#Nova York Apartment

[urdreamydoodles]

MARVEL COMICS CHARACTERS X FEM!READER

Your first kiss

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Thor, Loki, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, Matthew Murdock, Frank Castle, Bullseye, Marc Spector, Taskmaster, Johnny Storm, Reed Richards, Ben Grimm, Susan Storm, Felicia Hardy, Stephen Strange, Namor, Johnny Blaze, Eddie Brock / Venom, T'Challa, Elektra Natchios, Muse, Victor von Doom, Peter Quill & Nova

PETER PARKER (SPIDER-MAN)

- The city is quiet tonight, or as quiet as New York ever gets. You sit beside Peter on the rooftop of his apartment, your legs dangling over the edge, the skyline stretching endlessly before you. The neon lights paint his face in streaks of color, flickering like the embers of something unspoken between you. He’s rambling—about school, about the Bugle, about the latest science joke that made him laugh—until he stops mid-sentence, swallowing whatever he was about to say. His fingers tap anxiously against his thigh, a restless rhythm betraying his thoughts.

- It happens when he turns to look at you, his brown eyes soft and unbearably earnest. There’s something about the way the wind plays with your hair, the way the city hums beneath you, the way the space between you feels like a held breath. His hand, calloused from web-swinging, brushes against yours, tentative but lingering. "I—uh," he starts, then stops, then exhales a nervous laugh. "I think I've been waiting for the right moment, but—maybe this is it?" He’s always second-guessing, always overthinking, but this time, you see the decision settle in his gaze before he moves.

- The kiss is hesitant at first—Peter Parker, for all his brilliance, is still a boy who fumbles when he cares too much. His lips are warm, the taste of laughter and something achingly familiar laced between them. And when you don’t pull away, when your fingers find their place in his hair, he exhales against your mouth like relief, like gratitude. His arms circle around you, pulling you closer, the city forgotten, the night reduced to the way you fit against him.

- When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath unsteady. "Okay," he murmurs, voice edged with wonder, "so, that was—wow." And then he grins, that boyish, lopsided thing that makes your heart stutter. "I think I need to run some tests. Y'know, for science. Just to make sure it wasn’t a fluke." He’s already leaning in again, and this time, neither of you hesitate.

TONY STARK (IRON MAN)

- The night is heavy with champagne and the soft murmur of jazz drifting through the penthouse. Tony, ever the spectacle, had spent the evening dazzling the crowd with sharp wit and sharper smiles, but now it’s just the two of you, the after-hours of the party settling into something quieter, something real. He’s undone the top buttons of his shirt, sleeves rolled up, exposing the scars that speak of past battles and victories that cost too much. His fingers trail along the rim of his glass, but his eyes are on you, dark and contemplative.

- "You know," he muses, voice rich with amusement, "I’ve kissed a lot of people in my time. Scandalous, I know." A smirk, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "But this one—this one might actually matter." The admission is half a jest, half a confession, and wholly Tony Stark—deflecting with humor, with bravado, but never insincere. He leans forward, the world outside reduced to the warmth of his gaze, the space between you shrinking with every breath.

- The kiss is molten, slow but deliberate, the kind of thing that leaves its mark. Tony Stark is a man who takes what he wants, but this—this is different. He kisses you like a man savoring a stolen moment, like he’s memorizing the taste of you, the feel of you, like he’s afraid that if he moves too fast, you might disappear. His hands cradle your face, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones with something almost reverent.

- When he pulls away, his breath is unsteady, his eyes darker than before. "Well," he murmurs, his voice rough at the edges, "that was definitely a top contender for best kiss ever. Might have to do some retesting, though. Y'know, for science." The grin that follows is lazy, pleased, but there’s something softer beneath it—something that lingers as he pulls you in for another.

STEVE ROGERS (CAPTAIN AMERICA)

- The battlefield is silent now, the fight won, but the scent of smoke and steel still clings to the air. You stand beside Steve, both of you breathing hard, adrenaline still crackling in your veins. His shield is strapped to his back, his uniform scuffed and torn in places, but he’s whole. Alive. And for a moment, that’s all that matters. The world around you is chaos, but in this sliver of time, there is only him. The golden light of the setting sun catches in his hair, highlights the worry still etched in the furrow of his brow as he turns to you.

- "You scared me today," he says, voice quiet but steady. Not an accusation, just the truth. Steve Rogers doesn’t scare easily—not when facing enemies, not when staring down impossible odds—but you, you are something else entirely. His gloved hand reaches for yours, fingers tracing the bruises blooming along your wrist, a silent apology for the pain neither of you could avoid. His jaw tenses, and then, softer, "I don’t want to lose you."

- The kiss is inevitable, a culmination of unsaid words and lingering glances stretched over countless battles. Steve moves like a man who believes in purpose, in certainty, and right now, you are his. His lips meet yours with quiet desperation, firm yet impossibly gentle, as if he’s afraid you might break beneath his touch. But there is strength in the way you answer, in the way you hold him closer, fingers curling into the fabric of his suit. The war fades into the background, the ache in your bones forgotten beneath the weight of him.

- When he pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, breath mingling with your own. "I mean it," he murmurs, a promise laced between the syllables. His hand tightens around yours, unwavering. "I’m not letting go." And somehow, you know he never will.

THOR

- The storm rolls in like a heartbeat, distant thunder thrumming beneath your feet as the wind tangles in your hair. You stand beside Thor on the edge of a cliff, overlooking the vastness of Asgard’s golden horizon. The feast is still raging behind you, laughter and music spilling from the halls, but here, in the open air, it is just the two of you. His gaze is on you, blue and endless, filled with something deep and unshaken.

- "You are different from the others," he muses, tilting his head as if pondering a great mystery. "Stronger, in a way that has nothing to do with battle. I have seen warriors crumble beneath lesser burdens, and yet—you endure." There is admiration in his tone, reverence even, as if you are something worthy of legends. His fingers brush against yours, tentative for a god who has known conquest and war. "It is… humbling."

- The kiss is as sudden as the storm breaking overhead—lightning splitting the sky as Thor moves. There is no hesitation, no second-guessing, only the raw certainty of a god who knows his own heart. His lips are fire and fury, the taste of rain clinging to the space between you. He holds you as if he could keep you here, bound to him by the force of his embrace, by the quiet, unshakable devotion that lingers in every touch.

- When he pulls away, the storm settles, the world exhaling as if in reverence. He watches you, eyes dark with something ancient, something unbreakable. "I have lived lifetimes," he murmurs, his voice a promise carved into the bones of the universe itself. "But this—I would live them all again, if only to find you once more.”

LOKI

- The air crackles between you, heavy with something unspoken, something that has been threading through your conversations like a whispered promise for longer than either of you will admit. Loki lounges before you, the very image of ease, but his fingers tap restlessly against the arm of his chair, betraying the storm beneath his skin. His sharp green eyes trace your form, lingering, considering, as if trying to decipher a puzzle he has yet to solve. “Do you know what it means,” he muses, voice a blade honed to silk, “for a creature like me to crave something?”

- The question lingers, woven with challenge and invitation, but you do not flinch. You have never been one to cower beneath his words, and that—more than anything—has always drawn him to you like a moth to an unforgiving flame. He stands in a slow, fluid motion, closing the space between you with deliberate steps, the ghost of a smirk curving his lips. "I have held kingdoms in my hands, stolen secrets from the lips of gods—" his fingers lift, barely grazing your chin, "—and yet, I find myself most drawn to the one thing that refuses to be claimed."

- And then he kisses you. No warning, no hesitation, just the full force of Loki's unyielding will pouring into you like a flood breaking through a dam. It is a kiss spun from defiance and devotion, from a god who has never known worship in the way he craves it from you. His hands—so often wielding knives and illusions—now cradle you as though you are the only thing in this world worth holding onto. There is something desperate in the way he moves, as if he fears this moment will be stolen, as if even now, he expects the universe to take you from him.

- When he pulls away, his breath is unsteady, his usual mask nowhere to be seen. He searches your face, as if expecting you to vanish like another trick of the light. “Do you see now?” he murmurs, his voice quieter than before. “This is not a game for me.” There is something almost fragile in the confession, something that would be a secret to anyone but you. You smile—soft, knowing—and pull him back to you, sealing your answer between his lips.

CLINT BARTON (HAWKEYE)

- The first time Clint kisses you, it’s after a mission gone sideways, when the dust has barely settled and the adrenaline still thrums in your veins like a second heartbeat. The two of you sit on the rooftop of some rundown motel, passing a cheap bottle of whiskey between you while the neon lights of the city flicker in the distance. There’s a gash on his cheek, dried blood beneath his nails, but his grin is easy, effortless, as if you both didn’t almost die hours ago. “Hell of a night,” he says, taking a slow sip before handing the bottle to you.

- He watches you as you drink, something unreadable flickering in his sharp blue eyes. Clint has always been good at watching, at noticing the things no one else does—the way your fingers tremble just slightly when you exhale, the way your shoulders carry the weight of too many ghosts. “You okay?” His voice is quieter now, serious in a way he doesn’t let himself be often. And maybe it’s the exhaustion, or the whiskey burning in your throat, or maybe it’s just the way he looks at you—like he’s already made up his mind about something—but you don’t lie. “Not really.”

- And then his lips are on yours. No preamble, no hesitation—just Clint, raw and unguarded, kissing you like he’s afraid this moment will slip through his fingers like everything else in his life. He tastes like whiskey and recklessness, like battle scars and late-night confessions. His hands find your face, rough and calloused, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones as if memorizing every inch of you. He pulls you closer, like he’s trying to drown himself in you, like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

- When he finally pulls away, he exhales a quiet laugh, forehead resting against yours. “Guess I really suck at timing, huh?” There’s something vulnerable in the way he says it, like he’s bracing for you to tell him this was a mistake. But you just shake your head, smiling as you steal the whiskey bottle from his hands. “Nah,” you murmur, taking a slow sip, “you’re just an idiot.” He grins, and just like that, the weight on your shoulders feels a little lighter.

NATASHA ROMANOFF (BLACK WIDOW)

- The rain falls in soft sheets around you, the dim glow of the streetlights casting shadows along the slick pavement. Natasha stands beside you, her red hair damp, strands clinging to her cheekbones. The mission is over, the enemy neutralized, but neither of you have moved from this quiet corner of the city. She has barely spoken since you both walked away from the wreckage, but you know her well enough to recognize the weight in her silence. “You don’t have to be okay,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “Not with me.”

- She looks at you then, something shifting behind her guarded green eyes. Natasha is a woman who has built walls so high that even she forgets what lies beyond them. But here, in the quiet of the rain, she lets something slip—just for a moment. "I don't know how to do this," she admits, the words foreign on her tongue, heavy with a truth she rarely allows herself to speak. She takes a step closer, close enough that you can feel the warmth of her despite the cold. “But I want to try.”

- And then she kisses you. Slow, deliberate, like a secret unfolding between you. Natasha Romanoff has always been calculated, controlled—but here, with you, she allows herself to be something else. Her lips move against yours with a quiet intensity, as if she’s searching for something she has spent her whole life denying herself. Her hands rest lightly against your jaw, fingers trembling just slightly before she grips you tighter, pulling you in like she’s afraid to let go.

- When she finally pulls back, she stays close, her breath warm against your lips. “Tell me this isn’t a mistake,” she murmurs, and there is something fragile in the way she says it, something raw. You brush a damp strand of hair from her face, meeting her gaze with quiet certainty. “It’s not,” you promise. And this time, when she kisses you again, she does not hesitate.

BUCKY BARNES (WINTER SOLDIER)

- The cabin is silent except for the sound of the fire crackling in the hearth. Bucky sits across from you, his metal fingers curled loosely around a mug of coffee, steam curling in the dim light. Outside, the snow falls thick and heavy, turning the world into something quiet, something untouched. He has been different since coming here—softer, but still carrying the weight of ghosts in his eyes. “Feels like another life,” he murmurs, staring into the fire. “Like I don’t belong in it.”

- You set your mug down, moving to sit beside him on the worn-out couch. “You do,” you say simply, because it is the truth. He turns to you then, something unreadable in the depths of his blue eyes. Bucky Barnes is a man who has spent a lifetime fighting his own reflection, drowning in the echoes of a past he cannot escape. But here, now, you see something else—something softer, something searching. “You make it feel real,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper.

- And then, with a quiet resolve, he leans in. The kiss is hesitant at first, like he’s waiting for the world to pull him away from you. But when you don’t flinch, when you don’t disappear, something in him unravels. His lips move against yours with aching slowness, like he is memorizing every second, like this is something fragile he is terrified of breaking. His hands shake slightly when they settle on your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your sweater, grounding himself in the reality of you.

- When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath uneven. “Tell me I’m not dreaming,” he murmurs. You smile, pressing another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You’re not.” And for the first time in a long time, Bucky Barnes believes you.

MATTHEW MURDOCK (DAREDEVIL)

- It happens in the quiet hours of the night, when Hell’s Kitchen is caught between the restless hum of the city and the stillness of something deeper, something almost sacred. You sit beside him on the rooftop, the neon glow of a flickering sign painting his face in sharp red shadows. His hands are bruised, his knuckles split open like old confessions, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, his fingers twitch against his thigh, as if fighting the urge to reach for you. “You’re too good for this city,” he murmurs, his voice rough, edged with something that sounds dangerously close to longing.

- You shake your head, smiling softly. “And you’re not?” The question lingers between you, heavy with meaning, with the weight of all the nights spent tending to his wounds, of all the times you’ve felt his presence before he even spoke your name. He turns his face toward you then, unseeing eyes searching, and you wonder if he can hear the way your heartbeat stutters beneath your ribs. “I know what good feels like,” he says finally, his voice quieter now, like a confession. “And it’s you.”

- Then, before you can speak, his lips are on yours. There is no hesitation, no faltering—just Matt, breaking the tension like a dam finally giving way. His hands find your face, fingers tracing the shape of your jaw with a reverence that makes your breath catch. He kisses you like he’s memorizing you, like he’s mapping out something he’s known for years but never dared to touch. He tastes like rain and something bittersweet, something that feels like the beginning of an ache he’ll never quite shake.

- When he finally pulls away, his breath is unsteady, his hands still cradling your face like he’s afraid to let go. He presses his forehead against yours, his voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me I didn’t just make a mistake.” There is something fragile in the way he says it, something vulnerable beneath all the armor. You smile, brushing your thumb over the fresh bruise on his cheek. “You didn’t,” you promise, and he exhales, like he’s been holding his breath for longer than he’ll ever admit.

FRANK CASTLE (PUNISHER)

- The world around you is painted in blood and smoke, the aftermath of a night that should have ended differently. The warehouse still burns in the distance, the scent of gasoline thick in the air, but neither of you move. You’re standing too close to him, the heat of his body bleeding into yours, the adrenaline still thrumming between you like a second heartbeat. He’s got a cut on his forehead, dried blood tracing the line of his jaw, but his eyes—sharp, dark, unforgiving—are focused only on you. “You shouldn’t be here,” he says, though there’s no real warning in his tone.

- “And you should?” you challenge, your voice steady despite the weight of everything that’s just happened. Frank exhales through his nose, a sound that could almost be a laugh if it wasn’t so hollow. He’s looking at you like you’re something he doesn’t quite know what to do with, like you’re a puzzle with missing pieces. “You don’t get it,” he mutters, his jaw tight. “Everything I touch, it ends up—” He stops himself, shaking his head. But you don’t let him finish. “I’m still here,” you say softly, and those three words cut through him sharper than any bullet ever could.

- And then, without warning, he grabs you. His hands—rough, calloused, steady despite the storm inside him—frame your face, and then his lips crash against yours with a force that steals the breath from your lungs. Frank Castle doesn’t do anything gently, and this kiss is no exception. It’s raw, desperate, full of all the things he can’t say, all the things he’s spent too many years trying to bury. He tastes like gunpowder and whiskey, like violence and something achingly human.

- When he finally pulls back, he keeps his hands on you, his forehead pressing against yours. His breath is ragged, his grip just shy of bruising. “You’re too good for this,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. But you don’t move, don’t pull away, don’t give him the out he’s expecting. Instead, you just tighten your hold on him, anchoring him to something solid. “I don’t care,” you whisper back, and for the first time in a long time, Frank lets himself believe you.

