#I can remove it from the tag if its too crass

[cecils-dragons]

When one of your dragons get bought as a fodder breeding pair.

[sebbybooks]

Wreck My Daydream

Part Two

Sebastian Stan x Fanfiction

18+

Tagged🎄

@wayward-mikaelson

Cataglottism

(n.) kissing with tongue

I’m already wet and Sebastian barely even touched me.

I hardly gave myself a moment to be ashamed or even stir in the crass words I was using even if I had only thought them. Like a diary I suppose there was no need to lie to myself considering it was one hundred percent true. I, Nellie Lennox, was unabashedly met with unending desires that washed away my trepidations that led up to this moment.

In its place I felt this newfound sense of possibilities that I wasn’t actually making an ass out of myself with my sudden confession of feelings for Sebastian. In my defense I didn’t just wake up one morning after having some epiphany as to why I wanted to be with him. The thought of us together made itself at home in the back of my mind.

Almost like a what if. . .

However, I couldn’t help but be terrified of all the ways it could go wrong. What if I had made things weird between us forcing us apart? Life would be a bitter existence if Sebastian wasn’t around in some capacity. For the longest time I tried to find him in different relationships. It is a messed up philosophy, but it almost worked. Whenever things would get too serious it nearly terrified me. I was their someday and they were my maybe. I owed this last relationship that is still so freshly cut more than that.

I owed myself that.

On the unique and rare chance I somehow got lost in a very realistic maladaptive daydream, I’m pretty certain Sebastian wants this too. Just thinking about what he had told me seconds ago made my heartbeat drum to a dizzy rhythm. Imagining myself getting fucked to the beat of it was a completely different type of sensation.

Retraining my focus on the now I could see it in Sebastian’s face all the wheels going around in his head. Confusion? Uncertainty? Regret?

“You don’t get to do that.” I tell him. I felt like I was going to climb out of my own skin if he left me suspended in the silence for a second longer. Sebastian tipped his face closer to mine, our lips gingerly brushing against each other. Perhaps he was feeling ambivalent in regards of his feelings for me? After all this was sprung on him in the middle of the night.

Sebastian shook his head as if he was at war with himself. “I want to.” His voice was strained and dangerously low, like something was causing him utter misery being this close, yet not knowing exactly when to pull away.

“Then why don’t you.” I dared him.

I was growing impatient with this slow burn we had somehow started. I wanted to play with this fire. If I got burned in the end by his touch then so be it. At least I would forever be marked with a reminder of knowing that I at least went after something I wanted with no apology. I wanted to see how far he was willingly to go.

Sebastian removed his hand from the security of being wrapped around me. I feigned a disappointed sigh at the lack of contact. My entire body must have been on autopilot , because I didn’t recognize the position I was in. I practically sat in his lap with one leg wrapped around him and the other one mindlessly dangling over the bed. Of course the mind reader that Sebastian was naturally grabbed ahold of the side of my thigh and wrapped it around his back.

It wasn’t like I was naive to sex or never had my fair share of romantic conquest. Regardless of my experiences I still felt like a gigantic ball of nerves. The way he stared down at me with a heated look in his eyes as if he wanted to posses every inch of me. Hell, I felt like I could come undone from that alone.

The hand that was planted on my back slowly drifted downward trailing the curve of my backside gripping my ass through my thinly silk hunter green shorts that matched the top. Earlier I had berated myself for wearing scantly clad pajamas to bed. Now I am thanking my lucky stars I opted out of the option of wearing a red Christmas onesie that had polar bears wearing scarfs around their necks. They were ones my mother insisted the whole family wear.

If I had I probably would not have been able to feel his erection that was restrained in his sweatpants. Trying to situate myself closer I rocked into him slightly, massaging myself on him. My ears didn’t miss the subtle groan Sebastian let out from the feel of my weight pressing further into him.

His silence wasn’t lost on me and he still hadn’t answered my question so I did it again. I wanted him to say something. My nervousness abated at this point. I twined my arms around his neck, grinding myself against him again and again. All the while Sebastian watched my every movement with a hint of a star struck look in his eyes. The feeling was certainly mutual I was even shocking myself at my behavior.

“Nellie,” Sebastian finally says, voice husky. He usually only ever calls me by my nickname so I was more than sure that he was not fully himself.

“I’m a big girl Sebastian I can handle whatever you need to say.” I tell him, holding in my breath.

“Alright,” he said with uncertainty. “You and me, this, it’s not a good idea.” His tone was barely audible and even more so he sounded hurt. Everything in me froze.

“And why is that?” I asked him more confused than ever. Suddenly feeling absolutely self conscious as I over analyzed every intimate word I just shared with him. I was even more horrified by the fact that I was dry humping my best friend.

He let out a darkly laugh. “It’s pretty damn obvious Nells.” Sebastian says rather ominously.

“...It’s not actually.” For someone that wants nothing out of this, Sebastian was holding on to me like an anchor and I on the other hand just wanted to get away and sink.

Admittedly, I was losing this game of tug a war. There was only so much I was willing to endure even I had my limits. “You’re giving me whiplash Sebastian .” I tell him honestly, “ I’m not like those other girls you go for that are satisfied with you just dangling yourself in front of them like a piece of cake that I can’t have. I meant what I said when I told you I didn’t say it just to hear you say the same.” My voice could only rise so high in pitch.

I definitely didn’t want to wake up the upstairs guest that would love nothing more than to recap this conversation over breakfast. Then like an unexpected bolt of lighting startling you from a distance, Sebastian kissed me.

Sebastian

I am a selfish bastard.

My mind fell quiet when I looked at her. I wanted to swim in the serenity and peacefulness that was this smart, vibrant, sexy, and uniqueness this woman possessed. I only wondered even in the darkness could Nellie see my eyes as plainly as I can see hers. If so could she see the shame reflecting in them? I could feel the nagging weight of my conscience siting on both of my shoulders, arguing back and forth over what I should and shouldn’t do. It was kind of ironic that the devil in my ear insisted that I give in to the angel in my lap.

God knows I waited for her and that I would keep waiting if I had to in this lifetime or the next. It was always going to be Nellie for me. I wanted to tell her all of this, but the longer I held on to this slice of heaven I was given during this random hour. I also knew that this moment was fleeting. I basked in the way she looked at me, the way she held on to me like I was an object of virtue. I also got a sample of what it would be like to lose her the second she began to slip away on her own accord. So, I did what any poor fool would do in my position. I kissed her.

It wasn’t exactly suave or how I imagined it would go. My mouth sort of crushed against her unmoving lips in a rushed and unskilled manner. Frankly, I wasn’t sure what I was doing, I certainly could do a hell of a lot better than this. An yet, it was still like I predicted it would be, filled with pure unadulterated pleasure. Nellie’s lips were sweet and warm, exactly how I imagined forbidden fruit to taste like.

A perfect mixture of firm and softness that drove me wild. She flattened her hands on my bare chest as if to brace herself. Nellie pushed herself away, but her face was still so close to me. She didn’t speak and neither could I. I forced myself to look up at her and hoped that she could see I would do everything in my power to earn her forgiveness. That it was a mistake I will make right somehow.

“Nell,” I let out an exasperated breath. “ I have a need for you that goes deeper than just lust and I know that it will never truly be sated. The killer thing is I’m already at risk of losing you before I even had you.”

Nellie stared hazily up at me.“You already have me.” She whispered, our lips still grazing. Those four simple words set off a firework in me. This time when I kissed her our mouths came together like we needed to feed off of each other’s oxygen in order to survive. I’d suffer if I didn’t have it.

My mouth was greedy for hers, and I could imagine she felt the same. The moment I felt her lips slightly part open to let me in, less than a second our tongues slid together in a torrid and sensually slow pace. We kissed like a couple of eager teenagers. My heart threatened to leap from my chest when the tip of Nell’s tongue moved across my bottom lip. She tastes like gingerbread , mixed with some other divine flavor that I can only assume is Nellie. She arched herself closer into my chest and I could feel the points of her hardened nipples through her top. I seized the opportunity to press her body close because I needed more.

I wanted to feel the heat of her soft skin on mine. She returned her arms back around my neck tightly holding me in place as she angled her head kissing me back with the same ferocity. Deeply, and oh so thoroughly by the way she sucked on my tongue. I had a rough grip on her ass keeping Nellie steady as she straddled me. I was so damn hard for her. If my dick could get even harder it was bound to. Nellie did that thing again where she grinds down on my erection and I cursed at myself to not combust. I grabbed ahold of her hips guiding her to move faster, harder.

I kept telling myself to savor her, fucking take my time with this moment. I couldn’t just rip those tiny little shorts off and sink myself into her over and over until we’ve both had enough. But even then I would always need more of her. I wasn't a sentimental man, with Nellie I at least wanted to try. I wanted my first night with Nell to be a little less spontaneous than this. It wasn’t like I came prepared for festivities filled with endless fucks. Plus the added fact I couldn’t let things get too carried away especially since she still didn’t know what I have done.

Yeah, I am a very selfish bastard.

I didn’t want this to end. I wanted my mouth to explore every single part of Nellie. I wanted the taste of her to live on my tongue. I wanted to go as far as she and my consciousness would allow me.

“I need to touch you.” I panted, between every nip and kiss I left on the delicate area of skin under her jaw.

“You’re already touching me.” She says with a soft laugh, which was a melody to my ears. I was but at the same time I wasn’t. I needed to rid Nellie of any barrier that prevented me from branding her skin with my touch.

“This…off.” I tug gently on the bottom of her tank top before returning my hands to rest on her thighs, caressing them as I sucked on her neck for dear life. Going back and forth between grazing her neck with my teeth then licking over the area to soothe any imprint I’ve left.

Nellie crisscrossed her arms reaching for the hem of her top gracefully pulling it over her head. She purposely fell backwards onto the mattress aiming her shirt at my face. For as long as I’ve known Nell she was never one to be shy in her own skin.

“Imagine how unsexy that would have been if I hit my head on the headboard.”

“As long as you didn’t hurt yourself I would have just pretended that I didn’t see a thing.” I teased.

“Ah, to think they wonder where all of the good men have gone.” Nell scrunched up her nose pretending to be lost in critical thought.

I cock my head to the side. “Mm-hmm. Are you mocking me?”

“What if I am?”Her plump wet lips spread into a smile.

It was miracle I caught a word of what she said to me. I swallowed a groan as my eyes drift over the area of her body that was naked from the waist up. Nellie was clearly a stolen painting from the Louvre that I had no intention of returning. All I could do was stare.

With her legs still draped around me, my hands slide up the curve of her torso passing her ribs. I sensed that she was watching me, but I didn’t dare take my eyes off of her just yet. The pads of my fingers traced over to her breast and my mouth practically watered at the sight of them. She was ethereal.

“Don’t suddenly go mute on me Sebastian.” She let out a shaky breath.

I’ve heard her say my name a thousand times. Hearing her say it in this state created a feeling of warmth that filled my chest. I could only begin to imagine the different ways I wanted to hear her call out my name. My gift, my best friend, my Nellie. Those last words had a sting to them even as I thought them. Deep down I knew that was never going to be true.

I eased all the way down my tongue traveling around the dip of her navel. Creating a path up the center of her abdomen. I knew that Nell was extremely ticklish. The slightest form of contact would automatically turn her into a ninja. From the way she was pressing herself back into the mattress I knew she was trying her hardest not to flee. Of course I found it rather enticing so I made sure to spend extra time over the areas of her exposed skin I knew to be the most sensitive. Brushing the tip of my nose between her breast my mouth finally latched on to what I’ve been waiting for.

“So fucking beautiful.” I say as I graze my mouth over the stiff peak of her nipple. I was in awe over the ability that they simultaneously could feel hard yet felt extremely soft. I dragged the tip of my tongue around the bud of it in a languid movement before sucking it in deep. I loved listening to the sounds she made while I sucked and devoured as much as I could fit into my mouth. I wanted to hear a symphony of the noises that escaped from Nellie.

Going for one after the other not wanting to miss out on either. Nellie kept a limp hand pressed into my hair keeping me close as if I dared to stop.

Writhing underneath me Nellie gasped,“Touch me.”

Now she understood what I meant. My own body felt betrayed by my decision. I literally ached from pain and pleasure. Truthfully I wouldn’t opt for a better scenario than this. I would be more than gratified with giving Nellie an orgasm or two.

Still leaving featherlight kisses across her chest. With one hand I reach down and brushed along the dip of Nellie’s hip, then began to tug away at her shorts. To my surprise she was bare underneath. This was a new and uncharted territory we were crossing.

Tell me to stop, say that this is just the wrong time, tell me we would never work. Those words never escaped me, the sound of the goddamn doorbell intervened for her. My movements hesitated then shortly I picked up on inaudible chattering out in the hall. Nellie turned her head in the direction towards the door which I hoped like hell was locked. “Maybe we should go see what’s going on.” Her eyes widened.

“Or we could stay here and not shame the fact that I was two seconds away from wrapping your legs around my face while I tasted the slickness between your thighs. ” Nellie released a ragged breath and I meant every word.

To my dissatisfaction we were composed in under three minutes. I felt a strange sense of comfort and pride seeing that ever so often I’d catch Nellie looking in my direction smiling like she had some big secret she was bursting to tell. Which only made me feel like an even bigger asshole. The walk downstairs was surprisingly noisy. Someone had plugged the Christmas tree back up and there was a chilly wind breaking in as the front door came to an immediate shut.

Nellie’s parents were both moving around in a fast pace trying to find new spots to put a couple of suitcases. I had to swallow down a chuckle at the sight of their bold choice of pajamas. Nellie had already beaten me to the bottom of the staircase just as I rounded the corner of the spiral stairs.

“Cousin!” Vanessa squealed rushing over towards Nellie, who excitedly embraced her the same. They exchanged a few excitable words to each other that I tuned out. I was busy focusing on the six foot son of a bitch with a puppy dog expression on his face standing awkwardly behind them.

“Now you know Nells Bells you can’t have Christmas without good ole St. Nicholas can you?” She winked at a stone faced Nellie who just looked straight ahead at her ex boyfriend Nick. “I hope it’s okay I brought him over with me. I saw him at the airport dozed off in a chair.” Vanessa whispered as she leaned into Nell, like she just earned a gold star. Soon as Vanessa’s wild dark brown eyes caught ahold me I knew my bubble was about to pop.

“Something told me I was off the naughty list this year.” Vanessa bit at her glossed up lips and made a beeline towards me, wrapping her arms around my waist. She smelled like an overtly sweet perfume that tortured my sinuses. “Did you forget how to work a phone or what? I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for days. I miss you.” She cooed.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Nellie watching the two of us. This was my punishment.

[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Chapter 5

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

They’re sitting in the car outside her mother’s house, and she’s stalling.

“Are we going inside?” Ethan asks with a confused smile, and she nods wearily.

She’s been dreading telling her family. Well, not her mother; Mom will be thrilled, as will Bill. Charlie will act appropriately happy but doesn’t actually care that much. But Missy….Missy will see right through her. She always does.

They exit the car and make their way to the front porch, her stomach twisting in her gut all the way. Ethan knocks, casting her concerned glances intermittently. She knows she’s not playing the part of “recently engaged” very well. She’s told Ethan that it’s just nerves, and that she hates making big announcements, which is true. She’s still trying to convince herself that’s all it is.

The door swings open and Charlie greets them with smiles and quick hugs, and they make their way to the kitchen where Mom is still finishing up dinner.

“Grab some wine and take a seat,” she directs them as they each kiss her on the cheek, “Missy should be here any minute.”

She pours herself a very full glass of wine after asking Ethan if he can drive home, then plants herself in an armchair that only seats one. She’s been craving personal space lately.

Ten minutes later, Missy breezes in the door, giving Dana a skeptical glance; leave it to Missy to immediately pick up on something being off. They better get this over with soon.

They all sit down and say grace. Missy holds her left hand and she can feel the moment her fingers make contact with the ring. Missy yanks on her arm and gives her wide eyes as everyone else at the table thanks the lord for their daily bread. Dana glances at her briefly and then looks away. It will all be out in the open momentarily.

“Before we dig into this lovely meal Mom has prepared for us,” Ethan begins, “Dana and I have some news to share.”

Oh god, here it comes. Maybe the huge glass of wine was a bad idea.

“Am I gonna be an uncle, D?!” Charlie says excitedly, and both she and Maggie shoot him an unamused glare.

“Not just yet, Charlie,” Ethan says with a cautious smile. “Dana and I got engaged. We’re getting married!”

Dana holds up her left hand with a thin smile, and Maggie and Charlie both provide appropriately big, happy reactions complete with hugs and congratulatory slaps on the back. Missy raises her eyebrows and looks at her baby sister with a bemused expression.

“Oh, this is such happy news, I wish your father could be here,” Maggie says, clutching her hand to her chest. “We’ll have to call Bill and Tara after dinner.”

Dana forces bites of pot roast down her throat and avoids her sister’s eye for the following twenty minutes, then leaves Ethan and her mother to share the news with Bill as she escapes to the back porch. Charlie, as usual, finds his way to the couch with a beer.

She’s sitting on the steps of the porch, working on her second glass of wine, when she hears the creak of the screen door behind her. She doesn't need to look to know that it’s Missy; she can hear the swish of her flowy skirt and the jangle of her stacked bracelets. Missy sits down beside her and they are quiet for a few minutes, the dark night illuminated by a waxing crescent moon.

“Is this really what you want, Sis?” Missy asks in a tone that’s soft and concerned.

“Of course, Missy. Ethan and I have been talking about getting married for years,” she says, hoping it sounds more convincing than it feels.

“I know. But…” she trails off and sighs.

“But what?” Dana prods her.

“Look, Sis, Ethan is great. I love him, and he’ll make a great husband. I’m just not sure he’s the right one for you.” Dana can feel her sister looking at her in the dim light, but keeps her eyes on the blooming hydrangea bush at the bottom of the stairs.

“He’s a great guy, Missy. He’s kind, and generous, and he has a stable job. He treats me really well. There’s no reason NOT to marry him,” she offers, taking a big gulp of her wine. “Dad loved him, he’d be so happy to know we got married,” she adds.

Missy scoffs. “Two years underground and you’re still trying to please Dad?”

“He was cremated, Missy,” she replies deadpan, avoiding the point.

“Okay, so two years underwater, then. Doesn’t change the fact that Dad liking him isn’t a reason to marry someone. Neither is them being great husband material. The only reason to marry someone is because you want to marry them. Do you want to marry Ethan?” She can feel Missy’s eyes on her face.

