#any spanish he knows is pretty much just things his mom would say to him and talk to him about | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mxstellatayte · 5 months ago

Text

fuck me up, florida.

warnings: angst for the majority of it, sex at the end though, legal use of alcohol (reader and logan are both 23,) mentions of gunshot wounds, minor character death, based on a taylor swift song, childhood (middle/high school) friends to lovers, idiots in love, "you came" "you called," reader is half mexican (mom's side), slightly inaccurate bc i know carola wasn't at the miami gp but just go with it for the plot, reader's last name is rodriguez,

author's note: y'all i apologize if any of the spanish grammar is a little weird. my spanish is rusty, pls don't hate me for it

logan sargeant x female reader

i need to forget so

tuesday, april 30th.

you scan your ticket, the screen displaying your name and seat number. 12A. at least it'll be easy to sleep, you think.

after shoving your suitcase above your seat, you shuffle your way to the window and buckle yourself in.

are you really doing this? flying a couple thousand miles to visit your childhood best friend who, up until recently, had you convinced that his newfound fame that he'd gathered by announcing his enrollment in the williams driver's academy made him too good for you.

the only thing that made you think otherwise was the instagram dm he'd sent you five weeks prior, asking if you'd be able to make it to the miami grand prix. instead of a simple yes or no, you responded with the heaviest three words you've ever seen in order.

can we call?

logan picked up on the second ring.

"hey."

"how's texas?"

you smile. "hot. sunny. flat. beachless."

"so... it's good?" you hate that you can still picture his facial expressions even after not seeing him for years except for on tv.

"'s okay, but it's not home, y'know?"

"definitely. it doesn't matter how much i decorate my place in england, it's never florida."

"nothing besides florida is ever florida," you sigh, looking out the window of your apartment. "how's the season been?" you don't exactly know why you're asking. you know exactly how his season's gone. you keep every single detail of every single race weekend meticulously catalogued in a journal that you take everywhere with you. no matter what, you've stayed up late or woken up early to watch every race, as if your hopeful energy would make its way across the world to him in time.

"honestly? it's been pretty shit. the car handles really badly and wasn't really even ready for the first few hours of testing in bahrain. i can't get it to perform and maybe that's just because i haven't linked with the car yet, but it still really sucks."

you sigh, hoping logan can't tell how disappointed you are with his team and engineers. "you need a better team, lo."

"i know." there's silence between you for a few moments, and every second that passes makes it grow heavier on your chest. "will you come to miami?"

there it is. the reason you called him.

"i don't know, lo. don't get me wrong, i'd love to, but it's really short notice and i don't know if i could afford the trip. i might be able to make it to austin, but i'll need the time to save the money for the trip."

"i'll fly you out," logan immediately says, his tone almost desperate. longing. "i'll pay for your flight, your hotel, everything. please?"

that last word hit you like a punch in the gut. you only had one more reason to not go and you weren't about to tell him that reason. it was a shitty excuse anyways.

you're not about to tell him that the reason you moved to texas was to give him the space he needed to be able to succeed in his career and for you to succeed in yours.

take me to florida

you're jolted awake by the force of the plane landing, if you can call the awkward limbo you were stuck in sleep. immediately, your stomach twists with anxiety. logan had offered to pick you up from the airport, but you refused.

"i'll just take an uber," you'd said. "i'm gonna want to relax a bit after the flight, y'know?"

his only trade-off? you met him for dinner. simple enough, right?

in theory.

now, standing in front of the full-length mirror in your hotel room, you debate between a floral sundress and a pair of denim shorts, a tank top, and a white button-up t-shirt with a colorful inkblot pattern.

you decide on the sundress.

fifteen minutes later, you're pushing earrings through your piercings, silver abstract shapes you'd bought on a trip to europe with your mother. you have to leave, but the situation you're in sucks. your hair won't sit right on your head, either being too frizzy from the humidity or losing any and all volume, and your makeup just doesn't seem like it'll last in the miami heat.

fuck it.

who are you dressing for, anyways?

logan's seen you at your absolute worst. he was the only one you let yourself cry in front of after your father died. he was the one that held you for what seemed like hours while you sobbed into his chest and he told you that none of it was your fault- that you never could have known that, when you hugged him before he left for the police station, told him you loved him, and slipped a note into his lunch box, the next time you would see him, he would be laying in a casket. he was the only one that could make you smile in the weeks following his funeral, dropping his entire schedule if you simply sent him a text that said "can you come over?"

the restaurant logan found isn't too far from your hotel, so you ultimately decide to walk. your walk is over before you're able to process that it even started and you're taking out your earbuds and putting them in your bag, taking out your phone instead to text logan.

i'm here.

i've got some regrets

were you always this breathtakingly beautiful?

logan's phone buzzes in his front pocket, but he knows it's you texting him. he doesn't even bother taking it out of his pocket before standing up from his seat at the bar and walking over to you, and when you see him, your smile almost makes his heart melt.

"hey," he says, and he hopes his voice doesn't waver from how nervous he is.

"hey. i missed you," you respond, dodging the hand he holds out and going in for a hug. "i've known you since middle school, logan, i'm not shaking your hand."

your arms around him and your body pressed against his almost makes logan short circuit. thankfully, he's able to regain control of his brain and hug you back, hopefully before you realize he isn't hugging you back.

when you pull back, the hug seeming way too brief for logan's preference, you're looking up and smiling with a sparkle in your eyes that makes him regret not making enough time for you. "thanks for bringing me out here."

"thanks for coming. do you want a drink?"

"sure. do you have a table yet?"

"i was waiting for you."

"in that case, lead the way." you gesture towards the restaurant, and logan shows you to a booth in the corner. soon enough, a waiter comes over to you and sets down two glasses of water and two menus.

"welcome in, y'all. do we need a bit of time to look at the menu or do we know what we want to get started?" his southern drawl is thick, and it reminds you of texas. but you're in florida now.

"i think we'll look at the menu for a minute, thanks," logan says, and the waiter nods and walks away. as you open the menu and begin looking, logan points out something you might like and you do the same for him. conversation begins to flow freely between you, and it reminds you of the times in high school when you would go out with friends.

eventually, you decide on a plate of nachos and logan gets a plate of wings. as you wait for your food, you catch up on everything: your move to texas, logan's racing career, your work volunteering with the austin philharmonic, his homesickness from living in england, and everything in between. you crack stupid jokes, share bites of food, and steal sips of each other's drinks.

it's like old times.

i'll bury them in florida

on wednesday, you and logan drive up to visit your father's headstone. it's difficult. it's only the third time you've visited him since he was buried three years ago. the first time you visited him was a year after he died. even a year later, you still carried so much anger and hatred towards the doctors and nurses that were operating on him, trying desperately to save his life after two bullets hit him- one in his leg, one in his torso.

he died on the table.

the second time was just a few months after, and you were still wearing your cap, gown, and stole from your graduation ceremony. by then, you had been able to forgive the doctors and had graduated in the top 10% of your class. four years of hell had finally rewarded you with a degree in instrumental performance and an internship at the south florida symphony orchestra.

now, the third time, you have a picnic blanket and lunch packed into the backseat of logan's car, the windows are rolled down, and your favorite playlist is shuffled on the aux. it's a beautiful day, too; it isn't too hot (even with the humidity,) there's a gentle breeze in the air, and clouds occasionally cover the sun. when logan pulls into the parking lot of the cemetery and you sling your tote bag full of food over your shoulder, your hands start shaking.

of course, logan notices.

his hand slides into your own, and you look up at him. his eyes meet yours and you smile. "thank you for coming with me," you say.

"of course. i didn't want you to have to do this alone."

you look back at the gate into the cemetery, the black bars menacingly sleek and very, very terrifying. you chew your lower lip in anxiety. "i don't know if i can do it, logan."

"i'm here with you. i know you. you're strong. you aren't the kind of person to let a gate scare you." you laugh lightly, looking down at the ground. the gravel of the parking lot, your scuffed, beat-up high top purple converse, and logan's nike dunks make up what you have to describe as a perfect picture. your phone is in your free hand before you know it, and you're lining up the shot. "still into photography, huh?"

"yep. i have some cameras in my suitcase at the hotel." when you pocket your phone and look back up at him, logan's heart melts. the shine in your eyes and the passion in your smile is enough to soften anyone's heart, but for him, as someone who's known you for years and has been there for you through thick and thin, it touches him in such a special way. "i'm hoping to get some good photos of the races. but enough delaying. let's go visit my dad."

the creak of the gates opening makes your ears bleed, and you laugh at how logan is making the exact same face as you in reaction to such a shrill sound. despite only having visited his headstone twice before, you remember exactly where in the cemetery it is and are able to find it within five minutes.

"hi, dad," you begin, your voice already wavering just the slightest and tears beginning to well in your eyes. logan's hand squeezes yours, though, and you're reminded that he's right there. he always will be. you take a deep breath and continue. "i miss you. we all do. i know i haven't visited you in a while, and i'm sorry about that. i really do have to come stop by every now and then. i moved to austin and have a volunteering gig with the austin philharmonic at almost every show and i have a job at a company that helps students with learning disabilities learn instruments. it's really fun." you pause to wipe the tears off of your cheeks, your nose beginning to drip. "sam is in his junior year of college, and he's majoring in engineering. he flew the coop, but he still comes home for the summers. he, uh, he actually got in to c.u. boulder, like he always talked about. that kid was always thinking about college, even in middle school.

"i'm actually here with logan, too, if you hadn't noticed. do you, uh, do you want to fill him in on what's going on with you, or should i keep going?"

"whatever you prefer."

"okay, i'm going to keep talking, because i think if i don't, i'm going to completely break down. logan finally signed with williams to drive on their formula 1 team last year, like i always said he would. i'm really proud of him and really regret not telling him that more, and now that i'm saying it out loud i'm promising both you and him that i'll tell him that more often. the race this weekend is actually here, in florida. miami, specifically. it's always a celebrity shit show that no one really wants to see, but it's the main opportunity for the celebrity sponsors to actually go to a race.

"what else has been going on? oh, mom is still a therapist. i can't tell you much about that because of hipaa, but she always comes home saying that she's glad that she could help someone. i'm gonna have dinner with her tomorrow night, and then i'm going back into miami to watch logan's practice sessions."

you pause your rambling, thinking about what there is to say next, but your thought is interrupted by your stomach grumbling. loud. you and logan laugh just as loudly, the sound echoing through the grass field and stone gravesites. "oh, yeah, that's another thing. we brought lunch. i also got you pink tulips, because i know they're your favorite." you delicately rest the bouquet on your father's headstone as you sit down, then pull out the different plastic containers filled with food you'd stolen from the williams hospitality. "you'd be proud of me, dad. i smuggled this entire picnic out of the wiliams motorhome without a hiccup. robin hood style."

logan laughs, and you turn to him. he's mirrored your position, sitting cross-legged on the grass. "apple?"

"nah, i'm gonna start with my sandwich. i did grab you some of the salt and vinegar chips i know you like."

the look logan gives you can only be described as pure adoration. "you," he says, pointing a finger at you in an incredibly sassy manner, "are an absolute goddess."

"i know," you respond cheekily, tossing some hair over your shoulder.

the banter between the two of you continues through your picnic, laughter and smiles erasing the dried tracks of tears on your cheeks and on logan's. you're almost able to forget where you are.

tell me i'm despicable

almost two hours later, the two of you are laying in a nearby park underneath a tree, peacefully observing the clouds that pass overhead and talking even more about any topic that comes to your mind. the question that's been gnawing at you since your plane landed in miami eventually bubbles to the surface, and it tumbles past your lips before you can stop it.

"did you ever wonder why i moved to texas?" you look to your left where logan rests, but he keeps looking up at the sky. you mirror him.

"i always assumed it was just because you needed a change of scenery. after everything that happened and your music career taking off, it would make sense that you would relocate to somewhere better suited for you."

"that's the thing, though. if i'm being entirely honest with you, lo, i hate texas. i hate the whole state. i hate how hot it is all the time without even being humid, i hate not being able to go to the beach. i hate how dry it is. i hate how flat it is. i hate the monotony of it. i hate not being here."

logan hesitates for a moment before speaking, and it's the longest moment you've ever experienced. "why did you move to austin, then?"

when he looks over at you, you're chewing your lower lip. it's a nervous tic, logan's noticed. he's not even sure if you know you do it. "honestly? i thought you moved on from our friendship. i thought everything with f1 suddenly got so big and important and famous that maybe i wasn't... enough? i thought that being a police officer's daughter from the same town as you that was studying to teach people how to understand and play music maybe just wasn't cool enough to be friends with a world-renowned formula 1 driver."

logan's heart almost shatters when he hears the weakness in your voice. you sound so broken and so alone. he knew that, when you lost your father, you isolated yourself from a lot of people, even your best friend from high school and through your first year of college. he was the only person outside of your immediate family that you spent a decent amount of time with, but when he was admitted to the driver's academy he had to move to england. he abandoned you.

"i didn't. i never forgot about you. sometimes i still look through the photos we have together because i miss you that much."

you sit up, tears pricking your eyes for the second time that day. "really?"

"yeah. maybe once a week?"

when you look down at logan, you're suddenly starstruck. you can't help but notice all of his little features that you wouldn't see if you didn't know to look for them. his freckles that are so light you'd have to squint to see them if you didn't know them like the back of your hand. the mole on his chin that he'd always been self-conscious about but you've always seen it as beautiful. the lines from where his eyes crinkle when he smiles. the annoyingly perfect flop of his hair that he's styled almost the exact same way since you started high school together. an urge you haven't felt in years suddenly bubbles, white-hot in the pit of your stomach, and it's boiling over before you can stop it. your eyes are closed and your lips are on his. finally. after years of wanting, of stares that lasted just a bit too long to be just friendly, of flushed faces and nervous excuses, you're finally kissing him.

but he's not kissing you back.

you pull back immediately, panicked that you read something wrong. you turn away, hiding your face in your hands out of shame. "shit, logan, i'm so sorry. i thought-"

"kiss me again." logan sits up, and when you turn around, the look he's giving you can only be described as completely and entirely fucked. you don't question his statement, just lean forward, placing your lips on his, and letting yourself melt. he moans softly into the kiss, his right arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you impossibly closer. when you pull away and open your eyes, your breath catches in your throat. he looks beautiful. his eyes remain closed, but when they flutter open, you see colors in them that you've never seen before. sure, you've always seen the darker rim of blue that outlines his irises, but now that you're so close to him, you can see the flecks of green and grey in them. it's the most stunning thing you've ever seen.

eventually, you break the silence between the two of you. "i've wanted to kiss you for so long," you whisper, so quiet you're not sure logan heard it.

but he did.

"me, too," he says, and after a beat of silence between you two, you both burst out laughing. the laugh he hears from you is the pure, bright laugh that logan's missed so dearly, the laugh that you only really let him hear. the laugh that has tears in your eyes and makes you snort because you're laughing so hard you can't even breathe properly.

eventually, when you're able to calm down, your head resting on logan's shoulder, your hand holding his, you're able to process what just happened. you just hope logan is processing it, too.

"we just kissed."

"yes. we did."

"how long have you held out on me?"

"since christmas of sophomore year. when you made me the chevron bracelet with my favorite colors."

you laugh, then lift your head to look at him. "i fell for you in october of that year. when you convinced your mom to drive two and a half hours for the marching band state finals. just so you could be there with me."

"god, we're idiots," logan laughs. you can't help but lean forward and press another kiss to his lips, lingering there and just breathing him in.

existing.

say it's unforgivable

the next two days fly by. thursday, you spend the day with your mother. she asks all sorts of questions as if she doesn't know the answers, and you answer each one with a smile on your face. when she asks about logan, you smile sheepishly. she figures out what the smile means.

"took you two long enough."

normally you'd still be in bed at 9:30 am on a friday, but today, you walk into the miami paddock clutching logan's hand for dear life. your neon green pass hangs from your neck, a white williams cap atop your head. you can't help but feel out of place, but someone calls logan's name and you both turn. your stomach drops when you see who's called his name. his hair is styled similarly to logan's, and he sports a papaya polo.

you'd know him anywhere. it's oscar piastri.

you're standing there a bit awkwardly as logan greets his friend, but your heart stops when oscar turns to you. "oscar, this is my girlfriend." he introduces you by your name to the mclaren driver and you wipe your hands on your denim shorts before shaking his hand firmly, exchanging "nice to meet you"s. the three of you chat for a few minutes before oscar is summoned by his pr manager.

"girlfriend, huh?" you look up at logan with a smile on your face, lacing his fingers with yours.

"i didn't mean to overstep, but i kind of assumed that's what this is now. is it?" he looks a bit nervous asking that, and if you thought your love for him couldn't grow any more, you thought wrong.

"that's absolutely what we are, lo. you're my boyfriend. i'm your girlfriend." you can tell just how hard logan's trying to not let the smile on his face show just how happy he is to hear you say that, and you stand on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips briefly. "you have a prep meeting to get to, don't you?"

"i do. come with me, though. i need to introduce you to alex and lily. she can show you around."

"sounds like a plan. i need to learn how to do all of..." you gesture around you, the white tents and media carts all seeming suddenly too intimidating. "...this."

logan laughs, placing a hand on the small of your back to guide you towards the williams hospitality. when you're next to him, though, despite the cameras around you and your proximity to some of the world's biggest stars, you feel safe and protected.

after meeting logan's teammate and the thai driver's girlfriend, who you quickly realize is one of the sweetest people you've ever had the pleasure of meeting, you're shown around the williams hospitality and, eventually, the paddock. lily introduces you to the other drivers' wives and girlfriends that have made it to the weekend, and when you hear a certain last name, your ears perk up.

"martinez? is she latina?"

"yeah," kika, pierre's girlfriend, says. "she's checo's wife. i'm pretty sure she's in the red bull hospitality right now, though."

"ah, speak of the devil," lily says. you see carola walking up to the five of you, alexandra ("please, honey, call me alex," she'd said, bringing you in for a kiss on your cheek,) having walked away to get a drink and escape into the sweet air conditioning. "carola, there's a new couple on the paddock."

"you're kidding," the latina answers, her accent apparent. "who?"

"logan found himself a girlfriend. allow me to introduce her." lily turns to you and introduces you by your full name, last name and all. it seems that carola has a similar reaction to your last name as you did to hers, and her head tilts to the side.

"ya no eres la única mexicana aquí," you say, and her eyebrows raise. (you aren't the only mexican here anymore.)

"hablas español, también?" (you speak spanish, too?) when you nod, her smile brightens. "hay, chica, creo que nosotras dos nos vamos a llevar muy bien." (oh, girl, i think we're going to get along very well.)

on saturday, you find yourself back in the williams motorhome, except this time, you wear a second badge, the neon green lanyard reading grid access in bold black lettering. like the day before, you clutch logan's hand for your own comfort until, much to your dismay, he's summoned for driver duties. you place a quick kiss on his cheek, and when you pull back, you aren't sure if the flush on his cheeks is from the affection or the miami heat. probably both.

"in case i don't see you before sprint. for luck."

"oh, you'll be in the garage. that's what this pass is for," logan says, holding your second badge in front of your face. "lily will show you where to go. i'll take a kiss anyways, though." you smile, stand on your toes, and kiss him, pulling back before he can wrap an arm around your waist. (that was a trick he very much enjoyed, as you'd learned the night before. there was something in him that needed you as close to him as possible, and it covered every nerve ending in your body in liquid fire.)

"off you go. you need to get race ready. i'll see you before you go out on the grid. don't worry." you gently shove him away with a smile, and you'd stare at him longer if your ankles weren't suddenly being attacked. you look down and squeal. "hi, leo! did your dad let you run free?" you squat down and scratch the mini daschund behind his disproportionally large ears, and he barks excitedly.

someone curses in french to your right, and you look up from the little golden ball of energy to see none other than charles leclerc frantically searching around. leo barks again, and the monégasque whips around, then locks eyes on you first, then his dog.

"merde, leo. you have too much energy for it being this early in the morning," he laughs as he walks over to you.

"i apologize, it appears i've unintentionally kidnapped your dog." you stand, and leo jumps at your calves again.

"ah, no harm, no foul," charles replies, picking up his dog and holding him close to his chest. "i will say, though, you look strangely familiar. have we met? my name is charles."

"we have not." you extend your hand and offer your name, and, when charles' eyebrows furrow and his head tilts in confusion, you realize that means nothing to him. "i'm logan's girlfriend."

