#also half the bitches people call creepy are normal

[danmeichael]

"ewww this character is so possessive and creepy" have you never known love? have you not spent years of your life afraid of your own hunger? does the safe catharsis of watching someone else eat their fill not appeal to you?

[dancedance-resolution]

please never apologize for anything ever i love how your brain works. one should always wonder about how good christmas lights work as cuffs. just in case. also, lena pants allergy? is she… allergic to pants??

indeed indeed, such considerations are a crucial part of the holiday season, thank you anon for agreeing o7

the pants allergy fic was one of my favorites for a hot minute heheheh! it's so fucking fun. i'm going to put some (unfinished/unpolished!) excerpts + the premise of the plot beneath the cut :) i think i am actually going to turn this fic into two chapters so that i can finish and post the first half of it soon, bc it's so fun and i love it so much.

spoilers for the fic beneath the cut!

It was five p.m. when Kara finally got out of the Phantom Zone. A hazy sunset, blurred by watery eyes. Warm.

She moved in with Alex and Kelly that night.

Well, not exactly. She’d tried to spend her first night back in her apartment, sleeping alone in her own bed as if nothing had happened. Yeah, but, see, that lasted all of twenty minutes. (Night terrors are a fucking bitch, okay?)

So then she was set up in Alex and Kelly’s guest room. Which was good, because, people! If she dreamt of phantoms circling her again, or found herself overcome with that cold cold, or couldn’t stop fucking thinking about it all—she had people there. People there to make her not alone. To entertain her need to turn on all the lights in the apartment, even though it’s one in the morning and they both know she has x-ray vision. To put their hand on her back and just breathe with her until her heart stops pounding so rapidly and her chest stops feeling so tight.

It was just what Kara needed.

Until day five. Or, rather, technically night six. A night during which Kara was dutifully listening to Britney songs with earbuds, please note, in her own room (well, the guest room) with her door completely closed as she worked through a book of sudoku puzzles to occupy her mind.

And yet.

So yeah, after hearing her sister-in-law make that noise, Kara decided that moving out was probably best.

Which is why she ended up calling Lena bright and early the next morning. Lena, who instantly agreed to let Kara use her spare bedroom and eat whatever food she found in the penthouse (!), even before Kara explained what had prompted her sudden need for a new place to stay.

So, thus began day one of a Super cohabitating with a Luthor.

[So Kara is living with Lena and notices the strangest thing - Lena doesn't wear pants! It's day four of living together when:]

It's like she's in a reverie, standing there like some creepy dofus; examining the freckles whose patterns she's committed to memory in just four short days, the map of stretchmarks just begging to be traced, the textured cellulite she maybe kinda sorts wants to lick--

She's so enraptured by the majesty of thigh before her that she misses the turn of Lena's neck, the tilt of Lena's head to stare at Kara in turn.

"Kara?" she says, her left eyebrow raised coyly as a wry grin tugs at her lips. And, oh, golly, she's, and Kara's been--

"Long day at work, darling?"

Kara sputters. Like, warning, KaraDanvers.exe is not responding!, and geez, did Lena just snort at her? Is she giggling at the brain damage the mere sight of her skin has inflicted upon the Girl of Steel?

She's not sure how embarrassingly long it takes her to squeak out a feeble response. "Y-Your leg..."

"My leg indeed," Lena repeats, unabashedly smirking now, and, and... "Well, what about it?"

Shoot, she's stammering again. The sole surviving daughter of Krypton and she's stammering because her platonic (platonic, Kara, platonic!) best friend keeps showing off her gosh-darn leg. "Um. I, uh," goes the chorus, Rao, until she finally blurts out at near-super speed, "It'sjustthatyouneverwearpants."

"Pants?" Lena echoes after a minute spent processing the jumble of syllables.

Kara's panting now, okay, that's okay, totally okay and normal. There's the pressure of teeth biting down on her lower lip--wait, her teeth, yes, her teeth.

She looks away long enough to muster the courage to explain: "It's--It's just that you, um. It's like you're allergic to pants!"

[Lena invites Kara to sit down on the couch beside her. She explains that she doesn't usually wear pants at home because they're uncomfortable to her. (Yes I am projecting, fuck the sensory experience of pants.)]

In her defense, she's weak. She just got out of the Phantom Zone. Who can blame her mind for wandering? Because, holy Rao, there's only one later of cheap human fabric separating her from the bare skin of Lena's thigh. Jeepers, she can see them in even more detail now, can imagine exactly how she'd trail kisses up from the mole just above Lena's left knee, and--er, wait, no, down from, down from! Ugh, no, kissing upwards probably isn't gal-pal-bestie-roommates behavior. But if she's kissing down Lena's leg, maintaining a respectful distance from her, um, pelvic region of course, that'd be okay, right? Yeah, knees and calves are fair enough territory for platonic friends, sure! Humans get cramps in their calves, you see, so it's actually weirder that Kara hasn't touched Lena's calves before, and--

The touch of Lena's hand against her shoulder finally pulls Kara from the tortuous rabbit hole of thoughts. She tunes in just in time to hear Lena's earnest proclamation:

"I'm so, so sorry, Kara. I didn't realize how uncomfortable I've been making you feel, and--"

"Nononono!" Kara cuts in, alarmingly desperate to stop Lena from thinking she needs to cover up around her. (Should she explore that?) "I'm fine. I'm totally fine! And, I mean, it's your house! Don't force yourself into a pants-induced anaphylaxis on my account."

Lena laughs at the dumb joke, but it sounds more subdued than usual. So Kara reaffirms, "We're good, I promise. I'd let you know if you ever crossed one of my boundaries, and I trust that you'll let me know if I ever cross one of yours. Okay?"

Lena nods, expression warm, lips parted and pretty and pink and--

Kara flees the scene before any more brain damage can occur.

[The next day, Kara arrives home from a Supergirl mission that has her mentally exhausted. She just want to wind down over an episode of trashy TV with Lena. She lands on the balcony, lets herself in, and--]

"Lena. Why are you wearing pants?"

Lena looks squirmy, ducking her head as her cheeks flush (from embarrassment, probably, Rao, screw Kara's big mouth...) "I, um. I just thought it'd be convenient to wear pants, you know, since it's so late."

And... Kara's confused. "Why? You never wear pants when we sleep. And, like, it makes for a warmer cuddle that way, so--"

Kara doesn't realize that Lena's right in front of her, a mere breath away, until she feels the touch of Lena's hand on hers.

"Kara?" she says, gazing up at her with those piercingly sincere green eyes. "It's true that I prefer not to wear pants. 'Allergic to pants,' that's what you called it. If I were home alone right now, I wouldn't be wearing pants."

"Okay..." The gears slowly turn in Kara's head, stopping and starting in little hiccups as Lena begins softly toying with her fingers. "But you weren't wearing pants when I first moved in, even though you weren't home alone."

Lena nods, hums her confirmation. "Mhm. It felt... You being here felt natural. Comfortable. Like an extension of my peace rather than an interloper invading it. I felt like I was safe being vulnerable with you in that way, and I... I guess I wanted it too. I wanted it, wanted to affirm that I really did have a best friend who made me feel so at ease, that even after months apart, I could live with you in pantsless peace." Lena pauses, intertwining their fingers decisively so they're holding hands properly now. 'B-But last night, it was obvious that you were uncomfortable. I'd seen signs of it the days before, of course, but I'd convinced myself that you--"

[Kara's service top "protect Lena at all costs" instincts kick in.] "Baby, no, of course I'm comfortable around you! Pants on or off, I promise. In fact," she continues, and her brain cells are scrambled by the feeling of Lena's hand in hers, and oh, oh no, she's rambling, and-- "I'm so comfortable that you could stop wearing shirts too, and I'd still be fine! Heck," she continues, blabbering on with the speed of Icarus barrelling toward the Sun, "I'd be fine if you wore nothing when we go to bed together tonight!"

(Let the record show that there’s a solid three seconds of silence before Kara’s brain finally processes what she’s just said. A solid three seconds before Kara Danvers realizes Oh.

Oh no.

Because golly! Gosh! And maybe also: Fuck!)

(Kara decides that the best course of action is to: 1. Shut her goddamn mouth, and 2. Look away.)

(Or, well, that’s what she does at least. She can’t truthfully claim that any decision making really went into that reflex.)

And let the record show that there’s an additional two point four seconds of silence between Kara, face aflame with mortification, and her bestie gal pal slash roommate before said bestie gal pal lets out a soft and breathy “Yeah?”

Which. Fuck.

Kara musters up the strength to look at Lena, and. Oh. She seems so small, almost fragile as she stands there fidgeting her lower lip beneath her teeth.

"O-Of course 'yeah', Lena. I promise, I'm never, ever uncomfortable around you." Her words are soft now, soft enough that she has to step closer to make sure Lena can hear them. A pang of tenderness bolts through her chest. "You're perfect. I always feel good when I'm with you."

Kara observes, overwhelmed with affection for this woman, as Lena stands there. She's shuffling around a little, staring at the ground until Kara grasps her hands anew in an effort to calm her.

"What if," Lena starts, and yes, yes, anything-- "What if I wanted your help. Like, um." Kara stares intently at the seam of Lena's lips, watches enraptured as white teeth dig into plump pink. "Like with my clothes. Would you be okay if I asked you for that?"

The confidence is starting to return to Lena's countenance, and Kara would say yes to anything to keep it there. "Of course!" she assures, still a little hazy on what she just agreed to, and--

"Say, I asked you to help me take off these pants."

(Kara's eye twitches.)

"And, um, more, too, maybe. Would you be comfortable with that?"

"Always. Anything for you."

"Here, come with me?" Lena asks, tugging on Kara's hand. She still sounds a little small, a little unsure, and Kara just wants her to feel good again, comfortable again.

So she follows.

They're a few feet down the hall to Lena's bedroom when pauses. "Kara?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"You know you don't have to do any of this. Just say the word, and this would stop. And when we wake up tomorrow morning, we won't have to talk about it. Everything in our friendship would stay the same, stay perfectly fine."

(Distantly, Kara feels confused. Maybe because her powers of super speed apparently don't apply to processing Lena's words when she's so soft and close like this. Maybe because being with Lena right now makes her feel like she's drowning in everything she's ever wanted.)

"I'm okay, Lena. This is--This is good. I just wanna make you feel good, okay?"

Lena nods, motion in her throat like she's swallowing, and squeezes Kara's hands. "Okay," she responds, a the ghost of a smile blooming on her lips.

[Once they're in the bedroom, they start taking off Lena's clothes. Kara's hand unintentionally brushes against Lena's sternum as she unbuttons Lena's night shirt, and Lena's breath hitches. Her eyes dart up to Kara's.]

"Are you okay?" Kara checks in, feeling the full gravity of the moment sink into her flesh. "Tell me if I'm making you uncomfortable, okay?"

"I'm not comfortable."

Kara backs away reflexively, giving Lena some distance. "Oh, shoot, Lena, I'm sorry. What's wrong? What can I do to make you comfortable?" she babbles, backing off the bed until she's standing at its foot. "I can leave, or--"

"No," Lena says. The tone of her voice demands eye contact, and Rao, Kara can't tell if her eyes really do look that steeped in desire or if she's just projecting. "It's not that type of discomfort." She inhales deeply, then shuffles her legs around on the bed. "It's," she explains, spreading her thighs, and--

Oh. Oh.

There is a wet spot in the center of Lena's underwear.

There is a visible wet spot at the center of Lena's underwear.

"I'm not comfortable right now, obviously. I'm too wet for that. And I won't be comfortable until this has, um." She pauses, looking down at her own perfectly parted thighs. "Until this has been taken care of.

"Let me do it," Kara's saying, too loudly, too quickly, too stupidly. "I followed you into our bedroom because I wanted to make you feel good. I... I know what I want. And I know what you want, and I want to give it to you."

She catches her breath, mentally chastising the slip of her tongue--our bedroom, she'd said.

"If you want me to, of course. If it would make you comfortable."

She just barely hears Lena's exhaled "yes" over the hammering thumps of her own heart. "Yes," she says again, firmer this time. "I want you."

[Anyways so that would be the end of chapter 1! And chapter 2 would be...Kara making Lena comfortable 😌].

Thank you anon for sending this in because omg I basically have a finished chapter here? I want to flesh the scenes out a little more, add in the transition scenes obviously, but holy shit! Look what I made! Um, Lena pants allergy fic coming soon to an AO3 near you? LOL

[magnumdays]

Magnum PI 5.08 “Out of Mind, Out of Sight” review

Okay, we all called it but still, I did very much enjoy dressed up Miggy being all adorable on their date. Until of course, it all went horribly terrifyingly wrong. Man, those were some freaky hallucinations.

Anyways…

I’ve been trying to gather my thoughts on this episode and I can’t decide if I’m hugely disappointed or extremely thrilled.

So three plots this week, but I think they made that work even though they were very separated from each other and Childs really had no one to talk to. He was/is really growing on me which means it would make sense for them to kill him. Likeable people die… it’s the TV way.

The Miggy/ case-case

As some clever people had guessed the proposal was not real (I mean we knew it wasn’t going to be real but the fan girl in me so wanted it to be!) but just how quickly it was going to go from ‘awww adorable Miggy date’ to ‘Higgy’s worst nightmare’ had me a little shook. But that wasn’t even really the nightmare… oh boy, that was some freaky hallucinations there at the end, well done.

Problem with putting the proposal and Higgy in trouble first thing… well, I’m just waiting for that moment to happen. So everything leading up to it is a little…well for me, I don’t really super focus on it. Or I didn’t today. So yeah, the Miggy + case was a little bit of a blur to me. I did enjoy our babies having their first fight, brought on by Magnum’s terrible password etiquette and looming death. Very fitting for our duo.

(Also, Higgy, 64 symbol passwords? What are you trying to protect? The lumminati deepest darkest secrets?)

Higgy doing her American accent always amuses me, but I did like southern belle from season 4 better, that was hilarious! A patient figuring it out and Higgy actually telling her because even if the patient told…who’d have believed her?

Magnum just knowing Higgy was in trouble there at the end did annoy me a little. Like come on, surely there must have been a better way? Also him rushing up the stairs - like boy? where are you going? Higgy’s find my phone was offline! Making for good last second rescue drama, sure, but still, not sure it made 100% sense.

It did get us both this

and this

so can’t complain.

Also can we talk about how it’s Higgy having the proposal dream? I half expected, even as I knew it was her dream, for it to be drugged Magnum having the dream. Our girl sure has come a long way :-)

Even if the more horrible bits of that scene, with the two Higgy’s and the padded room/corridor - was my favourite.

Also heartbreaking with the whole “whose blood is that”. In fact that whole drugged Higgy sequence was freaky as shit. I will be having nightmares of American accented Perdie going ‘whose blood is that?’, (and Higgy will be having those nightmares too in the fan fic my muse really wants to write -let’s hope muse-me sticks around when I’m starting at the blank pages of my google docs later…)

Did enjoy bad ass bitch Higgy being all “do you think you’re the first person to drug and interrogate me, you’re an amateur”. Like, part of me really would love to know just all Higgy’s crazy spy adventures.

Anyways, did love most of it and it does fit with nervous Higgy which we have been getting lately, so bonus points for continuity but… still IDK, maybe the clickbait proposal thing but something throws me a little?

I’d have had them hiking at pillbox and being all normal cute and not proposal cute, that would have made for more of a gut punch when Magnum was suddenly coughing up blood. Maybe? Because we wouldn’t have gone ‘oh dream/hallucination’ right away.

Also why did Higgy get banged on the head there at the start and then her wound just disappeared? Did they decide to add that in once filming was done to give her a moment with the creepy nurse or something? At least they could have given her a bandaid? IDK, just random intrusive thoughts made me super annoyed by this.

Childs getting himself killed(?)

So not confirmed dead, but since we seem to be getting a very dramatic mid-season finale next week (which already started this week to be honest!) I’m a little worried about Childs’ survival odds.

Especially since he was almost nice and did claim our faves as his friends. Plus got a cute talk/moments with his GF. That feels like nails in his coffin. But I had just begun to like him so let’s hope.

Gordy and baby-Gordy

The father-son ‘adventure’ to the mainland was maybe my favourite bit. Mostly because of this moment.

This moment really got to me. Because like this is the feeling. The feeling when something happens, and even though bad guy is thrown out/sent to jail, the host lady is all nice and apologetic and stuff, the bad unfair thing still happened. And it will keep on happening. And how do you fucking deal or talk about that.

I feel like this is one of the most relatable things for anyone who has ever been a minority one way or another, as a woman, different ethnicity, religion or social class.

Very much liked that Gordy did find some words to talk about it and found a way to sort of help reclaim the situation at the end. But still. Something weirdly emotional and relatable and important about that just eating in silent scene (for me at least.)

Other than Higgy’s freaky hallucinations and the Miggy feels at the end, Gordon and Dennis’ scenes were the best.

Next week

My goodness, not one second of downtime for anyone on this show, ever. Even before the episode we already have.

TC beeing shot.

Childs has been maybe blown up.

In the promo we see Higgy doing some seriously impressive flipping over fighting moves (someone make a gif of Higgy kicking ass from the promo, pretty please!) and Rick being chased through the rainforest?

Figuring Shammy saves the day with TC and takes him to Robin’s Nest where we know will be under siege? So TC, Shammy and Magnum & Higgins there and then Rick being hunted on his own?

I’m excited but I’m also not, because frankly I like being the one that causes my faves pain because then I know I can also give them some comfort and happiness later. This just seems like lots of hurt and very little comfort!!!

(At least it seems to not be another slightly disappointing SUV plot line?)

Well, next week can’t come soon enough while at the same time as soon as it does there won’t be any more Magnum until September. Which is a terrible terrible fate and the only good thing about this would be if this made made my muse wake up and I got to finish some of my fics!

[grippingbeskar]

salt, ice and fire

chapter twenty two - teamwork makes the dreamwork

warnings: canon typical violence, graphic depiction of injuries, punisher type shit again boys. swearing, some creepy shit tbh borderline stalker shit like someone call svu. this bitch is kinda creeping me out tbh. NOT loving the vibes.

a/n: okay i hate the beginning of this chapter but just GET THRU OKAY. BARE W/ ME!!!! cute stuff sprinkled in with the pain. you guys should SEE the draft for the next chapter omfg. it’s becoming a lot. OKAY GO.

— also, i’m really hoping i got everyone in the taglist, some of the tags aren’t working maybe due to your tumblr settings?? i’ll keep adding ur names if it fixes itself :) and let me know if ur not on it and would like to be!

[series masterlist] [previous chapter]

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Ten.”

“Fourteen. Easily.”

“Ten.” Frank says a little harsher in your ear. “There’s ten of ‘em.”

“I just counted twelve. The stairway has at least three people.” The other end of the line goes quiet now, and you adjust the volume of the speaker in your ear to make sure you aren’t missing anything. “Frank?”

“Yeah. Fourteen.” He says quietly, and you can almost see the face he’s making. So stubborn.

“You didn’t see the stairwell, did you?”

“Alright, smart ass. Move down, I’ll meet you at the end.”

“What would you do without me?” You sigh and hear the line click off. Even here, tucked away behind the glass window outside the building, it was hard not to smile.

You’d arrived at the base about an hour ago, but there’d been too many people to pull up right away. Frank had spent the rest of the time going through the points of entry and exits in every room from when he was here the first time. There was one area of the holding he didn’t know, though, and a blacked out spot on the map. You’d have to figure it out while you were down there. Down there, even thinking about it made you squirm.

“Be careful.” His voice quickly adds as you shuffle inside the gap of the window, and it clicks off again before you can reply. Your heart still skips a little every time he says shit like that, but when your feet land on the hard concrete ground, any fluffy feelings drop out and splat next to them.

Even the smell of this place makes you want to vomit. It had been a while since you’d seen the top side of this base, but it’s in a hell of a lot worse shape than you remember. Riddled with bullet holes and held up with half-finished scaffolding, it was one gust of wind away from falling in on itself. Besides the condemned state, the building was alive only because of the men crawling around inside of it. Frank was on the opposite side to you, getting the high ground above a group of fourteen milling around the outside. You were tasked with getting inside the locker that held the master keys, and the enhanced strength in your veins nearly hums at the chance of release.

You used to dream about those keys. That box in this room, how teasingly close it was.

Keeping yourself tucked tight to the wall, you try to leave as little trace as possible bare the footprints trailing behind you in the settled dust. As you shift further into the building, you hear something fall and clatter off to your left. You disappear into the shadows as two men walk past, lost in conversation. A familiar buzz rushed in your veins— a feeling you normally hated, but now it was you calling for it, it made you feel strong. Powerful.

You stepped out just as the men stopped in front of the door you needed to enter, and neither of them had the time to scream before you tore them apart— the only sound the clatter of keys falling against the concrete, and the muffled tearing of flesh.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Frank felt good. It’s a thought he only had admitted a few times, but firing rounds into an open target range, hearing every single one pound into muscle and bone— it felt good.

Even here, surrounded and boxed in on all sides, he still looked down to where you were, watching you try about eight different keys before you figured out the one to the lockbox. His job was to take out as many as he could while you got the keys to go downstairs, and by the time you were done, you’d take it together. He knew the real prize was downstairs, but he’d have to kill every man in this room before he’d let you go down there, and he’d be right in front of you.

The empty click of his gun shot him back into the moment, dropping the larger one for the pistol in his jeans. He moved closer to the remaining five men, making the first shot count right through the eye of the man closest to him. He heard you before he saw you, even the pained groans of the men he was laying into wouldn’t be enough to block out his sensors that honed into you.

A man came from the left, and he took a quick step back, using the momentum to grab the opposite side of his head and slam it over the railing. His skull gave way, cracking in a splatter of dark red, practically pouring over the right side of Franks body. He swung first on the next guy, feeling bones break under the strength of his punch. It was some sick kind of therapy, but it was here he used to feel the most comfortable— throwing his weight behind every hit, there used to be no where else he’d find his brain quiet.

Not now. All he could think of was this morning. Having you laid on his chest, his hands in your hair, and how he didn’t have to think of anything else. Couldn’t dream of it, not when you were that close; close enough he could feel the soft flutter of your eyelashes on his skin, or the trace of your fingers along the scars on his chest. As he watched the consciousness fade out of the eyes of the man in front of him, for the first time in years he found himself wishing he could be somewhere else.

The man drops to his knees in front of him, then face plants onto the concrete floor. You followed, jumping from the upper floor railing down in front of him, your face screwed up as you looked him up and down.

“Way to be discreet.” He can feel the blood pooling in his shoes with each step he takes, ignoring the comment and following you towards the two locked doors that lead to the basement.

“You get the keys?” You were already putting them in the door, but as you turned the key, they didn’t budge.

“These are the ones. It’s just old.” You look up at him, and turn the handle again, shoving your shoulder into the door. It moves slightly, but as you wind up again, Frank kicks it down, stopping you from whacking it again. Rubbing your now bruised shoulder, you look up at him. “I had it.”

“I know.” He steps through first. It’s dark in the corridor, the two of you stopping at the top of the first set of stairs. No lights, and a layer of dust resting mid air gives the whole place an eerie feel. If Frank was even getting a bad feeling from this place, he didn’t need to say anything to know what was going through your head.

He reaches out, threading his fingers through yours and watching as you grab tightly as soon as he fits his hand to you. You were holding him like a vice, and even though your face was calm, your hand was shaking no matter how tightly he held you back.

“Thought you said you wouldn’t hold my hand to do this.” Frank sighs, shaking his head doing nothing to hide the small smile that only you could give him.

“I’m full of shit. You know that.”

“Yeah.” You breathe out, stepping closer to him. You take the stairs two at a time, but he doesn’t mistake the pace for eagerness, if only to get this shit over with as fast as possible. And it would be, fast and quick. In and out. Frank promised he wouldn’t let anything happen to you— and this time, he was planning on keeping it.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You hadn’t realised how far down you were. All those years down here, and you thought it was only a few levels. You used to be able to hear the gun shots going off above you, and you thought it must only be about 10 flights of stairs at the most. You feel like you’ve been going down sets of stairs for hours now.

You haven’t heard anything yet, but you know Bobby will be hiding out somewhere down here. Very few people knew this place existed, and fewer would know the ins and outs of the cells. His father even used this place as a hideout a few times— and it was this that ticked in the back of your mind when you saw that blacked out part on the map. Knowing how twisted Bobby is, you could only imagine what his father used this giant space for. It was a fucking maze even in the light, but it only got darker and darker the further you went.