BULLSEYE (LESTER)

- The motel room is dimly lit, the neon sign outside casting an eerie blue glow against the cracked wallpaper. You shouldn’t be here. Not with him. Not like this. But you are. Bullseye leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, head tilted as he watches you with that sharp, calculating gaze of his. “You got a death wish, sweetheart?” he asks, but there’s something almost amused in the way he says it, like he already knows the answer. Like he already knows that you aren’t leaving.

- “If I did, I’d be dead already,” you answer, and that makes him grin, all teeth and danger. He takes a slow step toward you, his boots barely making a sound against the floor. “Yeah,” he murmurs, tilting his head. “Guess you’re tougher than you look.” His fingers brush against yours, a ghost of a touch, but even that is enough to send something electric skittering down your spine. He’s testing you, waiting for you to flinch, to pull away. You don’t.

- And that’s all the permission he needs. His lips crash against yours, all heat and hunger and something far more dangerous. Bullseye doesn’t kiss like a man who loves—he kisses like a man who consumes. His teeth scrape against your lower lip, his hands gripping your waist like he’s daring you to run, like he wants to see just how far you’ll let him go. He tastes like sin, like something forbidden, like trouble wrapped in leather and bad intentions.

- When he finally pulls away, his breath is uneven, his pupils blown wide. He runs his thumb over your swollen lip, his smirk laced with something almost possessive. “You’re playin’ a dangerous game, sweetheart,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t let you go. He doesn’t want you to. You tilt your head, smirking back at him. “So are you.” And just like that, he’s kissing you again, laughing against your lips like he’s just won something.

MARC SPECTOR (MOON KNIGHT)

- The desert air is cool against your skin, the stars stretching endlessly above you in a sky so dark it feels like you could fall into it. Marc stands beside you, his posture tense, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. He hasn’t spoken in minutes, but you can feel the war raging inside him, the weight of something he can’t seem to shake. “You don’t have to do this alone,” you say finally, your voice quiet but steady. He exhales a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair. “That’s the thing,” he mutters. “I do.”

- You step closer, closing the distance between you. “No, you don’t,” you insist, and something in his expression cracks. Marc has spent years running, years convincing himself that he is nothing more than the sum of his mistakes. But here, now, with you, he feels something he doesn’t quite know how to name. Something terrifying. Something real. He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” he warns.

- And then he kisses you. It’s sudden, desperate, like he’s trying to brand the moment into his memory before it disappears. His hands are firm, holding you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. He kisses like a man who’s afraid this is the last time he’ll ever be allowed to. He tastes like dust and exhaustion, like prayers whispered into the void.

- When he pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, his breath uneven. “I don’t deserve this,” he murmurs. But you just cup his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. “That’s not your call to make.” And when he kisses you again, it’s softer—less like a battlefield, more like a promise.

TASKMASTER (TONY MASTERS)

- The night is heavy with the scent of rain, the pavement slick beneath your boots as you follow Taskmaster through the abandoned lot. His mask hides his expression, but you’ve known him long enough to read the tension in his movements—the tight set of his shoulders, the way his fingers flex at his sides like he’s bracing for something. “You got a habit of walking into trouble,” he mutters, voice edged with something sharp, something protective. “Yeah?” you counter, stepping closer, tilting your head. “Then I guess it’s a good thing you never let me walk alone.”

- He exhales sharply, tilting his head toward you. His mask catches the neon light in slashes of blue and red, making him look almost inhuman. But you know better. You know the man behind the skull, the one who memorizes the way you move, the one who catalogues your tells, your habits, the way your breath hitches when he stands too close. “You keep getting in my head,” he mutters, and there’s something dangerous in the way he says it, something that sounds almost like surrender.

- And then, without warning, he lifts his mask just enough to press his lips against yours. The kiss is firm, deliberate—like a decision made in the space between one heartbeat and the next. His hands find your waist, pulling you closer, his body a wall of heat and tension and unspoken words. He tastes like adrenaline, like a man who’s spent too long in the dark and doesn’t know how to step into the light. You grip the fabric of his jacket, anchoring yourself to him, and he lets out a quiet, almost frustrated groan, like he hadn’t meant to let himself do this.

- When he finally pulls back, his breath is uneven, his mask still lifted just enough to show his mouth, his jaw. He stares at you for a long moment, his fingers still curled against your hip. “This is a bad idea,” he says, but he doesn’t let go. You smile, brushing your thumb over the fabric of his glove. “Then why does it feel like the best one you’ve had in a long time?” He huffs out something that’s almost a laugh before tugging his mask back down. “Damn you,” he mutters, but when he walks away, he reaches back, just once, and takes your hand in his.

JOHNNY STORM (HUMAN TORCH)

- The rooftop party is in full swing, music pulsing through the warm summer air, laughter spilling over the edge of the building like champagne bubbles. Johnny stands beside you, drink in hand, his usual smirk in place—but there’s something different about the way he looks at you tonight. Less cocky, more searching. He’s used to attention, to adoration, to people flocking to him like moths to an open flame. But you—you don’t just admire him. You see him. And that scares him more than he’ll ever admit.

- “You’re quiet tonight,” he muses, nudging your arm with his elbow. “That’s a first.” You roll your eyes, but there’s warmth in your smile. “Just taking it all in,” you reply, letting the city lights reflect in your eyes. He watches you like you’re something he’s trying to memorize, something fleeting that he’s afraid will slip through his fingers if he looks away. “You ever think about just… leaving it all behind?” he asks suddenly, his voice softer than usual. “The fame, the cameras, the expectations.”

- And then, before you can answer, he kisses you. It’s sudden, impulsive—because Johnny Storm has never been one for patience, never been one to hesitate when he wants something. His lips are warm, impossibly so, like he’s carrying embers beneath his skin. One of his hands cups the side of your face, fingers threading into your hair, while the other settles against the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. He kisses you like he’s afraid this moment might burn away before he gets to hold onto it.

- When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the warm summer air. He chuckles, a little breathless, a little dazed. “That was—” he starts, but then he stops himself, grinning. “—about damn time.” You laugh, shaking your head, and he grins even wider before pulling you in for another kiss, because Johnny Storm has never been one for half-measures.

REED RICHARDS (MISTER FANTASTIC)

- The lab is quiet, save for the soft hum of machines and the occasional scratch of pen against paper. You sit across from Reed, watching as he scribbles furiously in his notebook, his mind a million miles away. He gets like this sometimes—lost in thought, in theories, in equations only he can fully understand. But tonight, there’s something different. His brow is furrowed, his fingers tapping against the desk in a distracted rhythm. “You’re staring,” he remarks, not looking up.

- “You’re brooding,” you counter, tilting your head. That finally earns you a glance, his sharp eyes meeting yours over the rim of his glasses. “I don’t brood,” he mutters, and you can’t help but smile. He sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “It’s just… I’ve been considering something.” You raise a brow, waiting. He hesitates, then stands, moving to stand beside you. “An experiment,” he murmurs, voice quieter now. “A hypothesis I need to test.”

- And then, before you can fully process his words, he leans down and kisses you. It’s careful at first—measured, precise, like he’s cataloging every detail, like he’s analyzing the way your lips fit against his, the way your breath hitches, the way your fingers instinctively grip his sleeve. But then something shifts, and the scientist gives way to the man beneath. His arms tighten around you, his hands splaying against your back as he deepens the kiss, no longer thinking—just feeling.

- When he finally pulls away, his gaze is sharp, searching. “Fascinating,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. You blink, still catching your breath, and then you laugh. “Did you just kiss me for science?” He smirks, adjusting his glasses. “No,” he says simply, and then he kisses you again, because some things don’t need an explanation.

BEN GRIMM (THE THING)

- The night is quiet, the world softened by the glow of streetlamps and the distant murmur of the city. You sit beside Ben on the park bench, your fingers just barely brushing against his. He’s always careful with you, always so aware of the strength in his hands, the weight of his presence. But tonight, there’s something heavier in the air, something unspoken. “Y’know,” he mutters, staring straight ahead. “I ain’t exactly what most people would call… kissable.”

- You frown, turning to face him fully. “That’s not true,” you say, your voice firm. He lets out a rough chuckle, shaking his head. “C’mon, sweetheart. I ain’t exactly soft.” His voice is gruff, but there’s something vulnerable beneath it, something that makes your chest tighten. “Ben,” you say gently, reaching for his hand. He flinches, just slightly, but doesn’t pull away. “You don’t get to decide how I see you.”

- And then, before he can protest, you kiss him. You feel the moment he freezes, the way his breath catches in his throat. He doesn’t know what to do with this—with you, with the way you touch him like he isn’t something to be wary of. But then, slowly, carefully, he responds. His lips are warm, hesitant, like he’s afraid of breaking you, of breaking himself. His hands tremble slightly as they settle against your waist, his fingers barely curling around you, like he can’t quite believe this is real.

- When you finally pull back, he stares at you, wide-eyed, like he’s waiting for you to take it back. “You… you really mean that, don’t ya?” he murmurs, voice rough. You smile, pressing your forehead against his. “Yeah, Ben. I really do.” And for the first time in a long time, he lets himself believe it.

SUSAN STORM (INVISIBLE WOMAN)

- The evening is quiet, the world outside the Baxter Building hushed under the glow of the city. You sit beside Susan, watching the skyline through the vast glass windows, the lights flickering like stars fallen to earth. She is always composed, always poised, but tonight there’s a restlessness to her—a quiet tension in the way her fingers trace the rim of her glass, the way she exhales just a little too sharply. “I never let myself have this,” she murmurs, and when you turn to her, she’s already looking at you, her blue eyes full of something unreadable.

- You know what she means. Susan Storm carries the weight of leadership, of family, of responsibility. She is the glue that holds everything together, the lighthouse in the storm. But for all her strength, for all her brilliance, there are moments—fleeting, rare—where she lets herself be something else. Something softer. Something just for herself. And tonight, you realize, you are one of those moments.

- She reaches for you, hesitant at first, like she’s testing the shape of the decision she’s about to make. And then, suddenly, she moves—decisive, certain, as if she’s crossed some invisible threshold. Her lips meet yours, warm and insistent, the weight of unspoken things pouring into the space between you. There is something fierce in the way she kisses—something that speaks of restraint finally abandoned, of walls finally lowered. One hand tangles in your hair, the other resting lightly against your cheek, like she’s memorizing the feel of you.

- When she pulls back, her breath is uneven, her eyes searching yours for something—reassurance, maybe, or permission to fall just a little deeper. “I don’t want to lose myself in this,” she whispers, but you shake your head, touching her face, gentle and steady. “You won’t,” you promise, and something in her melts at the certainty in your voice. She leans in again, this time slower, softer, the weight of the world momentarily forgotten in the warmth of your touch.

FELICIA HARDY (BLACK CAT)

- The city belongs to you both tonight, the rooftops your playground, the neon glow painting Felicia in slashes of silver and blue. She moves like moonlight—fluid, untouchable, slipping between the cracks of the world with a smile that’s equal parts mischief and danger. “You’re keeping up,” she teases, glancing back at you over her shoulder. “I’m impressed.” You roll your eyes, but you know she can see the amusement flickering at the corner of your lips. “Maybe I just don’t want to give you the satisfaction of losing.”

- She grins, sharp and knowing, because that’s always been your game—this endless push and pull, this dance on the edge of something electric. You don’t chase Felicia Hardy. You don’t catch her. You match her. And that, more than anything, is what keeps her coming back. She leans in slightly, her voice dropping into something lower, silkier. “You know what I love about you?” she muses, tilting her head. “You make me want to break my own rules.”

- And then she kisses you, swift and decisive, like a thief taking exactly what she wants. There’s no hesitation, no uncertainty—only the heat of her mouth against yours, the way her hands find your collar, tugging you closer as if she’s daring you to keep up. She tastes like adrenaline, like the promise of trouble, like midnight secrets whispered against bare skin. The kiss deepens, slow and teasing, a game in itself—because Felicia Hardy never gives anything away for free.

- When she finally pulls back, her lips are curled into that signature smirk, her fingers still hooked in the fabric of your jacket. “Careful, darling,” she purrs, her voice thick with amusement. “I might just steal you next.” But you only smile, catching her wrist before she can slip away. “Maybe I’ll let you,” you murmur, and for the first time in a long time, Felicia Hardy wonders what it would feel like to be the one caught.

STEPHEN STRANGE (DOCTOR STRANGE)

- The Sanctum is still, the air heavy with the scent of ancient books and forgotten incantations. Stephen stands at his desk, eyes scanning the open pages of a tome older than memory itself, but his mind is elsewhere. You can tell by the way his fingers twitch against the parchment, the way his jaw tightens as if battling thoughts he refuses to voice. “Something’s on your mind,” you say, stepping closer. His gaze lifts to meet yours, sharp and contemplative. “You,” he admits, and the honesty of it knocks the breath from your lungs.

- Stephen Strange is not a man who loves easily. He is a fortress of intellect and discipline, a scholar of the arcane who has spent lifetimes mastering the impossible. And yet, here he stands, unraveling just slightly in your presence. He lifts a hand, fingers brushing against your cheek in an almost hesitant gesture—like he is tracing the edges of a spell too powerful to fully comprehend. “I was never meant for this,” he murmurs. “For softness. For wanting.”

- And then, like surrendering to something he cannot fight, he leans in. The kiss is slow, deliberate—a study in patience, in precision. His lips press against yours with a quiet intensity, as if memorizing the very essence of you. One hand rests at the nape of your neck, steady and grounding, while the other lingers at your waist, his touch both careful and commanding. He kisses you like he is trying to rewrite fate itself, like he is making a choice that defies every law he has ever known.

- When he finally pulls away, his breath is uneven, his usually composed expression softened in a way few have ever seen. “I should warn you,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing absent circles against your skin. “Nothing in my world is simple.” You smile, reaching up to touch his face, grounding him in something real. “Then it’s a good thing I’ve never been afraid of the impossible.” His lips quirk into something small, something almost reverent, before he kisses you again, sealing the spell between you.

NAMOR (THE SUB-MARINER)

- The ocean sings in the distance, waves lapping against the shore like the heartbeat of the earth itself. Namor stands beside you, the moonlight casting silver across his sharp features, his dark eyes reflecting the vastness of the sea. “This world is fragile,” he says, voice laced with something ancient, something heavy. “It does not deserve you.” You glance at him, at the way he watches you—not with admiration, not with softness, but with something deeper, something possessive. “And yet,” you murmur, stepping closer, “I am here.”

- Namor has never been a man to beg. He does not kneel. He does not ask. He takes what he wants, claims what he deems worthy. But with you, there is hesitation, a silent battle waging beneath the surface of his control. His fingers brush against yours, the slightest touch, but it is enough to set the air between you alight. “You tempt me,” he admits, voice low, almost reverent. “And I have never been a man with much patience.”

- And then he kisses you, fierce and unyielding, like the tide crashing against the shore. His hands settle on your hips, drawing you against him as if daring the world to try and pull you apart. There is no hesitation, no second-guessing—only the heat of his mouth, the sharp inhale of breath as he claims you the way he has always wanted to. He tastes like salt and storm, like the very essence of the ocean, like something wild that refuses to be tamed.

- When he finally pulls back, his grip remains firm, his forehead resting against yours as he exhales slowly. “You are mine,” he murmurs, not a question, not a plea—an undeniable truth. And for the first time, you realize you do not mind being claimed, not when it is by him.

JOHNNY BLAZE (GHOST RIDER)

- The desert wind howls through the canyon, a restless spirit caught between sand and sky. The motorcycle beneath Johnny hums like a living thing, its metal frame still warm from the hellfire that lingers in his veins. You sit beside him on the hood of an abandoned car, the silence stretching between you, thick with something unspoken. He isn’t a man of easy words, and neither are you, but there are moments like this—where the quiet speaks louder than any confession ever could.

- He glances at you, the flickering embers of his curse hidden beneath the deep blue of his eyes, and you feel the weight of his stare like a brand. “I don’t get good things,” he mutters, voice rough, shaped by years of regret and roads paved in fire. “Not for long.” You know he means you, means this, the fragile thing growing between you both. And maybe he’s right—maybe fate has already written tragedy into your story—but right now, with the stars burning above and his hand ghosting over yours, you want to defy it.