"ah! yes, of course! he has a photo of the two of you at your high school graduation in his wallet. that's where i knew you from. well, it's nice to meet you!" that was news to you. logan has a picture of you in his wallet? either way, you just casually met one of the most famous people in the world like it was a standard tuesday.

if this is what i signed up for by being logan's girlfriend, then it is absolutely wild.

you're able to catch another good luck kiss with logan as he's almost fully suited up, and fuck, does he look good. his fireproof suit hangs low on his hips, the arms tied together in front of him. dark blue is a good color on him, and his facial hair is grown out in just the slightest. you can't lie, he looks hot as hell.

you cross your legs in an attempt to curb the heat that creeps down your tummy and between them. it doesn't work.

you amend it that night in logan's hotel room following his p10 in the sprint.

on sunday, you try to avoid thinking about the night before as you follow the same routine as the two days before- arriving early in the day, checking in at the williams motorhome, and then killing time until the driver's parade at 2:00 PM. you spend time with your new group of friends, spending the three remaining hours before the parade in the paddock club. rebecca, carlos' girlfriend, snickers at your shocked face when you see some of your idols and favorite celebrities casually walking around, gladly taking some photos for you as you're practically buzzing with excitement.

after the driver's parade, it's a whirlwind. you're swept back into the williams garage and find logan's driver's room relatively easily thanks to the help of some of the engineers and mechanics, but one of them stops you before you can venture too far into the depths of the hallways.

"could you tell him we have the pre-race strategy meeting in twenty minutes?"

"yeah, for sure." as you approach logan's door, you have to bite down on your lower lip to stifle the grin that wants to split your face. you knock on his door, and when he opens it, you know something's wrong. "lo, are you okay?" his eyes are red and his hand shakes on the doorknob. instead of a verbal response, he just opens the door a bit further to let you in, and, as soon as it shuts behind you, he sobs, and your heart shatters.

"i'm so scared. i'm so scared that something's going to happen and i'm going to let all of these people down and-" you gather him into your arms and he cries into the crook of your neck, your williams crewneck shirt now damp with his tears. you couldn't care less.

"you're going to do amazing, logie. i know you will." with your arms wrapped around him, it's almost like a weighted blanket of safety has encompassed him, and his sobs slow, his breaths growing deeper and more even. you continue murmuring words of confidence into his shoulder, and not a single word you say is empty.

"hey. look at me." you lean back and gently cup his cheek with your right palm, and when his eyes meet yours, you know that he needed to cry that one out. "do you feel a little bit better?" logan nods, tilting his head ever so slightly to kiss your palm, his own hand coming up to rest over yours. it's a cute, sappy, stupidly romantic moment that you from three weeks ago would've probably thought was the grossest thing known to mankind, but you can't help but bask in the moment. "is there anything i can do to help you feel better right now?" your voice is a soothing balm over logan's agitated nerves, and he slowly untangles himself from you and guides you over to the couch that's against the back wall, where he sits down and you curl up to his left side.

"can you just... talk? about anything?"

"are you seriously asking if me, the person with the most rampant adhd you've ever met, can talk about something? yes, logan, i absolutely can. what to talk about, though?"

as you talk, deciding to info dump about your favorite classical music piece, logan can't help but watch it unfold. he doesn't know jack shit about music theory, but listening to you ramble about something you're passionate about brings him so much peace. you're disturbed about fifteen minutes later by a knock at the door, promptly followed by a disembodied voice telling logan that it was time for the strategy meeting.

"aw, shit," he says, leaning his head back and rubbing at his eyes. "i have that to go to now."

"yeah, sorry. i was supposed to tell you about that but we had a bigger problem on our hands." your voice is sheepish now that your info dump has been cut short, but logan leans over to you and kisses you, soft and slow, just like the first time he kissed you properly in the park. when he pulls away, he looks so much calmer than he was twenty minutes before. "is there anything else i can do?"

"go have some fun in the paddock. and please drink some water." you roll your eyes and stand, bringing him in for another hug before you slip out of the door.

almost two hours later, you're back in the williams garage with a guest headset over your ears. your stomach twists with nerves as the national anthem concludes. lily's hand is clasped with yours.

"the first lap is the worst. after that, you lose a lot of the anxiety," she assures you, noticing how you chew your lower lip.

"thanks." you pause for a moment, contemplating another question. "does it ever get easier? seeing how they go out there and drive like absolute maniacs for fun?"

"it does. it took me a couple of months, but after alex showed me all of the safety features in the car and in his fireproofs, it definitely helped."

it's the moment you've been dreading.

one red light.

two.

three.

four.

five.

and then none.

the engines roar and the race has begun. lily didn't lie to you- the first lap is excruciatingly long, but when everyone's completed their first loop around the circuit, you let yourself breathe. your eyes are trained on the screen above you, and the laps are flying by so quickly that you barely process that the race is nearly halfway over.

but then logan's car is in the wall. fuck.

as you watch the replay of his crash, you can feel white-hot rage burning in your body. after the race stewards only declare a ten-second penalty and two super license points, though, you're fuming. "two penalty points and a ten-second penalty? magnussen caused logan's race to end, and they just let him go? they just forgive him and move on? how can he get away with that? this is bullshit!"

what a crash, what a rush

the first person logan looks for when he walks back into the williams garage, his visor still low over his eyes in shame, is you. when you see him walking towards the room where you and lily watch the race, you tear the headset off of your ears and run to him. the feeling of his arms wrapping around your shoulders and hearing his heartbeat even through your musician's earplugs soothes your agitated nerves. he's okay. he's alive. he isn't hurt. "thank fuck you're okay," you say, even though he definitely can't hear you through his helmet and over the roar of passing engines. when you pull away, you press a kiss to his knuckles and hope he understands how much love you're trying to convey through such a small gesture.

fuck me up, florida!

one of logan's best friends on the grid is oscar. oscar's teammate got his maiden win after almost five years of waiting in miami.

like any sensible person, you celebrate with him.

you have no idea what the name of the club is, much less how many drinks you've had so far, but what you do know is that lando has commandeered the dj station and logan is pressed against your back, his hands resting on your hips. the air is hot and thick, your heartbeat pounds in your head. the opening notes of bad bunny's tití me preguntó begin playing through the massive speakers, and you shoot a glare up to lando that he doesn't see, his focus instead on the equipment in front of him. when the bass hits, though, you let all apprehensiveness go and your genetics take the reins. your hips sway and swing to the beat, your hands wander up and down your torso, and logan simply follows your lead. it takes you a moment to realize that, if you want to get a rise out of him, you're going to have to spin around and face him.

with your hips swaying against his and how unbearably beautiful you look in the dim light, your skin glowing with sweat and your hair up in a high ponytail, logan can't help but lean down and kiss you when you finally turn around. you reciprocate gladly, your right leg slotting between both of his, and...

oh.

he's hard.

you pull away slightly, barely an inch between your lips. "slow your roll there, tiger."

"i don't want to." fire zips down your spine at the sound of his voice, low and breathy and so, so desperate. "need to fuck you."

"should we get outta here, then?"

"i thought you'd never ask." you smile and kiss him quickly, then take his hand and weave your way through the crowded dance floor. as the miami night air hits your face, you immediately feel cooler. you sigh, taking a moment to breathe and regulate your heart rate and body temperature, but you can't breathe for that long before logan wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you back against him and kissing your neck. you laugh, running your hands along his forearms.

"logan, not here. the hotel is two blocks away."

"i can't help it, baby, you just look so pretty," he hums, kissing the back of your neck once more before pulling away and stepping around to face you. "you look so pretty, and you're mine."

his possessiveness of you makes more heat zip down your spine, and you almost drool at how he's looking at you. his eyes, normally a beautiful mix between the blues of the sky and sea, ar"e almost completely dark, only a small sliver of his irises remaining, and the muscles in his jaw tick. "hotel. now."

by the time you reach the door to logan's hotel room, you're both out of breath from how hard he kissed you in the elevator and the arousal and need between your legs won't be stopped unless he replaces it. you stumble through the door and try to kiss logan again, matching the vigor he showed you in the elevator, but he stops you. "wanna take my time with you tonight."

"yeah?" you raise an eyebrow and inspect his face. the blinds are open but no lights are on, so all you can see is the side of his face that's illuminated by the lights from the streets of miami. it's an unusually beautiful sight.

"yeah. nothing about what i'm about to do to you is going to be fast. i'm gonna make you feel good tonight. how's that sound?"

"that sounds amazing, logan." you lean forward and kiss him gently, your lips slotting together as if you were made for each other. who knows, maybe you were. the next five minutes are a blur, but before you know it, you're laying back against the pillows on logan's bed and his face is buried between your thighs, his tongue working magic on your clit. the air in the hotel room is filled with your moans and the sounds of logan devouring you like a man starved, and it's the most beautiful mix of sounds you've ever heard. when he flicks his tongue oh-so-perfectly against your entrance, his nose brushing over your clit, you moan and pull his hair hard, which, in turn, makes him moan against you.

you aren't sure how much time passes or how many orgasms logan pulls from you with just his tongue and his fingers, but when you feel completely and entirely spent, your chest heaving and your hairline sparkling with tiny beads of sweat, you pull logan up to you by his shoulders, and he looks completely and entirely fucked. "need you inside of me," you mumble, wiping at the mix of spit and cum that coats the entire bottom half of his face with your thumbs. as if on instinct, you bring your hands to your mouth and lick them clean, and logan groans at the sight. "inside. now."

"as you wish, baby." logan's hands fumble at his boxers, the only item of clothing he was left wearing, and when he finally, finally pushes himself into you, you both moan. your hands scrabble at his shoulders and back, most definitely leaving red marks that will raise later, and his mouth latches onto your neck, biting down and then gently kissing over the red spot.

"nngh, lo-" your brain is short circuiting, logan's cock filling you up so perfectly and absolutely ruining you for any other man ever.

"yeah? you okay, baby?" he pulls back from your neck and scans your face for any sign of discomfort of pain, his sky blue eyes searching your own. the feeling of safety you get from just that one action is almost enough to make you sob from how good you feel because of him, both physically and emotionally.

"feels so good, lo. j'st... move, please."

"you sure? i don't wanna hurt you."

"positive. now please." you reach a hand up and pull him down towards you by the back of his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling hard. "fuck me properly." without wasting a second, logan reaches a hand down and hooks it under your left thigh, bringing your leg up to rest around his waist, then pulling back and thrusting back in fast. the moan that rips itself from your throat is sinful, and your breath is being punched from your lungs at the downright brutal pace logan's setting. your right leg finds itself locking around his waist, only bringing him infinitely closer, and now, each time he thrusts back into you, your clit bumps against his pelvis. within minutes, you're embarrassingly close to cumming again, and through your garbled mumbling and clawing at his shoulders, he understands, reaching his right hand down to gently press against your clit.

"cum for me, baby, please, need to feel you cum for me just one more time, just let go, i've got you." it's logan's voice that ultimately sends you pummelling over the edge into an orgasm that makes your back arch and your vision fuzz at the edges, and you cum with a cry of his name. his hips slow and his fingers maintain a steady rhythm on your clit, but you can tell it's taking its toll on him. "where- where do you want me to cum?"

"i'm on the pill, lo. inside, baby, please," you whine, and it takes two more thrusts before logan groans, his hips coming to a shuddering halt as he cums inside of you. it's a beautiful sight, too- his eyes scrunched closed and his eyebrows drawn together, his hair a complete mess from where your hands had pulled at it. your hands run through his hair and along his back, and you patiently wait as he comes back to earth.

"hi," he murmurs, opening his eyes and smiling down at you.

"hi," you respond.

no other words need to be said. you know you love him, and he knows he loves you.

and you're both okay with that.

this took me way longer to write than i thought it would, but i absolutely love it! reminder that my asks and requests are open, and i always get excited when i get feedback! take care of urselves lovies <3

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paintbrushnebula · 6 months ago

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Random Spider-Verse Headcanons for funnsicles?? OKAY

✨ 🪩 🏄

(emojis are funnee)

When Gwen found out she was assigned to visit E-1610 to catch the Spot, in the days leading up to the mission, she would go up to Miguel with a list of prepared phrases and sentences to ask him how to say them in Spanish. Her excuse was that they were quips for her to say in an upcoming fight with a Rhino variant that spoke Spanish. Miguel had no idea who Gwen was actually planning on saying them to, but he was pretty sure it wasn't to a villain, since they were all for seemingly friendly conversation. But he complied and taught her the phrases in Spanish. When she went to 1610 as seen in ATSV, Gwen never ended up saying any to Miles because was too embarrassed or scared that she'd get the pronunciation wrong. She left 1610 regretting not using them.

Both Miles 1610 and Miles 42 are very good cooks. They learned from their moms because it was a fun bonding activity to talk about their day and open up about their feelings. They haven't done much cooking with mom since they were 13; that was when 1610 was bitten and 42 began training to be the Prowler. Both Mileses are good, but 42 is the better cook because he usually tries to help his mom by making dinner when Rio has a long night shift.

Sometimes Peni will just walk up to Gwen and stretch her arms out, to signal that she wants Gwen to deadlift carry her by her pits like she's a cat. When Gwen does it, Peni just lets her head hang back and her body go limp like she's dead or smth. Gwen just holds her out like that and goes about her day like normal for half an hour.

Gwen ends up moving out at 18. She rents an apartment in SoHo, Manhattan along with Glory and Betty as her roommates. Gwen and Betty are absolute WILD CRATS when they have the house to themselves. Betty is the instigator and Gwen just shrugs and decides to be complicit in her shenanigans. I'm talking All-Star playing at full blast on the speakers, Betty pulling out the Guitar Hero 10 minutes in, and then they switch ALL the furniture and wallpapers and belongings of each other's rooms around just to mess with Glory. So it's like, the interior design of the room is identical to what it was before, but it's now in an entirely different room of the apartment. What's worse is they'll try to gaslight Glory into thinking that their rooms were always like that. It never works obviously, but Glory is that mature mom friend who just puts up with her friends' antics. So Glory just settles for that being her room now. But then Gwen and Betty do the switch-around AGAIN only once Glory is finally used to her new room. The whole experience is loads of fun but like...dude. Glory can't leave them alone for 2 hours. They all love when E Jay comes over, sure, but Em Jay has a habit of visiting unannounced to present day plans or activities without taking their schedules into account. (I haven't read the Spider-Gwen comics in full so this headcanon is just what I interpret from Spiderverse).

Miles somehow thinks he's 6 feet tall. He doesn't have a specific number, just that he's at least over 6 ft. This is coming from how he drew himself after his growth spurt in ATSV's opening to be almost as tall as Peter B and a head taller than Gwen which is clearly not the case XD. So he basically assumes that everyone else he knows is just really really tall, because all the adults as well as Hobie are like a head taller than him at LEAST.

Gwen pirates/uses emulators for all her video games

there's this thing that keeps happening where whenever someone unfamiliar with the Spider-Band learns that Gwen is dating someone within the group, they never guess that it's Miles. They assume it's Hobie first, then Pav, then they'll just keep guessing everyone. They will think it's Spider-Ham before they think it's Miles. It's not that they think lowly of Miles or anything. It's just that no one ever thinks that he'd be Gwen's type because well, he's just so...*gestures to all of Miles* normal. Like people just assume that Gwen would date someone equally as wild and out-of-this-world as her, like...well, everyone else in the Spider-band. Of course, no one realizes that Miles' normalcy relative to everyone else in Gwen's life is partly why he's Gwen's type.

Back in her dimension, Gwen did this thing where she'd go on long drawling walks through suburban neighborhoods at dusk, staring at the populated houses and the golden windows lit warmly by the life happening inside. Sometimes she'd say aloud to herself, "that'd be nice."

Jess gifts Gwen her motorcycle for her 18th birthday.

Gwen has a green thumb. Miles gifts Gwen plants and they'll come up with names for them together. They take naming their plants very seriously.

One of Hobie's favorite couple nicknames for Miles and Gwen is Bonnie and Clyde, respectively.

Gwen had a BIG Y/N phase when she was a preteen. She had long since left it behind, but In between the events of ITSV and ATSV, while George was out on a late night shift, Gwen for whatever reason followed a strong sudden urge and wrote a new Y/N in one sitting. She immediately deleted it when she was done before George came home, but what she hadn't realized was that she wrote it in his account instead of hers. One day George was clearing out his Recently Deleted, he noticed that draft that he knew wasn't his. He opened it, and what he read was literally just the plot of Baby Driver with Gwen inserted as the main character. He was completely lost on that street artist character Gwen had replaced the waitress with until he met Miles.

Betty is obsessed with legos. That's it.

There's also this running gag where someone will show up with a very specific problem or be in need of something that they highly doubt anyone there can help with. Betty will be in the corner and just chirp that she possesses the exact skill to solve the problem, but she'll go completely unnoticed every time. And like it's not that people are being condescending to her or mean, everyone's just. completely oblivious to the fact that Betty's a polymath

Betty keeps a collection of fortune cookie papers. Every morning when she wakes up, she chooses a different one from the collection and keeps it in her left shoe.

EDIT: that last Betty one is cringe idk what was I doing I'm sorry

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dishushu · 1 year ago

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˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ dating miles morales 42 (hc's)

pairing: miles morales!42 x reader

warning/s: creepy men, harassment(?), cursing, BAD spanish (im so sorry yall idk how to speak spanish😭😭)

it’s actually fluff no angst i swear (maybe a little..)

a/n: guys… i’ve fallen for miles morales 42 it’s an obsesssion i SWEARR and also does anyone think that miles reminds me of bruno mars music or is it me-?!-)/

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

okayokay

this boy is not open to heavy pda

like a small waist grab and a shoulder touch here and there

but he is SO touchy when you guys aren’t in public

like he will not keep his hands off of you

if his body isn’t touching you somehow

what is he doing then??

bro will NOT let you pay for ur own shit

like u already can afford it but miles is like

"nah imma pay for it, anything for mi amor"

literally if u buy something w ur own money

he would get pissed like

"if ur payin for ur own shit wtf am i gonna do w my money mi vida?"

it was one time btw and u secretly bought a shirt w ur savings

hes not jealous when other boys talk to u

cuz he be eyeing them from far and letting them know that he was yours

but like if they go too far like touching you in the wrong places and flirt w you

this man is ready to beat the FUCK outta someone

like one time

you were walking back home alone

some man just pinned you on the wall

"aint you a pretty thing?" the creepy man started to breathe down ur neck

u start to panic and like be on the verge of tears

but then u hear like a "whoosh" and the man is on the ground

like knocked out

it was the prowler, or your miles

"are you okay cariño?" his mask unfolds and he checks your body for any wounds

he vowed never to let you walk home alone after that day

he loves to give you cute nicknames

such as

"cariño" "corazón" "mi vida" "mi amor" gets you weak in the KNEES

his mom loves you so much

she would always drag you out of miles's touch and would talk to you for HOURS

you loved it and couldn't complain tbh

he is such a bruno mars fanatic (argue w the wall if u think im wrong)

like when u visit him, you open his door and always somehow Finesse by Bruno Mars or Versace on the floor is playing

(he dedicates those songs 2 u)

ever since his dad died

he never opened up and was closed in his own ball

but until he met you

sometimes he'd open your window in the middle of the night

and he would hug you tightly and you didn't say anything because

you know he's grieving and the only thing he needs right now

is your presence

do not steal, translate, and rewrite without permission.

(part 2?)

#fluff #angst #hearts4hobie #across the spider verse #miles morales 42 #miles morales 42 x reader #miles morales 42 hcs #headcanon #I LOVE HIM I SWEAR #astv #astv x reader #miles my beloved #miles fluff #ILY

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gadriezmannsgirl · 2 years ago

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Not Like Others -P.G (1)

I know I took a lot of posting this but I hope the wait was worth it... I'm starting my new semester at Uni and I'm really busy learning the units, doing homeworks and stuffs, I've taken a little bit of advantage to post and be active this week since the first week is always quieter, doing the welcome and those things, so here it is.

This may be a little boring but it is needed to understand what will happen and everything in the next chapters

Feedback is highly appreaciated, please! Let me know what you think!!

|Chapter II| |Chapter III|

Summary: When you get the chance of meeting Pablo Gavi, you don't seem to react as the rest of people would do and that attracts him to you

January 17th, 2023

“Here we are” Your dad, Armando Santos, spoke with a big smile “Welcome to Barcelona, Spain” He introduced as you only looked at the pretty much empty, airport

“Gorgeous” Gregorio, your two years older brother said in fake excitement as you chuckled a little, your dad turned around looking at him narrowing his eyes “The airport’s nice!”

“Déjate de hostias, hombre. No has visto la verdadera belleza” (Stop joking around, youngman. You haven’t seen the real beauty) Your dad said with a heavy Spanish accent, making your mom, Cristina Aguilar, raise her eyebrows

“Already into the mood? Good” You laughed once more

“Stop it, señorita” Your dad said getting over to tickle you but you walked backwards and pushed his hands down when some yellings grabbed yours and your family’s attention. There was a light group of girls, screaming with their phones up.

“Can’t we go back to Canada? People here looks a bit crazy”

“You’re Spanish too” Gregorio said as you pushed him lightly while laughing “They must be fangirls or something”

“Is some singer coming here?” You ask “Harry Styles? Taylor Swift? Ed Sheeran? Coldplay? Lasso? Myke Towers? Maluma?”

“None of those, right now”

“Actors?” You ask “If Tom Hiddleston is there, I’ll make a way in it too”

“You’re not making a way inside anything” Your mom said as you raise your hands up

“I’m joking” You started walking towards your luggage “Or am I?”