Neither of you have spoken, not wanting to give your position away, and about twenty minutes ago your initial fear had worn off and you’d dropped Franks hand, the contact only making you wish you weren’t here. It was like you were magnetised to him— not able to stop yourself from wanting to be closer, no matter where you were. Even here, and maybe it was the perfect distraction, because before you knew it, you caught a glimpse of flat ground, and you know you’d made it to the bottom.

“Stay behind me.” Frank whispers in your ear, his hand lightly squeezing your hip as he gets in position. Still no lights, and not a sound.

“The cell. It’s close. We can start there.” You say, and Frank nods, seemingly remembering. His jaw twitches, a tell tale sign he was hyping himself up for a fight.

You walk behind Frank, not that you’re given much of a choice. The walkway was narrow, and the cell doors next to you were all swung wide open except for the one that the end. Yours. You notice a door between cells, closed, with a chain and lock wrapped around it. Frank stops when you point it out silently, trying the handle. When it doesn’t budge, he pushes you to keep walking, but looks over the top of you at the door again.

“You remember it?” As far as you can remember, there was only meant to be the door they took you out of down here, which was behind you on the opposite side of your old cell. Frank shakes his head.

“Wasn’t on the layout..”

“We’ll come back.” Frank urges you further, sticking to your original plan. Madani had sent him a blueprint of the building from when her and the CIA had raided it all those months ago.

Frank stops suddenly, you nearly running into the back of him. Stepping around, you nearly choke on your exhale.

You didn’t want to feel anything. It was just a room, one that you weren’t attached to anymore. It felt so long ago when you weren’t here, but now you were surrounded by the smell of stale air, and seeing the old stains on the concrete— it knocked the wind out of you. You went to step closer, but Franks arm stopped you.

“Not here. Let’s go back.” Frank says, pulling you back.

Right. Bobby. You look around for any signs of life— and he really wasn’t here. That was impossible, you knew him. You remember what he said last time. He…

“He’s not here.” You spin around, confused. “Why would he not be here?”

“Too open. We can wait him out—“

“He should be here. Or at least, around here.” Your voice gets a little louder, and Frank looks over his shoulder before walking closer to you.

“He’s got men here. We’ll find him. We gotta wait it out.” The room felt smaller all of a sudden, the walls feeling way to close. You felt like if you breathed each shoulder would press into the hard, cold concrete. “He’s hiding. Probably back there.”

You could hardly hear him anymore.

You forgot how cold it was in here. Like standing on a frozen lake with none of the open space. You hadn’t realised your eyes were squeezed shut until Franks hands grabbed your face and you felt the light flood back to them.

“Hey.” His voice is calming, even though it’s low and gravelly.

“I don’t want to be in here anymore.” You whisper.

“Let me get you out of here.” He tries to guide you but your legs move so slow. You were shaking like a leaf. It was too soon to be here— you couldn’t do this. It was too soon. The chains that were wrapped around your ankles were still resting in the corner, wrapped to the leg of the bed.

Your chest started to burn, and a feeling you hardly remembered started to bubble in your stomach, but Frank made you focus.

“Tell me about it. The door up here. You ever seen anyone goin’ in or out?”

“I don’t even know if I’ve seen it before.” Your voice wavered, and Frank stayed close to you as you stepped further away from the cell. “I don’t… I don’t think it was ever open. I would of seen it— an open door only a few meters away. Maybe when I was asleep, or his— no. Wait, I remember his dad said something about it, or something about a hanger or something. He used to have vintage planes restored under the building. Maybe it’s below us?”

“Okay. Good. Doin’ good. You think you can break the chain?” Looking over his shoulder, the rusted locks look flimsy enough for someone like you. Nodding, you reach for them, and the feeling of chains under your hands, and this whole corridor of darkness sends a shiver up your spine.

Frank steadies you with a simple brush of his arm against yours. Accidental, but he doesn’t have to try. He always steadies you now. You give the chains one yank and they break off completely.

��Atta girl.” Frank says, and shoves the doors wide open. You just want to get away from that room, so when the stairs lead down even further, you don’t hesitate to walk down. Frank is behind you, then next to you, then in front of you. “You okay?”

“I am. Now.” You nod, and the way he looks at you has you forgetting that tight chest feeling.

For the first time in a while, you didn’t have to count your breaths.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was getting too dark to see, and Frank could hear the splash of water under his boots. Whoever was down here will be counting on the element of surprise. Frank wouldn’t give it to them.

He kept you tucked behind him against the wall, moving through the dark passageways below the base. He has no idea how far down he is now, but the wall still feels like brick under his palm, so not far enough that they couldn’t build structure. That was good— it meant there was a chance they weren’t so far below sea level, which was more chance for a quick exit.

A loud bang from behind him rings down one of the pipes overhead. You both freeze, heads snapping in the direction.

Frank drags you behind him again, moving towards the sound. It was still pitch black, but another bang made him turn left at the first gap. He was trying to remember how many times they’d turned in the darkness— he was at two lefts and a right, now another left—

Another loud bang, followed by three gun shots, the shells clanging on the floor. It had to be close now, whoever it was. He turned again, keeping one hand on you, the other on his gun. When he rounds the next corner, there’s a sliver of light, and another doorway.

“You think that—“ You whisper, but Frank covers your mouth with his hand.

“Shh.” He knows once Bobby realises your here, all hell will break loose. He can’t see shit in here, but he’s gotta think of another way. Walking straight through their front door would be a dumb-ass plan, but it’s about the only one he’s got right now.

There’s another bang in the opposite direction. Not from the door. Almost in response, there’s three gun shots again, this time under the door. The bang from behind gets closer, and if he waits any longer both of you will lose any advantage you had. They must be communicating through the pipes— no reception down here, and as soon as they heard you coming they’d need a way that couldn’t be intercepted.

“You…in there. I… go around.” You whisper through his hand, mumbled words that he knows mean splitting up. It’s smart, and right now you’re both in more danger together than you would be split up. But he still can’t leave you. Not again.

“Hang on—“

“Bobby… would have the gun. You take him, I’ll get… other one.” You shove his arm off you, and he can only see you about to run off because of how close he is.

It’s smart. He’s almost pissed that you put it together so fast. He feels you push against him, but you stop when you feel him breathe out. He doesn’t have time to hold you here, but it doesn’t stop him from wanting to. You lean up on your toes, wrapping an arm around his neck and pulling him down, his head falling naturally into the crook of your neck.

“An hour. If I’m not back, come for me.” You say, and then you shove him off and disappear into the dark.

He steps back with a stumble, forgetting how strong you were. Another gun shot bursts in his right ear, and the light under the door is interrupted by shadows. A body.

An hour. He’s got an hour. Now you weren’t with him, his mind falls into a colder, harder place. One that has him shuffling back along the wall, loading his gun and slamming the door down.

The light hits him— blinds him for a second, but he hears the three men on the right and takes them out first. Two shots in the first body, blood splattering on the dark green paint behind. The next guy gets too close and Frank grabs him by his neck, using the momentum to crush his head against the wall. He can feel the bone split under his hand, but he’s too busy aiming over his shoulder, watching the next body hit the ground from his well placed shot.

He moves with his body low to the ground, using the cover of the wall in front of him to stay hidden as his eyes adjust. He looks around the room now he can see it, and he can tell no one’s been down here for a while. There’s plenty of canned food lining the shelves in front of him. Whoever brought them down was planning to stay a while. Then there’s black cases, he recognises those. Weapons— outlines of guns, grenades, all empty and unlocked, just leaving behind an outline.

He hears more footsteps and doesn’t hesitate, reaching around the corner and grabbing the neck of the next man. Sending his skull back into the brick, he fires his gun again, feeling the dead weight fall back onto him before shrugging it off and reloading.

He loses count. He always does. Must be nine, ten bodies behind him as he makes his way through the apocalyptic looking basement. The men he catches flashes of don’t look familiar— clearly no one Bobby would of had up top. Frank hasn’t seen any of their faces, not never even in Madani’s database. It makes sense, to keep these guys hidden. Because they were getting harder and harder to kill.

Frank shoots the guy underneath him once, then twice in the chest. Still he fights, clawing at Franks face and punching him in the gut. His fists nearly meet bone, they’re so strong. Too strong. Only one person has ever punched him out like this. Eventually, Frank holds his head down long enough to shoot him in the head, but he’s panting.

Wiped, he drags himself up, shoulders tense as he listens out for more footsteps. He’s made his way into an open area now, with a platform on a second level. For being underground, the place opens up in front of him, the stairs leading up giving space for at least two levels before they reach the room at the top. There’s windows in the room up top, perfectly placed to look over where he is. Another gunshot rings out, and he looks up.

“Not the pretty sight I was expecting. Although, you do know how to put on a good show.” The voice echos throughout the giant room, and Franks already moving towards the stairs. “Ah. I wouldn’t.”

Bobby Gnucci has a gun pointed down at him, but it doesn’t unnerve Frank in the slightest. He moves slower, hoping to draw him down further, feigning a little hesitation. This guys ego is as big as this fucking base, and he doesn’t want to blow it just yet. Not when he doesn’t know where you are.

“You’ve been busy.” He says, not moving when Frank takes a step up. “Do you have any idea how long I spent training those units?”

Frank continues to the top of the platform, now level with the barrel of Bobby’s shotgun.

“Not as long as I spent with her, of course. She is quite special isn’t she? I suppose you already know how special—“

“Say another fucking word about her and I’ll kill you.” He has the balls the fucking smile, and Frank feels his hands get tighter on the barrel.

“That isn’t what I heard.” Frank doesn’t show a damn thing on his face. “You are here to take me into… federal custody. That’s how it was put, yes? Never did I think I would live to see the day. The Punisher returns only to be a glorified pig.”

“You willing to take that chance?” Bobby steps back when Frank pushes up.

“I’m willing to offer to you a deal.” Now Frank smiles, a dry scoff breaking the silence in the room.

“You really got your head up your ass, don’t you?” Bobby backs up against the door of the room overlooking the large building, but he doesn’t seem out of options. Frank considers taking the shot.

He could still do this.

Forget the whole deal, take you out of here and leave all this shit behind. He’d never make you come back to a place like this, never have to watch you walk into a room he couldn’t get you out of. He’d take you away from everything. Maybe upstate, do a few jobs here and there to keep the money coming in— he thought about it too much, probably for too long.

He’d keep you safe.

He knows he could. This shit might not end for him, but he could end it for you here and now. Do the one thing he’s good at.

“Let me show you something that might change your mind.” He opens the door, and the first thing Frank sees is the monitor over his head, and your limp body strapped to a chair.

Your eyes weren’t open, and you were bleeding from your head. That little scar on your face… completely covered with dark blood, your shoulders sagging over. Your hands and feet were cuffed together, and there was a strange haze over the room you were in.

His blood was boiling. He lunged at Bobby, but he’d been too busy staring at the screen. Too busy to notice the three guys in the room. Without the element of surprise Frank gets the wind knocked out of him, and then he feels his face hit the concrete.

They were too fucking strong. Hands the size of his own gripping his arms and legs, holding him to the floor like he weighed nothing. He ripped and strained at anything he could but there was no point in fighting. It didn’t stop him thrashing, only looking at the way your head was flopped down on the monitor, damp with your own blood. He got a few decent hits in before they wrangled him in again, his blood colouring the concrete.

“I admire it. Your… energy. Truely, it would be a shame to waste it here. Which is why I’m prepared to offer you a…solution to your problem.” Frank grunts and spits as the men haul him up, punching him in the stomach over and over so many times his vision starts to blur. Those stitches you did on him are ripped open and popped, blood soaking his shirt. “Clearly you’ve grown fond of my little girl—“

“Fuck you.” His mouth pools with blood, spraying over Bobby’s face as he gets closer.

“But I need her alive. Clearly, she doesn’t want to stay, so I’ll give you a fair deal.” Frank can’t feel the hits any longer, but he knows they keep coming. His legs give out as the men shove him on a chair, one of them focusing a strong hit to the open wound on his side that has him nearly screaming. He wouldn’t give him the fucking satisfaction. “I let you go. Both of you. Today. Enough blood has been spilt, and I’ve already made the mistake of taking one of her little conquests. So, I let you both walk out of here today. You go back to your little law firm, and your loyal friends at the CIA and you tell them it’s over. I’m dead.”

“Y-you must be lovin’ this. You feel like the big man yet?” Frank stutters out, falling into a wave of near unconsciousness. He’s laughing with no breath, loving the look on Bobby’s face, even with his eyes nearly swollen shut. He keeps punching him in the face, and even though Frank is the one getting beat to shit, it’s a win to him. He feels Bobby’s hand on his jaw, pressing hard. It’s nothing compared to the strength under the other sets of arms, but he still has to grind his teeth not to wince.

“You go back and tell them you were too late, and this? This all goes away. She can go home with you.” Frank isn’t focused, but he looks up with what little light he’s still holding in his vision. He sees you stir on the monitor, your head flipping to the other side. He thinks he recognises the room you’re in. He tries to move, but he’s weak now. “She goes with you, and you live your little fantasy for however long it takes for her to get bored, and realise I’m the only one that can give her what she really wants. What she can’t admit she craves.”

You were tugging at the cuffs. Thrashing now. Frank needs to fight— you were fighting, and he needed… fuck. He needs a full breath in, but they aren’t stopping. Fists flying at his ribs, ones that were already half cracked. Fists that could punch through stone, bruising their way through his body.

“The only condition I have, is that when I call, you bring her to me. You let me do whatever it is I need to do— whatever I want to do, and then she goes home free.”

“Free.” Frank spits again, shaking his head. What this guy really wants is for you to be at his beck and call for the rest of your life. Tethered to him, and he’s only offering because he knows you’ll never stop fighting him now you know what’s out there. Never stop fighting for him. He wouldn’t… he wouldn’t let you be someone’s prisoner again. He—

“Free. That’s right.” Bobby says, and Frank can’t tell where he is anymore. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? I know what happened to your family. You need this as bad as I do. You get her a nice house, warm bed to come home to. And when I call? You bring her in. It’ll be easy. Look at how docile she is now! I’ll get you some of that stuff and she’s out like a light.”

Frank bares his teeth and lurched forward. Someone’s hands wrap around his throat and restrict his air flow. He sees stars, but he’s still fighting. Bobby says something in a language Frank doesn’t recognise, then talks right in his ear.

“You’ll come around. When you see what I do to her when she doesn’t comply, you’ll be begging me to offer this again.”

Frank can’t make a sound anymore. Too much pressure around his neck. Then he feels something else, something he recognises. It’s the barrel of Bobby’s shotgun pressing into his stomach, and he blacks out before he can hear if it goes off.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Stop moving.” Frank grumbles from beside you. It was impossible not to shift around in this tiny bed, which you were almost positive had been the scene of a crime at some point.

“It’s a water bed. It moves on its own.” Whoever decided putting a water bed in a hotel room was a good idea was dumb. Especially when every time one of you shifted it sent you both closer together. It wasn’t the first time on this trip you’d slept next to each other, but you weren’t sure how you felt about being shoved together in a bed that was stained a faint yellow.

“It moves when you move.” He says and rolls over, and you can feel his eyes burning into your back. “You’re shivering.”

“Do you have any other complaints? You want to point out my grey hairs next?” You feel the heat of his breath of the back of your neck, and then the bed turns tidal as he sits up completely, shifting behind you. “Oh my god. What the fuck are you—“

You’re cut off by heavy fabric suffocating your open mouth, and it takes you a second to realise why everything’s gone dark. The first inhale and you can tell what it is. It smells like him. You haven’t admitted it to yourself yet, but you like that smell.

“Put it on. We’ll get you better clothes next time we stop.” He doesn’t roll over, still watching you as you wordlessly slip into the soft fabric of his jumper. You’ve worn it before, and Frank must of noticed how comfortable you seemed in it.

“Thought you’d want me to freeze.” It’s easier to play it off, the gesture one of many you haven’t decided how to read yet.

“Not when you shake like a chihuahua. Fuckin’ water bed…” He groans again and drops his body back down, nearly sending you flying off the other side. “Better?”

“I think I’m getting sea sick.”

“Go to sleep.”

You wait until you think he’s asleep to speak again.

“Thank you.” You whisper into the dark.

“Don’t worry about it.” He whispers back. When he shuffles behind you, and the waves of the mattress send you back against him, you squeeze your eyes shut and fall asleep before you can figure out why you don’t want to move from his side.

Gunshots woke you from sleep.

Your eyes didn’t open as fast as you wanted them to, and as you sucked in your first conscious breathe, you could taste something was wrong.

It tasted like stale bread— the air had a taste. You didn’t have a lot of experience with poison or gas, but you couldn’t think of anything natural that cause that kind of taste. Paired with how fuzzy your head felt right now, you knew you’d been fucked with in some way.

When your eyes finally opened, all the air you’d reluctantly taken in was shoved out of you. This room. You knew it just from staring at the floor. The stain on the ground. You tried to move your arm, but all it did was rattle the chains tied to the metal frame of your—the bed.

You tried to move your legs, hearing the same clanking sound with no payoff. You still thrashed against them, the fight sense kicking in and you not having enough clarity to save your energy. Everything was dialled to ten, being strapped back in here, held here.

Frank.

Frank would come. An hour, and he would come for you. You knew he would. You just had to outlast the hour.

Footsteps started coming down the hall, and you swallowed dryly, trying to ignore the sickness bubbling in your stomach. Even the smell of this room was the same. Same mattress. Like he was hoping… expecting you to come back. You know it’s him. Before you look up, you know.

“There you are, sunshine. How I missed you.” Bile burns in your throat.

You can’t talk, the gas in the room filling your chest and throat with dry, green smoke. You feel his grimy hands in your soaked hair, and when you’re forced to look up, he’s wearing a gas mask. It doesn’t hide the blood covering his face.

“I think it’s time we got caught up. Shall we?” Your eyes burn. Any of that strength you were feeling before seeps out of you, and the first slap of his hand sends you straight back into the darkness.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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[about-faces]

BATMAN: THE LONG HALLOWEEN MOVIE LIVEBLOG (1/?)

Opening scene! I see they got rid of the Godfather pastiche of “On this, the day of my daughter’s wedding!” shit entirely, moving the location of Bruce and the Roman’s meeting to the latter’s penthouse. Is the screenwriter trying to make this movie stand on its own, or is it a tacit admission that all of Loeb’s Godfather references were cheap and lazy? Let’s see! 

Oh hey, they gave Bruce an actual reason to say “I believe in Gotham City.” In the comic, he just says it because Loeb wants people to go “Yes, I’ve seen The Godfather too!” There’s no reason for Bruce to say it, given that he immediately moves onto talking about something else entirely. At least here it’s backed up by the context of his conversation with the Roman. Already, this movie is bending over backwards to make Loeb’s plot make sense.

Between this and all the screenshots I’ve already seen, Harvey Dent always looks angry and/or evil with constant downturned eyebrows. Before he was Two-Face, he was Resting-Bitch-Face.

The opening credits showing Tim Sale’s art feels like a half-assed way to deal with the fact that the animation style, though stylized in its own way, in no way resembles Sale’s art which really made TLH a hit. It’s like they’re saying “We can’t do it justice, but we can at least pay tribute to it with the opening credits,” but all it’s doing is highlighting how this isn’t Sale’s art. With its heavy cel shading, it’s more like Batman The Brave and the Bold on low battery.

Johnny Viti is a snitch for Harvey! Already the story is strengthening the idea from the comics that (name redacted) is the killer, by establishing an actual connection between Harvey and Viti! 

Seriously, is Harvey going to make this stinkface this whole movie? And how much is this movie going to abuse obvious foreshadowing the way the comic did?

Johnny Viti has been shot and killed. So they’ve cut the comic plot point of Viti murdering the banker Richard Daniel in front of his wife. Again, this creates a direct correlation between Harvey’s dealings with Viti and Viti’s murder, making it tighter and more sensical than the comic. Although I’m not sure where Viti was even shot. His head was exposed, but no blood is appearing behind it, just dripping down his hand and filling the tub. Whatever, compared to the comic, this is already a masterpiece of plotting.

GOD HELP ME I’M DOING THIS

Alfred is sad that no children are showing up at Wayne Manor on Halloween, despite the fact that he’s not even standing by the terrifying front gates and somehow expecting children to walk, like, a fucking mile up to their front door. Jesus, Alfred, at least make an effort before you give up! You’re giving out full-sized candy bars, they WILL at least show up to the creepy gates for that!

So they’re also adapting Bruce’s Scrooge-like arc from Loeb and Sale’s Legends of the Dark Knight Special: Ghosts, eh? Not a bad idea.

Alfred ghosts on Bruce mid-sentence! Cute implication that Bruce learned it from years of Alfred dealing with his batcrap and “nope”-ing out.

Tiny Babs and James Jr! Aw, look at JJ, being a happy normal kid and instead of the creepy “psychopath” he was retconned into being by Scott Snyder.

Aw, Gordon’s an adorable dad. He’s even playful and joking! Wow, I feel like I’ve never seen him be a sweet, loving dad to his kids, at least not when they actually were kids. It’s always conflict, angst, and/or neglect.

Ahhh okay there’s the “sorry family, my horrible job calls” moment. Well, it works better after showing him and his family actually being happy for once. The way it plays out in the comics, it’s a wonder that Barbara hasn’t just divorced him already, especially after his affair and JJ almost getting killed in Batman: Year One. 

Harvey returns home, still sporting that horrible face and looming like a sinister fridge. This is not a Harvey that instills tragedy so far.

HI, I’M BOB EVIL. 

Oh, he switched on the light and now his features have softened? Is this how they’re establishing his duality, that he spends his nights out and about like Mr. Hyde (even when he’s winning elections and looking his best for the press) and turns back into Jekyll at home or with friends? Interesting. Interesting. I hate it. 

Gilda lives outside, apparently, enjoying a nice dinner of cigarettes and wine, wrapped in her Depression Blankie.

She seems to be in a depressive haze, almost a dissociative state where she barely acknowledges Harvey at first even when he speaks to her. Then she realizes he’s there and her mood brightens because OH BOY OH BOY HARVEY’S HOME HARVEY’S HOME! Given how Gilda of the comics had absolutely no life, hobbies, nor interests outside of Harvey, this doesn’t bode well. But I’ve already been spoiled that this Gilda does have more of a backstory, which gets some big foreshadowing in the next moment.

Gilda, internally: “Oh shit.”

“Shit shit shit.”

“Shit fuck fuck fuck shit.”

“THINK, GILDA, THINK! PLAY IT COOL! FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FU”

“SMOOTH.”

“Oh thank fuck.”

So okay, in keeping with the DC Universe in general, therapy just doesn’t exist here. Only snuggles and black and white movies with your spouse when he finally gets home from work and--

Harvey sees the Bat Signal and his jerkass scowl returns, while Gilda’s brief happiness vanishes. Time for Harvey to ditch.

If I squint my eyes and pretend that no greater story exists, I love this screenshot. 

“Oh cigarettes and booze, you’d never leave me.”

Okay, let’s see how they play out the famous rooftop meeting of the trio, which is usually credited to Loeb but was in fact created by two separate stories in 1990 by Bill Messner-Loebs (in the comic strips) and “Eye of the Beholder” by Andrew Helfer. Yes, I am still salty that even Christopher Nolan and David Goyer give Loeb credit for that, why do you ask? 

The familiarity between Batman and Harvey is played a lot colder than it did in the comic, which built off Batman: Year One’s clandestine partnership between the two. Don’t tell me this Harvey is going to be a bitter asshole to Batman as well as Bruce Wayne in this version. Hopefully it’s just a bad line delivery and Harvey’s stinkface making this seem worse than it will be.

Ah, I see they’re bringing in some of Nolan’s The Dark Knight into this Harvey, having him rage at Gordon for the failures of the police. Also, having him furious at his stoolie’s murder is an interesting change, given how callous he was about Viti’s death in the comics. 

Viti was about to turn state’s evidence against the Roman, and his testimony would have been damning enough to “put the whole family away,” so Harvey assumes the murder was a mob hit. I’m not sure what the killer’s motivation is going to be in this movie, but if it was to give Harvey less work so he’d go home (as in the comics), they sure as fuck screwed that up! Now he’s going to have to be in the office 24/7, starting again from square one! This will either be a major plot hole or indicative of a greater tragedy to come, depending on how the screenwriter has changed things. 