- He moves before you can answer, his lips crashing into yours with a hunger that speaks of desperation, of stolen chances and borrowed time. His hands are warm—almost too warm, like he’s barely holding back the fire inside him—but he doesn’t pull away. Not this time. The kiss is rough, raw, a clash of teeth and longing, and for a moment, you taste the hellfire that runs through his soul. He kisses you like a man who’s already lost everything once and refuses to lose again.

- When he finally breaks away, his breathing is uneven, his forehead pressed against yours as if grounding himself in the reality of you. “I don’t deserve this,” he whispers, but there’s no regret in his voice—only the trembling remnants of a man still learning how to hold onto something good. You grip the front of his jacket, pulling him closer, and when you speak, your voice is steady, unwavering. “Then we’ll steal it.” A slow smile tugs at his lips, something wild and reckless, and when he kisses you again, it feels like a promise to fight whatever hell comes next.

EDDIE BROCK / VENOM

- The city is a restless thing at night—buzzing, pulsing, alive. You stand on the rooftop beside Eddie, the neon lights casting shadows across his face, the distant hum of traffic filling the space between you. There’s tension in his shoulders, the kind that never quite leaves, the weight of a body that’s never entirely his own. “He likes you,” Eddie mutters, gesturing vaguely to the symbiote that lingers just beneath his skin. “Says I should stop being a coward and kiss you already.”

- A low, amused growl echoes in the back of Eddie’s throat—not entirely his own. “Yes,” Venom rumbles, voice curling through the night air like something alive. “She is ours.” Eddie groans, rubbing a hand over his face, but there’s no real annoyance in it. If anything, there’s something close to agreement buried beneath the exasperation. He turns to you, gaze flickering between hesitation and something darker, something unspoken. “You want this?” he asks, voice rough, uncertain. “Me? Us?”

- You don’t get the chance to answer. One moment, you’re staring at him, the city sprawled beneath your feet. The next, Eddie has you pressed against the rooftop ledge, his mouth on yours, his hands tangled in your hair. The kiss is desperate, consuming, an unspoken plea wrapped in heat and longing. And when the symbiote joins, its inky tendrils curling around your skin, it isn’t unwelcome—it’s protective, claiming, a silent promise that you are theirs, that they will never let you go.

- When he finally pulls back, his breath is ragged, his pupils blown wide. “Too much?” he asks, but you shake your head, fingers still fisted in his jacket. “Not enough,” you murmur, and a slow, wicked grin spreads across his lips. Venom purrs in agreement, and as Eddie leans in again, you realize that whatever this is—whatever you’ve become to them—it’s already too late to turn back.

T’CHALLA (BLACK PANTHER)

- The air is thick with the scent of blooming jasmine, the Wakandan night stretching vast and endless above you. T’Challa stands beside you on the palace balcony, his gaze sharp and contemplative as he watches the city below. He has always been like this—thoughtful, deliberate, a man who carries the weight of a nation with grace that borders on impossible. But tonight, he is not just a king. Tonight, he is simply a man, standing beside the one person who makes him forget the weight of his crown.

- “There is a saying in Wakanda,” he murmurs, voice low, reverent. “That love is not something taken, but something earned.” He turns to you then, his eyes dark with meaning, with unspoken truths. “I do not take this lightly. I do not take you lightly.” There is something beautiful in the way he says it, in the way he allows himself to be vulnerable with you, to let his guard drop even for a moment. You lift a hand, brushing your fingers along his jaw, and he exhales, his composure faltering just slightly.

- And then, like a tide giving way to the shore, he closes the distance between you. The kiss is slow, deliberate, like the turning of a page in an ancient story. His hands settle at your waist, steady, grounding, as if anchoring himself to the moment. There is no rush, no urgency—only quiet devotion, the kind that lingers, that settles deep in the bones. He kisses you with the weight of a man who has spent his life making careful decisions, and this—this is the one he chooses without hesitation.

- When he pulls back, his fingers trace a slow path along your cheek, his gaze still heavy with something unreadable. “You are my greatest risk,” he murmurs, and you know he means it. Because love, for a king, is always dangerous. But when you smile, pressing your forehead against his, he only exhales softly, as if surrendering to something inevitable. And when he kisses you again, it is no longer with hesitation, but with certainty.

ELEKTRA NATCHIOS

- The rain falls in thin silver threads, washing the city clean in its quiet embrace. You stand beside Elektra on the rooftop, the neon lights below flickering against the wet pavement. She is always beautiful like this—sharp, lethal, untouchable. But tonight, there is something different in the way she watches you, something softer, something almost fragile. “This is a mistake,” she whispers, but she doesn’t move away.

- You know what she means. Elektra is not made for gentle things. She is blood and steel, shadow and fury. She has killed men for less than what you make her feel. But even knowing this, even with the sharp edges of her past pressing against the space between you, you do not flinch. Instead, you step closer, watching as something in her gaze flickers—fear, maybe, or something far more dangerous.

- And then she moves, closing the distance between you with a swift, decisive grace. The kiss is not soft. It is not hesitant. It is fire and hunger, teeth and desperation. Her fingers curl into your hair, pulling you against her like she is trying to burn the shape of you into her memory. She tastes like danger, like a storm breaking over the city, like something you should run from but never will.

- When she finally pulls back, her breathing is uneven, her lips slightly parted as if she is about to speak. But she doesn’t. Instead, she presses her forehead to yours, the tension in her body slowly unraveling. “You should walk away,” she murmurs, but when you don’t move, when your hand finds hers in the dark, she exhales, defeated. And when she kisses you again, it is not a warning—it is surrender.

MUSE

- The world around you is a canvas, but Muse does not paint in colors meant for beauty. He sculpts in blood, in the echoes of silent screams, in the jagged edges of chaos where meaning is stripped bare. You should not be here—you, with your warmth, your softness, your ability to turn even the void into something full of light. And yet, he lets you stand beside him in the dim glow of a flickering streetlamp, his hands twitching at his sides as if unsure whether to destroy or to hold.

- "I see you," he murmurs, voice rasping like something broken. His eyes—dark, unreadable, filled with a hunger that has nothing to do with flesh—trace the lines of your face like you are something he will never be able to capture. "I see you in a way I don't see anything else." His art is made of madness, but you, you are the only thing that remains clear in the haze of his unraveling mind. And it terrifies him. It excites him. It pulls him closer, the weight of obsession curling around his ribs like wire.

- His hands move before his mind catches up, fingers ghosting over your jaw as if memorizing the texture of your skin. And then—without prelude, without hesitation—his mouth crashes against yours. It is not gentle. It is not kind. It is a claim, a signature scrawled in fevered ink, a vow written in the space where language fails. He tastes of copper, of sleepless nights and the sharp tang of something unhinged, but he does not pull away. He drinks you in like a man starved, like an artist who has found his only masterpiece.

- When he finally parts from you, his breath is ragged, uneven, his forehead pressed against yours as if trying to anchor himself. "I will ruin you," he whispers, a warning and a promise both. But your hands do not tremble when they pull him back in, when you whisper against his lips, "Then make it beautiful." And for the first time, in a life stitched together by violence, Muse finds himself desperate to create something that will not break.

VICTOR VON DOOM (DR. DOOM)

- The air is thick with the scent of burning embers, the remnants of his latest experiment still crackling in the distance. You stand within the towering walls of Doom’s kingdom, a place where gods are made and broken, where the laws of nature are rewritten by the will of a single man. He watches you with an intensity that borders on divine, his green cloak casting shadows against the molten glow of machinery and magic entwined. Doom does not love like mortals do. Doom does not kneel before lesser emotions. But Doom has chosen you.

- "You are a fool to stand beside me," he muses, voice rich with arrogance, with certainty. "There is no safety in my presence. No mercy. No retreat." He speaks as if this is a warning, as if you have not already chosen to stand in the eye of the storm. You meet his gaze, unflinching, and something in the iron walls of his soul fractures. He does not understand it, this defiance wrapped in something so soft, so steady. He does not understand you. And Doom despises what he does not understand.

- The kiss is not an accident, nor is it impulsive. Doom does nothing without calculation. It is a conquest, a declaration, a moment where even the weight of the world bends to his will. His gauntleted hand cups your cheek, the cool bite of metal a stark contrast to the heat of his mouth against yours. He does not kiss like a man—he kisses like a ruler branding his empire, like a god bestowing a gift upon the only mortal he has deemed worthy. It is overwhelming, intoxicating, and it is absolute.

- When he pulls away, his gaze is unreadable, something ancient and unfathomable lingering in its depths. "You belong to Doom," he states, as if it is law, as if the universe itself would sooner collapse than deny him this truth. And perhaps he is right. For when he kisses you again, you realize that the world has already reshaped itself around his words.

PETER QUILL (STAR-LORD)

- The stars stretch endless above you, the vast expanse of space humming with the quiet melody of a universe still singing itself into existence. Peter leans against the railing of the Milano, his usual bravado dimmed into something softer, something more honest in the quiet glow of starlight. “You know,” he starts, voice lazy, teasing, but edged with something deeper, “if you keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna think you actually like me.”

- You roll your eyes, but the truth lingers between you, unspoken but undeniable. Peter has always hidden behind humor, behind cocky grins and deflective quips, but you have learned to read between the lines, to hear the way his voice wavers when he talks about the things that matter. And you—you are one of those things. He won’t say it outright, not yet, but it’s there in the way his fingers drum against his thigh, in the way he leans closer without meaning to.

- "You ever think about how weird this is?" he asks suddenly, gesturing between the two of you. "Like, of all the people in all the galaxies, somehow, it’s us?” There’s something vulnerable in his voice, something almost hesitant. You don’t give him time to second-guess it. Instead, you grab the front of his jacket and pull him in, and for once, Peter Quill is speechless. The kiss is electric, dizzying, like the first rush of a jump through hyperspace. His hands find your waist, pulling you closer as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear into the stars.

- When you finally part, he’s breathless, grinning like a man who just won the greatest jackpot in the galaxy. “Okay,” he says, voice slightly dazed. “Yeah. That was definitely my favorite thing that’s ever happened.” You laugh, shaking your head, and he presses another quick kiss to your lips, just because he can. “You’re in trouble now, sweetheart. ‘Cause I’m never letting you go.” And when he pulls you into another kiss, you believe him.

RICHARD RIDER (NOVA)

- The weight of the Nova Force thrums beneath his skin, a power that has shaped and shattered him in equal measure. Richard is used to battles, to the endless war against forces greater than himself. But this? This is different. This is not something he can fight, not something he can outrun. You stand beside him on the edge of a dying world, the stars reflecting in your eyes, and for the first time in a long time, he feels like maybe—just maybe—he’s not fighting alone.

- "You make me want to stay," he admits, voice rough with exhaustion, with the kind of honesty that takes more strength than any battle he’s ever fought. He turns to you, something raw and unguarded in his gaze. "That’s dangerous." He has spent too long losing people, too long watching the universe take and take until there is nothing left. But you—you are something the universe has given, and it terrifies him.

- The kiss is sudden, but not thoughtless. It is the culmination of something inevitable, something that has been building since the moment he let himself care. His hands cup your face, firm but reverent, as if afraid you’ll disappear the moment he lets go. He kisses you like a man clinging to the last piece of something real, like a soldier who has finally found a reason to return home. And in that moment, for the first time in a long time, he feels weightless.

- When he pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, his breath steadying. “If I could choose anywhere in the universe to be,” he murmurs, “it’d be right here.” His fingers tighten around yours, and as the stars continue their endless dance above, he wonders if, for once, the universe will allow him to keep something good.

[lordprettyflackotara]

hitchhiker || chapter three || the proxies

tw: mentions of murder (the usual), descriptions of gore, simpy Tim

a/n: the next chapter is going to be sum else. prepare yourselves now ;)

<— chapter two

You turned to Nova, who quickly led you over to your living room.

“I understand being excited about this case but I could’ve invited him in if you weren’t here,” You sighed. Nova’s curls were in space buns, her bare baby face staring back at you with a frown. “Well I guess it’s a good thing I was here then. Last thing you need is dick from a literal hitchhiker,” She argued sassily. She put her hands on her hips, giving you a motherly look. You rolled your eyes, Nova reaching out and grabbing your wrist.

“I have to show you, you’re the only person I can trust,” She explained. She led you over to your living room, documents and photographs laid all over your white living room carpet. “Is it really okay for me to see all of this?” You questioned. She sat down on the floor, excitedly patting the spot beside her. “Absolutely not but that’s why no one else is going to know, right?” Nova said, arching an eyebrow. You joined her on the floor, the sight of all the papers overwhelming. “Right,” You agreed. Nova began dividing up the papers, placing three in front of you.

“They found Winston’s body. Did an autopsy and everything,” Nova began. Your eyes widened in horror. “Found his body? He’s dead?” You gasped. Nova nodded. Her face flashed a glimpse of sadness for a moment before it hardened again. “He was slaughtered. His body was completely dismembered, his torso the only thing left,” She explained. You felt your stomach churn. “Oh God,” You whispered. She began looking for a certain paper, shoving the others aside.

“My guess is that they tried to make his corpse unidentifiable. But they were morons. They didn’t account for his daughter’s name being tatted on his chest. Dead giveaway.”

You arched an eyebrow, “They?”

“I think there’s three of them.”

She pointed at the photographs in front of you. Each one contained individual silver bullets, with different backgrounds. “Those bullets are from a revolver and they’ve been found in all of these cases. From Florida to South Dakota to Oregon,” Nova told you. She brought out three more photos of two women, one man. “Those murders were of the head chiefs investigating this symbol,” She told you. She then held up a crumbled piece of notebook paper with an X through a circle.

“Meanwhile in Rhode Island, Utah, and New York, we’ve found at least four victims with a similar slash wound to the throat,” Nova told you. You cringed at the thought of her bluntly showing you the gore, but instead she held up diagrams of the bodies. Each were drawn and had notes dissecting every little mark on the victims body. “Every single one of them were slashed in the throat with the same blade. Look, same start and end point every time. No jagged edges, just a straight blade,” She pointed out. Nova braced herself as she showed you another pile.

“Now the third set of the victims seem to have it the worst. In Texas, New Mexico, South Carolina and countless other states, there have been findings of bodies like this,” She told you. She set out at least ten papers, the drawn diagram autopsies. You felt your stomach churn as you soaked in all of the pictures. “T-they’re all-” You stuttered, swallowing. Nova nodded affirmatively. Each drawing showed only the torso of the victims, the arms, head, and legs completely chopped off. In each of the drawings the torso itself seemed mangled, torn apart.

“It looks like they’re shot or sliced to death, before they’re dismembered,” She said. You felt your mouth run dry. “One of them shoots the victims or slices them, the third dismembers them,�� She told you. You couldn’t make sense of what you were seeing. You grabbed the dreaded symbol of death. The paper was so crumbled it would’ve torn it if you weren’t careful. “I don’t understand, all of this torture and despair over this symbol?” You asked. Nova shifted through the papers, digging out a report. “I don’t know what it means, but I know whoever it belongs to doesn’t want it getting out there,” Nova said. She nervously bit her bottom lip as her eyes darted across all of her papers.

“Who was the first detective? How did they find it?” You asked. She brought out a picture of a tall detective, his hair buzzed and green eyes lit up as he smiled for the photo. “This is detective Wolf. He was investigating a triple homicide. It looks like a daughter murdered her entire family at fourteen and escaped. When they went through the home drawings with those symbols were everywhere,” Nova said. She showed you a picture of the girls bedroom. Pictures of the symbol were plastered all over her walls, along with words scratched onto the walls itself. He’s coming. There’s no escape. It’s him.

The words appeared to be scribbled onto the wall with raw charcoal. Jesus Christ they should’ve gotten that kid some pencils. “Now they just assumed the girl to be schizophrenic. That was until they found the same symbol all the way in Kansas,” Nova told you. You noticed the under eye bags that hung under her chocolate orbs. When was the last time she had slept? “Similar case. Teenage boy lost his shit, stabbed parents to death while little sister was at daycare. Investigated his room and guess what? Same symbol. Same ominous words,” She told you. Digging through her vanilla folder she held out a newspaper article to you. “Now here’s the funny part. Detective Wolf wasn’t killed until the symbol was found again. It’s like whoever this symbol belongs to went back to cover their tracks,” She rambled.