“Yes,” she says in a weak voice, unwilling to elaborate.

Missy sighs. “Okay, if this is what you want, I’ll be here to help you in whatever way you need. But if you change your mind-”

“-I’m not going to change my mind, Missy,” she cuts her off.

“Well,” Missy continues, “whatever happens, I’ll be here. Thick and thin, right?”

Dana looks at her sister then, and smiles as they clasp hands. “Thick and thin.”

&&

The following week, she takes herself out for Sunday afternoon coffee to one of her favorite places near the apartment. She likes to go out alone for coffee or lunch sometimes, just to have some space to think. Lately, she’s been needing a lot of it. The cafe is bustling with the after-church crowd, which makes her feel guilty for not going to mass with her mother. It’s difficult to talk to Mom right now; all she wants to do is talk about the wedding, and that’s the last thing Dana wants to discuss. Ethan wants to get married soon, this fall, and the whole thing is so overwhelming she shuts down every time they try to talk to her about it. She wishes she could pause life for a while, until she can sort out her feelings.

“Fancy meeting you here,” she hears a familiar voice call from beside her, and she looks up to see Mulder, dressed casually in jeans and a grey T-shirt.

She smiles reflexively, the first time she’s felt a real smile tug at her lips in a week or more.

“Mulder, hi,” she says, genuinely pleased to see him. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, this place is right near my dealer’s house,” he responds, and flashes her that boyish grin at her shocked expression. “I was actually just checking out a record store around the corner and decided to grab some coffee. How are you?” The question feels so real, like he actually wants to know how she is. She doesn’t want him to leave.

“I’m well, would you like to sit down?” she says as she gestures to the empty seat across from her, pulling her hand back when she realizes that he’ll likely notice her ring. She surreptitiously slips it off her finger and tucks it into her pants pocket.

He sits, and she can’t help but take in the way his shirt hugs his broad shoulders, and the hint of defined pectorals underneath. He is a seriously good-looking man.

“So, whatcha been up to?” He asks, taking a sip from his to-go cup.

She should tell him the happy news that she’s gotten engaged, but she very much doesn’t want to.

“Not much, just cutting up dead bodies and teaching others how to do the same,” she responds dryly.

“Slicin’ and dicin’,” he says with a nod, and she feels a sense of relief at being able to make such a crass joke to someone who understands the kind of work she does.

“Exactly. How about you, working on anything interesting?” she asks, and never has a social nicety been more genuine.

“That depends on your definition of interesting, I suppose,” he begins, “we’ve got the face mutilator, the acid thrower, and the super-stabber, who you’re familiar with.”

“Quite the line up,” she retorts.

“I realize I didn’t get the chance to ask how you ended up at the Academy,” he inquires.

“Oh, um I was actually recruited out of medical school,” she replies, taking a sip of her coffee.

His eyebrows jump and he leans forward a bit. “You’re a doctor, then?” he asks, and she gauges only that he’s impressed, not surprised, which is a nice change of pace. People don’t seem to realize that it’s not a compliment to express disbelief that she, of all people, would be a medical doctor.

“Mmhmm, all pathologists are trained medical doctors,” she confirms with a nod.

“Your parents must be very proud,” he offers, and she makes a face.

“Not exactly. My father actually passed away a couple years ago, but he was less than pleased with my decision not to pursue medicine as a career. My mom is moderately more supportive, thankfully.”

She catches his eye and is surprised by the intensity of the look he’s giving her.

“I’m sorry to hear about your father,” he says as though he knew the man, and it catches her off guard a bit. She changes the subject.

“What about the X files, anything interesting happening there?”

“Well, no, given that they don’t exist anymore. You wanna hear about an old one I investigated?”

She nods emphatically.

“There was this team of researchers up in Icy Cape, Alaska. They were geophysicists, drilling ice core samples. They’d been up there a few weeks when there was an odd video communication received from one of the research team members saying “we are not who we are” before he shot himself in the head, then all communication went dark.”

“What happened to them?” Scully asks, leaning towards him. She’s immediately drawn in.

“Well, that’s what we went up there to find out; myself a physician, toxicologist and a geologist. When we got there, the whole crew was dead, only a dog that belonged to one of them survived. He appeared to be rabid, and he attacked me and our pilot. When we examined the dog, he had these black nodules on his skin.”

“That sounds like a symptom of bubonic plague,” Scully offers.

“That’s what Dr. Hodge thought too. Anyway, the pilot ended up getting infected as well, and we had to restrain him and remove this worm-thing from his neck. He died immediately after we removed it.”

“A worm-thing?” Scully asks, “what was it?”

“I’m still not entirely sure. The geologist found an ice core sample that was probably over 250,000 years old, and I think the worm came from the ice. Some kind of prehistoric parasite that overtakes its host. We eventually figured out that to kill it, you have to introduce a second worm into the host, and they’ll destroy each other.”

“Why haven’t I ever heard about this? It seems like the kind of discovery that would make the news, at least in the science community,” her mind is reeling, now with excitement.

“Well, that’s the thing. After we were evacuated, they destroyed the drill site and all the evidence.”

“They?” she inquires. “Who is ‘they’?”

Mulder smiles knowingly and she has the overwhelming urge to touch him.

“That’s the million dollar question, Scully. That’s what the X files sought to answer. Who, or what, is behind the mass coverup of information that would prove the existence of extraterrestrial life?” He says it so casually, like it’s the most irrefutable fact in the world instead of some half-cocked conspiracy theory.

“Huh,” she sits back in her chair. “Are there a lot of cases like that one? In the X files?”

Mulder’s mouth quirks, and she can tell that he’s pleased by her interest in his old work.

“Hundreds, though I only have about fifty in my possession. I took the juiciest ones, of course.”

“What else is there? Tell me about another one,” she asks unabashedly. She’s fascinated.

Mulder looks at his watch and makes a face. “I wish I could, but I have a prior engagement. I have them stored at my apartment, I could show you sometime, if you’d like. Do you like cats?”

Her eyebrows lift. “Is there an X file about cats?” she asks, and he laughs.

“No. Well, actually yes, but I’m asking because I have a cat. You aren’t allergic, are you?”

“Oh, no,” she says as she feels her cheeks warm.

He reaches into his wallet and hands her his business card. “Give me a call, or shoot me an email. I’ll show you what the FBI doesn’t want you to see,” he punctuates this with a wag of his eyebrows as he stands. “It was really good to see you, Scully,” he says with an earnest look, those eyes seemingly seeing right through her.

She swallows hard. “You too, Mulder,” she replies, and watches him walk out the cafe door.

She looks down at the business card in her hands:

Fox W. Mulder

Criminal Behavioral Analyst

Behavioral Science Unit

She wonders what the W stands for. She wonders why she cares.

[shortkingzuko]

title: growing fondness

relationship: jeong jeong/piandao

warnings: brief allusions to SA, light mention of homophobia and transphobia

summary: Piandao and Jeong Jeong's feelings for each other through the years. Despite himself, Piandao managed to grow a fondness towards the man.

word count: 4k

read under the cut or on AO3 for more tags and details on warnings!

 20 YEARS BEFORE THE END

Dislike is too strong a word for the emotions that they first carry for each other. Dislike implies a meeting, an aversion, and an emotional reaction to each other. At first, they only have apathy. What else would they have for each other?

Jeong Jeong is a lieutenant commander, a fire bender to boot, his days are spent in war meetings, dusty courtyards, using a stick to thwack his student’s stances when they were off (and they were often off), and conversing with soldiers of higher ranks. It’s a world Piandao is barred from by virtue of his cold hands and cold spirit, and removed further still due to his previous engagement, called off before it could become a marriage, now that his records were proudly stamped with the seal meant only for men. While commanders and recruiters would repeat, until they were blue in the face, that the Fire Nation does not hold confusion against him, he, of course, called off his marriage before he was a man, and thus no illegal activity could have occurred, Piandao knows that he is looked at with a critical gaze. His interactions with fellow soldiers and commanders are watched and noted, and the Fire Nation, for all her might and glory, would never risk a scandal.

Divided as they are, they feel nothing short of the basic respect a soldier is meant to have for his so-called superiors. Perhaps a glimpse of quickly greying hair, or sharp cheekbones beneath dark skin, inspires a sense of aesthetic appreciation, but it is quickly ushered away upon hearing harshly said instructions and critiques.

This changes when Jeong Jeong,  - Lieutenant Commander Jeong Jeong, he introduces himself as, frustration clear in his voice - is reassigned to the non-bending corps of the training academy. Whispers and conspiracies flourish at the news, as people try to guess the cause. Some say Jeong Jeong ‘lost his stuff’, that his fire-bending students have outmatched him in the field, though Piandao doubts that to be true. Another in Piandao’s rank suggests that Jeong Jeong was caught in bed with an Admiral’s daughter, that this is a punishment for his crassness and disrespect, since promiscuity is not, in itself, a reason to be stripped of his title. Piandao doubts that as well, based on the polite apathy Jeong Jeong seems to hold for the women that share Jeong Jeong’s rank; all of them capable and beautiful, yet inspiring none of the behaviour in Jeong Jeong that other men exhibit.

The most believable guess that Piandao hears is that Jeong Jeong criticized a decision in a private meeting, asked a question that implied disrespect to a superior officer, and being forced to teach non-benders was supposed to scare him back in line. A reminder that despite his mastery of the element, he can easily be stripped of any valour or honour that comes with it. After all, Piandao thinks bitterly, nothing is as insulting as being forced to teach non-benders.

Regardless of the reason, it’s clear that his new position of testing hand-to-hand combat to lower ranks is meant as a punishment, one that Jeong Jeong accepts with little grace. His attitude is dour, words harsh as he barks orders at troops, and has a clear disdain for those who were never kissed by sparks or flames. Lessons are unpleasant, and Piandao’s opinion of Jeong Jeong sours as days turn to weeks of the man directing soldiers to fight each other, offering little guidance besides telling them that they would perish within minutes to the dirt-caked armies of the Earth Kingdom.

It’s an insult that strikes Piandao a little too close to home. The words all too familiar to the disbelief of his friends and family when he told them he was going to continue his military career past the very basic training all Fire Nation citizens are forced to go through. The concern that wove its way into every conversation, asking him what he would do if an Earth Kingdom thug caught him off guard, or what if another cadet found out about his  condition and snuck into his bed chambers at night. As talented as he was, everyone would explain, he was nothing compared to the might of spirit-born flame.

Piandao doesn’t quite remember what he said that provoked Jeong Jeong, though he knows it was snide, under his breath but purposefully loud enough that if the Lieutenant Commander wanted to make a scene, he could. Of course, Jeong Jeong challenges him to a duel, as Piandao knew he would. His calm demeanour hides a hot temper that everyone knows about. The courtyard is cleared, all other ensigns packed against each other around the walls and pillars of the training yard. He’s given a training sword, heavy and unbalanced, the blade dulled to prevent mortal wounds, and Jeong Jeong,  the bastard, takes only the thing bamboo rod he was using before, brandishing it as a sword. The message is clear; he doesn’t need a weapon to take Piandao down. It infuriates Piandao more than it should.

He’s seething as he gets into his stance, sword poised, and eyes narrowing as he walks Jeong Jeong prepare. The long shadows of the late afternoon sun obscure Jeong Jeong’s face, and for some reason, that makes it easier for Piandao to maintain his upset. He’s overconfident, clearly, and the bamboo reed wobbles and quakes with each motion. Jeong Jeong smirks, and for a moment Piandao wonders how long he spent riling them up in search of a fight.

Piandao moves first, darting forward and to the side, trying to gauge Jeong Jeong’s agility, and whether or not bending is on the table for him. He reacts quickly enough - of course, he does, for a man of his title and skill - though Piandao can see some hesitancy in his movements. Likely, he thinks, making a half-hearted thrust to test Jeong Jeong’s reflexes again, his muscles aren’t warmed up yet. All he did was stand around until now, and he didn’t even stretch before making everyone else clear off. He knows that if he wants to strike, he needs to do it sooner, rather than later.

With that thought in mind, Piandao lunges forward again, swinging his arms upward to block the obvious swipe that Jeong Jeong makes with his reed. The wood wobbles as it slides against the dulled metal of Piandao’s blade, and faintly, he can see smoke rise from where Jeong Jeong is gripping it. He ducks when Jeong Jeong makes a wide swing, kicking a leg out to force his lieutenant commander to take another step back. It’s just a matter of blocking another swing, the bamboo crackling from the force and from the heat emanating from Jeong Jeong’s hand, before Piandao is standing once again, holding his blade just shy of Jeong Jeong’s head.

He grins when he sees the shock register on his superior’s face, his eyes widening and eyebrows furrowing in frustration and confusion. Jeong Jeong’s lips part, almost to make a soft,  Oh, before quickly closing again. From this distance, Piandao can see strands of hair falling out of the tight bun that all Fire Nation troops keep their hair in for training. He’s almost pretty in this light, Piandao thinks. Then Jeong Jeong huffs and flicks his wrist, and before Piandao knows it he’s being smacked in the check with the reed of bamboo, the wood hot to the touch and leaving a dark red welt on Piandao’s tanned skin. He drops his sword and stance in shock at the sensation.

“This is why you’ll die in the Earth Kingdom,” Jeong Jeong, voice booming once again. “You’ll never survive if you’re too soft to finish the job.”

Piandao scoffs. “Would you have hit me if I  did hit you?”

“You should never assault a superior officer,” Jeong Jeong, though his voice is blank, dull as if he’s repeating a mantra that he’s been told many times. Students around the courtyard start to fidget, unsure what to do. “... You are well-trained, uh..”

“Piandao,” he supplies, only a little put off that Jeong Jeong doesn’t even know his name.

“Yes, Piandao. You put up a good fight. You may even inconvenience those mud-welding buffoons before they crush you to death.”

It’s not quite a compliment, but it’s all Piandao gets before Jeong Jeong is back to yelling orders to the rest of the students. Surprisingly, he tells them that they can all head off to bed early, so they may dream of improvement.

If Jeong Jeong is a little more respectful to Piandao in the days that follow, if he offers a little more feedback to people during training, if the lessons are more thoughtful than just ‘practice these poses until I say we’re finished', then no one is willing to question it, just in case things will go back to how they once were. By the time that Jeong Jeong has won his way back into the good graces of his superiors and is once again reassigned to his old students, Piandao is almost sad to see him go. Despite himself, he managed to grow a fondness towards the man.

 10 YEARS BEFORE THE END

The sun is obnoxiously bright and inviting for such a testing evening, Piandao thinks, squinting at the sun as he makes his way towards the town. Presumably, it would be less glaring if he left later. The distance from his house could easily be shortened by carriage, but he needs the time to calm himself, put on a more friendly demeanour than he truly has for the men he’s going to meet.

Sometimes he wants to say ‘screw it’ and stop replying to all the letters he receives from the people he knew in the military (well, most of them, at least) and to stop agreeing to invitations to come out to dine and drink when they’re in town. Sometimes, becoming a shut-in doesn’t seem like such a bad idea.

If Piandao drags his feet a little as he makes the trek to the village, no one can blame him, nor does anyone seem to notice, already caught up in the merriment of drinking. He sighs but plasters on a grin as he approaches the table, loudly announcing his entrance as he sits at the table. The tabletop is already damp and sticky with alcohol, and even before everyone has greeted him, a glass is shoved in his hand as he’s encouraged to catch up with the tipsy table.

The chatter is asinine, and they cycle through topics that they’ve discussed well enough. The folks that Piandao trained with badger him about why he left the military while bragging about their exploits. They tell him if he had stuck around he could have a wife by now -  despite everything you have ‘going on’, they always make sure to tack on - he would probably be commander by now, given his skills. They tell him about their government-provided vacation homes that they’ve been promised in the Earth Kingdom. They tell him that, sure, he lives a pretty cushy life as it is, but once the war is over - and they’re so close  to winning, they tell Piandao with a wink - they’ll be rolling in coin and be given the highest honours.

The waitstaff and other patrons surely hate them, but what can they do? No one seems to notice the rest of the bar flinching as a playful argument amongst them grows in volume No one else at Piandao’s table notices when the waitress stops being the young, pretty girl, who brought them their first bottle of soju and starts being the rotund, thick-armed man, likely the owner of the establishment. Other patrons start clearing out, despite the half-full bottles still on their tables. Piandao wonders if there’s a line that they’ll have to cross to get kicked out, though surely it’s far in the distance. The military’s money is no less gold, and after months at sea, his old crew seems eager to spend it on booze before they head back to their families.

By the time they start loosening up and giving Piandao what he came here for, they’re suitably drunk. Even Piandao feels a little fuzzy around the edges. Everyone at the table leans forward, their voices lowering to a slurred whisper, as they dish the gossip they’ve all heard on their respective vessels. Which captain’s wife cheated on him while he was at sea, which ensign’s corpse was found burned beyond recognition, which ship has lost funding. Which battles have been lost without the public knowing or, more frighteningly, which have been won without reporting. The information is invaluable now that he doesn’t have the ability to hear it firsthand.

Tragically, the important gossip is always few and far between. His drinking partners scoff and shove each other, glaring at one another if a comment gets too close to being critical, or worse,  negative about their military pursuits. Someone makes a joke about how Commander Anong alone is responsible for any lost battles since her beauty distracts everyone. Another comments on the figure of a young woman sitting at the bar. The mood lightens and the moment passes, and any thread of useless information that Piandao could collect is lost.

He’s about to call it a night, make up some excuse to leave and start the long hike back to his childhood home on top of the hill when a large hand claps him on the back.

“Piandao, remember that old Lieutenant that we all hated? Jeong Jeong?” At the name, a few soldiers turn to spit on the ground, earning another laugh from the table. Piandao sees one of the bartenders grumble at the mess. “You nearly beat his ass once?”

“I recall,” Piandao replies. His response makes everyone else at the table double over with drunken laughter, all unable to get out what the joke is.

“You’ll never guess what that scumbag did.”

“What did he do?”

It takes a minute for the giggles to die down enough for any answer to worm its way through their lips. “ Defected ! Made a huge scene at a meeting then gave a speech to his crew about the ‘evils of war’! Ran off into the woods like a dog with his tail between his legs afterwards!”

Piandao is shocked into silence for a moment, but when he sees the searching eyes of his companion, he forces himself into a hearty laugh. It is soon swept away by the laughter of the table.

“Oh, when we find him, it’ll be good fun,” a man who is now a captain, who has sway and power and money, says, before taking another swig of drink. “It’s always a good day when we find a traitor.”