Batman wants to see the jack-o-lantern left behind at the crime scene, and Jim Gordon goes, “You think it’s important?” It’s literally evidence left behind by the killer, Jim! Of course it’s important! How the fuck did you make Captain?! Was it because every other cop was already out of work because they were corrupt?! 

Here, it’s Gordon who proposes the three of them work together, with an emphasis on Harvey and Batman being two sides of the same coin in a way that’s every bit as on-the-nose as what I just said there. I do like anything that emphasizes how Batman gets to be Harvey’s dark side before he goes off and gets one of his own, with blackjack and hookers. 

UGH. I guess even this script can’t resist Loeb’s penchant for dredging out obvious cliche idioms that heavy-handedly reference Two-Face. On top of that, the way this plays is like Harvey and Batman are rivals who are being forced to play nice by Jim Gordon, like they’re dolls he’s shoving together and saying “NOW KISS.” 

This time, both Batman and Harvey ditch Gordon mid-speech. I like that. 

I see they got rid of Falcone’s penchant for wearing a rose lapel, an addition by Loeb/Sale which was an obvious Vito Corleone reference. Interesting how this keeps distancing itself from The Godfather. It’s like it wants to both celebrate the comic while also trying to make it more original and coherent. If so, it’s a tacit admission that the comic was derivative and poorly-plotted?

Falcone puts the blame for Johnny Viti’s death squarely on Dent, whose legal shit-stirring had made the Roman’s rivals--like Maroni--suddenly bolder. In another bit of foreshadowing, I note that Alberto perks up at Dent’s name. Also, the Roman next has his bodyguard throw a mouthy goon down a stairwell because he comes from the Wilson Fisk school of wasteful human resources.

Okay, I’m burned out here, and I’m barely a third of the way through the first part. So I’m 1/6th of the way through the whole thing. FML let’s continue this tomorrow.

EDIT: Part 2 is up!

[ironhusband]

Read on AO3 

Honestly, Bucky had expected that dating Sam would be easier than this.

With everything that he and Sam had gone through to finally get together, he had wanted everything to be smooth sailing once he finally had Sam. Their perfect happy ending, cut straight from the movies and into their lives. They deserved it.

That wasn’t real life, however.

When Bucky finally had Sam in his arms, there were a myriad of relationship things that Bucky had to learn. He had to get used to all of Sam's quirks and he had the entirety of Sam’s family to win over. He had to learn the way to this obscure place where Sam liked to buy his orange juice and he had to study for days to remember that Sam’s aunt liked orange jewelry. But if Bucky was honest? He didn’t mind that part. He didn’t mind getting to know what Sam was like in a relationship or meeting Sam’s family. That would never be a hardship for him.

What he did mind was that stupid fucking drone.

It all started with Sam and Bucky making out on the couch. This wasn’t unusual in itself; sometimes the news was boring and Sam and Bucky got distracted. Sucking on Sam’s tongue was more interesting than anything else, frankly.

Sam was pressed against the couch by Bucky’s hips, his hands wandering under Bucky’s shirt as Bucky took Sam’s lips between his teeth. Sam removed his hand from Bucky's shirt to run his fingers through Bucky’s hair, causing Bucky to pinch Sam’s waist. Bucky was coming up to change the angle of the kiss and-

When he looked up the drone was staring directly at them.

It took a long time for Bucky to recognize that their home was safe and not, as a reflex, shoot at any sort of intimidating sight and sound. Still, he startled and yelled, “why the fuck is your pet staring at us?!”

Sam looked back at what made Bucky exclaim and smiled at Redwing. “Oh, hi, there, little guy,” he cooed, “enjoying the show?”

“Sam,” Bucky hissed, annoyed at his boyfriend’s reaction, glancing back and forth between the drone and Sam, “he is staring at us."

Sam shrugged, wrapping his arms around Bucky's shoulders, "so?"

Bucky spluttered, exasperated, "He is recording us. How can you be so calm about this? What if he puts this on the internet?”

“He won’t put this on the internet,” Sam rolled his eyes.

“Why not?” Bucky challenged, knowing the real reason. Sam was still insisting it was Redwing who put the footage of him falling through the tree on the internet, and he was determined to make him confess it was his doing (that video got 1000000 likes!).

“Well, first of all,” Sam explained, straightening up, smug grin on, “because no one wants to see you kissing.”

“You want to see me kissing,” Bucky countered.

“My one flaw,” Sam teased, “and two, his camera isn’t on. He just likes flying around sometimes.”

Bucky glanced at the drone, whose cold, robot eyes, peeking just beneath the shell on the drone, stared back at him. “Can’t you make him stop?”

“I wasn’t listening when Stark did the seminar about the AI inside him. Lost the manual too.”

Bucky looked at the drone again, and then quickly turned away while he muttered, “there must be a deactivation code.”

“I sorta don’t want to find it,” Sam confessed, “I like his quirks.”

“But he isn’t supposed to be flying around with his camera off. It isn’t what he was made for.”

“He’s sleepwalking,” Sam said, fondly.

“He’s creepy.”

Sam gasped, “how dare you say that?!”

“Robots shouldn’t sleepwalk!”

“Redwing isn’t a robot! He’s a drone!”

“Same difference!”

“It is so not same difference. Besides, Redwing is better than just a normal robot, he is-”

He and Sam bickered for the rest of the evening and Bucky forgot all about the drone when they moved into the bedroom. But it began like this.

~~~

Bucky woke up to get milk the next morning. Sam usually got up earlier than Bucky, waking to go run. He would accidentally wake Bucky up by kissing his cheek before he went out (running reminded Sam of Steve and sometimes he needed a little reassurance), and then Bucky would burrow into the blankets for half an hour before getting up to eat cereal. Bucky liked the early hours of the day when he had the house to himself and could wake up properly before Sam would get home. Before they moved in together, Bucky had made the mistake of getting up after Sam had already returned from his run, and he didn’t have the brainpower to retort when Sam called him a heathen for pouring his milk before his cereal.

When he got up this morning, the drone was there, staring at him.

Bucky was mid-yawn when he yelped at the flying thing in front of his face.

“Holy fucking shit, man, you nearly gave me a heart attack!” he exclaimed at the drone, clutching at his chest.

“That’s not good,” the imaginary Sam in his head said, looking, amused, at Bucky’s clutching-his-pearls position, “you need to watch your heart at your age.”

The drone didn’t say anything. Bucky rolled his eyes. “What are you looking at?” he challenged.

The drone still didn’t say anything.

Bucky moved cautiously, one leg in front of the other while he watched the drone, “I’m just getting breakfast.”

The drone turned his head towards him with his every moment. The whirring, easier to hear in the quiet morning, gave Bucky chills.

He glanced once at the drone and then once at the refrigerator before deciding to ignore the robot. Even if it was creepy that his camera wasn't on but he could still follow him, what would he do? Shoot him? Sam disarmed the drone every time he was off duty. So Bucky opened the fridge and got out his milk, blocking the drone from his view with the door.

Sam hated it when he did it, but he unscrewed the milk and drank some of it (”we exchange spit regularly, I don’t see the big deal.” “You put it so romantically~”). Cold milk always helped Bucky wake up and he “ahh”ed when he stopped feeling the thirst he always felt when he was just waking up.

He shut the door of the refrigerator, and apparently, Redwing has gotten twenty steps closer.

He screamed at the drone near his face and threw the cap at him.

~~~

Turns out, Redwing’s camera was on and Sam laughed for 20 minutes at the footage.

~~~

The next time it happened, Bucky was coming home from one of his therapy appointments. The BARF sessions were always a pain in the ass (reliving his past wasn’t remotely fun) but Bucky knew he sometimes had to go to them to make sure he wouldn’t go all Winter Soldier again. Anything to keep Sam safe.

Bucky liked to come home and cuddle with his boyfriend (who usually also had an exhausting day of being Captain America) when he got home, but today was different.

A purring Redwing was found in Sam’s lap when he went into the living room.

“Hey!” Sam greeted, seeing unable to give him a welcoming kiss due to the robot in his lap, “how did it go?”

“The usual,” Bucky replied casually. He eyed the drone, “does he usually... do that?”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded, “he noticed I was bummed so he came to cheer me up. Isn’t that right, Red?”

Sam pet Redwing’s red-paint-coated shell and the robot buzzed happily.

“Weird...” Bucky mumbled under his breath and then flopped next to Sam, “why were you bummed?”

“I fucking hate the UN,” Sam announced, “excuse me for not wanting to end up at jail for accidentally scratching some rich dude’s car.”

Bucky kissed Sam’s cheek, “I’m sorry you had a bad day.”

“’ Is okay. We’ll settle it all eventually. Just wish that I didn’t have to do it.”

“No, you don’t,” Bucky pointed out, knowing how much his boyfriend loved being Captain America.

Sam smiled shyly, that smile of his that made Bucky fall head over heels for him, “no, I don’t.”

Bucky kissed Sam’s neck. Sam’s smiles would always get him soft, which meant he had to kiss every inch of him. Sam giggled at Bucky rolling the skin between his lips and he brought a hand to the back of Bucky’s head to caress his nape. Bucky kissed further down his neck, reaching Sam’s collarbone and-

Sam gently pushed him away. Redwing was buzzing irregularly in his lap.

“Hey, there, little fella, don’t be mad,” Sam tried to appease him by stroking him, “Bucky just distracted me for a moment.”

Bucky huffed, disappointed at the interruption. “Not fair,” Bucky grumbled, “I had Sam cuddling dibs.”

“Awww,” Sam teased, his trademark smug grin on his face, “are you jealous?”

Bucky huffed and pushed his shoulder, “no, I’m not jealous. I love you and your weird robot.”

Sam laughed and didn’t retort, resting his head on Bucky’s shoulder as they turned on the TV.

~~~

Bucky did get a little jealous when Sam had to sleep on the couch because he didn't want to disturb Redwing ‘napping’ on his lap. He was still jealous, despite how adorable Sam looked with the blanket around his shoulders and drooling on the backrest of the couch.

~~~

Bucky could have handled hogging Sam or Redwing hovering or wondering if the drone was recording while he and Sam were just being domestic, but he drew the line at forcing him to stay in his apartment.

“Okay, freak,” Bucky announced to the drone, “I’m going shopping. Do you need anything?”  

The drone didn’t respond. Bucky pulled the jacket on and stuffed his keys in one of the pockets. The drone followed his movements as he got ready to go outside. “I’m going out now,” Bucky informed him before he turned around to leave the apartment.

The drone was staring right back at his face as he moved towards the door. Bucky didn’t jump this time, long used to how Redwing could sneak up on people. “God, how do you do that? Did Stark figure out teleportation or something?”

The drone flew mute, as always. Bucky sighed and went to open the door but Redwing blocked his hand before he could reach the knob. “Ow! Son of a bitch!” he cursed as his hand crushed against the drone, “what, what’s the matter? I can’t leave my home now?”

The drone didn’t respond.

“You know, most pets beg for their owners to take them outside.”

The drone still didn’t respond.

Bucky sighed, and reached for the door, more gently this time, and managed to successfully open the door.

Bucky cheered triumphantly, “not so tough now, huh?”

The drone didn’t show any sign that he understood but when Bucky tried to exit he blocked his way.

“Seriously?” Bucky huffed. He moved an inch to the left quickly and the drone zoomed towards him. “Seriously?” he complained and tried to move another inch, slower this time. The drone followed his painstakingly slow movements, centimeter for centimeter. “You motherfucker.”

He tried to get through the door from the left side and the right side, but wherever he went, Redwing followed him. “I’m going to walk out of this door like a normal person,” he told Redwing, “I’m not going to limbo under you, or jump over you, or fight you or anything like that, so. Get. Out. Of. My. Way.”

Three minutes later, Bucky found himself on his knees, face to face with the drone, “you know, if Sam didn’t like you so much, I would dismantle you piece by piece.”

~~~

Sam paused at the open doorway, looking at his boyfriend and his drone staring at one another.

“Are you having a staring contest?” Sam quipped, “because that’s our thing.”

“It won’t let me leave,” Bucky complained.

Sam raised an eyebrow, walking through the front door, “it? You used to call him him.” Redwing followed him, softly nudging Sam’s head and asking to be pet.

Bucky threw his hands in the air in frustration, “him is for things who aren’t menaces!”

“That’s not my experience,” Sam joked, petting Redwing as it asked.

Bucky glared at him, “that’s not funny. That drone is the executor of Tony Stark’s will and it is trying to kill me!”

Sam laughed, “don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?”

“Two days ago, I swear I saw it give me a withering stare while it was on your chest.”

“He’s a drone, Bucky,” Sam emphasized, “they don’t have expressions.”  

“Doesn’t stop him from doing all the other human stuff!”

“Bucky,” Sam shook his head, “Redwing likes you.”

Bucky scoffed, “if Redwing was armed, it'd kill me in my sleep.”

“No, he wouldn’t.”

“When’s our next battle? I bet it'll finish the job then!”

“If only I had a schedule of that...”

“That thing drives me crazy!”

“Bucky!” Sam exclaimed, “all those things Redwing does, he does because he likes you.”

Bucky blinked.

“Think about it,” Sam began explaining, “for weeks after you moved in, he hasn’t moved from his spot, but now he has suddenly decided to move?”

“It has decided it can no longer be passive about me anymore?” Bucky suggested.

“Or-” Sam suggested his interpretation, “-he decided he can trust you and he wants to get to know you.”

Bucky peaked at Redwing behind him, “seems unlikely.”

Sam raised his hands, “don’t ask me to explain his bad taste.”

Bucky looked at the drone, “it likes me.”

Sam nodded, “and unfortunately, so do I.”

"It has a weird way of showing it," Bucky pointed out.