You put your hand on her shoulder, snapping her out of her addictive trance. “I think you’re onto something,” You admitted. She looked at you, her lips dry and face paler than usual. This case looked like it was draining her energy. “But with that being said you need to watch your back. Whatever gang or person or thing that’s behind this has no problem traveling to slaughter someone to keep it sacred. You need to watch your back,” You advised. Nova gave you a tired smile. She placed her hand on yours. “I’m going to solve this case. Just keep a lookout for me on the civilian side of things, alright?” She asked. You nodded. You watched as she grabbed her papers, putting them in a particular order as she organized them back into her folder.

“Why don’t you crash here for the night? Take the bed and i’ll join you in a bit. I think old episodes of friends are running at this time of night,” You suggested. Nova clipped the folder together, securing her findings. “Thanks, you’re the best,” She said. You both rose to your feet, Nova quick to throw her arms around you. “I don’t know what i’d do without you,” Nova mumbled. You squeezed her tighter, knowing how the stress of cases affected her. And truthfully, you didn’t know what you’d do without her either.

“Hey don’t stay up too late, you have work tomorrow!”

\/

You did in fact stay up too late, resulting in you falling asleep on the couch. You were awoken by knocking on your front door. Groggily you dragged yourself over to the door, trying to remember if you put on make up last night so you could rub your eye. You were so tired you didn’t look through the peephole, opening the door. You became fully awake at the sight of Tim. Quickly you brushed your hand over your tangled hair, suddenly becoming self conscious of your appearance. But why should you be? He’s the one that left dinner. He looked he hadn’t slept, his brown eyes looking back at you. He wore his standard mustard yellow jacket, a bouquet of red roses in his hand. You opened your mouth to speak, Tim quick to stop you.

“I know what you’re going to say and before you do let me just say, i’m sorry,” He rambled. You shifted your weight to one leg, looking up at him. Maybe you were a simp. Maybe you were just down bad. But you decided to overlook his weird behavior. “Apology acknowledged. The roses…?” You started to ask, your voice trailing off. Tim awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. “They’re for you. I didn’t know what your favorite flower was but I assumed roses would do for now,” Tim said shyly. It was your first time seeing him so relaxed when speaking. He appeared to be alone, Brian and Toby no where in sight. “Apology accepted or denied?” Tim asked you. You took the roses from him, smelling the delicate flowers. “Acknowledged for now. Don’t push it,” You say sternly but in a soft tone. Tim gulped as you signaled for him to come into your apartment.

“You look like you didn’t get much sleep,” You commented. You reached under your kitchen sink, grabbing a vase for the flowers. “Neither do you,” He deflected, trying to change the subject back to you. He liked talking about you. Talking to you. Your face went red as you looked down. “Oh well uh, I was up late with Nova. Fell asleep on the couch,” You admitted, embarrassment practically dripping off of you. You grabbed a pair of scissors, cutting the stems of the roses. “Is Nova your roommate?” Tim asked curiously. You put some water in the vase, finishing cutting the stems. “Oh no she just has a key to my place. Comes over during the day usually but she spends the night sometimes,” You explained.

Tim walked over beside you, leaning against the counter. He was much taller than you, his gaze fully centered on you as put the roses into the vase. His mind was rattled for many reasons. Some suspected Nova had a crush on you but you were oblivious. Some thought Nova was going to endanger you because of her line of work. And some were just flat out jealous a stranger he didn’t know got to spend the night with you instead of him. “Want some coffee?” You asked. Your sweet voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “I’d love some,” He chirped. Your apartment was extremely small to Tim. It looked like you had attempted to make it tidy, but with it being so small all of your items looked cluttered.

“Straight black right?” You asked, setting the vase on your counter. Tim gave you a small smile. “You remembered,” He commented. You popped the empty coffee pot into the machine, pushing a button so the coffee would brew. “Hard to forget when you didn’t order anything else,” You replied. Huh. You were not as oblivious as Tim thought you were. Tim was typically nauseous ninety percent of the time. The only time his body ever really ate a hearty meal was when Masky fronted. If anything, Masky was so gluttonous it explained Tim’s consistent nausea.

Another suspected reason was Tim’s diet. Tim’s diet consisted of coffee and cigarettes. Yum. “So about last night I uh… I want to make it up to you,” Tim told you, trying to continue the conversation. The smell of coffee filled his nose, the scent flooding your apartment. “I thought that’s what the roses were for?” You asked. Mentally you felt like you had every right to be stand offish. Tim and Brian disappeared randomly. And although you were grateful for some time alone with Toby, that didn’t excuse their actions. Especially when no explanation was provided. Not one that’s good enough anyways.

“They are but I wanted to um, ask you if uh, you wanted to go out with me sometime today. Just the two of us,” Tim asked. He felt like a fourteen year old kid who just asked out his middle school crush. You felt your face flush pink. Did Tim just ask you out on a date? “I work until around ten tonight. Are you okay with that?” You asked slowly. After your previous breakup you hadn’t had too much experience with men. A tension began to bubble in the room, one you hadn’t realized was there before. Was Tim trying to hit on you? “Works for me. I don’t think much will be open but we can always walk around the Davidson park,” Tim suggested. He could feel his nerves eating at his bones as he awaited your answer. Davidson park was a massive park given to their town by the state, large oak trees and multiple kinds of flowers planted all over the place.

The coffee had finished brewing, your hand wrapping around the coffee pots handle. “What about Brian and Toby? I know Brian doesn’t like me but Toby and I had a nice walk home together,” You said dryly. You went to grab two mugs, the only two that were clean. You stared at them in the cabinet, your hands hovering over them. You mentally scolded yourself when you realized they were both hello kitty themed. Thanks Nova. “Don’t take Brian personally. He has a hard time socializing. We never stay in one place too long and he’s scared of getting attached,” Tim explained. Technically he wasn’t lying. You tried to nonchalantly pour you both cups of coffee, ignoring Tim’s eyes examining the hello kitty mugs. “What about Toby?” You questioned. One mug had hello kitty dancing and in the other one she’s winking with a wand. You mentally face palmed. Not exactly like there was a more ‘masculine’ mug you could hand him. Or honestly, literally any kind of boring adult mug would’ve worked.

“I think it’s great you guys like each other but i’d like the honor of getting to know you too,” Tim answered quickly. You poured both cups of coffee, deciding on Tim getting the dancing hello kitty mug. He took it without question, sipping the steaming coffee like it was nothing. “Alright let’s call it a date. I’ll meet you at Davidson park around eleven?” You suggested. Tim nodded, watching as you scooped a spoonful of sugar. He couldn’t help but want this routine all of the time. He’d make sure you were taken care of, pampered and fed. With the lack of clean dishes and yesterday’s clothes still on your body, it was apparent to him you were struggling. He didn’t want you to struggle ever again.

As Tim sipped his coffee, all he could think about was all of the ways he wanted to take care of you.

“Hey y/n?”

“Hmm?” You hummed, grabbing your almost empty creamer from your fridge.

“Nice mugs by the way.”

[equallyshaw]

nova scotia princess | nico Hischier

nico hischier x oc marchand

warnings: swearing, mostly fluff and some sweet moments between her and her siblings.

word count: 4.3k

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marie celine marchand had been in new york for the past year, much to brad's dismay. he hadn't seen her since christmas, and was shocked to see her at his doorstep up north. it was now july during the off season, and marie had decided to head on up to nova scotia, for her birthday no less.

◦

the youngest of the five, she could not have been more different from the rest. she never engaged in hockey (i know! a sin!) never took any inkling towards skating or snow sports, but instead towards soccer, her first love. she was enamored with it and it took her to faraway places with team canada and for her college years at the university of stanford. she had a very hard time leaving california but knew it was best to start fresh, and it just so happened that she loved new york. at the time, it was only a 40 minute drive to her long time childhood friend, ryan graves before he was traded to the pittsburgh penguins. the day he was traded, he gave her a phone call and she was completely gutted. yet she understood the business side of the league, though brad had gotten the better part of it his entire career. after he was traded, she hadn't thought about the new jersey devils as the season rolled around. she no longer had something tying her to them, so she moved on and supported her friend's ryan and sidney on the pens from afar. it wasn't until she found her self in upper manhattan meeting up with some girls from work at a little known and upscale restaurant, that she had saw some of the people she'd grown close to over ryan's stint with the team. she walked past them towards her table, most certainly garnering some looks once they heard the familiar name of marie celine from the group of girls. she got a text from a few of them night, restarting the snapchat groupchat she had had with some of the younglings. most notably, hughes', nico and dawson. she rolled her eyes as messages flowed in that evening as the girls took some wine back to the girl's apartment.

that evening all of the caught up with one another, and then she received a text from nico askin if they wanted to get some coffee for old times sake. what did she have to lose? and so it began than, secret dates and then group dates with the team, spending weekends at a time with nico at his place getting up to whatever came about. throughout all of it, she kept it a secret from everybody besides her older sister rebecca; nobody needed to know. at least not yet.

◦

marie walked up to the front door of brad's lake house and she mentally prepared herself for the all the pestering and bombarding that would happen once she'd set a foot in the house. she pulled out the key he had given her the year he finished building it, and she quickly made work with the lock and pushed open the tall door. "brad! im home!!" she called out, smirking to herself as she heard dogs running towards her and footsteps. she looked up to see brad with wide eyes and then his famous smile. she took her hand off of her small suitcase, and met him halfway for a hug. "who's here?" "who's that?" "if its jr im gonna cry" and that made marine giggle, already knowing it was ryan. "you good?" brad questioned pulling away just a bit and she nodded, "yep! are you? you forgot to invite me for my birthday!" she said faking a pout. "kat!" he called for his wife and marie slapped his arm, "don't go blaming it on your wife you hooligan!" marie said as katrina walked in and she squeled. "i thought you were going to sw-" and then katrina cut herself off. brad looked at his wife then to marie and then they were both gone and off towards the kitchen. "we have a surprise guest!" katrina called out towards the open back door and a group of heads turned towards her. she saw her siblings, ryan, sid, nate, patrice b, pasta, their partners, a few childhood friends of the siblings and a few aunts/uncles. "damn got the whole fam i see..." she whispered to kat who giggled. "uh yeah you could say that." she said looking down at the girl as some of the guys came to say hi. "hi guys." she said looking at some of the nova scotia greats as ryan rested his arm on the brunettes head. she looked up giving him a playful dirty glare, "ah hem." she said garnering a few laughs. "well if you'll excuse me-" she paused pushing ryan's arm off of her head, "ill be down soon, i need to do a few things." she said smiling at everybody before she was off towards a guest room that was designated hers.

she sat down on the edge of the bed as she put her head in her hands, cursing the world. her phone buzzing like no tomorrow with texts from nico, the hughes brothers and dawson. she had been dodging their texts and calls after (what she thought) was nico cheating on her. they were on facetime a week ago and she could have sworn she heard somebody in the background as she heard a muffled voice and nico look in front of him one night. so when she didn't show up to the airport in switzerland the day before, nico was freaking out. which in turn freaked the other boys out. she heard a soft knock on her door, and she looked up to see ryan. she sniffled, wiping her tears as he stepped in and shut the door behind him.

she broke down even more, and ryan quickly sat down beside her and wrapped his arms around her. he had no idea why his best friend was hurting, yet he kept quiet until her sobs became softer. "mc....whats going on?" he asked as he pulled back just a bit to look at her, her cheeks stained with redness and moisture. she sniffled, "he-he's cheating on me." she said and ryan knew exactly who she as referring to, besides her sister she ofcourse told him. they were two peas in a pod, through thick and thin. ryan sighed, growing heated with anger. "and they wont stop texting me...they are worried as to why i didn't make it to switzerland but i don't wanna talk to them." she said pushing her head into his chest. ryan kissed her head, trying to calm himself. she needed her best friend, he'd take care of nico later.

◦

the next morning ryan left the marchand house early to get some coffee for him and marie. the two hadn't left her room all day. she was too much in state of disbelief, shock, and grief as she explained to nico what had happened. as soon as he was turning onto the main strip her called nico up, ready to tear him a new one. nico picked up on the fourth ring unsure as to why he was calling, "wanna fucking explain to me hischier why the fuck you cheated on the very best thing that has ever happened to you and our universe huh? why you decided to hurt the very brightest light? you are so in for it hischier, you have no idea. you have a whole league about to give you hell." ryan spat breathing rapidly. nico was at a loss for words over in switzerland. "what?" he croaked in confusion and exhaustion. since marie hadn't been responding to anybody's calls or messages, he hadn't slept. too sick with fear and anxiety. "she caught you with a girl nico, on facetime. are you seriously that daft?" ryan growled. nico thought back to their last facetime and he went through the events of it. he'd been sitting up in bed shirtless, around 11:30 his time, he was just about to go to bed after finishing his sleep tea and he then realized. she had heard his sister in the background, as she had come to visit him and the two had just gotten done playing a round of Mario kart. "christ- didn't cheat. promise." he said standing up now and looking at flights to new york. "who was it then nico?" ryan questioned, "my sister. can get flight to new york today." he said and ryan chuckled, "yeah no she ain't there." ryan said turning into the drive through, " if you're gonna make things right, you gotta come to scotia." ryan stated.

_

ryan walked back into the house with his, brad's, kat's and marie's coffee with a few breakfast sandwiches. "wanna tell me why marie is crying on the dock?" sidney said as soon as ryan walked into the kitchen. "wait what?" ryan asked setting everything down before looking towards the dock, and now seeing nate making his way down it. ryan sighed, "misunderstanding." he simply stated taking the coffees out of the tray. "misunderstanding, huh? is that why you two were locked in her room all evening?" sidney asked sipping his hot coffee. ryan sighed again, "she thought her boy-boyfriend cheated on her." was all ryan stated sipping some coffee. "boyfriend?" sidney questioned, eyes going wide. "does brad know?" he questioned, and ryan scoffed. "like he need to know every little thing in her life." and sidney wouldn't buy it. "no no, you have to tell him! or at least get her too." sidney said with authority, and ryan rolled his eyes. "sid, she doesn't want him to know at least not yet." ryan said watching nate and marie interact. nate had his arm around the brunette, as she sobbed into his shoulder. "you know we all look at her like a sister, please do the right thing. we only want the best for her and that only happens if brad knows, and you know that." sidney said before taking his cup of coffee and heading out to nate and marie. ryan groaned as kat walked in with the young kiddos. "ou! mommy juice, thankyou ry." kat said thanking the defenceman. she saw the look in his eyes, and then she look towards the crowded dock. "oh no." kat said, "oh no? whats up?" brad said walking in rubbing his eye. he paused as he saw the three of them outside, huddled together, "whats going on?" brad asked now walking in front of ryan. "uh-" "spit it out graves." brad demanded and ryan hummed. "she thought her- her boyfriend cheated on her. but it was a misunderstanding." he stated and brad was angry. "boyfriend?! what do you mean misunderstanding graves? spill it!" he said as kat took the kids outside. "she thought her boyfriend of 10 months cheated on her but it was only his sister that she heard. i just got off the phone with the dude so its been all cleared away, i just hadn't had the chance to tell her." and then he said softer, "and tell you he's coming here." ryan said not meeting his best friends eye sight. "here? are you mad ryan! who is this so i can knock some sense into him?" brad demanded and ryan was in for it. he was cornered, there was no getting out of this. "i cant say brad, only marie can." ryan said defeatedly and brad rolled his eyes. "so you're saying that you really arent her boyfriend?" and ryan now met his eye sight in shock. "you're telling me that you two haven't been together at least at some point?" he said and ryan laughed. "oh god no, shes my sister brad. you know she hates me half the time, for good reasons but no. i couldn't ever go down that path and there has never been a moment ever for me to. ew gross." ryan said and brad sighed. "always thought it was you two against the world... man i gotta pay up." he said amusedly. "pay up?" ryan said cocking an eyebrow. "a long running bet with patrice." and now it was ryans turn to laugh. the nova scotia princess was never his and would never be.