“I wonder if he’ll cry like a coward when we drag him out of whatever mud hut he’s hiding in,” another soldier adds. “Remember how chicken he was when you fought him, Piandao? Took his final shot at you when you had already won, as a coward would. I swear they’ll make anyone an Admiral these days.”

It feels like his insides are twisting until he can get away. There’s groaning and pleading for him to have one more drink as he manages to extract himself but the hole made by his absence is already filled by the time he’s reached the doorway. More tales of bloody victory and pregnant spouses to be told while he walks home.

His mind buzzes as if it’s full of insects as he makes progress on his venture home. He almost can’t believe the news that Jeong Jeong  left , that he was able to even get away and survive.

A traitorous part of his brain whispers,  "for now."  

There’s only a small stack of letters at home with Jeong Jeong's distinctive handwriting, perfect in form and size, but always too thick, as if he took too long to write each letter. Like he was trying so hard to master each word.

Their… exchanges have been lighthearted, chaste, even, and fleeting. Piandao would receive maybe two letters a year if he was lucky, and he refused to send anything more than he received. In the years since Piandao almost bested Jeong Jeong, their relationship went from begrudging respect to a tentative friendship. They wrote to each other about poetry, in words and infighting, and it always made Piandao’s heart quicken whenever he received a letter with Jeong Jeong’s seal. For however long it took to read Jeong Jeong’s latest accounts and send a reply, Piandao turned into an embarrassing romantic.

By the time Piandao makes it home, the sun has long been set, and it’s mostly by muscle memory that he can find, much less enter, his estate. He lights a candle when he reaches his room, letting the flickering light grow as he sets more candles ablaze. For a moment, he feels a brief temptation to write Jeong Jeong a letter.

But what would he say? Congratulations? Good luck? Please come back to me, even though Jeong Jeong was never his? Or maybe, knowing that the military would be ripping open every letter that would even mention Jeong Jeong, a heartfelt rejection, a letter filled with nothing of insult and swearing off his name, just to make sure no one catches on to… whatever they could have had.

In the end, he knows it’s a waste of time either way. Whatever he wrote, Jeong Jeong would never see it. Piandao doesn’t really want to talk to anyone else besides him.

     TEN YEARS AFTER THE BEGINNING

A shadow crosses Piandao’s face as he paints. He glances up, having to squint against the sunrise, and spies Jeong Jeong as he slinks across the courtyard. Quiet as an embermouse, he walks across the yard and climbs on top of one of the many decorative stones. He has to use his hands to pull his legs into the lotus position now - funny how a few years of luxury can steal away one’s flexibility so quickly. All the same, he knows that if Jeong Jeong wanted to be unnoticed then he wouldn’t have noticed him.

Piandao smiles and returns his gaze to his paper, dipping the brush back into the paint tin. The last few years have been good to him and, dare he say it, good to Jeong Jeong as well. There’s a pleasant fullness to both of their cheeks and stomachs. New wrinkles form at the corner of their eyes and mouths, and as much as Jeong Jeong denies it, Piandao knows their origins come from smiling.

Jeong Jeong has never been an extroverted soul, has never yearned to be the life of the party. His years on the run certainly didn’t help that facet of him, but over the years he’s gotten friendlier again, more willing to socialize when unexpected guests pop by their house. Sometimes they ask for Piandao to train them, sometimes they ask for Jeong Jeong.

It’s more than Piandao deserves; this dream-like life that he’s gotten used to. He spent so long trying to prove himself to others, doing unspeakable things to earn the respect of horrible people, to prove himself as a man and as a non-bender in a red-hot, burning world. When he realized that he would never get that approval, he was angry and then relieved, suddenly free of the delusions he once carried, and ashamed that he sought such acceptance. For years he wondered how he would make amends with the world; if he would ever find peace. Now, it seems as if he has.

He finishes his painting before Jeong Jeong finishes his morning meditations - the first of many in a day - and sets weights on the edges of the paper to ensure it remains flat enough to dry. Piandao rises to his feet, a little slower than he might have a few years previous and makes his way to the kitchen to assemble a tray of tea.

He had long dismissed any additional help around the house, and Jeong Jeong’s arrival after the war, suddenly allowed to return to the country but with nowhere else to go, certainly did not  encourage Piandao to hire any assistance. He loads a tray with cups, a small teapot of tepid water, and a bowl of dried tea leaves on the side. No need to waste time boiling water here or letting the leaves over steep, he thinks, as he throws a few milk buns onto the tray as well.

He’s careful as he walks back to the courtyard, trying to be as quiet as possible as he approaches Jeong Jeong on his rock. His eyes are closed and he faces the sun, looking so calm that for a moment he almost reminds Piandao of a cat or perhaps a lizard, basking. Piandao places the wooden tray on the ground, earning a slight scowl from Jeong Jeong from the noise, before leaving to retrieve some cushions to sit on. By the time he returns, he sees Jeong Jeong sliding off the rock, landing on the ground with grace.

Jeong Jeong warms the tea for them before adding the leaves to the pot. They sit in silence while they wait, something that once scared Piandao - the silence that draped Jeong Jeong like a wet cloth. It didn’t cling to him so much as he dragged it around with him like a weight. For so long Jeong Jeong demanded silence, refused to have anything that even resembled a polite conversation with Piandao. It was hard to tell if it was the last remnants of shame that built the wall between them or if that was just what Jeong Jeong had grown used to. Despite many of the White Lotus viewing the battle of Ba Sing See as a chance of redemption, they quickly realized even if the war was over, peace would not just fall into their laps, and forgiveness wasn’t as easy to find as they hoped. Piandao often wondered how many battles would he have to win for peace, to make up for the battles he fought in the name of the war.

He knew that Jeong Jeong struggled with it too, viewed his welcoming back to the Fire Nation almost as a testament to the fact that he didn’t atone. Even now, basking in the morning sun, Piandao knew that Jeong Jeong often thought of what else he could have done to make amends.

On the other hand, Piandao doesn’t pretend that a good portion of Jeong Jeong’s behaviour is just who he is. He was never ‘nice’ although Piandao knows that he always wanted to be kind. He never quite enjoyed being social nor did he ever yearn to amongst others. The years he spent on the run, surrounded by people who presented his privacy and space and didn’t push him on matters that he didn’t want to discuss, certainly didn’t help him in this regard.

Piandao pours their cups of tea and passes on to Jeong Jeong, smiling when he takes a deep breath of the aromatic steam. He tears off a piece of bread and hands it to his lover, feeling warm fingertips brush against his own as Jeong Jeong takes it from him. Jeong Jeong mumbles a soft  thank you , a more recent development after years of Piandao chiding him about table manners.

Piandao can’t help himself, reaching a hand across to softly comb through Jeong Jeong’s hair, white and so much softer in their gentle years together. Jeong Jeong lets out a little huff, but takes a sip of his tea, instead of trying to shove Piandao’s handoff.

“I’ll stop focusing on your hair once mine matches,” he jokes, earning a glare from the grouchy man. His hair is only starting to get flecks of silver, his beard only having a few specks of salt and pepper. It’s almost exciting, growing old with a loved one when a few years ago the thought seemed so alien. Plus, he thinks, it gives him ample ammo to tease Jeong Jeong, who’s been grey since long before the war ended. He retracts his hand, letting it glide gently across Jeong Jeong’s roughened face, before returning to his own steaming cup.

The morning is still young when they finish their drinks, though they sit and bask in the warmth for a while longer before getting up. Their pace is languid, the conversation easy, as they return to the house to start their days. There are chores to do, errands to run, but neither of them is aching to get started on them at the moment. Age has brought a comfort and appreciation for languidity that they've never had before. There’s no need to rush, they know, when the day’s just begun.

[ignatzcatz]

please tell us about your OCs (trying to open the can of worms)

ok so come here this is l o n g

tag is MHMSS

for context i got a whole huge Lore about all this nonsense. just go wih it. the TLDR is that interplanetary travel real and each planet has its own culture defined by its limitations and strengths. these guys are on Mercury (which is, in short, shitty, with few resources and its only strenght is year-round agriculture, but overall its a neglected portion of the system. their neglected status allowed a large and well-known criminal-tending ring (mercury's underground) to develop in tandem with the rest of the population)

martin "marty" hellacious (formerly Tsuchiya) was born on Earth (very hippy, very clean, very prideful on its "original planet" status and dead set on keeping it the controlled Paradise it is - leading to a one-kid rule) to too-young parents. he had such profuse issues and problems as a kid that neither parent knew how to handle that his parents just. gave him up. his mom got pregnant again and used the opportunity to just push marty (~11) off to whatever foster system earth has.

The foster system got fed up too, though, both with marty's frequent escapes and that at least one of the faculty's car/ wallets were likely swiped in the process. they ultimately decided to informally remove him from earth's gene pool and shipped his ass off to mercury. he met strela there, changed his last name, and began his new shitty life on mercury.

theres a whole chunk i wont go into - but after minor and consistent success with strela in mercurys only entertainment industry (football) he started a tiny recon operation with strela focused on recovering resources and minimizing damage caused by Mercury's Underground. while also a public service, there weren't very many people willing or able to do it. its a dangerous, physically daunting, and draining job, but Marty feels closest to his earthly roots and loves the freedom of being outside of Mercury's city bubbles. doesn't hurt that all his very few brain cells were adapted to memorizing the underground's mazes of tunnels and spatial awareness.

he's a huge grumpass, crass, loud, extremely emotionally defensive and walled off - but has indefatigable drive, laser focus, (a big soft heart, when you got to it) and the experiences to know that no one should be left behind.

------------------

strela doe was born on Mercury to two down-on-their-luck Mercury Underground affiliates, who just decided to give him up as a 2-day old. he grew up in the large population of mercury abandoned kids. quiet, withdrawn, and never demanding he was a self-directed kid who knew that the only way to get attention (and, potentially, an adoptee, which never happened anyway) was to be a "good kid" and keep his nose clean. he loved collecting earth memorabilia and third-hand stuff, since mercury's entertainment was practically non-existent, and the entertainment that was available was always about 20-30 years behind earth's.

at ~15, he met marty as one of his roommates at the home and was immediately intrigued by his Earthling status. meeting marty made him realize that being a "good kid" was useless, and grew more externalized, less uptight and withdrawn, more willing to take chances and completely riveted by marty's determination. they became close buddies, played the same sport, lived together, etc. etc. for the lifetime afterward. strela followed marty to his recon organization (the Mercurial Superstars) as the more public and emotionally intelligent side of the business, as well as the intel guy guiding marty in on his missions.

as an adult, strela is, externally, an affable and friendly leader who doesn’t take himself or his life too seriously. While, yes, strela is intrinsically good-natured, soft-hearted, dorky, and naturally talented, he's not carefree nor relaxed - those are traits he works incredibly hard to portray, and he take extreme measures to ensure that image is intact. strela will ignore things in favor of seeming relaxed until theyre falling apart at the seams.

as for strela and Marty’s personal relationship? that’s for another time…….., -----------------------------

ohhhh octane....how i love you///

octane was the FIRST one i drew, probably back in 2017/2018, but it was only in recent months where he really started to have a personality.

Octane. no last name. Hes one of the Underground's Titans - a small and elite group of the Underground who are very good at executing destructive schemes. in short, a huge asshole who wants what he wants, focuses on instant gratification and luxury, and has no qualms about destroying anything else in the way. he does things for fun and for pleasure, business is just a side hustle. his entire moral standing is best summarized as "boys just wanna have fun".

he's got a home-made prosthetic arm (classic crow!). that i do love drawing, i promise, don't worry his arm design does NOT change every 2 months

straightforward and powerful, octane is not unstable. hes immeasurably dangerous and destructive, plain and simple, and he knows it, and he loves it. the way he gets involved in this story? that's for another post......

---------------------

this is a fucking . huge long post that scratches the surface of the lore, other people, and shit that i got on them. sorry - maybe for another ask......

[the-mandalorian-clone-lover]

Aces in Spaces Chapter 3

Hey everyone! I think my plan going forward will be to post new chapters on Mondays so in light of that, here’s the next one! 

Summary: Roman gives Butcher the run down and explanation of Asexuality and how it pertains to Erica, warning for excessive cuteness from both. This takes place within a week of the last chapter.

(Chapter 2 can be found here and Chapter 1 here)

Tags: @princessxkenobi @sunshinepascal @rentskenobi @maybege @obaby-wan

If anyone else would like to be tagged let me know?

“Butcher, Erica is an Asexual”. The other man blinks at him and he realizes this may not be an easy fix. “It means, she doesn’t experience sexual attraction.” He takes the moment that the other man spends in confusion to turn on the projector on the table and stands so he can see the slides and Butch in the same space. The first slide is the only opening template that Microsoft power point had that didn’t make him want to roll his eyes so hard they rolled back into his skull, but now that he’s standing in front of Butch he’s convinced it really was just as bad as the others. ‘Asexuality, what it means, what it’s like, and what our response should be’ is written across it in big bolded letters and he takes comfort in the fact that Butch has always been a good listener before, and certainly seems to like Erica, so he should have his attention. He clicks to the next slide, intent on making sure not a single detail is missed, he starts to read the definition he’d gotten of the internet before turning to Butch.

“Did you read the title? I suppose since it’s the two of us this could be more of a discussion, it’ll have to be a briefing when I give it to the boys.”

Butch’s thoughtful face hasn’t uncrumpled itself, nor have his eyes left the screen but Roman’s patient, this is important and he’s willing to do whatever it takes to help Erica.

Butcher closes his mouth to purse his lips before speaking. “So, she likes you for your personality?”

Roman shrugs “I know. I was surprised too.” He says it casually and Butch huffs a laugh, Roman pauses before joining him, it is a funny thought, for how many people have told him he’s incredibly disagreeable. Assuming Butch has absorbed the definition on the screen he continues. “I’ve known for a little while now, but I wanted to be sure she was comfortable coming out before I briefed everyone.”

Butcher nods again. “How do we, is she like a nun?” he leans forward to emphasize the question and Roman turns back to the screen taking a breath.

“Well, that’s the thing. Asexuality is a spectrum, there’s a lot of different types.”

“Like a box of chocolates.” Butch says sagely, and Roman considers it before nodding

“Yes, well. I suppose so. The common denominator is that they don’t experience sexual attraction. Some still enjoy sex, some only with certain people, and some not at all, those are sex-repulsed.” He clicks the button to switch slides again, “Let’s outline the different types of attraction quickly.”

Butch is nodding again, “Yeah, that’s a good start”

“Sexual attraction is wanting to have sex with someone” Roman says it despite how crass it sounds and carries on “Platonic attraction, is wanting to be friends with someone. Aesthetic attraction is thinking something is pretty, wanting to look at it, a painting maybe.” He pauses, having gone through a slide for each definition that featured the pictures he thought best explained each and a few that Erica had suggested in her edits. He turns to Butch “I’d like to add this isn’t all inclusive by any means, I’m still learning, which is why I found a support group that I’d like to start going to, I don’t think I’ll need a guard but you do like to be aware of my schedule.” He turns back to the screen to resume before Butch cuts in, eyes never leaving the slide. “I’ll be along with you then, can’t let you wander around the city alone.”

Roman almost wants to ask if Butch heard what he said but the man says it with such a finality that he doesn’t see the point in arguing. “Well, in general, since Aces, that’s another name for them, don’t experience this attraction, it’s quite common for things that allude to it to go over their heads. The car ride earlier this week for example, Erica hadn’t meant to approach me in that way and was incredibly confused when you left.”

Butcher now looks horrified “Oh, Boss, I never meant—”

Roman shakes his head “She took no offense, it’s just not a place her mind goes.”

The sentiment obviously does little to comfort Butcher and he says as much before adding “I feel like I called her, a, well a whore Boss. I never ever would do a thing like that—” Butcher’s gentle upbringing where women are concerned is making itself known and Roman really needs to send his mother a ‘thank you’ card because it really does help them work well together. “She didn’t feel that way about it at all, I’m mostly telling you this so you can watch for if others try to suggest things to her.” Butcher’s face clears a little in understanding before Roman goes on “She’s handled herself extremely well before knowing me, we both know that, but, well, if someone is getting, well you know, and she isn’t understanding then just get rid of them, yes?”

Butcher’s face is now completely serious and even a little threatening “Consider it done Boss.”

Roman maintains his business demeanor but inside he’s positively thrilled, this is going even better than he thought. “Now I want to talk about Erica specifically, she told me a bit about how she fits into the ace spectrum and its vital for our forward plan.” He hopes Butcher is appreciating that he’s using the same format they do when they discuss upcoming business meetings and the protocols necessary for each one (location, parties involved, and prior contact, etc.) because this really is just as important to him as business. This next part is going to be the hardest though, he spent a whole night on it, because how exactly do you talk about someone’s sex life (or lack thereof) and not make it seem demeaning or judgmental or any other terrible thing? In the end he’d thrown himself on Erica’s mercy and asked how she’d prefer it to be done. He’d even offered to let her come talk to Butch herself, but she had told him she was certain Butch wouldn’t judge her.

“Now, without invading her privacy, she is an ace; so, I want to keep sex related things away from her as best we can. No dirty jokes, no crude gestures, no crass people if we can help it.”

Butch is nodding along with each condition and Roman wants to breathe a sigh of relief because being vague was the best way he knew to keep her dignity. “Any questions?” Butch pauses and shakes his head before pausing again and opening his mouth “Are there, slurs, we should know? Like, if someone calls her a nun, do we get to hit them?”

Roman beams. “That’s my next topic.” He clicks the remote again and he’s suddenly realizing he missed clicking buttons, Butcher usually gives these briefings as the head of security, have to file that away for later. “Some responses aces get when they come out is that they just haven’t met the right person, they’re a later bloomer, or that they haven’t had sex with the right people. Obviously, all of these are incredibly insensitive and downright rude. If someone says these things, feel free to immediately remove them from the premises.” Now its Butcher’s turn to beam, and Roman clicks the remote again “On a lighter note, some aces really prefer food to sex and this definitely applies to Erica. She has said, and I quote, ‘sex may be great but have people ever tried beefy 5-layer burritos?’. Aces also seem to have claimed dragons as their mascot, big ones, little ones, all colors, wings or not, dragons are where it’s at.” The slide for this section is a collage of dragons and when he’d seen Erica light up at viewing it, he’s so glad he included it.

Butcher interrupts his daydreaming with a raised hand “Are stuffed dragons acceptable?”

Roman smiles, “Yes, Erica loves small soft things. I, however, am an outlier and should not be counted.”