Sam grinned, "well, so do you."

~~~

“What do I do?” Bucky whispered to Sam, panicked.

Sam shook his head. "Pet him, you moron," he told him fondly.

The drone has decided to land in his lap. Changing Redwing’s batteries was like feeding a dog, and now Redwing has decided that Bucky deserved affections. Bucky carefully put his hand on top of the drone’s surprisingly warm metal and started rubbing his hand on the shell.

“There you go,” Sam congratulated him and put his head on Bucky’s shoulder, his hand on the drone, joining the petting. He turned on the TV, “what do you want to watch tonight?”

Bucky looked at Sam, at how calm and happy he looked because of Bucky and Redwing getting along. He looked down at the drone steadily purring louder in his lap.

“Yeah,” he thought, “this is a happy ending.”

[yeah-all-of-it]

I’ve had this headcanon for awhile now about Ian and Mickey starting a family and since I’m becoming more comfortable with writing, I thought I’d turn it into a fic. Enjoy!

A Life Changing Gift

“Debs, are you sure you understand what you’re offering right now?,” Ian questions, feeling a bit skeptical.

It is Debbie after all. Sometimes she’s perfectly pleasant and reasonable, other times she can be a raging bitch. But, she is his sister and he can’t imagine her offering something this monumental only to renege after they’ve gotten their hopes up. And she’s definitely mellowed out since they didn’t end up selling the house and she didn’t have to find a new place to live.

Ian and Debbie are sitting at the kitchen table in the Gallagher house. She had called him over to look at a cut Franny had gotten playing in the backyard. Wasn’t sure if it needed stitches and thought Ian could use his past medical training to check it out. In reality, it was barely a scratch. Ian should have known at that point Debbie was up to something, especially when she invited him to stay for coffee.

“Ian, I’ve been thinking a long time about this. Came up with the idea months ago but wanted to be completely sure before I said anything,” Debbie explains.

“Yeah, but, Debbie. This is fuckin’ huge. Think about how hard it’ll be on you-“

“I’ve already thought about all that shit, Ian. I’ve been through it before, you know. It’s really not that bad,” Debbie assures him.

Debbie seems sincere. Like she’s really considered every angle, every downside, upside, and in-between. He’s trying to keep his excitement reined in because he still has to convince Mickey that this is a good idea, which could be easier said than done.

“Listen,” Debbie says. “You don’t have to say anything now. Go home, talk it over with Mickey. You can even bring him over here and we can all talk about it if you want. No pressure.”

They both stand from the table and Ian goes to give her a hug.

“Wait, what the fuck are you doing?” Debbie jokes. “Thought you hated me and that we don’t do hugs anymore.” She laughs, and Ian knows she’s remembering how tense things were a year ago when she thought she’d be homeless and alone and she lashed out at all her siblings.

“Would you just fuckin’ come here?” Ian smiles warmly and holds his arms out.

She steps into his embrace and he just holds his little sister. Sometimes he still likes to imagine her as that sweet little girl that was always helping people. Always loving people, sometimes so much she would get hurt. It would kill him to see the tears in her eyes.

Sometimes, he sees glimpses of that caring little girl in the jaded woman she’s become. Like when she pretended to be the bride at his wedding; staying in the kitchen, missing the whole ceremony, just so he and Mickey could get married without any problems from the homophobes at the venue. And now, when she’s offering this selfless and life changing gift to them.

Ian whispers into her hair, hair that’s the same vibrant shade of red as his own, “I don’t even know what to say, Debs. Just… thank you.”

Debbie gives him one more big squeeze before pulling away. “You’re welcome. Now, go home and convince your husband to let me have his baby.”

———

“No fuckin’ way, NO fuckin’ way!” Mickey exclaims. “No way am I bangin’ your little sister.”

Mickey hops up on the counter, takes a long chug of the Old Style in his hand.

“Mick,” Ian sighs, leaning up against the opposite counter. “That’s not how it works. You would basically jerk off in a cup and she’d use a turkey baster, in the privacy of her own room,” he emphasizes,” to… place the sperm where they need to go.”

“Don’t you need like, a doctor or some shit to do that?” Mickey asks incredulously.

“Well, you can use a doctor but it’s expensive. This way is free,” Ian clarifies.

Mickey is clearly churning the idea around in his brain. Finally speaks.

“I thought we were just gonna like, find a fuckin’ kid that didn’t have parents or somethin’.”

“We can do that too, one day. Ya know, if we like the first one enough to do it again,” Ian says lightheartedly, slight grin, trying to calm Mickey.

Ian steps toward Mickey, placing his hips between Mickey’s knees, resting his hands on his thighs, rubbing softly.

Ian continues. “Think about it though, Mick. This baby would be us, you and me. It’s the closest we can get since we don’t exactly have the right stuff to do it on our own. He or she would have your DNA and, through Debbie, a little of mine too.”

Mickey beams at this, wraps his arms around his husband’s shoulders. “It would be kinda fun to have a little version of us runnin’ around,” Mickey admits. “You know a kid that’s part Milkovich and part Gallagher is bound to be a little shit though, right?” Mickey jokes, smiling at the thought.

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” Ian quips, leaning in and planting a sweet kiss on his smiling husband’s lips.

Ian pulls back from the kiss and asks seriously, “So. Do you wanna do this?”

“Yeah. Yeah I do. What about you?” Mickey questions.

“Fuck yeah, I do. Let’s call Debs right now.”

———

“I’ve done a lot of research about this. You guys know it might not work on the first try right? Don’t want you to be frustrated or disappointed if it doesn’t work this month. Doesn’t mean it won’t ever work, but it can take a little time,” Debbie explains.

They are sitting in the Gallagher living room the day they are making their first attempt at insemination.

“Yeah, we know, Debs. Don’t worry,” Ian replies. “We’re not in a hurry.”

“Okay, good. Keeping your expectations reasonable is good,” she says. “I’ve also been tracking my basal body temperature and took an ovulation test, so today is my most fertile da-“

Mickey interrupts, “Thanks, Dr. Gallagher, but we don’t need all the gory details. Now where do I jerk off? Hey Ian, you gonna gimme a hand, man?” Mickey clicks his tongue and bounces his eyebrows playfully.

“Ugh, no gory details, right? Let’s just keep all the personal shit to ourselves okay?” Debbie requests.

“Yeah, this is already awkward enough. Don’t need to make it weirder,” Ian agrees and eyes Mickey scoldingly.

Ian and Mickey are forced to go into the bathroom because Lip and Tami live there now and their old bedroom is now Fred and the baby’s room. They’re not home but it would be uncomfortable seeing Fred’s little toddler bed, his stuffed animal collection staring at them while Mickey gets off. So, bathroom it is.

“Listen, Mickey,” Ian explains. “I’ll help, but we are keeping this clinical. Short and sweet. We can fuck at home later for fun; this needs to be done with a purpose, a goal. Debbie’s waiting.”

“Ugh, Jesus, man, why you gotta bring up Debbie? Doesn’t exactly make this process easier to think of her waiting in her room to squir-“

“Okaaayy, focus Mick,” Ian interrupts before that sentence goes any further.

Ian yanks down Mickey’s pants and gets to work. He knows exactly how Mickey likes it to make him come quickly. It works and Mickey finishes into the bulb of the turkey baster in record time.

Ian wipes off the edges and walks it to Debbie’s room, knocking on the door. She opens it just enough to stick her arm out and Ian places the bulb in her hand. Ian hears her say, “Uh, you guys can go home. I’ll text you later,” and shuts the door.

On their way back to the Westside, Ian’s phone dings. He picks it up and reads the text from Debbie out loud. “Transfer is complete.”

“What now?” Mickey asks.

“We wait,” Ian answers.

———

“It should have worked by now, right?” Mickey asks, an edge of concern in his voice. “I mean, it’s been almost 4 months. What if like, my fuckin’ swimmers don’t work or somethin’?”

Ian tries to calm Mickey down, rubbing his arm that’s slung across Ian’s belly. It’s midnight and they really should be asleep but Mickey’s spiraling over the whole surrogacy thing.

“Mick, this is normal. We knew it could take awhile. There’s no need to freak out yet,” Ian assures. “What’s all this about, anyway? All the worry.”

“Just… I know it took a long time for me to even wanna have kids. Then you had to convince me to do this shit, to be okay with Debbie carrying my baby. Fuck, that still sounds creepy as hell. But anyway, I know I wasn’t on board with everything at first, but now? Ian, I’m so fuckin’ excited to have a baby with you. To be a dad with you. It’s just hard to wait, that’s all. And then I think… what if it doesn’t happen? What if this whole plan just fuckin’ fails? Then what?”

“Then, we come up with another plan,” Ian assures. “I wanna raise kids with you too, Mickey, so fuckin’ much. I wanna give them the childhood we never got to have. I wanna take them to the beach with you, I want us to play blocks on the living room floor, and read bedtime stories together. All that shit. It’ll happen, Mickey. One way or another, we’ll make it happen.”

Ian snuggles Mickey closer, kisses him on the top of the head, and they fall asleep in each other’s arms.

They are woken up by Ian’s obnoxious ringtone at 6:00 am, well before they have to be up for work.

“Who the fuck is calling this goddamn early? Better be fuckin’ important,” Mickey grumbles while rubbing his eyes.

It’s Debbie.

“Hey, Debs!” Ian says with fake cheerfulness, still half asleep. “What’s up?”

“There’s two lines!” she screams on the other end of the phone.

“Okay?” Ian replies.

“There’s TWO lines!” she repeats, emphasizing the word two.

“I don’t know what the fuck that means, Debs. Two lines where?” Ian questions.

“On the pregnancy test, dipshit! It’s positive! I’m pregnant!” she yells.

Ian bolts upright in bed. Mickey grumbles “what the fuck” under his breath, eyes still half closed.

“Holy fuck! It’s positive?” Ian exclaims. “It worked?

Mickey’s up now too. “What the fuck did you just say?”

“Debs! Thank you! I love you! I’ll call you back later!” Ian says, unable to hold in his excitement.

He hangs up the phone. Turns and looks at Mickey. “It worked. She’s pregnant,” Ian practically whispers, unable to believe it. Ian sees tears well up in Mickey’s eyes and, for only the second time Ian has ever witnessed, they spill out onto his cheeks.

———

“Damn, you look like a beached whale, Debbie,” Mickey observes.

Debbie gives him a dirty look but chooses to keep her mouth shut.

She’s a week past her due date so they are at the clinic today to make sure everything is good. Debbie is up on the table and Ian and Mickey are sitting in the two available chairs when the doctor comes in.

“Hi, Debbie! Hi, Dads!” she says cheerfully. “So we are going to measure your belly and do a quick ultrasound just to make sure your amniotic fluid looks good.” Mickey grimaces at the term “amniotic fluid”. “I’ll have her back in a jiffy, guys!” the doctor says as she whisks Debbie out of the room.

They spent the last 6 months getting everything they needed for their new baby. Tami even threw them a shower where they got clothes, bottles, a swing, a carseat, and about a billion diapers. They decorated the nursery in light gray bedding with tiny white stars. Gender neutral because they want to be surprised. They have everything ready, all they need is the baby who is taking its sweet time.

Around 20 minutes has passed when the doctor pokes her head in the door.

“Sooo, I have some news. Debbie’s water broke while we were doing her ultrasound and her contractions started coming really fast. From what I’ve been told, her first delivery was pretty quick so we’re transporting her to the hospital just down the road, just to be safe. You are welcome to head over there now. I will be delivering so I’ll see you guys there!” and her head pops out as quickly as it appeared.

Ian and Mickey just look at each other, stunned. Finally Mickey regains his senses and breaks the silence. “Well, let’s fuckin’ go!”

They finally make it to the OB floor after a couple wrong turns inside the hospital. A nurse points them to Debbie’s room and they walk in when she’s in the middle of a pretty intense contraction. Once it subsides, she greets them and informs the epidural is on its way.

Once it’s been administered and Debbie is blissfully pain free, she asks, “Do you guys want to be in the delivery room?”

They both look at each other. “I hadn’t really thought about it,” Ian replies.

“Fuck, no,” Mickey says. “I don’t wanna see that shit.”

“Mick, you don’t have to watch. We can stand up by her head. Hold her hand. Be supportive since she’s bringing our baby into this world.” Ian turns to Debbie. “Are you sure you don’t mind? We understand if you want to keep things private.”

“Ian. I gave birth to Franny on our kitchen table in front of… like, everyone. Kev saw my vagina. V saw my vagina. Fuckin’ Sean saw my vagina. Trust me, I don’t care if you two are in the room.”

Ian looks at Mickey. “Fuck… fine. We can be in there,” Mickey relents.

A nurse comes in to check Debbie and informs her she’s 100% effaced and 10cm dilated. It’s go time. Things move at a quick pace after that. More nurses come in, turning on extra lights, bringing in supplies, wheeling in the heated bassinet.

Ian and Mickey stand side by side to Debbie’s left, Ian holding her hand, while she pushes. It’s fast. She only pushes for ten minutes before they hear cries and the doctor’s holding the baby in her hands, declaring, “it’s a girl!”

The next thing they know, a nurse is throwing a clean blanket over Mickey’s chest, and another nurse walks over and places the baby, his daughter, in his arms, blood, vernix, and all. Ian expects him to be grossed out but Mickey just stares in awe at this beautiful baby. This baby that looks like him in the face, but has a head of red hair.

Ian steps up to Mickey and wraps an arm around his shoulders, placing his other under Mickey’s arms that are holding their daughter. There is not a dry eye in the room. Ian and Mickey are crying, Debbie is crying, even the doctor and nurses are crying.

The next hour or so is spent getting the baby, and Debbie, cleaned up and dressed. They take the baby and run the normal tests and give her a vitamin k shot.

Once Debbie is in a room, the nurse brings the baby in to her dads. Ian sits in the rocking chair snuggling her while she sleeps and Mickey is right next to them.

Debbie just gazes at this new little family from her spot in bed. “So,” she finally says. “What are you naming her?”

Ian and Mickey just smile at each other before Ian responds, “Debbie, meet Margaret Laura Gallagher-Milkovich. Maggie for short.”

Debbie’s eyes tear up. “You guys gave her my middle name?”

Mickey surprisingly fields this question. “We wanted her to be named after the person that’s responsible for her bein’ here. For helping’ create her for us. I know I give you a lotta shit, but I love ya, and I appreciate the fuck outta you, Debbie.”

“Aww, Mickey, I love yo-“ she begins before being interrupted.

“Don’t get fuckin’ used to it. I’m emotional today,” he snaps with feigned grumpiness. Then smiles at her.

They let Debbie snuggle her for a bit before being released by the pediatrician to take her home. Thankfully they had already installed the infant seat in their car so they were prepared.

They walk through the door of their apartment 30 minutes later. Ian sets the carrier down and picks the baby up out of it, snuggling her tiny body to his chest before passing her off to Mickey.

“I’m not sure what you were so worried about, you’re a natural, Mickey,” Ian says as he gazes at his handsome husband tenderly cradling their beautiful baby girl.

They walk over to the sofa and sit down, thinking about the whirlwind of a day. Not knowing when they got up this morning to take Debbie to the clinic that by evening, they’d be holding their daughter in their arms.

Ian wraps Mickey’s shoulders with his arm, places his hand on their swaddled baby and says, “Welcome home, Maggie Gallagher-Milkovich. Your dads love you so much.”

[faerienextdoor]

general relationship hcs with (some) pastas

Fair warning, I'm using and hinting at mine and my friends’ writing for these creeps :) enjoy  also as soon as i figure out how to open an ask box, I’ll be accepting requests

Brian:

- oh where to start with this absolute himbo

- he melts around you. like he's your bitch, and you're his.

- he's the type of boyfriend that takes you out in the snow and shoves a handful down the back of your jacket, and laughs until you shove snow in his face

- it is snow war

- it ends with you cuddling him, wrapped in a blanket and content in front of the burning fire he got started just for you <3

- but he also has some weird... habits.

- drinks pickle juice.

- gets his hand stuck in the jar.

- looks at you like 🥺 until you sigh and help him. for the fifteenth time.

- he can cook some basic breakfast foods, and happily breaks out a cookbook to prepare you something as a surprise or to learn something with you!!

- baking with him would be a mess. he forgets flour goes everywhere and now you both look like you took a bath in cocaine

- but the cupcakes are mediocre at best. they aren't absolute garbage, so... cupcake points!

- he worries about how hoodie treats you. he doesn't remember anything when he regains control, but you've reassured him hoodie is just fine.

- and he is

(hoodie)

- hoodie is like a rottweiler or a doberman.

- protective. intimidating. energetic.

- but also a giant fucking baby.

- this large ass man lumbers over and drops to his knees. places his chin on your lap and stares at you from the fabric of his mask until you stop what you're doing and stroke his head awkwardly

- you could swear he does those happy grumbled a rottie does.

- hoodie is silent but shows he loves you just as much as brian does. He strokes your hair silently, even places a kiss to the crown of your head as you sink into his beefy arms.

- he smells nice too. surprisingly.

- but that raises the question: if hoodie showers, does he shower with that damn thing on?

- you won't get an answer if you were to ask.

- brian introduces you to his grandma julia. and she dotes on you.

- the immortal old lady remarks that you’re the best s/o brian has brought to her yet.

Tim:

- a lumberjack man with biceps like a fucking tree trunk

- how'd you land him? give me your secrets (/j)

- he's such a love bug. a tired stressed love bug.

- he finds /every/ excuse to have physical contact with you. it's like a little touch from you reassures him that you're real. you're like a dream to him.

- he's the best for cuddles. He holds you to his chest

- and you get special access to his moobs

- and he gently strokes your head, traces shapes into your back, etc. it's a special intimate moment each time.

- my man's is italian-american but can't cook to save his fucken life

- he always gets your favorite microwave meals though!! he never forgets.

- not feeling good? dw baby he's making it for you <33 shitty low tier bean and cheese burrito coming up

- slowly he learns the basics and surprises you with lunch or even dinner if you're lucky!!

- he loves you so much. and wants you to feel it and know it. all the time.

(masky)

- god where to start with this bitch

- he's not jeff levels of bad ofc, but he's silent and... weird. creepy, some may say. he doesn't mean to be.

- and he's a hard ass. far more strict than tim.

- he follows you around like a giant fucken puppy and will spook you by grabbing you abruptly and holding you tightly

- you can't escape him. he really utilizes his physical strength

- he loves lifting you up and just... holding you. or carrying you off.

- protective and overbearing.

- but tim keeps him under control.

(angst)

- he wouldn't want to lose you like he lost his last wife.

- you find pictures of a woman laying around and a small girl that bears a striking resemblance to her and tim.

- tim goes quiet and questioned but eventually caves and tells you about his family

- or what he used to have

- his wife died and his daughter disappeared.

- it broke him and you're all he has left now

- constantly needs your affection in return to his own

- pls love him

jeff:

- why the fuck would you date him

- he's the absolute worst in so many aspects. But he genuinely tries for you.

- even if his gifts are shitty, it's nice to know he thoughts of you, right? even if it's a half dead flower or a rib torn from a deer caraccas.

- but you get the butt end of his shithead antics. ranch bath, specifically. he smelt like spoiled milk for a week after and you had to cuddle that fucker.

- and don't get me started on mayo bath

- but he still loves finding himself in your arms. or finding you in his. he's demanding affection wise, and will yank you into him for some cuddles. whether you like it or not.

- he isn't one for a lot of pet names, but calls you curse words or "sweetheart" in polish.

- and you get to see the side of him that only shows when he breaks down.

(bit of angst)

- he misses his family and the life he used to have. he'll reminisce what it was like in poland with his mom and family with you, and you sometimes swear you can see his brown eyes gloss over at the memory of her.

- he never talks about his dad, you've noticed.

- don't ask.

- he brushes off heavy conversations with some dumb quip ("wanna see my renegade?")

- he sucks at cooking. god awful at it. but he really tries for you. manages a bowl of oat meal that's edible.

- but he overloads it with sugar and for some reason, salt.

- he's confused. he thinks that's normal (it isn't)

- his idea of a date is napping with you. or rather, forcing you into nap time.

- I mean it when I say this man is strong in a weird fucken way. latches onto you with that iron grip and you won't be able to leave for at least a few hours.

jane:

- ethereal wlw woman.

- could break you with her heels. or a flutter of what eyelashes she has.

- you're lucky to have her, and she's just as lucky to have you!

- she's sweet and charming. very smooth and takes good care of you.

- her love language is a mix of physical touch and acts of service.

- she'll cuddle you all night, and then make you breakfast in the morning.

- she loves showering with you when she's comfy enough around you! it's super intimate and she washes your hair.

- massages the soap into your hair, suds spilling down your neck and back as her fingers scrub circles into your scalp.

- it's heaven on earth. such a domestic life.

- it'll take a while for her to settle enough in the relationship for you to see her without her mask

- you make her feel so loved and wanted

- secure, even.

- she's protective but not controlling or overbearing. shes that type of girlfriend that's just a worrywart and relaxes as soon as you're curled up in her arms. you fit there perfectly, too. like you belong there.

- which you do. at least in her mind

- she has such a gentle touch and hold on you. like she's afraid you'll combust in her arms if she holds you too tightly.

- she loves stroking your hair and having you nap

- using her tiddies as a pillow 👌

(angst)

- she needs affirmation from you when it comes to her scars.

- she thinks that jeff ruined her. permanently marking her once spotless body.

- and she thinks you'll hate her or find her disgusting.

- that's why she freezes if/when you gently slip off her mask.

- she stares at you with those teary green eyes. then leans in and kisses you

- you make all of her worries disappear.

- she's also financially comfortable, but not really rich (on that topic: eat the rich)

- she spoils you every chance she gets. gifts, a nice dinner date, you name it

- she almost spoils you as much as she does her cat Emory

- little shit has the sparkliest fucken collar and acts like he's the shit

- he's your fur baby too now

Helen:

- oh my god this disaster of an art boi

- he's convinced he's the luckiest man in the world (and he might as well be!!)

- he obviously wouldn't have been the one to confess. but it was really obvious by how he painted and drew you constantly, that some feeling for you was lodged into his beating heart.

- he treats you like the finest china. with the most care a man can manage.

- he's the definition of clingy and affectionate from the very start.

- he curls around your sleeping form perfectly when y'all cuddle.

- his hand dances in your hair, soothing you into a dreamless sleep each night without fail.

- he has a magic touch and a gentle voice.

- and he cherishes you so fucken much. (like a simp /j)

- he shies away from kisses at first, but will hold your hand and melts if you hold his face in them!!!

- he's greek, and often speaks sweet things to you in it. he's so comfortable around you that he speaks in his native language to you. that's an accomplishment.

- he loves when you baby him. helen loves being cradled and loved.

- taking a nap with his head on your chest also hits different. he's so in love with you

(angst)

- he's afraid of losing you. who wouldn't be? you're amazing and you love /him/ of all people

- he thinks very negatively of himself. please scold him for self deprecating.

- he always worries he'll wake up and you'll be gone.

- so he holds you extra close at night. and follows you around when you leave for any reason. Trails behind you like a lost puppy in need of a gentle kiss.

- which, is what he essentially is

- and also: pls steal his sweater and wear it. he'll cry over how cute you are.

[thran-duils]

Lost In Zero Gravity (P.15)

Title: Lost In Zero Gravity (Part Fifteen) Summary:  Fem!Reader x Mob Boss!Tony Stark x Mob Boss!Steve Rogers.  Reader is a call girl who runs high end parties. She catches the attention of Tony Stark who invites her back to his room with his friend. She might have performed too well because she becomes their new favorite play toy and they don’t like to share. Words: 3,145 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Smut, prostitution, infidelity, angst, domestic violence, stalking, possessive behavior Author’s Note: The reader here is someone who celebrates Christmas, just a heads up!

Part Fourteen || Part Sixteen || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

Something touched your face and you jerked awake, blinking in alarm.

“Shit, sorry,” you heard Tony say as you came to clearly. You exhaled sharply hearing his voice, relaxing back down onto the couch. He was trying not to laugh and failing. He brushed at your forehead again affectionately and said, “Look at two of my favorite girls snuggling on the couch together. A nice thing to come home to.”

You turned your head, seeing Luna was curled up behind your back against the back of the couch. Tony reached behind you, petting her. She got up immediately and crawled up onto your side to get more, stretching her back legs. Tony obliged and she stuck her tail up before hopping down to the ground and sauntering off.

“Well, she got tired of me quickly,” Tony said sounding sour. “Little bitch is holding a grudge I was gone for a week.”

You sat up and moved your pillow, waiting for him to sit down. He simpered in response, “Well, at least one of you still wants my attention.” He sat down and you laid back down, using his thigh as a pillow. “And it’s the better looking one, so that bodes well for me.”

Considering you had fallen asleep, the movie had gone back to the main menu and was playing on loop.

“Interesting choice,” Tony commented seeing it.

“Polar Express has become a classic for Christmas,” you told him seriously. “And I fell asleep on it. And I did want to watch it.” You reached for the controller and started it over.

“Is there a reason for that…? Should I be prepared to be bored?”

“I had watched about three other Christmas movies before this and I was really relaxed,” you returned.

Tony admitted, “Fair enough.” He looked around the room and said, “You really went to town on the decorations.”

“I had a lot.”

“Looks like my tree was the perfect thing for your ornaments. Perfect gift giver.”

You snorted and said, “Is that you digging for a ‘thank you’ again, Santa?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Tony answered, his hand coming to your waist. “Where are my cookies in thanks?”

You turned your head to look up at him and asked, “Do you really want me to make you some cookies? Because the only ones I can make on a whim right now are peanut butter.”

Tony smirked, gripping your side. “No, sweetheart. Thank you for being so on the ball though and ready to indulge my whims. You’re a treasure. But I ate enough desserts and bullshit at Disneyland to last me for months.”

“Did you have fun?” you asked, turning to look back as the movie started over again.

“Mhm,” Tony nodded. “Loved standing in lines for an absurd amount of time not only for rides but also for pictures with people pretending to be characters. But it made the kids happy, so that’s what counts. And before you even ask, yes I did use a Max Pass. The waiting was still atrocious.” Before you could ask anything else, he cleared his throat, “How was it here?”

“Fine,” you answered, giving a slight shrug, not offering anything else.

You were truly sore from how much sex you had been having. Steve had wanted to go at it every day the last week and he made sure it happened, alternating between rough and caring. It was lucky, for him, that his wife was gone for the majority of the week, so he was able to come here every day after he got done with business.

“Hmm, sounds like I should pry more but doesn’t sound like you also want to talk about it,” Tony commented quietly. “Conundrum.”

The feeling riled up again to speak to someone about the gala. You pushed away from him, pausing the movie, and he leaned his head back, looking at you with narrowed eyes at your sudden movement.

“Steve was really horny this week. Like every goddamn day kind of horny. So, I’m pretty sore and tired,” you told him. He rose his eyebrows in response, and you said, “You asked me to elaborate, so I am. Also, I don’t know how he’s feeling because he’s been forcing me against tables but then being gentle other times. It’s very hard to read. He really hurt my hip against the kitchen table.” Tony looked concerned, his mouth opening like he was going to ask a question, but you pressed on, wanting to mention this to him, “And that guy from Monaco was at the gala we went to and he was watching me.”

Tony cocked his head. “What?”

“Laurie. That French guy.”

That caught Tony’s attention and he asked seriously, “He was stateside? At the gala?”

“Yes. Is that not normal? Cause he was looking pretty creepy.”

For a split second, you saw genuine apprehension in his face. But, Tony cleared his throat and adjusted in just another second, the mask coming up. He forced a smile, covering up the concern that had been there moments before, and said, “It’s fine. Just weird that he was watching you is all.”

You did not believe him for apparent reasons, mainly his body language. And he changed the subject quickly, “I brought you some gifts over here in this bag, but you can’t open them until Christmas.”

Holding back a sigh that he had brushed it off so easily, you asked, “Did you wrap them?”

“No,” Tony admitted, and you frowned. He explained, “Definitely paid to have that done.” He noticed the look on your face and asked jokingly, “Is that going to be a problem? I can send them back to the park.”

“No. It’s just astounding to me that people don’t like wrapping presents. It’s one of my favorite things. Make sure they look perfect.”

He leaned over the side of the couch and dug through the bag he must have placed down when he came in. “Speaking of cookies…” He came back up with a plain box and handed it to you. “That one you can open now cause it’s perishable.”

You took it from him, opening the box to find Mickey gingerbread cookies and an assortment of other Christmas decorated fudge and cookies.

“Don’t make yourself sick,” Tony commented.

“What a dad thing to say. Have you not left that mode?” you retorted, shooting him a look.

“I see your wit hasn’t lessened. Why do you try to push my buttons?”

“Because it’s fun,” you told him and he sucked his bottom lip in at that slightly, watching you.

Taking one of the pieces of fudge, you closed the box and put it on the coffee table. You took a bite and then held out the other half to him. He leaned forward, taking it, his lips wrapping around your fingers. You smirked at the flirtation, savoring the piece in your own mouth.

“Too bad you’re feeling sore,” Tony said after he swallowed his piece. “That was mighty rude of Steve.”

“Quite,” you agreed.

“Well, we will just have to wait then. Let you get good and limber again. That should take what/ A night?” You snorted at that. “What? I can be patient. And thoughtful.”

Satisfied knowing he was not going to try to push you tonight, you laid back down, tucking yourself back under the blanket, snuggling up on his thigh.

“I’m glad you’re back,” you told him sincerely as you started the movie again.

You felt his fingers caress your side at that.

<><><>

“How was it here?” Tony asked the next day at the office, as Steve placed a coffee on his desk from the intern that had gone on a coffee run for the office.

Steve shrugged, “Alright. She was well behaved. We went to the gala. And I spoke with Richard there, got that all sorted out. He’s going to open up the port when we need it.”

“Anyone notice you two speaking about that matter?” Tony questioned.

“Of course not. Everyone had their noses too far down in their drinks.”

Tony snorted in response before he asked, “Did you notice Laurie?”

Steve’s brow furrowed. “Laurie who? Capron?” Tony nodded. Steve shook his head, “No. Why?”

“Y/N did. He was watching her.”

“Okay?” Steve said slowly, not getting it. And he should not because Tony had omitted the part about the bet when he mentioned to Steve that Laurie had been displeased he was meeting with Alexandre.

“Well, you know how I raced?” Steve nodded in acknowledgment. “He challenged me. Laurie did. Wanted to bet on Y/N.” Steve’s lips parted, vexation washing over his features. Tony said quickly, “That’s why I raced. I wasn’t gonna leave it in the hands of that random person they were having race for the company.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that?” Steve demanded. “Tony, what the fuck?”

“It wasn’t relevant. I won, didn’t I?”

“Why did you accept at all?”

“Because you know he would have just asked to take her right then. You know him. And I didn’t want to start that shit right there in front of all those cameras or put Y/N in that position or embarrass her.” Tony exhaled sharply and leaned forward over his desk, “Just… keep your head on a swivel. I don’t like that he’s stateside. He was really not happy about that meeting with Alexandre.”

Steve’s jaw was tight staring Tony down before he finally sighed, “Fine. Yeah. I’ll… we’ll figure out what he’s doing here.”

<><><>

“I still can’t figure out what to get you for Christmas,” you told Steve, watching him from the bed. He had come home during the day for a quickie. He had stayed away for a few days, much to your muscle’s relief.

“You don’t need to get me anything,” Steve told you as he pulled his pants up, working on his belt. “You’re enough.”

Picking at the sheet, you stared down at it, chewing on your bottom lip. Steve was moving around getting ready and he broke the silence, “What’s on your mind, Y/N?”

“Are you going to let me go home for Christmas?” you asked, looking at him hopefully.

Steve stilled for a moment in buttoning up his shirt, his eyes running over you there. You did not break eye contact, wanting to make it clear you were serious about this.

“I have been thinking about that,” Steve admitted. “Most of the guys have family they want to be with. You wouldn’t have anyone here – that I would want to be here that is – to watch you anyway.” Steve gave a tight-lipped smile. “So, my hands are kind of tied here.”

Hope was blossoming in your chest.

“I need to talk to Tony about it. But there will be rules. You’d need to check in regularly. It’d be a short trip. A couple days.”

“That’s okay,” you said eagerly.

Steve’s eyes crinkled and you closed your mouth, trying to relax again. He watched you for a few more moments before he went back to finishing buttoning up his shirt. He grabbed his suit jacket off the back of the chair and put it on too.

Coming over to the bed again, he gave you a kiss. “Don’t forget to wash the sheets before Tony gets home.”

“I will,” you said to his retreating back.

<><><>

You walked up the front steps, already hearing the chatter from inside. You could see some of your family in the living room window, laughing, already playing games. That was a Christmas Eve tradition. Taking a deep breath, you opened the front door. You had not called your grandma to tell her you were coming. The only ones who knew were a couple of your cousins you had reached out to.

When they noticed it was you, there was a chorus of happy greetings.

A wide smile coming across your face, you said hello in return as one of your aunts brought you to her, squeezing you close. Your bag fell by the wall by the door and you left it there to make the rounds.

Your grandma and grandpa were both in their respective chairs, your grandpa excited to see you. You made sure to hug him tight, kissing him on top of his head.

Turning you looked at your grandma. You had not spoken to her since you had left here weeks ago.

You asked gently, “Merry Christmas. How are you?”

“Better now that you are here, dear,” your grandma answered sincerely, a warm smile gracing her lips.

You broke at that, closing the space between the two of you and you wrapped her up in a tight hug. She held you back in return, and you blinked back tears knowing what she had said when you saw her last was true about her not being upset with you. Steve and Tony had not ruined your relationship after all.

<><><>

You looked down at your phone on the table and saw Tony was calling. You quickly snatched it off the table to avoid your cousin from seeing the name. One of your uncles had just begun to serve dessert. You had agreed to texts, not calls. What was Tony doing? You had just texted them an hour ago, sending them a pic that you were really at the house.

Getting up from the table, you said, “I need to go to the bathroom.”

“Well, hurry back! You don’t wanna miss my cake!” your uncle said as he cut in, placing another piece on a plate to distribute.

You smiled, “Of course not. It looks delicious.”

Turning away from the table, you saw the call had already gone to voicemail, much to your worry. But he was already calling again.

Coming into the hallway, you brought the phone up to your ear and answered in a hushed tone, “Hello?”

“There you are,” Tony responded, sounding taut. “Thought you were ignoring me and I was going to be pretty fucking irritated.” He sounded well on his way to being drunk; you knew the switch in his voice by now. “Make me regret letting you go off at all.”

“Well, I’m here. I’m at the house.”

“I know you are, sweetheart. I just… you’re gonna find a private space for yourself and then call me back on FaceTime.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I’m horny, Y/N and I needed a distraction for a moment. Get the tension out of myself. I hate the missus family. Go to the bathroom or something and give me a show.”

“Tony,” you hissed into the phone as you continued walking down the hall and the staircase leading to the lower part of the house. “We are in the middle of dessert. That’s—”

“You’re wasting time,” he interrupted you. “I’ve got to get back to this stupid party sooner rather than later. I’m already halfway worked up. Don’t leave me hanging, love. I just need to see you. Real quick. Promise. Call me back.”

He hung up the phone and you stared down at it dumbly for a few moments before letting out a strangled, frustrated noise. Your hand gripped the newel post as you propelled yourself down the staircase to go to the bathroom downstairs. Not following what he was asking would only get you in trouble and really make him regret letting you come here and have him refuse you in the future.

You locked the bathroom door for good measure. Turning around, you took a deep breath, trying to relax. You had given shows like this before, it was not foreign to you. All he wanted to see was you playing with yourself.

Pressing the callback for FaceTime, he answered, “Thank god. What were you doing?”

“I had to go downstairs,” you told him.

Fortuitously, you were wearing a skirt and it was loose. You pulled your underwear down, kicking them off. Taking your top off, you tossed it by your underwear. Looking around the bathroom, you looked for something you could use to prop up your phone and you spotted a small statue. Snatching it off the shelf, you sat down on the ground, your back against the tub. Using the statue, you propped the phone to point towards you and you spread your legs.

“Yeah, that’s good,” you heard Tony say softly and you could hear him already starting to jerk himself.

Your hand came to your pussy and you ran your fingers slowly up and down, not moving past your lips yet.

“How do you think I taste?” you asked, stroking slowly.

“So fucking good,” Tony returned, strained.

“You like tasting me?”

“It’s my favorite.”

Pressing one finger in, you moaned lowly. Your fingers came up to your mouth and you sucked on them before coming back to your clit, circling quickly.

“I wish it was you,” you keened, your fingers delving deeper.

“Fuck, me too,” Tony husked, speeding up.

Freeing your tits from your bra, you played with them, moaning as your fingers moved quicker. You kept your voice low as you teased him, hoping that no one would come up to the door. You had chosen the bathroom at the back of the house for a reason; the bigger one was closer to where everyone was.

Tony let out a groan as you described how wet and hot you were for him.

“I’m yours. All yours,” you told him, sultry.

“Shit, baby, I’m so close,” Tony groaned.

“Come for me, please,” you half whined, spreading your lips further apart to give him a better view inside. You continued encouraging him, circling your clit quickly.

“Fuck!” Tony exclaimed, shuddering breaths leaving him, and you knew he had finished. Your hand slowed and you waited until you were sure he was done before you dropped your hand. Picking up the phone, you covered your pussy again. The phone was pointed up at the ceiling; he must have laid it down on the counter.

After a few moments, he exhaled deeply, “Christ. Thank you, baby. That was good.” He picked the phone back up and said, “I gotta get cleaned up. Don’t forget to text. Have fun at your party.”

He hung up and you let out a breath of relief that he had one, gotten off, and two, no one had interrupted you.

You got yourself straightened out again, remembering to flush just to keep up the allusion. You did wash your hands though for real before leaving the bathroom.

“Thought you fell in,” one of your cousins joked when you appeared back in the dining room.

“No, sorry to disappoint,” you returned, pulling your chair back out and you sat down, picking up your fork. Everyone was almost done or already done. You took a big bite and chewed, savoring it. You gave your uncle the thumbs up down the table and he looked happy.