_

on the dock, marie thanked nate for listening to her ramble and cry into his shoulder before sidney sat down. nate rubbed her upper back, trying to comfort the girl. sidney sat down and offered her some kind words, and she thanked him. "i just don't know what was not good enough for him? what did i do wrong?" she said looking off into the clear lake. sid and nate looked at one another, silently trying to get the other speak up. "nothing sunshine, nothing. its all him." sid said trying to reassure the young girl he'd seen as a little sister since the day she was born. him and brad had been in practice together when they got the call from brad's dad, urging the boys to head down to the hospital with sid's dad. the moment he had seen the young girl was how he felt when his sister was born, he'd protect and be there for her through everything. "how about a boat day?" nate offered up and marie smiled. she could never and would never pass up a boat day.

◦

it was around 10:30 pm and the original group that had been there when she'd shown up was back at the house, with all the kids passed out as they sat around talking, drinking and now making smores. ryan had been looking a this phone for the past two hours waiting to heard from nico, but nothing had come in since he had landed and was about to go through customs. marie had been having a great evening, her favorite people all in one place once again. celebrating her birthday that evening, and now talking like old times. ryan and marie sat with one another, cuddling up to stay warm now that a chill had set in. "dude, put your phone down for the princess' birthday." brad said annoyed that ryan and been on his phone for the better half of two hours. marie glared at brad, "its alright brad. no harm done." she sighed. she had a love hate relationship with the nickname, but most importantly when it was said out loud by brad. it made her cringe somewhat. "hows new york, mc?" nate asked and marie smiled then frowned softly before her smile reappeared. "its going great! work is going well and stuff. i even joined a soccer league for fun, it'll start up in august." she said swirling her drink. "we'll have to catch a game before we head to training camp." sid offered and the others agreed. she smiled softly, before ryan untangled himself from her after he got a text message. nico had arrived. brad eyed ryan as he got up and walked into the house. kat smiled softly knowing what was going to happen and nudged brad in the side a bit. "its fine, let them be." kat whispered and brad rolled his eyes.

marie shut her eyes softly, just basking in this moment, this evening and few days she had taken off of work to be here. it had been far too long since the last time she'd been home, always using her summers to train in san diego before returning to school. she hadn't been home in 6 years and promised herself that she'd make it up here more, now that she lived in new york. "oh princess!" she heard ryan call from the house and she sighed, standing up and throwing the blanket onto the seat before heading inside. "yes grumpy prince?" she asked giggling before she froze, seeing nico. he had a hopeful yet loving gaze on his face as she looked at him with tears beginning to form. what was he doing here? she turned towards ryan who had begun to make his way out, and she pulled him back inside as he was already through the threshold. "wanna tell me why he's here ryan?!" she asked upset. "ask him-" and she cut him off, "no, you tell me!" she screamed now alerting some of the guys outside. nico stood on the other side of the kitchen, with a defeated look on his face with guilt and regret spreading throughout his body. "he cheated on me and you're going to invite him here, ryan? tell me why that was a good idea, huh?" she pestered as brad walked in. "no fucking way." he muttered staring down nico, and nico took a step back. "answer me!" she yelled at ryan who held his hands up in innocence. "marie-" she cut off her brother, "you knew?!" she said stepping back away from the two. "let him explain himself." ryan said as she looked at the two people she thought she could trust in this world. thankfully, so far nate and sid hadn't given her any reason to distrust them. "let him explain, please. if you still don't believe him or want him gone- ill-we'll get rid of him." brad said pleading to his baby sister and she sighed, arms crossing over her chest. she turned slowly towards nico who had a pleading look, and her heart twinged just a bit. "fine." she said and the two smiled widely, backing out into the back and brad shut the doors.

"follow me." she said walking past him and they began their dissent up the stairs. she opened the door and let him walk past her into the room, and she shut it behind them. she then went to the window and shut the blinds, but not before flipping the group off. she heard groans and a few 'fuck' as they all wanted to hear and see the drama unfold. "i didn't cheat, schatzi. i promise." he began and she shook her head, "alright bud." she said rubbing her eyes. "i didn't baby, you have to believe me." he began again and she shook her head again. "who was it, huh? somebody like your ex? was it somebody better than me? what did i do wrong, ni. what did i do to hurt you?" she questioned through a strained voice. nico shook his head, "you've never hurt me, you've never done a thing wrong. promise. the girl-"he chuckled pulling her hands into his, inching closer to her. "the girl was my sister, nina." he said a bit amused now. his eyes crinkled as he smiled, his dimples on full display as he looked into the eyes of the girl, he loved. "wait what?" marie asked in disbelief. "your sister?" she asked and he nodded. she looked down and nico quickly diffused her guilt, "schatzi its ok, i promise!" he said pulling her chin up to look at him. she shook her head, "i - i mis read things and i feel like an idiot." she hummed tearing her chin away. "misunderstanding." he hummed and she frowned. "im sorry." she said with tears beginning to form, "im an idiot. oh my god." she said and he pulled her info a hug. he kissed her head, rubbing her back softly. "im a fool, im a utter fool how could i be so daft?" she rambled in french and nico chuckled, "you two have thing for the word daft?" and marie cursed the universe for him knowing french. "wait, two? who?" she questioned pulling back to look up at him. "nico yelled at me yesterday." he said laughing now and marie had a concerned look on her face, "how bad?" and that made nico laugh even louder. whenever she needed back up, he was there to give it. she looked up at nico as his laughs subsided and she stood on her tip toes to kiss him. he pulled her in closer, leaning down a bit so her feet could be flat. they pulled apart, resting their foreheads on each others. "so, how much trouble am i with the guys outside?" he questioned softly and now it was her turn to laugh.

◦

it was the next morning now and marie woke up to an empty bed, groaning before getting out of bed. she made her way over to the blinds and opened the blinds to see kat, patrices and david's girlfriend, and the kids on the patio eating breakfast while all the guys are missing. she squinted over towards the lake and she did a double take before seeing her brother's boat. it was a crowded boat, with all of them sitting facing one another. she spotted nico and prayed that the guys weren't going too hard on him. after the two spoke last night, they made there way downstairs for a bit before nico was on the verge of passing out due to the time difference. she quickly changed into a white t-shirt and linen pants, before heading down he stairs. "ti!" she heard rue screamed as she walked outside, and quickly made her way over towards the older girl. she wrapped her arms around the girl's legs before rue pulled her up for a hug. "good morning my girl." she said speaking in french as the two shared a small moment in the morning sun. "hows my favorite god daughter?" she hummed and kat laughed, "your only god daughter." she mused. marie giggled, "that's why she's my favorite." she said setting her back down in her height chair, and sat down on the bench with noah , patrice's son. "ouu cinnamon rolls!" the girl overly gushed, garnering some giggles from the kids. "ever the oldest child." kat teased and marie winked, "i take my role very seriously." she hummed.

the boat was on its way back now after a very stern talk with nico, unfortunately. basically threatening his very existence if he were to ever step out of line. the usual. oh, and that there was somebody or two on every team who would not hesitate to teach him a lesson. nico and the guys all got off onto the dock, with ryan running in front to get some cinnamon rolls- steal is more like it. "hey! that's for us." marie said swatting his hand away as he came up behind her, "i swear to god grumps, im gonna cut off your hand." she said quirking an eyebrow between the two's showdown. "good morning princess!" brad said placing a kiss on the girl's head before stealing a cinnamon roll himself. "hey, not fair!" ryan said and marie mimicked him, earning a chorus laugh from the kids. "im the one that brought them." brad said shrugging, "no i did." sid said and patrice shook his head, "you brought the original one's, i was told to pick up another dozen." patrice said picking up his youngest, felix. "yall are too much in the morning." she mumbled in french, standing up and walking inside to get some coffee. nico followed her into the kitchen to get a refill on his, to which she happily poured him some. "how bad was it?" she questioned, peering around him quickly and then looked back at him. he shrugged, "theyre just as scary in life as on ice." he said and she giggled. "yeah...they have no filter." she said pushing a strand of hair behind his ear. "tell me about 'nova scotia princess'." and she rolled her eyes, "the fairest of them all." he added with a grin and she growled loudly. "you inconceivable fools!" she yelled out, making her way outside. "im going to kill you all!!!!" she said looking at sid, nate, ryan and brad. she did a fake start towards brad before going after nate, "come here nathaniel!" she screamed running after the man, who was, unfortunately, being outrun by a 5'4 semi-retired defenceman. "somebody help me here!" nate called out and sid began his dissent, but she was too quick and made her way after him. "you are so getting in that water!" she screamed, referring to a tradition the 5 of them had. a surprise morning swim in the cold water. "its cold!" one of the kids screamed and marie laughed. "perfect!" she grinned. ryan tapped nico, "lets get our girl." ryan said nodding towards the brunette and nico smiled. "lets get her." and the two made their way towards the water where she was running after the two. "no!" she screamed as ryan almost grabbed the girl. "don't you dare!" she said jumping a few feet away from him. thankfully with sid and nate being neighbors, she freely began her way towards their places with the group following her. nico was the one closest to and almost grabbed her as well but she took a step to her right and was out of reach, "alright i gotta do it myself!" brad announced jogging over and marie knew it was game over. "not the old man!" she gasped, earning a few chuckles.

it was not brad who got the girl but nico, who was immediately instructed to drop her off the dock and into the lake. she screamed, cried, and kicked but unsuccessfully as she felt water hit her back. as she came up, everybody else decided it would be a great idea to also jump in. she covered her head momentarily before splashing water in all directions, "you! you traitor!" she said with astonishment as nico tried to get closer. ryan dunked her before she could say anything else, and nico laughed with the rest of them. she came back up and pushed ryan, "rude!" "the princess of nova scotia is officially home!" brad said as he made his way towards her, ready to splash her as well.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

hope you all enjoyed!! pls like and reblog if you did!

random tags: @hischiershoe @nicohischierz @cuttergauthier @skatesnstuff @fallinallincurls

[joleneghoul]

Booster Gold! ...but a middle aged father of two.

I mentioned back when I made my Macromia Who's Who inspired page that I wanted to do other Time Masters (that exists in my mind) character sheets too so here is this man.

Text from picture under cut In case it's hard to read

Personal Data

Name: Booster Carter-Kord (He/She/They) Alias: Booster Gold Height: 6’5  Eyes: Brown  Hair: Blonde/White Marital Status: Married Occupation: Superhero, Public Personality, Secret Time Master. Base of Operations: Vanishing Point, Metropolis, New York Home origin:  25th Century Texas

Powers/Abilities  Legion Flight Ring, Power Suit with time travel modifications, Gauntlets (Booster Shots). Super Nova costume: Temporal Displacement

History Once a star quarterback fallen from grace, now a star studded superhero. His hair may be going white and there may be wrinkles at the corners of his eyes (that he swears aren't there) but Booster Gold is still (some of) the public's sweetheart. Through the years he has worked to establish a name for himself, a brand. Modeling, talk shows, advertisements, secretly saving the world— he's done it all. 

During the first few decades of his time in the 20th century Booster found his place in the Justice League International. There he met Ted Kord, the second man to hold the title of Blue Beetle. From the 80s to the mid 90s the two were a nearly inseparable heroic duo, and when they were apart they always found a way back to each other. Their partnership became romantic through the years.  Though, with the combination of Doomsday nearly throwing Beetle out of the game and The Overmaster cutting Booster’s arm off, their lives drastically changed. By 1996 The Blue and Gold was just The Gold…in a hero sense.

The days of Blue and Gold's brand of superhero adventures may be over but that doesn't mean the dynamic duo aren't still taking the world by storm. Booster continued his life as the hero Booster Gold and Ted shifted focus to building the brand of Lightspeed Entertainment- A videogame company founded by the two of them. Together they rebuilt and shaped their public image into a story of success.

Though none of that is as important to Booster nowadays than his family. Michelle Carter, his sister, found her way back out of being trapped in time leading to Booster spending his free time converging with The Time masters and butting heads with The Linear men. During a temporal mission to Daxam, he ended up saving and adopting a newly orphaned girl named Rani. With this Booster and his husband Ted shifted their focus to being fathers. Following the Birth and attempted temporal assassination of his second child, Ripley Carter-Kord, Booster created The Vanishing Point island that became the family’s home. Creating a life lived officially inside and out of time itself. 

[abellalu]

Adventures on a Foreign Planet | Chapter 1

Summary: After narrowly escaping Thanos, Loki is given a chance for a new life. The Avengers allow Loki to live in New Asgard with his brother, Thor. However, The Avengers are not quick to put their trust into Loki. SHIELD Director Nick Fury recruits an Agent who was once said to be one of the most promising SHIELD Agents, to follow Loki and ensure that he has no plans to harm Earth. Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x Reader A/N: Hello! This is a new series I've been working on and I'm excited to finally be publishing it. This is just the first chapter, so I hope you stick around to see the full story. [ Masterlist | AO3 ]

Every Asgardian knew the stories of the land that was now supposed to be their home. Many celebrations that were full of food and wine also included the Allfather Odin reminding them of the battle in a small village on Midgard called Tønsberg. The audience would shiver, their shoulders tense as Odin described the land being frozen over by the Frost Giants and their malicious leader, King Laufey; the monsters with blood red eyes and physiques that tower over Asgardians.

The story was always told the same way, with Odin leading the Asgardian army into battle without fear. The War eventually ended in the Frost Giants own realm Jotunheim. But the Midgardian village that eventually grew into a city was still remembered as years later, Odin would ask for the Asgardian worshippers to protect the Tesseract.

At the end of the story, Odin would yell “Asgard will always prevail,” and the crowds would cheer as loud as they could and some would chant the phrase before filling their drinks once more.

Now, their home that they had for centuries was gone. The prophesized apocalypse, Ragnarok, had happened. The Asgardians had needed refuge and their new King Valkyrie, with the advice from the formerly Crown Prince Thor, decided the city from their stories could be their new home. The Asgardians knew there would be no grand celebrations for a long time. 

However, most Asgardians were simply grateful to have a chance to continue their lives. Hela’s takeover of Asgard caused many lives to be lost. But their challenges were not over yet, as Thanos had come for the Tesseract. 

Thanos originally went for another infinity stone on a planet called Xander. But decided against it as rumors his daughters Gamora and Nebula knew of his plans stopped him. Little did he know that his daughters and their friends knew of his new plan to go after the Tesseract. The Guardians of the Galaxy, as they referred to themselves as, followed him. With the help of the Nova Corp and some Ravagers, they were able to fight Thanos. The new legend says Nebula performed the final attack, killing The Mad Titan.   

Not every Asgardian survived the Thanos attack. Most were able to escape quickly in a smaller ship with Valkyrie and Korg. Some decided to stay behind and fight. To ensure Asgard had a future. 

Everyday since the Asgardians arrived on Midgard three months ago and renamed the city of Tønsberg to New Asgard, the younger prince of Asgard wondered if it would be the day he was sent to a different realm or was executed. 

Loki's last visit to Midgard resulted in a strange wizard putting him in a strange portal where he fell for thirty minutes while Thor was told to take Loki from Earth. Thor easily agreed that his brother was a threat to Earth. The Battle of New York was far from forgotten.

But, now Thor was telling anyone who would listen that Loki had changed and was a hero for the Asgardians. The Avengers did not trust this supposed change of heart and decided to lock up Loki in the Avengers Compound until they decided what they would do with him. Loki did not put up a fight. What was the point?

Thor attempted to make his brother's living situation as comfortable as possible, requesting that he was not put in a cell but rather an apartment like the ones the other Avengers lived in; Tony Stark's AI FRIDAY, ensuring tight security. 

During the months living in the compound, Loki was questioned on a regular basis, mostly by the Avengers but occasionally by military and government officials. But ultimately, everyone agreed that it was up to the Avengers to make the final decision. 

“Why are you here Loki? Planning another massacre in an attempt to be some King? I wanna know what tricks you got up your sleeve this time cause the mind stuff was really impressive but you don’t seem like the person to enjoy repeating tricks?” asked Clint Barton, a man Loki remembers well. He was always one of the harshest interviewers and for understandable reasons. 

The two men are sitting across from each other at a table in Loki’s temporary apartment. Unlike the others, Loki has not been able to add any personal touches. The walls are plain and all the tabletops bare. 