Butch snorts at this but Roman decides to ignore him. “As always, it’s no one’s business what she and I do together, but if someone does start giving her a hard time about this, I want you to step in. Only if she gives you a direct signal not to, should you wait.” Roman pauses then, giving an amused hum “but, if she does do that, that means she’s already got a plan to absolutely destroy the person herself so stick around for the fun because that gorgeous woman knows her way around a good insult.”

Butcher furrows his brow at this, “Are you allowed to say that? Can you, say things about her, physical, ness?”

Roman pauses before answering because this was a conversation he’d had with Erica after she came out. He had called her sexy once before and noticed the small bit of hesitation before she had smiled and changed the subject. When he brought it up in light of coming out, she had said she didn’t want to lead him on. She knew her body fit under society’s definition of ‘sexy’, but she didn’t have any intentions of performing the action, so she shied away from the designation. He’d tried to compensate afterward, only complementing her personality or intelligence before Erica had once again set him down and said she didn’t mind being told she was pretty, he’d taken the moment to ask if this meant he could compliment her aesthetically instead of sexually? She had grabbed in him in a hug. He learned this was one of her favorite words and that yes, she would be thrilled to receive compliments on her aesthetic. It’s this sentiment that he conveys to Butch, though he isn’t sure he likes the idea of Butch complimenting her. He swallows the jealousy though, he’s an adult and so is she, he trusts Butch, and Erica, and that extends to conversations they may have.

“I don’t plan to butter her up boss, just looking to make sure I understand all the circumstances that warrant the use of force.” Butch affirms calmly and Roman knows it’s the truth, he scolds himself for thinking otherwise.

“I want to move on to something else that I think is important to mention. There is another sexuality called Aromantic. It means that someone doesn’t experience romantic attraction. Erica defined romantic attraction as ‘I would slow dance in the kitchen with that person in my pajamas as we wait for coffee in the morning’. While it is possible for someone to be both Aromantic and Asexual, aro/ace is the abbreviation, Erica is not. She has said she does experience romantic attraction. Albeit very rarely.” Roman softens a bit picturing himself and Erica in the scenario he’s just described, it’s warm, easy, and while it’s probably too soon to ask her to move in so they can share their mornings, he’s definitely jotting slow dancing down for a date idea. He forces himself back to the present again and fixes Butch with a look “Any questions?”

Butch leans back in his chair and folds his massive arms across his chest as much as his jacket allows before pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes again. “This support group you mentioned, where’s that at?”

Roman clicks the remote again, this slide has a map of about five city blocks as well as the floor plan of the local library that is adjoined to the community center (he may find some of the security briefings a little too detailed but he knows what essentials Butch likes to have by now). “it’s at the local community center, heard about it on the internet” He leaves out that he spent four hours looking for one before he found a random Facebook post about it on the fourth page of chrome results but he figures his dedication is obvious either way at this point. Butch is already typing on his phone, no doubt tasking someone with retrieving more information about the whole affair.

“Do you want a scout to go in first?”

“No” Roman has already thought about this, the likelihood of it being a setup is pretty slim, and he wants to keep the business part of his life out of this as much as he can, for the sake of the other attendees. “I think it’s safe enough to go ahead.”

“Date? Time?”

“Fridays, noon, and its usually about an hour but I’d like to clear the whole afternoon indefinitely”

Butch nods along to the sentence, still typing on his phone before finishing and putting it back into his coat. “Anything else I should know?”

“Yes, I want you to schedule a meeting with the rest of the team, anyone who’ll interact with Erica, I don’t intend for there to be any misunderstandings.”

Butcher grimaces at that, “I really didn’t mean to upset her about that boss, any chance I can apologize for that?”

Roman knows Erica would say it was unnecessary, maybe even brush Butcher off, but he also wants her to know he’s taking the utmost care (Butch is too) to make sure she’s comfortable; so he nods before answering “I know she isn’t offended, but I wouldn’t mind if you did”. It has the potential to build trust between them if nothing else, and if Erica decides she wants to stick around, trusting Butcher will be integral to that process.

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 65: Like Peeling an Orange

Chapters: 65/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: Mature Warnings: NSFW

Relationships: Loki x Reader (There We Go)

Characters: Loki (Marvel),  

Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Loki Gets A Scolding, Sometimes Loki Should Not Do What He Wants, This Armor Looks So Cool In My Head You Guys, And A Fun Time Was Had By All

Summary:   Loki helps you into-and back out of-your new armor.

Your armor was finally ready. Loki pored over it, examining every minute detail. It had to be perfect. He had to make sure it was perfect.

The weavers and tailors had brought their best. The scaled plates of nornbein and steel had been removed from their original leather backing, and affixed to new; less bulky, more supple, to better fit your smaller frame. Each bit of metal had been embossed with beautiful swirling knotwork, some of them ancient Midgardian motifs.

The quilted silk tunic glistened like polished jade, soft but tough. It would peek out from under the armor here and there, offering protection from sharp things, and signaling your importance.

But the helmet-the crown-was a grand achievement of deceptive metalworking. It looked so delicate, constructed of dainty petals and leaves, affixed to a wide band. Long, gem-studded petals stretched over the top, overlapping ivy leaves trailed down the back to protect your neck, fiddleheads would cover your cheeks.

It looked as fragile as a real bouquet, but the smith had whacked it with a heavy mallet for Loki to see, and it hadn't left a dent.

“And if anyone tries to strike without a weapon, they'll lay their hand right open.” The smith had assured him. “The edges aren't sharp enough to cut just by touching, but with applied force, they certainly are.”

Loki gathered it all up, impatient to show it to you, to see you put it on, to see you take it back off, and he rushed to the kitchen to pick up some dinner that you could eat together. Preferably in front of the fireplace in his room.

The under-chefs greeted him with some amusement, wrapping up a simple dinner and a chilled bottle of that Icelandic fruit wine for you.

“So, is the Seidkona beginning a new project?” One asked politely. “A special Midgardian spell, perhaps?”

When pressed for what he meant, he became a bit nervous. “W-well, she rushed in here very excited about something, and asked for the largest glass jar that we had. We had some of those five-gallon pickle jars, so, of course we gave her one. She gave no suggestions as to what she was doing with it, but I've heard that some Midgardian sorceresses used to put their spells in jars, so we thought perhaps she was simply making a very large spell.”

“Don't worry about it.” Loki said. “I'll see what she is up to.”

Upon entering you room, he saw that you had placed your flowers-vase and all, inside the pickle jar, and covered the top with a tied down cloth. He set the bundle of armor and the basket of dinner down on your dresser.

“Darling, what-”

“Silvery Checkerspot.” You said shortly.

“I'm...not sure as to what you are referencing...”

You pointed at the vase inside the jar. More accurately at a fat, undulating worm, crawling up a flower stem.

“This creature?” He asked. “Does it offend you?”

“No, this is a caterpillar! It turns into a Checkerspot butterfly. They're pretty. Black and orange, with tiny white spots on the edges of their wings. Lacy. I used to see them and these caterpillars all the time. They're so beautiful. Also, and this is the important part-they don't live in Iceland.”

Your voice had gone a little hard, and Loki internally recoiled. You knew. This traitorous little orm had whispered his secret to you by very virtue of its presence. How could he have known that, among the no doubt thousands of species of butterflies in this world, this would be one that you were so familiar with? How could he have known that there were none here? And how was he to know to search for hitchhikers in the first place?

He'd been so high on success, and trying so hard to hold on to all the sensations that had been swimming in his head, that he hadn't spared a thought to looking out for creatures that would give him away.

And now you knew that he had been back to your home without you, and he was just now realizing how angry you might be about that. Very angry, perhaps. Betrayed, even. 'Never touch me or talk to me again' maybe.

Oh no.

Had he ruined it? He'd been trying to do something nice! How could he continually fail so badly at doing good things for people?

He hadn't always been so bad at this. It was one of the many things that had gotten lost on the way. One of the things unfairly taken from him.

Was it going to drive you away too?

“I thought you had gone back to Akureyri on your business. I figure Leynarodd could probably get you there and back in way better time than we made. But you didn't exactly say where you were going, and that's why isn't it? Letting me assume isn't the same as lying, is it? But Leynarodd can't get you across a whole ocean. God, when I woke up this morning in all that pain, I should have guessed...”

Loki flinched. The pain. He'd thought he could avoid it if he went while you slept, that he could do all this without causing you any trouble at all, but the trouble was all here anyway.

“What could have taken you back there?” You continued. “Couldn't have been just the flowers.”

“I...needed to understand you better.” He explained. “I needed to experience the world you lived in. The surroundings you grew up in. The land that shaped you. I needed to know it better. There's something I want to do for you, and I needed that information.”

“What thing?” You asked, sounding mildly skeptical. Loki's mind screamed at him to fix this, fix it right now.

“It's a special surprise, just for you.” Loki leaned down, placing both hands on your shoulders, gazing sincerely into your eyes. “Please don't be angry with me.”

“Oh, Loki.” You wound your arms around his neck. “I'm not angry. I'm sad I didn't get to go.”

He took the opportunity to hold you tightly to him, relieved that you weren't pushing him away.

“I'm sorry.” He said, possibly the first time he'd uttered the words to you. “Of course you miss it. I'll take you there, sometime. When it's safe. When we can walk the streets without having to hide. They honor you, you know. They've named a cupcake after you. They even seem to have accepted my involvement, though it might be no more than crass opportunistic commercialism. I saw no effigies of myself burning, though, so that's a good sign.”

“Dad and Tara tell me they've been spreading the word about my 'medical treatment', so everybody probably just thinks you're bad at being altruistic.”

Loki scoffed. “I suppose I'm not exactly famous for it...”

“You will be. You really seem to want to do big, great things. As Asgard grows, you'll be able to do more. You'll live so long that you'll have time to do a lot. Long term projects. I wish I could see-”

“Shhh. I'll show you everything.” Loki promised. “Don't you worry. What will you do with the worm?”

You glanced back at the pickle jar. “It's a big bouquet. And the caterpillar is in a late instar. There should be enough there for it to eat until it pupates. Then...I guess I'll let it go. They don't live long after  coming out of their chrysalis, and there's no more butterflies for it to meet up with, so there's no way for it to become invasive. The cold will probably kill it early, but that would have happened back in Iowa too. Sometimes they just get started late, and don't have enough time. This would probably have been the last flush of flowers that it would have found. So it's okay. I just want it to reach it's full potential, even if it won't have much time after that.”

Loki stroked your hair. Was that what it felt like to you, when you examined your lifespan in contrast to his? Like this larval creature, did you see your magical potential as something to be mastered, even if you wouldn't have many years to make use of it?

Could there be some way to prolong your time?

And if there wasn't, what would he do?

He released you and you glanced curiously at the things he had brought.

“Presents?” You asked. He scooped up the armor bundle and dinner basket.

“Of a sort. I thought we could eat in tonight. Your armor is finished. Would you like to try it on?”

You agreed, and he led you back into his room, down in front of his fireplace. Dinner first, little bite-sized tidbits that he knew you liked, fed back and forth, and a moderate amount of wine.

He could see just the tiniest bit of tipsiness shining in your eyes when he put the food and drink aside, and brought out your armor.

You marveled over each piece, rubbing your face against the shimmering silk, delighting in the little details all over the armor. Loki helped you put it all on over your dress, and then, he offered the helmet.

At first you were speechless, overcome by its beauty. Then you couldn't stop gushing over that beauty, interspersed with welcome thanks and much less welcome insinuations that you didn't deserve something so grand. You deserved everything. You deserved the moon and stars. You deserved every ounce of precious metal, every carat of gemstone, you deserved it all, if only because he wanted to give it to you.

He stood you in front of the large mirror, and with great satisfaction, lowered the helmet down onto your head. Like a reverent coronation, you stared at yourself, as if trying to recognize your reflection. Beyond the slight asymmetry of your face, which had never quite gone back to normal, there was now the new look of your perfectly tailored armor over top of your flowing skirt, all your beautiful jewelry, your precious knife, and this helmet, a crown fit for royalty.

You were no different in appearance than a noble goddess, one of the glorious Aesir. He could see you at the head of a battlefield, shouting orders and being obeyed, at the head of a table, presiding over a victory feast, at the head of a bed, holding a swaddled infant in triumph.

You had turned and could clearly see what was in his face, as he hadn't bothered to hide it. Maybe he wanted you to see.

“Show me yours.” You said-almost commanded, pawing at his chest.

He liked this side of you equally to the shy side. The side of you that demanded, that expected, that could be selfish. The side of you that made you run up and grab his hand in the first place.

He knew what you meant. Green light webbed over his body, replacing his comfortable tunic and trousers with his ceremonial court armor. You stared, breath becoming heavier, taking it all in. The stiff, thick cape, the tall horns, the complex Nornbein breast plate with all its interlocking pieces meant to mimic the scales of a snake-or the belly of a dragon. The built in scale tassets on the thighs of his fine, olive trousers, that just so happened to draw the gaze in a certain direction...

He watched your eyes drift downwards, slipping down the metal guides to their intended focus-he still couldn't believe his mother had never said anything about it-and grow round at the sight of him, lovingly cupped by taut cotton. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips.

You pressed close, and though he couldn't feel you much through all the layers, there was something just as exciting about the clink and weight of the armor as there was in the silky warmth of bare skin. He wrapped his arms around you, squeezing, and you smashed your mouth against his in hungry lust.

You nearly knocked him over in you eagerness to get him onto the bed, and he fell into a sitting position, laughing.

“Stars, you're beautiful.” He purred. “Powerful. Grand.”

He reached for his trousers, but you stopped him.

“Not yet.” You said.

“Not yet.” He repeated.

“Just this.”

You straddled him, your skirts hitching up around your thighs, and pressed very close. Now Loki could feel your warmth, cloth barriers the only thing separating you from his swiftly hardening member, the bulge of which you began grinding slowly against.

A soft groan escaped him.

His hands found your rear through your skirts, and your throat with his lips, delighting in the vibration of your pleased moans. The friction grew between you  as you drew away to gaze at him through heavy-lidded eyes; His armor, his helmet, whatever it was you saw that you liked so much had you throwing your head back and rolling your hips even faster.

And it was he who had done this. Merely existing, wearing a certain set of clothes, he had driven you to this frenzy of lust. Just because he wasn't truly inside you just yet, didn't mean this wasn't what it was. You were taking him as your own, and he was absolutely going to let you do it. Anytime, any way, however you liked.

Your moans grew high and ragged; Loki crushed you to his chest, bucking his hips. The friction, the heat, and the sound of your impassioned cries sent him spiraling into his own orgasm.

You held each other like that until your breathing slowed, and your bodies relaxed.

“Well. We should get you back out of that armor.” Loki said, voice slightly rough. “I'd say it more suggestively, but it appears you beat me to it.”

“You really don't know how sexy that armor is? Didn't anybody ever throw themselves at you while you were wearing that?

“Well...yes. But it didn't really matter. It wasn't you.”

You mewled an embarrassed little sound, and hid your face in the crook of his neck. Loki chuckled, running his hands down your body. Your new armor melted away into your comfortable and modest nightdress.

“Wow...Where did it all go?” You asked, wriggling in his lap, as his own armor faded into soft sleeping clothes.

“To your room, where your nightgown was.” He said, as you ran your fingers through his newly freed hair.

“Your horns are so handsome.” You murmured against his lips. “Just like you.”

He felt the bashful smile curl his mouth. “Will you stay with me tonight? He asked hopefully.

You nodded. “I'd like to. If you don't mind though, I need to play noise on my phone. It's been helping me sleep.”

“Whatever you need.” Whatever kept you by his side.

The two of you took a little time to clean yourselves up and prepare for bed, then snuggled down in the sheets together, holding and stroking one another. You set your phone up to play cicada song, and Loki watched you slowly fall asleep to its sawing.

Soon, his little project would be done, and you might never have to sleep away from him again.

[floosies]

bury a friend: The Story of Noctua

pairing: platonic!steve rogers x possessed!oc x mcu!au x romantic!bucky barnes

summary: there have been sightings of a dark creature who vanishes with night and in the mornings only remains of once living people are found scattered in open fields or forests nearby.

warnings: mentions of abuse, mentions of attempted suicide, violence, gore, cursing, mentions/scenes of sexual nature.

Please read with discretion. 18+ content.

A/N: This is my first attempt at something more dark. It’s been in my brain since hearing some of biilie’s works and quiet frankly I want to venture into new territory. However, I understand the severity of some topics that I will write about. If you or someone you know is in need please look at these resources

Tags: @indecisivedolly​

Part 8: Listen before I Go

Her heart raced with anticipation, the air seemed sweet, and she was smiling. Steve was happy she felt so ready, “first mission is always the most nerve racking.” She smiled at him as they boarded the quinjet, “i’m ready for it. I’ve trained for this and my powers can always save me.” He nodded along, “remember though. It won’t be necessary to use your full force on this one. Wanda is here to help you,” she wanted to roll her eyes. “Of course, I’m aware don’t worry.” 

They sat down as the aircraft took off. She silently prayed to tenebrae for all to go as planned. Looking around, she saw her team. They all looked bored or unbothered, of course they would be. This was not their first time carrying out these kinds of orders. She wondered if anything had ever gone horribly wrong, the possibilities of what could go wrong. If she miscalculated a move or a moment. 

Wanda was reading the girl’s mind out of boredom, but as her thoughts grew darker she stopped and instead reached for her hand, “Noctua. Everything will be okay, we are going to do a simple mission.” She looked at Wanda’s amber eyes that were filled with a warmth, she nodded in agreement. Two witches on a jet, what an amusing thought.

A small amount of turbulence began, Steve stood up. “Alright, avengers start preparing. We’ll be landing soon.” Through the shaking everyone began to get their gear in tact. She fixed herself up and her hair back enough to where it wouldn’t be in her way. 

It was a simple plan, Sam would use his red wing thing to check the perimeter and interior. Steve and Bucky would go in first, securing a path. If that went a bit haywire, she had already memorized the hall and room where the information was. Wanda would be beside her if anyone or anything came near. It was full proof, at least that was the idea.

Not a moment to hesitate, they ran to action. For some reason the ringing of bullets and sounds of pain weren’t at all deteriorating. As paths began to clear the witches proceeded to the designated room. Finally they arrived, “we’ve entered the room. Proceeding to get the files.” Wanda spoke into the communication system, “got it. Make it quick, I think we got more company.” Wanda nodded as she began working on retrieving the data. Noctua kept watch prepared to fend off anyone who was nearing. 