“Y/N!” You laughed lightly

“I will not” You say and after a few seconds yawned “Joder, I’m so tired” You whined “So jetlagged I just wanna sleep through my whole college degree and wake up to my graduation day” You felt Gregorio laugh openly

“Get the nice pics; touch that diploma and go to sleep again?” You nod excited with a smile on

“And the party, never forget the party” He ruffled your hair “¡Hey! Gotta look pretty after this whole stressing out thing”

“You always look pretty but I think that’s not how it works” Your mom laughed lightly, grabbing your three years old brother’s hand, Mauricio “, sorry to ruin that dream of yours” You groan lightly stomping your feet in the airport ground, the yells intensified

“Joder, ¿Pero qué carajos estará pasando ahí?” (Fuck, but what the hell is going on there?) Armando replied impressed with the yelling

“Mejor será que nos vayamos. Mauricio can cry at any given minute” (It’s the best if we leave) Cristina said guiding you to start walking

“Y/N” Your dad called you as you turned around to face him “Don’t you worry, I thought the same thing too when I was in Uni” He winks at you as you smile “But sadly after I graduated it, I wanted to go at it again. Those always are the good times” He said as you lifted your eyebrows up, not believing that.

How does stressing out and having no time to even shower sometimes is good times?

“What? I was a nerd, yes. But a cool one, I always got out on parties and at the same time got those one hundred on my grades? That’s one of a kind. How do you think I got your mom?” You laugh shaking your head as your mom pinched your dad making him laugh lightly “Let’s go, we gotta go home so we can take a good and well deserved nap before readjusting ourselves here” He said as you kept on walking

You just landed from Canada after a whole seven hours flight to your home, the place you were born in, your beautiful Barcelona. The same Barcelona you had to leave when you were barely four years old to move all the way to Canada because of your parent’s job and after fourteen years over there, after a whole life created, you were moving back where you started. You were moving back home.

A home where you didn’t knew a single thing of about, you didn’t know the Catalans streets but still you always loved seeing pictures of them on your parents photographic albums.

Good thing is that your parent’s never allowed you or your brother to forget your Hispanics roots, often while being on the house in Canada, speaking in Spanish or a really deep Spanglish where only the fourth of you could really understand it. You also know the basics of Catalan and you are able to maintain a conversation if the person talking to you is speaking really slowly and/or doesn’t have any problems of repeating itself a few times but you indeed could speak Catalan.

The fact you had to learn and adjust to this place made you both excited and nervous, Barcelona was big and you could easily get lost in the city, plus the fact you didn’t know anyone else here besides your family from your dad’s side was terrifying you. And you to get to know your Uni, making friends, lots of learning were about to come and you were about to come out of your body, feeling like collapsing from just the thought of it.

“How do we have a car here?” Gregorio asked

“Maybe because you have grandparents here?” You heard the so known voice of your grandmother, Estella

“Lila!” You yelled out with happiness on your voice going over to hug the not-so-old but not-so-young lady, excited as she welcomed you in her tight and warm grip

“How was the flight?” She asked after hugging and inspecting you whole from top to bottom

“Tiring” You said “At least I spend it good, slept a bit and read this new book I got, unlike Grego, who had a kid behind him and apparently was kicking him”

“That freaking bastard” He cursed under his breath as you laugh lightly “I really wanted to punch the kid”

“Watch that mouth, youngman. Violence is never good and only brings you more problems” El abuelo, Enrique spoke nodding a few times as he spoke with a smile on, he opened his arms for Gregorio to get in his hold “You’re almost as tall as me”

“That’s not much, dad” Your dad smiled causing you to laugh as the abuelo lifted his eyebrows at him

“We’re gonna talk about this at home” The abuelo said before laughing and bringing your dad into a hug

“Cristina, you’re looking fantastic”

“I can say the same thing for you, Estella” Your mom hugged your grandma, as your felt a tug on your hand, you looked down and saw your little brother, Mauricio pushing his arms out for you and you picked him up placing him in your hip.

He was looking behind him and a few times, you had to readjust your hold on him since he was being moody and moving around a lot

“Mau, para” You said looking at him and catched him looking behind himself, you looked towards he was looking and met the eyes of a boy, who was with other guys and who must be around your age, with brown hair, big eyes and his face was in a frown. You couldn’t see him properly because as soon as you looked over to him, he turned his gaze away.

And Mauricio who pulled at your necklace brought your attention, completely forgetting about the guy. “Así no, Mau; me lastimas. Be careful” (Not like that, Mau; you’re hurting me) You said bouncing the boy as he giggled and that catched your grandma’s attention

“This is the little one!” She exclaimed looking over to Mauricio who buried his head into your neck shy “I’m abuelita, mi amor!” She smiled getting closer to you as you encouraged the young one to look at the lady and once he did, he was laughing in her arms.

Your dad and granddad seemed to forget about the fact they were on an airport entrance as they chatted for a few minutes, you felt someone looking at you and turned around watching this time, two guys along the same one from earlier looking at you, you brushed them off and looked towards your mom.

Weird.

Spanish people so far, were really weird. Yourself, included.

“Someone already have admirers?” She had noticed as you smiled

“You wish” You shake your head and suppressed a yawn

“Let’s go home?” She noticed as you smiled thanking her “We can keep the chat at home, met you there?” The olderly couple nodded and you saw your abuelo give your dad some keys.

“House and car” He pronounced each one as your dad smiled

“Thanks, dad. We’ll see you there” And with that they left to their car as your dad went to what it seemed to be, now, his car.

“Ready for our new chapter in Barcelona?” Your dad asks as both your hermano and you

You were opposed by the idea of leaving what it seemed your place for forever, your old house, your streets, your friends, your team, your whole life behind, but soon, realized you only left it behind if you allow yourself to forget it and you weren’t going to. And they weren't going to forget you either. Eventually you made peace with the fact of this new and big change for you, even if you weren’t so fond of changes and saw the good side of it and finally could see yourself settling into your real place. In your Barcelona.

So, as your dad asked, you looked at your brother and he looked back at you, smiling, you nodded at each other.

“We’re Ready”

°°° °°° °°° °°°

Taglist: @gaviypedrisbride @stuckinaf4nfiction @elijahslover @azzpenswrld

I'm planning to do a taglist for Not Like Others, if you want to be there, comment a little "NLO taglist, please" and I will know that you wanna be included in it and you will be. Like I said in the beggining, I truly hope you guys like it, please let me know what you think. Feedback is really important to me because it lets me know you like my works, it helps me with writing and makes me feel nice knowing all the effort I put in these little stories is worth it. With this being said, I read you guys, take care!

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mysticficti0n · 1 year ago

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All my attention Part 5

warnings- swearing, drinking, protectiveness, so much flirting

words- 4k

If you'd like to read the previous parts → All my attention series

a/n- so if you're new here I am British and cannot speak any German, I speak a little French, Spanish and Italian but German- no. I also do not trust Google translate so this is gonna be like an avatar thing (if you've seen the newest one Jake says that their language just became normal or something along those lines) so in reality this is all in German, you as a reader know German but, its wrote in English... make sense? no... well, sorry this part has taken a while-

(also would anyone want to be on a tallest?? plz put if you'd like to ♥︎)

┍━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━┑

backstory- you are the 5th member of Tokio Hotel and you always thought the love was equally platonic between you and a certain guitarist... but what if that all changed?

I stood in my room ferreting through my clothes to find something to wear for the interview which was coming a lot faster than I thought, I decided on a army green booty skirt with a cream belt, a white tank top, gold jewellery and my hair tied back in a bun, my make up was pretty usual besides my red lips lined in black but I mean if I can pull it off- why not?

Hurriedly I grabbed my shoes, deciding on my chunky platforms and a purse holding lip gloss, lip liner, spray, my phone, a pen and keys. The boys and their families went home after breakfast around 10 meaning we could all spend time with our families for a few hours, the Kaulitz' left a little later as being our neighbours they didn't have much of a drive to get home. Gordon, the twins step dad agreed to driving us 3 to the studio while Georg drove him and Gustav as they lived near to each other

"Y/n sunshine! Tom is out side" my mom called from the bottom of the stairs

"okay!" I shouted back and came storming down the stairs, I saw my mom's eyes light up and a smile decorate her already beautiful face "like it?" I twirled

"You look wonderful! oh my- Martin get in here look at our daughter!" she called getting my dad in who was holding Stella "look!"

"Baba look pretty!" Stella grinned

"she does doesn't she, we'll be watching tonight sweetheart" with 3 quick kisses I ran out the house waving goodbye and Tom laughed as I stumbled down the step

"shut up look at the size of these I'm not exactly gain" I huffed steading myself, I looked up and saw the boy handing is arm which I gladly took to get down and jump the wall dividing our house

"we need your help- well I need your help, Bill wants your opinion on his fit but I don't know what to wear so I’m more important" Tom sighed, at the moment he was just in a wife beater and jorts, his dreads in a mess around his head "and- I need to show you something"

"well lets go then!" we hurried into the house and Bill was sipping a coke and smiled seeing me walk through

"Y/N YES LOOK AT YOU!" he snapped his fingers as I model stepped in, 'flipping' my hair and blowing a kiss "alright what about me?" he was in a black leather jacket, matching black skinny jeans, a Dimond skull belt and chains around his neck, hair on end (in a good way) and a deep smokey eye

"absolutely- I fucking love it!" he smiled getting all giddy "bad bitch vibes- or a good fuckable emo, either really" the boy blushed wrapping me in a hug

"okay go help useless over here now" I rolled my eyes and followed the other Kaulitz up the stairs to his room where clothes were dropped everywhere

"so... what happened?' I asked seeing him shrug "right well... these jeans- dark denim is a look then, where's your green and yellow cap?" I asked seeing him pull a draw open full of at least 50 hats

"what head thing?" he spoke opening the draw above "black?" I nodded opening his wardrobe and pulling a yellow and dark green print, white back shirt out (this is the fits)

"here, change" I spoke seeing him pull his vest off and quickly put the new shirt over, he was finally done fixing individual strands of hair in his ponytail and sprayed a dark smelling cologne on "okay that looks GOOD" I complemented seeing a smile form on his lips

"oh I can show you the thing now" he laughed walking into the hall and bring a small box back in "look I'm proposing!" he got onto his knee holding the said box

"oh Tom-" I played pretending to wipe my eyes "I do!" he shoved me away and opened the box revealing a small ring- gold and had our band logo engraved in it "holy shit! thats amazing!" I called pulling the ring out "do we all have one" the boy excitedly nodded pulling his hand up showing a bigger and chunkier version

"mom got them for us 5, they're so cool" I nodded admiring the metal around my finger "Bill's and Gustav's are in silver as they prefer it"

"god I love your mom" I sighed happily standing up and walking into the hall "THANK YOU SIMMY!" her laugh filled the hall followed by a 'no problem doll'

"KIDS COME ON WE NEED TO GO!" Gordons voice echoed from down stairs and in great style and slow steps me and Tom got into the car, in the backseat as Bill was first in "we have to hurry up its already 25 past" he grumbled starting the engine

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"Welcome to the red seats- Tokio Hotel!" our interviewer names Karter Male introduced, monsoon began playing in the background followed by many screams, Bill was pushed on first closely followed by the rest of us and as we all came into view the noise only got louder "ahah welcome!" we all smiled waving to the people

"hi!" we laughed, Bill was closest to the table followed by Tom, me Georg and Gustav who were relaxing back into the seats "thank you for having us" Bill began

"no its our pleasure, so would you like to introduce yourselves for the people who don't know you all?" we nodded and looked to our lead singer

"oh- I'm Bill Kaulitz, lead singer on Tokio Hotel"

"Hey, I'm Tom Kaulitz, his brother also older by ten minuets and I play electric guitar for Tokio Hotel"

"hello, I'm Y/n Y/l/n, the backing singer for Tokio Hotel" I herd a wolf whistle come from the audience causing me to giggle "thank you" but the boy to the left of me face dropped but I tried to ignore his mood

"evening, I'm Georg Listing and I play bass for Tokio Hotel"

"hi I'm Gustav schäfer and i play drums for Tokio Hotel" claps filled the room and the interviewer grinned

"so now we know you recently got back from doing a mini-tour sort of thing right?" murmurs of 'yes' and 'yeah' ran through us five until Bill started talking

"yesterday actually, we did our last show in the afternoon and all went back to Y/n's parents house for the night and seeing our families was a massive relief as we hadn't seen them in weeks"

"thats wonderful, well going back onto your small tour we herd in Tier that there was a new song? and its was sang by Y/n, can you tell us little about that?" Karter looked to me and I looked to the boys who gave me the nod

"of course, it's called 'Don't jump' and it has so much meaning and I mean nobody has all day to listen to me ramble but its from when I was in a very dark place due to privet things and instead of being sad 24/7 I made it into lyrics and I finally performed it in Tier, I think next shows when we play it Bill will sing as he's much better than I am" I laughed hearing the crow 'aw' at me "but yeah its a beautiful song- not to blow my own horn or anything" The interview carried on and the boys getting asked different thing then turned to the 'public questions'

"so we've had a few questions from your adoring fans who will be watching from home, this one is for all of you actually- from Hallie, 15, she said 'hello Tokio Hotel, my question is- are you all single or seeing people?' so?" I watched as Georg and Gustav nodded their heads saying 'yes we are' Tom and Bill also but then I remembered I hadn't come out publicly about my spilt yet

"yeah we all are" I spoke hearing a gasp but quickly brushed it off

"well erm... next question for Tom from Suzana 'Hey Tom, I was wondering if you have a type?'" the audience laughed as the guitarist became a little tense, scratching his neck

"well.. if you're pretty and have a nice smile I don't have a issue" girls in the crowd cheered and a blush covered his cheeks, I patted his shoulder to which he looked back to me pulling his lips taught as if to say 'what the fuck'

"right, our next questions will be from the audience!, so let's start" we watched a runner hop up the stairs to a smiling blonde girl who was wearing a tour shirt

"Hi! I'm Rebecca and I have a question for Gustav!" we watched as the boys eyes lit up and a smile spread on his face "I was wondering what your favourite song- out side of the band- is to play?" that was surprisingly quite a nice question

"oh erm... I like quite rock sorta music so probably Nirvana?" she thanked him and blew a kiss to which his cheeks only got redder, the runner went to another girl, smaller and younger looking with brown piggytails

"hello... I'm Francine and I have a question for Y/n" my eyes softened seeing her nervousness

"lets hear it!" I grinned

"I- I was wondering whats your favourite colour and why? because I think you look beautiful in green and purple!" she giggled making me pout at her sweetness, Tom was smiling at me as I held my heart

"aw thank you Francine thats so nice of you, I'd say my favourite colour is... baby yellow though I never wear it, my mom calls me sunshine and that colour reminds me of her" the girl said her thanks and the questions continued

"so this will be our last question for Tokio Hotel tonight as our show is near an end!" Karter spoke pointing to the camera and it spun to the last fan

"hey guys! I love you all so much by the way- but my question is for Tom and Y/n" me and the boy looked to each other then back to the brunette "I'm guessing you've seen the ships between you on social media?" being the only girl in a group of 4 boys sometimes came with it's downsides, those being 'shipped' with all of them and people making up rumours "the most common being that you two secretly love each other, well I was wondering if any part of that was true?" I let my laugh slip but Tom's brows furrowed

"yes I do love Y/n, she's one of the most important people in my life of course but the way people make us out is completely wrong- she's like a sister I mean she may as well be related to me and Bill we've know each other since we were what born?" I nodded listening to his words but I couldn't help but know that everything the fans imagined wasn't completely wrong.. and he knew that too

"yeah like he said we love each other but its platonic!" I added seeing the crowd sigh at the disappointment

"you'd make a good couple though" Karter added "you'd be the hottest new thing since people like Ashton Kutcher and Demi Moore" I rolled my eyes at the words but Tom seemed to like the idea and shoved me with his elbow "thats all we have time for folks, thank you Tokio Hotel for being here tonight! bye!" we all waved and the crowd applauded, the lights dimmed meaning we all had to go backstage.

"he's gonna come back here in a second to have photos with you guys so if you'd like to wait in the dressing room please feel free!" a runner smiled looking to us pointing up the hall, we all walked into the air conditioned room and fell onto the matching red sofas from set

"that was I think the most comfortable interview we've ever done" I spoke scratching my head, fixing my hair. Tom scoffed folding his arms "what? don't you guys agree?"

"I think he was playing favourites all the way through" Bill spoke opening a water "but yeah it was fine"

"I agree" Georg added, I personally didn't know what their issue was but I mean they are edgy, angry teen boys anything ticked them off. we sat in silence until the door opened with Karter smiling widely at the five of us

"Ah Tokio Hotel- thank you for tonight it went beautifully! shall we take some photos?" he asked fixing his suit jacket as we all stood "perfect, follow me" he instructed going out the door, Bill grabbed the door before It slammed into us all and held it open nodding his head allowing me first to which I whispered a quick thank you and slipped through following the man "okay so erm.. shall we have twins next to me, then Y/n on this side with Gustav and Georg" we all lined up in front of the photographer who was bending with a camera

"3...2..1" he spoke clicking the button and a flash blared our eyes "grate, we'll get a few more" he spoke fixing his position

"so what did you think of the interview guys?" Karter asked looking to his side "fun?" his hand which was now on the small of my back jolted slightly

"ah yeah it was nice we were just saying" I answered as the boys stayed silent "the people who asked the questions were so sweet" the photos continued and so did his hand, slowly his hand went my hip, thigh and then as he moved it to my ass I pulled away "were not doing that" I quickly spoke pulling my own hand away from being behind him

"sorry- its very inviting!" his eyes narrowed looking down and back up to me

"we're fucking done-" Bill started walking out the room and going to the exit door followed by Georg and Gustav as he shouted curses

"Y/n come on" Tom grabbed my arm shoving the man out the way "she's fucking 17 you prick" I didn't get a look at the man after that before Tom was yanking me through the doors out the building to the car where his step-dad was stood "were going straight home"

"Bill went with the lads" Gordon pointed as Georg's car pulled from the space with a roar of the engine "come on we need to be quick the meal is in like an hour and a half"

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"hey darlings how was the interview?" Simone asked as we went into the Kaulitz' house "it looked good"

"we're never going on that show again" Tom murmured walking to the kitchen and grabbing a drink from the fridge "fucking looking Y/n up and down like she was someone to hook up with"

"what!" Simone started looking to me "are you okay sweetheart?" I nodded my head realising what Tom said

"anyways I need to shower" the twin grumbled walking up the stairs "Y/n I need you first" he shouted back down the stairs

"oh okay- sorry Simmy I'll be back" she smiled turning back to the tv as I made my way up the stairs to the boys room where I could here him shuffling about saying things to himself "Tom?" I walked in to see him standing at his mirror top off and belt half way undone

"shut the door" I did as he said looking at him oddly, I turned and shut the door behind my self and looked back to him "you didn't see what he was doing that whole interview did you?" I shook my head no "right well we all did, he was trying to see up your skirt- stared right at your tits, lips, eyes, legs- everything" I felt a lump in my throat as his brown eyes became darker looking at me "and no man can do that to you-" I nodded stepping over to him and wrapping my arms around him hiding my face in his color bone

"well though I fucking hate that- I'm okay don't get worked up okay? this sounds so cringy but he can't touch me like that ever again either because I'll brake his wrist" Tom looked down to me with a small smile spreading along his lips as he played with his lip piercing

"yeah nobody can ever fucking touch you there" I rolled my eyes seeing his eyes go serious in a jokey way "unless its me of course"

"oh yeah- of course, anyways you need a shower and come my house after help me chose my outfit for tonight" he nodded hugging me back quickly before going to his shower leaving me to go back home

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I was sat in my bedroom flicking through my radio until I found a station playing a song I liked, Brittany Spears started playing, I started dancing around my room like I was her and nodding my head along to the lyrics of freak show 'Make it a Freakshow freakshow We can give 'em a Peepshow, peepshow Don't stop it let it flow Let your inhibitions go It's a crazy night Let's make a make a freakshow'

"Y/n!" I scream left my mouth as I turned to see Tom stood in my door frame laughing "what the fuck are you doing?"