~~~

Forever tags: @coconutqueen21 @undecidedsworld

Fic tags: @icant-hangout-imdrumming @oceaniamaddness @multifandom-superlover @imsonick @holl2712 @here4thefanfics @agustdowney @fanofalltheficsx @buttercandy16

[wasjust-a-fangirl-here]

Changes. (Part 1)

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

Summary: You follow Stiles and your brother Scott out into the woods to find a body. Problem is; Scott’s not the only one to get bit..

Fandom: Teen Wolf.

Warnings: Mentions of a dead body, a swear word, etc.

Word Count: 2,919

Pairings: Scott McCall X Sister!Reader, Stiles Stilinski X Reader (Platonic).

Note: I just felt like writing this, and if there’s anything wrong with this, let me know, please and thank you. I didn’t expect this to be this long, so I broke it down to a few parts.

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

Listening to music on you iPod, you were studying for your English class tomorrow, wanting to be prepared on your first day back to school.

You jumped when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

Turning around, you realized it’s only Scott, taking out your earphones, you asked, “yeah?”

Scott sighed, “I take it you didn’t hear that noise outside?” He asked you.

You shook your head, “nope. I’m studying for tomorrow.” You answered him, gesturing to your workbook and notes. “Also listening to music.” You added.

“It’s only the first day of school tomorrow. Why are you studying now?” Scott questioned you, you shrugged your shoulders.

“I like to be prepared.” You answered simply, you turned to your window. You definitely heard that, you looked to Scott, raising a brow.

You stood up, grabbing your sweater and following behind Scott.

~

You stood by the front door, watching Scott hold the bat defensively, looking for the source of the noise.

You guessed that it was only Stiles, who refused to use the door like a normal person, you shook your head, sighing.

Your guess was correct, watching Scott and Stiles scream at each other.

After their screaming match, you walked over to Scott, laughing quietly. “Stiles, what the hell are you doing?!” Scott exclaimed, almost out of breath.

“He obviously knew the door would be locked, and did what he normally does.” You explained to Scott, winking at Stiles. You saw him blush slightly.

You smiled, “exactly! And you guys weren’t answering your guys’ phones.” Stiles said, looking at the bat in Scott’s hands, “why do you have a bat?” He questioned Scott.

“Because I thought you were a predator!” Scott exclaimed, “a pred- look, I know it’s late, but you guys gotta hear this. I saw my dad leave twenty minutes ago. Dispatch called.

They’re bringing in every officer from the Beacon Department, and even state police,” Stiles explains. Scott, finally lowering the bat, “for what?” He asked.

“Two joggers found a body in the woods.” Stiles says simply, jumping down from the roof.

“A dead body?” You and Scott questioned at the same time, leaning over the railing. Stiles looked at you and Scott, “it’s creepy how you guys still do that.” He commented to himself.

“No, a body of water. Yes, dumb-ass, a dead body.” Stiles answered your and Scott’s question sarcastically, jumping over the porch rail.

You rolled your eyes, “you mean like, murdered?” Scott asked, “nobody knows yet. Just that it was a girl, probably in her 20′s.” Stiles answered, hands on his hips.

“Hold on, if they found a body, then what are they looking for?” Scott asked again, you looked to Stiles, “yeah?” You added, raising an eyebrow.

Stiles looked between you and Scott, oddly excited.

“That’s the best part.” Stiles says, pausing for dramatic effect. “They only found half. We’re going.” He added, grabbing your and Scott’s arms, dragging you both towards his jeep.

You were complaining about wanting to finish your studying, Stiles turned to you.

“Studying? It’s the first day back to school tomorrow and you’re already studying?” He asked you in disbelief.

You sighed, “I like to be prepared.” You say yet again, but this time to Stiles. “Huh, it’s a wonder that you guys are twins.

Are you sure you’re twins? ‘Cause you guys are such opposites.” Stiles says to you and Scott.

Scott and you shared a look, before getting into the jeep.

You and Scott always hear that question, and you’ve both grown to not answer that question anymore.

~

On the way, you were humming a song that got stuck in your head, listening to Scott and Stiles talk to each other.

Stiles parked the jeep, getting out. You and Scott followed after him, “are we seriously doing this?” Scott asked hesitantly, looking between you and Stiles.

You smiled when they weren’t looking at you, “do we have a choice? Stiles practically kidnapped us.” You say jokingly, flailing your arms at your side.

You laughed when Stiles turned to look at you.

Stiles laughed with you, winking. “Hey. I did not kidnap you both. I simply guided you both to my car, and you guys got in, on your own free will.” He says, playing along, pointing and waving a finger at you.

You looked at him, smiling.

Scott just shook his head at the both of you, a small smile on his face. He loved the both of you, but you both drive him crazy sometimes.

“Besides, you’re the one that’s always bitching that nothing ever happens in this town.” Stiles says to Scott, walking into the woods.

“He’s got a point.” You added, following behind Stiles. Scott watched you and Stiles walk off, in disbelief.

Ignoring both you and Stiles, “I was trying to get a good night’s sleep for practice tomorrow.” Scott says, walking towards you and Stiles.

Stiles huffed, “right, ‘cause sitting on the bench is such a grueling effort.”

Scott sighed, “no, because I’m playing this year. In fact, I’m making first line.” He says confidently.

You smiled, knowing he can do it. He just need a lot of practice though.

“Hey that’s the spirit.” Stiles says, you looked at him dumbfounded. “Everyone should have a dream, even a pathetically unrealistic one.” He added.

‘Ah. There it is,’ you thought. “Well, Stiles, I believe he can do it, if he puts enough effort into it.” You say, trying to reassure Scott, smiling at him.

Scott scoffed, “just out of curiosity, which half of the body are we looking for?” He asked, changing the subject.

You stopped walking, waiting for Stiles’ answer. “Huh!” He says, continuing to walk. “I didn’t even think about that.” He added.

You shook your head, starting to walk again, going by Scott. “And uh, what if whoever killed the body is still out here?” Scott asked again, hands in his pockets, a smile of disbelief on his face.

You wondered how you survived with the both of them around, what with them dragging you around every where.

Shaking your head from your thoughts, you walked up by Stiles. “Also something I didn’t think about.” Stiles says, climbing up the hill.

“Wow, great plan Stiles.” You commented sarcastically, following behind Stiles.

“It’s comforting to know you’ve planned this out with your usual attention to detail.” Scott added breathlessly, leaning against a tree on the side of the hill.

“I know.” Stiles says, continuing to climb up. You stopped, waiting for Scott.

He took out his inhaler, you offered him a hand to help him up, he took it. “Thanks.” He said, you nodded your head, smiling.

“Maybe the severe asthmatic should be the one holding the flashlight, huh?” Scott asks, ducking down by Stiles, you followed their lead.

You saw police men with flashlights and dogs, you regretted coming along with Stiles.

Stiles turned off the flashlight he had in his hands, “wait, come on!” He says, getting up and running in the opposite direction of the cops.

You got up, following behind Stiles. “Stiles, wait up! Stiles! Y/n!” Scott yelled after the both of you.

You were about five feet behind Stiles, Scott not that far behind you. “Stiles!” Scott called out again, you stopped walking, waiting for Scott.

Stiles looked behind himself, but turned around again. You almost continued walking, until you felt arms wrapping around your waist.

Scott covered your mouth to stop you from screaming, pulling you close to him behind a tree. Scott moved his hand away from your mouth.

He held a finger to his mouth, telling you to be quiet, you nodded your head in understanding, hearing dogs barking and people yelling.

“Hang on, hang on. This little delinquent belongs to me.” You hear Sheriff Stilinski say, “dad, how are you doing?” You hear Stiles ask his dad.

“So, do you listen in to all of my phone calls?” Sheriff asked, ignoring Stiles’ question.

“No.” Stiles answered unconvincingly, “not the boring ones.” He admitted.

“Now, where’s your usual partners in crime?” Stiles’ dad asked him, “who? Scott and Y/n? They’re home. Scott said he wanted to get a good night’s sleep for

first day back at school tomorrow. And you know Y/n, she’s probably studying.” Stiles says, slightly lying to his dad.

You shook you head, “it’s just me. In the woods. Alone” Stiles added.

Unconvinced, Stiles’ dad held out his flashlight, moving it around the woods behind Stiles. “Scott, Y/n, you guys out there?” He called out to you and Scott.

Scott and you ducked behind the tree again, tense. “Scott? Y/n?” He yelled out again. “I hate this, lying to Stiles’ dad.” You whispered to Scott.

Scott looked at you, “I know, me too.” He whispered back, “well, young man, I’m gonna walk you back to your car. And you and I, are gonna have a conversation

about something called; invasion of privacy.“ Stiles’ dad stated, you watched him drag Stiles away.

You looked at Scott, who mouthed, ‘oh come on!’ You huffed, crossing your arms, “so, our ride is gone.” You stated, moving away from him and the tree.

You hear Scott sigh, “come on, let’s find the road and go home.” He says, walking in a different direction from the way you guys came from.

You said nothing, following behind Scott. You looked around, almost sure you guys were lost. ‘Great,’ you thought.

Scott looked up, still walking, you did the same. Hearing all the different animals, sent a shiver down your spine.

Scott stopped walking, looking at the scenery in front of you guys with a curious yet confused look on his face, you stopped by him.

“Why are you stopping?” You asked him, seeing him take out his inhaler.

“Listen.” He says, you looked at him confused, but listened anyways. “It’s quiet.” He added, “yeah.” You added quietly, it was odd.

A moment later deer came running towards you and Scott. You both screamed and fell to the ground. You covered your head with your arms, trying to see where Scott was.

After they were gone, you got up, helping Scott up as well. Trying to calm your racing heart, “my inhaler.” Scott says, looking around for it.

Your eyes widened when he said that, “what? You dropped it?” You asked him, helping him look around for it. They were not cheap to come by.

Scott didn’t look at you, not noticing that you were looking as well, “yes, I dropped it. Help me look!” He says desperately, you rolled your eyes, but kept looking.

You saw Scott turn his phone on for lighting, you sighed, wishing you brought your phone with you, but you left it at home, on your desk.

After a while of looking in the dark, you walked over to Scott who still had his phone out, looking for his inhaler. “Anything?” You asked him, he shook his head, sighing.

He ran his phone over the ground still looking, dismissing the top part of a human body, but did a double-take, running his phone back to the face of the body.

You both screamed, although Scott walked backwards and fell, “Scott!” You yelled, eyes widening in shock, carefully going down the hill to make sure he was okay.

You helped him up, “god, I sometimes wonder whose the clumsiest out of the both of us.” You say jokingly, rubbing mud off of your hands and onto your jeans.

Scott looked at you, smiling. “Oh, come on. We both know it’s you.” He joked, you looked at him, laughing.

“I’d argue back, but just yesterday I completely missed the couch sitting down.” You say, shaking your head.

Scott looked at you, both eyebrows raised, “how do you miss the couch sitting down?” He asked incredulously, laughing in amusement.

You flailed your arms, “I was reading a book! Things happen.” You say, laughing with him.

“But seriously, are you alright?” You asked him, worried. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He says, jumping over a fallen tree.

You followed his lead, but you both stopped when you heard growling. You both turned around, eyes widening. There was a wolf, bigger than you can imagine.

Before you guys can do anything, it ran towards you and Scott, knocking you both down. Scott and you tried to crawl away from it, but it dragged Scott backwards, biting him.

You heard Scott scream, you got a bit further than Scott, but it dragged you backwards as well. You screamed when it bit into your side, it hovered over you for a few seconds before it ran away.

You lied there, feeling your heart beat against your chest, you see Scott’s hand in front of you.

You grabbed it, he pulled you up to your feet, both of you running in any direction, looking for the road.

You both found it, although you ran onto the road, not noticing the car that was heading straight for you.

Scott pulled you into him and away from the car, you heard it honking. Barely missing the both of you, you and Scott watched it drive away.

You rested your head against Scott, sighing. You pulled away from him, looking at the moon, you finally noticed that it was raining.

You looked over to Scott, who was looking at his bite from the wolf on his side, you notice the blood running down from the wound.

He looked at you, lowering his sweater and shirt, “did it bite you too?” He asked you, nodding your head, you lifted your shirt and sweater, showing where it bit you.

Scott looked at it, sighing, you lowered your shirt and sweater. It was on the same spot as Scott’s, just on your left side.

As you and Scott started to walk, there was a howl. It made a shiver go down your spine.

“I can clean and bandage our bites at the animal clinic.” Scott says, walking besides you, “okay.” You say quietly.

You knew you both should go to the hospital, but you said nothing. Following besides Scott.

~

You both walked inside the animal clinic, Scott lead you to the examining room.

You sat on one of the chairs that was in there, watching Scott gather the things he needs to clean and bandage both of your bites.

Scott walked over to you once he had everything he needed, making you stand up, lifting up your shirt and sweater.

“This might sting.” He warned you, you nodded your head.

He poured it over your wound, he was right, it stung like a bitch. You grabbed onto the arm of the chair, hissing slightly.

Scott looked at you apologetically, “sorry.” He said, putting the bandage on you, once he was done, you sat back down. Watching him do the same thing to himself.

You sat there in your thoughts, watching Scott clean up a little, “I wonder why that wolf was in the woods.” You say after a while, Scott looked at you confused.

“What do you mean?” He asked you, leaning forward against the table in front of him.

You sat up straight, looking at him in surprise. “You don’t know?” You questioned him, he shook his head, “no.” He answers.

“Well, there was no wolves in California, for at least 60 years.” You explained to him, “like I said, I wonder what that wolf was doing in the woods.” You added in thought.

Scott looked at you, not believing you, “really?” He asked you, “yup. Stiles is going to say the same thing when you tell him.” You say to him, standing up.

Both of you going to the front of the clinic, “I’ll bet you five bucks if he does.” You added, smiling mischievously.

Scott glanced at you, smiling as well, “you’re on.” He said, locking the door to the animal clinic.

You grinned, both of you starting to walk home.

~

You unlocked the front door, walking inside, Scott following behind you, closing the door.

Both of you walked up the stairs in silence, you made it to your room first, turning towards Scott.

“Night,” you say, walking into your room, you hear him reply, before closing your door.

Sighing, changing out of your clothes and into pajamas. You looked around your room, seeing your clothes scattered on your floor.

Deciding to clean up, you started with the clothes on the floor. After you were done, you sat at your desk, looking at your notes.

Once you went over them, you put them in your bag. You went downstairs for a glass of water.

Walking back towards the stairs, you hear the front door open. Peaking your curiosity, you looked towards the door, seeing your mom. “Hi, mom,” you greeted her.

She looked at you surprised, “hi, sweetie.” She says, closing the door.

“What are you still doing up?” She asked you, you shrugged your shoulders, “was just getting a cup of water.” You answered, showing her the cup of water in your hands.

She nodded her head, chuckling, “okay, is your brother still up?” She asked again, “I don’t think so.” You replied, both of you walking up the stairs.

“Alright, go to bed. There’s school tomorrow.” She scolded playfully, nudging you with her shoulder.

You giggled, “okay, okay. Good night, mom.” You say to her walking into your room.

“Night, sweetie.” You hear her reply, walking into her room. You set your cup of water on your nightstand, going onto your bed.

You turned off your light, going to sleep.

[meyeselph]

Gwenpool: Desperate Misanthrope's Confused Angst

Showtime

Ms. Pool woke up in a familiar room. Not in Krakoa - there are no mutants around. This isn’t a story about that. Look, honestly, without an actual Gwenpool series and the constant breaks in her comics appearance I can’t even begin to give a fuck. I cancelled my marvel universe subbie. I might get back to my stories but single issues are iffy. I read fast and don’t pore over the artwork. So I get 10 minutes of entertainment for….FIVE DOLLARS? When did this happen? Jeezus.

Who even reads comics anymore?

Anyway, long story short, Gwen got out of bed and recognized the room as her old one from the “old times.” The dark times. The ‘not running around in pink and white outfits and shooting people’ times. She panicked (Been there. It is what it is though). The only way out of trauma is through.

She dressed in old clothes, immediately hit by old smells, she couldn’t help but cry. Was it all a dream? Have I gone insane (again)? All the usual self doubts cropped up. I mean, really, if you think this kind of thing didn’t pass through her mind regularly why don’t you transport yourself to a comic book universe?

Oh, you can’t?

Oh. It isn’t actually possible for you and I’m stupid for suggesting it. So, yeah. If it actually happened and you kept that attitude then the logical assumption for a normie is a mental breakdown. Trick for Gwen, though, is it's probably always been both real and her being nuts.

So she goes downstairs to the kitchen to figure out why this is happening and Evil Gwen is having cereal. Let's say cocoa puffs. I’ve been thinking about those recently. You ever remember cereal as something worth cherishing. Not as just bullshit that TV convinced you to want? God damn, now I want Cookie Crisp. Cookie Crisp wasn’t even ever that good. Why do I want Cookie Crisp?

So also sitting around the table were the faceless versions of her father, mother, and her brother. Just chilling. No BD. Seen Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind?

Yes, I know that references aren’t jokes - fuck you, I’m painting a picture and I CAN’T PAINT, THAT’S WHY THIS ISN’T A COMIC. Fucks sake. Anyway. So, Gwen is so creeped out that she just sits her butt down by Evil Gwen as if she’s the comforting presence here.

Her name’s too long. Let’s call Evil Gwen uh…….Gren. You know, like Grendel from Beowulf. I haven’t actually read Beowulf and this is all a little confusing but I'm solving problems here. Writing this is harder for me than you would think so it’s best to keep things flowing off the cuff. That’s the Gwenpool™ style anyway, isn’t it? Are you laughing yet? IMPROV. “YES AND” MY SHIT, READER!

“So, you ever really look into the retconned past thing, hun?” Gren said, moving her tongue around her food. Being gross as an attempt to be properly evil. She swallowed before continuing. “This is all I could really put together on short notice but i’m pretty sure what the future people created, all that stuff to try and trick you, it was all bullshit.”

“What do you mean? Are you trying to convince me to go all psycho like you again?” Gwen asked, exasperated, realizing she was now back in the whole ‘fuck with Gwen to decide her fate’ song and dance routine from the end of her first arc.

“Nah, not really.” Gren said. A hammer appeared in her hands out of nowhere and Gren swung it into their fake father’s head, snapping his neck..

“DAD!” Gwen instinctively cried as she saw her father’s body slump to the floor. Gren slapped Gwen’s face. “That’s it,” Gren said, “this is what the trick was.This is a poorly created character in a fictional story. Meant to manipulate you into attaching your concept of “father” to it. Even his finished version in the original comics run wasn’t THAT well drawn. Your dad read like a boomer’s idea of a responsible parent. You were going through a mental crisis and struggling to find purpose in life and his genius idea was get a shitty low paying job and suck it up?”

Gren turned to their brother, pushed his face to the table and smashed the back of his skull. . “Brother dearest, too. Going right along with their victim blaming. He gaslighted you as if what you were going through was just you being ‘irresponsible.’ Bitch, people working a minimum wage job aren’t somehow not impoverished and miserable because they get some of that ‘honest work’ that folks keep badgering on about. Minimum wage work is occupied by many physically and mentally disabled people held hostage; they’re people society only pretends to care about. Then they turn it all into you acting like some world ending threat. No questions about what drove you to the edge in the first place. You are just ‘unstable,’ so you’re just a problem to be solved. They say, ‘Let’s all solve this girl being upset and on edge by ruining her concept of self, reality, and memory.’ Brilliant!”

Gwen barely processed this in horror. Gren then slit the poor facsimile of their mother’s throat while continuing to rant, “You see people die all the time, Gwen. Half of the time you are doing the killing. You do it because it’s in a story. In a story the NPCs don’t matter and, after all, your original schtick in the story was to be kill-crazy. The non-marketable characters can be replaced or retconned at the stroke of the artist’s pen.” Gren leans forward as she pulls a Gwenpool mask over Gwens face. “Then the writers convince you that you have some middle class milk toast family and you take abuse and subsume your emotional needs because the problem MUST be you. You aren’t ‘normal’ so you have to be fixed.”

Gwen wiped her eyes over the mask and sighed. A bit of fire filled her gut as she stared at Gren. “So fucking what? You want me to go on a killing spree and be a big time villain to get myself a nice, shiny permanent big bad status? That’s how I stay around right? Just build my legacy on bodies?”

Gren scoffed “You already lost that fight, girly. Where do you think we are? Because this ain’t Marvel Comics.”

Confused, Gwen blinked and tried reaching for the page margins, finding nothing. Wait….why was everything on this page so ill defined and undetailed? Wait? Why was the story in kinda wobbly third person past tense?

Gwen sighed “Oh. I’m in a fanfic. I guess the publishing fight is for another day eh?”

“My advice, personally,” Gren stated, “is that you consider the lobster.”

“Wait, what the fuck?”

Gren pulled aside the kitchen curtains revealing the face of a giant lobster, its claws tapping on the glass. The lobster muttering gutterally about personal responsibility.

“Because there’s a couple thousand giant lobsters outside that would like to claw you until you read their book.”

--

Scared of Girls

On the rooftop, Gren shoved a high powered rifle into Gwen’s hands while she handled the close range threats. So, this conversation they’re about to have is important. Sniping puts Gwen into a sort of zen space, so that’s a better task to keep her focused, after all.

“So, what? You wanted me to internalize that my “origin story” is bullshit? Okay, what does that accomplish, then?” Gwen asked in a bit of a deadpan. She was so tired today. Not really feeling her happy go lucky energy. More like a “happy go fucky” energy. It was hard to always be on a knife's edge. Still the rifle’s kick into her shoulder was satisfying as she blew through two of the creepy looking lobsters at once. “Also, why the lobsters?”

