between moans and gasps from you as you writhed underneath his body, preferably

Tyki smirked to himself before giving the bottle a twirl

The tension in the room grew to an uncomfortable, suffocating level that was thick enough to cut with a knife

His devilish grin and the sadistic gleam in his eyes would only grow as it landed on you, the object of his desire

Before you, or the others, could protest, he pulled you into his lap

His fingers would tangle in your hair, tugging roughly before locking his lips with your own

As you moaned into the kiss, his other hand would find your hip, his fingers digging into the soft, tender flesh

You could hear some of your friends growl or scoff in disgust, causing Tyki to smirk in response

Before things could go on for much longer, Lavi would rip you from his lap, promptly glaring at the Noah as he did so

Lavi would ask if you were okay as he sat you down between him and Allen but you would be in too much of a daze to answer

As the game came to a close, the others would try to drag you away from him, but you were so intrigued, desperate to know what would happen if you went with him for the night

Or perhaps, the rest of your life

His gaze would linger on yours, prompting you to follow him to some secluded location, where he’d immediately pin you to the wall

He would normally take what he wanted, no matter the circumstances but he didn’t want the others to hear what cute noises you had to make

The rest of the night was very eventful for you

Omg okay time for my fave

I know I have Lavi headcannoned as being kinda cocky and confident but I feel like if he hasn’t confessed to his crush at this point, then he’s actually a bit nervous

It’s more antsy, he can’t sit still, he’s grinning and blushing like an idiot

But of course, you’re oblivious too, why wouldn’t you be?

There’s no way THE Lavi could like you... is there?

He’s always so flirty with every girl he encounters, you feel like you don’t stand a chance

The truth is, he flirts with them because he wants to get over his feelings for you because wow you are way too perfect for him, an angel, a goddess, not of this world

So, when you spin the bottle and it lands on him? He feels his little heart thumping in his chest in anticipation

But the moment he sees the happiness on your face, all of that disappears

The both of you jump up nearly in sync for the kiss, much to each of your embarrassment

It’s honestly really cute and sweet though

He’s really worried to touch you in a way that would make you uncomfortable

For the rest of the game/night, he’ll have you sitting in his lap with his chin resting on the top of your head

After everything is done and over with, he’ll pull you to the side to talk about your relationship

Honestly, even though his feelings for you are very strong, he’ll try to discourage you from pursuing a relationship

The life of a Bookman is not a fun, nor easy one to live and he wants you to be 100% aware of that

Of course you’re already aware of that and, after some minor pleading, he’ll agree, only a little reluctantly

I had to save the best for last, didn’t I? Gotta tease ya since I know he’s your fave hehe

Okay, so, neither myself nor Kanda understands how he got into this situation

He just wants to be left alone and to sulk in his room, but Lenalee said something about needing his help

Kanda wasn’t in the mood to fight her on it, so he just agreed, but immediately regretted it

Somehow, the others forced him to stay, but he sulked and grumbled about how miserable he was the entire time

This made you really nervous because this is your big chance, thanks to practically everyone because the two of you are so fucking hopeless, and you were worried you were going to blow it

You held your breath as the bottle spun, coming to a rest on your figure

He sat there, not moving, as everyone watched expectantly

Kanda glanced at your figure before glaring at the others

Before he could leave though, someone pushed him into you, causing the two of you to lock lips

Both you and, surprisingly Kanda, were a blushing mess

That was something nobody had ever expected from the rather stoic male

He would huff and stomp away at that moment but would make sure to find you later that night when the two of you could be alone

Kanda would want to talk about his feelings and yours, even though that would be a massive undertaking in and of itself

Let's just say, everything worked out in the end

[raendown]

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 4879 Soulmate au: The one where every pair of soulmates finds each other in different ways or through different soulmate tropes

Follow the link or read it under the cut! 

KO-FI and commission info in the header! 

Chapter 221

Watching the client who had come begging them for assistance with a typically ridiculous problem, Tobirama wondered what it would be like to have such an obvious connection to his soulmate as this man did. His already short sleeves were tied back even further as though to purposefully display as much as possible of the golden words flowing down the back of one arm, a greeting that must have been the first words his other half spoke to him. To have such easy proof of one’s connection, to know from the earliest ages that there was someone out there and how to find them, Tobirama could only wonder at the security this man must have felt in his bond from the moment he understood that it was waiting for him. It must have been nice. 

It was also quite the pity for whoever had been the one to speak those words. 

Privately Tobirama could admit that a small bit of the attitude he could feel bubbling to the surface was motivated by jealousy, petty retribution against someone who had something he wanted for himself. Out loud, of course, he wouldn’t be caught dead even hinting at such an admission. 

“This is all very fascinating, Kirimoto-san, but I can’t help noting you have yet to explain what any of it has to do with Konohagakure. Were you perchance hoping to commission someone to record your story? Contracting a scribe would only be a D-rank mission, not the A-rank you proposed.” Lifting one eyebrow in judgement was probably going a little too far. If only he could bring himself to care.

“I was only just getting to that, Senju-sama,” their client spluttered. Anger flashed across his face but luckily for his continued health he was smart enough not to say anything. “The mission I came to contract your shinobi for is of vital importance! My son is a diamond among chaff; he deserves only the best! If the woman pressing suit upon him is truly so weak-hearted as to look at other men then she must be chased away!”

Tobirama blinked slowly. “And you wish us to…?”

“Why, to bring proof of her infidelity of course! I will pay the full price of an A-rank mission for two of your finest shinobi to approach her in disguise and seduce her away from my son! If her heart is as impure as I think it is then she will no doubt fall for such base tricks.”

He puffed himself up with the same false importance bred in to every idiot that had ever been born in the capital city, entirely ignorant of how little effect that would have on the one he was speaking to. When Tobirama got ahold of his brother he was going to throttle the man for taking today of all days off and leaving his duties to the next in command. Technically Madara would have been the next in command if he weren’t currently at home recovering from pushing himself too hard during training. No doubt that was exactly why Hashirama had taken the day off. Tobirama hoped the two idiots drowned in a teapot for making him deal with this particular client. 

Despite his petty irritation he didn’t actually want to offend the man. Or at least not badly enough for the idiot to file a complaint that would bring another lecture down on his head about playing nice with their patrons. Several slow deep breaths helped bolster his patience until he could be certain none of the contempt he felt for this utter waste of time might show on his face; only then did he speak again.

“If you wish to pay for an A-rank mission then we will gladly accept your commission. Do you have any other information that might help us choose the two best people to accept this task?” 

“You! I want one of them to be you!” For some reason Kirimoto-san felt the need to rise from his chair and point like there could be any mistaking who he was speaking to. They were, after all, the only people in the room. “I’ve heard all the rumors! Women from here to the capitol cry themselves to sleep every night over the hearts you break!”

Tobirama could feel one of his eyes twitching. He’d heard a lot of rumors about himself before but this one was new. Him? A country-wide heartbreaker? That went beyond laughable in to the territory of utterly absurd. If anything most rumors called him uptight and cold. Which, in all honesty, was certainly more true than the opposite. The last heart he broke was probably well back in his adolescence when one of his clanmates had taken some unnatural interest in him and refused to be turned aside with any gentler tactics than a flat out shredding of her ego. 

Clinging hard to his temper, Tobirama bit down savagely on his own tongue before asking, “I don’t suppose I could change your mind on that? My duties here are many and rumors are easily blown out of proportion. Seduction is… not one of my strengths, shall we say.” 

“Do...I want to know?” Hashirama’s voice asked in the same moment the door swung open. Their illustrious Hokage recoiled almost as soon as he stepped in to the room, eyes wide and confused upon being met with Tobirama’s acidic glare. Behind him trundled Madraa who looked a hell of a lot more put together than he had when Tobirama bullied him in to going home the night before with instructions to recuperate before he passed out over his own paperwork. 

“Ah Hokage-sama!” their client bowed hastily. 

“Hello! Um, honeypot mission?” The cringe in Hashirama’s voice was as obvious as the pain it caused him to think of his sibling in any sort of intimate context. 

Unfortunately Kirimoto-san managed to speak first. “Senju-sama here has agreed to assist me in the matter I wrote to you about! All we need is one mo- ah! Perfect! You’re perfect! Pray tell, what is your name, miss?”

If nothing else. Tobirama decided while he was busily choking on his own tongue, that right there was worth the shame of having to take part in this ridiculous farce. Madara, to no one’s surprise, didn’t seem inclined to agree. His expression was particularly thunderous when he crossed his arms and leveled their client with a deadly stare. 

“Uchiha Madara,” he growled. To Kirimoto-san’s credit he didn’t so much as flinch before breaking in to a massive grin. 

“Even more perfect! A man! And here I thought I would have to pay extra for you to dress as one. Most excellent. It absolutely must be the two of you!”

Madara sneered. “I don’t think s-”

“Well now!” Hashirama spoke over him. “I’m sure you understand, my dear sir, that these two are my most valuable shinobi both administratively and in battle prowess. To allow both of them to be deployed on the same mission would be a serious detriment to our productivity - not to mention our security in the event of an attack.”

“But I must have them! Only them!” 

“It simply doesn’t seem feasible. To fill the large spaces they would leave empty would mean keeping several extra people on active duty and I’m afraid the cost…” With a face of carefully constructed regret Hashirama sighed and Tobirama took a moment to reluctantly admire his brother’s ingenuity. People could say what they wanted about his overly active emotions. Very few ever realized how easily he manipulated them entirely because of that same buffoonery veiling their eyes to the wily genius underneath. 

Kami forbid the idiot ever realize Tobirama admired that quality in him, though. 

“Can I not convince you?” Kirimoto-san begged. “If it is a matter of cost I can of course make it worth your while to send them with me! Name your price, Hokage-sama, and I will pay it! Anything to ensure that my precious son lives his life only with a woman who will never betray him!” 

The poor sod didn’t even seem to realize the mistake he’d just made as Hashirama turned to him with a beatific smile on his face and dollar signs in his eyes. 

When he finally managed to leave the office Kirimoto-san’s face was as pained as his poor wallet was empty. Tobirama couldn’t find it in himself to even pity the man. Not when his own fate had been sealed with more than twenty thousand ryō above the typical asking price of an A-ranked mission. Regrettably, he hadn’t actually been lying when he said that seduction was not one of his strengths but apparently he would have to at least make an effort. It was hard to choose whether he regretted more that it would be a woman several years after he had finally accepted his preferences in the opposite direction or that, of all people, Madara would be there to watch him make such an utter fool out of himself. 

“How exactly”-he demanded the moment their client was far enough down the hall not to overhear them-”do you propose I disguise myself? At the risk of showing my own ego, I’ll remind you that I do have rather distinctive looks.” 

“You’re not the only one,” Madara growled with both hands going almost protectively to his extraordinary mane of hair.

Hashirama boomed a laugh that lacked even a shred of sympathy. “Oh I’m sure you two will figure something out! You could always wear a henge!” 

“And if she’s chakra-sensitive? I notice you failed to even ask about that!” Madara reached out to smack his best friend across the back of the head for such an oversight. Familial bonds dictated that Tobirama should defend his sibling but, as he rather wished he was close enough to do that himself, he opted to pretend he’d seen nothing.