"can you knock! I think I shit myself" he pulled his fist to the door and knocked with a cocky smile "haha" I spoke sarcastically, soon he fully walked into the room and my jaw did nearly fall to the floor, he was in black suit bottoms and a white button up blouse, rings around his fingers and his necklace on show, dreads in a messy bun

"wow! you look good! pulling out all the stops Thomas" I complemented seeing him become a little shy "genuinely you look amazing"

"thanks, I mean were going to the Stadtpfeiffer restaurant so I wanna look good" he popped his chest looking at himself in the mirror "what are you wearing?" he asked looking at me as I stood in joggers and a tank top

"a dress but can't decide which, wanna chose?" I'd never seen him walk quicker in my life, the doors flew open revealing all my 'fancier' clothes and his hands moved quickly through the hangers, until he pulled a red dress with a black rose lace pattern on top "really? don't think this might be a bit scandalous for a family dinner?" Tom smirked placing the dress onto the chair and turned back to the wardrobe "wait- no don't open tha-" I watched as his hand reached for the draw full of my 'sexy' clothes

"fucking hell Y/n how many thongs do you need?" he laughed looking back at me, he dug through them until he pulled a red lacy Victoria secret pantie out and threw it at me "here, wear that underneath" with a sigh I went to the bathroom and slipped into the clothes, I stared into the mirror and regretted ever letting him chose my outfit "let me see!" he called from the other room

"okay-" I walked into my bedroom and his eyes widened, lip tucked between his teeth and his hands dug harder into the bed "like?" I asked twirling

"like is a understatement" Tom hummed "god you look so hot right now- I literally don't have words" a small blush painted my cheeks as I stepped into my full body mirror, I turned to check my reflection but all I could see was the guitarist staring in awe

"my eyes are here" I laughed seeing him nod "okay well make up and hair now" the boy seemed to be confused "what?"

"you don't have make up on?" I shook my head turning to him "so you are just naturally gorgeous? fuck" I rolled my eyes sitting on the chair where the dress once lay, I pulled my make up draw open and picked out my foundation and began the process I came to love over the tour, dark eyes and a dark red lip , next my hair I decided to have it straight down and hair-sprayed it into place

"okay I'm done!' Tom looked up from the magazine he found himself flicking through and a smile spread across his face "too much?" I asked seeing his head shake "sure?"

"you look perfect Y/n" I grinned standing and going over to the wall wear my jewellery hung grabbing a necklace and a few rings and bracelets "you need shoes" Tom quipped abruptly going into the box under my bed full of misilanious shoes, he rummaged through for a while before pulling out my chunky Mary Janes I sat back on the sheets of my bed waiting for him to hand over the shoes but he stayed down, grabbing my ankle and slowly slipped the shoe onto my foot "Tell me when the shoes tight enough alright?" I nodded seeing him thread the strap through and pulling it taught

"there" he quickly pressed the buckle through and moved to my right foot doing the same before kissing my bare knees "you are so cute Kaulitz" soon his hands reached mine and we stood together "thank you- I love it all"

"no problem"

The time ticked slowly as me and Tom waited for everyone to be ready as in fairness we were done quite quickly, I sat at the desk with my computer on, flicking through web pages while Tom was messing around with my ukulele that one day just appeared in my room. I scrolled down a page until I saw a subtitle of 'picture ideas' and I immediately knew what we'd be doing to pass the time, the first one was the girl holding the camera above the couple and the boy holding her- perfect

"come here were taking these photos" I called bring the boy back to me, he stood fixing his outfit and passing me my phone and standing with me "okay so you need to-"

"I can see what I've gotta do babe" Tom soothed into my ear, wrapping his arms around my waist and placing his forehead into the crook of my neck "take it" with a click of my button the photo snapped, and we did this about 50 more times, standing in the mirror, at the window, and my poster wall

"perfect" I smiled flicking through the pictures "we look so good" cheering I looked back to see Tom looking to me, eyes scanning my body and face "you okay?"

"fine, just can't stop staring" a blush tinted my cheeks, over the past few days the flirting gone from funny to romantic giving me new feelings of giddiness every time

"Tom your making me red" my cheeks were aching from the smile I couldn't hold back

"good"

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the clock struck 8:45pm meaning everyone getting in the cars to go to the Stadtpfeiffer, Bill had come back earlier and so the Kaulitz went in their car and I went with my family, me and Stella sat in the back dancing along to the music playing on the radio "what were you and Tom doing Sunshine? I could hear you laughing like you've just seen the funniest thing in the world!" I sighed with a smile to her words

"oh taking stupid photos together" but they weren't stupid- anything but, every time I looked at one my stomach felt ticklish and my chest heaved with a feeling I couldn't explain

"oh very nice, you'll have to show me" I laughed at her words mumbling a line of 'sure' after another 20 minuets we finally arrived and it look beautiful, the yellow haze lights illuminating the entrance and fancy jazz music filled our ears "oh my-"

After us the Kaulitz' arrived, the boys walked straight over to me laughing about something "evening" Bill nudged to me "I have something to tell you after by the way" I looked oddly at the boy who only smiled and followed his stepdad to my dad, I turned to Tom who shrugged

"you smell good" I commented smelling his cologne

"Paco Rabanne" he spoke lifting his arm to me so I could smell it better "oh and send me those photos will you, I need them" his voice became seductive making my knees weak and I all I did was hum in response "thank you angel"

“Stop it Thomas- we’re in public” I giggled seeing his eyebrows rise

“That’s only gonna make me worse” my heart stoped for a moment at his words- what’s did he mean by worse?

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darkmasterofcupcakes · 10 months ago

Note

You know, I'm pretty sure than due to knowing Lilith is Adam's female counterpart and how her own view of the reliability of a mom was shattered, Vaggie once insulted Lilith when Charlie exprimed angst about her mom being gone for years.

Also, I wouldn't be surprised if during the first week's-months of Angel Dust living in the Hotel in this AU, Vaggie used very foul derogatory language to talk of him by reflex whenever he angered her, to his face or when talking of him to Charlie, because while she was merciful of a child, I doubt she has any consideration for the adults sinners, and Lute's toxic influence rear its ugly head when she's pissed.

Vaggie does try to be supportive of Charlie during those time, and usually keeps quiet when they're together, but she does curse Lilith in private whenever Charlie lets it slip that she is hurt by the fact that her mom seems to have just vanished without a word, no matter how much Charlie tries to get a hold of her. Because even if obviously what Lilith is doing to Charlie isn't exactly like what Lute did to her, Vaggie still would compare the two and feel super angry on Charlie's behalf.

Oh, I definitely feel like during Angel's earliest weeks in the Hotel, Vaggie did at least a couple times slip into saying some pretty unkind things to and/or about him. She has been improving in regards to trying to see Sinners as people who can be redeemed if they want to - though a lot of that is less her actually believing that and more her just wanting to believe in Charlie, at least at first - but it's hard to completely unlearn two centuries worth of how she was raised, and she was raised to see Sinners as just horrible people who can't be helped.

And before he actually started taking the idea of the Hotel seriously, Angel would honestly likely often make Vaggie feel like her mother had been right about that. Because despite the fact that he was supposed to be trying to redeem himself as the whole point of staying at the Hotel, he didn't even try to improve his attitude, never mind his behaviors. Like, I definitely headcanon that even after learning her name was Vaggie with hard G's, he intentionally pronounced it with soft G's just because he saw how much it annoyed her, and even went further by calling her "Vagina" sometimes, like we saw in the show.

That being said, I don't think she ever said anything like, homophobic or anything, but I could see Angels and especially the Exorcists having their own unflattering terms for Sinners and when Angel really pushed her too far, Vaggie did slip into those terms, sometimes in Spanish, sometimes in English. But, of course, Angel was usually just confused because he had no idea of Vaggie's actual past and so he didn't really register that what she was saying was meant to be an insult.

#Hazbin Hotel #Vaggie #Charlie Morningstar #Lilith Morningstar #Angel Dust #Hazbin Vaggie #Hazbin Angel Dust #Vaggie is a Guitarspear Baby AU #Cradle Will Fall

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bougiebutchbitch · 11 months ago

Note

happy izzy headcanons, off the cuff:

ed's adhd ass remembers the most random shit about him that he said one time, like that his favorite color is green, he doesn't like sweets, and he used to feed a stray cat when he was a kid (despite not remembering ostensibly more important things / things that were repeated or told to him directly. RIP iykyk etc)

he called the cat Miss Lady and sometimes to get out of "playing" with "fellow" "children" and other such tedium, he would claim she was his boss and he had to go to work for her in her estate (he's like ≤8yo or something when he pulls this)

still has not gotten much better at lying than that tbh

his parents loved each other and him and his big sister very much. they were as happy as they could be in their level of poverty, and iz's youngest years were filled with unconditional love

he and his sister both got their first jobs at the same little shop, but izzy was immediately and comically fired for being crass and rude to customers lmao (also for wearing pants)

he was part of the navy for an astounding one (1) year before being discharged - equally comically - for being the singular most insubordinate little shit ever seen. regular punishments had absolutely no effect on his behavior, and though they threatened to do worse by that point they could not catch him.

his criminal record is just as long as ed's, but the bulk of his charges are morality based. he fucks so severely it is a crime. (not that hard to do really, at the time, but he's proud of it lol.)

Jewish

was taught to read english and hebrew as a kid (Jewish communities at the time had higher literacy on average than other groups & taught girls as well as boys to read, iirc)

can buy and sell in many languages, but can't really converse. is in the process of learning spanish from jim and french from frenchie (with much more unsavory instruction provided by roach, for surprise use on frenchie lmao)

not necessarily about izzy i guess lmao, but i have a scene that runs in my head of izzy telling jim something private in spanish and jim interrupting (but not fast enough) to yell that oluwande is fluent, to which olu nervously says "no, i forgot. those words. don't use 'em much, so. you know. whoosh. gone. didn't understand any of it."

he and anne fake dated way back, to make ed and mary jealous

he and jack tried this also, after it worked for anne but not for izzy, but in the process they accidentally dated for real (jack... might have had ulterior motives lmao)

takes ye olde hrt, in the form of an herbal tea recipe that he got from a midwife who clocked him at 50 paces. they are still friends.

bottom sub leaning, but still a vers switch!!!

explores his gender further, with encouragement and some minor guidance from wee john. he has a little bit of a crisis at first, wondering if he only felt like a man because he didn't make a very pretty woman, but he talks it all through in fits and starts - primarily in out of context ambushes - with john and jim, learns more about drag, etc, and eventually gets comfortable with being a man who pretends to be a woman sometimes and just happens to be very good at it due to certain biological advantages lol

later functionally becomes ed's drag mom, the way john was for him - featuring many more instances of dressing him up like he did for the party in season one

realizes after being folded into the found family that he LOVES cuddling, and physical intimacy of all kinds. like basically discovers acts of service is actually not his only love language. nothing makes him feel more content than being physically in sync with someone.

at some point pete decides he wants to stop being all talk and actually live up to all the shit he's bragged about, but he doesn't want everyone else to know and/or there to be any witnesses to him being bad at stuff at first. so he solicits secret lessons from izzy, and izzy gives them and keeps the secret without condition.

he's basically the gordon ramsay of piracy. if you're learning and you're working at it, he's patient and attentive. if you act like you don't have anything to learn or make claims you can't back up, he calls you a fucking donkey.

grows his hair out. adores having it played with.

takes his job as "unicorn" very seriously. all of his duties are pretty much assigned to him via his own perception of what the fuck being the ship's unicorn even means, but if he says something is or isn't his job everyone goes with it without question. he sometimes abuses this fact, but only with ed lmao.

has each member of the crew add their own x to his tattoo and ends up with a little constellation of slightly differently shaped stars across his cheek/temple

SHRIEKS IN JOY

oh these are PERFECT. Excuse me while i squeal over each and every one.

I KNOW THAT PAIN, ED, BABYBOY, DARLING, PRINCESS WITH A DISORDER. He is theeeee most ADHD gremlin. He will randomly describe in perfect detail a day from 10 years ago that Izzy only has the vaguest recollection of, down to the precise inflection in whatever Izzy said to make that moment stick in his mind - but he still doesn't know Izzy's birthday sldkfhgklsdfhg

oh no. OH NO. Tha'ts horrifically cute. And I love that Izzy is a gritty old pirate who can kill without a moment's hesitation - but he cannot tell a good fib to save his life lmao. It's the 'tism

:cris and holds happy baby Izzy close:

I'm WHEEZING at tiny angry scowly Izzy getting fired from a shop for being a bastard refusing to wear a dress, saying fuck this, running away to join the Navy where the wearing of dresses is not requisite, and almost immediately getting fired for STILL BEING A BASTARD. :chinhands: it's so him

I am just. Imagining. Lucius getting hold of Izzy's criminal record in S1 before they really get to know each other. And just being supremely confused that Izzy has actually walked the walk lmao

JEWISH IZZY JEWISH IZZY JEWISH IZZY :clutches that headcanon very close to my chest:

ohhhhhh gosh I LOVE the crew teaching each other casual little things.... language tutors Jim and Frenchie and co., my favourite. I wonder if Izzy teaches them a tiny bit of Hebrew, too? Or if he keeps that very close to his chest. (I love the headcanon that he and Ed are both Jewish, and it's part of what drew them together~)

SCREAMS at Izzy accidentally Revealing Things to Olu because he doesn't realise he speaks that much Spanish.... And at Jim warning him! I also imagine that like, AS SOON as Jim gives that warning, they get the fuck in front of Oluwande with a knife, juuuust in case Izzy goes for him - but Izzy just glares at Oluwande, jerks a nod, and mutters 'first time I've given a man amnesia without having to hit him in the head'. Oluwande awkward-laughs and flees, but though Izzy's a tiny bit wary of him for a few weeks, he doesn't stab him?? So, y'know, success?

also, as ever, I am OBSESSED with Jim and Izzy being casual quiet trans buddies and helping each other out now and then. :gently pushes my headcanon of Izzy helping Jim acquire Ye Olde Top Surgery towards the fandom on a silver plate:

FAKE DATING FAKE DATING AHHHHHHHHHHH

CJIZZY AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHh (I love Jack being like. 'Yeah I'll fake date you to make Ed jealous, Izzy :D Yeah, absolutely no strings attached. Yeah we're not gonna actually fuck or anything. Of course.' then pulling EVERY string available to get in Izzy's pants dsfklghkdsfgkdlsgf

YESSS TO BOTTOM SUB LEANING VERS SWITCH IZZYYYYYY he has the range, darling! I love the idea that he was Ed's service top for ages, and is legit good with a strap~ >:3c Almost as much as I love subby top Izzy who always comes too soon and goes jellylegged so his partner has to sigh and take over and fuck him into the mattress while telling him what a disappointment he is (which, ofc, only makes him wetter). ......Yes, I blame carryme for this one entirely.

TRANSMASC DRAG QUEEN IZZY TRANSMASC DRAG QUEEN IZZY - I vibe with this on a spiritual level. Also: I can imagine Izzy was REALLY rigidly 'I am a man so I have to be masculine' as a result of internalised transphobia/fear of discovery, so this whole process of realising he can do whatever the fuck he wants, actually, involves a lot of unworking of societal assumptions and confronting past traumas and fears, and Wee John only meant to share something transgressive and fun with Izzy but now Drag Hour is therapy hour too. And honestly, it's good for him and Izzy and Jim, and Izzy's expression goes this amazing mix of offended and delighted and terrified and excited whenever he realises that yes, he is allowed to present himself however he likes and he will 'still be a man'. Although I do think he might draw the line at dresses, and keep to more andro drag? Like, he tries on a pretty dress ONCE and it's a bit Too Much when he sees himself in the mirror - but that's completely okay too, and Wee John and Frenchie are more than happy to help with tailoring outfits that he actually likes!

i AM SCREAMING AT IZZY BEING ED'S DRAG MUM YES YES YES YES YES

ohhhhh.... Izzy being just an absolute cuddle magnet.... be still my heart. I like to imagine that he was too awkward to approach anyone at first, but was SUPREMELY touch starved, so he'd sneak into the cuddle pile on deck at night and then try to wake up in the morning before everyone else. But of COURSE, everyone realises and knows and thinks it's very cute and one day when he tries to make his usual escape (moving slow to try and draw out the warmth and the contact, as well as so as not to wake anyone up) Lucius sleepily grabs his wrist and grumbles, "Izzy, staaaaaay". And, well. How can Izzy say no to that?

PETE IZZY FRIENDSHIP AHHH???? I would read that fic in a heartbeat.

Vis-a-vis the Gordon Ramsey comparison: he has ABSOLUTELY called poor Stede an 'idiot sandwich'

LONG HAIR IZZYYYYYYYYY AHHHHHHHH

Izzy wearing each of the crew's little 'x' kissy marks besides Ed's.... oh, be still my heart. This one got to me. That cheek and his neck and chest are just a map of tiny stars and - OHHHHHHHHHHH you know they're all getting gently smooched

#Izzy Hands #ofmd izzy #our flag means death #ofmd edward teach #ofmd ed teach #YES EXCELLENT #ofmd jim #I AM HOLLERING

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happi-tree · 1 year ago

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i hate accidents (except when we went from friends to this)

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, I don’t know what came over me, you’re just so hurt and I was so scared and I didn’t know what to do and -”

Link cuts himself off as he glances up from Taylor’s still-glazed expression to his forehead. Before his eyes, the gash stitches itself closed, the open wound fading to a pink scar that pales to white before disappearing entirely.

Lincoln remembers hearing the words “kiss it better” throughout his entire childhood. He remembers the way his dads would patch up his scraped knees with ointment and a bandage and top it all off with a tiny kiss before treating him to a hard candy from their first aid kit for being such a good boy.

Never once had Link thought that the phrase could be literal. Or that his newfound powers could make it literal.

Or: Link discovers a rather unorthodox way of using Lay On Hands thanks to one Taylor Swift, and for some reason, he can’t seem to stop finding excuses to perfect his new skills. Fortunately, Taylor is more than happy to help.

once / twice / thrice, pt. 1 / thrice, pt. 2

twice (‘cause it’s gonna be alright)

The second time it happens, it’s not an accident.

Taylor invited Link to his house on the pretense of doing homework together (who knew saving the world meant having so many late assignments?) and maybe watching some anime later.

It had taken Link some convincing at first, but Taylor thinks he’s finally got him hooked on Blue Lock: Keyed Up!!! (which is good, considering it’s the only soccer anime that Taylor’s watched).

Unfortunately, though, homework comes first. Which sucks, because there are about a million and one better things that a protagonist like him could be doing, but he doesn’t want to worry his mom about his grades slipping any further.

Plus, Taylor missed an additional afternoon’s worth of classes yesterday for a long-overdue orthodontist appointment (his jaw aches at the reminder), so he has extra extra make-up work. Ugh.

At least Link’s passable at science. Normally, Scary could make up some pretty good answers for all of them for their English work, but she’s out recording some stuff for Erica’s podcast. Normal has cheer practice, so Taylor doesn’t really have much hope for his pile of Spanish worksheets, but at the very least, he and Link are making progress.

Very slow progress.

Taylor accidentally clenches his jaw a little too hard, and the ache in his teeth intensifies from there-but-tolerable to fucking-hell-it-feels-like-someone-is-wrenching-my-upper-jaw-in-two-holy-shit.

He makes a quiet, whimpering sort of noise, and Link looks up from his work immediately, eyebrows all scrunched together and lips downturned in concern. It would be cute if Taylor could focus on anything other than the agony plaguing his mouth.

“You okay, dude?” he asks, shifting closer on Taylor’s king-size mattress.

“Nnnnnnn,” Taylor moans, shaking his head ever so slightly and flopping back against the pillows dramatically (but carefully, so as not to accidentally make the pain worse somehow). “Teeth hurt.”

“Oh, right, you got your braces adjusted yesterday,” Link gently moves their notebooks and laptops to the side, where they won’t get crushed.

Taylor’s eyes squeeze shut as he tries to do anything but focus on the ache. “Mmm,” he confirms. “And I think maybe my fangs might be growing in? Hard to tell, but I keep accidentally cutting my tongue on my canines, so I think they’re getting sharper.”

“That’s pretty cool,” Link says, and the sincerity in his voice brings a smile to Taylor’s face, which he cuts off with a wince because fuck, ow, that hurt.

“Would be cooler if my entire mouth didn’t hurt like hell, though,” Taylor grumbles.

He opens his eyes to find Link hovering over him, looking worried and… hesitant?

“Jeez, Link, I’m not dying or anything. The torment is endless and the agony neverending, but I will persevere! Ah, fuck,” Taylor mutters, pressing a hand to his cheek, which only seems to make matters worse.

Link’s still looking at him like that, though, so he makes grabby hands to beckon him closer.

“Cuddles would maybe help, though, if you’re just gonna sit there,” he offers.

“I can work with that,” Link says, laughing a little under his breath and leaning back on the pillows beside him.

He opens up his arms and Taylor wedges himself between them, tucking his head under Link’s chin and burying the top portion of his face into his chest, right below his collarbones. He inhales, trying to focus on the smell of laundry detergent and fresh-cut grass and sports deodorant and sweat and something uniquely Link rather than the pain in his jaw, and it works a little.

Link’s arms come around to encircle him, and while Taylor can feel stifled by skin-to-skin contact (he already has enough trouble regulating his own body heat without throwing someone else’s into the mix), the way Link holds him feels… nice. Protective. Link begins to trace tiny, meaningless circles into his back with his thumbs through the fabric of Taylor’s shirt, and the sensation grounds him.

Taylor quietly realizes that he hasn’t felt this safe in a long time.

His mouth still hurts like a bitch, though.