One could practically feel the intensity in that room. A minute felt like a year. The sound of fighting and bullets could still be heard. She was not sure how much longer the retrieving would take. However she could just merely begin to sense something, “Wanda are you almost done?” She whispered to the older girl who continued to look at the screen and then pull something from a crevice, “yes. Let’s go.” The girls took off again, the sound of heavy, quick steps began behind them, a dread filled Noctua’s conscious. Then she heard a bullet being fired, using her powers she stopped time. Wanda noticed the way everything froze and looked back at the younger witch.

Nearing her was a bullet, she looked at her with fear. Noctua looked at it, it was only an inch away from her. The hall was narrow, even if she moved it would still cause some kind of harm, “Wanda go. Give them the information and then tell them that I died, do it.” Tears welted in her eyes, “I’m not leaving you to die.” She knew the pain that her friend was feeling, she felt it a couple times herself, “i’m sorry, but you have to. Now go, I can’t keep time frozen like this. Please, just go.” There was not anything else said.

She watched her friend leave, giving her a sad smile as a way to reassure her. Then she unfroze time and searing pain entered her body. With the last bit of strength in, she killed the guards. All of them, well any that were still in the building. Maybe tenebrae had planned this, may be it did not know this was the future that would play out for her. It felt so warm on her left side, like she had sat too close to a fire. Her hand could feel the warm pool of blood beginning to form, “Noctua!” She heard their voices, she felt Wanda try to stop the bleeding with her magic. 

Death is said to feel like a tiredness. Her eyes felt heavy, “don’t close your eyes. Don’t you fuckin dare.” Was that Bucky? Always such a crass man. Something soft was suddenly under her, was it a bed? She could not see clearly, she merely saw figures and blurs. Of course she could still hear and there was a male voice apologizing while the others sounded frantic. Quietly she spoke slowly not knowing who would hear, but as a way to calm them. “All things must pass. Thank you for having cared...for....me.” It was too hard to keep her eyes open, the last she heard was a male’s yelling.

Limbo is an uncertain period of awaiting a decision. It’s also a place where the soul waited for the ultimate decision to be made. She could see herself being given surgery, and then she felt its presence, “i’m sorry. There was a possibilty this could have happened, I saw it. My arrogance mislead me to believe it would not happen,” it said ashamed of what it could have prevented. She saw her parents nearing her as well. “It’s true,” her mother gasped as they looked at her body on the surgery table. Her heartbeat was still strong, which confused her, “why am I not dying?” In retrospect, it was something she had always wanted. Her father shook his head, “my dear. You must go back, it isn’t your time yet.” It was plea more than a order. Her mother agreed though, “there is so much good waiting for you. This was a simple mistake,” “we have seen your future, it is so bright. Tenebrae have you not told her?” She looked over at the entity, “they are right. I have not told you, but your soulmate-” “I thought soulmates were an erased idea. I presumed the tangling of souls was no more.” “Well my dear, your soul is partly an older soul and so is his-” “It’s a him? Really?” She always thought she’d end up with another witch. “Yes, it is a he and his soul has roamed time for far too long. I had found out about this while you were trying to leave those odd people. It turns out he is part of that band of miscreants.” 

The decision was hers though. She could live and see if all this was true. Or she could be laid to rest and live her with parents. Time was irrelevant in the afterlife, she spent it roaming around with her mother, “I love you and I wish I could have raised you as I wanted to, but there was a hunt for our skin. I didn’t want you to be the next victim.” Her father agreed with her mother, “we know you suffered, but your rebirth into a full-fledged witch has given you a second chance at life.” She disagreed, “they were mostly kind, sure. However, most of my life has been lonely. How can I be certain that my future won’t be as my past and current present were.” Bless her mother’s paitence and passion, “Adelasia. Do you know why I named you as so?” She had no chance to answer her, “your name translates to noble and kind. You were destined to care for others. Tenebrae gave you powers that enhanced your caring nature and allowed you to complete noble deeds.” They were sat underneath a tree now, her father looking at her, “we told you. We have seen your future. Though we may not intervene. We can look, and so far you have done nothing, but make us proud.” 

Two weeks had passed on the living realm. An odd spectacle came after she was put in a room. Tears gently began to flow from her closed eyes. She hadn’t stopped crying for almost two weeks, “Bucky you gotta stop starring at her. Go shower and get ready for the mission.” Tony was right, but he found it odd that she just continued to cry. Part of him was glad she didn’t die, the amount of blood loss could have given a different impression. It was a reckless move to take the bullet for Wanda, it was also the right think. He was mad and also moved, he wanted so badly to hate her. He wanted nothing more than to despise her and accept her demise. Unfortunately, he could not. He did not know what brought this, why his being felt like it needed her. 

Tony had left the room again, he knew the sergeant wouldn’t budge. He also knew better than to press his buttons. So, there alone once more he looked as the tears flowed from her closed eyes, her lashes covered in them. Then suddenly the heart monitor began to quicken. The calm alarm noise now a frantic mess. His eyes widened as her lips began to part, a cough leaving her mouth. A sudden gasp of air came with the opening of her eyes. She sat up trying to breathe. The first thing she saw was his startled face. In a whisper, she spoke in awe, “hello James.” Before he could say something he was removed from the room by the frantic doctors.

[edsbrak]

sixteen weeks (chapter 6)

pairing: reddie, side eddie/omc chapters: 6/? rating: explicit tags: college AU, FWB

read on Ao3

Summary: Eddie and Richie are roommates in college, and after the events of one drunken confession they both agree it wouldn’t hurt to start casually hooking-up. Things go about as well as expected.

warnings: still none, lmao, just Richie being Richie

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

*

In the week following their first date, Eddie had been texting Jacob back and forth a good handful of times a day. It turns out he was as easy to talk to both in person and over text. In past experiences, Eddie had dated guys who tended to be either or, and there was nothing more off putting than someone who couldn't hold a conversation, no matter how hot they were.

On day four of their flirt-texting, Eddie had arranged for them to meet up for date number two. For lack of better planning, Eddie suggested the movies, but he'd also wanted to see the movie Get Out for a while now, so he figured, why not kill two birds with one stone? (These days he tries to never use that analogy around Stan).

Jacob looked as handsome as ever as he waited outside the cinema for him. He'd given Eddie another light kiss to his cheek in greeting, to which Eddie flushed greatly and pushed them both inside to reach the air-con and escape the blistering heat of outside, obviously.

And once again, Jacob insisted on paying for their tickets and also for snacks, but Eddie had stopped him part-way to the candy bar with a lip-biting smile.

“I actually bring my own food,” he merely stage whispers, because everyone knows people sneak stuff into the movies regardless of the rules and most staff members couldn’t care less. He opens up his satchel and shows Jacob a hoard of food, ranging from an apple to liquorice to Pringles. Jacob quirks a brow at him before smiling. “What?”

“You are so damn cute,” Jacob laughs kindly. Eddie looks down bashfully before taking it in stride.

“Which would you like? Take your pick.”

Jacob reaches for the apple and throws it up in the air before catching it. “An apple a day keeps the doctor away.” he winks. Eddie thinks he might be a little bit in love already.

The theatre isn't too packed and they find a nice spot up the back, and Eddie isn't even concerned with back row make-outs because he becomes so damn engrossed in the movie to even remember that sometimes happens on dates. Jacob doesn't seem bothered though, and is content with just resting his arm over the back of Eddie's chair. Eddie does lean into his body more at some point, and the contact is enough to have him smiling in the dark like a love-struck teenager.

The sun was setting in a beautiful orange when they leave the cinema, and Jacob suggests they take a walk down buy the torrens. Eddie fills up a lot of the conversation about the movie and how incredible it was. Jacob barely gets a word in, but appears to enjoy Eddie's ramblings nonetheless.

“Ah, sorry, shit. I'm talking too much,” Eddie stops to apologise.

“No, no,” Jacob assures him with a raised hand. “I love it when people are passionate about things. Makes for interesting conversations.”

Eddie holds onto his satchel strap and proudly smiles head-on. A ping echoes from one of the smaller pockets of his bag, and Eddie makes an apologetic gesture to Jacob before retrieving his phone and swiping it open.

hows it go with mr perfect??

Eddie debates just saving his answer for when he'll see Richie later, but a bigger part of his wants to gush, badly. He begins to type without another thought.

Really good. I swear, it's like the God's heard my plea and sent him down from heaven just for me.

He watches it send off with a woosh and is about to put it away so as not to appear rude in front of Jacob, but Richie replies almost immediately.

if hes ur angel, I can be ur devil, baby

Eddie scowls at his phone, hoping by pure wavelengths alone Richie will be able to feel it. He texts a final See you later, weirdo before returning his full attention back to a patiently waiting Jacob. At some point on the walk, Jacob's hand finds his under the now darkening sky, and Eddie couldn't be happier than where he is right now.

*

He and Jacob continue to text daily after their second (and successful, Eddie would add) date flew by. Finals were now over, and Eddie felt as though he could breathe properly again. It was a weight off his shoulders he was glad to be rid of, and with that knowledge, he could undoubtedly put more energy into seeing Jacob more now that he didn’t have to be married to his textbooks.

Because he and Jacob had yet to actually kiss, on the mouth, and Eddie wasn’t sure what to make of that.

He figured it was normal. Not everyone had to rush into these things, right? They’d only been on two dates so far, and Jacob still appeared very interested, so Eddie had no real reason to worry, right? Right. But that still didn’t stop him from imagining quite frequently what Jacob’s lips would feel like against his own. Would they be rough, insistent? Would he cradle Eddie’s face as he did it? Would he gently nip at Eddie’s lips before slowly dipping his tongue inside—

“Hey, Spaghetti Man.”

And of course, the illusion is shattered by none other than Richie Tozier.

“What?” Eddie almost snaps, coming down off the high that was his imagination at its best.

“Damn,” Richie grins. “Jacob still hasn’t given you any, huh? He’s got you all tense.” he says this as he pokes Eddie’s side, fingernail sharp.

“Are you always this interested in the sex lives of people you’re not a part of?” Eddie asks the ceiling.

“Absolutely, it’s what keeps me going,” Richie says as he rummages through some drawers to find something. Eventually he retrieves a new lighter and pockets it. “Nah, I’m just kidding, sort of. Have you at least swapped spit yet?”

Richie, for all he appears to be on the surface, sometimes displays a keen sense into what people are thinking. It scares Eddie, just a little bit. Should he even tell Richie the truth? Or would he simply bug Eddie more on the lack of sexual prowess in his dating life? With a small sigh he finally concedes, mostly from the need to just tell someone about his minor and most likely pointless worries.

“No, we haven’t…” Eddie starts as he exhales air louder than usual. “I know everyone is different, maybe he’s just shy…”

“Wait, wait,” Richie interrupts. He picks up Eddie’s phone and tosses it to him. “I need to see a pic.”

Eddie eyes him. “Really? You’re not just gonna stalk him after?”

“You really need to chill,” Richie laughs and jerks his head towards Eddie’s phone again. “C’mon, if I see his eyes, I can tell you exactly what he’s thinking.”

“I can’t believe this…” Eddie mumbles but complies to Richie’s less-than-ideal demands anyway. He had added Jacob to Facebook right after their second date, for whenever Eddie hated to use up all of his talk and text data. He pulls up Jacob’s profile and hesitantly shows it to Richie.

Richie whistles lowly. “Damn, he looks tall. Is he tall? Taller than me?”

“Maybe slightly,” Eddie smirks marginally, knowing it will probably irk Richie to an extent. He watches him closely, waiting for what, exactly? He didn’t know, but perhaps he was slightly on edge about what Richie might say. He’s swiping through more photos from the looks of it, and Eddie swallows the urge to ask for his phone back.

“Do you think it’s me? Am I putting something out there that somehow conveys I don’t want him to kiss me?” Eddie asks when Richie is quiet for too long.

“Maybe you’ve got bad breath,” Richie offers. Eddie kicks at his shin lightly. “Alright, alright. I’m sure it’s nothing, Eds. Maybe he’s got a three date rule or something.”

“What if it’s some Barney Stinson level ploy?” Eddie throws in, mostly joking.

“Nah,” Richie says with a shake of his head. “I went out with a guy once who didn’t wanna do anything until a few hangs. Sometimes people need intimacy before they can get off. It’s normal.”

“Huh…” Eddie pauses, thinking that option over. He knew all of that well and good, that sometimes a relationship needs to grow before anything else can happen. The guy didn’t seem to have a problem with showing affection, but maybe Jacob was just as apprehensive about putting himself out there, just like Eddie. Maybe this was a good thing. “I guess that might be possible…”

“I mean, don’t take my word for it. Unless I’m right, then I will take full credit,” Richie says and finally hands him back his phone. “You’re hot, Eds. It’d be weird if he weren’t attracted to you.”

Eddie can’t deny the hot flush to his cheeks from Richie’s blatancy. Ever since they’ve stopped sleeping together, Eddie has noticed how increasingly vocal Richie is about his physical appearance. To any outsider, Richie’s crass personality was a lot to endure when first encountered, but as it turned out, once you slept with him and actually started to get to know him, those traits tended to gradually become white noise. It was just who Richie was, so Eddie has begrudgingly accepted his fate.

“It’s strange when you’re actually helpful sometimes,” Eddie says teasingly.

“Well, I was due,” Richie shrugs. “I mean, who knows, maybe the guy’s got a tiny dick and he’s just pampering you up so the reveal isn’t as disappointing.”

“Aaand there it is,” Eddie drawls. “Y’know, after removing the sex portion of this friendship, it’s really quite a burden being around you.” Eddie hopes it’s not too mean, but Richie was the king of trash talk. God, he was definitely rubbing off on Eddie.

“Hey, I’ll have you know it’s totally possible to be friends with me without having sex involved.”

Eddie raises both brows in surprise. He’s not sure whether to make a comment on that little claim, or to save it for another time. Or maybe he was simply reading into it and Richie was joking.

“Also, you just admitted to being my friend,” Richie grins manically after some moments pass. Eddie feels his face twist up, not knowing if he should quickly correct himself. But then Richie steps over so he can pull Eddie into a bone-crushing bear hug. “Hello, my friend whom I used to dick into unadulterated ecstasy.”

Eddie grumbles under his breath as he waits for Richie to be done. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“No?” Richie pulls back on a pout. “Damn, I gotta work on some new material. Clearly my performances aren’t up to scratch, then.”

Eddie refuses to tell Richie that he is, in fact, very good at what he does. The guy didn’t need any more ego boosting.

“Can you write up a review for me, and don’t skimp on the details, okay? Richie Jr always has room to improve.”

Eddie sighs like he’s suffering multiple stab wounds. “I miss Jacob.”

*

So he and Jacob decide to meet up again later in the week.

Eddie would have liked to meet up sooner, but Jacob says he had to help his friend move out of their apartment that week, so it would be best to leave date number three for the beginning of the weekend. Eddie can’t help but fidget from the possibility of Richie being right. A whole weekend to themselves, in Jacob’s now empty apartment? Oh boy, yeah. He was definitely getting some soon and that fact was not lost on him at all.

But he really had no reason to complain. He’d been regularly getting some since his and Richie’s agreement all those weeks ago. It’s not like Eddie was starved for physical affection. But he was starved for affection from someone who actually liked him romantically. That was a whole other ballgame entirely.

He’s almost forgotten what that’s like – to share a bed with someone you might be able to picture seeing yourself with further down the line. The thought has him smiling.

“What’s got you all smiley over there, huh?” Bev asks and throws a chip towards Eddie’s head.

They were all sprawled out across Bev and Ben’s shared dorm room on Wednesday night. It had been dubbed a ‘cool down’ hang by Ben, mostly consisting of eating whatever shit they felt like as movie after movie played unnoticed on their small TV. Everyone was mostly too tired to care, with the events of the past school year finally catching up and rendering them into mindless zombies. Eddie has his legs thrown atop Richie’s lap, while Richie had his head back as he released a cloud of smoke into the air from his cig. Don’t worry; they had windows open and several cans of Febreze at the ready.

“He’s gay – he’s thinking about dick, duh,” says Richie helpfully. And he’s not wrong, Eddie muses.

“Are you?” Stan asks. He’s the only one still with books out as he sits on the ground next to the coffee table. Eddie doesn’t know if Stan is even human.

“Hmm, yeah, I am,” Eddie says. He’s gotten abnormally comfortable with these people faster than he thought he would. “Also love, too. Love makes the world go around, right?”

“Oh, love?” Bev says. She sits up straight from where she was leaning against Ben, a gleam in her eyes.

“Please, don’t start that again,” Richie says.

Bev grins. “All you need is love.”

“But a girl has got to eat,” Richie says, clearly now imitating someone.

“All you need is love,” Bev sings, getting louder as she stands up on the couch.

“She’ll end up on the street!” Richie says back, and Eddie is very confused at this point. None of the others appear to be, though, as Stan and Ben ignore them.

“All you need is love,” Bev sings again, drawing out each word in an intoxicating melody.

“Love is just a game, toots,” Richie blows her a kiss.

“Um, what?” Eddie asks them both.

“Moulin Rouge?” Bev says to him, not really a question. Eddie shrugs his shoulders. Bev and Richie share a look and then just like that Bev is jumping down from the couch and rushing into her room.

“Oh, now you’ve done it,” Stan says, completely monotone.

“What?” Eddie looks around him before landing on Richie. “What have I done?”

And before Richie can answer, Bev is back and carrying a DVD case with her. “We’re going to watch Moulin Rouge, baby, for you are uneducated and we need to rectify that, immediately.” She says all of this while pointing at Eddie and putting in the DVD without so much as looking at the buttons.

There are still many questions going unanswered here. “Oh, okay. So we’re doing this? Alright then,” Eddie says to no one in particular.

“I can’t believe you’ve never seen this,” Richie whispers as the opening shots of Paris fill up the screen.

“So?” Eddie settles back down to get more comfy. Richie ends up using Eddie’s legs to rest his arms on. The room is kind of hot but Eddie figures he’ll just power through it. “There are heaps of movies I’ve never seen. Casa-bla-bla-whatever, never seen it. Pulp Fiction? Nada. Avatar, the highest grossing film ever, and I will never care to see what Pandora actually looks like.”

Richie appears to bite his lip, either holding back a scolding or a smile, Eddie doesn’t know. “How are you real?” he eventually says, and again, Eddie isn’t sure if it’s an endearment or an insult.

“Alright, shush everyone. Eddie, this is one of the greatest soundtracks ever and I need the sweet sound of Ewan to blow your mind away, okay?” Bev says and turns the volume up.