“Sorry! Sorry! I’m sure we can work out something that will hide your hair. Like a big scarf or a hood or something you could tuck it in to!” Hashirama drooped and clasped both hands under his chin. “Please don’t be mad at me!” 

“That still leaves me,” Tobirama pointed out. 

Both of the squabbling friends turned to him in consideration for several long heartbeats. Hashirama spoke up first with a bright smile. “I know! We can cover your tattoos with makeup! Geisha use white makeup all the time, I’m sure we can procure you some in a discreet manner!”

“Covering my face won’t do much good if my hair is just going to stick out like a fox in a henhouse. The only bloodlines left that produce hair this color are all shinobi clans and as much as I would consider it a complement to be mistaken for a Hatake, that wouldn’t exactly help me fly under the radar now would it?” he didn’t bother to list all of the other shinobi clans he would likely take insult at being mistaken for but his brother, thankfully, had enough tact to skirt that entirely. 

Instead he went even deeper in to stupid territory because of course he did. 

“You could dye your hair!” he crowed as if with the triumph of a great idea. 

“I hate you,” Tobirama told him. 

Without another word he swept out of the office, calling over his brother’s whining protests that since he was here anyway he might as well finish his own duties for the day. More than anything he was angered that Hashirama’s suggestion had actually been a logical solution and in the depths of his private heart he admitted that his irritation stemmed entirely from self-image. He didn’t want to dye his hair. He liked his hair. Call him an egomaniac but he rather enjoyed standing out from the masses. 

Sending a clone to go pick out some dye from the infiltration core’s private storage room felt somehow less painful than doing it himself. At least when he received the memories of it the deed would already be done. Tobirama completed the handful of duties left unfinished at the tower and then left to wait at home for his clone to return. The first thing he did upon dispelling his copy was sit in his living room to study the instructions on the back of the dreaded box in excruciating detail. The only thing worse than going through with this idiocy would be somehow doing it wrong; this was already going to end in mockery one way or another, he didn’t need to give anyone more ammo than necessary. After making sure he understood exactly how to use the stuff Tobirama spun the box around again to study the color. 

Maybe he wouldn’t look entirely terrible with red hair. If the stars aligned in just the right way he might be able to convince himself he looked a bit like his sister in law. The Uzumaki, now there was a clan he would feel no shame for having a connection to and it would certainly be a logical assumption. They did have a rather sizable civilian population. 

Turning the box side to side in an effort to determine whether he thought the color looked like a natural one, he couldn’t help but let his eyes be drawn to the golden letters embossed near the very top, an elegant curling script that greatly resembled the letters Kirimoto-san bore along one arm. What would he do, Tobirama wondered, if at last he managed to discover his own soulmate and he wasn’t able to reach out because of this? He’d never been all that fond of undercover missions for just this reason. To meet his soulmate while he didn’t even look like himself, to risk that they might fall in love with a falsity. A deep sigh escaped him and Tobirama spun the box around so he wouldn’t have to look at the letters anymore. Everything about this mission was stupid - including the emotions he was letting it drag out of him. Best to just get this over with before he got too maudlin about things so far out of his control. 

All told, including the time he took to pause and investigate the chemical compounds, the dying process took just over an hour and Tobirama refused to look at himself in the mirror until he had thoroughly rinsed the mixture out of his hair and let the whole thing dry completely. Only then did he finally approach the bathroom vanity with trepidation and lift his eyes to take in the horror of what he’d done. He had just enough time to cringe in distaste before the front door of his home slammed open with a bang that ricocheted down the hall. 

“Tobi?” Hashirama’s voice called out to him in an oddly strangled tone. “You here?” 

“Unfortunately.” At his reply footsteps hurried closer. 

“We may have to apply a slight change of plaaaa-....ns...oh my.” 

“Anija I swear if you finish that sentence after I only just finished this nonsense”-Tobirama jerked an angry thumb at his own mangled hair-“I will make you regret ever being born.” 

His brother stared at him. Stared some more. Blinked several times and then continued to stare, all while Tobirama’s ire grew closer and closer to the boiling point. Finally he drew in a breath that rattled ominously. 

“Come with me,” he murmured shortly before spinning on one heel and marching back towards the front door. 

“Now hold on! Anija, what the hell?”

Annoyingly, Hashirama did not stop. His only concession was to pause long enough for Tobirama to tear an old jacket out of his front closet and pull the hood up tightly. Just because lots of other strangers were going to see him in this state didn’t mean he had to let all of Konoha in on his shame. Vanity, apparently, would need to be added on to the list of character flaws he hadn’t even known afflicted him until this thrice blasted village was built. 

Where the hell they were going he couldn’t tell since the hood of his jacket was pulled so tight around his head that it obscured most of the world around him. On sense alone he guessed they were bound in a general southern direction but for the life of him he couldn’t imagine what existed to the south that had to do with his disguise or suddenly needed to be attended to the moment his brother saw him. Tobirama did try to ask, of course, but for once in his life Hashirama seemed to have lost his capacity for words. If only he could be like that more often. Well, if only he could be like that any other time but for now when Tobirama needed answers that none of his increasingly irritated questions were getting him. He did recognize right away when they entered the Uchiha district. Walking past the uchiwa-embossed gates always felt much like stepping in from the cold to a place with a thousand warm fires all around him. It was, he hated to admit, a very comforting place to be for a sensor like him. 

It was also a great relief at the moment; Hashirama might profess to love the whole world but there were very few people he was actually close with and only one of them lived within the Uchiha compound. Tobirama frowned at the inside of his hood. It would make sense for them to go see Madara right now, he was the other half of this utterly ridiculous undercover mission, but it made no sense at all for Hashirama to be in this much of a tither over his best friend unless something had gone terribly wrong in the past hour since they had all been together. 

How much trouble could one man get in to within the confines of their own village? 

Despite how close the two of them were it was still a mild surprise when Hashirama let them both in to Madara’s house without so much as knocking. Tobirama wracked his brain trying to remember whether Izuna still lived with his brother while the two of them made their way down the hall. Since they were inside now, safe from the judging eyes of the general public, Tobirama allowed his fingers to loosen their hold on the material of his hood until he had enough vision to take in the home of the Uchiha clan head. Much more spartan than he had expected. If he were taking this first look a handful of years ago he would have expected bloodied weapons to line the walls and plaques bearing the heads of notable kills. He’d long grown past such childish assumptions but if he were honest he still would have expected this place to be a little more plush, a little more befitting the head of such a large and lucrative clan.

“Mads? Mads I’m back. Are you...okay if we come in?” Hashirama paused at the beginning of the hallway to gently wrap his knuckles against a plain shoji screen. 

“End me now,” Madara’s miserable voice drifted out. “If a single person in my clan sees this I will never hear the end of it.” 

“We’re coming in, okay?”

Hashirama waited just a moment longer to give his friend time for yelling if he was truly so opposed to them entering. When no protests came he nodded once and then opened the door, pulling Tobirama behind him as he walked forward in to the room.

Strange as it was to find himself in Uchiha Madara’s bedroom of all places Tobirama didn’t have time to even look around to see if the decor here was as barren as the rest of the house. He didn’t even have the time to ruminate on the odd places life had taken him just today. The moment he stepped inside the room all of his attention was riveted to the figure huddled on the bed with face in hands. Logic told him that was Madara. It sounded like him. Felt like him. His eyes, however, must have been playing tricks on him. 

“The...hell...is going on?” Tobirama pulled his free arm away from Hashirama’s grasp to poke at him with confusion. “I thought you said he was going with the scarf idea? How the hell did you get a dye that color to saturate this much hair in such a short time? And for that matter, why on earth did you give him the same color as me?”

“Oh I didn’t do this,” Hashirama said. 

“So he did it to himself?”

“No, I think you did it.”

Tobirama blinked slowly, one eyebrow rising. “I most certainly did not. You saw me when you came to get me, you know exactly what I’ve been doing since I left the tower.” 

In his indignation at being accused he missed the sharp movement of Madara’s head snapping up to look at him for the first time since he entered the home. Busy as he was jamming a finger in to his brother’s side, he didn’t see those eyes zero in on him like a kunai finding its target but he sure did feel the weight of them. At first he ignored it - this was hardly the first time he’d been stared at - but when Hashirama managed to bat his finger away and pointedly indicated the man whose house they had just invaded he finally looked over. 

“Can I help you?” he muttered, instinctively defensive under that much scrutiny. 

“What do you mean the same color as you?” 

His first reflex was to pull the hood tighter around his head. Then he realized how stupid that was. If the two of them were going on the same mission then obviously Madara would have to see him in this state at some point - and if anyone was going to understand the pain of having to dye his hair such a wildly unsuitable shade it would be the man whose head currently matched his own. A heavy sigh of defeat escaped him before, with great effort, he finally allowed his fingers to unclench so the hood of his jacket could fall back to reveal that his hair indeed was a perfect match for the ridiculous color of Madara’s. He expected the man to stare, of course. What he didn’t expect was for his jaw to drop and one hand to reach out blindly for Hashirama.

“You,” Madara croaked. “Go away. Now. I...I need to talk to...just go away!” 

“Okay.” In a move possibly more surprising than anything else that had happened so far, Hashirama turned to leave the room as easily as that, not a word of protest. Tobirama watched him go with both eyes wide and blinking. 

“I...how did you do that? I’ve never seen him leave so easily in my life. How did you make him do that!?”

Bed springs creaked and groaned like a symphony to announce Madara’s rise from the bed, eyes still locked on to Tobirama with all the intensity of the hawks he so enjoyed flying. He looked just as silly with the wrong hair color as Tobirama felt he himself did but something told him that mockery would not go over very well just now no matter that Madara was one of the few who could give as good as he got. The arguments they got in to were usually some of the highest points of Tobirama’s week. 

“You dyed your hair.” Unfortunately his intelligence didn’t always shine through quite as obviously, such as moments like now when he felt compelled to state the very obvious. 

“So did you,” Tobirama said with one eyebrow raised in judgment. 

“No I didn’t.”

After a pause Tobirama canted his head to one side and lifted the other brow. “Well then I suppose I’ll need to get my eyes checked very soon.”

“No! Shut up, you don’t get it! I didn’t do this!” 

“You’re claiming...what? Some kind of hair dye bandit snuck in and colored your hair when you weren’t looking?”

“I think it means we’re soulmates, you absolute fuck!” 

“Oh.” 

There were dozens of responses he could pretend he’d been expecting and that one would not have been even close to getting on the list. Tobirama opened his mouth only to close it, thoughts racing over each other in a jumbled heap because he knew exactly what Madara was getting at. Of course he did. 

And of course the universe would be so petty as to give them a way to find each other only through humiliating themselves. Sometimes he really did hate other people for how easily they discovered their bonds. Not him, though, oh no. He couldn’t have a red string tied to his pinkie, he couldn’t have been born with the first words his soulmate would say to him imprinted on his skin, he couldn’t even have the moment of unquestionable knowing when he heard his partner’s voice for the first time. Because it was him and because it was Madara they just had to do things the hard way, waiting until one of them dyed their hair so the change of color could be reflected on their other half. 

“That color looks awful on you,” was all he could think to say; perhaps a little too honest but from the very start of peace the two of them had silently agreed to never pull their punches with each other. Madara stared at him in disbelief for a half dozen heartbeats until without warning he burst in to raucous laughter. 

“Seriously?” he demanded. “That’s all you have to say?” 