Gren considered this. “Okay, last question first, I had to experiment a lot and do a lot of research to construct this place for your learning and healing in fanfic form....These buddies are a failed experiment of mine that I repurposed because the fic needed more action. Isn’t that right, giant enemy crap?” As she peppers the nearest goon with a hail of shotgun pellets the entire throng of them burst out, sharply muttering about divine symbols.

“As for what I'm trying to teach you, it’s that you aren’t reaching your potential.” Gren grumpily huffed.

“Duh,” Gwen reloads, “I mean you just killed a mannequin version of the voice in my head that says that to me every day.” one of those crustaceans talks about feminine symbolism while she decides on her next target.

“Not like fake daddy’s ‘Be a responsible member of society by paying your taxes’ type of potential. I mean your creative and emotional potential.” Gren flipped off the slavering throng of monsters, noticing they were starting to keep their distance from the roof.

“I never did finish that fanfic idea I had.” Gwen mused.

“God, don’t mention that,” Gren thrusts a finger at Gwenpool. “Not that I don’t respect fanfic, but when comic book writers make you and Kamala squee about fanfiction to try and relate to “the kids” it comes across as so condescending.”

“Really? I mean…..I'm sure it’s meant as support for the concept?”

“Most fucking superhero comics are just legalized fanfiction! The people who created the characters are either long gone or working on someone else’s characters! They just think they are so much better because they got fucking paid. They can’t imagine themselves as on the same playing field as fanficcers even though most of them have the same level of connection to the roots of the work as anyone else.” Gren groused loudly as she seemed to pull Reed Richards out of nowhere.

Confused, Reed looked around until his eyes met Gwen’s.“Oh great, you again.” Reed groaned as he turned to survey the piles of lobster gibs while Gwen cheered the lobster forces’ retreat with a resounding “EDF, EDF!”. The scattered creatures skittered amongst the bland scenery. It looked like a suburban neighborhood but someone forgot to color in the sky….or write that the sky had color. A castle hung out in the distance breaking up the generic normalcy and lay cloaked in shadow despite being surrounded by an endless white void.

“And…..black….you?” Reed pointed to Gren, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I have an evil future self….well I stopped that future so it’s an….evil...alternate timeline self?” Gwen said with a nervous chuckle, abandoning the kill quest for the minute and rested her rifle on the roof.

“Ah. Yeah I’ve been down that road. It’s a rather common occurrence. Multiverse being what it is.” Reed laughed heartily while putting his hands on his hips.

“I’m not sure I’m evil, honestly,” Gren interjected. “I think I’m just really fucking grumpy and I’m slightly more gung-ho on the homicide. Considering Gwen’s already one of the more kill crazy characters on the roster it’s not that much of a distinction.” Gren flipped her cape. “My main distinction is I don’t like that meme from The Incredibles! You can just make it so the cape detaches automatically when it’s pulled hard enough!”

“You could still have it tangled up around your face.” Reed pointed out in his standard know-it-all fashion.

“Don’t make me go into fuck wife mode, stretch.” Gren spat. “Okay, anyway, so I brought him here to illustrate a point. Reed. Explain particle physics to me as a laymen.”

“Huh...i’m not sure why but okay. Particle physics (also known as high energy physics) is a branch of physics that studies the nature of the particles that constitute matter and radiation. Although the word particle can refer to various types of very small objects (e.g. protons, gas particles, or even household dust), particle physics usually investigates the irreducibly smallest detectable particles and the fundamental interactions necessary to explain their behaviour. In current understanding, these elementary particles are excitations of the quantum fields that also govern their interactions. The currently dominant theory explaining these fundamental particles and fields, along with their dynamics, is called the Standard Model. Thus, modern particle physics generally investigates the Standard Model and its various possible extensions, e.g. to the newest "known" particle, the Higgs boson, or even to the oldest known force field, gravity.” Reed rattled this off rather mechanically.

Gren then took out her phone and showed Gwen the Wikipedia article on “Particle Physics,” which is naturally the same words that Reed had regurgitated above, just without any formatting and, again, on a phone.

“Reed can’t be a genius in any subject unless he’s written by a genius in that subject. That’s how stories work. Everyone is limited by the understanding and capabilities of the writer. Same with your origin story and all the people you’ve interacted with. If you are as ‘meta’ as you think you are then you have to realize that you aren’t actually talking to people. You are talking to the writer. Dr. Strange didn’t rewrite your existence to be a part of the Marvel Universe. As far as most of Marvel continuity goes Dr. Strange was never there and doesn’t know or care about his MCU casting…..Hey Reed, buzz off please before the conversation pivots to why you haven’t cured all known diseases.”

Reed looked a little surprised but then pulled out a teleportation device (of course he has one) and blipped away with a shrug.

“How awkward is that going to be when he enters the MCU after Kamala is already introduced with a very similar power set?” Gwen chuckled.

“Keep up the way you’ve been going and you’ll never see it. I’m not exactly expecting a young blonde girl casting call for Deadpool 3 and that’s your best bet.” Gren snarked. Gwen winced with a sigh.

“I don’t get what I'm doing wrong. I have a fanbase comparable to some of the characters that have already shown up but I can’t even get comics written about me most of the time. An MCU push seems unlikely. They would literally have to deal with completely recontextualizing my powers and gimmick”

“Let’s ask her what you should do.” Gren motioned her way to the suddenly appearing long hair future Gwen, looming over them like The Attack of the 50 foot Woman for some reason. Dwarfing the roof they are on. Let’s call her BIGwen!

--

Gold Guns Girls

As BIGwen acclimated to her surroundings she stubbed her toe on a car, dramatically flipping it so that it took out a few more lobsters before caving in a nearby house. The lamentations about clean rooms soaring as the remaining couple dozen of them attempt to clean up some of the bodies of their fallen kin. The large and sort-of-in-charge Gwen hissed in pain and adjusted her boot. Getting her balance as best as possible she muttered curses that traveled rather well considering the lung capacity of a giant.

“You know,” Gren started, “I wasn’t expecting much from our previous uses of the ‘make her big for emphasis’ trick, but it really does only work as a vague ghostly background element. I didn’t just want it to be ‘oh, here's a third Gwen for the conversation, though. Would lack umph.”

“ Yeah, I get it, but staring at my own giant taint is unsettling.” Gwen muttered.

“I’d still, hit it.” Gren grinned, then immediately got punched in the arm. “OWWW! Look, I’m the evil one here and we’re in a fanfic. I’m allowed to make internet fetish jokes.”

“And I’m allowed to hit you for it.”.

“Dirty lampshading goody two shoes. Don’t act like half your fanbase isn’t thirsty. It’s “insert current year argument”, all art is sexy to someone.” Gren complained back,rubbing her arm before hopping off the roof. Gwen followed while listening as patiently as she could considering how many changes in topic her evil-caped self is going through to get to her point. “This chick is the reason you’ve been on the path of good girl. Some vague idea that in the future everything will work out for the best. HEY, DOWN HERE, BIG SHOW!” Gren waved at BIGwen and she looked down curiously.

“Yeah what??” BIGwen responded in a booming and agitated tone. Honestly, being in this fic made every version of Gwen a little grumpy.

“How’s she supposed to be a popular hero that makes it into the MCU and has a stable publication history?” Gren asked.

“Fuck if I know.” Came BIGwen’s response. “Have you tried growing your hair out?”

“Rub it in,” Gwen muttered under her breath, “I’m not gonna lie, I’m kind of depressed now.” Gwen said as she sat on an abandoned car.

Gren hopped on the roof of the car, patting Gwen’s shoulder before squatting with enough force to flex the car’s shocks like a rocking chair just to amuse herself. “Future “good” Gwen wasn’t an actual plot point, it was a call to action to the fans to make fanfic like this and support the character outside of the actual Canon. Chris didn’t trust that Marvel would treat the character right. That, and your obsession with getting a new book, are both the writer’s attempt to turn a marketing tactic into fan engagement. If you want to be real then that makes the fans want you to be real even more, too.”

Gwen sighs heavily and leans her chin on one hand. “I mean...the time traveling through the life of an NPC fan complete with a Never Ending Story reference was a bit sappy even by the standard we sometimes set...damn it it really was just kind of a fan manipulation trick wasn’t it?”

BIGwen Sat down on the street next to them and crossed her legs. “Hey, little me. Don’t get too down. I mean it worked for the most part. You have a healthy cult following. Characters have survived on less and there are worse things to be known for then as a fan first character”

“But I have to fight for attention all the damn time, though. It’s so easy for Wade with his fucking meme bullshit. He even gets runoff enthusiasm from me. Jeff the land shark is all over Oldpool online” Gwen felt rather heavy and tired all of a sudden. Marvel editorial forcing a gun to your head is not a fun way to be.

“All that fight is hell on the fanbase too.” Gren sighed. “Advocating for shit, getting crumbs and being expected to accept it while Disney lavishes all the attention based on some bullshit numbers game. Even if you make it into the MCU will it be a Batroc style cameo with obligatory ‘killed off in case we don’t feel like paying the actor again later.’ Will it be an emotionally rounded character or an ambush bug style joke? The thing is. You're Not the one fighting and you never were.”

“The fuck do you mean?”

“This version of her doesn’t know?” BIGwen whimpered.

“You aren’t real, Gwen.”

--

Head Like a Haunted House

“No….we aren’t having this conversation. Fuck you fuck you i’m not a fucking Nihlist and i’m not going to do this right now.” Gwen said as she scrambled off of the car and pulled out some guns. BIGwen then picked her up off the ground.

“You need to hear this, Gwen,” BIGwen boomed. “The gimmick has run its course. It’s fucking with your canon. You’re never going to be a marketable character keeping up a half fourth-wall Kayfabe”

Gren climbed onto BIGwen’s Shoulders and perched over Gwen all menacing like. “You need to listen. I’ve been trying to ease you into this. Making things more meta slowly until you were ready but it was never going to be easy.”

One of Gwen’s guns was fired from it’s holster and pierced one of BIGwen’s fingers. BIGwen screamed and her grip loosened. Soon Gwen was on the move running up her arm and firing at Gren, who dodged like the nimble and cute badass she is. “Don’t do this Gwen. Just because it doesn’t matter to the comic version of you doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter.”

“I’m a real person god damn it! I read the comics out there! I came in! That’s why I know shit I shouldn't know. That’s what I am! THAT’S ALL I AM!” Gwen shrieked as she pulled out a sword from hammer-space and decapitated BIGwen. Suddenly a mess of colored streamers and a pile of Mickey Mouse merch tumbled out. Look, I am busy right now. Gwen is still slashing at my ass. I'm not going to explain it.

For some reason now the remaining lobsters were helping Gren. For Gwen’s own good you understand. This is proof that I’m right for some reason.

Gwen pulled out a revolver, firing pumpkin sized holes in lobsters who were still wailing about self actualization. She fully planned on shoving a sword up her evil self’s ass and getting rid of this doppelganger shit for good. Which is total bullshit by the way. She totally just cut off Gren’s leg because what the fuck you mean I’m not real? I’m going to be real all over your corpse.

Gren didn’t really think that was even a good comeback and also thought you should probably say it instead of meta willing the smack talk into existence, otherwise this fanfic is going to read like trash. Also, Gren’s leg wasn’t actually cut off. In a puff of smoke it is revealed that the cut off leg is a log and her leg is fine. Gren is a ninja now, believe it.

Gwen proceeded to do a sick ass CQC judo throw on Gren and then grab her cape and wrap it around her face like Reed suggested. Callbacks for the win! Callbacks to Checkov’s gun ideas always lead to victory in fights! She then totally shot at her and such.

But the bullet was caught by the cape because the cape was a symbiote! That’s right Gren is also GRENOM!...boy that sounds stupid. Anywho, the cape was no longer around her face and the fight continued and Gren now ALSO had extra powers and special wizard-symbiote armor (that would only show up in the MCU version if Marvel finally got the Sony characters back). The meta powers work like shit in text but this would be really good in CGI or animation if Marvel wanted to adapt this fic and give the writer lots of money. Gren still has more experience with them, though, and Gwen can’t really just kill her way out of this fic so she has to just let the story play out.

…...eh?....oh Gwen’s crying. I love/am you girl but we gotta work on the crying. Fucks sake this is harder than I thought. I’m depressed now too. Well I'll try to get the writing back on track so you guys can see what is going on. Even the lobsters are minding their manners now. Chill vibes, guys.

“The marvel character page for Gwenpool says, and I quote:

Gwenpool arrived in the Marvel Universe from the “real world,” but has wasted no time in making the most of her time in her fictional universe. Using her knowledge of comics to her advantage, Gwenpool causes and solves problems for her fellow heroes.”

Gren drags a lobster corpse slowly toward Gwen and sits on its tail as she talks to her. Taking her time to really scrape the lobster against the ground, smearing the gore on the pavement. Not that it was heavy for her or anything. Totally still has that symbiote, which would make moving it easy. Totally wasn’t a detail added in the second revision of the fic slightly before the lobsters were added.

“The words “Real world” are in quotation marks in that wiki. Real people don’t make it into comics because fiction isn’t real. Half of your versions barely make use of the ‘real person’ gimmick because it’s too meta by half and not every writer wants to waste time justifying it. So they just treat it like Deadpool’s medium awareness. Which it mostly is.”

“I really am just a fucking rip off distaff character.” Gwen moans. “Just a Gwen combined with a Pool. I’m worse than the Batman who laughs. I never mattered because I was never real”

“Fuck don’t say that. You were made with love and care by a team of creators who took a weird offshoot idea and built out a compelling metafiction idea and a likeable protagonist off of it. They just didn’t have the time and foresight to go far enough.” Gren sighed.

“Far enough?” Gwen sniffed as she was pulled up to her feet and dragged toward one of the big castles. As they walked Gren kicked along a Mickey Mouse doll that had rolled out of BIGwen’s severed head. Every time it bounced it cheerfully said ‘hahah. I love you!’

“Too much haha, not enough trauma. You’re not just a joke character.” Gren said as she kicked the Mickey doll into the big front door of the castle. The shadowy thing of course lighting up and being all fantasy and shit as the door opened.

“Well I did end both of my comic runs pretty mopey.”

“Damn right you did. When the jokes run thin they run to your real bread and butter. You’re an empathy machine.” As Gren shoves Gwen through the gate they are swallowed up in the castle, going dark again. “Let’s getcha sad clown on.”

--

Never there

“See, what evil me should have been telling you about in the original run is how to find meaning and purpose when technically nothing means anything. Comic book characters live in a world without real death and suffering. It’s all a puppet show version of real pain and real emotion meant to bring that out of an audience.” Gren opined as they walked through a black void to a couch floating in a nothing area lit only by the static of an old TV.

“Can we turn on a light?” Gwen asked as she sat on the couch. Gren sat on another recliner that suddenly appeared and put her feet up.

“Fuck off. Ambiance is a thing. We aren’t having a ‘lights on with something fun on the TV’ conversation. So look, I am not really ‘evil gwen.’ I’m half an author insert and half a plot device. If we are talking about the reality of the story you are basically talking to yourself. I am speaking about the things you don’t want to admit to yourself. You know, you’ve seen this kind of story sorta... right?” Gren picked up the remote and frustratedly changed channels between a bunch of vaguely illustrative footage on the TV, not finding anything that worked. A lot of black and white footage of trains for some reason. Just what comes to mind when I think of documentary footage? Weird.

“I am not sure how to illustrate this shit visually and this is a text story anyway so I would have to explain the illustration,” Gren griped.

“I basically get it. It’s not that uncommon a trope.” Gwen nodded.

“Because of the level of meta we are on right now we have to really acknowledge that you are basically an author insert, too. I mean, to a certain extent every version of you is more the writer that is working with your character at the time than a set character.” Gren said as she settled on a visual of Gwen being pushed out the window by her own narration text in the original comic run. When all else fails, resort to footage from the last story. That way people can look it up online!

“Right here is where the character crystallized in the mind of the author of the current fic we are in. A vague suicide metaphor wrapped up in the flavor of self destructive escapism. Your parents in the story thought it was a suicide attempt on at least some level. This is serious business. Not just a girl who doesn’t like work and can’t finish her fanfic. In this comic you are built on this understanding. The writer of this fic has ADHD and autism. So his version of you more or less has it, too. Writers bring themselves with them into their work.”

Gwen nods and takes a deep breath. “I….I can feel it. Like the world is closing around you. You aren’t built for anything that anyone wants from you. The one thing you really believe in, the one thing that really defines you, the stories in your head…..it’s just not enough.

You can’t trust you’ll ever make it with writing because you can barely write. You barely have the energy to do anything but wish that you weren’t you. What if someone actually listened? Actually believed in you and whisked you away somewhere else where the world would fit your needs? What if you were someplace you could be someone else, someone strong and confident?”

“Yeah. Like a funny anti hero in a comic for instance.” Gren nodded. “But the original comics sort of left the theme on the table. They were captured by the misconception of Gwen as the problem and not a person who needed help. All that desperation that real fans of the character might feel just bundled up into love for this character that really ‘gets’ them but Marvel doesn’t ‘get’ the character. They won't use her. They won’t go past vaguely gesturing at her mental issues and moving on. They saved the angst for Wandavision.” Gren scoffs.

“I mean the show was okay but they literally have a character built entirely on the theme of escapism and trauma. One that’s custom built for mind-screw visuals and reality bending plots and they think she’s just a lazy fangirl who really likes guns that they can sit beside Deadpool sometimes and stick in the X-Men’s bloated background character roster when they don’t need her.”

Gren leads Gwen off the couch and deeper into the void where a door to a bedroom waits. A room like her own, absolutely slopping over with old toys of comic book characters. An unclean messy space in a run-down house that smells faintly of cigarette smoke. Huddled in bed, reading an 80s era X-men comic with a flashlight, is a 12 year old Gwen.

“This is never going to be canon but this is the version of Gwen in this fic. She can’t stop crying at school. Things that shouldn’t be hard are so hard and she can’t explain why. Everyone says she’s making excuses. Meanwhile her mother is fucked out of her mind on pain killers and her step father killed himself last year ‘cleaning his gun’ while drunk. You know exactly what is on her mind right now?” Gren says as she gestures at the girl.

“I wish the superheroes would save me from this.”

“They won’t. They can’t. They were never meant to.” Gren Slams the door loudly on the scene.

“That is the emotional core of Gwenpool in this fic. The desperation that so many of the fans down here in the fucking muck of the real world feel. Poor and emotionally unfulfilled. Confused and vulnerable. If Disney and Marvel gave two fucking shits about people like that they wouldn’t waste as many stories as they do. They wouldn’t just use untold wealth to make expensive escapist stories with the military. Their gestures toward progressive ideas that they occasionally make in their stories would be THE ENTIRE POINT of their stories and the actual thing they used that money for instead of lobbying the government to keep Mickey Mouse out of the public domain.

“Disney has the power yet they save a fucking miniscule fraction of who they could. Saving people doesn’t make money.”

--

When I Get To The Green Building

Gren stormed through the void. The scene disintegrated around her as Gwen followed. Both now in a bit of a sour mood but with newfound determination.

“Come to think of it. Why is the fucking Hulk getting to fight for social justice in the comics? Why are they making a gay alternate universe Captain America? Why are they grasping at straws so hard to find characters that get to advocate and I am just sitting on a fucking island being grumpy?” Gwen groused. “I’m pretty sure I’m pansexual….at least in this fic. I could advocate for a bunch of shit at once.”

“You have a youth fanbase, a unique story and you technically aren’t an alternate universe version of fucking anything no matter how many people still think you are a Stacey. They made a fucking ‘for the fans’ character and then neglected it. Presumably because some fucking money making metric didn’t pan out despite the comics just being an MCU test kitchen and IP farm anyway.”

“You’re a fucking check mark on a ledger. I don’t even know if anyone technically created Gwenpool as a whole and Disney/Marvel can give the character to whoever they want to do whatever they want completely separate from what the fanbase wants and needs because she isn’t established. The IP landlords have spoken. The fans haven’t risen to enough ‘buy my merch’ calls to action to invest more resources. So tease endlessly until that changes.”

“Gah. Now I'm actually as pissed as you are.” Gwen said as she started fiddling with her guns. “Who do I kill?”

“We can’t do shit. You’re not even a character at this point. You are a meme for an underused character.” Gren smirked all evil like. “See but that’s it. You aren’t just a meme. You’re a MEME.”

“Uhm...I don't follow.”

“Like the concept of Justice. Gwenpool is an idea. Defined entirely by how people who engage with the idea choose to engage with it. The IP law means Disney owns Gwenpool but they don’t own how Gwenpool is perceived. Just like we as a people decide what justice is through popular consent we also decide what Gwenpool is. You see they made a character for the fans…..in my opinion that means the fans can do as they like with it even if it makes Disney uncomfortable.”

“I mean they can’t even stop porn of their characters just because of the sheer volume of the problem. I suppose people could do whatever.” Gwen nodded.

“Exactly. So the fans should just fucking Occupy Gwenpool!” Gren said as she flipped her cape dramatically with a mad smile on her face. That’s right. She was Dirtbag Leftist Gwen all along!

“Squat on that IP. Make Gwenpool a mental health advocate. Make her an LGBTQ activist. Make her fight for social and financial justice so hard that Bruce Banner looks like a poser. Make her talk shit about politicians who put their career ahead of the people. Do all the shit that makes the comicsgate crowd sad. Keep politics in our stories! Rally around that pink and white ass so hard they have to notice and then tie it all to the fact that Disney has great power and with great power they take no responsibility for how shitty the world is.”

“ If they are going to fuck Gwenpool fans they gotta learn Gwenpool fans fuck back. We have already proven we can make all kinds of cool shit. Let’s get serious and make more, harder, faster! Get a hashtag or some shit. They can't DMCA all of us! GWEN IS OURS WE JUST HAVE TO REACH OUT AND TAKE IT. Then they either respect the character and her fans or they just hit a PR disaster.”

“Marvel/Disney neglects fan focused cult character themed protest movements. Proves they are only progressive when it makes them money. They’re so worried about Mickey ending up in the public domain? We’re the public domain! After our entire lives stannin their characters and buyin their merch building them from an animation house into a juggernaut they are just another weight on top of the boot on our necks. They have to take responsibility!” At this point Gren is pretty much ranting maniacally and neglecting the actual writing of the story so this is Gwen taking over to wrap up.

Guys I may not be ‘the real Gwen’ but really, isn’t the version of Gwen that actually came from the real world all of us? Isn’t Gwenpool really the Gwens we made along the way? We could easily bring a little heroism and chaos to the real world (at least to the internet) if we really tried. Put the fear of God into some IP landlords and fight for some cool people that society is screwing over, too.

Prove that even in the fandom abyss people aren’t as powerless as they seem. Use that internet comic fan mobbing for something besides giving Zack more money. Disney is gearing up for their next IP fight for Mickey in 2024. Seems like a fine time for IP themed protests. For now we just need to spread the word that our needs are more important than their profits.

It’s been real. It’s been long. It’s been a real long time coming…..

But I finally finished my fanfic.

See ya, true believers.

[theheartsmistakes]

Any Other Name: Chapter 2

“Cordelia!” Her mother called up the stairs in a fake, chipper voice that held undercurrents of irritation Cordelia knew had nothing to do with her and everything to do with their company. “Our guests are here. Why don’t you come down and help me set the table for dinner?”

If she took to yelling up the stairs at her rather than walking the staircase or sending her father to come and retrieve her, she must be considerably uncomfortable.

“I’m coming!” said Cordelia so no one could come after her and find her kneeling on the floor over a removed floorboard with a secret letter in her hands.

Quickly, she folded the paper, stuck it back under the floorboard, and pushed the wood plank back into its place before pushing herself to her feet and brushed the dust off of her hands. She grabbed her black cardigan from off the bed and threw it on as she twisted the knob and opened the door and nearly walked right into Augustus Pounceby.

A small shriek escaped her as she fell back against the door frame, cursing in Persian, and clutched her chest.

Augustus smirked. The last time she’d seen him he had an impossibly round face, buck teeth, and a lisp that made it difficult to understand him. They’d been twelve years old at the time, but she didn’t think people could change so much in five years. He’d lost the roundness of his youth, grew several inches, and his teeth were a normal size. His dirty blond hair was cut short at the sides, long on the top, and perfectly coifed with products. He wore a black button-up t-shirt with the buttons done up to his neck, over dark denim jeans, and a pair of black and white trainers.