“I do not plan on conquering. My return to your planet is simply because it is where my brother and our people are,” Loki responds. He sounded casual and almost bored, as if this was a phrase he repeated many times. 

Most of his life, Asgard gave him no attention except when he was causing tricks on them. Why would they when they could instead idolize Thor, the golden prince. Now he is constantly trying to convince others that he is a part of Asgard. That he is wanted by the Asgardians. Loki knew it was a lie, but the silvertongue always knew how to lie. 

“Your people? The people who did not want you to become their king so you decided it would be fun to destroy Earth,” Clint almost laughs.

“Fun is not how I would describe my past experience here.” 

The dark haired God never once broke eye contact with Clint as he said “There is much you don’t know about how that attack came to be. I was not the main person who lost that day.” 

Clint leaned back in his chair, sighing. The details given by Loki about his side of the Battle of New York always felt incomplete. He needed to hold back. The truth of those events and what he experienced because of that Mad Titan is something the Avengers didn’t need to know about.

Knowing it was a lost cause, Clint decided to move on. 

“New Asgard is starting to settle down. People are getting used to the situation, more homes are being built. They are starting work and the children are taking lessons again,” Clint offers.

“So I’ve heard.” 

“You helped Asgardians escape Ragnarok, " he leaned against the table, "You think you could create a new life?”

Loki only nodded.

Mission Assignment Update: Report to Nick Fury at Base 018

You groan as you put your phone back on the nightstand. It was only 6am, but of course the bastard Fury didn’t care that you only got to your apartment past midnight after finishing your latest mission.

It wasn’t an exciting one. There was a rumor that a “dangerous group” in New Jersey was developing technology that could hack anyone including Tony Stark himself. 

And of course like always it was nothing. Just a group of grad students who got pretentious about some of the programs were developing and exaggerated the truth to some of their friends.

Yet, SHIELD still never wanted to take any risks so you were the ever so lucky agent that had to investigate then write a riveting report about how it was nothing.

The notification didn’t include a meeting time, meaning that Fury wants you to be there as soon as possible and no matter what time you arrive, he will complain about you being late. 

Your eyelids still feel heavy as you will yourself to get out of bed. As you slowly gain consciousness you wonder why you even have to go to Fury for your mission assignment. Most of the time you are messaged the directions of the missions and complete it all on your own. 

Eventually you manage to get dressed and run out of your apartment to head to the SHIELD base. It wasn’t a very big one, though most of the facilities weren’t anymore. SHIELD didn’t have much now after the Hydra infiltration. Many resources were gone and so were many agents. 

This base was hidden in plain sight. It was just another skyscraper in New York full of many businesses that each rented a couple floors. As far as the other workers in the building knew, “Secure and Shield Surveillance” was a small technology company that possibly made security cameras or computer protection software. 

No one ever really cared enough to investigate further.

You enter the building and take the elevator to the 8th floor. When the doors open and there you are greeted by the hostile stare of the secretary, Bernadette who has half-moon glasses and dresses as though she is working in the 1950s. Her gray hair is in its usual tight updo that never allows any piece of hair to move from its assigned position. 

“Well look who decided to grace us with her presence today.” 

Bernadette had been a part of SHIELD longer than anyone else (you didn’t know how long because no one would ever risk asking her age). You sometimes wondered if she was always a secretary or if her past jobs were more like yours. 

All you did know was Bernadette believed that SHIELD would be best run if everyone obeyed orders and that she hated you because you always did the exact opposite.

You roll your eyes and respond, “Always nice seeing you too. If I knew you missed me so much I would have visited more often.” 

“How generous.” Bernadette returns to her work, attempting to ignore you still being in the room. 

“I know, when I die I’ll be treated like a saint,” you smile to yourself, knowing that you probably annoyed her enough that she will be irritated for the rest of the day. 

She continues to type on her computer, attempting to maintain a bored face, but you are still pleased because you can see the slight furrow in her brow and her frown deepen. “Director Fury is waiting in his office. A reminder on basic manners dear, don’t leave your boss waiting.”

“Didn’t plan on it Bernadette, I’m always polite.” You are already walking down the hall when you respond, while you attempt to hold your small laugh.

As you enter the office, you see Fury but there was another figure with him. Steve Rogers. You’ve met before many times albeit the encounters were usually very short. 

He has been involved with SHIELD for many years and after the infiltration was revealed, it was he who heavily promoted the idea of reforming SHIELD in hopes of maintaining its legacy. However, he was still most committed to the Avengers and most SHIELD operations were handled by others. 

But now the two men are standing around Fury’s desk, staring at you while you still stand in the doorway. 

“Director, Captain, I hope you plan on explaining to me why we are all here.” 

Fury steps forward towards you, his arms crossed, “Agent, I assumed you would know from the dispatch that we need to talk about your new mission.” 

“Yes, message that provided no details except to meet you here which we both know is irregular. We both don’t have time for this and I assume your other guest, who was not even mentioned on my invitation, doesn’t either.” 

Steve looks apologetic as he says “I apologize that I caught you off guard, that wasn’t my intention.” 

“It was absolutely my intention. Why are you complaining so much? I thought you loved surprises and it's really a shame we don’t see each other more often,” Fury interrupts.

You force yourself to laugh, “Not my fault you didn’t wanna go on a coffee date with me,” you close the door behind you, fully entering Fury’s office “Captain, are you willing to finally tell me about this mission?”

Steve sighs and sits down in the chair beside the desk, “As you know Thor has brought the Asgardians here to Earth, they’ve been rebuilding their home in Norway.” 

You nod. Asgard’s destruction and refuge wasn’t unknown. You heard about some missions of agents being sent to deliver resources and technology to the Asgardians, in an attempt to help them adapt to their new lifestyle. 

But doesn’t explain why Fury and Steve, themselves need to personally explain your mission to you.

Steve continues, “Thor also brought some of his companions with him,” he pauses, “Including his brother Loki.”

You feel your heart drop to your stomach and breaths stop. 

Loki is back on Earth? It has been years since the attack on New York, but no one has forgotten it. At one moment you are sparring with your fellow SHIELD trainees, placing bets on who was going to get assigned a real mission first, then in the next moment it doesn’t matter. SHIELDs Helicarrier was attacked and the perpetrator had escaped.

Everything you learn about their menacing leader was after the attack. SHIELD was able to collect some footage of the tall dark god. The footage was blurry, but yet you can still see the God enjoying himself. The attack was no accident. 

“You let Loki back on Earth? The Asgardians have been on Earth for months, are you trying to tell me you’ve allowed him to be here the whole time. What the fu-”

“Our reasons for allowing him to be here are complicated, Agent. Please try to stay quiet and listen.” Fury starts sounding more and more exhausted, whether by you or the entire situation is debatable. 

Steve looks at Fury then back at you, “When we saw Loki had arrived with Thor, we immediately put him in custody. Thor was upset with this decision and tried to explain to us that- well he believes his brother is good now.”

Thor believes his brother is good?

Fury explains, “Loki apparently did some hero shit when they were escaping Asgard and now Thor believes that his little dream of fighting alongside his brother is possible.” 

The story they are telling you feels like a dream. Or maybe this is a nightmare. It is too unbelievable to be real.

“Do you believe that? This is ridiculous-”

You are interrupted again by Fury “What did I say about you saying quiet and listening. We haven’t even gotten to the best part yet.” 

“We decided to investigate Thor’s claims about his brother. We needed to decide what to do with Loki and we finally came to a conclusion,” Steve stares at me “Loki is moving to New Asgard.” 

Steve continues, “New Asgard is where Thor is and maybe eventually after a while, he might even help the Avengers out. This is a dangerous move we know, but it’s one we believe in,” he pauses. “I believe we can give him a second chance.” 

Steve Rogers, or Captain America as the world knew he always wanted to do the right thing. To believe there is still good in the world even if it felt like it was all following apart. 

And somehow he could even see good in Loki.

You are lost in your thoughts when Fury's voice sneaks into your head. “This is where you come in, Agent.” 

Your head whips around to stare at Fury, your mouth slightly agape. During this meeting, you had become so distracted by this absurd story that you forgot the original reason for you being here.  

"Thor promises to keep an eye on his brother, but we want to be safe," Steve said, "Fury recommended you for the job.” 

You stare at Fury. He was always a calculated man 

"Why did you choose me for this mission?"

"Loki annoys the hell out of me and so do you,” Fury shugs. 

“Ha, very funny,” you say completely expressionless. 

This whole situation was ridiculous. 

But, maybe it was time for a challenge. For years now, every mission you’ve received always felt the same and never truly needed a SHIELD agent to handle it. 

“So, you’re telling me my new mission is to babysit a God?” They both nod cautiously. You pause, making sure you have made up your mind, “So when do I start?”

[nonogalego]

If the translation isn't wrong, you said you credit Liam's success in his solo career to Debbie, right? Mind to elaborate on that? I didn't follow his career after the break, only Noel's, and I'm curious as to why you said that, what did Debbie do, cause the only thing I know about her (and her relationship with Liam) is that she used to be his manager, then manager-girlfriend, that once he tried to strangle her and she was with him when he met Molly at that pub. Apart from that, I had no idea she had such an important role in the development of his career.

Elaboro sim, sem problema! (há alguns links no texto que podem explicar melhor algumas coisas)

Vamos pelo começo: Debbie era funcionária de uma empresa chamada Quest Management que gerenciava alguns artistas. A empresa então envia Debbie para ser assistente do Beady Eye, acho que foi entre 2012/2013. Ela não era empresária da banda, ela só era assistente de turnê. Porém em algum momento em 2013 ela e o Liam começam a ficar próximos, e supostamente eles começam a "namorar" escondido por meses, e na mesma época Liam ainda era casado com a Nicole e possivelmente ainda estaria em contato com a Liza Ghorbani!

Liam então parou de falar com a Liza, e ela moveu uma ação na justiça de Nova York pedindo 2 Milhões de Dólares e pensão alimentícia pra filha. A ação foi aberta como "Anônimo Vs. Anônimo", mas vazou na imprensa que se tratava de uma celebridade do rock britânico e casado. Por alguns dias rolaram alguns boatos de quem seria. Nicole e as irmãs estavam nos Estados Unidos de férias com toda a família, incluindo Gene e Lennon (Liam planejava se juntar a ela depois de um show do Beady Eye em Ibiza... mas isso nunca aconteceu!). Nicole e as irmãs estavam debatendo quem seria a celebridade que teve filho fora do casamento. Na época vi no twitter alguém dizer que elas não apenas achavam que era o Noel, como já estariam planejando espalhar esse rumor para prejudicar a imagem dele (mas não posso afirmar isso, foi um rumor no twitter)... mas no mesmo momento em que elas estavam falando sobre, Liam ligou para a Nicole e disse que era ele a tal celebridade, isso horas antes das primeiras publicações confirmando ser ele a celebridade misteriosa com filho fora do casamento, no dia 17 de julho de 2013!

Só que no mesmo dia, Liam foi visto com Debbie na Espanha, e quando as fotos saíram, a Quest Management demitiu a Debbie por ter se envolvido com Liam. Em setembro, Liam e Debbie passaram a morar juntos, o que mostra que eles realmente estavam juntos há meses!

Depois disso você deve saber, o Beady Eye terminou em 2014, ele passou pelo processo de divórcio no mesmo ano (mas o acordo financeiro foi finalizado só em 2015), e o processo por pensão alimentícia da Liza durou até 2015... A mídia e o público criticavam muito o Liam na época. Noel também fez uma crítica, mas foi mais no sentido de dar um conselho, pra Liam consertar as coisas e se reerguer.

O Daily Mail falava muito sobre o peso do Liam, e o público também o atacava... Liam não tinha mais nenhuma moral na época. Estava "gordo", envelhecido, com a voz detonada, cheio de processos de divórcio e pensão, a Pretty Green não dava lucro e foi saqueada em 2011, a imagem pública dele estava arruinada, ele estava sem nenhuma das suas duas bandas e se recusava a fazer a carreira solo.

Foi Debbie quem aos poucos foi convencendo Liam que sua única opção era a carreira solo! Convenceu Liam a ir no fonoaudiólogo, ele passou a correr e perder peso, e a cuidar melhor da saúde. Passou a frequentar novos lugares e conhecer várias pessoas, e alguns músicos também. Debbie teria então virado oficialmente sua empresária e ido atrás de músicos e co-compositores, e quando Liam estava pronto ela foi atrás de uma gravadora. Eles passaram 2016 todo trabalhando nisso. Em 2017 sai o primeiro álbum solo do Liam, e foi um sucesso!

Debbie também é responsável pela parte de relações públicas do Liam (então certas falas e atitudes do Liam de 2017 pra cá, tanto em entrevistas, shows e no twitter, podem ter tido influência dela).

Em maio de 2018 Liam conhece Molly, e esse encontro também foi por intermédio da Debbie.

Em agosto de 2018, saiu a história que Liam apertou o pescoço de Debbie em um clube londrino. Ambos negaram e ameaçaram processar os tabloides que publicassem essa "falsa" notícia, mas o The Sun soltou o vídeo de segurança mostrando que foi verdade. Antes disso, em janeiro de 2016, Liam e Debbie tiveram uma briga feia em público. Ninguém sabe os motivos dessas brigas e nem mesmo porque eles continuaram juntos depois... ouso dizer que Debbie enterrou essas histórias e seguiu com Liam porque ele não é só seu namorado, mas ele também é o seu trabalho! Trabalho dela, e de alguns amigos e parentes dela que ela empregou no staff do Liam! É muito dinheiro envolvido que ela poderia perder se ela se separasse. E Liam reconhece a importância dela pra sua carreira, ele sabe que deve muito a ela e que estava errado em agredi-la.

Em 2019 ele pediu Debbie em casamento. O casamento seria em 2020, mas por causa da Pandemia ele teve que ser adiado. Só que toda vez que eles marcam uma data, acontece algo e eles adiam. A última vez eles adiaram foi porque Liam ia fazer uma cirurgia no quadril, mas já tem um ano dessa cirurgia e nada de casamento!

Debbie também está sendo creditada como uma das responsáveis por negociar a volta do Oasis! Mas claro, qualquer coisa que ela tenha feito a respeito, foi para o bem e para as vantagens de Liam apenas. Aliás, Noel já deu a entender que alguns dos boatos sobre a volta do Oasis ao longo dos anos possam ter partido de Debbie.

Enfim, Liam e Debbie estão juntos a 11 anos, ela é sua empresária e noiva. E ela realmente esteve junto nos altos e baixos momentos de Liam!

[harrys-yellow-snow]

perfect - an h.s one shot °•. ✿ .•°

PART ONE

word count: 2.5k

themes/triggers/tropes: fluff, angst, lime (do people even say that anymore), arguing, fake dating, relationship...fixing?

It’s been months. Months since that last call, and even longer since that last text. She couldn’t stop thinking of the way she ran her hands through his soft hair. Or the way his fingers traced her jawline when he rested his head in her lap. She hated to admit it, but she missed it. 

Nova looked out her window, admiring the view of New York City from ten stories above ground. The Empire State Building could be seen in the distance. Manhattan was beautiful from the air, but looking down made her nauseous sometimes. 

Most of the time, she kept glancing down at her phone, waiting for a notification. Not just from him, but from anyone.  Her friends, her family, or even people she hadn’t spoken to in years that somehow still had her phone number. Yet, it stayed silent. No sign of life had come from her friends. She hadn’t spoken to anyone in a couple days. Some days, she liked it that way. But other days, like today, she missed them dearly.

She slid off the windowsill and made her way into her kitchen. Nova’s apartment had two rooms, so it was just across the way. Her bed and the bathroom connected from the living room and dining area. She didn’t spend as much time there as she should. The white marble cabinets glistened in the natural sunlight coming from the window. She opened the one above her and took down a box of cereal and a bowl. She liked her cereal dry. She knew she shouldn’t, but it didn’t matter. She sat down at the dining table and began to eat.