Tobirama threw both of his hands in the air. “Well what do you want me to say? It’s not like I have some big speech prepared just in case I find out the other half of my soul has been riding around in you this whole time!” 

“No? That’s almost surprising. You’re usually prepared for pretty much anything.” The smile on Madara’s face gentled his words from insults to fond teasing and Tobirama wondered how long the possibilities of this had been hiding right under his nose. 

“I didn’t really want to go on this mission in the first place,” he mused. “Now I really don’t want to.”

“Because we match and it’s incredibly obvious that we shouldn’t?”

“No, dumb ass, because I just discovered my soulmate and I’d rather like some time to process that.” Tobirama rolled his eyes but there was a very telling hint of a smile on his own face as well. How could there not be? 

Madara hummed and shifted his weight, coincidentally ending up just a little bit closer when he settled, though Tobirama chose not to point that out. “How much do you think it would take to convince your brother not to send us out?” 

“Oh probably about a thousand yen more than whatever Kirimoto-san paid him.” 

“Hn. I’d have to dip in to the clan coffers. And then I’d have to listen to the elders bitch about squandering clan funds. Ugh.” Madara’s nose wrinkled. Tobirama mirrored him if for no other reason than annoyance that he’d never really noticed how adorable that was. If he looked back on all the past interactions they’d had he would probably be able to drum up a thousand different clues that they were meant to be together. 

Good thing he wasn’t the type to look back. Self reflection was so boring. 

The problem of his brother forcing them to go through with this mission still was just something they would have to figure out later. Probably a very quick later since they were still expected to leave some time later that same day but still, certainly a problem Tobirama was willing to put off solving until he absolutely had to. If Hashirama was really so dead set on making them do this when he very clearly understood what situation was happening then he could come get them himself. 

“Spot of tea?” Tobirama looked around as though he might spot a kitchen through the bedroom walls. 

“Ah, yeah, I guess it would be polite of me to get you some, huh?” 

Madara rocked back on to his heels and looked towards the door as well, the perfect opportunity for Tobirama to really look at him and take in all the little details he normally wouldn’t in another person, the shape of his jawline and the tiny amounts of baby fat that had never fully left his cheeks. 

“It isn’t like you to be concerned about being polite,” he pointed out. 

When his soulmate turned back to reveal an openly amused grin he thought maybe the universe did know what it was doing - but he was still a little annoyed that it had made things so difficult for him. Also quite annoyed that they were likely going to have to see this ridiculous mission through. What an absolute shame that he finally discovered his soulmate only for the poor man to bear witness to his complete lack of seduction skills all in the same day. He hoped Hashirama had already started running because he was going to murder his own brother for this. 

[akvtsuki-ari]

Sweetheart (Ch.2)

Warnings: smut!, choking, uhh insecuity maybe??, sub!spencer, dom!reader, talks of bdsm protocol

Length: 4.2k 

Authors Note: heyyy yall. i feel like i haven’t uploaded in DAYS idk why. another chapter of this fic bc i love it a lot but my next fic will be a dom!spence oneshot that i can’t get out of my head lol. this chapter is kinda open conversation

Plot Summary: Spencer can’t stop thinking of you but he’s too nervous to do anything about it. You’ve got doubts that only he can fix and he has questions only you can answer. Spencer really likes being choked, apparently. 

Ch. 1

Look at you baby, your lashes are so long, aren't they? Such a pretty boy," your voice rings out softly in Spencer's ears. A light sheen of sweat coats his chest as he feels your fingers around his dick, his throat caught - words disappearing from him.

"Fuck - please, Miss I'm gonna -," Spencer's voice is broken when he feels an orgasm wash over him.

Then of course, Spencer wakes up. Sunlight hitting his eyes as he blinks himself awake. He can feel it in his pajama pants, still not having registered the content of his dream before he looks down to see the massive mess. It's managed to happen a 3rd time, and its only been a week. Spencer shuts his eye in disdain as he stands up, pulling his pants off and tossing them in a hamper before he heads into the shower.

Spencer hates cold showers, he remember this fact as the water beats down on his back as he washes himself up. He washes his hair while he tries to compartmentalize the situation.

Like Spencer mentions, it's the 3rd time he's had a dream that wakes him up in such a pleasant way. You two had been dating for 2 ish months now, but Spencer chokes everytime you try and take things further. You never give him shit for it, which is more than relieving to him. You always reassure him that the two of you can take your time and that it's okay if he doesn't want it right away.

You were an angel, he knew that for sure but Spencer did want it. He was just, well - as nervous as a person could be. He still hasn't really talked to you about any of that, not about how it would work the first time the two of you did.. it. He didn't even know if you still wanted that - he'd been too petrified to ask if you still wanted to dominate him or if maybe that'd change now that you actually knew him. He didn't even know how to bring it up, or if there was a time for him to do just that. The whole thing filled him with such intense anxiety, he just didn't bring it up at all.

But, he wants to go further with you. He likes you so fucking much - of course he wanted to go further with you. He figured you knew that.

You didn't, really. You figured Spencer found you unattractive to some extent so he just kept putting off sleeping with you. It felt like a juvenile insecurity to have but well - he always reacts so poorly anytime you take this further. You knew he was anxious but there was always that self-loathing voice that told you that it was your fault, that he just didn't find you attractive enough. You pretended it didn't hurt since you like him so much, but it was starting to take it's toll.

On both ends, it was a fucking mess. Neither of you really knew why it was a mess for the other person, but it sure was one.

Spencer gets out of the shower when he hears a knock on the door. His eyes flit up to his analog clock on the wall, you were here right in time, Spencer thinks. He throws on an oversized sweater and some jeans that you bought for him. He liked them but he only really wore them cause you like them so much.

Spencer can't help the butterflies that fill his stomach when he sees you. Your eyes are dolled up in this pretty dark eye shadow, and red lipstick. You're pretty, dark and pretty but still pretty. The makeup was just new. Spencer feels like he's choking as he looks at your smiling expression Spencer shuts the door behind you as he lets you in.

"You ready to get brunch?," you ask Spencer. He dries his hair off and finds something to style it with as he walks back into the bathroom. All stuff that's new that you've introduced him too. He likes using the stuff that you told him to use though cause it makes his hair look less greasy.

"Yeah, but we've got some time before then - right?," Spencer ask. You smile and nod your head as you walk up behind Spencer, wrapping your arms around his waist. He feels small - your actual size unimportant to the way you make him feel. You pat his sweater down, hands dangerously close to his waist as you look at him, eyes gleaming. You give him a small grin when you peak over, as Spencer's eyes meet yours in a small blush. Your hands find themselves underneath his sweater, brushing his waist as you sway into him. Spencer focuses so much on doing his hair, just trying not to get hard.

"What should we do in that time?," you ask, mostly to yourself. You know Spencer probably won't do what you were thinking of doing. Spencer just blushes before shrugging, finished fixing up his hair as he moves away from your touch. You're a little hurt, not tryng to let it show as he walks back out into his living room, you following suit.

"I think they're playing some animal planet re-reruns," Spencer suggests. You give Spencer a small, half-hearted smile.

"Yeah sure," you say softly. You don't mean to be disappointed because you really do respect Spencer boundaries. You don't ever wanna do something that he's not a 100% down for and you just like him so much it doesn't matter. You had to admit though - god, you wanted to fuck his brains out and the fact that he may not return those feelings hurt a little more than your ego wanted to admit. Spencer seems to sense your disheartened demeanor, and with trying to ignore his immediate panic he looks over to you as you lean into him on the couch. He moves away from you for a few moments to look at you, and you turn to him confused.

"Are you okay?," Spencer asks concern. You give him a small smile and nod, taking his hands in yours and playing with his fingers. Spencer looks at you for a while longer before you begin to talk.

"It's nothing serious - it's kinda silly actually, so we don't -,"

"Hey," Spencer pauses. You look up at him, his eyes so full of concern. You can't help the way your heart melts, leaning up to meet Spencer's lips for a second. You look at the clock, still a good hour before the two of you have your plans. You sigh, looking down into your lap before you speak.

"I just wanna say first, that I totally respect any and all of your boundaries regarding sex - and I would never, ever pressure you into something you don't wanna do," you say slowly. Spencers nerves crawl up his back but he waits for you to continue.

"But uhm, well - I don't know, I guess I just wanna know if you still, well or if you ever wanted to sleep with me. Like ah, you know, maybe you found me unattractive. I mean, I get it - I guess I'd uhm, just wanna know beforehand," you trail off, unsure of how to say your comments. Spencers a little incredulous - did you genuinely think the reason he'd been avoiding sex was because you weren't attractive to him? Spencer just shakes his head violently, wanting to say so much but not wanting to scare you away with his words.

"Well, uhm - no it's not that at all. I think you're super attractive, and I defintely want to.. you know - with you I mean," Spencer starts, feeling the way your hand tightens around his instinctevely. This the most vunerable you've been with Spencer in your relationship so he wants to make sure you know how much he cares

"I have dreams about it, like all the time recently. I really like you, and I really do think you're very beautiful, I guess I'm just - nervous, you know? I don't know what to do, especially since we've never done that before and we met under such.. interesting circumstances. I don't know how to approach it,"

"You have wet dreams about me?," you say, a little too excited for your own good. Spencer blushes before nodding.

"Huh, I just openly admitted that didn't I? To answer your question, yes - I had one before you came over," Spencer remembers. You give him a cheeky grin and he hides his face in his head, groaning. You only laugh, pull them away before kissing his knuckles. You were more than pleased to hear this info. You stand and sit down in Spencers lap, hands on the side of his face. He gives you a small, gentle smile.

"It's okay if you're not ready to talk about sex at all, but it may help if we cover general BDSM code and standard. Nothing has to be decided or talked about if you don't want, but maybe just going over it will ease your mind up," you say softly to Spencer. His nerves settles as you continue to reassure him - your behavior is so perfectly soothing. The hand on his back, the softness in your voice and your reassurance, Spencer knew you were experienced but he was still impressed. Spencer just nods, letting you pepper kisses all over his face that made his expression scrunch up. Cute. Spencer was so cute.

"Yeah, that sounds good," Spencer manages to push out. You give him a warm smile. You move away to sit next to him, still maintaining physical contact but clearly becoming more serious.

"The most important thing to know is that everyone practices BDSM differently. There are two common standard procedures that people use, however - safe, sane, and consensual is the most common. It's just saying that both parties are participating in something that is just as it implies, and it prioritizes safety. Knowing you, I'm sure you've read up on most of this, but it doesn't hurt to explain," you say softly. Spencer nods, he did already know a lot of what you were talking about.

"The other is 'Risk-Aware Consensual Kink,' which is where both parties are participating in something they knew could have consequences that are harmful. In both situations - both parties need to be aware and understand the lengths of whatever they're participating in. It's the core of all BDSM practice, and since this is all new for you - let me be clear that your safety and sanity come first to me always. BDSM is a psychological thing at heart so making sure you're okay is firs priority," you clarify. Spencer is in awe by how.. well-spoken you were about it. He knew you were experienced but it was more than you let on. Spencer just nods, unsure of what to say.

"You've actually done this before, but the same goes for me - you know," Spencer adds. You give him a sweet kiss which he returns.