As if on cue, another pulse of pain floods his mouth, and Taylor instinctively clenches his jaw against the feeling, which in hindsight was pretty stupid because it makes the ache intensify tenfold. Taylor lets out a whine into Link’s chest, clutching helplessly at his best friend’s shirt.

He fantasizes somewhat deliriously about taking his teeth and chucking them out of his face where they can’t hurt him.

“That seems like it must be pretty painful,” Link says sadly.

“Nnnnnnnngh,” Taylor replies because yeah, no shit, Sherlock-kun.

“You know,” Link starts out, tone still soft but much more considering, more nervous. Taylor can feel the vibration of Link’s voice against the top of his head, right where it’s pressed against his taller friend’s throat. “I think I can fix that, if you want.”

Taylor pulls away a bit, and Link loosens his hold to allow for some space.

“Well, why didn’t you say so earlier?” Taylor asks. “I know I look totally awesome and composed on the outside, but I am fucking perishing inside. Yes, please, whatever your idea is, I will literally do anything. What were you thinking of, though?”

“Well,” Link says, voice pitching high, “I was thinking, I could, uh. Kiss it better? Like I did last week, if you remember that?” He looks briefly down at Taylor, as he says this, scanning his face for… something. “Oh my god, it would be so embarrassing if you didn’t remember that. Never mind, this is so stupid, sorry, forget I said anything.”

Except Taylor doesn’t really hear that last part because he’s too busy reliving the feeling of Link’s chapped lips pressed against his temple, callused hands cradling the back of his head, big brown eyes that look like black holes in the darkness of sun-off threatening to swallow Taylor completely.

Does Taylor remember last week? That’s like asking someone if they remember that the sky is red. Taylor remembers last week annoyingly well, and he keeps remembering it, and the scene plays and replays as the hellfire within his ribcage flares and the heat rises and he looks up at Link who’s still working himself into some anxiety-ridden ramble and -

Cool it, cool it, part of his mind whispers to him.

Link offered to kiss me, an irritatingly large amount of his brain shrieks back at him, uncool and uncharacteristically nervous and taking up more mental real estate by the second. Boy hugging me boy touching me boy kissing me?

You just need to calm down, the more rational part of his brain assuages. You’re Taylor Swift, you’ve got this.

I’m Taylor Swift, I’ve got this. Taylor mentally chants, strongarming the fire in his chest and turning the flame down to something a bit more bearable. I’ve got this. I’m popular, I’m icy cool, and anyone would be lucky to kiss me. I’ve got this.

Brain successfully rebooted, Taylor nudges at Link’s shoulder, stopping his friend’s mutterings in their tracks.

“As long as you haven’t talked yourself out of it, I’m, like, totally down if you’re still offering. You severely underestimate how desperate I am for pain relief.”

“Oh,” Link says, eyebrows drawn up in surprise. Then, “Really?”

“Yeah, oh,” Taylor echoes back. “Really. The only thing is… don’t you usually have to touch whatever’s hurt for it to work? And like, it’s my teeth, so…”

“Yeah, and?” Link prompts, like he isn’t quite seeing any problem with that and.

Oh.

Oh, Link means kissing kissing. Like, on the mouth. And to get at Taylor’s teeth… that’s like making-out-kissing. Oh, god. Oh my god, okay. This is fine. Sure! Great.

“Oh,” Taylor says aloud. Then, “Okay!”

“Are you sure? About this?” Link questions, searching Taylor’s expression even as he places a slightly-clammy hand to Taylor’s cheek, even as Taylor’s face feels like it lights on fire in response. The clear concern in the upturn of his brows and the gleam in his dark eyes has Taylor humming in assent before he realizes what he’s doing and placing his hand atop Link’s larger one, holding him there as Taylor’s gaze is drawn to his slightly parted lips.

“For the love of god, Link, just kiss me already.”

“Okay,” Lincoln says, quiet and slightly unsteady. And he closes the gap.

It’s clear that this is Link’s first kiss, and Taylor’s pretty sure Link can tell that it’s the first time he’s kissed someone, too (well, someone that isn’t his body pillows).

Link’s lips feel softer against Taylor’s than they had against his forehead. He’s tentative and shy and exceedingly gentle, and Taylor’s unsure if that’s out of the fear of causing him undue pain or if it’s just who Link is, but he appreciates it either way.

Link’s thumb strokes delicately across Taylor’s cheek, almost reverently, like he’s afraid that Taylor will break apart in his arms if he doesn’t treat him with care. Link’s other hand comes to rest at the side of his neck, threading through the hair that’s escaped Taylor’s topknot, and the feeling of it paired with the light press of Link’s lips against his own draws another humming sound from his throat.

Taylor tries his best to reciprocate, mouth pliant against Link’s, free hand fisting in the soft, slippery fabric of his best friend’s shirt and tugging gently as if to bring him in even closer. His other hand moves from atop Link’s to cradle the back of his head and run his fingers through his close-cropped hair.

Link makes a low, soft sort of noise that will no doubt be replaying for weeks on end in Taylor’s head. God, he needs to hear that sound again.

Sadly, though, they’ve run out of air, and Lincoln pulls away only to lean back in and carefully rest his forehead against Taylor’s.

Taylor’s eyelids blink open (oh, he had closed them, when had that happened?) and he comes face-to-face with Link, brown eyes deep and dark, half-lidded and half-dazed, staring directly at him with open affection. His hand still rests on Taylor’s cheek, and Taylor can feel the stark temperature difference there, anxiety-chilled and demonically-overheated, as something flutters hard in his chest.

“Uh, wow,” Link says, quiet and very breathless, and God, who gave him the right to be so beautiful and so adorable at the same time?

Taylor draws his lip in between his teeth and is greeted with a sharp stab of pain.

“Ow, fuck, shit,” Taylor hisses, scooching back to put more distance between the two of them. “Guess that didn’t work, but thanks for trying, Link. You out of spell slots or something?”

With Link’s complexion, it can be difficult to tell when his friend is flushed or flustered, but his wide eyes and cringing expression definitely come across as embarrassed.

“No,” he replies, voice a few octaves higher than normal. “I, uh, forgot? To do the spell.”

At Taylor’s quirked eyebrow, Link elaborates, “I just wanted to make sure I didn’t accidentally hurt you more, and then I got so wrapped up in that that I guess I forgot, and then you did that thing with your hand in my hair, and -” he cuts himself off with a whine, covering his eyes with a hand and dramatically rolling over, the picture of mortification. “Kill me now.”

Taylor laughs, loud and sudden and sharp despite the pain, and Lincoln curls a little further into himself.

“I can just, uh - I made it weird, I can just go, I guess?” Link says in that reedy, nervous way of his, voice cracking toward the end as he sits up, moves to stand -

“Dude,” Taylor clambers across the mattress after him, grabs his wrist. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“I-“ Link gestures with his thumb toward the door. “Home? I mean, I screwed up, and you laughed, and now you probably think I’m so stupid and-“

“Hold up, handsome,” where did that pet name come from - “I wasn’t laughing at you- I mean! I was,” Taylor watches as Link’s expression droops further “- but not to make fun of you! It’s just…” Come on, just say it, you’ve never had trouble speaking your mind before - “endearing.”

Link looks more confused and anxious than anything, but that’s better than sad and anxious, so Taylor takes that as a win.

“Plus, you’re not getting away from me that easy, Li-Wilson,” He adds, tugging his friend a little closer. Link doesn’t resist it.

Taylor allows a smile to pull at his lips, only flinching a little bit at the pain he now expects. “You can try again, you know,” he offers, looking up at Link through his lashes.

“I can?” His friend asks, skin flushed darker across his cheeks. “I didn’t make it too awkward?”

“Nope!” Taylor responds, popping the “p.”

“Nothing awkward about a good old-fashioned makeout session with your best friend!”

“Best friend,” Link echoes, “Right…”

“C’mon,” Taylor goads, crooking a finger toward him as he smirks. “I don’t bite.”

Taylor’s gaze lowers from Link’s face and rests at the side of his friend’s neck, taking note of the sparse freckles there. His teeth feel a little heavier in his mouth.

“Not unless you want me to,” he murmurs.

“What?” Link asks, sounding strangled.

“Don’t worry about it,” Taylor evades.

“If you’re really sure -“

“I am,” Taylor confirms, moving to sit half-gracelessly in his friend’s lap, hands steadying his weight on Link’s strong shoulders. “Now, less tally-talky, more smoochy-smoochy!”

“So demanding,” Link teases, even as he threads his fingers through his hair again. Taylor can hear the smile in his voice without having to look - which is good, because if he did, he’s pretty sure he’d give into the impulse to kiss the curve of his lips without preamble.

“You bet.” Taylor’s voice comes out much breathier than he expects as he meets Link’s eyes. “Don’t forget the spell this time!”

“I won’t! Probably.”

Just like before, Link leans in again, and a slight smile pulls at Taylor’s lips as he meets him halfway.

The sensation of Link’s lips against his own is a little less foreign now, a little less startling. Taylor lets himself melt into it, and just before he closes his eyes he can see the adorable little furrow of concentration between Link’s brows that he gets whenever he’s casting something.

Kissing his best friend tastes like vanilla chapstick and Taylor’s favorite soda. Link had snagged a bottle of lychee Ramune out of his hands earlier, saying something about how carbonation was bad for braces and offering his homemade sports drink instead (which hadn’t tasted too great but wasn’t quite as bad as Taylor had expected). Taylor finds that he doesn’t really mind, now - not when the flavor is even more addictive this way.

Link’s hands come up to cradle the sides of Taylor’s face like some sort of fairytale prince, firm and gentle and insistent all at once. The soft pressure of his friend’s fingertips ghosts along the jut of his jawline, and it’s almost worshipful, like Link sees Taylor as someone to be adored.

The tenderness of it all sends a thrill down Taylor’s spine, and then the chill spreads, unfurling itself through every nerve.

Taylor has been on the receiving end of Link’s magic before, but he’s rarely lucid enough to appreciate it, to bask in the comforting coolness his friend’s Lay On Hands brings. It’s less like running an open cut under cold water and more like a fresh breeze in the middle of a stagnant summer afternoon, he thinks, something blissful and relieving that reminds him of safety, just like the boy he’s kissing. He falls forward into the embrace - both the spell and Link’s affection - as his hands tangle themselves in the back of Link’s athletic shirt, chasing the feeling. Link’s magic is a deeply soothing sensation, a balm to Taylor’s flushed cheeks and fire-bright nerves and burning heart, and he can feel himself melt in Link’s hold, his thoughts reducing to little more than a warm haze against his lips.

Link pulls away after what probably amounted to only a few moments, and Taylor leans after him on instinct. His eyes flutter open just in time to see Link gazing down at him fondly through his lashes, the last dregs of his magic sparking across his irises in anvil-sharp flashes of bronze before fizzling out entirely. His lips are slightly kiss-bruised, and it sends a jolt of satisfaction through Taylor’s stomach as he realizes that he did that.

“Did it work this time?” Link asks him, still cradling Taylor’s face in his hands, thumbs still grazing lightly across his cheeks.

It takes a few seconds for Taylor to register the question, then a few more as he prods at the back of his teeth with his tongue, clenches his jaw experimentally.

“Looks like it!” He confirms happily, though his joy sours a bit as Link’s hands leave his face to lean back on his arms, mourning the loss of contact.

“You’re a genius, Link,” Taylor praises, smiling and then smiling wider when he realizes that he feels no pain whatsoever. “Think you could do that again whenever my joints are acting up?”

He doesn’t really mean it - of course, a bigger part of him than he’d like to admit does, but his tone was supposed to come off as teasing - but Link’s eyes go wide and his cheeks darken further, and maybe Taylor wouldn’t mind at all if his friend takes that one hundred percent seriously.

“I- I mean, if you want t- If it’d help?” He fumbles, face flushing further as he stutters. It’s pretty commonplace to see Link a bit flustered, but it’s different when Taylor knows that he’s the reason for it. It’s pretty cute, in his opinion.

“It’d do more than help. Chronic pain sucks ass, but you’d be, like, my personal angel,” Taylor says, looking up at Link.

You already are, his mind adds for him.

“Sure, then. Anytime. Uh, that’s what friends are for, right?” Link asks, those big brown eyes of his searching Taylor’s face for something.

He said “anytime”, is Taylor’s only coherent thought, one that runs giddy circles in his brain. I kissed Lincoln Li-Wilson. Twice. I just kissed my best friend twice. He said he’d kiss me again. God, I want to kiss him again.

“Mm,” Taylor half-responds, still reeling from the way Link’s hands carded through his hair and smoothed over his cheeks and the way their lips slotted together.

“Oh,” Taylor hears Link say distantly. “Okay, that’s, um. Okay.”

“Mm,” Taylor hums again, still in the process of rebooting what’s left of his brain.

A hand waves in front of Taylor’s face. “Taylor? You okay there, buddy? Did I do the spell wrong somehow? Please tell me I didn’t break you.”

You can break me anytime, Taylor thinks, mind conjuring images he definitely should not be having this close to the subject of his fantasies.

Taylor shakes his head in attempt to clear them. “All good, my man! Just, uh, thinking.” He desperately hopes his face isn’t as red as it feels.

“Wanna get back to homework, then?” Link says, gesturing to the pile of notebooks. “I think one of our make-up quizzes is due tonight.”

“Oh, shit, I forgot about that. We should probably get back to studying, huh.” He scoots away from Link to grab a notebook and his laptop, and for once in his life he misses the body heat of having a person next to him.

“Okay,” Link says, patting the empty space next to him and propping himself up against Taylor’s headboard.Taylor complies, settling himself into place at his side and handing him a pen (ballpoint, blue ink, Link’s favorite kind). He finds his own (a click pen, black gel ink) after a few moments of feeling around on the comforter.

“We’re still on chapter seven, right?” He asks, chewing on the end of his pen as he attempts to decipher the chicken scratch that is his own handwriting.

“Unfortunately,” Link sighs, slinging his left arm around Taylor’s shoulders.

As Taylor leans into Link’s side, he thinks that even though make-up work is bound to be hell, there are much less fortunate things than this. He smiles to himself, and it doesn’t hurt one bit.

#YEEHAW. ao3 may be down but my wild fic posting methods continue <333 #also!!! ty to everyone for being so patient about this!!! hope y'all like part 2! :Dc #as before. title from paper rings taylor swift!#hopefully i did not accidentally make 5000 billion mistakes in this and things are kinda sorta in character ahsvdhkasvdvs #dndads #swiftli #fic #happi scribbles

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tokruta · 1 year ago

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I’m starting to hc Miguel as Miguel Rivera (from Coco)’s great grandson.

It’s mostly because I’ve been doing my family tree for a good while now, so most of my free time is occupied with tracking down Mexican ancestors, looking for resources to better understand the different settings they lived in, reading old Spanish handwritten records, etc. So, with genealogy on the brain, and seeing some names repeated down family lines…I think having Miguel O’Hara be descended from Miguel Rivera would be a neat lil idea.

Like, imagine little Conchata growing up in Mexico with a famous musician grandfather who loves her and dotes on her and her cousins. Yes, he’s a famous musician, but he’s a family man first and is always ready to pass down stories from his life and his loved ones, dead and living. She loves her grandfather so much she decided to name her firstborn son after him.

She wasn’t always the best mom, especially to Miguel, but she passed down those stories and traditions, including singing and a love for music. And Miguel grows up loving to sing, and being good at it but keeping it to himself and Gabriel because George hated to hear it.

Gabriel, on top of being a good artist, is a pretty damn good guitar player and also has a great voice. He mostly keeps it on the down low, though, even in adulthood.

Miguel didn’t pick up any instruments, but he sometimes wishes he picked up the violin before he became Spider-Man. Instead, he let Gabriela pick out an instrument she wanted to play, and if she happened to pick the violin, the onions that manifested were a complete coincidence.

Plus, it’s literally canon that Miguel goes to Mexico to celebrate Día de Los Muertos and that his suit in the comics was one he wore to the festivals. I think it’s better for that to be a thing he does bc the holiday is a big deal in his family rather than bc it’s an excuse to party or whatever.

His mother had an ofrenda and so does he.

Miguel Rivera is still alive (he was born in like 2005, he could totally still be alive in the 2090s and 2100s, so he is in my hc ☺️) so Miguel visits him in Mexico, too. Miguel is shy about singing in front of anybody, but his bisabuelo is able to bring him out of his shell, especially by singing his old songs that Miguel grew up listening to.

The more I think about it, the more attached I become to this hc.

Now I want to write a fic where Miguel is visiting a dimension in the 2020s (616B, 1610B, etc) and he happens to see that a young Mexican musician is starting to trend, and it’s his bisabuelo Miguel as a young man 🥹 so he buys tickets and flies to Mexico 🥹 to watch him live 🥹 and yes he knows this isn’t his bisabuelo but he is as close as he can get to a young Miguel Rivera at the start of his long and successful career and it just hits him in the soul 🥹

And if Miguel Rivera happens to notice a 6’9” giant at his show, who looks strangely familiar, watching him perform like it’s the best thing he’s ever seen… who’s to say.

#miguel o'hara #miguel rivera #spider man 2099 #across the spiderverse #spiderverse #coco 2017 #i just think it’s a fun idea #maybe ill create a lil quick family tree for this lol #nothing crazy like my togruta anakin tree #but look man coco is one of my favorite movies and so is spiderverse #if i mix the two together that’s my business #but now im also thinking about an au where miguel rivera becomes spider man #like maybe he got bit in mexico city while and now needs to balance his superhero life and his super star musician life #and people create conspiracy theories about mexican spider man being the musician miguel rivera #most people don’t believe them but it becomes a meme #and miguel just loves the memes even if they do also stress him out lol #anyway imagine he gets recruited to the spider society (part time he’s much to busy to be there often)#and he’s given the low down (multiverse. hq in the future. leader is named miguel o’hara)#and he meets miguel o’hara and is like lol we have the same name are you my grandson or something?#completely joking but miguel just says ‘great grandson actually’#and he’s just flabbergasted lol he was joking he wasn’t expecting miguel to actually be his descendant lol #anyway they become bffs 👯‍♂️#hasan't

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neonartistycauseidk · 3 months ago

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DROP CATCF HEADCANONS

Okay…..Okay….Okay….omg where do I start…..

I think I’ll try going by character???

Charlie:

…Gay. I know what you are sir. This man likes MEN. (I’m pretty sure a majority of people headcannon this…but whatever)

Charlie and Matilda (the one from the Jr.) are childhood besties and have been friends since kindergarten——he met James about a year later.

Perfect cinnamon roll. Literally can do NO WRONG…and thats to A FAULT.

Goody-two-shoes—-need I say more?

Listens to songs from the 20s, 30s, 40s, and 50s on record because his family has quite a bit of records.

The shortest (height-wise) of the group…I’m not sure—-this one just feels right. (Like…maybe 5”4 or 5”5? He’s pretty short)

Also, definitely the youngest of the group…12 MAX at the time of the tour (I headcannon he was 10 during the main events of the story)

Became interested in Wonka through Grandpa Joes stories about working there

Loves his grandparents stories about their lives in general (despite Grandpa Joe’s being his favorites)

Gets in a relationship with James in the future (Implied in a previous post)

NEVER…and I mean…NEVER curses. The worst curse word to ever come out of him was “gee-willikers”

Mom friend/therapist friend of the group.

Oh…also the——matchmaker of the group…yeah…somehow this little guy got all of his friends together and HE doesn’t even know how it happened.

Violet:

Lesbian. WOMAN LOVER.

Was…actually pressured into gum chewing by her parents. I mean, just listen to any of her songs from the musicals…it’s pretty obvious.

Broke multiple Guinness World Records…her most notable, of course, being able to chew a singular piece of gum for a total of five months…yikes.

Despite being a “professional gum chewer”…she doesn’t actually care much for candy. It’s not like she down right DESPISES it, like Mike…but still.

If we’re talking modern au (not in the 70s or the early 2000s), she would absolutely be into Billie Eilish and AViVA

Lover of motorcycles and cars,

Leading me into my next headcannon: Violets a major tomboy…which should come as no surprise (much to her mothers dismay)

After the tour, her relationship with her parents became strained (more so than it already was) and she was often insulted by them for being “stupid” and “immature.” I mean, “how could a girl be told NOT to do something…but then do it any way?”….especially if it turned her BLUE.

Cut her hair, bleached it blonde, and left home the second she could…desperate to sever any relation/and or ties to family.

Ends up in a relationship with Matilda (Charlie’s bestie).

Bestie = Mike Teavee….OOOOGGH BOY these two are absolutely chaotic together. What a perfect duo

Likely the closest with Charlie post-tour? Idk it just sorta feels right.

Doesn’t stay dark blue for her entire life—-as she grows up, the color of her skin gets lighter…becoming and staying light blue when she’s around 16, I’d say.

Miranda:

Demisexual…likely Demi-aroace…

Speaks seven languages (Chinese, Russian, Japanese, German, French, Spanish, and English), however, she says she speaks six because “saying she speaks seven languages…would be bragging.”