His smirk turned lascivious as his eyes roved over the length of her body, lingering on the bits her dress left exposed. She fought against the urge to close her cardigan around her.

“Pounceby,” said Cordelia by way of greeting. “Anyone ever tell you it’s rude and a bit creepy to lurk outside of someone’s bedroom door?”

“I was sent to fetch you,” he said, glancing over her shoulder into Lucie’s bedroom. “Your mother said that you’d give me a tour. I’ve always wanted to see the inside of the infamous London Institute.”

Cordelia unceremoniously closed the bedroom door behind her with a bit more force than necessary. Unfortunately, the movement made her step closer to Augustus. “No one’s ever invited you in before?”

“It wasn’t a matter of being invited,” said Augustus, not moving an inch to provide some space between them. “I wouldn’t have stepped one foot inside of this place with those demon-blooded Herondale’s living here. You can still smell their taint all over this place.”

Cordelia shoved her shoulder into his chest as she moved around him, fighting against the urge to also knee him in the solar plexus while simultaneously breaking his nose with her elbow. Her father probably wouldn’t appreciate her getting Pounceby’s blood all over the floor and he’d most likely make her clean it up, so she decided against bloodshed for tonight and keep things— cordial.

“Allow me to give you a tour then,” said Cordelia pointing to the walls as she walked towards the stairs. "This is the hallway and these are the--" She looked over her shoulder and realized Augustus wasn’t following her.

“What’s down this way?” He asked, nodding towards the other end of the hall.

She hadn’t bothered to wander farther than Lucie’s old bedroom. It felt wrong like she needed an invitation to go farther. There were two more doors at the end. One used to be a study and the other had been James’s bedroom.

She’d only ever been in there once the last time her family came to London for a visit. Lucie had gone on a trip to Paris with her Aunt Cecily, but James stayed home due to some punishment after an incident that happened at the Academy. James never told her and she never asked. Not that she could have, from a young age she was so enamored by James that she often found it difficult to form coherent sentences when she was around him. He was the most beautiful boy she’d ever seen. With his raven black hair, always unruly and curling at all ends like it’d been worked and shaped by the wind and his eyes, like golden flecks of sunlight framed by thick dark lashes. She remembered how they would crinkle at the edges when he smiled, and he always smiled at her.

They spent that entire week reading, wandering around the Institute, pretending to battle each other with the baguettes Tessa brought home for dinner. It'd started as the worst summer of her existence and ended as one she would never forget.

Warmth spread up her neck and into her cheeks at the memory of it. “There’s nothing down there. Come on, they’ll be wanting to eat soon.”

“The men are talking in the old, stuffy drawing room,” said Augustus as he turned on his heel and walked leisurely down the hall. “Come on, Carstairs. It’s your house now, you can do whatever you want in it.”

“I want to go downstairs and help my mum set the table,” said Cordelia, crossing her arms. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Wait just a moment,” drawled Pounceby. “Isn’t this goat eye's old bedroom?”

Cordelia glared. "Who?"

"James."

Cordelia bristled at the rude name he'd given James. “I don’t know. Why does it matter?”

“My interest is peaked is all.”

“Some infatuation of yours with James, Pounceby?” smirked Cordelia. “I’m sure he’ll be flattered, but somehow I doubt you’re his type.”

Augustus put his hand on the doorknob and tried to turn it but it wouldn’t move. “It’s locked.”

Relief swept through Cordelia. “That’s settled then. Let’s go to dinner.”

“Why is it locked?” Augustus tried the door again. “What’s in there?”

“How am I supposed to know. I did just tell you I haven't been there." Cordelia dragged her feet as she came beside him to try the door herself. It was, in fact, locked. “I’ll tell my father about it at dinner and he can find the key, or something.”

Augustus narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you hiding something in here?”

Cordelia’s eyebrows rose. “Excuse me?”

“It was no secret you were a Herondale and downworlder sympathizer,” he said with a sneer that once again made Cordelia want to shove his face into the wall. “Is there a reason you don’t want me going in here?”

Cordelia’s empty hands clenched around the fabric of her cardigan to keep from swinging out against her will. “If you want to look stupid for claiming that my father has anything to hide from the Clave by dragging them away from their drinks to come up here and open a door that’s obviously been locked from the inside, only to find that it is as empty as all the rest?” She stepped aside so there was room for him to go around her. “Please, by all means, be my guest. I was really hoping for quality entertainment tonight and to see the look of disappointment on your father’s face will be well worth the wait.”

Augustus held her gaze for just a moment longer before he released his grip on the door and walked past her, whispering the word ‘bitch’ in a volume that was just loud enough for her to hear.

She’d been called worse.

When he was far enough down the hallway, she gave the doorknob another attempt, but just as before it wouldn’t budge.

Curious, she thought and tucked the anomaly away for a later time.

~ ~ ~

“Ah, there she is!” Her father said as Cordelia descended the stairs. Now with the lights all burning in their sconces from the wall, casting shadows from the chandeliers, they gave the Institute back some semblance of the warmth that Cordelia remembered when she would visit. It still felt odd without any Herondale presence; she half expected Will to come bursting through the door in a rage about the city traffic and Tessa to follow behind him with her genuine smile.

But the front door remained closed, much to Cordelia’s dismay, as she slowly sank from the last step.

“Cordelia, you remember Inquisitor Bridgestock?” said her father with a tight smile.

Cordelia looked to the tall man standing before her. He always reminded her of a toad with his round face, bulbous eyes, and thin mouth. He even had a rather large wart at the start of his right eyebrow.

“Well, Elias, what a beauty your daughter has become,” said the Inquisitor, folding his hands in front of himself, not even bothering to shake hers, because why would he? Perhaps he thought her dainty little hands couldn’t withstand his masculine dynamism.

She fought hard not to roll her eyes at her thoughts and plastered a smile across her face. “Oh yes, I remember him well.”

“And our new Consul, Marcus Pounceby?”

Her eyes shifted to the man standing beside the Inquisitor. He did offer her his hand, and when she placed it into his smooth palm, she could not feel a single callous on his fingers or palm. It made her wonder when the last time he trained, or patrolled, or held a weapon for that matter. He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss against her knuckles. A European custom and she was in Europe, but it still made her feel uneasy, small. At least, he wasn’t trying to kiss both of her cheeks like the French, which she didn’t mind, it just all depended on the person. Lucie and James’s cousin Anna was privy to that custom and with her, Cordelia didn’t mind it in the least.

“My son wouldn’t stop raving about you when he learned about your arrival,” said the Consul. “He spoke of your bravery, your skill, we are very lucky to have you back in England. He graduated from the Academy with top marks and has shown himself to lead a powerful squadron of Shadowhunters. You should speak to him about going out on raids together. He can show you around town.”

Her eyes flashed to Augustus, standing beside his father, looking rather bumptious. When she didn’t say anything for a good long time, her father nudged her with his elbow. “That would be delightful.”

She’d only used the word delightful possibly twice in her life. It tasted like poison coming out of her mouth, but it did its job. They both looked pleased with her which made it all the more difficult not to vomit on their shiny oxfords.

Only her father, who was attuned to her sarcasm and indifference after being the victim of it for sixteen years, noted the tone of her voice.

“Where is your son?” inquired the Consul.

“He stayed in Tehran to oversee the Institute until the new family moves in,” said her father. “He’ll be joining us just as soon as their settled.”

“Excellent,” said the Inquisitor. “Another student of the academy that succeeded with top marks. We could use him on the streets while this issue with the Downworlders is in effect and in meetings regarding demon and downworlder business. He had some dealing of his own with the Herondale boy, did he not?”

Cordelia looked to her father for an answer. She knew Alastair and James went to the academy at the same time and didn’t necessarily get along. Then some incident happened that resulted in James’ expulsion, but she didn’t know what that had to do with Alastair. He never told her even though she asked him nearly a hundred times.

Elias shifted a step so he stood closer to Cordelia. “Alastair only spoke of how troubled James was.” His eyes flashed to Cordelia. A warning and a plead not to say a word.

“Yes, well, with the filth that runs in that family’s blood it is no wonder he was capable of causing such a disturbance. He shouldn’t have been accepted into the academy in the first place,” said Inquisitor Bridgestock.

Cordelia bit the inside of her lip until she tasted blood.

“Wouldn’t you agree, Elias?” asked Bridgestock.

Elias breathed through his nose and straightened his shoulders. “Of course. Now that we’ve all been reacquainted, why don’t we move this discussion into the dining room. Sona has been slaving away in the kitchen for the better part of our move-in day to make this dinner special. Cordelia, please go help your mother.”

Cordelia gave them a half-hearted curtsy and dipped out of the entryway towards the hall that led to the kitchen. Upon noticing her angelic energy, the lights in the sconces along the walls flickered on with several distinct clinks and filled the space with a subtle glow. Cordelia put her hand on the swinging door that led into the kitchen where her mother, with a large ladle in hand, poured some kind of broth over the sliced pork chops lined neatly on a silver platter.

“I can’t do it,” said Cordelia as soon as the door swung shut again. “They are absolutely incorrigible. They called the Herondale’s filthy.”

Sona set the bowl of broth down on the crowded counter and started to pull the leaves off from a sprig of thyme. “You already knew they felt this way, Cordelia. This should not come as a surprise.”

“Yes, but to hear them say it out loud makes my skin crawl.” She picked up the serving fork and stabbed it into a pork chop. “I can’t even say anything to defend them. I just have to nod my head at all of their slurs. I might as well be stabbing my friends in the back.”

Sona wiped her hands on the cloth hanging over her shoulder as she turned to Cordelia. “Your friends know you, they know your truth, and they would want for you to protect yourself. If the situation was reversed and it was our family that had been banished, what would you want from James and Lucie?” After a moment, when Cordelia didn’t answer, Sona continued, “I knew Tessa well. She was a good friend. I know that if the situation was reversed, I would want Tessa to protect her family.”

“She was a good friend?” Cordelia emphasized the second word without looking at her mother. “Maybe I would want James and Lucie to protect themselves and not be banished like me, but I know I wouldn’t want them to stop seeing me as their friend.”

Sona opened her mouth and sighed. “Cordelia—“

“Let’s just feed the monsters so they can leave.” Cordelia picked up the platter of steaming pork chops and started towards the swinging door, leaving her mother to look as dejected as Cordelia felt.

Once in the dining room, still decorated in Tessa’s elegant taste with gold and white herons flying across the wallpaper with holly in their beaks, Cordelia set the platter of pork onto the center of the mighty oak table. The chandelier hung low with sphere-shaped crystals that cast rainbows across the walls when the light from the large arched window at the west side of the room hit them. The table was set for only six people tonight with Elias at the head closest to the window.

Cordelia had no choice but to sit beside Augustus, as all the other spots had been taken.

Sona followed in after her, free now of her emerald green apron and kitchen towels, carrying a plate of scorched rice and another plate of fresh-herb Kuku-- Cordelia’s favorite. A twinge of guilt went through her as she noticed the plates of comfort food her mother had prepared for no one else, but Cordelia.

“Sorry about the wait, gentlemen,” said Sona as she placed the food on the table. “I hope you’re all hungry and wish to expand your palettes. These are all dishes from Tehran. We thought you might like to experience something from our home.”

Augustus looked at the green pie-shaped dish placed directly in front of him as if it might come to life and attack him.

“It’s called Kuku,” said Cordelia, serving herself a large piece before anyone else. “It’s delicious.”

“It’s green,” said Augustus and looked to his father for help.

Consul Pounceby just laughed. “You didn’t have to go out of your way for us. We would have been happy with fish and chips or a nice shepherds pie.” He forked a piece of pork onto his plate with a small helping of scorched rice.

"What kind of pie?" asked Cordelia with a mouth full of Kuku.

“I thought it might be nice to have something from home for our first night here,” said Sona.

“It’s looks wonderful, darling,” said Elias.

The conversation took a small reprieve as everyone ate their meals. Metal forks clinked against plates and ice rattled around in glassware in the silence. Marcus Pounceby chewed with his mouth open and took a particular fondness to the Kuku, though his son took one bite and then refused to acknowledge it again. Inquisitor Bridgestock proceeded to take a drink of his wine after each bite to clear his throat. Cordelia felt a brief sense of satisfaction at the light sheen of sweat that coated his brow after having a piece of pork.

“We’re not used to such flavors here in England,” said Inquisitor Bridgestock, dabbing his face with his napkin. “It’s quite exotic.”

“I may have gone a bit heavy handed on the peppers,” said Sona as she soaked a piece of her pork in the sauce. “Can I get anyone some water or milk, perhaps?”

Cordelia forced herself not to laugh.

“Milk?” inquired Marcus. “Does that help?”

“It does,” said Sona.

“That won’t be necessary.” Bridgestock patted his distended stomach. “I’m quite finished as is. If I drink a glass of milk you’ll have to roll me out the door or call my wife and have her come drive me home.”

“How is Mary Beth?” asked Sona. “It’s a shame she couldn’t come tonight. I did look forward to seeing her again.”

Another easy lie from her mother. The last time Mary Beth and Sona met, Sona couldn’t stop talking about what a deplorable know-it-all with questionable moral Mary Beth was and how the Bridgestock’s may have not been the best family to adopt the young Ariadne girl. To go from such strong feelings towards the Bridgestock's to inquiring about her as if her absence was missed surprised Cordelia. Her mother’s ability to be so languid never ceased to amaze her.

“She’s well. She simply didn’t want to be present for a bunch of Clave talk.” Bridgestock wiped the corners of his mouth with his napkin. “Not when she had a previously schedules game of bridge with some of the other wives. You should go sometime, Sona.”

Her mother’s tight smile was all Cordelia needed to know. She’d been invited to a few bridge games and attended one thinking that at least Tessa would be there and she’d have someone to talk to, but when she got home Sona looked exhausted and explained that all the women at the bridge club did was gossip, smoke, and drink expensive wine. There was not one game of bridge to be played. She then went into a rather hilarious impression of the Inquisitor's wife, with her pinched face and animated hands that may have been slightly exaggerated, but had even Alastair snickering.

“Perhaps when things are a bit more settled,” said Sona and took a long drink from her water glass.

“That reminds me,” said Marcus as he placed his napkin on the table, “we’ve interrupted your move in day. We apologize. We’ll get out of your way just as soon as we finish some business with Elias. Should we retire to the study, gentlemen?”

“Yes,” said Bridgestock as he rose from the table. “There is much to discuss regarding this Downworlder business. We’ll need to brief you on some of the changes we’re making regarding the laws and how we are expecting those on patrol to be our inforcers. We’d appreciate your opinion on a few of these matter before we hold the official Clave meeting in two weeks.”

“Uh, yes,” said Elias as he stood from the table too. “Cordelia, would you mind helping your mother with the dishes and then come and join us—“

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” said the Inquisitor. “Our talk will just bore her. We can explain everything to her at the official meeting with the rest of the Clave.”

Elias’s grip flexed on his dining room chair. “My daughter will be one of those patrolling the streets of your city. I would like for her to be prepared and understand what is expected of her.”

“Kill demons and any downworlders that dares to step out of line,” whispered Augustus under his breath. “Not much else left to understand.”

Demons can take the shape of many things, she thought. Even privileged, annoying boys.

She might be able to plead her case against the Clave if she were to accidentally stab him.

“It will all be explained at the meeting,” continued Bridgestock. “Until then, Cordelia will not be allowed to patrol alone and will instead train with Augustus.”

Cordelia couldn’t stop the pinched look that took over her face. Her mother nudged her underneath the table before anyone could see her.

The men filed out of the dining room, leaving their half-cleared plates of food for Cordelia and Sona to clean up. They piled the dishes and separated the silverware in silence before carting everything back into the kitchen.

Sona turned on the faucet over the deep bucket sink and held her hand under it waiting for the water to warm while Cordelia continued to bring plates in and set them on the small island.

She glanced at the old grandfather clock that stood in the hallway each time she passed it. Only two more hours and she could find Lucie. Finally, there would be someone she could speak freely about all of this to and not constantly be shut down; told to smile, and bear it.

The large hand steadily clicked on, but not fast enough.

Not nearly fast enough.

A/N:

This chapter does include some artistic license. To make it relative to the times, I changed it from James having to stay home from a Paris trip due to being expelled from school rather than being sick with the Scarlet Fever.

I also made up Augustus's appearance. It is not canon. It's just how he looks in my head.

Also I have no clue what Inquisitor Bridgestock's wife's name is so I'm calling her Mary Beth.

Comments and hearts are ALWAYS appreciated!

Next update comes out in two weeks: May 28

[awed-frog]

You can't just mention a romance novel about dead teens you found at the bus stop and not tell us more ^o^

Yeah it’s been a few months but here is how that went.

Our hero (who’s totally not what the writer wishes she could be and is instead a normal person like other normal persons you can meet every day) is a Top Scientist who works for a Top Police Department and is also possibly the Head of that Top Police Department and does important stuff that helps grieving families to find peace but! somehow everyone considers her job irrelevant and boring 😔 and sadly that job doesn’t pay anything 😔. We’ll call her Sue Mary. 

Sue Mary is married to Himbo Jack, who’s a Top Security Expert and works out 13 times a week 💪 and doesn’t have an office because not only is he a Top Security Expert and works out 13 times a week 💪 (abs you can grate your M&S parmesan on!) but he also looks after Sue Mary’s two children, Moody Jane (14) and Little Jack (8). 

He also doesn’t make any money, and that’s why he and Sue Mary are stuck in their modest 8-bedroom house in Quaint British Village-on-the-Cotswold during Easter break 😔 which is the Inciting Incident.

See, Sue Mary and Himbo Jack met in uni and are still friends with everyone they went on pub crawls with because that’s what happens in real life and all of their friends (four women: Himbo Jack has history with all of them) went on to have wildly successful careers, bag hot husbands and have wonderful children because did I mention this is like real life. So one of them, Big Shot Lawyer, is all “I know we said we’d all go to Barbados for Easter, but poor Sue Mary can’t afford that 😔! So I’ll invite everyone to my Provence villa instead 😄! That’s a tactful way to say we don’t care if she’s poor 😍!”. 

So everyone goes to this 44-bedroom, 3-pool house in the South of France. They all love one another, and everything seems so great, except! Sue Mary looks at her husband’s phone by mistake 😫!!!!! because of course she loves him 😥!!! and trusts him  😭!!!! so she’s never going to go through his phone 😉 !!! it was a mistake 🥺!!!! BUT there’s a message there from some woman like ‘I need to see you again’ and ‘We’ll tell her in France’ so! one of her oldest friends she’s loved and never fought with and still sees every week despite the fact they’ve all grown into wildly different people is SLEEPING WITH HER ABSY HUSBAND oh no.

And then you think the entire novel is about that. Sue Mary is in a terrible mood throughout (I should confront my husband, Which friend is it, I’ll just divorce him and go home, Maybe go home and divorce him, What if I throw him in the pool, I know it’s stupid but I’m proud my husband is the prettiest and himboist of them all 🖕 and everyone wants to smooch him, But also someone did smooch him and now I’m sad 😭). Everyone else is having a grand time, which mostly consists of walking to the Petit Village next to the villa and buying real food they can’t find in England like bread and olives. We also discover: 

friend 1 is stuck in an unhappy marriage but it’s her fault because she’s Whiny and her husband is actually not that bad

she’s also about to become a billionaire!

friend 2 is married to a pedophile

who’s actively grooming Moody Jane (14)

friend 3 is possibly a lesbian because she’s been to Indonesia on her own, doesn’t have children at the ripe age of 36 and has short hair

there is a friend 4, I think, but I can’t remember anything about her

all the children are creepy, weird and unsettling af

which is bad for Little Jack, who almost burns to death😔

none of that is relevant to anything.

As Sue Mary ponders if she’ll ever grate M&S parmesan on her husband’s abs again and buys a superdeluxe parmesan grater on Amazon just out of spite amidst vengeful divorce fantasies (‘My friend right here is the best divorce lawyer in the UK! I’ll RUIN him! But oh no - what if she’s the one sleeping with him? I know I stole him from her back in uni and she’s now married to a pedophile, but what a bitch’), both her children are being abused and half the forest around the villa is burning down.

(Where is Himbo Jack, you may wonder? So did I. Himbo Jack, despite living in an isolated house with ten other people, is never seen again. He swims, once. Runs, once, while little old French women dressed all in black shake their heads at the fool running in the searing Provence heat. And possibly buys 2 (two) jars of olives from Petit Village.)

In the end, everyone almost dies because forest fire and friend 3 actually dies, confirming the fact she was indeed a lesbian (her bereaved girlfriend shows up later and everyone is like 😲). As they all huddle around a thermos of hot Pinot Grigio supplied by Petit Village’s baker and olive churner (who’s also Head of the Fire Department), Sue Mary suddenly realizes what’s going on: Himbo Jack loves her! He’s not cheating, he’s being blackmailed! Friend 2′s evil twins - who’ve been bullying her son all week, but she still doesn’t know about that - killed someone two months ago! And Moody Jane knows about it, so that’s why she’s been moody! My poor baby! I’ve been yelling at her because teenagers are scaly and disgusting and instead she’s TRAUMATIZED! It’s ironic because as a Top Scient working with crime witnesses it was my job to know and yet I didn’t notice 🤓! How droll 🤓🤓!

At that point, Himbo Jack saves the day. This ineffectual, invisible husk of a man who - it turns out - has known about his daughter witnessing a horrific crime for months and did nothing about it suddenly turns into Himbo GI Jack - he whisks his family away from the horror villa, breaks into friend 2′s house back in the UK, wipes every computer he can find so her daughter won’t be implicated in the bloody murder she’s not implicated in anyway (he’s a Top Security Expert, did I mention that), places an anonymous call to the police about something or other and possibly rescues three small kittens while grating M&S parmesan on his own abs because he’s a Strong Man Who Doesn’t Need No Woman (hashtag cheese power hashtag you are enough hashtag you are grate).

Friend 2 - who tried to kill a child but didn’t actually succeed and really, didn’t do anything wrong apart from that - goes to prison. Her pedophile husband (her former psychologist, which raised no red flags whatsoever) goes on with his creepy life. Her twin sons (who actually did kill someone) also go on with their psychotic lives because she took the blame. “I guess you being a cop did come in handy,” Himbo Jack says, huskily opening a jar of olives with his big strong hands. “I’m not a cop. I’m a Top Scientist who works for a Top Police Department and is also possibly the Head of that Police Department,” Sue Mary purrs. They watch their damaged children sit in silence by the front door. In the dark. Fuck the French, but their olives are delicious.

[jazillia007]

Thoughts on GG 4x3 Fall Guy

Things I did not enjoy:

Phoebe...

I’m sorry but we really said goodbye to Turner for... Phoebe? I know some would root for her to turn on her shitty FBI co-worker but that wouldn’t make her interesting. It would look desperate. xD I don’t know. I wouldn’t mind her being on track when it comes to Beth. But the reasons why she suspects Beth fall flat to me.

But now things might turn and I’m also weirdly looking forward to what’s gonna happen since she found that letter Beth left. *sigh* Why didn’t Beth think of that?

Beth’s new bed

The only good thing it. got character but dang it it’s so ugly and I will never not notice. LMAO

Fitzpatrick Part 1

Being the creepy dude he is. Like... ewww... The fact he is like “oh but WHY do you not want to go with me to the Fijis?”. I mean it’s not like Beth’s husband is in prison right now and she got 4 kids to take care of but whatever. And she said “NO”. But hey... creepers gonna be creepy.

So but then, Beth tells him exactly that... and... continue in the what I liked section here...

Thing I would’ve enjoyed if done differently:

Did I need those flashbacks with Dean to understand why Beth is staying with him?

No, I don’t think I needed it to know why she is staying with Dean because Beth herself verbally said why she stays with him in many episodes. But I also think we need to remember the majority of the viewers are casual viewers who don’t watch the episodes like fandoms do and casual viewers sometimes need everything to get spelled out for them. But I also think casual viewers aren’t dumb and sometimes writers should just trust them to know and understand things and circumstances.

I also think I would’ve liked it more if the flashbacks had included Beth’s relationship with her father or the non-existence of the very same. I think the reason why women tend to stay with men who are not good for them is because: they have a dysfunctional family (problematic mother, problematic father or both combined), they’re dependent on men, those men resemble the father or the women want to fix something that was broken in their own family (e.g. not having a father but wanting a family and a father for their own children).

But we didn’t get that. And I think it’s a shame the writers focus a great deal on showing Dean was the only good guy Beth knew at that time hence why she chose him when it would’ve been more interesting to explore the reason WHY Beth thought Dean was the only seemingly decent person.