"Thank you, love. With all that, the way you assure someone's safety is obviously having discussions about limits but also by developing a safeword and system to make sure that a scene can stop at any point. It's especially important to make sure that those words are a out of place. You shouldn't use words like "Stop," or "No," as safewords because in some peoples play they refuse something as a part of foreplay or a part of the scene. Maybe a submissive whose being bratty is refusing something but they're okay with it happening - thats when a safeword can come in. If a partner at any point wants to tap out, they use that word," you explain.

Spencer nods in understanding, he didn't even think about people using those words for the purposes of foreplay or whatever else. He gives you a curious look, as you lean back. Instinctively, Spencer moves himself to lay his head on your lap which you'd sorta pavloved onto him. You'd always pat your lap when you wanted Spencer to do it, and at first it was so embarrassing but you'd do it so much he just sorta got used to it. You run your hands through his hair, the other one on his chest. His face is a little hot.

"For me, I like the stoplight system - Red meaning stop completely, yellow meaning slow down and let's talk about this, and green meaning go, I'm totally down for this. I like that system because it's a lot easier to get a sense of how the other person wants the scene to go, and if I want to try something, I can ask my submissive 'Color?,' and they can respond however they like. If they say yellow, I can break character and ask them whats up which can give them some real reassurance. Every submissive is different, but this sytem is really universal and easy to keep up with, " you say lovingly, patting Spencers chest rhythmically. You look down at his expression with serious eyes.

"Listen to me carefully when I say this my love - if we participate in a scene and there is a single doubt about what's happening, you use one of your safewords no questions asked. Using your words with me or any other signals may discuss is so important and it doesn't make you a bad submissive - okay? We are equals, always. Even if you want me to step on you, or call you pathetic - we are still equals and always will be, okay pretty boy?," you say in a stern, but loving voice. Spencer just nods, softly - so far he doesn't have many questions though he's sure that'll change at some point. Spencer nods, leaning his face into your hand as you cup his cheek. You lean down and place a kiss on his lips.

"I know I've been talking a lot, but lemme hear your thoughts, yeah? Anything," you ask Spencer.

"It's weird - I've done so much research on safe BDSM practices and understand all this stuff in theory but it seems so different in practice," Spencer comments lightly. You nod, letting him continue.

"One thing that I did notice was that you use If/When scenarios about you dominating me and I wasn't really sure what that was about. We are girlfriend and boyfriend, doesn't that sorta just imply you are my dom?," Spencer asks. You give him a pat on the chest before you go into explanation.

"It certainly helps that we're dating but you and your submission is something to be earned. We've never discussed in length until today, but of course - I was hoping that you'd want that from me. It's really just like an everyday relationship, but a lot more involved in trust and respect. We have a strong romantic connection which is really lovely, because it builds a lot of that trust and respect that you need to practice BDSM healthily and safely. I wanna lead you so I can see you grow, and hopefully, you wanna submit to me out of respect - those sorts of things,"  you say, playing with Spencer's hands. Spencer just nods, looking up at you.

"Will you be my dom, then? I want you to be. I don't think I could really imagine it being anyone else," Spencer asks out of the blue. You weren't expecting the question so suddenly, or the way your heart rips through your chest hearing it. It's so simple and innocent when Spencer asks.

"I mean, I'd love too but are you really sure? I mean -," you try to think of a reason for Spencer to say no but you really cant. Spencer just smiles at you, sitting up to look at you completely.

"I trust you so much because I know you'd never do anything to hurt me on purpose - I mean unless I asked but, you know what I mean. I'm more sure than I was about asking you to be my girlfriend because you're just a trustworthy person. You're smart and kind and lovely all around. I know I'm new to this but theres no one I trust more than you to teach me. I really like you," Spencer says warmly. You wrap your arms around him, avoiding the tears in your eyes. Spencer is so sweet, reassuring by nature and it makes your heart yearn.

"Well, then - yes, I'd love to be your dom. And to answer your question about what we do for the first time, it'll be rather purely vanilla. No hijinks, just regular sex - since it's your first time partaking in BDSM with someone else, we gotta go really slowly so you don't have to worry. It might make you a little impatient but have faith in the process," you explain softly. Spencer is relishing in the fact that you know so much - you seem to have such a tight grasp on what you were doing he had no urges to question you. You lead so naturally, you don't demand anything from him but still, Spencer follows you. Spencer would follow you into the darkness if you kept speaking to him like that.

"We'll discuss things slowly and we'll make it really easy, okay? Once I get to know you a little more in bed, we can plan and talk about our first scene. It takes time to figure this stuff out, you know," You play with Spencers hair as you look over to the clock. 27 ish minutes before you two went out for brunch. Spencer sits up, face flush as he opens his mouth to try and ask you for what he wanted - now that he knew what was on the table his mind was thinking of everything he was missing. All the touches he was aching for you to give him. Spencers eyes were a little lost as he tries to explain to you.

"Can we -? I mean, would you, you know - uhm," Spencer voice can't get the words out. You give Spencer a small smile as he leans back into the couch. You pull your dress up, straddling Spencer's lap, and Spencer's throat dries up. He can't speak as he feels your heat up against his jeans. He's hard nearly immediately, a painful feeling for his dick up against the tight denim. Spencer stares up at you startled, a playful smile on your face. You place your hands on Spencers chest, feeling him up before settling your hands on the side of his face base of his neck. You lean in slowly, breath brushing Spencers ears as he heart pounds against his chest. His body felt a little out of control, and you just seemed to be so comfortable Spencer didn't know how to deal. He's so aware of the where your fingers seem to linger around his neck - he wants to blurt out "Choke me, please," but the words seems to disappear when he opens his mouth.

"You want me to touch you, Spencer?," you ask softly. Spencer nods violently and you can't help but laugh, maintaining eye contact for a few agonizing seconds. You lean in to kiss Spencer as your hands work the zipper of his jeans, your fingers making indirect contact with Spencer's cock. He whines aloud - he's sensitive, apparently. You can't help your pleased reaction as you pull his erection of his boxers - the tip is swollen, you can feel it ache under your touch. Spencer's eyes roll up in the back of his head, despite you having barely done anything for him at all.

"How fast do you think you can get off, baby?,"

Baby. Fuck, Spencer liked when you called him that. It was so natural to you, and Spencer just sighs.

"Fast," Spencer admits, a little embarrassed. He'd never needed to cum that quickly before in his life, yet here you were making him feel like he'd break at any second if you touch him too long. He was an adult but the thought of having sex with his girlfriend made him feel like he was gonna fucking combust.

"I cum first today, hope that's okay with you," you tell Spencer warmly. He gives you a nod, he's more than okay with that. You guide his wrist under your dress, feeling his hands palm through your panties. You moan quietly, and Spencers pleased with himself. It's hard for you to not just tell him to lay back so you can sit on his face - because god did you wanna do that.

"You lead the way," you joke to Spencer, more just telling him that he has permission to do his thing. Spencer just nods, as you lean into his neck to bite hickies into it. Spencers hands are careful with you, two fingers pressed against your clit as he rubs circular motions, his other hand holding your waist steady.

"A little faster, love," you ask Spencer. He just nods as he hears your voice, soft sighs falling from your lips as you feel your orgasm build in your core. Spencer likes you so much, he's so eager to please you in every way so when you finally reach your orgasm, Spencer doesn't hesitate on letting you ride out your high. His dick is pulsating against your thigh, as you finish up and flutter your eyes open to look at him. Spencer gives you a small smile, eyes looking for your approval as you give him a lazy smile.

Spencer watches you pick your bag up from the couch, laughing as he sees you pull out a condom. He gives you a look of surprise and you just shrug, rolling it on for him.

Your lipsticks mostly on but smudged a bit as you kiss Spencer, lifting your hips up before settling back around Spencer's cock. You feel so good around him, the feeling of your lingering orgasm gripping him tight makes him choke. You ride Spencer with ease, hands around the base of his neck. Fuck - Spencer wants you to choke him so bad.

"Choke me, please," Spencer spits out. You give Spencer a look.

"Are you sure, love?,"

Spencer strains for a second, feeling his orgasm coming at him full speed before squeezing out another "please". You debate for a second, but you figure non-kinky couples do this all the time and you tighten your hands around the base of his neck.

Spencer relishes the way the air leaves his lungs and doesn't return. He loves the way you look at him when you do it, the way you adore how much he's under control. He tries to calm down but before he can think, his orgasm shoots up his spine as he looks at you pleadingly. You purposefully clench around him and Spencer's leg twitches underneath you. Your grip on his neck releases immediately and he misses the feeling of you around his neck, cumming into the condom with a heavy sigh.

"I really like you," Spencer breathes out as you cum. You bubble up with laughter as you kiss his cheek, a little red pair of lips sitting on it. He goes to wipe it off but you stop his hand, grabbing his wrist.

"Leave it," you say, an edge to your voice. Spencer can't help but nod, touching it carefully as you slip off of him. You pull off the condom for Spencer, throwing it in the trashcan of his bathroom before heading to his bathroom with your bad. Spencer follows suit, wiping himself clean with a wet-wipe before tucking himself back into his jeans. Spencer watches you fix your makeup in the mirror, as he clings onto you in the mirror.  You turn to him, wetting your lips before kissing that same spot, then using your little brush to put powder on it. You smile, leaning up to kiss him on the lips. He wraps his arms around your waist instinctively.

"Now it'll stay put. And, I really like you too," you say, rubbing his back as he hugs you. He may have been tall but he clings to you like a big baby. It was so damn endearing.

Spencer's heart beats so loudly in his chest. You were so lovely, you smelled good, and tasted nice and were so sweet to Spencer. Spencer liked you so fucking much, he just wanted to stay like this forever and the best part was you liked Spencer too. The way you rubbed his back, soothing him and humming as you gave him the affection he always dreamed of made him feel more happy than he could imagine. When he pulls away and you look at him, you place your hands on the side of his face and smile.

"You're so pretty, doc," you say. Doc - you only called him that when you felt affectionate. Spencer blushes.

"So are you,"

If you two didn't have a brunch reservation, Spencer was sure the two of you would stay like this forever. Not that he really minded, anyway.

[angelguk]

the (not really a) prerequisite to the things i never told you fic! jk is drunk and stupid. oc is stubborn and stupid. but she takes care of jk because who will if not her. alternatively the one where jk asks you to hold his dick.  2k words of jk being stupid. warning drug usage in this 1

Jeongguk shouldn't look cute but he does. It's a disappointing realization on your part if you're being honest with yourself. The pits of his shirt are stained dark, damp with his sweat and his jeans look like they've gotten five new rips revealing his sun-kissed burly thighs. He reeks of alcohol, even from the distance you're standing at. Probably the remnants of the vile concoction you'd spied Jimin mixing in the kitchen. Someone should keep that boy away from liquor before he accidentally sends someone to the ICU. You have a sneaky suspicion that Jeongguk will be his first victim, evident from the way he staggers up the stairs to your apartment.

"Jeongguk?" You offer into the early morning air. You'd checked the time before you'd grabbed a sweater and headed out to find him. It was nearing five and the melodious chirping of the birds was starting to infiltrate the misty air.

He grunts in response, taking a precarious step upward. Which he immediately misses. You move fast enough down the stairs to grab at his shirt before he tips backwards and tumbles down to the tarmac road of your parking lot. You'd rather not drive to the hospital at this time in the morning.