It was hard to swallow. Yes, she enjoys dry cereal, but her throat was tight. So were her eyes and her fingers. Nova hadn’t even realized how hard she was gripping the table. She knew she should be over him. It had been months. But she couldn’t stop staring at the empty chair across from her, imagining the perfect way his eyes lit up and the creases that formed near his cheeks when he smiled. She loved his dimples, getting deeper every time she tickled him. As all those memories came flooding back, she slammed her bowl every time she took a spoonful of cereal, She carefully reviewed each and every word she wanted to say to him as he was leaving, as well as the curses she screamed when the door shut for good. All that was left was the smell of his cologne on her sheets. It was impossible for her to sleep in them without thinking of the pain it brought her. All the mistakes she made that night, all of the horrible things she said without realizing. She wanted him back. That’s really all she needed to say.

Nova finished her breakfast and cleaned her dishes. The clouds slowly drifted away from the sun, revealing a beautiful blue sky and a perfect horizon. She looked down from her window to see groups of people cluttered together, walking down the sidewalks. She remembered the countless bags in her hands and the long credit card bills she received. It seemed to be a coping mechanism to get him off of her mind, but it didn’t work all the time. It brought back memories of all the money he spent on the clothes she didn’t deserve. They were deep in her closet, never to be worn again.

Speaking of clothing, she slipped on a light orange t-shirt and a pair of white pants. Her black and white sneakers were a bit tight around the toe, but comfortable overall. She locked up her apartment and made her way down to the street.

When Nova made her way out of her apartment building, she was instantly hit in the face with blaring heat. She felt a bead of sweat drip down her forehead as she started walking. This level of heat always gave her headaches if she wasn’t prepared. The light of the sun reflected off of the cars parked on the side of the road. Puddles were still on the curbs from the rainstorm a couple of nights before. Patches of grass poked out from the cracks in the sidewalk near the drains. All of these disfigurements made her realize not everything was perfect. 

Nova headed down at least ten blocks before she got to Times Square. She made her way through the bustling crowds to get a clear view of the New Year’s Ball. However, a pit in her stomach grew as she remembered their New Year’s kiss. On the balcony of his apartment, the ball drop could be seen half a mile away. The spotlights were flashing, but so were cameras below them. The flashes reproduced, which caught their attention. He shrugged, gave the paparazzi the finger, and they headed back inside. They wouldn’t leave him alone.

For the longest time, she thought he would never leave her alone, but that wasn’t the case. She shook her head, telling herself to snap out of it. She had to get over him sooner or later.

The aura was beautiful. She craned her head to look at all the vibrant billboards giving off appealing flares of color. Pictures moved in unison, all across the Square. Then, she saw it. Him. 

Harry Styles Love On Tour: New York City. September 21-23. Nova froze in her tracks, letting everyone walk around her. She didn’t care about the dirty looks she received, or the people brushing her shoulders to squeeze through. As quickly as the billboard came, it went. She hadn’t seen him in so long. She refused to look at pictures, watch interviews, read articles, or do anything that had to do with him. 

Nova put her head down and kept walking, keeping an eye on her shoes. Out of her peripheral vision, she saw beat-down sneakers, luxurious Gucci boots, and blue flip-flops, but she glanced at her again. She bought these with her own money, not his.

As much as she didn’t want to think about the billboard, she couldn’t stop. His hair was slicked back with the perfect amount of gel. His casual mustache was gone, but his green eyes were sparkling. She thought of all the times he endearingly looked at her from across the room, waiting for a hug or a simple kiss on the forehead. When he wrapped his arms around her, pure bliss and red flush filled her cheeks. His chest was warm like a cushion. She would crane her neck up and rest her chin on his chest, getting a close look at his facial features. Some days, he decided not to shave, leaving small patches of extra hair on his jawline for her to trace her finger over. He moved his head around, squirming underneath her when his face was tickled. He’d pull her in for a kiss and she’d come closer to her. And that was only the beginning.

She had to keep going. Ahead of her was a long street connecting to Times Square, but only a few cars were parked next to the curb. She already needed time away from the bustling crowds, which usually didn’t happen.

No one recognized her. When the first dating rumors came out, her face could barely be seen, even though they were all after her. From the ground, the angle was strange. He was dressed in all black with his hands wrapped around her face, pulling her as close as possible. She was in a gray hoodie as small flakes of snow started piling in her hair. He pulled her hood up and smiled into the kiss, but then they spotted the cameras. After that, she didn’t remember much of what happened. Stories were released, which tore them apart. He was afraid they’d be after her, but they weren’t. She didn’t see many negative responses to the situation, but she knew there definitely were some. That’s what Harry didn’t want her to get caught up on. Then, they started falling apart, not just because of the rumors. They claimed they didn’t love each other as much as before. It broke her. Not just her heart, which she always thought was corny, but her physical health seemed to deteriorate. Sleep deprivation stabbed her like a knife, leaving her in terrible pain. That led to mental misconfigurations, cognition issues, and an overall pissy mood. 

After a couple weeks, Nova could barely function. She refused to go out, claiming she was too tired. The city was too bright for her. Too many people to get in her way. Maybe someone would recognize her, pull her to the side, ask her about her ex-boyfriend, possibly even threaten her for “breaking his heart,” when in actuality, he broke hers. She still wasn’t sure what she did, but it didn’t seem to matter anymore.

She came to the end of the street, both mentally and literally. Her thoughts came to a stop and so did the rough pavement. It went back to being a smooth, cement road, like they decided that this street wouldn’t be paved. In this state, her thoughts of the breakup weren’t paved. They were bumpy and hard to make out. She didn’t have a clear idea of what happened, what caused it, or what she did wrong. What was so wrong with dating him? Other than the fact that they were constantly being followed, she didn’t see anything wrong. New Years was the only night they were ever seen together, then the news somehow suddenly broke out that they had split up.

Mentally, Nova slapped herself, telling her to stop thinking about it. It had been hours since she left the apartment and no other thoughts came to mind except her own mistakes. That stupid billboard didn’t help. 

Her stomach grumbled, telling her it was ready to be fed again. Right down the road, there was a bagel shop. New York City famous bagels were something she craved for months at a time, even if she had them every day. As she neared the shop, she took a deep breath, taking in the crisp, burnt smell of the iconic bakery. She stepped inside and was taken aback by the beauty of her favorite shop. It wasn’t as crowded as it usually was on a Tuesday afternoon. She was just in time for brunch, possibly early lunch. She waved to the familiar man at the counter, who shot her a smile.

“Hey, Nova! What can I get for you? You want your regular?” This was the ideal time for his thick Brooklyn accent to shine.

“Yes, please,” Nova said. As her friend went in the back to place the order with the bakers, she looked around the shop, imagining the food was about to be receive. An everything bagel with ham, cheese, and pickles. She had a strange taste in food (no pun intended), but she didn’t mind. It was mostly unique combinations of healthy foods, but there were a lot of popular foods she didn’t like. She hadn’t eaten meat in a while because she went pescatarian a couple months ago…

Nova sat down at the table closest to the window and looked out at the street. People on both sides passed by quickly. She loved people watching. In airports, on subways or the bus, or at small shops like these. Her eyes scanned across the window, watching some people enter the bagel shop, watching some leave, or just watching some walk by. Her friend tapped her shoulder, making her direct her attention towards him and the basket of food he put down in front of her. She thanked him and began to eat.

This was a flavor she hadn’t had in a while. Smoked ham on a mildly spicy bagel, with a hint of sweetness from the cheese. It was perfect. 

Another ring from the opening door filled the shop. Most people turned their heads like little kids in class whenever an unexpected visitor arrived. Nova was one of those children, poking her head up from her basket after saving a droplet of cheese from getting on her shirt. His hair was short and dark. He wore a blue and gray flannel and light blue jeans. His feet were protected by black and white Adidas sneakers. When he turned around after placing his order, she saw his face. 

Niall.

She hadn’t seen him in so long. Did no one recognize him? They made eye contact and his blue eyes lit up. A smile spread across his face as he made his way over to her table.

“Nova?” She stood up and they joined together in a quick embrace. He sat down and leaned his arms up against the table. “It’s great to see you again. I almost didn’t recognize you!”

“I know,” she grinned, focusing on her food to make sure she’s eating slower and neater than before he walked in. 

“How have you been?” He reached across and grabbed a lone piece of ham that fell from her sandwich and popped it into his mouth. She looked up at him and smiled, or at least tried to after hearing the question.

“I’ve been alright, thanks for asking,” her smile quickly faded and she took another bite of her sandwich. It was an irritated bite, knowing he’d ask more. He sighed and strung his fingers together.

“You’re not still thinking about him, are you?” he asked with a slight whisper. Nova swiftly looked up from her food again, getting a bit of a head rush. Her eyelids drooped, trying to regain her balance in her seat. She didn’t know how to respond. She knew he’d be upset if she told him, but if she lied, he’d know. With a slow shake of her head, she lied.

“No.”

Niall sighed again, “don’t lie to me, Nova. This is serious.”

She refused to answer.

“Nova,” he started, rubbing his temple with his calloused fingertips, “you still think about him, right?”

“Yeah, I do. A lot, actually,” she finished the last of her bagel and pushed the basket aside. She looked out the window again. She knew Niall wasn’t there to bother her, but it certainly was working. He was one of her best friends, but hadn’t spoken to him since breaking up with him. 

“Why?” he simply asked. A mixed look of confusion spread across Nova’s face. Why? She didn’t know why. If she did, she’d probably tell him.

“I don’t know why. I just… do. I don’t know.”

“It’s been months–”

“I know it has. I don’t think I’m getting over him any time soon. I just,” she stopped her sentence abruptly to scratch her forehead and sigh, “I keep thinking about him. Everything reminds me of him. I can’t sleep because my bed is empty every night. I should be over him, I know, but I physically cannot.”

“Maybe you should get out of here, then. Live somewhere else for a while,” Niall suggested.

“Where? I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“I’m having a party next week. Maybe you can come and stay at my place in L.A. for a bit,” his Irish accent was more prominent near the end of that sentence. Sometimes, his accent is hard to figure out, either what he’s saying or what accent it is.

“Seriously? You’d let me live with you?”

“Of course. You seem pressured to live here,” he said.

“I appreciate that,” Nova replied.

“Call me when you’re ready to go.”

[lawandorderforevercsi]

Nova's First Day of Preschool

September 3, 2024, 9:30AM

Isobel and Jubal smiled. Nova’s teacher allowed them to be in the classroom to ensure that Nova settled in.  They had been in the school observing Nova’s teacher reading to them, and once they knew that she had settled in and made friends, they knew it was time to leave. Jubal kneeled down to Nova's height and hugged his littler girl as Isobel did the same as Isobel said to Nova, “Baby girl, Auntie Sam will be here later to pick you up, and then we will see you later tonight, okay?”

Nova said, hugging her parents, “Okay, mommy and daddy! I love you!”

Once they left the classroom Together, hand in hand, they walked out of the classroom and headed out of the school. It seemed like yesterday when their little Nova was a newborn baby, and now she was in school. Where had the time gone? Right now, the arrangement was that Nova would attend for ½ day and would stay with Sam until they could come to pick her up (unless they had a big case, then Nova would stay with Sam and Alan overnight). 

It began when Nova turned two. Isobel and Jubal started researching Manhattan's schools and had many factors to consider. Though the Big Apple had excellent schools, Isobel and Jubal worried more about safety, engaging academics, and their daughter's attention from her teachers. Having been unable to find a school that met their criteria, they decided to look in the suburbs. That was when Isobel and Juibal heard from Elise and Vanessa that they had moved to a town near Scarsdale. Elise decided it was better for Vanessa not to attend school in New York City. 

After broadening their search, they found a school in Scarsdale and realized there would be a commute. It would make more sense to go from Scarsdale to the City rather than the city to Scarsdale and then back to the town, which would be wasting time and money, not to mention gas. They searched, and it didn’t take long to find a house. The best part was the excellent schools and the preschool that was close by. Just as they had put in an offer and it was accepted, Robert got wind of it and helped them with the down payment. Isobel initially wanted to object but realized her father was trying to make up for lost time, which she suspected would go on for a while.  Next up was ending their apartment lease. While the super was sad to see the lovely family go, everyone knew it was time to move into a house where there would be more space for Nova to grow. Now, they were on their way home to get ready for work. 

When they arrived home to prepare for work, Isobel saw the board Nova had used for their first day of school photo. Isobel smiled as she remembered how Nova was super excited.

Three hours earlier, 6 AM

Jubal and Isobel were snuggled together. The last few cases were straightforward, meaning they were home early enough to be with their daughter (it could also mean they had a big case coming up). They were in a dream state when suddenly they felt their bed being thumped. They then heard Nova’s enthusiastic voice, “Mommy and Daddy, time to get up!”

Jubal and Isobel rubbed their eyes to wake up. When they were fully awake, they saw Nova jumping on their bed with a big smile. Soon, Jubal and Isobel were up and getting ready for the big event. After Nova had dressed and brushed her teeth, Isobel took a quick shower, and Jubal made Nova her favorite breakfast. Then, when Isobel was ready, Jubal took a shower while Isobel helped Nova with her first day of the school board.

What brought a smile to Isobel’s face was Nova's dream of becoming an FBI agent. Nova could have said, “I want to be a lawyer, just like Grandpa Robert.” But she said, “I want to be an FBI agent, just like Mommy and Daddy!”

Jubal put his arm around Isobel’s shoulder, and when he saw what was making his wife speechless, he smiled, too. They knew that now more than ever, they needed to work hard to protect all the innocent people from harm, including their intelligent surrogate niece Vanessa and their sweet little girl Nova.

[litteratured]

John Giorno Interview: Inside William S. Burroughs' Bunker

Step inside ‘The Bunker’ in New York, the windowless former apartment of the legendary writer William S. Burroughs, and let yourself be guided around – from Burroughs’ typewriter to his shooting target – by its the current resident, the iconic poet John Giorno (b.1936 - d.2019). William S. Burroughs lived several places throughout his life. Between 1975-82 the drug addict and writer –famous not least for his automatic writing in books like ‘Naked Lunch’– lived in 222 Bowery, one of New York’s first YMCAs in the 1880s. Performance poet John Giorno has lived at the address since the early 1960s and was delighted to host his friend and colleague, who lived in the basement for seven years and dubbed the windowless space ‘The Bunker’. “ He was a brilliant transcendent writer, but he was more brilliant here,” Giorno recalls and explains how Burroughs was high from nine in the morning, and then would have vodkas and joints at five o’clock in the afternoon. Giorno himself would join him, albeit a bit later in the day: “Doing that for those endless years and years, that was a lesson – not sure what the lesson is though.” Having downed several more bottles of vodka and smoked more joints, Burroughs and his guests would shoot at the target poster, which still has its original bullet holes. John Giorno has been using ‘The Bunker’ as a guest room for visiting friends and today everything has been restored and kept like it was when Burroughs lived there: the target poster, the typewriter, the gun magazines and the desk all set for someone to sit down and write. We also get to see the ‘Orgone box’ – a box invented by psychoanalyst William Reich, who believed that orgones are vibratory atmospheric atoms of the life-principle, which can be concentrated as a creative substratum. “And if you sat in there you would collect orgone energy of the universal power,” Giorno adds. Burroughs “always believed there could be chaos and catastrophe, so every house should have a vessel to be able to save enough water to live for four days. So that’s why that was there,” says Giorno about the big water tank on the floor. Giorno also shows us Burroughs’ lamp, which is made from a – still functioning – rifle from the Civil War, as well as his BB gun: “It's a generational thing of his, coming of age as a young person in the 1920s and 30s, living in the country in St. Louis, and also outside, and being alone and being frail. I don't think his family were shooters, somehow it entered his life, all of those things.” John Giorno (b.1936 - d.2019) is an American poet and one of the most influential figures in contemporary performance poetry with his intensely rhythmic and philosophical poetry. He has published a wide range of poetic works such as the collection ‘You Got to Burn to Shine’, spoken words with William S. Burroughs and Laurie Anderson. In 1962, Giorno was the subject of Andy Warhol’s 6-hour movie ‘Sleep’. Giorno has also created Giorno Poetry Systems, which has published more than 40 spoken LP’s with acclaimed artists such as Allen Ginsberg and Patti Smith. William S. Burroughs (b. William Seward Burroughs II in 1914 – d. 1997) was an American writer and artist. He was a primary figure of the Beat Generation and a major influence in popular culture and literature, he wrote eighteen novels and novellas, six collections of short stories and four collections of essays, found success with his confessional first novel ‘Junkie’ (1953) but is best known for his highly controversial third novel ‘Naked Lunch’ (1959).  Along with artist, writer and poet Brion Gysin, Burroughs re-invented the literary cut-up technique in works such as ‘The Nova Trilogy’ (1961-1964). Much of Burroughs’ work is semi-autobiographical, primarily drawn from his experiences as a heroin addict. In 1951, he accidentally killed his wife Joan Vollmer with a pistol during a drunken ‘William Tell’ game and was consequently convicted of manslaughter. Through the years, Burroughs also created and exhibited thousands of paintings and other visual artworks, including his celebrated ‘Gunshot Paintings’. He did not, however, exhibit his artwork until 1987, and for last 10 years of his life, he presented his paintings and drawings at museums and galleries worldwide. He died at his home in Kansas after suffering a heart attack in 1997. John Giorno was interviewed by Christian Lund in New York City in October 2017.  Copyright: Louisiana Channel, Louisiana Museum of Modern Art, 2018