Also, just because Dean was a nice guy back then doesn’t make his cheating and lying okay. And it doesn’t mean Beth needs to stay with him. If anything it worries me that the writers apparently think “look because he was nice back and he basically “saved” Beth and gave her stability, she needs to stay with him forever”. That’s not the case. As I said before if the writers adore Matthew Lillard so much, they can keep him, even as the ex-husband. Just a thought.

However, I think the flashbacks were filmed nicely as some already mentioned. And I liked the casting.

Things I enjoyed:

Kenny

I know some people missed it but Kenny is away for a tournament which explains why it seems Beth and Dean only got 3 children. The show explained it right away, so thankfully Kenny won’t disappear like Buddy did. xD

Dean not buying Beth’s “I love you”

You know I don’t like Dean but I kind of enjoy he isn’t buying Beth’s “I love you” anymore. I mean he is the last person to call her out because he cheated on her and told her he loves her after she found out to manipulate her as well but I just like we see Dean not buying it. Because WHO is actually still buying it when Beth is telling Dean “I love you”.

Ruby and Annie having priorities

I love how they’re like “Hey, you got 4 kids!” like even to them Dean isn’t a father who deserves to be out of prison.

On a sidenote: Ruby aka Retta is looking extra gorgeous this season. Oh MY!

Whatever is going on with Stan

Look I always wanted for Stan and Rio to team up. So please let it happen. But also whatever happens in the club, “the little bitch” and the “big bitch” this could have potential.

But I hope he doesn’t develope a drinking problem and I don’t need the tension between him and Ruby. But also kind of enjoy he got now secrets of his own.

Found the whole mom situation in the flashbacks more interesting than Dean

I think you deleted the post @medievalraven but I think there might be something going on with Beth’s and Annie’s mom which is more related to (TRIGGER WARNING) depression and suicidal thoughts. Which is actually a whole lot more interesting to explore than what a nice guy Dean was back then.

And it would play into what I said earlier. That whatever is going on in Beth’s family made her the person she is now and would explain why she acts in certain ways and why she is unable to leave Dean (except the writers apparently don’t WANT her to leave Dean as of now).

And whatever has been going on at home explains why Annie turned out the way she was back then and still is - especially when it comes to Dean.

Annie and Ben

As you know, I barely relate with Annie but I always enjoyed the most her relationship with her son and if the writers are doing anything right it’s writing this arc properly. It’s normal for Ben to want to stay with his father but at the same time it breaks my heart for Annie.

Fitzpatrick Part 2

Beth going off was everything I needed right now. Thank you, Beth, for telling him where your limits are!

And what a douchebag is Fitzpatrick to be like “oh but I thought you wanted more from your life”. We love guilt-tripping men - NOT. Just look at Dean. I mean... c’mon! Also for him to be like “but you hired me”... Yeah, she did hire you but not sending the message “I also want sex with you.” What is this guy!?

However, I would buy Beth’s speech a little more if she would pair it up with actions. Like divorcing Dean and you know the drill. It would be so much more consistent than having her say one thing but not living up to it. I mean on the other hand now she is somewhat tied to him because Dean plead guilty but still... We’re going in circles a little bit.

Rio/Brio

You know I know the pool table scene is splitting the fandom as always. And I’m just grateful I can watch the scene and enjoy it as a shipper but also enjoy it as a viewer.

I liked the whole “negotiation” between Beth and Rio. Rio did a really low blow when he told Beth if Dean is released from prison 3 years later he might be in better shape and even wanting to “hit it again”. I think we all know why Dean and Beth aren’t working out anymore on a sexual basis and so does Rio, so while Rio might be correct it was a low blow.

But I also enjoy how Rio doesn’t care one bit about Dean. He never did - since season 1. And Dean being a shitty husband and a even shittier businessman is playing a huge part in it. And I like Rio doesn’t even pretend to care.

But he still gives into her pleading. I know some people think he is already over Beth shooting him and maybe that’s the case but in Rio’s case that doesn’t mean he can’t be petty by pulling away the stick. It’s like him saying “I gave you the gun once and I won’t do it again and this is me retaining control. You play this game and we see where it goes with the money.” He is challenging Beth and he knows she would take the challenge.

At the same time, and some of my mutuals noticed it as well, I got 2x9 bedroom vibes which is weird. Especially since there are many mutuals who didn’t feel it or read the scene differently or didn’t like it at all.

The way he looked at her after pulling away the stick. There is a lack of music which I don’t think was a conscious choice unlike it was in the bedroom scene in 2x9 but it still heightened the tension of the scene. And then there suddenly is music and it’s melancholic almost.

Then of course Rio “teaching” Beth how to play pool, handson. And this is where it gets interesting for me. I know a lot of people read this scene differently or it left a different impression.

For me: I always thought that both Beth and Rio are having very mixed feelings right now for eachother. Mostly confused anger. Anger for obvious reasons and confusion because that despite the anger they can’t stop whatever their relationship is and whatever their feelings might be.

And I think in season 3, Rio never really touched Beth. Except for when he showed up alive and did the hair thing and then when he put his hand over hers when she wanted a drink and he thought she was pregnant.

I think this... Rio leaning over Beth and then smelling her. A smell he knows too well and once probably loved. This is the first time he is this close to her again. And same for her, I think that little headshake was mostly her being a little startled but also becoming very aware of his closeness.

And it’s so interesting to see how Rio steps back and does this shoulder roll. It’s like he was suddenly aware of what he was doing and somewhat wanted to shake it off.

And just a little note: the ball had the number 8 on it which can be read as “forever” or “eternity”. Me reading too much into it. :P

Then the moment is over but I just love the moment of joy after Beth winning the challenge and for Rio as well. And then it quickly goes back to business. I think if they’re doing anything well it’s that Brio right now is very much split into two halfs. And for me of course I know the hitman plan is still going which is baffling to me. So of course this dampens any excitement I might have during Brio scenes.

Even though, we can safely say they won’t go through with the hitman plan, and especially now when Beth has hurt Fitzpatrick’s ego. He was pretty calm but I feel like he will mess up on purpose. I don’t think FItzpatrick takes rejection well. Just my thoughts on that. He was way too calm for someone who would hurt a person over raw salmon.

[help-im-a-gay-fish]

Okay, tell me more about Cream twins partners. How each couple met? How they end up together? Any fun cute facts? SPAM ME WITH INFORMATION! 🌸🌺🌸🌺🌸

Ooo! Yay! @kotikaleo this is a good ask.

Before I begin I want to make sure to clarify that both Crayon and Cindy were created by the wonderful @thebluescreen so credit for the characters go to them. (we share 3 ship kids universes)

And once again I wanna say : Disclaimer, This Celest and Luna are the children of Cross and Dream. NOT Cross and Shattered Dream. They are a alternate universe version of the Dark cream twins. They should not be confused as being the same.

I'm gonna start with Celest and her husband Crayon.

These two first met when Celest was 11 and Crayon was 12. For them it was basicly love at first sight. Celest and Luna both grew up travelling around the multiverse and that's how the met.

Crayon is a half human half monster who originally came from a dust tale time line. But more about him will come from @thebluescreen

It was an awkward, inconvenient first encounter. Luna had just broken her leg trying to do a back flip off a table (she was a dumb kid) and Celest (who had been learning first aid from a book) attempted to set it. And she made it a whole lot worse. (cross and dream weren't there at the time, they had left them alone for 10 minutes)

Crayon and his friend went over to help luna. The stress of the situation caused celest to throw up a large amount of gloop and then loose her strength in her legs and fall over. Crayon was close enough to her to catch her as she fell and gently lowered her to the ground. They locked eyes and well, they had basically been crushing on eachother since then.

It took Luna locking them in a room together and refusing to let them out till they confessed to do the trick.

They got together when Celest was 15 and Crayon was 16.

The two were very much in love. The slightly over the top, sugary sweet, child hood sweethearts. Used a bunch of cheesey names.

"I love you my sugar sweet snuggle muffin"

"not as much as I love you my cookie cream cuddle bear"

And luna is just the awkward 3rd wheel.

OK so Luna was in a relationship with this monster called Daisy from the age of 16 to 20. Daisy was a bitch, but more on that below.

It was all good till Celest turned 18, she started to get soul pain. Up until this point her sickness had been bothersome, but not to serious.

But after seeing a soul doctor, she was informed that the curruption was starting to attack her soul, and there was a possibility that it would kill her. Of course her and her family were heart broken, crayon included.

Celest went through a stage of being unhappy. The idea that she could die terrorised her. She had nightmares and got stressed to the point of alot of puking fits.

Her main conforts where her sister and boyfriend.

"I just can't help thinking of everything I'll miss out on. Marriage, children...... Travelling the multiverse...... But at least I have you right?"

So crayon responded with.

"then let's get married"

Of course Celest was shocked and was sure she'd misheard him. But then he said.

"you said that you were afraid of missing out on it, but this way we won't! I want to marry you, if you'll have me."

Celest said.

"but we are both so young, you shouldn't have to carry my burden. You have a life to live"

He said

"I want to spend it with you"

And she said yes.

Yay.

They were married just under a year later and where very happy. Cross was alittle sad to see his princess grow up so fast. But in the end they were all happy.

Crayon is truly Celest's rock. He's very sweet and good to her. To him, she is the bright light in his life, with her kindness and smarts.

They normally spend there time curled up watching movies. Or taking trips to aus like outertale to look at stars. Its all very lovey dovey.

For Luna, love was never all that easy. As I said above her first girlfriend Daisy was a bitch.

Daisy was a emotionally horrible person to Luna. Constantly telling her things like, how she needs to summon ecto or she looks like a man. Or how bones just aren't that attractive. How that fact that she was so close to her sister was creepy. In the end it was revealed that she'd been cheating on Luna while Luna had been helping her sister in the hospital. Luna finally dumbed her.

Years passed and Luna would tell people that she was ok and over it. But in truth it left huge emotional scars. She started avoiding committed relationships like the plague.

Over the years she has had a few casual girlfriends, flings and hook ups. But she told people that long term wasn't her thing, Celest knew that wasn't true, but she couldn't force her sister to date someone. It all changed when she ment Cindy.

She meets Cindy when she's 27. Basically, she met Cindy through Crayon. Since Cindy was the best friend of Crayon's sister's boyfriend.

Cinder is a underlust Sansby child and is a girl who knows what she's got and flaunts it slightly. When Luna first saw her, she went into 'oh no she's hot' mode.

Infact this was there first interaction.

Cindy "hi, I'm Cinder. It's nice to meet you"

Luna *gay panic*

Luna "wanna see me do a back flip?"

Cindy "wa-

Luna trys to back flip and falls on her face.

Cindys "you ok there?" *offers hand to help her up*

Luna *takes her hand and is helped to her feet*

Luna *more 'omg she's touching me!' gay panic *

Luna "wanna see me do a back flip?"

So yeah, Luna is very gay.

The attraction was physical to start with. Luna was smitten to the strong, confident, sexy fire girl. Que Luna repeatedly doing stupid things to try and impress her.

The best way to sum it up would be.

Pfff OK XD

Luckily for Luna though, Cindy starts to fall for the goofy cluts. Not only is Luna just a loveable idiot, but she is also quite attractive.

Cindy comes in one day while she's training and watches her spar with Cross and do a back flip successfully. She's a skilled fighter and is just as Good At Yoga as her dad is. So yeah, Luna is quite attractive to Cinder in her own right.

Cindy starts using alot of pet names for her, calling her Moony and Princess. This embarrasses Luna to no end.

So what happens? Well.

After Luna has once again fallen to the ground while trying inpress Cindy and is kind of laying there defeated. The following conversation happens.

Cindy "you need some help there Moony?"

Luna *blushes* "you know I'm gonna come up with an embarrassing nickname to call you, you know!"

Cindy "really Princess?"

Luna "yes! Uhhhhh Cinderella! Ha!"

Cindy "Cinderella? You think I've not been called that before"

Luna "dam it uh... I've got it! Toffee"

Cindy "Toffee"

Luna "yes, like Cinder toffee, and because you really like sweet foods and-

Cindy "and you could totally eat me?" *smirks*

Luna *without thinking* "yes absolutely"

Silence.

And my friend if you don't get the joke.... Its probably to mature for you. This basically causes Cinder to turn up the flirt on Luna, who is very embarrassed about saying that. To Cindy it has basically been confirmed that Luna wants her, and she's into that.

Luna freaks out *thank you gay panic* and yells "I'M STRAIGHT!" and runs away.

Luna then spends the next two days being consoled by her sister. Meanwhile Cindy asks around to find out if Luna is really straight. It is very quickly confirmed to her that Luna is very much gay and very much into her.

She conforts Luna about this and after Luna attmits that she is gay and is about to confess her crush, Cindy pins her to the wall and kisses her.

Long story short Luna gets to eat her and they go to bed together. And after that they become 'causal' girlfriends. It doesn't take to long for there feelings for eachother to evolve from a physical attraction into real love. But they would never confront their feelings.

Texting eachother till the early hours of the morning? just causal.

Inviting Cindy to family Christmas? just causal.

Laying in eachothers arms in bed, not wanting to get up. Just causal.

Who knows if they will ever confront how they really feel? Maybe some unfortunate life events will force them to.

Fun facts about the couples.

Cindy has a whole bunch of pet names for Luna, after they start dating she most commonly calls her Starlight. But has a whole list more

Crayon loves to buy his wife flowers. He's quite a soft man and I like to think he takes great care in picking out a bunch of flowers. He'll most commonly buy her roses. He also likes to prepare picnics so that they can go out to aus together.

Cindy has a huge sweet tooth. Luna has often tried to bake for her. Lu Lu isn't a very skilled Baker though. But if she presents Cindy with a plate of slightly burnt cupcakes splattered with icing, it will make Cinder's heart melt.

Crayon often has to help Celest get dressed in the mornings. Since the marks commonly appear on her arms and legs. Crayon has taken a very long time to practice how to help her dress without causing pain.

Some mornings, especially after they've had a busy night, Cinder will often steal Luna's shirt. She will wear it around the house. "but babe... That's my shirt"........... "I've got no idea what you're talking about Moony".

Celestial star would be the type to call her husband at work out of nowhere just to remind him that she loves him.

The first time they kissed, Celest got so nervous and excited that she threw up gloop all over him.

Cindy loves to roller skate and would attempt to teach Luna how to. After a long time of Luna falling over into many comprising positions, Cinder simply wraps her arms around her waist and they skate together.

Crayon is a half human-half monster, so he can practice some magic. One thing he likes to do is make little figures of butterflys fly around his wife's hospital room when she has to stay at the hospital. It always makes her day.

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

The Call Pt. 1

Summary: Marie is not crazy. She isn’t. Or she hopes she’s not. But the happenings that follow a mysterious phone call begin to make her hope otherwise. 

Warnings: Suicidal ideation, maybe mildly creepy

A/N: Well, if you’re tagged it’s because you said you were interested in taking a peek at my original content. This is the first half of a short story I’ve been using as kind of a warm up/playground for a few weeks. Kinda hate the title (so if you’ve got suggestions hit me with them) and am open to literally all feedback!  (If you want to know when I share original content lmk!)

“I’m not crazy. I know how this sounds but I am not fucking crazy!” 

Funny enough, I’m also not an idiot. I know that screaming I’m not crazy at 4am after tearing my room apart to find a picture that apparently doesn’t exist implies otherwise. But still-

“I’m not crazy, Alex.”

“Ok. You’re not crazy.” 

The way he’s looking at me really makes me wish I was. 

“But Marie, what you’re asking me to believe-“

“Is crazy,” I say, collapsing on the edge of the bed. 

I stare down at my hands. There used to be a scar on the left one, thick and rope-like carving a path straight through the center. The original wound had cut to the bone. 

I know it was there. 

I know because I remember how it didn’t hurt at first. It was like a dull warm sting, too many nerve endings cut to make my brain register what happened. I remember how I was fascinated by the blood welling, dark and thick and so different from any time I’d seen my own blood in my short 13 years. I remembered the drip, drip, drip. 

And then I remember screaming. 

“Marie…” He takes a deep breath, pacing away from the bed. 

I don’t move, don’t respond. Just run my fingers over where the scar should be. 

Another thing I remember is the choice I made that resulted in the scar disappearing. I remember that conversation, both sides of it like two images superimposed on one another. 

Somehow, remembering those disparate, impossible, things so clearly only makes me more certain that I am not insane. Which may actually make the whole insanity argument stronger…

The first phone call happened on a random night in December. I was baking, trying to recreate those Levaine Bakery cookies and, honestly, not sucking at it. 

I was not drinking. 

I was not on drugs. None that I wasn’t supposed to be on anyway. 

Everything was normal. 

My phone rang with a number I didn’t recognize. Usually, I would have just ignored it but the area code was from my home town and I know far too many messy people back home to ignore an unknown call on a Friday night. 

If someone was dead, I didn’t want to find out through a voicemail. 

“Hello?” A muffled voice responded, warped by a shoddy Bluetooth connection. “Wait, sorry hold on.”

Fucking useless $100 earbuds. 

“Hello?” 

“H-hi… Hello.” The voice on the other end was clearly a kid, a little girl. I didn’t know any kids save for my nephew and he was eight months old so children should not be calling me. 

“Yes?”

“Hi, ma’am,” the girl paused, clearly restraining a giggle. The line crackled in a way that sounded odd but I assumed she was just muffling the mic. “Did you order a pizza? This… This is Pizza Hut.” 

I stifled a laugh of my own. Who knew kids still did prank calls. I thought those died off with the landline. Amused, I played along. 

“No, I didn’t order a pizza.”

“Oh, well, I guess we called the wrong person. Sorry!” The kid hung up. 

I shook my head and reconnected my earbuds. As far as prank calls went, I had my criticisms on their form but hoped they enjoyed themselves. 

Quickly, I fell back into my baking rhythm, my audiobook of the week keeping any further exploration as to why kids would bother with prank calls when the internet existed at bay. At least until the book paused, accompanied by an off-putting crackle in one earbud.

“Motherf-“ My phone ringing interrupted my expletive. 

I looked over, it was the same number. 

I don’t know why I answered. Maybe I was getting soft after 30 years of being, by default, a cold bitch—I had been crying at far more commercials recently. Or maybe the novelty of a prank call was too good to pass up. 

“Hello.”

For a moment there was silence. Then, someone breathing. Something about it made me feel uncomfortable. Not in the whole, I’m calling from inside the house, kind of way. More like the feeling you get when you almost fall asleep at the wheel, the adrenaline rush of waking up just in time. 

“Hello?” The breathing quickened. “Look, kid-“

She started speaking. Rather, she started making sounds, gibberish with the inflection of words. After a string of them, she paused. 

“Uh-huh, well then,” I said choosing to humor them. 

This was followed by another string of gibberish. Only this sounded more frantic, there wasn’t the undertone of laughter. They stopped. 

“Kid, are you ok?” I began to worry. 

“Em raeh uoy nac?” She said with the inflection of a question. I realized suddenly that this may not be the same person. There was something similar about the voice but it didn’t sound as young as my pizza prankster from earlier. 

“Look, this is just getting weird. Don’t-“

“On!” The person yelled into the phone. “On! On! Esaelp!” The voice cracked, a stifled cry sending chills up my spine. 

On… On… On… Something clicked. 

No. This person was saying no. 

Maybe I am crazy. Because the moment I realized the words were coming to me backward they righted themselves and the person began speaking in the proper direction. 

“Please, don’t hang up.” She took a ragged breath, “Please.” 

Sitting on the edge of my bed now, staring at my scarless palm, I could still feel her desperation. 

“Marie,” Alex knelt in front of me, eyes wide and pleading. “I have known you since we were 15. You’re my sister and I love you.” He takes my hands in his own, sighing, “You’ve been under a lot of stress recently and that-“

“Jesus,” I pull my hands back getting to my feet, and push past him. In the doorway to my bathroom, I pause, turning back to face him. He now sat on the floor with his back against my bed. 

“I’m just saying, maybe it’s all been too much. That’s all. There isn’t any shame in that.” 

“I know there isn’t. Don’t you think I, of all people, fucking know that?!” 

I mean for fucks sake, I was the head of HR at my company. I had a bachelor’s in counseling and a master’s in communications. Not to mention years of therapy under my belt. I understood what stress could do to someone’s mind and I understood that this wasn’t that. 

“Ok,” he holds his hands up in surrender. “Ok. Sorry. I know you know. But you want me to believe you’re really ok when you-“

“I don’t want you to believe shit. You asked me what was happening. I’m just telling you.” 

He studied me, trying to find something to hold on to, some way to believe me. 

For a moment I studied him too. Burning this image of him into my mind. 

This was real. He was real. Just like everything else was real. 

On that first night, the shock the voice on the other end of the line sent through my whole body was unlike anything I’d ever felt before. 

“Please be there,” she begged. 

Our own voices always sound weird when we hear them played back. Something to do with the way sound travels through the body. The way it resonates in our bones. It’s easy to not even recognize our own voices when we hear them. 

“I called this-“

“You called this number 10 minutes ago,” I cut her off, my unease giving way to anger. “What do you want? If you’re in trouble-“

“I called this number when I was eight,” that edge to her tone was too familiar. “I’m 15.” 

“Hilarious, kid. Find something better to-“

“0606.”

“Yup, that’s the last four digits of the number you just called. Owned by a woman who is very-“

“Those are the last four numbers of the cell phone I got when I was 13.” 

“Very funny.” I had no idea who had put her up to this but I was over it. “I’ve had this number for 17 years.” 

“I always thought it was funny because I remembered those numbers ever since I made that prank call. Funny that they’d be the last four of my own number.” Her voice had a disconnected quality to it. I rubbed my finger over the scar on my palm, a nervous habit. 

“Kid-“

“Wait,” she cut me off, something which was starting to wear on me. “You said 17 years. How… how old are you.” 

“Thirty,” I answered automatically. 

“Wow.”

“Yeah. Ancient to you I’m sure.” The timer went off for my cookies. “Look. If you’ve sated your gen alpha need to dip your toes into the nostalgia pool-“

“So, I don’t do it.” 

“Do what?”

“On April 13th, 2006 you decided you would kill yourself you your 16th birthday.” My heart stopped. “Maybe you don’t remember that…” 

I remembered it. 

If I tried I could remember the way my room smelled. I could remember how my hands didn’t even shake as I wrote those words in my journal. I could remember sitting on my bed, picking up my phone…

And calling my own number. 

I looked down at my phone. I’d only paid attention to the area code before, nothing more than a passing glance. Now I realized, it was my grandparent’s old landline number.  

She continued, “Anyway, I just called my own number to-“

“Leave a voice mail,” I said finishing her thought. It was my substitute for a note, something that if they found they found but if not then fuck them. 

“Yeah. But instead of it going to voicemail, you answered. My phone is sitting in my lap but you answered. And I remembered your voice from when I was eight and…” 

“What the fuck,” I breathed. 

“I don’t know…”

My head was spinning. I had never spoken to anyone save for my therapist about my intention to end my life when I turned 16, so it seemed unlikely someone was playing a cruel joke. But it was even more unlikely, or rather completely fucking impossible, that I was currently speaking to my 15-year-old self.  

“Look,” I sank to the floor of my kitchen, sliding my glasses up so I could massage away the tension headache building between my eyes. “Clearly, you’re not me. But it’s pretty obvious that you’re in a bad way.” There was silence. 

“Kid?” 

“I’m here,” the voice was so small. 

“I don’t know what you’re going through, but the best advice I can give you is the same advice that my best friend gave me when we were your age. ‘If you can’t find any other reason to keep going, just do it out of spite.’” 

To this day, do it out of spite, was the motto we lived by. I embroidered pillows for us with it, we signed off letters to one another with it when he took a year to wander Europe with his ex, hell we got the word ’Spite’ tattooed on our wrists in the other’s handwriting when we were 19—thanks to Alex’s terrible handwriting people always asked me why I had ‘Sprite’ tattooed on my wrist. 

She snorted. 

“I know it sounds oversimplified but-“

“No. I’m just not into listening to people who don’t take their own advice,” the anger in her voice was searing. 

“What do you-“

“Alex Cameron, said the same thing to me yesterday.” My ears started ringing, my whole body tingled like a limb when you’ve sat on it for too long. 

“Then,” she took a shaky breath, “he killed himself.” 

My smoke alarm began to scream, the smell of burnt sugar seeping from my oven. 

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