"Bro, what the fuck? How drunk are you?" It's hard to hold up Jeongguk's weight when he's literally all just pure muscle. But he's leaning onto you anyway, eyes half-closed and a suspicious red mark on his face. You peer at it again when Jeongguk dumps his head into the hollow of your neck. It's a dick drawing. Of course.

"M not tha drunk." He muffles it into your skin, swaying violently on the edge of the staircase.

"Yeah, you're not," You scoff back, snaking your arms around his waist so you can support him. Jeongguk doesn't protest against your grip, melting smoothly against your body as you drag him up to your apartment door.

"Who dropped you?" You question. You'd left Jeongguk at the party and arrived home around at three in the morning. Only two precious hours of sleep before your best friend came knocking at your door.

"Taehyung," He murmurs before he burps right into neck.

"You fucking pig! Do that again and I'll leave you here." You threaten. You want to push his head away from you but you'll afraid that'll trigger the projectile vomit threatening to rip from his mouth.

"Sorry," He mumbles, nestling himself further into your frame. Which doesn't even work the way he wants it too because you're a dwarf and Jeongguk thinks he's six feet (he's 5'11'' but whatever strokes his massive ego).

"Are you gonna throw up?" You've reached your door now. It's unlocked, so you use your foot to kick it open.

"Don't think so." It's not reassuring in the slightest. But you hope he's telling the truth.

You make it to your bedroom easily enough. Dayoung isn’t home thank god. She's complained about Jeongguk's drunken sleepovers too many times. But at this point you were starting to feel the same - Jeongguk only ever showed up to your house when he was completely and utterly smashed beyond words.

"Why don't you ever sleep at your home?" You question. Jeongguk's flopped onto your bed and you're on the ground, untying his shoes because you don't want whatever he'd stepped on smearing on your floor.

"It's nice here," He replies, his words slurring together. "You're here. And you take care of me. I don't wanna be alone."

You pause at that, something ticking in your chest. The emotions bleed together until you can't distinguish irritation from longing. It's so stupid, how Jeongguk makes you feel. Some part of you wants to bop his nose and the other wants to punch his face. There's a thin line there - between love and hate.

The air is heavy with your silence, but you can't think of anything to fill it up with. But you suspect Jeongguk has already succumbed to sleep from the gentle rise and fall of his chest. There's a huge stain on his sweatshirt and you briefly consider taking it off and tossing it in your laundry pile. It wouldn't hurt to wash it up for him. But then you remember that he's probably wearing nothing underneath and you'd rather gouge your eyes out then have Jeongguk naked in your bed.

You toss his shoes into a corner and snatch some blankets for him to cuddle under. There was no way you could lift the sheets up from beneath him, what with Jeongguk T-posing onto your comforter. So blankets it was.

You've only settled in for less than a minute when Jeongguk grumbles awake, eyebrows furrowed in the cutest way possible.

"Um. Y/N?" He croaks out. "We have a problem."

"I swear to god if you puke on my bed I will castrate you, you son of-"

"I'm not going to puke on your bed! However," He turns his head in your direction. The long chestnut strands of his hair curling around his face, framing his features perfectly. Your fingers itch to push them back. "I might piss on it."

You kick him so hard that he tips onto the floor, groaning loudly. You feel bad at that moment when the thud of his ass hits your hardwood floors and echoes through your room.

"Shit! Sorry, I didn't mean too-"

"You did!"

"You're the one threatening to piss on my bed!"

"And kicking me off it is going to help? I'll just piss on your floor!"

"Jeongguk you have functioning legs! The bathroom is right there!"

There's a halt in your argument then. You peer over the edge of your bed to find Jeongguk curled into himself, face twisted like he's struggled to keep his bowls from erupting onto your floor. His eyes are wide open though, pupils dark.

"Jesus fuck what is wrong with you?"

"Eh. Might have smoked with the guys."

"Are you crossfaded? Jeongguk are you fucking stupid?"

"Maybe."

You're at a loss for words. You don't want to judge him for experimenting, but he was tripping balls on your bedroom floor, threatening to piss on it for god's sake. You didn't know college would make him this stupid.

"So what's stopping you from heading to the bathroom?" You ask instead, getting on the floor beside him. You would offer him water but that's like adding fuel to the fire.

"Honestly? My legs kind of, aren't there?"

"Jeongguk...Your legs are attached to your body."

"But like, I can't feel them. They're like...gone?"

You sigh heavily, hands reaching out to get him upright. Jeongguk winces when you do, the pressure on his bladder hurting. "How much did you smoke?"

"Not that much. I'm not tripping badly. I just really need to pee," Jeongguk insists.

"What? Do you need me to help you get to the bathroom, or?"

"That and," Jeongguk falls silent. You can see him considering his options before he opens his mouth again. "Could you maybe...hold my dick too?"

You blanch at that. Your brain refuses to process the statement. But then Jeongguk is poking your arm and you have to come to terms with reality.

"You want me to do what?"

"My aim is gonna be kind of shoddy and unless you want your walls covered in piss-"

"Jeongguk you are not five," You hiss.

"My motor skills are impaired babes. Just do this for me, please. I'll buy you breakfast tomorrow."

"You mean today." The sun is already starting to break through the dark blanket of the night and the birds are getting louder, but not loud enough to drown out the drumming of your blood in your head.

"Yeah, today. Whatever. Just help me out." He does that pout that turns you into putty. You want to say no, but you really can't. A part of you hates Jeongguk for how easily he manipulates you into doing what he wants.

"Fine. Get up." Jeongguk grins broadly at that, his brown eyes glittering. Your heart betrays you with how fast it beats. This isn't fair in the slightest.

In the bathroom, Jeongguk whines about how bright the lights are, but his lips clamp together when your hands land on the zipper of his jeans. You tug it down without much thought. He doesn't move however, a heaviness in the air that you can feel on your skin.

"Um. Take your dick out, you dimwit," You grumble. You turn your gaze away when he finally fumbles himself out his pants. It's so quiet in the bathroom. The air feels like it's closing in on you. The heat in your cheeks isn't helping either. You want this to be short. A memory you'll hopefully never remember. But even despite the dwindling liquor in your system, your mind feels very awake. You know this is going to be burned into your mind forever. It kind of makes you want to scream. The first time you'll ever hold Jeongguk's dick is to help him pee.

The absurdity of it all encourages a giggle from your throat. But then Jeongguk elbows you harshly.

"Give me your hand," he whispers. Jeongguk spots the smile on your face and frowns. Your smile immediately vanishes as you shove your hand into his palm.

"Here," You mumble, turning your eyes to the ceiling above you. Jeongguk takes it gingerly and a moment later you have to stop yourself from violently gagging when he wraps your fingers around his flaccid dick.

"God penises are gross," You mutter. Your voice bounces off the bathroom tiles, sounding much louder than you anticipated.

Jeongguk sighs in response, but then you feel his eyes on you. "You're going to have to look at it, you know."

"I'd rather not."

"Your aim is going to be worse than mine."

"I don't care."

"Okay," Jeongguk says it nonchalantly, but if his pee gets on your walls you will make him clean that shit up. You hope he knows that.

There's a trickle that hits the toilet water a beat later, and it takes everything in you to not throw up. You keep your hand steady as best as you can. Jeongguk tries to help you by leaning against the wall above the toilet, the angle a little bit better for this scenario but worse for you, because you're now plastered against his sweat covered back.

You count down the seconds until he's done, despising the little sighs Jeongguk lets out of his mouth. When the sound finally stops you breath, not realizing you've been holding your breath in the whole time.

"I'm finished." You move to drop his dick but Jeongguk's firm fingers stop you. "Gotta shake it."

"I've gotta do what?! You're fully capable of shaking your dick, you-" His fingers are wrapped around your own and he gives himself a couple of good shakes before tucking himself back into his pants. You stand there in shock the whole time, unable to piece together the situation happening to you. It’s only when Jeongguk pulls away from you, your palm feeling like it's been branded with the imprint of his flaccid dick, that you finally process what just happened.

He deserves the kick you give him. But instead of saying anything, Jeongguk just smiles, cradling his knee. At least his ears are tinged rouge, but that's nothing in comparison to the heat you feel burning on your face.

"I hate you." You finally say, moving to the sink to scrub your hands.

"You don't." Jeongguk retorts, ruffling his hair. You hate that he's right. "And uh, thank you."

"Don't even mention this to anyone. This never happened, "You reply. Your hands are red from how hard you're scrubbing them. "And wash your hands you pig."

He shuffles to the sink beside you, a small smile curling his lips upward. "You're awesome, you know that."

"I just held your dick for you while you pissed. Please shut up."

He quirks an eyebrow. "I thought we weren't meant to talk about that."

You kick him again. Hard.

[bgn846]

Old Wounds - FFXV fanfic

Summary: Ignis works to figure out how he can incorporate befriending a maralith into his busy schedule. Noct may have something to say about it, and it might not be good.

Work Text:          

“You can’t be serious?!” Noct all but yelled. “He’s dangerous, you can’t go back. One of those things almost killed me, remember?”

Ignis took a deep breath through his nose and waited to make sure Noct wasn’t going to say anything else.  “I understand that highness, but there is a chance he may come looking for me if I don’t make an appearance soon.”

“I’m glad you didn’t get hurt, I – I don’t know what I would have done if something --,” Noct paused and looked away. “I just can’t bear the thought of you around that thing.”

“Understood,” Ignis replied with a forced smile. After his ordeal with the maralith, Gladiolus, a month ago, Ignis wasn’t in the mood to push things. He’d had enough nightmares to last him a lifetime already, he didn’t really need to add to them.

Gathering his paperwork he stood and exited Noct’s private meeting rooms. Talking about the incident brought back all the memories like it was yesterday. Ignis thought he was going to die out in the field that day. No one expects to come back from being captured by a maralith, especially one that takes you to his cave where no one can attempt a rescue.

Shoving aside the emotions it stirred, Ignis made his way to his next meeting. He’d become a bit of a celebrity since his return. The crownsguard that had survived a maralith attack and lived to speak of it, that’s what people said. The chatter seemed to follow him through the halls, but Ignis was getting tired of hearing it. Noct had been attacked and barely survived. Ignis didn’t hear anyone at the citadel talking about Noct in awe. It didn’t seem fair in a way, the prince deserved recognition for his plight, and he’d been closer to death’s door than Ignis had.

Though nearly drowning and freezing to death hadn’t been a fun experience either, shuddering at the memory Ignis hurried along the corridor. The sooner he could put this all behind him the better. Though, he did feel a small bubble of guilt for having lied to the monster. Offering to go back and see him made sense at the time. Ignis hadn’t wanted to anger the maralith.

No matter how bad it made him feel, Noct was resolute in his opinion. The prince didn’t want Ignis to see Gladiolus again. Praying that the monster would forget him was wishful thinking, Ignis had a feeling the maralith wouldn’t stay silent forever. Sighing heavily Ignis tried to clear his head, he had work to do.

It was one week later that Ignis received a frantic summons in the middle of a meeting. The guard who came to collect him was practically running as they made their way to the kings’ office. All Ignis had been told was something had happened that required his immediate attention. Most of his fears were laid to rest when he was ushered into the space and saw Regis and Noct in attendance along with Cor and Clarus.  

“What’s happened?” Ignis asked once the guard left.

“The maralith has made an appearance,” Cor offered as he stepped forward to hand Ignis a tablet.