[lesbiandarvey]

could donna and harvey do iconic sports night fics

sorry this post is just for me dont worry about it

a form in wax: yes yes yes!!!! literally a form in wax is basically season 5 of suits -> danny leaving for la triggering casey’s problems with his father and going to therapy about it… so like donna leaves and goes to work for louis harvey starts having panic attacks and seeing paula about it to talk about his shitty relationship with his mother and it ends with him going to donnas’ friends art gallery opening and saying what do i want from you? i figured it out. i finally fucking figured it out… i want you to marry me

small town: yes! oh fuck yeah okay thomas would be the bobby bernstein so like donna and harvey have lived together as roommates for years in a small town in nova scotia working at a boutique law firm when thomas comes back into donnas life and asks her to come work with him -> the “im leaving you harvey” moment is her going to work with thomas and harvey freaks out

like sailing and home runs: ohhhhh okay ohmygod so in this harvey is the danny character. so his mom has a heart attack and his has to run to boston despite not speaking to her for years and right before he leaves he kisses donna in his office cus shes good and he needs just a little bit of that goodness in his life and then pulls back and leaves. and hes in the hospital all day surrounded by his dysfunctional family trying to make it through the fucking day and donna follows him to boston cus she knows he needs her. and she’s waiting in his hotel room after and he kisses her and things are happening and then he has a panic attack cus its just too much all at once and he calls paula saying “guy freaks out after kissing his best friend after his mom almost dies. not exactly the best romance novel of all time” and then the rest of the fic is harvey working through his guilt over kissing donna and how angry he is with his mother and how donna says that she thought… she thought that when harvey kissed her in new york she thought it meant he was ready and he wanted her to follow him and then they have That conversation im not explaining it well but its good in the fic

first base: OOOHHHH . i dont know??? maybe! maybe… like donna and harvey have this Thing in their 20s this half affair thing oh okay i think harvey is the danny here? where donnas married to . NO WAIT donna and harvey are the SECOND HALF of first base and CAMERON and harvey are the first half dancing in the kitchen in the refrigerator light and it messes him up for a long time until he finally is ready to be with someone again and he and donna finally get together after years and then get married like a week later. ok okay so the scarf moment is like right after he leaves cameron, he goes to donnas place and they spend the night together and he accidentally left his tie there and she kept it this whole time

even sugar peas run of out snap: no sorry . sugar peas really has to be two men. maybe maaaaybe if donna and harvey were lesbians in 1999 they could do sugar peas but also the whole point of sugar peas is that it ends in tragedy and darvey is about the fact they fall in love for the last time and its permanent. plus like the whole thing about sugar peas is about their role as Performers as Guys On Television like they have to be famous and closeted so donnaharvey doesn’t really work

whats that one called thats from january 1999 and its the first ever recorded dancasey fic where they sleep together in the office and wake up the next morning on the couch together and have to spend the rest of the day trying to figure out what to do next…. no i dont think donna and harvey would do that. its less fun when its about a guy and his secretary in the office together than two men who are partners. altho i am thinking now how crazy it would be if 8x16 happened in the office rather than her apartment. like it would be bad obviously but still i am thinking about it

WAIT VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS CATWALKSALONE how could i have forgotten voice in the wilderness but i dont think donnaharvey could do voice in the wilderness cus the whole point is about dan getting over his internalized homophobia BUT! catwalksalones other fic i love dearly is the chutes and ladders fic where “that night in minneapolis with the jäegermeister” they slept together and never mentioned it again and dan ever since has wondered about that and how everytime they get close it ends with casey pulling away -> so like after that night in the other time donna has always wondered what could have happened and how every time she and harvey get close to Something happening harvey pulls away and donna is desperately trying to figure out what the fuck is going on

[puckingeccedentesiast]

Mmm none that I can think of rn

But how are nova and Scottie doing

They are good!

Nova is getting ready for the beginning of the season post injury in New York, she and her dad had one last lunch date after he signed his contract before she flew back with Luke and Mat met her at the airport and they drove to their apartment.

Scottie is hanging out with Quinn and a few other Canucks players playing golf and getting lunch!

[archivist-crow]

On this day:

MYSTERY SWARMS

On August 20, 1880, swarms of black flies, from points unknown, rained down on both sides of the Atlantic. At Le Havre, France, a boat sailed into the waterfront wrapped in insects, while millions of flies fell in the streets. The exhausted creatures couldn't move. Pilot boats navigating the English Channel became black with bugs. Days later another swarm poured down in Nova Scotia, Canada, flying close to the water; many of the flies went under. Back in Britain, "millions and millions of flies" covered a schooner, forcing the sailors below deck for five hours. Upon reemerging, they had to shovel the deluge overboard. On the Hudson River, in New York State, a cloud of flies, driven by the wind and resembling a black blizzard, cloaked a steamboat.

In August 1869, in Great Britain, the Lincolnshire coast saw a strip of "pea-soup" so colored by the bodies of dead aphids floating on the water. The strip was three yards wide and hundreds of yards long, and odor of the dead insects made breathing difficult. The Norfolk coast watched a ten-foot-wide, three-mile-long line of dead ladybugs float downriver. The Essex coast experienced a "fog" of aphids, which blocked sunlight for days. Up and down the Thames River, ladybugs poured down, forcing brickyard workers indoors, mesmerizing cats, soiling laundry hanging on clotheslines, and making umbrellas a necessity.

Later that autumn, a beelike insect swarmed down Britain's east coast. Spiders and their webs streamed down from the sky at Carlisle and Tiverton, 280 miles apart, all day long, cloaking everything in gossamer. The summer of 1921 was eerily barren of insects, yet that same year a swarm of large fireflies appeared in Wales. The same week in London a species of unknown stinging insects arrived in a swarm, and an overabundance of fireflies showed up in Caterham, Surrey.

Text from: Almanac of the Infamous, the Incredible, and the Ignored by Juanita Rose Violins, published by Weiser Books, 2009

[coffee-n-bagels-comic-universe]

Brainwaves Bios: Louis Tully (1984)

Dana's Neighbour & Mars' Accountant Louis Tully

An accountant and Dana Barrett's neighbour who gets possessed by Vinz Clortho, then gets to be a temporary Ghostbuster, as well as their accountant.

"Who does your taxes?"

Name

Full Legal Name: Louis Bertram Tully

First Name: Louis

Meaning: French form of 'Ludovicus', the Latinized form of 'Ludwig', from the Germanic name 'Hludwig' meaning 'Famous in battle', composed of the elements 'Hlut' 'Famous, Loud' and 'Wig' 'War, Battle'

Pronunciation: LOO-is

Origin: French, English, Dutch

Middle Name: Bertram

Meaning: Means 'Bright raven', derived from the Old German element 'Beraht' 'Bright' combined with 'Hram' 'Raven'

Pronunciation: BUR-tram

Origin: English, German, Germanic

Surname: Tully

Meaning: Form of 'Tullius', derived from the praenomen 'Tullus', which is of unknown meaning.

Pronunciation: TUL-ee

Origin: History

Titles: Mr

Nicknames: Lou, Bert

Characteristics

Age: 31

Gender: Male. He/Him Pronouns

Race: Human

Nationality: American Citizen. Born in America

Ethnicity: White

Birth Date: April 18th 1953

Sexuality: Straight

Religion: Christian (Non-Practicing)

Native Language: English

Known Languages: English, (Some) French

Relationship Status: Single

Astrological Sign: Aries

Actor: Rick Moranis

Geographical Characteristics

Birthplace: Auburn, DeKalb County, Indiana

Currant Residence: Central Park West, New York, New York

Appearance

Height: 5'5" / 165 cm

Weight: 169 lbs / 77 kg

Eye Colour: Blue

Hair Colour: Brown

Hair Dye: None

Body Hair: Hairy

Facial Hair: Clean Shaven

Tattoos: (As of Jan 1984) None

Piercings: None

Scars: None

Health and Fitness

Allergies: None

Alcoholic, Smoker, Drug User: Social Drinker

Illnesses/Disorders: None Diagnosed

Medications: None

Any Specific Diet: None

Relationships

Affiliated Groups: Ghostbusters (Employee)

Friends: Heather Nieto-Jorge, May Keaton, Allison Wada, Nova Teufel, Peter Venkman, Egon Spengler, Winston Zeddemore, Raymond Stantz, Janine Melnitz, Dana Barrett, Mars Teufel, Ira Freud

Significant Other: None

Previous Partners: None of Note

Parents: Richard Tully (70, Father), Annabelle Tully (66, Mother, Née Gold)

Parents-In-Law: None

Siblings: William Tully (40, Brother)

Siblings-In-Law: Penelope Tully (36, William's Wife, Née Haber)

Nieces & Nephews: Lewis Tully (10, Nephew)

Children: None

Extras

Level of Education: Taking Law School Night Classes

Occupation: Accountant, Ghostbuster (In-Training), Student

Employer: Ghostbusters / Self-Employed

Expertise:

Accountant Certificate

Actuary Certificate

Notary Certificate

Knack for Loopholes & Exploits

Once Possessed by Vinz Clortho

Faults:

Weak to Good Looking Women

Coupon Collector

Street Food & Junk Food

Backstory: In 1984, Louis Tully was a resident of the Shandor Building at 550 Central Park West and lived on the 22nd floor. Louis occupied 2202. He had unreciprocated romantic feelings for Dana Barrett and clumsily burst out of his apartment whenever she was in the hallway. He was mysteriously locked out of his apartment numerous times, unaware of the supernatural history of the building.

[maximumwobblerbanditdonut]

Outlander star, the charismatic Sam Heughan, and his co-star Graham McTavish, initially intended to delve into the rich culture and history of north Scotland, Shetland, and its intriguing Viking connections in their second domestic series of ‘Men in Kilts’. However, the harsh realities of filming amidst the Scottish winter, coupled with the actors’ demanding schedules, led to an unforeseen change in location – New Zealand.

A Scottish Tale in New Zealand

With one in five New Zealanders tracing their roots back to Scotland, the correlation between the two countries is palpable. The striking landscapes and the welcoming people of New Zealand echo the essence of Scotland, making it an apt alternative for the series’ second installment. Apart from the scenic beauty, New Zealand, the home of McTavish, presents a treasure trove of history, culture, and adrenaline-filled adventures that the duo plans to explore.

From Viking Roots to Maori Traditions

While the focus of the series has shifted from Viking influences to Maori customs and traditions, the core intent remains the same – to unravel the layered narratives of lands steeped in history. As part of their journey, Heughan and McTavish will traverse from the North Island to the South, engaging in thrilling activities such as diving with great white sharks and a nerve-racking 100m high zip line.

American Adventure Beckons

Heughan and McTavish have also set their sights on the North American eastern seaboard for their series’ third installment. Their itinerary includes locales with significant Scottish influence, such as Nova Scotia, Maine, New York, Virginia, North Carolina, and Tennessee. The dynamic duo anticipates encounters with wildlife, including bears and moose, as they journey through North America, adding an extra layer of excitement to their upcoming adventures.

What! North America is huge, it includes the United States, Canada and Mexico, which are big countries compared to Scotland and New Zealand. How long do they expect to be filming, they won't cover it in 6 episodes. If they don't know exactly where they are going. They will take McTavish and Sassenach whisky on tour with a little help from STARZ with them.

[anarkissm]

claudette's mother's family was from brazil; her family immigrated to canada in 1969, during the influx of Latin Americans (some 68,000) in the early 1970s that can be partly attributed to canada’s “open door” immigration policy at the time. Her grandmother was a practioner of Candomblé before they emigrated to Canada, where mrs. morel felt preassured to conform to a more traditional (i.e. european) christian faith. in contrast, her father's family had lived in canada for decades. consisted of maternal relatives from the west indies (barbados) living in rural nova scotia since the 1910s, and paternal relatives who emigrated from new york (harlem) to montreal in the 1920s.  it offered a diverse upbringing (american family's entrepreneurship and academics; west indies family's deep roots in activism, african traditionalism and their grim history with africaville), and allowed him to genuinely feel as if he was a part of the larger black community in montreal. her parents' respective backgrounds reflected in their earlier parenting styles. mr. morel was typically kind, patient, and engrossed with his child's life because he understood that progeny was vital in community, for as often as he could be a part of it (both parents worked to pay for their apartment's rent). mrs. morel, on the other hand, experienced trauma from bullying and featurism, causing her to be deeply fixated on "fixing" claudette; buying her brushes and dolls and straightening creams, consistently enforcing an (admittedly french/european) feminine aesthetic unto her. mrs. morel was ashamed of her own heritage as an afro-brazillian immigrant and who she was at her core, consequently projecting that onto claudette between 2 and 7 years old, which is a vital developmental process for a child's core personality. the contrasting parenting styles was confusing and anxiety-inducing, especially when they would fearfully argue over claudette's future. They were able to afford a home, 3 meals a day, a fridge; but she barely saw her parents. They would have been considered part of the "working poor" in terms of "class." But she was loved. By her parents, by her community. By her passions. This is the story that must be told; this is the only story she understands. It allowed her to look beyond the status quos and accept herself as an afro-indigenous woman and a nonbinary person simultaneously. For example: she does not like to be referred to as "female" at all, due to the racist, negative connotations implied; white/European slavers referred to enslaved African women as "female" to dehumanize them, and segregate them from their "innocent" white women which was their ideal definition of womanhood under white supremacy. But Claudette's story possibly becomes more nightmarish as she enters the fog. Considering that its canon that the Black Vale cult uses chaos theory and mathematical determinism to lure survivors and killers alike into the fog and its trials, it is possible that her existence was not random; she, like every single victim of the fog, was chosen. by design.

[hxckedvxid]

Full Name: Astra Harland

Age & Birthday: 29 years old, March 20th

Species: Witch

Hometown: Morro Bay, California

Current Residence: New York, New York

Occupation: Alchemist / Fortune Teller / Not Asphodel

DETAILS

PERSONALITY

Core Traits: Observant, Compassionate, Playful, Intuitive, Cautious, Introspective, Curious, Idealistic, Impulsive, Guarded.

HISTORY

Backstory:

Astra and her brother Milo were born to two witch parents in California, but their upbringing was far from idyllic. Their father was cruel and their mother had a soul too gentle to ever defend herself.

Astra and Milo left home as teens, relying on no one but each other. For years, they moved quietly from town to town, never staying long enough to be known. They earned a living through alchemical work, using knowledge passed down from their mother. They never asked questions, just provided what was needed, took the payment, and left.

Eventually, their travels brought them to New York. The city felt big enough to disappear in, so they made it their home and kept doing what they always did.

Over time, word spread in supernatural circles. Their small apartment became known as The Treehouse, a place where anyone could get what they needed, no questions asked. Most who came were looking for things not typically found in regulated alchemy, concoctions that blurred moral or magical lines.

It was through this work that Astra met Felix. He came looking for something off the books, something to help him track a vampire. She became a reliable contact and their connection became something deeper, undeniable.

Two years ago, they had a daughter, Nova. Astra stepped back from the Treehouse and moved in with Felix. Though she’s no longer as involved, she still helps Milo when he needs her and the Treehouse quietly carries on.