“Okay,” Eddie agrees, because he seems to have no other choice.

*

When the movie is over, Eddie finds himself with unshed tears in his eyes, staring blankly at the screen before it returns to the menu.

“That…” Eddie sniffles, somewhat dramatically. “That was amazing. Oh my god, it’s not fair. Their love toppled Titanic’s by a mile.”

“Hey, don’t let Leo hear you say that,” Richie teases as he lifts Eddie so he’s half in his lap like a baby to coddle. Eddie goes somewhat willingly, still reeling from the love that could never be.

“See? I knew you’d love it,” Bev gushes. Ben and Stan had moved around a lot during the film, and Eddie figures they’ve both been forced to watch it multiple times before and now have free reign to skip it.

“Yeah, it was… good,” Eddie says lamely. Richie snickers into his hair. Eddie suddenly wants that – that all encompassing love to share with someone. God, wouldn’t that be nice.

“He has been converted. My job here is done,” Bev nods.

Eddie smiles at her. And then he remembers- “Hey, you guys?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you all like to meet my other friends, Bill and Mike? Maybe sometime next week, maybe? Before everyone officially leaves for summer break…” Eddie ventures, subconsciously settling back into Richie and feeling him pinch Eddie’s leg.

“Hey, yeah, that sounds like a good idea,” Bev says, and Ben and Stan announce their agreements from across the room where they’re currently playing Chinese checkers, it seems.

“Oh, cool,” Eddie says. “They have their own place, so we could all go there? Mike is of age so he can actually buy us drinks.”

“Hell yeah, I like him already,” Richie says.

Eddie retrieves his phone from his pocket and pulls up his conversation with Mike. “I’ll let them know. Just a heads up, they’ll probably want to adopt you all and feed you kale smoothies or something.”

“That’s the opposite of a problem,” Bev says before patting her stomach. “Lord knows I need some green in me.”

“Why is it the first thing I think of is the Grinch giving it to you doggy style?” Richie says.

“What the fuck?” Eddie sputters.

“Richie, you’re such a turd, oh my god,” Ben calls over. “Also, stop picturing my girlfriend having sex, thank you. If you’re gonna do that then at least include me in the background handing out mints or something.”

Bev is uncontrollably laughing at this point, and soon enough Eddie finds it’s hard not to catch the giggles too. Stan says something about needing new friends.

*

Now that finals were over, Eddie has been dreading the day for when his mother will make her scheduled call to ask him when he’s coming home.

There’s really no where else for him to go, unless Mike and Bill don’t care for him to crash at their place for months on end. Although, Eddie would rather not have to suffer through hearing their loud as shit sex through the walls anymore. Speaking of sex, he hasn’t responded to Jacob’s last text, since he was ducking into the shower earlier when it came through.

Hey, would you want to go out tomorrow night? I figure since it’s the weekend now..

Before he gets a chance to chicken out, he sends it and locks his phone like it was on fire. Now bored, he looks over at Richie reading a volume of One Piece on his bed. Eddie bites his lip in contemplation.

“So… I asked Jacob out tomorrow…”

Richie turns a page. “Yeah, and?”

Eddie narrows his eyes. He knows Richie is fucking with him. “And… I need your help… again.”

Richie raises the book higher, probably to hide his grin. Eddie makes a frustrated sound and Richie finally acknowledges him.

“Eds,” he leans forward and cock his head. “Just be yourself, yeah? Or, you could just do what you did with me.”

“Huh?”

“Y’know,” Richie waves a hand around flippantly. “Get totally shitfaced before asking me to put my dick in ya. People appreciate bluntness.”

Eddie laughs despite himself. Suddenly, his ringtone echoes throughout the room, and simultaneously both boys turn to look at it. Eddie draws in a breath before flipping it over to see the caller. It’s just his mum. Dammit.

“Hi, ma,” Eddie says quietly.

“Eddie,” his mother replies curtly. She’s never one for small talk. “When are you coming home?”

Eddie closes his eyes. “Soon. In a week. I just have a few shifts left at work to cover. I’ll be done by Wednesday.”

“Okay,” Sonia says. If there’s one thing Sonia will not protest to it’s Eddie’s job. “I will drive down and pick you up. Have all of your stuff ready, okay?”

“Yes ma,” Eddie says, nodding despite her not seeing.

“Okay. Kisses.”

And then she was gone.

Eddie releases a deep sigh and shakes it out. Richie is watching him closely.

“Overbearing mum?” he asks.

“Kind of,” Eddie says lowly. “Also detached mum. Judgmental mum. Doesn’t really understand me mum and doesn’t want to.”

“Hmm,” Richie looks at his lap. Eddie’s phone pings.

Hey! I’d love to see you tomorrow! What time?

And the text should have Eddie feeling good; should have him feeling excited. But like a lingering slap she won’t leave his mind, and suddenly scenarios of Jacob meeting his mother manifest and he can’t help but feel remnants of his mother’s shame crawl up his throat and sink their claws into him. There’s a hand on his shoulder, and he looks up to see Richie giving him a small smile. He doesn’t say anything, but Eddie understands. He begins to type.

How about 7? Maybe at your place, actually? We can just hang? :)

Eddie holds his breath as he waits for Jacob’s response.

Good idea! Having a quiet night in sounds pretty good right now. X

Eddie laughs, feeling tingly all over. “He added a fucking ‘x’. Oh man.”

Richie punches his shoulder lightly. “See? Honesty is key.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie mumbles. It was Thursday now, so he just had to make it through one more day.

*

Jacob’s place really was quite sparse now that his roommate has moved out.

Eddie leaves his bag near the front door, its contents including his toothbrush and a spare pair of boxers. Just in case, obviously.

“What would you like to do?” Jacob asks. It sounds casual enough at this point in time, so Eddie figures maybe later things will get a chance to heat up. “Luckily the TV is mine, and the couch, or else we’d be left with just Spongebob Monopoly.”

Eddie laughs. “I love Monopoly. We could play that?”

Jacob grins. “Really? I hear it tears families apart; marriages have ended.”

“Well, good thing we’re not married then, huh?” Eddie asks. It wasn’t meant to sound suggestive, but it sure comes out that way. A spark flashes across Jacob’s eyes.

So Jacob leaves to get the game while Eddie grabs himself a glass of water after Jacob tells him where the cups have moved to. He downs the entire glass before smoothing out his pants, and walks back into the living area to help Jacob set it all up. Eddie insists on being banker, claiming it’s his birth right. Jacob makes no protests and chooses the thimble as his piece, but then places the hat on top of it.

“It’s Thimblana Jones,” he explains. “I did it all the time when I was a kid.”

“You dork,” Eddie snorts. “But, fair. Harrison Ford was a looking back then.”

“Definitely,” Jacob says, not taking his eyes off Eddie. Eddie feels his heart rate getting louder.

So they play the game, mostly goofing off with it at first, only as more and more properties were being bought Eddie can’t help it when his competitive side shows through. He hoards all of the cheaper sets, so he can get hotels on the board quicker. An hour passes by and things were already heating up. Playing with just two people was a lot better than, say, five, since he never has to wait long to make his strike.

“Ha!” Eddie yells triumphantly when Jacob lands on a hotel for the second time in a row. “Pay up, sucker.”

“Oh man,” Jacob groans as he goes through his rapidly disappearing money pile. “Are you sure there isn’t some…” he pauses for effect as he looks at Eddie. “… other way I can pay it off?”

Eddie flushes, hard. Why was flirting so fucking great?

“Perhaps…” he says with purpose. There was something buzzing between them, something palpable. It was sending shivers down Eddie’s spine. “What were you thinking, exactly…?”

Jacob pretends to think it over, now looking down at the board. He ends up flicking one of Eddie’s hotels and it clatters away on the floor like the final pin dropping.

“How dare you,” Eddie says, not even caring.

Jacob smiles, his eyes landing on Eddie’s lips. “Yeah? What are you going to do about it?”

Eddie can feel his insides quaking. This was it – this was the moment.

So with determination he slides the game out of his way, and with a shallow breath he slowly begins to crawl forward until he’s in Jacob’s space. Jacob’s hand finds its way into Eddie’s curls, their noses almost touching, and Eddie hasn’t felt this scared and excited for something in a while.

“Pay up,” he whispers between them.

“With pleasure,” is all Jacob says before he’s lifting Eddie into his lap and slotting their mouths together.

Eddie moans instantly, his hands shaking and pulse racing as the feeling of being wanted envelops him like a warm greeting.

They part long enough to begin removing clothes as they walk the short walk to Jacob’s bedroom, and Eddie grins with the resolute closing of the door behind them.

Who’d have thought all it took was a game of Monopoly?

*

tag list: (message me if you wanna be added) xx

@sleepykaspbrak @richietoaster @reddietofall @michiyo-onosaka @hufflepuffkaspbrak @babybyelers @alrightbluer @wintersember @lolahood @r-richie @s-s-georgie @multishippinghoe @richie-kaspbrakk @colorful-dodie @not-reddie @80sdenbrough @jem-carstairs-is-perfection @musicalsaftermusicals @lonewolfhard @edstozler @nintxndos @loverboykaspbrak @s-s-stutteringbill @tozier-boy @its-stranger-than-you-think @welctothelosersclub @hemmotional–wreck @eddierichietozier @theemilyxx @spacedouthomo @burymestanding @youvegotdirtonyournosebytheway @im-reddie @hoteltozier @angeleddie @reddie-brasil @harringrovesucks @claryvoyantfray @aaliyahkiyomi @thehungpermaze-divergments @sugarpiehunnybitch @richie-kaspbrakk @frustratedstozier 

[40ozalctears]

disorders so stigmatized the only time u see em in the media is if its the reason the villain in the horror movie is so evil!

rather than succintly summarize my resentment for the psychiatric institution and the idea of permanently being on drugs that make you "feel" less is a proper way to treat what is known as "psychosis" i will present you the following thoughts: many people who have done their best to understand what they’ve been thru not as an illness but simply as a very key chain of events in their lives, these ppl echo many of the same issues i have as a "sufferer" of what the powers that be term "schizoaffective disorder". i could go on and on about how the system is flawed and how the barbaric treatment of people in "psychotic" states is a result of fear concerning that which we cannot, and may never know, how the STAGGERING cognitive dissonance of this entire goddam rotten culture shines thru in that, well “it has to be an illness because here in Texas call it an illness and we’re much smarter than them cavern people in nicaragua i’ll ya hwut” i will simply say that the terms "psychosis" and "schizophrenia",  “schizoaffective”, even “bipolar”, what have you, instantly bubble up negative images in our brains.  but who is to say "psychosis" is not actually just a spiritual or inner awakening, a connection with a reality that is not immediately present to most normal humans? i'll tell u who - the psychiatrists who at some point in the road do profit from pharmaceutical companies turning a pretty penny. this sounds very “edgy” and “counter-culture”, admittedly, i wouldn’t say that, but young people on the internet who feel like they’ve seen it all and done it all would say in response. so then who are those who discuss what we, well-dressed and well spoken white people in north america, call "psychosis", as instead this connection to some divine, some mystical force, something unexplainable but nonetheless very there in every day life? these people are the tribes-people of the third world, who are much less concerned with being on-the-dot right about scientific matters, about being exactly correct on many points they might consider not worth knowing, or decadently excessive in pursuing the answers of. these tribes folk take a community approach to the healing of people who lose their touch with reality, often these people are seen as links to another plane of reality, thereby being likely spiritual leaders or, "shaman" the prognosis for first episode psychosis is MUCH better in developing shitholes than here in the great big Canada.  there are actually so many reasons for this it's hard to not be angered by our poor treatment of these people, would-be targets of reverence in societies more concerned with morality or whatever else and less with "Well does God REALLY exist?" im getting tired of typing so 1.rather than talking, trying to understand the message of the person, who (and i can tell you from experience) is drawing MANY conclusions on MANY topics in their "mania", the person is instead called mad and what they say is simply nonsense, thats it thats all, nothing to see here folks, go home, game of thrones is on tonight, you got some shitty memes to tag your friend in.  2.overpopulation, its not feasible to treat people properly. medicate them, out of sight, out of mind  3. to keep the narrative of the perfect social servant is unerring and stoic in their "sanity", their "grasp of reality", that when someone clearly loses this so so important "grasp", they are made to be feared, or in many cases, a laughing stock. so in conclusion, excuse me for being hesitant to take these goddam pills that actually make me feel less and remember less of my life just for the removal of whatever chance there is that i F*CKING start scaring people for my thoughts and actions, because everyone's so in their little bubble of little consideration and zero imagination, skittish and ready to drop the hatchet on whatever doesn't fit into what they've come to expect, excuse me for being reticent to seriously state my beliefs when the stigma that follows this sort of of thing literally makes people delusional to the benefit of the the bottom line of a money-burning society, that actually clings to the current economic and political systems for fear of God forbid learning too much??!?!?  without going too deep into this - have you considered that your neurosis became my neurosis in how my, what you call "illness", was handled? so now i'm essentially condemned to a life of a medication that slows my metabolism, makes me hungry at night, whatever else, according to medical professionals that you will 100% of the time trust over me, unless i taper off or quit cold turkey and deal with literally the rest of my life worried that one day im gonna snap and get tazed, tackled by cops again, the whole fuckin song n dance.  excuse me for being crass, but i've had quite enough of believing that this dormant beast in my brain that only reared its head ONE YEAR after the initial case, with no symptoms leading up to the 2014 hospitalization, is an "illness" like diabetes or some cardiovascular condition.  i think it's time you listened to me, and understood that my perspective and the perspective of others who have been str8 ragdolled around by cops, nurses, pants cut off, tied to a bed, locked in a room, whatever horro movie type shit u could imagine, their and my perspective is tenfold more valuable than any psychiatrist, no matter how well spoken and well read.

[nerobombs]

Insert Story Here: Ishgard

(Want more? Check out my Writing tag!)

I saw a few posts about Ishgard floating about, and I guess I haven’t actually written that many things on this blog yet, so I’m going to compile some of my writings about a subject I love to hate.

Anyone who knows me or reads my forum posts (a lot of of the content of which will be shamelessly copy-pasted here because what is effort) knows of the disdainful loathing I have for Heavensward’s writing. It’s not inherently bad--at worst it’s merely mediocre, filled to the brim with paper-thin plot vehicles and McGuffins--but the potential for a good story was there. 

Indeed, compared to most video game plots and MMO plots especially, the level of coherence it manages to maintain amidst the plague-ridden retcon carcass of World of Warcraft and the slightly suspicious smells being put out by Guild Wars 2 (whose story content used to be totally absurd, but they’ve been getting better) could almost be called admirable.

Almost.

I still don’t like it, though, in the same way that a disapproving father wouldn’t be particularly fond of his rebellious daughter’s boyfriend showing off a condom shaped like the head of a great white shark to his mates at school. It’s not the object itself, but rather the implications.

If you plan on reading further, put some goggles on, because there’s a lot of debris in a train wreck.

There’s also some crude humour and crass analogies ahead too.

First, I’ll preface this by saying that I firmly believe that Heavensward’s writing was restricted by the game design. This forgives certain things. For example, if the design priority is to have the players go to Azys Lla immediately after the Dravanian Hinterlands, then the writing’s job is as simple as coming up with an utterly contrived reason to do so. It’s frustrating, sure, but there’s a reason for it.

That said, I still have several problems.

-

1). There’s no Ishgard any more!

The things that interested me the most about Ishgard were, well, the things that made it Ishgard. It was unique. Ishgard was a despotic militant theocracy waging a genocidal holy war against a superior force amidst a tumultuous climate of political ambition, religious zealotry, and class warfare. There was something fascinating about the dichotomous nature of Ishgard's politics and culture, being ostensibly built around order and a single-minded goal yet also being unstable without the unifying threat of the dragons and built on the foundations of a lie (or at least, a historical misrepresentation), and all of this was put against a tense backdrop formed by the terrifyingly absolute power of the Church and the Inquisition.

Except, all of that is gone now. Poof.

Ishgard’s not a dictatorship any more. No, Ishgard seamlessly transitioned from a dictatorship to a bicameral republic with absolutely no conflict or resistance in the slightest. Part of the problem with this is that Thordan was absolutely batshit and the story handled Thordan horribly, but more on that later.

Ishgard’s not a theocracy any more. Since Ishgard is now a secular government, the Ishgardian Orthodox Church has been rendered impotent. There’s no war and no enemy, so there’s no Inqusition. 

And perhaps most offensively of all, Ishgard’s not militant any more. The Dragonsong War is definitively ended. Yeah, you can try to make some weak justification of “But Nidhogg’s brood”, but if killing Nidhogg didn’t end the war then the stragglers are completely meaningless. The thousand-year  genocidal holy war that formed the entirety of Ishgard’s national identity for a millennia is just gone.

That means that there’s no longer any glory gained from slaying dragons. That means the Order of the Dragoon is now completely meaningless. Commoners could become nobles by applying themselves and slaying dragons, but now even that limited and dangerous social mobility no longer exists.

About the only thing that separates Ishgard from the other city states is that they have snow, now. Where it was once an environment ripe for intrigue, it’s now as deflated and as saccharine as any of the other city states.

2). The ending wasn’t earned by anyone

Ishgard becoming a more peaceful state isn’t an inherently bad thing, though. Honestly, that is kind of small potatoes. The problem is how Ishgard got there.

Heavensward’s story had no struggle and no sacrifice. At least, nothing that was meaningful or represented. Literally, Ishgard achieved its peace completely effortlessly. 

Why does Ishgard transition so smoothly to a republic? Why is it that when Aymeric says “Hey guys, the dragons said it’s our fault and they’re totally right”, everyone accepts it unanimously? Why does Aymeric manage to take on the politics of the House of Lords and House of Commons so easily and effortlessly? How come Lucia has absolutely no qualms whatsoever about Aymeric’s aide-de-camp being discovered as Garlean? How is it that the Temple Knights and most especially the Dragoons--in which having a doomed hometown that was completely incinerated by dragons and having lost everyone you loved is almost a requirement--accept the peace so readily?

The most that anyone ever suffers is that Aymeric gets stabbed with a fruit knife exactly one time, and some crazy lady in Falcon’s Nest gets shot with an arrow.

And no, Haurchefant and Ysayle most emphatically do not count. Haurchefant was a one-dimensional character whose death was padded to the brim with arbitrary, ham-fisted melodrama, and Ysayle died in a context that was completely and totally irrelevant to her character arc to the point where her death may as well have not happened and literally nothing in the story would have changed.