Fences, plays soccer, and lacrosse

Plays the violin, piano, cello, harp, and flute

Student council president at her school

Participates in every extra-curricular activity her school offers

Similar to Violet, pressured into being the best by her parents…if she were in the book, movies, or musical adaptations—-Miranda and Violet would probably have a rivalry.

Very professional…speaks to everyone as if she’s speaking to—-like—-the president or something

Assumed she had her entire life planned out at the before the tour…at only 11 years old.

Thought she’d become a lawyer or a politician—-that or a schoolmaster, like her father.

Took the longest to warm up to all of the golden ticket winners post tour—-was afraid of feeling things.

Pretty much hated everyone at first and actually thought the tour was a “waste of time.”

However, she hated Augustus the least…so it kinda makes sense why she became…friends with him first.

Took her the longest to befriend Mike….OOOGH boy—-it was a struggle…since they, too, had a rivalry—-and she was convinced he was an UTTER BUFFOON before actually getting to know him.

Post tour, Miranda is left with red spots over her skin…luckily, though, there aren’t a lot.

Last one, calls Augustus “Auggie” in the future.

Augustus:

Demisexual and genderfluid (he/she/they pronouns…)

Nicest of the “rotten kids”

Actually, besides Charlie of course, has one of the best relationships with his parents (er—-well, mother…his father passed away before he could remember him).

Probably was the most willing of the “rotten” golden ticket winners to be friends with Charlie post tour

Cross dresses (mainly in the future) and probably gets fashion advice from Veruca—-okay, you know what…they’d probably bond over fashion.

Though everyone disliked Miranda (except Charlie because he literally cannot hate anyone), Augustus was the first to get Miranda to open up—-to everyone’s shock.

Unlikely lovers: Augustus and Miranda—-HEAR ME OUT.

Sweetest little guy…I can’t even.

After the tour, he began to have a healthier relationship with food.

Can sing opera level notes (I blame “A Little Bit of Good” from Chicago for this one)…So…I guess, vocally, he’d be a countertenor?

Never lost his German accent—-despite not living in Germany anymore when he’s older.

Veruca:

…I don’t think she’s gay, guys—-although, I’m not opposed to demi-girl (she/they) Veruca. At the very most…I’d say bi-curious? (Oh god I hope this doesn’t offend anyone I’m so sorry I know people see her as a lesbian its just not something I see SORRY)

Definitely became nicer post tour—-she actually becomes ashamed of her past self.

Probably only remains in contact with her dad in the future considering the fact that her mother…wasn’t necessarily in the picture anyhow…

Does ballet. I LOVE this detail from the broadway musical…

Half Russian and British

Voice of reason when it comes to her and Mikes relationship (both platonically and romantically).

Ends up together with Mike eventually

If it’s modern au—-I could see Veruca being into musical theater (the “big ones” now specifically…even though I could see it being in my regular version of events)

Learns to be—-less spoiled, one could say…

Dresses in a lot less fancy clothing post tour—-of course it’s still nice clothing…but its not like she’s wearing luxurious, poofy, sparkling dresses everywhere and anywhere to “flaunt her families riches” in everyone’s face.

Mike:

Bisexual. No comment.

Modern au Mike would be OBSESSED with Saturday morning cartoons. He’d also be a Nickelodeon kid without a doubt. Spongebob would be his favorite…because of course it would…He’d also like Ed, Edd n Eddy.

Also modern au…Mike would be a theater kid. I feel like his favorite would be Spongebob the musical…..go figure.

Since I’m assuming Captain Knuckleduster (in the catcf verse) is a piece of media Mike consumes…(both shows and games based on Captain Knuckleduster)…I’m gonna say it was something he really loved as a kid…perhaps Captain Knuckleduster provided him comfort due to him feeling like a father figure to him. Hmmm…Do I smell daddy issues?

Yeah, Mike and his dad, Norman, aren’t very close…

…huh, it’s probably why Violet and Mike are close….they both have parental issues (Violet with her mom, mainly, and Mike with his dad).

Mike and his mother, Ethel, however…I actually feel like they end up on good terms and have a pretty good relationship in the future! I also feel like in the future that Mike learns to respect her and appreciate her.

In the future—-Mike probably becomes a physics teacher…Not only based on his interests but also out of respect for his mother (since his mother is normally portrayed to be a teacher).

Genius….Need I say more?

Post tour, Mike ends up—-pretty much back to normal size! Maybe an inch or two taller…but normal sized!…yet, theres a catch. Because of his body being stretched to UNGODLY lengths to try and fix him…he likely ended up with bones like rubber….and post tour, his limbs can stretch very far….uncontrollably.

But after bouts of depression, self-hatred, self-discovery, and then self-acceptance (and also therapy…lots of it), Mike realizes he can actually control it…basically giving him a super power almost (move over elastigirl…here comes Mike Teavee).

Ends up becoming pretty close with Charlie in the future too.

Thinks he’s a smooth a** mother f**ker when it comes to flirting…but…oh my god…he just…OOOOGH boy…he sucks at it. Can’t flirt in a smooth way AT ALL yet thinks he’s just so…good at it???? It probably drives Veruca insane (in a good way) and probably gets a laugh out of her too.

Okay, so, uh…That’s it for now! I hope you liked my headcannons!!! I’d love to hear yours! Also, thank you for listening to my babbling lol!

#willy wonka and the chocolate factory #charlie and the chocolate factory #willy wonka headcanon #catcf headcannon #catcf #charlie bucket #violet beauregarde #miranda mary piker #augustus gloop #veruca salt #mike teavee #This ALSO got very long lol

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bookish-black-girl · 5 months ago

Text

Hmm so Blood at the Root? Let's review:

Apologies if this becomes less review and more stream of thoughts as they come to me. I just finished this book last night and I don't want to forget things in my quest to wait a few days like I do for other reads. Getting on with it...

BAtR starts us off with what I'd categorize as the most if not one of the most traumatic events of main character Malik Baron's life. The day his magic (majik??) manifests is the day his mom dies and leaves him an orphan. The jury is out as to whether Malik killed her or not, but talk to any adult and it's obvious, isn't it??? ~sarcasm~

Fast-forward ten years and 17 year old Malik is emancipated and has one goal to rescue his foster brother Taye from the younger boy's abusive and neglectful foster parents. (If I reread this book in preparation for the sequel, I plan to skip the first 3 chapters because I'm not interested in reading about that depth of pain, hurt, and trauma again even if it sets up the rest of the book.)

A grand auto theft and nasty altercation with Taye's foster parents--also previously Malik's--Taye and Malik are on their way to California for a better life. But plans change and Malik ends up finding out he has a grandmother in Louisiana and a chance to attend a magical HBCU, Caiman University, and a chance to find out what really happened to his mama all those years ago.

What I intended as a hybrid read (physical copy + audiobook) morphed into a mostly physical read because my eyes needed to be on some paper to better keep up and retain EVERYTHING 🫡 not at all a complaint, but more a fun fact because many people suggested the audiobook as the best way to experience the book!

BAtR did some cool, unique, and important things IMO. Reminiscent of the Witchlings series by Claribel A. Ortega where the spells and magic are unapologetically in Spanish, this world leans heavily on Kreyol, sometimes translating for the reader and others time not. I quite enjoyed that! This story was also entrenched in Black Excellence, Power, and Resilience; Caiman U wasn't just there to look pretty and at my big age I'd love to have magic abilities and get to attend an HBCU.

I really appreciated the intentional diversity of Black queerness, with special attention to some of the Black guys in the book. Biphobia (and transphobia) continue to have my people by their THROATS and I like that Williams said hush that noise, Black people don't fit into a neat box so don't try and shove 'em in there!

This is getting long and I still have to get to the critique part of this review, so let's add some commas to the mix! The action scenes were stressful but flowed in such a way I couldn't stop reading, the use of AAVE was a treat and didn't need any explanation, Taye and Malik's relationship had me choked up more than a few times and it made my heart happy to know that Malik would burn down the world for him (and be completely justified IMO, just saying), and while I didn't mind the pop culture references, some choices had me worried if the target demographic would even recognize them.

That all being said, it's time to delve into some of the things that didn't work for me in this read.

SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS okay y'all gone yet?? 😂

There are 3 prominent Black female characters in this book that have as much an impact on the story as they do on Malik's growth and development as a character. Maya Aye, Malik's badass and powerful grandmother who isn't to be trifled with, Malik's mama, who I assumed hadn't actually died and was proved to be right, and Alexis, Malik's crush from the foster system turned first love. Their fates by the end of the book wouldn't bother me so much if the other Black girls and women didn't feel so one note (with the exception of Empress Bonclair, that bougie ass woman is gonna be trouble later and I'm so here for it LOL).

I'll preface by saying that Malik has trust issues that are 100% justified. In fact, most of the decisions Malik made didn't seem outside of the realm of possibility (abandonment, betrayal, general neglect, and being a Black boy in America will accomplish that!) With the exception of a repeated sexist belief that Alexis must be sleeping with his rival Donja for her to be on his side, Malik's actions and reactions felt reasonable and sometimes justified.

On Alexis: I'm so sorry but the romance or attempt at romance was never believable to me as a reader. There was a lot of telling over showing, and she felt a lot like a plot device just so Malik could be betrayed by her towards the end of the book. But because I didn't feel any particular attachment to her, I didn't feel the proper rage needed when she's punished by being expelled from the college and having her powers and memories stripped. I did however get a bitter taste in my mouth at having the Black girl who was going hard for other Black girls going missing and turning up dead, magic abilities or not, paying this heavy price. The more i think about it, it really feels as if Alexis' character was created to be punished at the expense of the Black boy she loves. Again...icky feelings there.

On Lorraine (Malik's mom): I'll come out the gate and say that this woman is evil. She purposefully got into some bad shit and in her quest for power she was rightfully imprisoned. Malik's loving, good memories of her? Completely self-fabricated in what I interpreted as a trauma response. I think this plot twist would have been fine in my book, maybe amazing if not for the fact that Lorraine is presented as this bright, talented young woman revered years after she left Caiman U. Again, I have this bitter taste in my mouth about an intelligent, promising young Black woman who comes off as plot fodder for Malik's character growth. When the only other Black women are set dressing with no true prominent role in the story besides how they connect to Malik, all I can do is shake my head in annoyance.

On Mama Aya: I think that this one isn't so egregious as the above examples. Mama Aya in her attempts to find her grandson sacrificed her life and the magic came to collect on that agreement. She loved and protected Malik with everything in her, and even if I empathize with Malik for feeling some type of way for the years he thought he was alone in the world with nothing and no one, I do think Mama Aye was a victim of circumstances too when it came to the decisions of her daughter and the butterfly effect that caused. Still, with Alexis expelled and his evil mama out in the world planning to cause some real destruction and damage, losing his grandmother felt like when I sat in the theater for Spider-Man: No Way Home and the narrative decided that we needed to kill Aunt May for reasons I still don't understand. It's wasteful. It's unnecessarily traumatic. It screams shock-value when it needs to shut the hell up. That emotional beat could have come from anywhere else, like??

To wrap up these thoughts, I conclude by saying that I'm unsure what to rate this read. I was engaged and locked-in, giving the energy of a 4 star minimum rating. But the way the narrative treats the female characters puts it in the 3 star range. On the other hand, I 100% plan to continue this series if only to see how things shake out for Malik and the rest.

For now, we'll leave this unrated and maybe I'll feel differently when I've read the anticipated sequel.

#blood at the root #ladarrion williams #bookish talks #spoilers #booklr

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imasimpforstevengrant · 2 years ago

Text

THRICE (Chapter 4)

Summary: Steven Grant was begotten from Marc's need to deal with emotional pain. Being a fraction of the same person and the living shield of a mercenary has its toll on his already frail psyche. Did Steven actually live a happy life as Marc intended him to?

Warnings: angst and comfort, lovesickness, DID, existential crisis, violence, death, fluff, sexual themes and smut (flashback), unsafe sex, breeding kink (kinda)

WC: 10.663 (I know it's too long, I hope you don't get bored!)

Note: This is basically a retelling of the series (chapters one to four). I hope you don't get bored, I wrote it as entertaining as I could.

Note²: Some of the lines and scenes (post-Moon Knight) are taken from:

• Marc Spector: Moon Knight (#27 - #31)

Note³: sorry for any typos. As you know, English is not my native language (Chilean spanish FTW)

Chapter four: Unworthiness

Life had never been easy for Marc Spector.

After his mother's passing, his mind digs through the rubble of his shattered sanity, desperately searching for a sliver of stability. Unable to grieve the woman who made his life a living hell, Marc spawns a new self from the shreds of his soul. One who would live a simple, happy, and peaceful life, far from the problems that gnawed at his mind. One that took all the good things in his life to build a better man than Marc Spector could ever be.

Steven Grant was what Marc Spector wanted so badly to be. He was the innocence that he no longer had, the sweetness that had already turned sour in his heart, the tenderness which he used to see in life before having become the executioner of his brother without wanting it.

Steven is sweet, meek and honest. He is plagued by insomnia when he tries to sleep, he works in a gift shop at the National Gallery of Art. Grant dreams about being a tour guide, even though Donna - that insufferable boss who was always hurtful towards him - always insisted on shattering any illusion of becoming one. He sometimes didn't quite understand why he was ignored or looked at as a freak.

He wakes up in his flat, alone as always, shielded by big pillows, blankets all over him and a restraint around the right ankle. Having sleeping disorders - if he ever managed to have a decent sleep - made him foster a self-care routine: he unties the restraint, steps head toward the door, taking off the blue adhesive and chain lock.

He then feeds his one – finned goldfish, whom he endearingly calls “Gus”, talks to his mom, tries to compensate for the lack of sleep by an even more dulling lethargy that ends up in awkward situations in public. Steven cannot understand the reasons behind the frequent mental and physical fatigue. That week had been so strange and stressful. Almost falling asleep in a bus, arriving late at work and a pretty, smiling woman who just passed by near him.

"Hello," she greets him.

"Hellooo," Steven answers playfully, waving his hand.

"How's the sugar trade going?"

"I don't know what this has to do with Egypt, really… they didn't have that back then, did they? No."

She stares at him.

"They liked figs and dates, and…" but she made a clear sign that something else was on the way, rushing to the end of the chat.

"My next tour's here but just checking. We're still on for seven tomorrow?" She asked.

Something else than perplexed, Steven mumbles:

"Seven… tomorrow?"

"Best steak in town"? Her frisky tone suggests him to stop playing as if he had forgotten it.

"Oh, yeah… yeah, right…" Steven is unsure of the situation. She steps out of the Giftshop, but Steven follows her through the limited space behind the desk and display.

"What?"

"Sorry… but… are you asking me out?" Steven almost whispers, as if such a thing was forbidden.

The mysterious woman just laughs and comments how much of a funny guy he is. Donna walks by, witnessing the scene that had Steven Grant dazzled and confused.

"Stevie, you absolute rascal. I didn't know you had taken a crack."

"I didn't know either."

"Hang on, did she say steak? What in the world's a bloody vegan gonna eat in a steakhouse?"

"I don't know, Donna. Salad? Bread?"

The disgust in her eyes was more insulting than any coarse comment she had darted at him that day.

"Yeah, I can see why she went for it. Real catch you are."

Steven stuck with the good part: at least he had a date!

-----

How many times had he been the object of ridicule in his work for his fascination with ancient Egypt? Steven always found it nice to talk, given his deep loneliness, even though the weirded out looks of people killed any intention of further chatting. Despite this passive mistreatment by people, he always strove to make the environment pleasant and bearable. After spending the week in the inventory, he bids farewell to the guard, who cannot even remember his name.

"It's Steven… with a V," he gasped, a bit exasperated, accelerating the pace to get out of the place as soon as possible.

Steven doesn't know it, but missing that day on a Friday evening would turn out to be much more than just an unfortunate loss. Once he's back in the flat, he proceeds to do the usual: sand in the floor to see if he had been up during night, blue adhesive tape to seal the door, chain lock securing the door and finally, the ankle restraint.

Those nightmares. Those fucking nightmares that lately had been gnawing his mind. Nightmares where he was covered in someone else's blood, where his hands broke bones, smashed skulls with gushing flesh. It always ended with a dreadful Steven jumping off the bed, preventing a further run thanks to the restraint, anchoring him to reality. The initial pain of having his face smashed to the ground relieved his fears of a severe sleepwalking episode.

This is a common theme he talks about with a living, golden statue in the square near his flat, the only company he manages to get.

"Honestly, it's like my body wants to get up and wander about, you know, like it has to get the 10,000 steps in," He takes a bite of the vegan burrito he holds in his hand.

"You know? I don't even know about it until I wake up. That's why I try to stay awake at night. What do you think? Nah, you're right. I mean I guess there are stranger things that people do, but…

"No? Well, I think it's a bit…`` Suddenly, Steven turned around as if he had remembered something very important, taking a few chocolate bars for the time spent.

"Extra pralines for the man himself."

Steven continued the conversation - or more like a monologue -, mentioning the girl from work.

"Anyway, if I am gonna have a girlfriend, at some point, obviously I can't have ankle restraints on my bed, can I? That's like the definition of a red flag, isn't it?"

The man knows what Steven means. Oh, yes he does.

"I better jog on. Nice catching up. All right, laters."

-----

He repeats the routine once home. 'Staying awake' is on the phone, while solving a Rubik's cube, engulfing himself in the messy mountain of books about Egypt over his desk. Many things can be said about Steven.

Being uncultured is not one of them.

Not being in control was something he had come to accept, though he always wondered why such a thing happened to him. His mild mannered ways crashed so much with the adrenaline of near death experiences seen in dreams.

Searching for answers, Steven Grant spends countless hours, and even entire nights with his gaze upon books, filled with pictures illustrating dreams in vivid colors, mostly blue. Rain and hot chocolate were good company, while drifting away in long paragraphs. It all started with a nightmare. One bloody nightmare to make the lines between reality and dreams become blurred. He suddenly wakes up in a vast green field, far away from home.

Perplexity becomes fear as he tastes the iron flavor of blood and the pain of a dislocated jaw. Disoriented and unsettled, Steven gets up to watch the beautiful yet unknown landscape before his eyes.

"Go back to sleep, worm."

Steven turned around, scared.

"You're not supposed to be here," an angry otherworldly voice suddenly rang in his ears.

"Yep. I completely agree… where are you?"

"Surrender the body to Marc!" the voice demanded.

Marc? Who the hell was Marc?

"Sorry, what? 'The body'? Wha—?" Steven answers puzzled, much to the presence's chagrin, "'surrender the body?' What body?"

"Oh, the idiot is in control," there was a profound disappointment in his observation. He realizes there's something in his pocket. A golden scarab, more precisely. A quick move puts the object back safe in his jacket. He sees a castle-like edification behind his back. Two men peek out for Steven to wave his hand at… just to be greeted by a gust of bullets.

"Don't you stand there! Run!" The voice screamed to an startled Steven, who didn't think twice before running for his life. A village was nearby, barely populated. Steven seeks refuge behind the walls of the unpainted facade and later, in a curious diaspora.

People congregate, waiting for something or someone. His doubts are resolved when a man makes his way through the crowd, who admires him with unspoken hope in their expressions. People gather around him. Steven got the impression that he was a preacher, a spiritual guide. The man, leaning on his cane, begins to speak.

"What a beautiful day. It's like we're in Heaven. Only it's not Heaven, is it?"

The group of people grew larger as the man spoke about darkness, and how it hid in the heart sometimes.

"We are here to make the Earth as much like Heaven as possible." Steven tries to go as unnoticed as he can, getting closer to have a better look of the curious scene.

"Who'd like to go first?"

He had a bad feeling about this, but he kept silent. A man steps forward. The leader praises his bravery to submit his soul to judgment on behalf of a dormant goddess.

'What on earth is going on here?' he asks himself.

The stranger and the leader place their hands above the other's.

"I judge you in Ammit's name with but a fraction of her power". The cane starts to oscillate.

Ammit? Like… the first boogeyman? Steven was anxious to know how this situation would turn out, squinting to catch a better sight. The cane stopped balancing and the leader pronounced the verdict:

"This is the face of a good man".

The crowd rejoices silently. A few clap when the first one hugs the judged one. Steven turns around just to see the same two men who previously chased him in the hills near the gathering. He had to be out of there as soon as possible, but another willing individual got his attention again. An old lady pleads with the leader to repeat the process, just with her instead.

"Call me Arthur. Come" he offers his hand generously, "will you accept your scales, regardless of the outcome?" to which the lady gladly agrees. Steven slightly crouched down, fearing the worst when Arthur pronounced the ominous verdict.

"I've been good my entire life" the lady tries to rebuff.

"I believe you. But the scales see everything. Perhaps it's something that lies ahead".

Much to his horror, the body fell with a loud thud. Her skin turned into an unpleasant, pale gray shade that betrayed her death before their eyes. An armed man steps beside Arthur to whisper something he cannot hear clearly, due to his attention being completely drawn to the two people carrying the corpse of the lady away.