“Is this security footage?”

“Yes, from the nearest outpost to his cave,” Cor replied.

“Oh dear, has he hurt anyone?” Ignis couldn’t bear it if the maralith had killed someone due to his actions.

“No, he’s been blocking the road though, and yelling your name, loudly.”

Groaning Ignis ducked his head, this wasn’t how he’d hoped his afternoon would go. Looking over at the prince revealed the young man staring resolutely at the floor. “What would you have me do?” Ignis asked glumly.

“It’d probably be best if you could talk to him, you were able t--.”

“No! I won’t let Iggy go back out there, he could get hurt, like me,” Noct lamented.

Ignis chose to stay silent; he’d already had enough arguments with Noct over this very subject. The battle was not his to win anymore.

“Highness, with all due respect to your past history, this maralith isn’t like any other I’ve seen,” Cor tried with a sad face. “We don’t know what it’ll do if he doesn’t see Ignis.”

“What if it’s a trick,” Noct uttered softly. “What if he just wants to hurt Ignis this time?”

“Son, have you heard Ignis’ account of what happened?” Regis asked.

Noct turned towards his father and shook his head. “I couldn’t, I didn’t want to think of Ignis being attacked like I was.”

“His situation was different than yours, perhaps if you hear what Ignis has to say on the matter you may change your mind. Not all things are in black and white,” Regis finished.

“I know that!” Noct hissed but he still had a hard look on his face.

Ignis was stunned to hear that Noct still hadn’t gotten all the details of what had occurred. The prince had always left the room when he was retelling his story, and Ignis had figured he would at least read the report later. Apparently, Noct had done nothing of the sort and instead remained fearful. It pained Ignis to no end that his friend and liege couldn’t even stand to hear his account due to the suffering it caused. “I’m so sorry Noct, I didn’t think my struggles would cause you such grief,” Ignis added after a moment of silence.

“Whoa! I’m not upset with you Ignis! Shit, no, um – gah!” Noct gave up trying to finish his sentence and threw his head back into the sofa cushion.

“Might you be up for hearing what happened?” Regis asked quietly.

Noct took a few minutes to respond, “fine.”

Without pause, Ignis retold the one part of the story he assumed Noct would care about, the moment where Gladiolus had saved him, first from drowning and second from hypothermia.

“Wait? The snake man actually saved you?” Noct asked incredulously.

“Yes, and I do understand your reservations about me seeing him again, but I fear he may get violent if I don’t make this effort,” Ignis pleaded.

“I’m not sending you out there alone!” Noct proclaimed.

Ignis could hear Cor sighing heavily in the background, along with Clarus. The two were not happy with this new development, but what choice did they have. If Ignis had been unable to win an argument with Noct over this subject then they certainly weren’t going to fare any better.

“I suppose we should get a move on, the longer we keep this maralith waiting the more agitated he could become,” Regis announced as he stood up slowly.

“Hold on, you aren’t going!” Clarus sputtered indigently.

The king laughed humorlessly as he grabbed his cane and began walking towards the door. “If you think I’m going to let my son go anywhere near a maralith without sussing out the situation first, you’re crazy Clarus.”

--

Ignis could feel his adrenaline spiking as he got out of the car nearly an hour later. They’d made it to the checkpoint and Gladiolus was clearly visible on the other side of the fence. It was obvious he could have smashed through easily. For him to hold back was promising.

As he approached the gate Gladiolus saw him and rushed forward, knocking over the guards in his way. In a surprising move, the maralith vaulted his long body over the fence and landed with a significant thud directly in front of Ignis.

The monster didn’t wait for permission this time as he scooped Ignis up and glared at him. Thankfully, this time the hold wasn’t tight and Ignis’ arms were free. The distant cries of people shouting things about being on standby and hold your fire made Ignis heart beat faster. Before he could think of what to say Gladiolus offered his opinion.

“Liar!” he accused while reaching out a hand to lift Ignis’ chin slightly.

“I’ve got a job to do Gladiolus, I can’t come out here all the time.”

“Liar,” he grumbled again.

Sighing heavily Ignis wondered what he could say to appease the giant temperamental snake man. “I’m truly sorry for not coming sooner.”

“Why?” Gladiolus asked as he removed his finger from under Ignis’ chin.

Honesty was the best policy, right? Ignis felt a little bad at having to resort to tattling, but this maralith was too smart to be trifled with.  “My boss forbade me from coming.”

Gladiolus scrunched up his face and curled his lip slightly. “Non scitis sermo.”

Thinking fast Ignis understood that Gladiolus probably didn’t have a need for the word boss in his life. “Uh, master? King?” When the maraliths’ frown turned into a smirk he knew he’d figured it out.  

“Maneat?” the maralith asked as his shoulders relaxed.

“I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to stay, my master gets nervous with your kind.”

“Why?” Gladiolus demanded.

“He was attacked by a maralith and almost died when he was younger,” Ignis replied in a soft voice so Noct wouldn’t hear. The king and his son were only a few yards away. Regis had adopted a somewhat familiar fighting stance, and Noct was visibly shaking.

“Dicite mihi in nomen! Ego nocere esi,” Gladiolus fumed, his frown was back.

Ignis wasn’t sure exactly what the maralith had said, but he was quickly trying to translate. His refresher course in ancient solheimian over the past few weeks hadn’t been for naught. Going out on a limb Ignis repeated what he thought Gladiolus had said. “You want the name of the maralith, right? The one that hurt my friend?”

Gladiolus nodded and balled up one of his fists, shaking it around towards the sky. “Ego nocere esi!”

“You want to do something to them?”

“Malum, hurt,” he finished with a pout.  

“I think it might help for him to hear that, do you think you could put me down for a moment?” Ignis tried to resituate himself, but one of his legs was bent underneath a massive hand and the other was sticking out in between Gladiolus fingers. He must have looked ridiculous fidgeting in the monster's grasp.

“Maneat?”

“Yes, I’ll stay this time, I’m not leaving.”

Gladiolus nodded and then gently lowered Ignis to the ground. His hands remained bracketed around him until he stood up straight. How this monster knew his knees were pudding was a mystery. Carefully pushing the maraliths’ hands to the side he approached Noctis.

“We’re leaving!” he spit out.

Ignis held up his hand, “highness, may I please just ask you to be patient with me? I’d like to tell you what he just said.”

“You can talk to him?”

Nodding Ignis waited for Noct to look directly at him. “He’s just offered to go hurt the maralith that attacked you.”

“Why?!” Noct asked in surprise.

“Would you like me to ask him?” Before Noct could answer Ignis turned around and looked up at Gladiolus. “My friend wishes to know why you would offer to hurt the one that attacked him.”

“Et nocuerunt tua, familia. Non est bonum.”

“What’d he say?” Noct asked quickly as he walked up to stand nearby.

“I believe he’s saying that the other maralith hurt my family and that’s bad.”

Noct looked slightly stunned by that comment. “He doesn’t know me at all, why would he say that?”

“Ignis amans mei,” Gladiolus offered calmly like it was the most reasonable explanation.

“Huh, what does that mean?” the prince asked innocently.

Of course, this was the exact time that Regis decided this maralith wasn’t a threat and strode forward to answer his son’s question. “I believe the maralith thinks Ignis is his lover.”

Ignis could feel heat pooling in his cheeks at the admission. He didn’t know why it would be so embarrassing to hear spoken out loud. It wasn’t like he felt the same way back.

“Um, what? How the hell would that even work?” Noct asked risking a glance that wasn’t anywhere near Gladiolus' face.

“Don’t continue that train of thought Noctis Lucis Caelum. Or I will cook you nothing but vegetables for a solid month.”

Noct clamped his mouth shut and scooted closer as if to say sorry.

“Dicere illud nomine!” Gladiolus requested suddenly as he bent down to look at them better.

“This is my friend Noctis,” Ignis replied as he put an arm around the princes’ shoulder.

“No, nomine alio.” The maralith looked a little desperate.

This time the king stepped closer and repeated their family name. “We are of the family Lucis Caelum. I am called Regis and this is my son Noctis.”

Gladiolus furrowed his brow and squinted at Noctis. “Vultus amo Somnus.”

“Yes, he does look like the founder king, it’s true,” Ignis said calmly.

“No, est Somnus,” Gladiolus energetically replied gesturing towards Noct’s face. “Est Somnus.”

Ignis could feel the blood draining from his face, if he understood Gladiolus correctly that would mean he’d actually seen Somnus in his lifetime.  Since the maralith seemed to think Noct was Somnus.

“Er, Somnus died several thousand years ago Gladiolus. This is his descendent.”

The maralith furrowed his brow and began silently counting on his many fingers. “Milia?”

“Yes, thousands, have you lost track of time?”

Gladiolus nodded and frowned. He seemed deep in thought until Regis broke the silence.

“Perhaps we could move this meeting to someplace more comfortable?” the king suggested kindly.

The maralith immediately straightened up and pointed back toward his cave in the mountains. He seemed excited by that prospect.

“There is a perfectly good outbuilding near the guard station. I believe it would be spacious enough to fit you.”

--

Trying to teach English to a two thousand-year-old maralith was easier than Ignis expected. Mainly because he understood the language already and simply hadn’t known how to pronounce things. Surprisingly Regis and Noct had stayed during the impromptu language lesson. The outbuilding had been large enough to pull their car into so the king had opted to take a nap in the front passenger seat. Noct meanwhile sat in the backseat with the window rolled down staring at them.

Ignis could tell Noct was still nervous, but he hoped it would help to see him interact with Gladiolus in a good way. The maralith had been on his best behavior. It probably helped that Ignis let Gladiolus hold him during their lesson. The maralith’s tail was curled around them both protectively as he sat on Gladiolus' hand like some giant warm squishy bench.

Soon enough the sun had fully set and Ignis knew they’d need to get back home. “I’m afraid it’s time for us to go back to the city.”

“No.” Gladiolus pouted.

“Come now, it can’t be that bad when we leave?”

“Lonely,” the maralith answered.

Knowing he couldn’t promise to come back until Noct had given him his blessing, Ignis thought of what he could say to help make Gladiolus feel better. “Shall we ask the king if I can come back to teach you more?”

“Yes! I want that,” Gladiolus agreed with a hopeful look.

The sound of a car door opening caused Ignis to look over, Noct was carefully walking closer. “Do you promise not to hurt anyone?”

“Et iusiurandum dant, I give oath.”

“No tricks, right?” Noct questioned seriously, looking very much like his father in the process.

Gladiolus shook his head and smiled. “I will see Ignis again, this makes me happy.”

“Okay, I’m alright with you coming out here to meet. Just please be careful.” That last statement was directed towards him and not the maralith.

“Curam, tutum,” Gladiolus added earnestly. “Ignis safe, I no hurt.”

“I won’t hurt,” Ignis corrected.

The maralith beamed at him and nodded.

“Very well, do you think you could tell the guards at the station that you wish to see me without blocking the road next time?”

“Yes, bring me Ignis,” Gladiolus offered with a grin.

Unwilling to correct the maralith Ignis nodded and stood up. “I’ve got to get home and rest, perhaps in a few days you can come to ask for me?”

“Yes, I do that, tomorrow.”

“No, let’s make it three days from now.”

“No lie?”

“No I’m not lying, three days from now I’ll be ready to come back here, just be kind to the guards.”