I'm not exactly advocating for Game of Thrones-esque levels of character death. But even in light-hearted, idealistic stories, there are struggles. There is an ordeal for our heroes to conquer, and the resolution is earned. Can you imagine if, in the Lord of the Rings, Frodo and Sam really did take the Eagles to Mordor and just dropped the ring into Mount Doom? Pop, just like that?

Estinien's struggle over Nidhogg and subsequently over his own vengeance, then dying in order to keep both of those things from continuing to hurt people he cares about. That's a struggle and sacrifice. That's a price paid to overcome a meaningful conflict, because overcoming all meaningful conflict requires a great deal of effort, sacrifice, or both. But Estinien is just fine too. Turns out, all he had to do to kill his most hated enemy was get possessed by him. Huh! More people should try that.  

Aymeric could have been a really good avatar for Ishgard’s conflict as a whole. Here we have a military man and bastard son of the Archbishop suddenly become embroiled in politics and trusted to lead the future of his nation. I keep mocking his getting stabbed with a fruit knife in 3.1, but there was some actual drama there: the nobility accused Aymeric of being a patricidal heretic and saw his removing Thordan as a power grab. And the reason why Aymeric seems mostly flat is because the world doesn't give him any consequences to deal with, and even if they do, we never see him deal with this consequences. Ishgard becomes a seamless democracy with no problem. He doesn't care about the Eyes of Nidhogg at all or the implication that Nidhogg might come back as long as they're still intact. Everyone respects and follows him without question. He faces no genuine conflict that reflects upon his character besides "He's a nice guy and does good stuff". Why is Aymeric never overwhelmed by the politics? Why do we never see his frustration from having to juggle the wants and needs of Lords and commoners? Why does he never think about the ramifications of his actions (fucking EYES OF NIDHOGG, ANYONE)? There is a lot of room for serious depth that goes wasted because ultimately, Aymeric is a side character. And the thing is that Lucia can have real depth too besides being Aymeric's arm candy. She's a defected Garlean. We can never tell if her experience as a soldier in the Empire colours her perception of Eorzea or Ishgard. We never see Aymeric really rely on her except as a patsy or a messenger. If Aymeric is busy running the country as Lord Speaker, shouldn't she be in charge of the Temple Knights? Shouldn't Lucia have some apprehensions on being found out as a Garlean and being put in a position of authority? She's devoted to Aymeric and Ishgard, but we never see her be relevant except when she's doing something in Aymeric's stead. Is she ashamed of being Garlean?

Oh well, I guess it doesn’t matter. Peace for everyone, yay!

3). The focus of the story was Fucked with a capital F

Maybe it’s just me, but I am not on board with the game's fetish for the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. I get that they're essentially the "main" characters and the vehicle our characters use to travel all over the place and beat up primals, but the characters are flat and completely uninteresting. I don't care! I want to see Ishgard. I want to delve into a conflicted theocracy undergoing rapid, sudden change. I want to see more Aymeric, more Lucia, more Ysayle and Estinien. Hell, I want to see more of those fucking Fortemps brats more than I want to see the Scions.

This is also where I kind of start to get a little mad.

I get that the main conflict is between the Scions and the Ascians regarding the revival of Zodiark. Fine. I just don't think that the pacing of a far more interesting storyline (the Dragonsong war) should have been completely butchered in order to make room for the Scions and Ascians who really don't even do anything besides show up in the background and remind you that things are going to happen. Not that they are happening, but that eventually there'll be some kind of payoff.

The Scions get a ridiculous amount of screen time considering how little they accomplish and how irrelevant they are to Ishgard, and it is astounding how little effort the game puts in to make us care about them. I don't care about Thancred's missing pants. I don't care about Krile being Minfillia in all but name. I stopped caring about Alphinaud when he had the audacity to tell the Warrior of fucking Light to hand out T-shirts to the Crystal Braves because there’s no Eorzean word for “delegation”.

The Scions are the main characters, fine. This wouldn’t be such a problem if any of them had more personality or dimension than a piece of drift wood. We had the perfect opportunity to explore in-depth this new land of Ishgard and Coerthas, and instead it was wasted on...the Scions.

Here's why I don't like any of the writing for the Scions: they do display a measure of depth, consequence, and respond to consequence, but the thing is that their writing is built on more bad writing. Let's take for example Thancred, who actually has some real weight among the Scions. He felt responsible for Minfillia since he got her dad killed and feels guilt over being unable to save her. He's grieved over Minfilia becoming the voice of Hydaelyn and is much less snarky and less of a womaniser, becoming more stoic as a result. There's some actual development there. Except, the subject of his dramas was a cardboard cutout who was more useless than a DVD rewinder (Minfilia), the whole reason for her death was absurd to the point of raving madness (the entire Ul'dah conflict in 2.5 that started Heavensward...jesus shit), and interactions with Thancred are mostly just exposition. Thancred is always an observer and never a subject. Urianger is about the only Scion I actually like because there is actual emotional depth there that is revealed after the death of Moenbryda and the subject of his affections wasn't totally incompetent. Alisaie got a lot of focus in the last patch, but her character is so transparently a blatant plot device that it's hard to take seriously. She appears and disappears as needed. She had a good arc during Binding Coil where she defrosts but in 3.4 she goes totally Scion-brand flat. And in 3.4, her whole drama was that she wasn't willing to kill a kobold kid who might be tempered. Our teenaged heroine might have a problem with killing children? Stop the presses, Square Enix!

Also, think about this: Moenbryda got introduced in one patch and killed in the next, and she was written way better than most of the Scions, and that was with most of her backstory being delivered via exposition dump. Square Enix can do it, they just choose not to.

4). What is pacing? Can you eat it?

Ugh.

Like I said, I don’t find it especially problematic that Ishgard underwent radical change. I do have an especially HUGE problem with how it happened, though.

If they really had to pull off the "Nidhogg comes back to life" plot device, then Heavensward should have ended with Nidhogg's first death followed immediately by Estinien's possession. 3.1 Aymeric acting in direct opposition to Archbishop Thordan in order to secure peace with Hraesvelgr's brood. 3.2 would deal with Aymeric and Co. working towards securing said peace amidst the chaos about the Dragonsong War, and still end with Vidofnir getting shanked just after a tenuous peace had been agreed upon. 3.3, Nidhogg dies. 3.4 would deal with the conflict of Ishgard's reformation and hint at Thordan’s plans to become a primal, and the expansion ends with 3.5 as Thordan become a Primal in a desperate bid to secure the theocracy's power after peace had been achieved with the dragons.

You can completely write this off as me complaining that the story is bad because I didn’t write it, sure, whatever. But let’s examine what actually happened.

Instead, more than half of the initial expansion story and the subsequent 3.1 and 3.2 patches is spent fucking around with the Scions and watching the Ascians and Warriors of Darkness twirl their bad-guy mustaches going "Guys we are totally still relevant to the story". Then Regula van Hydrus shows up to join the mustache twirling by going "Please don’t forget the Garleans, we put a lot of effort into recycling the Judges from Final Fantasy 12", and seeing Square Enix completely fucking bomb any potential that Ul'dah had to be interesting by not going through with killing off the Sultana.

Side note, what in the flying fuck was the point of the Sultana’s poisoning and the whole Ul’dah thing besides making it so Raubahn now has to put magazines on his lap to turn the pages? If you can legitimately answer this question--and no, getting the WoL to Ishgard does not count because the WoL already had a gazillion reasons to go there that weren’t idiotic--then I’ll buy you a Night Pegasus mount.

I’m going to highlight all of my subsequent issues with addressing the train wreck that is Archbishop Thordan “Wasted Opportunity VII”.

Like I said, I somewhat understand that the writing is constrained by the game design. But that doesn’t really excuse the fact that Thordan’s entire character was completely bonkers.

He locks up Aymeric, runs away from Ishgard, ninja loots the key to Azys Lla, goes to Azys Lla and becomes a primal for about twenty minutes before dying. His entire load blown in the span of a couple of days at best.

And part of this problem is how easily the majority of Ishgard accepts responsibility for starting the Dragonsong War. Thordan's response to Aymeric threatening to reveal the truth shouldn't have been to lock Aymeric up, but to say "Who would believe you?" 

The Ishgardians have been the subject of a measured genocidal war that was deliberately transformed into a war of attrition for a thousand years. Are they really such easily manipulated little worms that Aymeric and some foreign wahoo who may or may not have actually killed primals can sway a population from the entirety of their millennia-old tradition and heritage with a couple of speeches?

In addition, the main conflict between Thordan and Aymeric's ideologies in the game is implied to be order versus chaos, except Thordan's idea of "order" is completely batshit and nonsensical.

Thordan's whole deal should have been that Ishgard needs the Dragonsong War, or at least the dragons as enemies, to remain stable and to retain its heritage and national identity. For one thousand years, Ishgard's been throwing themselves at the dragons, and to completely undermine the last thousand years of war would do nothing but sow chaos and breed discontent and destroy the unity that's kept the city together all this time. That is the idea of order that Thordan should have been trying to adhere to: the status quo is god, or ends on favourable terms.

Instead, Thordan for some reason decides that the path to peace is a world of absolute order at the cost of all freedoms and the destruction of anyone who opposes him. He becomes more one dimensional in motivations than Sauron. This is some insane hypocritical thinking since he opens the gates so the Heretics can assault the foundation to fuel the prayers to become King Thordan, and this hypocrisy completely robs him of any legitimacy. There's no escalation. Thordan immediately jumps to fire the nuke that is becoming King Thordan. There's no buildup. And that's most of Heavensward's writing in a nutshell: the pacing is awful, so all these characters either fix things flawlessly in an incredibly short time with no consequences (Aymeric), or immediately become insane (Thordan) to move the plot along.

--

I don’t trust Stormblood’s content to be compelling at all. Anything that was interesting about Ala Mhigo will be resolved with maybe five lines of dialogue,  tops, if Heavensward is any indication. At best, there will be an offscreen resolution that maybe makes sense if you just don’t think about it.

Ala Mhigo has the potential to have a lot of interesting themes and conflict. I just don't trust the writers to actually explore any of that, because who bothers exploring interesting themes and conflict when we can watch Yda be a princess or some shit? Look, Papalymo is hitting someone with Tupsimati! That's interesting, right? Thancred lost his pants again, uh oh! No. The Warriors of Darkness were pretty decent, but the conflict with the Ascians should really be a background thing, a sinister undertone that adds to the gravity of the Warrior of Light going around and saving the world. The instant you shove the mysteries in our face--repeatedly--it stops being a mystery and it takes all the proactivity away from our characters. Here's how we currently handle the Ascians: we sit on our happy asses and wait for them to do something, then react. And maybe we'll save Ishgard on the side if we feel like it. It should be the other way around. We should be proactively going to stop the Dragonsong war as our main motivation. We should be going to liberate Ala Mhigo as our main motivation. I don't think we should be going there with the Scions, waiting for the Ascians, and "Yeah cool the Ascians aren't doing anything, I guess we should liberate Ala Mhigo".

TL;DR i don’t like FFXIV’s story

[beege-blog]

Banksy in Boston: Overview of the NO LOITRIN piece on Essex St in Central Square, Cambridge

Posted via email to ☛ HoloChromaCinePhotoRamaScope‽: cdevers.posterous.com/banksy-no-loitrin.

• • • • • • • • • •

Interestingly, both of the Boston area Banksy pieces are on Essex St:

• F̶O̶L̶L̶O̶W̶ ̶Y̶O̶U̶R̶ ̶D̶R̶E̶A̶M̶S̶ CANCELLED (aka chimney sweep) in Chinatown, Boston • NO LOITRIN in Central Square, Cambridge.

Does that mean anything? It looks like he favors Essex named streets & roads when he can. In 2008, he did another notable Essex work in London, for example, and posters on the Banksy Forums picked up & discussed on the Essex link as well.

Is there an Essex Street in any of the other nearby towns? It looks like there are several: Brookline, Charlestown, Chelsea, Gloucester, Haverhill, Lawrence, Lynn, Medford, Melrose, Quincy, Revere, Salem, Saugus, Somerville, Swampscott, and Waltham. Most of these seem improbable to me, other than maybe Brookline, or maybe Somerville or Charlestown. But they start getting pretty suburban after that.

But, again, why "Essex"? In a comment on this photo, Birbeck helps clarify:

I can only surmise that he’s having a ‘dig’ at Essex UK, especially with the misspelling of ‘Loitering’. Here, the general view of the urban districts in Essex: working class but with right wing views; that they’re not the most intellectual bunch; rather obsessed with fashion (well, their idea of it); their place of worship is the shopping mall; enjoy rowdy nights out; girls are thought of as being dumb, fake blonde hair/tans and promiscuous; and guys are good at the ‘chit chat’, and swagger around showing off their dosh (money).

It was also the region that once had Europe’s largest Ford motor factory. In its heyday, 1 in 3 British cars were made in Dagenham, Essex. Pay was good for such unskilled labour, generations worked mind-numbing routines on assembly lines for 80 years. In 2002 the recession ended the dream.

• • • • •

• This is a scan of this Banksy photo running in the the Boston Globe on May 13, 2010. This is the first time I’ve made the newspaper with one of my photos 🙂 (The Globe later ran a longer article, titled Tag — we’re it: Banksy, the controversial and elusive street artist, left his mark here. Or did he? with a photo taken by one of their staff photographers, Essdras M. Suarez.

• This photo appeared on Grafitti – A arte das ruas on Yahoo Meme. Yes, Yahoo has a Tumblr/Posterous-esque "Meme" service now — I was as surprised as you are.

• The photo has also appeared, among other places, on CafeBabel, a European online affairs magazine based in Paris.

• • • • •

Banksy From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Banksy • Birth name Unknown

• Born 1974 or 1975 (1974 or 1975), Bristol, UK[1]

• Nationality British

• Field Graffiti Street Art Bristol underground scene Sculpture

• Movement Anti-Totalitarianism Anti-capitalism Pacifism Anti-War Anarchism Atheism Anti-Fascism

• Works Naked Man Image One Nation Under CCTV Anarchist Rat Ozone’s Angel Pulp Fiction

Banksy is a pseudonymous[2][3][4] British graffiti artist. He is believed to be a native of Yate, South Gloucestershire, near Bristol[2] and to have been born in 1974,[5] but his identity is unknown.[6] According to Tristan Manco[who?], Banksy "was born in 1974 and raised in Bristol, England. The son of a photocopier technician, he trained as a butcher but became involved in graffiti during the great Bristol aerosol boom of the late 1980s."[7] His artworks are often satirical pieces of art on topics such as politics, culture, and ethics. His street art, which combines graffiti writing with a distinctive stencilling technique, is similar to Blek le Rat, who began to work with stencils in 1981 in Paris and members of the anarcho-punk band Crass who maintained a graffiti stencil campaign on the London Tube System in the late 1970s and early 1980s. His art has appeared in cities around the world.[8] Banksy’s work was born out of the Bristol underground scene which involved collaborations between artists and musicians.

Banksy does not sell photos of street graffiti.[9] Art auctioneers have been known to attempt to sell his street art on location and leave the problem of its removal in the hands of the winning bidder.[10]

Banksy’s first film, Exit Through The Gift Shop, billed as "the world’s first street art disaster movie", made its debut at the 2010 Sundance Film Festival.[11] The film was released in the UK on March 5.[12]

Contents

• 1 Career •• 1.1 2000 •• 1.2 2002 •• 1.3 2003 •• 1.4 2004 •• 1.5 2005 •• 1.6 2006 •• 1.7 2007 •• 1.8 2008 •• 1.9 2009 •• 1.10 2010 • 2 Notable art pieces • 3 Technique • 4 Identity • 5 Controversy • 6 Bibliography • 7 References • 8 External links

Career

Banksy started as a freehand graffiti artist 1992–1994[14] as one of Bristol’s DryBreadZ Crew (DBZ), with Kato and Tes.[15] He was inspired by local artists and his work was part of the larger Bristol underground scene. From the start he used stencils as elements of his freehand pieces, too.[14] By 2000 he had turned to the art of stencilling after realising how much less time it took to complete a piece. He claims he changed to stencilling whilst he was hiding from the police under a train carriage, when he noticed the stencilled serial number[16] and by employing this technique, he soon became more widely noticed for his art around Bristol and London.[16]

Stencil on the waterline of The Thekla, an entertainment boat in central Bristol – (wider view). The image of Death is based on a 19th century etching illustrating the pestilence of The Great Stink.[17]

Banksy’s stencils feature striking and humorous images occasionally combined with slogans. The message is usually anti-war, anti-capitalist or anti-establishment. Subjects often include rats, monkeys, policemen, soldiers, children, and the elderly.

In late 2001, on a trip to Sydney and Melbourne, Australia, he met up with the Gen-X pastellist, visual activist, and recluse James DeWeaver in Byron Bay[clarification needed], where he stencilled a parachuting rat with a clothes peg on its nose above a toilet at the Arts Factory Lodge. This stencil can no longer be located. He also makes stickers (the Neighbourhood Watch subvert) and sculpture (the murdered phone-box), and was responsible for the cover art of Blur’s 2003 album Think Tank.

2000

The album cover for Monk & Canatella‘s Do Community Service was conceived and illustrated by Banksy, based on his contribution to the "Walls on fire" event in Bristol 1998.[18][citation needed]

2002

On 19 July 2002, Banksy’s first Los Angeles exhibition debuted at 33 1/3 Gallery, a small Silverlake venue owned by Frank Sosa. The exhibition, entitled Existencilism, was curated by 33 1/3 Gallery, Malathion, Funk Lazy Promotions, and B+.[19]

2003

In 2003 in an exhibition called Turf War, held in a warehouse, Banksy painted on animals. Although the RSPCA declared the conditions suitable, an animal rights activist chained herself to the railings in protest.[20] He later moved on to producing subverted paintings; one example is Monet‘s Water Lily Pond, adapted to include urban detritus such as litter and a shopping trolley floating in its reflective waters; another is Edward Hopper‘s Nighthawks, redrawn to show that the characters are looking at a British football hooligan, dressed only in his Union Flag underpants, who has just thrown an object through the glass window of the cafe. These oil paintings were shown at a twelve-day exhibition in Westbourne Grove, London in 2005.[21]

2004

In August 2004, Banksy produced a quantity of spoof British £10 notes substituting the picture of the Queen’s head with Princess Diana‘s head and changing the text "Bank of England" to "Banksy of England." Someone threw a large wad of these into a crowd at Notting Hill Carnival that year, which some recipients then tried to spend in local shops. These notes were also given with invitations to a Santa’s Ghetto exhibition by Pictures on Walls. The individual notes have since been selling on eBay for about £200 each. A wad of the notes were also thrown over a fence and into the crowd near the NME signing tent at The Reading Festival. A limited run of 50 signed posters containing ten uncut notes were also produced and sold by Pictures on Walls for £100 each to commemorate the death of Princess Diana. One of these sold in October 2007 at Bonhams auction house in London for £24,000.