He then got up, shouting words in ancient Egyptian. The crowd immediately knelt… except for Steven, who mimicked the action way too late to go unnoticed this time.

"Oh, bollocks," he sighed.

"You…" Arthur hissed, with an accusatory tone, "I know you."

"Me?" He gasped, inaudibly, pointing at himself and seeing no other option than to step up.

"Mercenary." Arthur spits.

"No, no. I'm not a mercenary," Steven chuckles nervously, especially when the whole crowd turns around to see him. He futilely tries to explain his job in a Gift Shop, his name, where he lives. But nothing seems to change the hostile expression in Arthur's face.

Chaos ensues when the cult leader demands the golden scarab to be returned.

"You will give him nothing," The voice growls with an angry threat.

Steven tries to obey Arthur to set himself free from this confusing situation. But it only leads to the cult chasing him to seize the object.

Then he blacks out. And everything goes downhill from there. Steven doesn't know, but once he regains conscience, all of those who tried to corner him are dead.

Horrified by the sight of blood, he drives a muffin van, escaping through the solitary highway with frantic despair. Scene gets more difficult when that voice again threatens to kill them both, displeased at his incompetence.

But how could he succeed when he was nothing more than a gift-shopist? Steven was no mercenary. Then he blacked out once again. The man he had attacked with a muffin fell through the open back doors. But he tried not to panic, especially when he was surrounded by two cars with armed men after dodging a truck.

A third black out ended up with Steven driving in reverse and just when he thought this couldn't get any crazier, the people chasing him were crashed by falling logs from the truck he had avoided earlier. How was he alive? He doesn't know.

Then, chuckling, wakes up in his flat. Steven falls on his back over the bed, unaware of what awaits him that day.

_____

Discovering Gus wasn't Gus anymore - the fish had its two fins - was the beginning of this spiral of insanity. When going to the pet store, the clerk explains that he had gotten another goldfish. When? He doesn't remember it.

He then sees the clock. He had a date he couldn't miss. Though he thinks he looks like a knob, Steven Grant does his best to look acceptable for his date. He rushes to the steakhouse in a dark suit, patiently waiting for her with a box of chocolates and a bouquet of red roses. Minutes pass by and she's nowhere to be seen. Soon Steven finds out that the current day is not Friday, but Sunday. Her tone is angry and resentful when Steven tries to explain himself.

"Come on, no. I think Friday still comes after Thursday, doesn't it?"

"It doesn't change the fact that today is Sunday, which means 'lose my number'. Cheers'. She ended the call. To ascertain this, he asked the waiter. He just confirmed what he feared.

Bloody Sunday.

_____

Steven leaves the steakhouse, broken hearted and ashamed. The failed date would be the least of his problems when he finds a key and a flip phone hidden in an upper corner of his flat. There are dozens of missed calls from the same person.

Layla.

The device starts ringing, startling him. Who was Layla? Why were there so many unanswered calls? He jumps off his seat and revolves to answer the call.

"Yeah?"

"Oh, my God, you're alive!"

"Yeah, all right" is the only thing he can reply.

"That 's it? I've been texting you and calling you for months. You couldn't give me any sign that you were okay? I thought something happened to you. Where are you? Where have you been?" The woman asks, with certain exasperation.

Who was this lady? Why did she call him 'Marc'?

"Steven." A male voice echoes, "Steven… you need to stop."

"Who said that?"

"You're gonna get yourself in trouble."

"Oh, no, no, no, mate… someone's having a laugh." Steven wanders over the flat, looking for the origins of that mysterious voice. He goes to the bathroom and sees his reflection in the small, circular mirror hung on the wall.

"Bloody hell…" he mutters but his reflection shakes his head. Terrified, Steven turns on the lights.

Nothing.

"Steven. Stop. Looking" the same voice hisses. The electricity starts buzzing, a rumbling noise caused by his books falling prompts him to leave the place with phone in hand. He shelters in the elevator, pressing the buttons frantically so the sliding door can shield him from whatever threat may be after him.

Only then, Steven sees an ominous presence at the end of the hallway. It was a beaked, mummified creature. He huddles against the mirrored wall, squirming like a prey being cornered by a predator. The flickering lights just made him more terrifying. It caws and keeps appearing, even on his way to work in the bus, for more shame.

Steven didn't mind the weirded out glares, he just wanted to run away from that ghastly presence. His mind starts questioning his sanity but everything crumbles down to horror when he catches the sight of that man with long, grayish hair and cane.

The same man who judged people in the name of Ammit in his dreams was just a few inches away from him.

What could possibly go worse now?

_____

The air feels heavy that night. The notion of persecution grows stronger. It's harder to focus but Steven tries to protect himself at any costs from this dangerous visitor.

"I'd assumed Steven Grant was an alias. Imagine my surprise to find you here."

He steps back, telling the guard that he has been following him. But he rolls his sleeve, flaunting a tattoo of a scale.

"Praise Ammit." The guard says.

Steven freezes. He then turns to face Arthur.

"Mate, I don't have your bloody beetle. I swear. I…"

Arthur makes him know that the golden scarab doesn't belong to him, but to Ammit. The force that punishes the evildoers to protect the innocent, shaped by the Egyptians as a creature that merges the head of a crocodile, forequarters of a lion and hindquarters of a hippopotamus. These three animals are the ones Egyptians regarded as the largest "man eating" creatures. A beautiful way to combine fierceness and supernatural aspects, Steven thought. But even in beauty lies the horror. He tries to escape but many visitors besiege the entrance.

How many people were part of this crazy cult?

He was convinced he was dead, until he repeated the process of judgment. Steven remembers that woman in the Alps, dead at Harrow's hands. The scales tattooed on his right arm start moving… but they don't offer a clear verdict.

"There's chaos in you" Harrow sentenced. The leader allows him to escape, but just to keep the cat and mouse game, since his uncertainty was a thrilling characteristic.

_____

The waning moon hardly enlightens the night. Almost like a prelude to the horror Steven is about to witness. Once he finishes registering the small gifts and souvenirs, he grabs his bag to lead home when he hears a distant squealing. He mistakes it for a dog, trying to lure the animal out of its hiding place.

"Where are you, little bugger?"

Steven walks by a mirror that reflects not one but two images of himself that just stare at him, perplexed - maybe - for his bravery to face this alone. A shadow behind a statue goes unnoticed for the mild mannered man, who keeps his unfruitful search.

With the lights off, Steven finally sees what lurks within the shadows: a growling, menacing jackal. He hides behind a display containing a golden statue. The loudspeaker rings with a jolly marimba tune before Arthur speaks a warning like an omnipotent being:

"Steven Grant from the gift shop, give me the scarab and you won't be torn apart."

It 's useless. Steven just throws his bag to earn time in his escape but the beast is faster: it hounds him towards the restroom, where there was no escape.

He sees the mirror again, beholding the man whose voice he recognised from earlier:

"Steven… I can save us. But I can't have you fighting me this time."

It was himself, with a more determined expression in his face. His attempt to find another way out was thwarted by the man who insisted on being given the control.

"No, what? Control of what? What are you talking about?"

"That thing's about to break through the door, we're out of time!" He exclaimed, pointing at it, "hey, listen to me…"

"Damn it, no!" Steven slaps his face to daunt the nightmare away, "you're not real!"

"This is real. I am real" but Steven refuses, "you gotta give me control, it's the only way".

"I'm gonna die… I'm gonna die…" he repeats out of his mind.

"You're not gonna die," Marc says firmly, "let me save us."

With the monster getting closer, Steven finally allows him to take control of the body. He feels a vertiginous depersonalization that soon flourished with his form summoning a suit.

The hellish creature made its way into the ruined restroom, only to be greeted by the ruthless fist of Spector, dragging it back to finish it when it tried to escape his grasp.

Even if he wasn't Steven, he was glad to finally fight back.

After his first confrontation with Harrow in London, Steven is determined to find answers to his questions. Tracking down the location through the key found with the flip phone, he heads to the cellar.

What he discovers in that place leaves him speechless. There was a stretcher, a bag of guns stuffed with wads of cash, that damn gold beetle… and an American passport with that bloody name on it.

Marc Spector.

He appears in a reflection, finally clearing things up. The revelation of Marc Spector as a servant of Khonshu only leaves him even more confused. Steven disbelieves his situation, attributing his recent instability to having eaten a steak while he was a vegan. Convinced that his mind was playing tricks on him, Steven rushes out and does the right thing: report this the authorities and load himself with pills.

But when he flees from the place, he realizes that the existence of that deity is true. It approaches him threateningly, hissing angrily:

“Give it back, you fool.”

But all Steven does is run away, carrying the bag with him. The heaviness of it causes him to trip on the sidewalk. A vespa almost runs over him, but then the most wonderful thing happens:

A woman with a familiar voice tilts her head, looking down at him.

"Marc?"

Amazed, Steven Grant realizes who she is.

"Layla?"

_____

Steven is deeply deprived of touches. This harsh reality hits him like a bus when Layla appears in his life, envisioning his failures to go on simple dates, to hold small talks without being seen as a freak. Her first interaction with Steven is not precisely positive, though. She's angry and frustrated at him, complaining about his British accent and an abrupt disappearance he couldn't explain, much less understand.

Things take another turn when she doesn't oppose nor protest when Steven wraps his arms around her waist, bringing her closer to him. Steven is so thunderstruck to speak even a word at this sudden closeness. He can have a feel of her body, battling the dichotomy of guilt and enjoyment for holding a feminine figure for the first time… as he could remember.

"Do you see the spiral you put me through?" She asks accusingly… and heartbroken. Steven squints, without Layla noticing.

"It's not okay, yeah? I'm still your wife."

Wait. Steven's mind stopped working, overriding at the last word. He tried to get his thoughts back together as fast as he could to catch a break.

"By the way, this would be a great time for you to say something. Anything. Just in case it's not clear."

"Sorry, sorry… Did you say wife?" Nervousness and amazement got his words correctly articulated, resulting in a disbelieving stammering.

"My… are we married?" Steven voiced, completely taken aback by a revelation that just crowned an insane week. His whole world had turned upside down in just a few days. Several seconds flew by for Steven to dimension the magnitude from being a mentally ill, recluse loner, buried in books to learning that there was a woman who took the time to know him, love him and marry him.

Steven desperately begs her to take them to their flat, so he can explain everything that has been happening lately. It manages for her fury to ease down, though her harsh looks haunt him through the reflection.

_____

Steven cannot take his eyes off her, watching every small thing she does. Who was this mysterious, lovely woman who claimed to be nothing more than his wife?

Layla, ignorant of the stormy thoughts dwelling in his mind, stares at the goldfish. Marc's reflection appears in the diaphanous glass of the aquarium. It doesn't take long for the mercenary to berate Steven for letting her inside the flat, demanding him to get her out.

She wanders over the place, inspecting it. She insists on calling him for that bloody name.

"It's Steven," yet she doesn't listen to his plea.

"Are you living here with someone else?" Layla questions him, frowning at him after seeing the restraint.

"No, this is my mum's flat" he rushes to answer. Layla keeps checking the place, and a book gets her attention.

"Marceline Desbordes-Valmore?"

"Yep" Steven nods, and not caring if he embarrasses himself he starts reciting in perfect french:

"I am sad, I want my lights put out…" but something wonderful happens, relieving the tension between them: Layla joins him, reciting the rest in perfect french and unison.

"Summers in your absence are as dark… as a room."

"Oui, Oui" Steven says, amazed and quickly adds, "she's my favorite poet."

"Um… no," a puzzled Layla stutters after a few silent seconds, "she's my favorite."

Not letting speechlessness overcome his newly found interest.

"That 's mental".

She now leads her steps to the desk, noticing the amount of books. Her anger is still there, but Steven follows her despite it.

"So, you're learning French and hieroglyphics?"

"Yeah, well… that's not that impressive, really" and then again, he needs that awkward need to explain what he has learned in those insomniac nights. She knows about the topic and Steven sees the perfect opportunity to ease down her fire with his poised politeness, "it's not like hieroglyphics are a whole language, it's more like a…"

"Like an alphabet," she finishes. Steven's expression beams with interest. He's so dumbfounded that it takes a couple of seconds to answer.

"Yeah… and… well, you still have to know ancient Egyptian to read it."

"Sure," she nods, coming closer to see the book Steven tries to teach her.

"Like this one here."

"Funeral rites," she asserted.

If Steven wasn't fascinated before, he's now. His impressed eyes stare at Layla, marveling at her intelligence and beauty. He cannot help but let a wide, happy smile enlighten his face.

"Well, someone knows their unilaterals" his playful comment tries to get a smile off her, "you."

He manages to, and he continues.

"That's amazing." She chuckles, hiding her face and the smile on Steven's face fades away, "sorry, I don't mean that in a creepy way–"

"No, I'm sorry. I'm not buying this, Marc" she scoffs, exasperated, "use whatever accent you want."

Layla leaves his side.

"Let's just get this over with" she reaches for her bag and takes out a form, "you sent these papers but you never signed them."

"Did I? Uhh…" everything is so confusing. Layla hands him the papers.

"This is what you wanted. After everything, you told me that we needed to move on" He finally had a look at the papers with his reading glasses on.

"Divo… divorce?" He says it, not believing it.

"Yeah, we're doing this or not?" Layla asks him.

Steven eyes the documents to comment, flirting:

"I would never divorce you," Steven is dying to know more about her. He hears a frustrated, stressed out sight from Layla.

"What are you doing?"

Steven Grant takes off his glasses, cherishing her figure with his eyes. He looks utterly lovestruck, too stunned to speak.

"Look…" Layla is appalled by his gaze, staring at her as if she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen in his life, "you seem absolutely lovely," his tender praise tries to soothe the evident pain Marc has put her through. He then turns to the small, circular mirror to face Spector and his abandonment.

Once again, his words widen the abysmal gap between them. He tries to explain everything to Layla, despite his fear to be seen as an insane, desperate man. He doesn't expect her to believe him, since Steven himself cannot believe it. Marc's plea to let her out of his fall on deaf ears. Steven intends to show her what's in the bag, until the mercenary screams in his head to stop it.

"You're gonna get her killed! You hear me?!"

The frustration in Layla grows even more when she sees the golden beetle. She spits at him, calling him out for his lies before the mild mannered man can form a reply.

"This whole one-man who is just what? So you can keep it for yourself?!"

"No, I swear…" Steven tries to explain himself but her anger corners him like a wounded animal.

"Just stop! I'm supposed to believe anything you say with this shoved in a gym bag?"

"Take it! Take it! You can have it, I don't want it!" Steven opens his hands, so Layla can trust his words, "I don't want it, I swear… have it!

Layla keeps silent, not missing him out of her sight.

"I am not Marc Spector. I'm Steven Grant. I work in a gift shop… well… I used to work in s gift shop and I think I'm in real danger… and I think maybe that you might be the only person that can help me!" Steven breaks down, scared.

She looks at the golden scarab, as if looking for rational explanation of that something he cannot understand wholly.

"Please" he whispered, to which she asks him if he really doesn't remember the reason of why they have been looking for the small treasure. Steven shakes his head, completely flabbergasted at the thought of not only being a husband, but having a whole story with her.

"Oh, God, I wish I could" he gasps, lost in her eyes.

_____

Things get crazier after meeting his wife. That night he would know how fucked up the situation was. Starting with a kidnapping, Steven learns about Spector's dark past.

"We've only got ourselves a full-blown international fugitive" were enough to spark panic in him. He wished he was committed to an asylum so he would never harm anyone again.

But it wasn't him.

Then the corpses. Covered corpses of people tied and shot in the back of the head. Steven huddles against the seat, feeling like a deer before a hunter. Being handcuffed just worsened his anxiety. But the horror just begins when he realizes not only was taken to an unknown alley, but it was inhabited by more of Harrow's cultists. Then the fugitive mirrors in the glass of the window.

"You don't need to fight me, Steven. Surrender control."

"N-no, no. I saw what you did to those people."

"It's not what you think–"

"I am never giving you control again. Ever. Do you hear me?" Steven hisses defiantly at the mirror.

But another voice comes out of the radio.

"I hear you loud and clear, Steven Grant from the gift shop."

Next, he is finally out of the car. It doesn't take long for Steven to learn that Ammit's avatar had orchestrated this. Harrow welcomes him, stating they needed a chance to better understand his situation. He mentions the scales, his chaos, voices in his head… everything feels so confusing.

"It must be very difficult having all those voices inside one head."

He introduces him to his creed, trying to persuade Steven to embrace it, defending the idea of what was, basically, mass genocide. It was dark and sinister. Harrow strikes back with a powerful argument, also mentioning his former servitude to Khonshu, who doesn't hesitate to manifest his wrath by throwing and pushing objects.

'Cutting evil from the root', is what Ammit intends. Harrow compares her sense of justice to Khonshu's. A comparison Steven knows too well the latter will lose, surprised at Harrow's boldness to mock the deity right in front of him. He then persuades Steven to give the scarab, so Ammit could be free to make humanity face her judgment. With his firm refusal to tell, both wanting to protect Layla, Harrow speaks to Marc but Steven defends his denial by pointing out what could turn into an innocent bloodshed, refusing to give the scarab no matter how much the crowd and the leader himself tried to intimidate him.

Much to his surprise, Layla showed up in the most unexpected moment, object in hand. She doesn't think twice to get him out of that place, though she insists he can fight back by summoning a suit. Layla doesn't hesitate to beat the hell out of the guys trying to prevent their escape. All Steven can do is stare at the man falling down, open-mouthed.

"That was awesome," he gasped, as Layla ran to grab his arm and drag him out of the place. But Harrow sends another hellish jackal to hound him. Steven feels his sanity slipping out, before Layla's insistence on calling him 'Marc', pushing him to fight, her voice echoing with Spector's own to surrender the body manages to break him.

But once the great, ebony door was opened, Layla saw nothing. Steven was panicked for something only he could see.

The beast doesn't have any mercy on him, throwing Steven from the window. Khonshu speaks then, in a last desperate attempt to make Grant abandon his usual passiveness.

"Summon the suit!"

Being a few inches away from becoming a corpse, Steven finally screams. He lands lavishly, now donning a fancy white suit, which frustrates Marc enormously.

"Oy, Steven. What the hell are we wearing?" But he doesn't know Spector meant the ceremonial armor from Khonshu's temple… Though he thinks the suit makes him look pretty sharp.

The jackal, of course, ruins his new appreciation for himself. Steven doesn't think twice to save Layla when it attacks her, even when his stubbornness cannot handle the danger. He lures the creature away from his wife, acting with a defying confidence that caught Layla unprepared.

"Fly like a butterfly, sting like a bee, my name is Steven with a 'V'!" He exclaimed, stepping back so the jackal would follow him… just to end in the floor again, now with people mistaking him for a drunk man. Marc knows he's right, and his proud, witty remark just convinces Steven to give him the body to finally end this fight.

_____

Steven doesn't like to be outside of his body. He can scarcely move. For his part, Spector is furious. The scarab was probably in Harrow's hands, closer now to doom mankind to Ammit's judgment. The panic can be felt in the air and the tension between the two just increases.

"The one who controls the body has become stronger."

Marc's futile words to appease his anxiety just cause uncertainty in Steven.

"The reflections help but most of the time, it takes all your willpower just to be a fly in the wall."

"You can't do this" Steven pants, horrified as he felt like a ghostly entity, "you have no right." Marc listens to his furious rant, pointing at him as the one to blame for all his misfortunes in his life. It doesn't seem to carve any guilt on him, limiting himself to hear everything he had to complain about.

Marc reassures him with the promise of never being seen or heard again once his debt is repaid with his servitude, the one that leaves him covered in blood.

"Everything you touch, you ruin. You hurt people, you abandoned your wife. You left her stranded!"

This last remark was enough to light the fury on the mercenary, who turns around to clarify the matter.

"I am protecting her. You don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you did. I saw–"

"Khonshu has his eyes on her. He wants her as my replacement. I'm never gonna let that happen, you hear me?" Marc hissed, upset.

"You're a liar. I don't believe you. I don't trust you. You hurt people!"

"I'm never letting him near her, just shut up!" but Steven's voice overlaps over his, rapping him out.

"I won't let you hurt anyone else ever again, I will never give you a moment of peace, I swear!" He promises, with avid vehemence. A bell tolls, almost as if wanting to go in tune with the mess in his head.

The noise becomes unbearable, sparking a violent reaction from Spector. His foot breaks the mirror where his reflection berates him, obtaining a few seconds of silence before Khonshu appears in the heights of the church nearby. A strong gust of wind serves as an ominous warning of his closeness.

Marc feels trapped. It wasn't wise to awaken the lunar deity's wrath in such a crucial moment, especially knowing that the scarab would point at Ammit's ushabti. The final battle would be unleashed not there, but in the cradle where his crusade had started: under the scorching Egyptian sun, a half naked Marc drank a bottle of whiskey, resigned to another bloodbath while a fearful Steven just beholds from the mirror the mess he had done in the room.