“I will, go safely Ignis.”

“And you as well,” he offered. Then in a move that would surely be his downfall later, Gladiolus bent down and kissed the top of his head. Momentarily stunned by the action Ignis didn’t do anything as the maralith uncoiled his tail and slithered off. Complete with a devilish smirk. The tricky bastard even turned back briefly just to say ‘amans mei’ before disappearing.

“Ignis, did the snake man just kiss you?” Noct asked a little breathlessly.

“Veggies, Noct, lots of them if you tell anyone.”

“Tell them what?” Noct answered before rushing back to the car to wake his father.

Cor was by his side a moment later, “How are you holding up?”

“I’m – I – shit, Cor I don’t know, this is all very overwhelming.”  

“Don’t push yourself too hard. Take things a step at a time. Not sure what you can do if he tries to kiss you again though.”

“Marshal, six help me, don’t start.”

“I would never dream of it Ignis. I’m here to help. Might I suggest a trip to the archives to see if anyone else has been caught in the sights of an amorous maralith?”

Now that idea Ignis could run with, this had to have happened before! Hopefully, someone wrote down their life story and Ignis would find it. Though he wasn’t sure his luck would run that way. For now, he had a budding friendship with a maralith. Noct wasn’t stopping it and Gladiolus seemed to behave well enough. Time would tell what happened next.  

[losille2000]

Mister America, Prologue: Massachusetts

CHAPTER NUMBER: 1/? CHARACTERS: President!Chris Evans/OFC (see notes) GENRE: Romance/Drama FIC SUMMARY: After a massive social media write-in campaign organized by others, Chris finds himself thrust into a spotlight that he is unprepared to handle. His campaign managers suggest that a political marriage might help him weather the storm and help his image during the campaign... just so long as it isn’t the one woman Chris really wants. RATING: M  WARNINGS:  Nothing. AUTHORS NOTES: This story is AU in the fact that this is the 2020 presidential race, and Chris is a candidate. But everything in the past is still the same with him being an actor. Also, COVID-19 is not a part of this story. I needed to play in a land where COVID didn’t exist and “Captain America,” in his alter ego, punched out a Nazi in a metaphorical(?) way. For more on the story, go here.

This first part is prologue-y.

I have also curated a soundtrack for all 50 states, and then some. You can listen on Spotify right now, may eventually put it on Youtube. There will be 50 chapters (I’m hoping), but many of them will be shorter.

Also on AO3!

Boston, MA Evans for President Campaign Headquarters November 3rd, 2020 30 Minutes Before First Polls Close

Stage fright is no joke.

When it hits, it hits like a semi truck going seventy on an icy Massachusetts road. In the blink of an eye, you’re completely obliterated. Except this is on stage and you’re not dead, even though you wish you were. In fact, you’re very much alive. Alive enough to feel the force of the impact, followed by the squeezing in your chest and choking on your breathless words. Paralysis takes over. Cold clammy sweat slicks your palms and also trickles down your back to that one spot between your shoulder blades you can’t reach, but causes your costume to uncomfortably stick to your skin.

There’s no escape. You know what’s coming. You worry you’ll forget your lines, or trip on your cue, or make a complete and utter fool of yourself. You feel like an imposter, questioning why you’re here, in this role, when that dude, JD, from your acting class years ago was a million times more talented than you, and you’re the one that got that teen movie deal.  You’re the one who became one of America's most beloved superheroes for a decade.

You’re also the one who has a very real chance of winning the 2020 presidential election, despite no college education, limited understanding of what elected officials in DC actually do on a day to day basis, and the closest thing you have to experience as a “boss” or “commander in chief” of anything was a movie set or two where you were director and executive producer. 

Nope.

What I, Chris Evans, have is a dedicated online fan base who took the time to write my name into ballots when they discovered I had filed for ballot access in every state of the union. I didn’t do the filing on a whim; we sat around late one night talking about the interviews I had been conducting in DC for a website about party positions on important issues. My business partners and I came up with the idea that a long form documentary about campaigning would be interesting, and we determined the best way to understand the process was to become a “candidate” myself. Meaning, we only planned to use the credentials to be on the front line of the campaigning process. I was never going to create signs and make speeches or debate with others.

I never intended to run a legitimate campaign.

But, as I mentioned, something strange happened during the Democratic primaries. People started to vote for me, a trickle of rain in a hurricane.

I won a few primary delegates.

Without even trying.

Not enough to win the Democratic ticket, but enough to make pollsters sit up and take notice.

My loyal fans stepped in again, undaunted, and ignited a storm. They dubbed it “Operation America’s Ass” and created a grassroots campaign across the country with GoFundMe donations and a lot of pluck. I thought it was a joke. A part of me still does think it’s a joke. I mean, what other explanation is there for this mess? For the red, white and blue bunting hanging on the walls with the “Chris Evans for President” sign plastered underneath it? For the staffers who stop briefly to see if I need anything...‘Would you like a drink, sir?’... or, upon seeing how pale I look, give me a vote of confidence… ‘Are you ready for your acceptance speech?’ There’s absolutely no good explanation as to why there are twenty or thirty people buzzing around the hotel suite waiting for results. They’re so energized with hope for a better future.

Hope that I can be everything they ever wanted in a president.

An Independent president, free from party oversight.

A president with class.

A president for the people.

A president who can bring the United States back from the brink of destruction at the hands of previous leaders.

I wish I had their confidence.

When they asked me on career day in school what I wanted to be when I grew up, I always said artist. When I was older, in high school, I knew I was going to be an actor. Never president. The job never entered my mind as being a possibility, not even when I used to work for my uncle’s congressional campaigns. Or when I started filming those interviews.

Why does anyone think I, a straight white momma’s boy from Boston should be president in 2020? Just because I made a few popular Tweets about the current president’s lack of leadership?

It has to be a joke. A cosmic one. I’m a punchline. I am convinced they’ll jump out from behind a doorway and yell “You’ve been PUNK’D! We really got you this time, now here, Bernie, you’re the better candidate.”

And yet…

What if they see in me something I do not?

I place a lot of stock in being in the moment. I’ve also put a lot of work into accepting the twists and turns of life instead of allowing all the “what ifs” and “what should I dos” to eat away at me. I told everybody after I was done with Marvel and financially secure enough to only work on projects I really wanted to, I’d take life as it came at me.

Well, it came after me.

To be fair, I originally chose to get into politics, even in a tiny way, because I wanted to be informed about my choices. I created a website so others could learn, as well. As time went on, I became more involved on Capitol Hill. I even did some lobbying for a few causes dear to my heart. And, yes, I did file the ballot access paperwork.

Had I unintentionally set my path in this direction? Was it inevitable for me to become a contender for the presidency?

Fortunately, I learned early on in the process that a lot of being a presidential candidate is being a convincing showman. An actor. The world's a stage, after all, and I am but a player. You have to have some solid ideas and convictions to back up the image, but a lot of the governing comes from other members of the executive branch. Should I win, I’d only be signing off on everything.

Of course, that “everything” affects the lives of more than 300 million souls. I wouldn’t trust me with a kitchen knife, much less nuclear launch codes and people's livelihoods and education and health and…

My hands shake with nerves just thinking about it.

Let it be said, once I do make it out onto the stage--be it as an actor or presidential candidate--I rise to the challenge. The energy from the audience buoys me. Makes me feel alive. But I am not, by nature, someone who likes to sign away so much personal freedom in exchange for the weight of carrying an albatross around my neck. I thought signing for Captain America would be tough; the human toll of running for president even moreso.

Actually being President? I can’t even wrap my mind around that.

It would be easy to call it quits, even now when the votes are already cast. I could have done it a long time ago, when the reality of the situation hit me the first time. I didn’t. Something told me to hold back, play it out. I persevered. Why? Somewhere, along the line, I began to believe I could do this. I could make a positive difference in the lives of Americans.

I certainly want to do right by all my supporters--and my detractors. I want to be a leader for all Americans.

But can I, really, while knowing my incredible deficiencies?

Maybe I can’t, but I can be the team leader. A brand ambassador, if you will. A good leader delegates. And I intend, should I win, to surround myself with the best and brightest. I will accept no less. I will do ‘Whatever It Takes,’ as our slogan boasts. I am American, first and foremost, and I care deeply about this country.

A real Captain America, if you will. Maybe not as strong or powerful as others, but I sure as hell can give a great speech and will defend my country from bullies until my last breath, whether they be purple… or orange.

Except, I suppose if I’m elected, I won’t be Captain America anymore. They’ll call me Mr. President.

Or, horror of horrors, what if the new name my nearest and dearest coined makes it out into the public. They tease me with it just to see my visceral revulsion and get a laugh. But if I have learned anything about the internet--and pop culture--is that if something is catchy, it sticks around for a long time.

Maybe I ought to get used to the idea of being a punchline.

So, I suppose I have a question for you.

Won’t you consider a vote for Mr. America?

[gin-and-luce]

You killed our dog! Adriana of The Sopranos gave me strength to navigate life after a breakup during a global pandemic lockdown

I’m going through a breakup. It’s come at the worst time but also the best time. He ended things with me (more on that later) after three years in the most Beta-Male way...but this is what happens when your type can be boiled down to softboi. I can’t see my friends in the conventional way, so I made some new ones on screen to help me navigate the end during quarantine.

Over ten weeks ago I started watching The Sopranos. It doesn’t need justifying, everyone knows it’s the best television series of all time, but I’d never seen it, and I knew a global pandemic induced lockdown would provide optimum viewing circumstances. My favourite thing to do is completely throw myself into the female narrative and experience I’m watching on screen. I prefer a long deep drama over a film. I like being able to see my girls every night. 

People have said to me before “you should start a blog”, but I could never escape the feeling that doing so is massively narcissistic because it *is*, unless you have something actually relevant to write about. Alternatively, the image of Gretchen Weiners leaning in and going “you let it out honey, put it in the book” floats across my conscience, and everything embarrassing that I’ve ever done, plays in a montage in my mind. 

Who gives a fuck what I have to say about anything…….. especially about a cultural phenomena that is quite literally regarded as the best TV show of all time?

I’d been wanting to write this after I watched Long Term Parking. I lay in the dark for 45 minutes after the episode ended. I’d never felt like that watching a television show or film before. My throat had seized up but I didn’t cry, even though I felt like it. I knew it was coming from the moment Adriana met the agent. I wasn��t surprised, but I was heartbroken and absolutely fuming. I still am. 

I’m not angry with Christopher, Tony, or Silvio, but just the general unbalance I’ve felt when I’m in a relationship. The loss of self, relationships being a series of compromises. From what I have found from my own experiences and my girlfriends’, women are just much more willing to compromise, but don’t consider it to be a compromise. Men can only take into consideration their own reality, an evolutionary selfishness that just doesn’t translate. 

Just as lockdown began I texted my boyfriend to say I loved him and I missed him. He responded with “Can’t say I feel the same”. Nearly 3 years were over just like that. We had the obligatory phone call, where I was hysterical and he was smarmy and smug. Yet when it was over, I felt nothing. It’s allllll a big nothing.

My personal Gospel is Sex and The City (shout out to HBO!). This was my Berger moment. He essentially scribbled “I’m sorry, I can’t. Don’t hate me” on a post-it. The irony of the whole thing is that when we watched it together, he himself said he was most like Berger. Thinking about it makes me wince.