2005

In August 2005, Banksy, on a trip to the Palestinian territories, created nine images on Israel’s highly controversial West Bank barrier. He reportedly said "The Israeli government is building a wall surrounding the occupied Palestinian territories. It stands three times the height of the Berlin Wall and will eventually run for over 700km—the distance from London to Zurich. "[22]

2006

• Banksy held an exhibition called Barely Legal, billed as a "three day vandalised warehouse extravaganza" in Los Angeles, on the weekend of 16 September. The exhibition featured a live "elephant in a room", painted in a pink and gold floral wallpaper pattern.[23] • After Christina Aguilera bought an original of Queen Victoria as a lesbian and two prints for £25,000,[24] on 19 October 2006 a set of Kate Moss paintings sold in Sotheby’s London for £50,400, setting an auction record for Banksy’s work. The six silk-screen prints, featuring the model painted in the style of Andy Warhol‘s Marilyn Monroe pictures, sold for five times their estimated value. His stencil of a green Mona Lisa with real paint dripping from her eyes sold for £57,600 at the same auction.[25] • In December, journalist Max Foster coined the phrase, "the Banksy Effect", to illustrate how interest in other street artists was growing on the back of Banksy’s success.[26]

2007

• On 21 February 2007, Sotheby’s auction house in London auctioned three works, reaching the highest ever price for a Banksy work at auction: over £102,000 for his Bombing Middle England. Two of his other graffiti works, Balloon Girl and Bomb Hugger, sold for £37,200 and £31,200 respectively, which were well above their estimated prices.[27] The following day’s auction saw a further three Banksy works reach soaring prices: Ballerina With Action Man Parts reached £96,000; Glory sold for £72,000; Untitled (2004) sold for £33,600; all significantly above estimated values.[28] To coincide with the second day of auctions, Banksy updated his website with a new image of an auction house scene showing people bidding on a picture that said, "I Can’t Believe You Morons Actually Buy This Shit."[6] • In February 2007, the owners of a house with a Banksy mural on the side in Bristol decided to sell the house through Red Propeller art gallery after offers fell through because the prospective buyers wanted to remove the mural. It is listed as a mural which comes with a house attached.[29] • In April 2007, Transport for London painted over Banksy’s iconic image of a scene from Quentin Tarantino‘s Pulp Fiction, with Samuel L. Jackson and John Travolta clutching bananas instead of guns. Although the image was very popular, Transport for London claimed that the "graffiti" created "a general atmosphere of neglect and social decay which in turn encourages crime" and their staff are "professional cleaners not professional art critics".[30] Banksy tagged the same site again (pictured at right). This time the actors were portrayed as holding real guns instead of bananas, but they were adorned with banana costumes. Banksy made a tribute art piece over this second Pulp Fiction piece. The tribute was for 19-year-old British graffiti artist Ozone, who was hit by an underground train in Barking, East London, along with fellow artist Wants, on 12 January 2007.[31] The piece was of an angel wearing a bullet-proof vest, holding a skull. He also wrote a note on his website, saying:

The last time I hit this spot I painted a crap picture of two men in banana costumes waving hand guns. A few weeks later a writer called Ozone completely dogged it and then wrote ‘If it’s better next time I’ll leave it’ in the bottom corner. When we lost Ozone we lost a fearless graffiti writer and as it turns out a pretty perceptive art critic. Ozone – rest in peace.[citation needed]

Ozone’s Angel

• On 27 April 2007, a new record high for the sale of Banksy’s work was set with the auction of the work Space Girl & Bird fetching £288,000 (US$576,000), around 20 times the estimate at Bonhams of London.[32] • On 21 May 2007 Banksy gained the award for Art’s Greatest living Briton. Banksy, as expected, did not turn up to collect his award, and continued with his notoriously anonymous status. • On 4 June 2007, it was reported that Banksy’s The Drinker had been stolen.[33][34] • In October 2007, most of his works offered for sale at Bonhams auction house in London sold for more than twice their reserve price.[35]

• Banksy has published a "manifesto" on his website.[36] The text of the manifesto is credited as the diary entry of one Lieutenant Colonel Mervin Willett Gonin, DSO, which is exhibited in the Imperial War Museum. It describes how a shipment of lipstick to the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp immediately after its liberation at the end of World War II helped the internees regain their humanity. However, as of 18 January 2008, Banksy’s Manifesto has been substituted with Graffiti Heroes #03 that describes Peter Chappell’s graffiti quest of the 1970s that worked to free George Davis of his imprisonment.[37] By 12 August 2009 he was relying on Emo Phillips’ "When I was a kid I used to pray every night for a new bicycle. Then I realised God doesn’t work that way, so I stole one and prayed for forgiveness." • A small number of Banksy’s works can be seen in the movie Children of Men, including a stenciled image of two policemen kissing and another stencil of a child looking down a shop. • In the 2007 film Shoot ‘Em Up starring Clive Owen, Banksy’s tag can be seen on a dumpster in the film’s credits. • Banksy, who deals mostly with Lazarides Gallery in London, claims that the exhibition at Vanina Holasek Gallery in New York (his first major exhibition in that city) is unauthorised. The exhibition featured 62 of his paintings and prints.[38]

2008

• In March, a stencilled graffiti work appeared on Thames Water tower in the middle of the Holland Park roundabout, and it was widely attributed to Banksy. It was of a child painting the tag "Take this Society" in bright orange. London Borough of Hammersmith and Fulham spokesman, Councillor Greg Smith branded the art as vandalism, and ordered its immediate removal, which was carried out by H&F council workmen within three days.[39] • Over the weekend 3–5 May in London, Banksy hosted an exhibition called The Cans Festival. It was situated on Leake Street, a road tunnel formerly used by Eurostar underneath London Waterloo station. Graffiti artists with stencils were invited to join in and paint their own artwork, as long as it didn’t cover anyone else’s.[40] Artists included Blek le Rat, Broken Crow, C215, Cartrain, Dolk, Dotmasters, J.Glover, Eine, Eelus, Hero, Pure evil, Jef Aérosol, Mr Brainwash, Tom Civil and Roadsworth.[citation needed] • In late August 2008, marking the third anniversary of Hurricane Katrina and the associated levee failure disaster, Banksy produced a series of works in New Orleans, Louisiana, mostly on buildings derelict since the disaster.[41] • A stencil painting attributed to Banksy appeared at a vacant petrol station in the Ensley neighbourhood of Birmingham, Alabama on 29 August as Hurricane Gustav approached the New Orleans area. The painting depicting a hooded member of the Ku Klux Klan hanging from a noose was quickly covered with black spray paint and later removed altogether.[42] • His first official exhibition in New York, the "Village Pet Store And Charcoal Grill," opened 5 October 2008. The animatronic pets in the store window include a mother hen watching over her baby Chicken McNuggets as they peck at a barbecue sauce packet, and a rabbit putting makeup on in a mirror.[43] • The Westminster City Council stated in October 2008 that the work "One Nation Under CCTV", painted in April 2008 will be painted over as it is graffiti. The council says it will remove any graffiti, regardless of the reputation of its creator, and specifically stated that Banksy "has no more right to paint graffiti than a child". Robert Davis, the chairman of the council planning committee told The Times newspaper: "If we condone this then we might as well say that any kid with a spray can is producing art". [44] The work was painted over in April 2009. • In December 2008, The Little Diver, a Banksy image of a diver in a duffle coat in Melbourne Australia was vandalised. The image was protected by a sheet of clear perspex, however silver paint was poured behind the protective sheet and later tagged with the words "Banksy woz ere". The image was almost completely destroyed.[45].

2009

• May 2009, parts company with agent Steve Lazarides. Announces Pest Control [46] the handling service who act on his behalf will be the only point of sale for new works. • On 13 June 2009, the Banksy UK Summer show opened at Bristol City Museum and Art Gallery, featuring more than 100 works of art, including animatronics and installations; it is his largest exhibition yet, featuring 78 new works.[47][48] Reaction to the show was positive, with over 8,500 visitors to the show on the first weekend.[49] Over the course of the twelve weeks, the exhibition has been visited over 300,000 times.[50] • In September 2009, a Banksy work parodying the Royal Family was partially destroyed by Hackney Council after they served an enforcement notice for graffiti removal to the former address of the property owner. The mural had been commissioned for the 2003 Blur single "Crazy Beat" and the property owner, who had allowed the piece to be painted, was reported to have been in tears when she saw it was being painted over.[51] • In December 2009, Banksy marked the end of the 2009 United Nations Climate Change Conference by painting four murals on global warming. One included "I don’t believe in global warming" which was submerged in water.[52]

2010

• The world premiere of the film Exit Through the Gift Shop occurred at the Sundance Film Festival in Park City, Utah, on 24 January. He created 10 street pieces around Park City and Salt Lake City to tie in with the screening.[53] • In February, The Whitehouse public house in Liverpool, England, is sold for £114,000 at auction.[54] The side of the building has an image of a giant rat by Banksy.[55] • In April 2010, Melbourne City Council in Australia reported that they had inadvertently ordered private contractors to paint over the last remaining Banksy art in the city. The image was of a rat descending in a parachute adorning the wall of an old council building behind the Forum Theatre. In 2008 Vandals had poured paint over a stencil of an old-fashioned diver wearing a trenchcoat. A council spokeswoman has said they would now rush through retrospective permits to protect other “famous or significant artworks” in the city.[56] • In April 2010 to coincide with the premier of Exit through the Gift Shop in San Francisco, 5 of his pieces appeared in various parts of the city.[57] Banksy reportedly paid a Chinatown building owner $50 for the use of their wall for one of his stencils.[58] • In May 2010 to coincide with the release of "Exit Through the Gift Shop" in Chicago, one piece appeared in the city.

Notable art pieces

In addition to his artwork, Banksy has claimed responsibility for a number of high profile art pieces, including the following:

• At London Zoo, he climbed into the penguin enclosure and painted "We’re bored of fish" in seven foot high letters.[59] • At Bristol Zoo, he left the message ‘I want out. This place is too cold. Keeper smells. Boring, boring, boring.’ in the elephant enclosure.[60] • In March 2005, he placed subverted artworks in the Museum of Modern Art, Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Brooklyn Museum, and the American Museum of Natural History in New York.[61] • He put up a subverted painting in London’s Tate Britain gallery. • In May 2005 Banksy’s version of a primitive cave painting depicting a human figure hunting wildlife whilst pushing a shopping trolley was hung in gallery 49 of the British Museum, London. Upon discovery, they added it to their permanent collection.[62]

Near Bethlehem – 2005

• Banksy has sprayed "This is not a photo opportunity" on certain photograph spots. • In August 2005, Banksy painted nine images on the Israeli West Bank barrier, including an image of a ladder going up and over the wall and an image of children digging a hole through the wall.[22][63][64][65]

See also: Other Banksy works on the Israeli West Bank barrier

• In April 2006, Banksy created a sculpture based on a crumpled red phone box with a pickaxe in its side, apparently bleeding, and placed it in a street in Soho, London. It was later removed by Westminster Council. BT released a press release, which said: "This is a stunning visual comment on BT’s transformation from an old-fashioned telecommunications company into a modern communications services provider."[66] • In June 2006, Banksy created an image of a naked man hanging out of a bedroom window on a wall visible from Park Street in central Bristol. The image sparked some controversy, with the Bristol City Council leaving it up to the public to decide whether it should stay or go.[67] After an internet discussion in which 97% (all but 6 people) supported the stencil, the city council decided it would be left on the building.[67] The mural was later defaced with paint.[67] • In August/September 2006, Banksy replaced up to 500 copies of Paris Hilton‘s debut CD, Paris, in 48 different UK record stores with his own cover art and remixes by Danger Mouse. Music tracks were given titles such as "Why am I Famous?", "What Have I Done?" and "What Am I For?". Several copies of the CD were purchased by the public before stores were able to remove them, some going on to be sold for as much as £750 on online auction websites such as eBay. The cover art depicted Paris Hilton digitally altered to appear topless. Other pictures feature her with a dog’s head replacing her own, and one of her stepping out of a luxury car, edited to include a group of homeless people, which included the caption "90% of success is just showing up".[68][69][70] • In September 2006, Banksy dressed an inflatable doll in the manner of a Guantanamo Bay detainment camp prisoner (orange jumpsuit, black hood, and handcuffs) and then placed the figure within the Big Thunder Mountain Railroad ride at the Disneyland theme park in Anaheim, California.[71][72]

Technique

Asked about his technique, Banksy said:

“I use whatever it takes. Sometimes that just means drawing a moustache on a girl’s face on some billboard, sometimes that means sweating for days over an intricate drawing. Efficiency is the key.[73]”

Stencils are traditionally hand drawn or printed onto sheets of acetate or card, before being cut out by hand. Because of the secretive nature of Banksy’s work and identity, it is uncertain what techniques he uses to generate the images in his stencils, though it is assumed he uses computers for some images due to the photocopy nature of much of his work.

He mentions in his book, Wall and Piece, that as he was starting to do graffiti, he was always too slow and was either caught or could never finish the art in the one sitting. So he devised a series of intricate stencils to minimise time and overlapping of the colour.

Identity

Banksy’s real name has been widely reported to be Robert or Robin Banks.[74][75][76] His year of birth has been given as 1974.[62]

Simon Hattenstone from Guardian Unlimited is one of the very few people to have interviewed him face-to-face. Hattenstone describes him as "a cross of Jimmy Nail and British rapper Mike Skinner" and "a 28 year old male who showed up wearing jeans and a t-shirt with a silver tooth, silver chain, and one silver earring".[77] In the same interview, Banksy revealed that his parents think their son is a painter and decorator.[77]

In May 2007, an extensive article written by Lauren Collins of the New Yorker re-opened the Banksy-identity controversy citing a 2004 photograph of the artist that was taken in Jamaica during the Two-Culture Clash project and later published in the Evening Standard in 2004.[6]

In October 2007, a story on the BBC website featured a photo allegedly taken by a passer-by in Bethnal Green, London, purporting to show Banksy at work with an assistant, scaffolding and a truck. The story confirms that Tower Hamlets Council in London has decided to treat all Banksy works as vandalism and remove them.[78]

In July 2008, it was claimed by The Mail on Sunday that Banksy’s real name is Robin Gunningham.[3][79] His agent has refused to confirm or deny these reports.

In May 2009, the Mail on Sunday once again speculated about Gunningham being Banksy after a "self-portrait" of a rat holding a sign with the word "Gunningham" shot on it was photographed in East London.[80] This "new Banksy rat" story was also picked up by The Times[81] and the Evening Standard.

Banksy, himself, states on his website:

“I am unable to comment on who may or may not be Banksy, but anyone described as being ‘good at drawing’ doesn’t sound like Banksy to me.[82]”

Controversy

In 2004, Banksy walked into the Louvre in Paris and hung on a wall a picture he had painted resembling the Mona Lisa but with a yellow smiley face. Though the painting was hurriedly removed by the museum staff, it and its counterpart, temporarily on unknown display at the Tate Britain, were described by Banksy as "shortcuts". He is quoted as saying:

“To actually [have to] go through the process of having a painting selected must be quite boring. It’s a lot more fun to go and put your own one up.[83]”

Peter Gibson, a spokesperson for Keep Britain Tidy, asserts that Banksy’s work is simple vandalism,[84] and Diane Shakespeare, an official for the same organization, was quoted as saying: "We are concerned that Banksy’s street art glorifies what is essentially vandalism".[6]

In June 2007 Banksy created a circle of plastic portable toilets, said to resemble Stonehenge at the Glastonbury Festival. As this was in the same field as the "sacred circle" it was felt by many to be inappropriate and his installation was itself vandalized before the festival even opened. However, the intention had always been for people to climb on and interact with it.[citation needed] The installation was nicknamed "Portaloo Sunset" and "Bog Henge" by Festival goers. Michael Eavis admitted he wasn’t fond of it, and the portaloos were removed before the 2008 festival.

In 2010, an artistic feud developed between Banksy and his rival King Robbo after Banksy painted over a 24-year old Robbo piece on the banks of London’s Regent Canal. In retaliation several Banksy pieces in London have been painted over by ‘Team Robbo’.[85][86]

Also in 2010, government workers accidentally painted over a Banksy art piece, a famed "parachuting-rat" stencil, in Australia’s Melbourne CBD. [87]

Bibliography

Banksy has self-published several books that contain photographs of his work in various countries as well as some of his canvas work and exhibitions, accompanied by his own writings:

• Banksy, Banging Your Head Against A Brick Wall (2001) ISBN 978-0-95417040-0 • Banksy, Existencilism (2002) ISBN 978-0-95417041-7 • Banksy, Cut it Out (2004) ISBN 978-0-95449600-5 • Banksy, Wall and Piece (2005) ISBN 978-1-84413786-2 • Banksy, Pictures of Walls (2005) ISBN 978-0-95519460-3

Random House published Wall and Piece in 2005. It contains a combination of images from his three previous books, as well as some new material.[16]

Two books authored by others on his work were published in 2006 & 2007:

• Martin Bull, Banksy Locations and Tours: A Collection of Graffiti Locations and Photographs in London (2006 – with new editions in 2007 and 2008) ISBN 978-0-95547120-9. • Steve Wright, Banksy’s Bristol: Home Sweet Home (2007) ISBN 978-1906477004

External links

• Official website • Banksy street work photos

Posted by Chris Devers on 2010-05-12 22:39:13

Tagged: , NO LOITRIN , Banksy , graffiti , Central , sq , square , Central Sq , Central Square , Cambridge , Cambridge MA , MA , Massachusetts , 2010 , Camera: iPhone , art , Bostonist , Universal Hub , street art , exif:aperture=f/2.8 , exif:flash=No flash function , camera:make=Apple , meta:exif=1273714167 , favorite , camera:model=iPhone , meta:seen=elsewhere , flickrstats:favorites=1 , flickrstats:galleries=1 , exif:filename=DSC_.JPG , meta:exif=1350398490

The post Banksy in Boston: Overview of the NO LOITRIN piece on Essex St in Central Square, Cambridge appeared first on Good Info.

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