_____

Knowing how to get to the map that would lead to Ammit's ushabti, Marc goes against time. He fears he only has a few days left to avoid it. Harrow is restless and after an useless chase through the streets of Cairo. Marc doesn't remember the killing spree he carried on the top of a roof and near a cliff, away from the city.

How much time happened? He didn't know. He was horrified by the three men who were alive and fighting just seconds ago. Marc cannot bring himself to believe when he is more disgusted by the noise of blood squelching… and the uneasy sight of blood. But the mission is the same: to find Harrow.

His last resource for knowledge comes from a kid who barely made it alive. Despite Khonshu's order to take him to the ledge to scare him away, the kid just ends up killing himself, saying a final praise for Ammit.

Khonshu decides to send a message to the gods. One that they will not ignore. In order to delay Harrow, the deity manipulates the sky, astonishing everyone with an unexpected solar eclipse. Marc knew this was a bad idea, but deep down he had to give him credit for how bold the move was. The vulture is smart. It manages to summon Marc to the council, located in the Giza pyramid. Steven feels like a kid in a candy shop as he is privileged to see it from the inside. Whenever the Ennead should gather the avatars, from all around the world, a portal presents everywhere.

The last time Khonshu had spoken to the gods, it resulted in his banishment. The case against Harrow must be indisputable. Marc was unsettled, for he must respond for what Khonshu had done. The god doesn't even bother to explain how this would work, leaving him to his own devices. The attendance was concurred by Horus, Isis, Tefnut, Hathor and Osiris to hear Khonshu's account.

The open contempt from Osiris just bittered his antipathy for his garishness, threatening him to a petrous imprisonment if he dared to manipulate the sky one more time.

Marc then yells at him, shattering the silence.

"Spare me your self-righteous threats! I was banished for not abandoning humanity, unlike the rest of you".

Osiris responds with polite calmness that the abandonment came from humanity's side, letting the avatars carry on with their purposes unnoticed. It wouldn't do, since the whole Ennead needed the might of other gods.

"Return from the opulence of the Overvoid before you lose this realm!" Khonshu furiously demanded, outraged by their indifference that could unchain an apocalipsis.

Just as Marc had finished screaming Khonshu's wrathful words, a tear fell down his cheek. He never thought that being used as a messenger through his body and voice could hurt so much.

"For the last time, Khonshu, the avatars that remain here are simply meant to observe. We decided long ago we did not wish to meddle in the affairs of man."

The council then asks him to speak about his purpose. Khonshu points out Harrow, mentioning his conspiracy to release Ammit. Arthur then enters the room, already suspecting the nature of the meeting. Khonshu explodes against his former avatar, tired of him playing innocent.

But he goes straight to the point.

"Do you not seek to release Ammit from her tomb?" Khonshu accuses him so violently that Spector's whole form shakes with its choleric roar.

"I was in the desert. But if visiting the sands were a crime, the line of sinners would be longer than the Nile" he then accuses Khonshu of searching said tomb in the times he was his avatar, mentioning jealousy, paranoia and—"

"HE'S A DECEIVER!!!" Marc howls until his vocal cords are torn, but Harrow doesn't let his former master to mortify him.

"Khonshu is unhinged and his servant unwell," to which Hathor asks to explain it.

Harrow calmly replies:

"This is a man who literally does not know his own name."

Marc began to panic. He gulped, trying to fight the feeling of helplessness and vulnerability. But he doesn't stop there: Harrow also mentions his marriage certificate as Marc Spector and employment records under the name "Steven Grant"

"Liar!" Khonshu roars, then Marc pleads, "stop!"

"I've seen him speak to himself…"

"Shut up!"

"...threaten himself…" and then he chuckles, trying to deal with how twisted Spector's illness was, "I have no idea how many personalities he must possess. The man is clearly insane."

That last sentence fueled his fury, ready to tackle Harrow but he's immediately reduced by a psychic onslaught coming from Osiris. Marc shuts his mouth, trying to recover the strength.

"It brings me no pleasure to tell you that this is a deeply troubled man."

Marc cannot defend himself, feeling his vocal cords bleeding at the least effort. Even breathing makes his chest hurt, as Harrow is speaking the truth about his servitude to Khonshu. He is then allowed to speak, being asked personally by Horus.

"I am. I am unwell. I need help… but that doesn't change the fact that this man is–" but he cannot bring himself to verbalize Harrow's intentions.

"This is a safe space for you to tell us if you feel exploited by Khonshu." But then Marc bursts out:

"This is not about my feelings! I'm not the one on trial here. He is! This is about how dangerous he is if you would listen for a second".

"He has committed no offense," Osiris sentences, "this matter is concluded."

Marc stays there, defeated, humiliated. But once everyone is out of the hall, Hathor's avatar comes closer to him and tells him another way to get into Ammit's tomb. The location was recorded by a Medjai called Senfu, whose sarcophagus was stolen and sold in the black market. The task was done in case the gods ever changed their minds, if they decided to show mercy.

_____

This was where the real adventure began.

Much to Spector's displeasure, Layla showed up in Egypt just in the moment when he was in the market, asking for Senfu's sarcophagus to merchants. Layla offers help, and both embark to meet Anton Mogart, an antiquities collector. Once Layla went with Marc undercover (using a fake identity), the map was recovered… but it requires an expert insight to decipher the location of the tomb.

However, Harrow has kept watching Spector. His disciples had told him the couple's plan to find the crypt, attempting to turn Mogart against them and if that wasn't bad enough, that maniac dares to reveal his involvement in the raid that killed Abdallah El-Faouly. Once out and with Mogart dead, Layla confronts Marc about Harrow's words about it. The mercenary gets nervous, and pretends he doesn't know. He tries to convince Layla that Harrow just looks to divide them.

"Every time I learn something new about you, I think that's it. There can be any secrets left between us. And then something else pops up and it's like I've not known you at all."

Marc tries to end the conversation bottling up.

"Yeah. You haven't" he looked at her in that cold way that shattered her heart, "you don't." Just as intended, Layla ceases the talk, driving in tense silence. Both leave their differences aside to put the pieces of the starry map back together to know the exact location of Ammit's tomb.

They had been like this for like an hour, and Marc is getting frustrated with the lack of results, slams his open palm violently over the bonnet. Layla pleads with Marc to let Steven front, since he might know how to handle this.

"Marc, we can't wait" she mutters sweetly, but it doesn't soften him a bit, "it's okay… just...let go."

Marc sighs and runs his hands over his hair to cope with the stress and snatches the mirror off the jeep, taking the tape and the pieces of the map. He walks a few feet away from his wife and looks at the reflection.

"All right. Go ahead, you're in."

And in a couple of seconds, Steven is back on his body.

"Cheers, thanks a lot" and sets his hands to solve the problem. Layla sees him, walking towards him with caution. Steven jolts and smiles at her. He has that look of pure love in his eyes. How is it possible for a man she has been married to for years, a man (she thinks) she's known for so long can look so different? Steven's skills finally recompose the map… just to realize the stars drift over time, making it impossible to find the exact location in the present.

But Khonshu doesn't stand there. As the god of the night sky, he had power over the celestial vault. He would do something way bolder than a simple eclipse in broad daylight. Steven wished to be prepared for the wonderful spectacle Khonshu conjured in order to locate the tomb. The deity doesn't take long to ask Steven for help, which causes that white, elegant suit to appear again. With the skies stirring in violent motion to catch the exact alignment of the stars, Layla finally obtains the location while Steven and Khonshu slowly begin to weaken.

He realizes the god is disintegrating, asking him to tell Marc to free him.

But he cannot act fast, since his own energy has been drained with Khonshu disappearing. Layla tries to wake him up with tender impatience. His eyes remain closed and Layla sees no other option than to take matters in her hands.

Or that was what Steven could deduct once he regained consciousness. She never ceases to amaze him. All those people… Layla took them down by herself.

"We can't lose more time. Harrow must be headed back to the tomb. Look, if he is, we're gonna need Marc, yeah?"

"Exactly. See, she gets it," Marc quips from the mirror. A few seconds of silence follow before Steven replies:

"No."

"No?" Layla turns around to look at him.

"No, see… the thing is… we made a deal, Marc and I" he swallows, "that when he was done with Khonshu, he would disappear for good–"

"But that deal didn't involve you getting Layla and us killed, did it? That's not gonna fly with me."

"You guys made a deal? That he would just disappear from my life?" She stared at him, with silent outrage, hot tears filling her eyes, "and you didn't think that maybe I should've been made aware of that?"

"Oh…well, hadn't he disappeared from your life already?"

"Yeah, I mean…" Layla shook her head, not taking her eyes off the road, "Whatever. His suit was his best feature, wasn't it? Didn't have that anymore."

The awkwardness boils Marc's patience.

"Steven. Give me the body right now. This is a suicide mission." Layla keeps complaining about him, and his loner nature.

"It's not happening. We're not gonna do that" she said, determinedly. Maybe expecting to piss off Marc.

"We are not," Steven also said with determination, "it's just you and me and the open road–" but Layla stopped the car abruptly.

"We're gonna go on foot from here."

*Yeah, all right."

It took them a long walk to arrive, but Harrow's men were already there. It was necessary to beat them to get to Ammit's tomb. Descending from the canyon, the couple find an empty camp, with cars left with open doors. Only camels were there to greet them. Both go for supplies, and Steven finds plenty of them in one. Marc insists on fronting, mentioning Steven's inexperience as a liability. He doesn't, though and takes a lantern, rummaging through documents like photos, reports and maps.

"Without Khonshu there is no more suit, no more healing, no more power–"

"Yeah, no more you, I thought. It's what you said, innit? But I guess… believing anything that comes out of your mouth just shows what a plonker I am."

Marc sighs, understanding his discontent.

"Look, I wish I could just disappear. I really do. But unfortunately, I'm still here. If you're gonna go through with this, you gotta be smart, for least for Layla's sake. I've in situations like this before—"

"So have I. It's the same body, innit? It's in there, somewhere. Muscle memory and that."

"I'm not sure it works that way. Just—"

"Whatever," Steven cuts him off, with an uncharacteristic sassiness that surprises Marc.

"I'm here. You're not alone" Marc calms him down. It finally snaps Steven's patient ways with him turning around with defiance against Spector's reflection.

"I know I'm not alone! I know I'm not bloody not alone, I've got Layla! She's got my back!" Steven spits, heading to walk off the place.

Hearing him talking about Layla with such vehemence fueled a choleric jealousy from Marc, who didn't think twice to growl at his alter for his affections:

"Are you in love? You're in love with my wife?!"

Steven turns over once last time.

"Look, I appreciate your concern, mate. I really do… but we've got it from here." He mutters, confidently despite Marc becoming more and more furious.

"You lay one finger on her… I swear to you– Steven!"

"If I need a recipe for a protein shake or something, I'll call you," Steven went out to find Layla, not caring about Marc's growing wrath. It made the situation even more hilarious.

"I'LL THROW US OFF A CLIFF!"

_____

Steven feels the thrill of closeness as Layla puts the harness on him. Having those hands on him, treating him gently had an hypnotizing, euphoric effect. The thoughts of her doing other things while kneeling caused an impish grin tracing his lips, fighting those naughty fantasies of his.

"I have to say, I feel like I've been waiting for this my whole life…" he then looked down at her, adding with a glint of guilt, "the adventure… I mean."

Layla gets up, smiling at the flirty grin Steven gives her. She doesn't keep her hands off him, concealing her wish for a greater closeness through "accidental" nuzzles, talking in breathy whispers. Steven shrugs, not knowing how to handle this heated tension boiling inside his chest. He cannot take his eyes off her lips as she becomes dangerously close to his ear, swearing she made a soft groan, which immediately sparked Steven to ask himself what he could cause Layla to make those sounds… he wonders things. He longs for contact.

For her contact.

From the first moment he had seen her, where he remembers the pleasant embrace riding the Vespa back in London, dark eyes shining like tourmalines.

Her tender expression reminisces of Marc at his warmest.

"You smell like him," she mutters, "I mean… why wouldn't you?" Layla stares at his mouth. Steven feels his heart racing when her lips attempt to crash with his mouth in an impulsive move, desperate to feel Marc, whether it was through Steven's skin… or whoever dwelled in there.

But his nobility is greater and before their mouth make contact, Steven rushes to say:

"Marc's trying to protect you from Khonshu" her warm expression faded, clearly upset.

"What?"

"That's why he's been pushing you away. He thinks Khonshu wants you for his avatar and he won't let that happen" Steven finished. As he sees it has no positive response from Layla, he rushes to explain further:

"It's all right… I just felt like you should know that." Layla grabs a glove, as Steven apologizes for being so imprudent with such delicate information.

"Why are you telling me this now?"

"I don't know. I.just thought you deserved to know." Layla puts on the glove to distract herself.

"It wasn't his call to make. I don't need protection", she muttered, "What I need is honesty."

"Yeah, I get that."

"That's more of a 'you' thing, isn't it?"

"What? Being honesty?" Layla laughed at his sweet clumsiness.

"Yeah. Being honesty" she nods, instead of laughing at him. It makes the love he feels for her to reach unthinkable dimensions.

Confidently and sure, Steven grabs her shoulders with gentleness, leaning with delicate precision to reach her lips. An astonished Layla shuts her eyes off at his daring gesture, doubtfully keeping up with the famished and impatient kiss Steven insisted to captivate her with. He's too bewitched by the full, warm lips he didn't know he had kissed in another life.

He first caught her upper lip for a few seconds, partially breaking the kiss to catch her lips with his, wishing to devour or at least, have a better taste of them, aroused by the sound of their mouths breaking their caress, which he delayed as much as he could.

Moved by the desire for more touches, Steven refuses to give her personal space after their impulsive kiss, smiling with genuine happiness with his forehead against hers. It warms and breaks her heart how grateful Steven was with a simple gesture. How deprived of touches had (Marc) Steven been? So many questions demanded so many answers that couldn't be solved at this moment.

Layla goes down the excavation, and doesn't get to see an absolutely enamored Steven looking at her completely in love, haunted by her kiss…

…Nor Marc punching Steven, to then throw him down the tomb, accomplishing his threat for touching his wife.

These were the things Steven remembered most fondly, before dying at Harrow's hands with two shots in the chest.

Until that night.

Until that fucking night.

_____

He never imagined that a trip to Egypt would change his life so drastically. He returned to London far from the meek, jumpy man he used to be before these incidents. But not even that prepared him for what fate had in store for him.

Steven didn't want to be impertinent in Marc's relationship. But during that night it was impossible. Steven didn't even remember how upset he was for missing a date because of that mercenary using his body to save the world from a genocidal maniac, knowing he was married to a lovely, intelligent wife. It was as if that failed date with Dylan had never taken place.

Even when Steven had been begotten to be better than Marc Spector, not even he could escape the searing feeling of envy when Spector got to be with Layla in that way.

Seeing her in all her nude glory, first imprisoned in Marc's arms, impaled relentlessly, and then above him, loving how Layla trusted him enough to lock her as if she was his and his only.

He then realizes a sad truth; Layla wanted to kiss him because he had the face of Marc Spector. Layla loved Spector, not Steven.

Steven now looks at her, elevated to a goddess, naked and sweating while her moans delight his ears. He feels like a pervert for spying on her through the aquarium reflection but he's just too marveled seeing Marc's body being ridden with raw, brutal fury. He felt as if he was witnessing a privileged mortal making love to a goddess.

Though he was happy to see them together once again, he cannot stop wondering how his name would sound if she'd screamed it with him beneath her.

As much as he struggles to keep his eyes and ears covered, curiosity overcomes his modesty and what a sight he gets. To Steven, Layla had ascended from crush to a reborn Aphrodite right in the moment he saw her getting up to place herself above him. How he wished to be Marc at that moment.

It wasn't the fact of sex itself, being naked or close to each other… It was the climax and its meaning what mesmerized Steven, the vestiges accusing their union, watching it ooze from her while she moans for more. He may not have the full satisfaction of it, but he's more than glad to see the body being loved and taken care of.

Steven diverted his gaze, ceasing the tortuous illusions of intimacy. He tried to focus on other things but those scandalous moans of hers made it impossible. Those things she was whispering, it was like a mermaid tempting a sailor to follow her. He'd give anything to experience what it was to be buried deep inside her, with nothing except him occupying her mind to cry his name. He had never felt so undesired and miserable in his life, especially when Marc howls his lungs out when the peak hits him. The moment was followed by a dead silence.

Suddenly a dizzy, incorporeal sensation numbed his muscles. His vision became blurred, just like when he regained…

Hearing how her calm breathing changed to a sharp cry aroused him to the point of insanity, not just the wet, tight flesh practically latching around him so abruptly, not just having that beautiful female nude still impaled on him. It wasn't the fact that Marc had surrendered the control to him. He couldn't understand why but he couldn't process everything that happened in that moment, not having time to ask her out loud about their situation. His sobs finally got Layla to look down at him. He felt cornered.

"Steven?" She whispered, just as mesmerized as he was. Steven writhed and shook while pleasure stuns his strength, trying to break the physical bond to avoid any more problems, but Layla insists on retaining his body underneath her. How was it possible to be like this now? When not too long ago he had been admiring her from afar, yearning silently for her body.

Why did Marc feel so vulnerable being with her?

Maybe it was the shock of seeing her, of feeling so helpless when she loved him like this. Steven tries to focus but his body speaks for him: he moans loudly as he watches several, thick threads of himself falling down their sexes, looking to adhere even more tightly to each other.

The explicit image does things to him. It is the physical reminder of how her body stirred under his touch. Wishing to see more of it percolating between her thighs, Steven thrusts up, shaking her whole body again, observing with respectful and immense fascination a pleasure-drunk Layla, who doesn't seem to care that Marc wasn't there to finish what he started.

Steven moans her name and smiles at the sight of her breasts and curls bouncing. They look so lovely, begging to be touched, kneaded, pampered.

He didn't decide what to do next, though he doesn't miss the chance to squeeze them to calm down his aroused enthusiasm. Layla starts straddling his hardened length once again, until Steven has an idea: He obeys his instinct to wrap his arms around her, to then roll over the bed sheets so he was above Layla, who latched at his neck, desirous to obtain more of him, not caring if she was on control. Steven never thought this loss of individuality would be so magnificent. And then, he sees that look in her eyes. Layla stares up at him.

Her gaze is nothing but fire.

His voice undoes itself in praises and desperate claims, melting each other's mouths in heated kisses that left their tongues tangled in a desperate dance.

Steven felt her hands running down his ribs, reaching his hips to scratch his back to then caress it. It made the mild mannered man push as deep as he could as a harsh response, breaking the kiss to moan while genuinely convinced he could feel every vein, every inch of hers melted with his.

He looks down her body by mere instinct, and finds more lustful evidence of their act between her legs, more pearly creeks gushing from their differences. It moves him to gather strength to drag himself out of her just to slam back inside, reviving the sensation of sweet captivity within her depths, feeling those pulsating walls hardly containing him, despite Layla seemingly wishing more of Steven inside of her.

Neither of them would get to see it, but the reflection showed a delirious Steven Grant taking an euphoric Layla with him over the bed, making their bodies move in perfect unison.

"Keep going! Fuck, Steven… just like that" he panted against her ear, groaning when he feels her thighs pressing his hips, "I want it dripping off me, Steven. Will you be good to me and give me that?"

"Yes! I will! I'll be good-- I'll be so good to you!" Steven pushes as deep as he can without thinking, making sure to comply her wish.

Layla liked that, sliding her hands down his chest, heart hammering with war-like fury. Steven was too desperate to repeat that deep feel of wholeness both experienced a few moments ago, too immersed in the pleasure the narrow, hot embrace gave him but also too stunned too form a coherent sentence. Layla tenderly caresses his hair, and Steven gently leans his head to bathe in those kind touches. She kisses his jawline, brushing her lips against his ear.

"Don't hold back," Layla lovingly whispered, knowing their climax was close. Steven looked down and saw that again between their legs, stopping for a moment before the glorious end. Layla reminds him that he was the one who stole a kiss from her back in the desert, enjoying to see Steven Grant turned into a sex crazed mess, so far from his fancy, polite manners, fighting against the constriction that he knew, would overcome him.

He had never been so happy to lose a battle as he did with this one, in particular. He increased the pace, making the bounce of her orbed parts even more intense. Steven weeps of pleasure when he cannot bring himself to resist it anymore, pouring all of his seed inside her, delighting in the falling strands accusing the violence of the orgasm that shuddered Layla's body.

He keeps completely still, loving the intimacy between him and Layla. All he can think about is never letting her go. He loves her. Steven loves her more than he loves his own life. This is how it feels to be seen, cherished, loved. He wishes this precious moment to never end. And there she stays, cradling his tired body. Steven hides his face in her neck, repeating that he could never leave her, much less after what happened between them.

Layla runs her fingers over his hair, caressing his back up and down, grateful to have her husband sleeping in her arms once again, away from danger and blood for good. She lovingly lulls him, despite Steven being asleep (or passed out, who knew?) so he could know in his slumber that she would be there to care for him… and love him.

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