My life opened up in front of me, I was exposed to his weakness regarding the situation in full when his sister-in-law messaged me on Instagram a few days ago. He hadn’t told his family, nor had he told his flatmates (another shout out to my sleuths at the back, you know who you are!). 

The Sopranos is a show about life. The Mafia structure provides a vehicle for us to question morality and mortality. You take what you get from it. When I watch it again at a different stage of my life, I will get something else out of it. 

For me now, while I stew in my own emotion during quarantine, Adriana represents emotional labour and the expectation for women to behave in a certain way in relationships. 

At first when my ex’s family members were messaging me, I was confused. It is frankly humiliating to smile as if everything is normal, so as to protect someone that in the end would not do the same for me. I know he wouldn’t do the same because there was just no courtesy in what happened weeks ago. I am trying to move on but things like this stunt your personal growth.

The struggle with emotional labour hones a guilt that someday I’ll regret giving my early 20s to something that didn’t work out. I felt like I was on borrowed time.

These are obviously my own insecurities spurred on by the fact that I’ve read enough “10 things I wish I knew in my 20s” blogs to know that these are my selfish years. Still, it is ultimately devastating to see the last 3 years of your life conclude via a text that displays a failure to realise that there is no real clean cut for a long-term relationship. 

I respect him for the blunt statement because it means I get to reference the Berger SATC breakup and say “casually cruel in the name of being honest” (Taylor Swift, 2012) a LOT, which softens the pity in the social scenarios that I invent in my head in the shower.

When Tony calls Adriana to tell her Christopher has tried to kill himself, that was like my final phone call too. This is the end. Her youthfulness was why I related to her most in the show, but at the same time having nothing to lose made her easily expendable. Youth makes you put 100% into something knowing it is a gamble. 

I’m not comparing my ‘borrowed time’ to Adriana because she ends up dead, but there was a disregard for her life that was so harrowing because she did nothing but try and do the right thing. I watched Adriana put Christopher first willingly for 5 series. He supported her music management dreams but ultimately ended up making it all about him. He gave her the Crazy Horse but this ultimately was just another mob hangout. He sat on her dog, he continued to use heroin, shag other people, and so on.

“You could start writing again,” she tells him in her last episode, to which he responds  “I could do my memoirs, finally,”. Here is Adriana still!! STILL!! catering to Christopher’s ego to give herself some confidence. Very me.

All the way through she was just too good for him. Her ties to the Famiglia aren’t as tight as Carmela and Co. No children, still young, there’s chance for Adriana to get out if she wanted to. Of course this makes her prime FBl bait, but shows she sticks by Christopher through everything purely out of love. In the end she dies on her knees, subservient, with Heart’s Barracuda the last song she hears. I know Adriana had to go. That’s the way it is in the Famiglia because Christopher took an oath. But in a way she also had the carpet ripped from underneath her, just like me. 

There are lots of men writing on the internet about how Adriana is greedy and hypocritical. I just don’t understand where this reading is coming from other than obvious misogyny. I’ve read others that say if she was really that strong she would have simply left the relationship years ago. I believe that she believed things would improve for both of them, and that most people are just slut shaming her for her past. 

Still, Drea DeMatteo won a Best Supporting Actress Emmy for the episode. Fuckin’ A. 

I rooted for the woman. Before I was made redundant while working from home, I would spend half my life at my desk willing it to be 5:30pm, so I could slither back to the settee and spend the other half of my life in New Jersey. I’d phone my mum to discuss the episodes. She loves the show too, it’s always been a favourite in my household. We’d talk about the women like they were our friends and how we relate to them. The Sopranos is like a big mirror urging you to question everything. The answer to life is simply what are ya gonna do? 

Men love making things black and white so it is easier for them, when really women are in the background sorting out the shades of grey. 

Don’t get me wrong, Adriana’s significance is massive, albeit more so because of her death. You watch Christopher and Tony’s relationship start to crumble afterwards. It's shattering to see the disregard for Christopher’s sobriety and how despite his loyalty, he still sees him as a liability and weak. 

On the other hand, for Adriana’s sake, I am still enraged that he couldn’t see the bigger picture at the time. She is collateral damage in his path to finding his precious arc - “Wives, girlfriends, they can complicate life in a major way” Tony expresses to Jennifer as he runs from his own guilt. 

Christopher is desperate for Tony’s approval but is more than happy to use his blood connection as a protective leeway whenever he steps out of line. Again the irony is that he comes to tell Tony about Adriana first, just as the old Famiglia values say he should, but there is no real personal reward for doing so despite the personal sacrifice. 

I think Christopher regretted it in the end, and rightly so. When he is faced with his potential alternate life at the gas station, we assume that this was what made him go to Tony. It’s a family with loads of kids. Adriana probably can’t even have kids??? What kind of male logic?!  #justiceforadriana

I can’t help but feel for him when JT screams “Chris, you’re in the MAFIA!”. It’s the same kind of reality check that Chief Cubitoso gives Adriana, it’s an ultimatum and it’s the realisation that they are trapped in this life. Just ask Gene.

Carmela knew. I read her dreams as a testament to a woman’s intuition. She knows her friend isn’t what everyone is describing, she knows Adriana wouldn’t just disappear. She is all too aware of the emotional labour Mob women carry. When she sees Adriana with Cosette on the banks of the Seine, it is as sad as it is when we dream about people who have died. 

There is a scene in an early episode where Carmela says “Don’t we all?” in response to Meadow squealing “She’s MARRYING a BABY?” at a painting of The Marriage of Saint Catherine. I thought about this again when Christopher dies. Carmela passes her instinct off as hysteria, she isn’t to know. “So quick to blame, what is the attraction in that?” she cries during the aftermath of the car crash. There is a critique in her own femininity here that just makes you want to shout “NO CARM!!!!!!!”. As she believes she mothers Tony, there is the double-edged sword whereby he protects her through keeping her in the dark. “Heaven only ever sees my love making a fool of me” sings Emmylou Harris at the start of season 5. Carm’s power is taken away but she doesn’t even know. 

Carmela dedicates her life to being a mother but it’s not enough to save Meadow from her surname. We get some sense that AJ ‘Break Stuff by Limp Bizkit’ Soprano might be on a new path when he feels like the burning of his car among the autumn leaves of death was cathartic. As a man, he just has more freedom anyway. 

Miss Meadow gained her independence by getting her driving license, but in the end we see that she is still held back in the final scene by her inability to parallel park. She slots right in, eventually. As she does, she slots into the Soprano cycle after years of doing the most to get out and pave her own way. After every breakup with someone without links to the Famiglia, no scrubs, she returns and dates someone closer to home. Her career path is left tenuous to us, it would be all too easy for her to become a kept woman, which feels like it is the only real option should she settle down into the lifestyle with Patrick Parisi. It isn’t what she envisioned for herself, so part of me wants to hope that her story ends up a little bit more like Elle Woods. Legally Italian. 

I probably wouldn’t even have remembered her saying anything about parallel parking if I wasn’t terrible at parallel parking myself. It’s the pepperings of these subtle callbacks that make the show so beautiful. As the guitar solo plays on during the frustration, you’re invited to reminisce over Meadow’s journey. I fully wept watching her struggle to get the damn car parked because I’m trying to get my car parked too. Don’t stop believing, Meadow. 

I admire all the women in The Sopranos. The show is feminist, and that is a hill I am prepared to die on. It’s definitely up for debate as it is obviously littered with gratuitous nudity and women are commoditised. We have to allow this for cultural context for the show, but real life is basically exactly the same too? 

I read a post on Reddit where a dude is asking whether he should watch the show with his girlfriend. He types ‘“It’s a masterpiece of film but she probably wouldn’t get into it as I am”, and you don’t have to look much further to find more comments about how women and their puny minds just won’t get it. It’s an odd perspective to take given that Tony’s psychiatrist is a woman, but of course women could never grasp something so complex. It’s bullshit if you ask me, the female narrative prevails throughout all scenarios. 

The Pine Barrens seems to be everyone’s favourite episode. It’s not my favourite but there are two major elements that resonated with me. The first is Meadow looking down at the three letter words Jackie Aprile Jr had placed on the Scrabble board, and the second is when Gloria says to Tony:

“What you said was that you didn’t wanna piss me off..which implies that you’d have to deal with me, which is more about sparing YOU than my fucking feelings”. Don’t need to elaborate on that. Rest in power, Gloria. Legend.

Of course I could write pages and pages of hot feminist takes on all of the women - Jennifer, Janice, Livia, Angie, Svetlana, Charmaine. Lord knows I could probably write a book on Tracee.“ 20 years old, this girl”, I bashed Living on a Thin Line by The Kinks for about a week after that episode. It is the male gaze of the show made me love the women more. Carmela is my mother and I’ll probably name my first born Meadow. 

Carmela is the powerhouse and backbone of The Soprano household even though Tony provides. She represents stability, emotional labour, and putting on a brave face regardless. In some ways, it is as if Carmela represents the human emotion side and the fragility of organised crime. She is secure, but not enough, and her lack of ability to stand on her own two feet plagues her conscience through time. She is totally complicit, but must be to ensure her future with Tony as he pays anything to roll the dice just one more time. At the end of Long Term Parking, she and Tony stand looking at where she will build her spec-house. The forest looks the same as where we lost Ade, it’s a grim reflection that Carmela wouldn’t have this life if it wasn’t for the quick disposal of those like Adriana.   

Yeah okay, what the hell is a show with a feminist underpinning trying to say about wider society about a woman who exercises her beauty, loyalty and ambition?? Is it that she is not to be trusted?? Adriana’s a rat, but before this she is already deemed “damaged goods” anyway. She dresses provocatively, but that’s because she just looks MINT always. You would dress like THAT if you looked like THAT. When you Google her, ‘Adriana Sopranos Tennis’ comes up. I roll my eyes. Fucking men, eh? To take it down to a basic Sixth-Form-Poet reading, Adriana is Curley’s Wife and Daisy Buchanan all in one. She loves a red manicure too, and it might have worked out better for her if she had played the complicit beautiful little fool. 

This isn’t ‘Why The Sopranos is good!’, but a love letter to Adriana and her strength, because there is basically little or no content written on the women of the show when I have Googled.  I needed there to be more things written about her that isn’t just “bitch had it coming” when in fact she is a martyr. 

When Adriana was on screen, there was my mate. I knew her, she wanted what I wanted, but she sacrificed so much of herself for others and it was heartbreaking to watch. She barely gets a look-in in early episodes, but when she does she is usually wearing something animal print, which automatically made her the number one character on my radar. I am choosing to believe the theory that she is the cat in the final episode too. 

Still, I have been struggling and questioning why an episode that aired 16 years ago, with no plot that links to my own circumstances, has had such a monumental impact on me. 

I saw a tweet that said “have we ever sat down and thought about why relationships only work if the guy is more invested than the girl or is that just something we accept” (@anugov1). Adriana invested more in Christopher, even in the end, than she ever did herself. 

As I navigate this transitional period in my life, I am Adriana driving in the vision we see when we think she is going to start her new chapter. We can’t leave the flat, I have no job. The Sopranos has provided the most cathartic escapism for me. As I enter into whatever new world follows this nightmare, I wanted my mate Adriana to find her new world too, turning the classic rock up to 11.