#because the whole time we were in actual mortal danger and it was really fucking scary

[jonathanstims]

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[lilbittymonster]

rubs my hands together mischievously — 3, 6, 8, 10, 13, 14

3 - screenshot or description of the worst take you've seen on tumblr

Oh, Amaurotine fashion death squads....

This has become a running joke in my fc and it will never not boggle my mind how you can take "this side quest NPC says that you're dressed funny like a child would and here, take these robes so you'll look more mature" and "Hades compares individual transformations to stripping naked in public" and get "Amaurot has death squads that will hunt you down in the street for being non conformist". Like. What the entire fuck. I am aware that this is the piss on the poor website but this is some other shit lmao.

6 - which ship fans are the most annoying?

Y'know, honestly, the call is coming from inside the house on this one bc I have to say that it's other Estinien fans. Every time I go through the wolstinien tag on ao3 I get hit with "he would not fucking say that" "he would not fucking do that" almost every fic I open. It's dire. Usually I answer with G'raha stans but it's worse when it's about a character you actually give a fuck about. I think I have more wolstinien accounts with bad takes blocked than I do accounts who post untagged Zenos tits.

8 - common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

"Aymeric throwing the eyes off the bridge was a stupid move." No, it was the best decision he had with the information that he had at the time.

Veterans of this blog will know I have picked a bone with this for a long fucking time but for those of y'all who're new here, the naysayers who decry Aymeric's order to the WoL and Alphinaud to discard the eyes of Nidhogg into the Sea of Clouds as an idiot decision simply don't understand how limited perspective in storytelling works. I have yet to hear an actual answer to "well what would you have done?" that isn't Ha Ha Funnie Joaks "weLl My wOl woUld hAve JuSt eaTen tHem".

The scenario is; the finale of the Dragonsong War. Everyone is hyped up on adrenaline. The Sea of Clouds is well known to be nigh inhospitable to any life except the extremely specialised fish who have made their home there. No one has plumbed the depths and we Just Don't Know how deep the Sea really goes.

We also know that the Vault where the Eye (single) had been kept wasn't enough to keep Estinien (a single, albeit extremely strong, mortal) out of it. So what's going to stop a Warrior of Darkness or an Ascian from breaking into it if the Eyes were kept in Ishgard? Not only would keeping the Eyes simply continue to perpetuate the cycle of violence that this finale is supposed to fucking end because this is the entire plot of the fucking expansion we just played through, the Ascians would have still just yoinked the Eyes to give to Ilberd and we still would have had the whole Baelsar's Wall battle just with slightly different steps to get there.

We also know that both Eyes in proximity to anyone, and at that moment especially dangerous to Estinien, and the best solution is to get them as far away from him as possible. This is also very textually canonically Aymeric's closest friend! He has a very personal vested interest in keeping him safe! There is emotional distress on top of the adrenaline and if you think "well this is obviously the time for logic" you're someone who clearly has never actually been in a high stress situation and also you're just plain wrong.

So throwing the Eyes of Nidhogg over the edge of the Steps of Faith into the depths of the Sea of Clouds where no one has any reason to expect they'd be retrieved by ghosts, basically, is the most sound decision to everyone present.

"But we saw the Warrior of Darkness-" shut up. You've missed the point. Just because we, the player, know something has happened in a cutscene, this does not mean that all the other characters will have the same information. The characters are not omniscient and if your criticism rests on them not acting on information that they do not have then you have nothing of import to say.

10 - worst part of fanon

I have another ask with this one so I can break the tie and say "Estinien is stupid". Is it because of the hair tie thing? Is it because he's surrounded by graduate students now? I don't know. But one, buying an overly inflated hair tie from merchants who are clearly struggling does not make him "stupid" because he goes on to do the same thing in the patches by paying way too much gil for that map just to make sure that child eats. And two, wisdom and intelligence are two separate scores for a reason. He may not be book smart the way the rest of the nerds with the tattoos are, but he's probably the most emotionally intelligent one of the bunch, and that's just as valuable as getting a good Sharlayan SAT score.

13 - worst blorboficiation

This one goes to G'raha. The guy is cunning and sharp and tactical and honestly it's a good thing that he just wants to be a storybook hero bc he can be dangerous when he wants to but you wouldn't think it from a surface glance through the wolgraha tag. I don't particularly like the guy but I still get annoyed on his behalf when he's reduced to "lol wolsimp" constantly. I know of exactly 3 people who have an interpretation of him that actually compels me and they are all my beloved mutuals. And maybe it's because they're also poly/multishippers that they have a better grasp on his character depth? It's a phenomenon I've seen across fandoms and across character types.

14 - that one thing you see in fics all the time

Estinien being cruel to Aymeric's cat. Oh my fucking god why do people make Estinien be cruel to Aymeric's cat. Why. What are you doing. The son of a shepherd who likely would have had barn cats to keep rodents out would not be cruel to a small animal! What the entire fuck!

This is a guy who would have been in Aymeric's life for years who would have been around said cat for years as well! Even if the cat didn't like him he wouldn't be mean about it! And I am a very firm believer that if someone, fictional or otherwise, is mean-spirited towards small animals (or big animals or medium animals) then they aren't someone who's safe. And if that's the version of Estinien that you're writing then I have zero interest in anything else you have to say.

Thanks for the asks @nidstiniens I hope you enjoy the essays

Choose Violence

[crossdressingdeath]

Cole: Your hand hurts. It's pulling you apart. Dorian: Why didn't you say something? I could have... I don't know, something! Alaris: Whatever happens, I wouldn't trade the years we've had together for anything. I love you. Dorian: I knew you would break my heart, you bloody bastard. Cole: We helped. All of us. I won't forget. Blackwall: One more fight, then. Let's finish this.

DIDN'T NEED MY HEART ANYWAY.

Everything about this is awful and painful. It's fine! Starting from the top, Cole is once again dropping all the metaphors and twisty speech in favour of the simple truth: Quiz is in pain. I mean, what else is there to say at this point? It's a lot more straightforward than the trauma he spends the main game pulling from people's heads: they're dying, and it hurts! Although the description of the Anchor as pulling Quiz apart is definitely interesting; I mean first off I hope he's not being entirely literal there (messy), but also that does fit with my theory that the Anchor is fatal to Quiz because it's not designed to be embedded in a mortal person who exists solely in the waking world. Even setting aside the possibility that the ancient elvhen (who the Anchor was likely designed for) might have been spirits, the orb was likely created pre-Veil (given Solas's post-Veil nap and all) and so the Anchor likely wouldn't work as intended in the post-Veil, separated world. A purely physical being like Quiz likely would be pulled apart in some sense or another as the Anchor tried to exist across both the waking world and the Fade like it was supposed to while attached to someone who Could Not Do That.

Anyway, potential lore implications aside. Dorian. Oh poor, poor Dorian. The way he's audibly right on the very edge of tears the whole time (and might actually be crying a bit on "you bloody bastard") is what you might call incredibly fucking sad! Like, he's accepted that Quiz truly loves him and intends to stay with him and even if they're physically apart for a time they will always have each other and Corypheus has been dealt with and he thought everything was working out fine... and now this. The man he loves is dying and there's nothing he can do and Quiz didn't even tell him. That "Why didn't you say something?" is heartwrenching. There was nothing he could've done, but even looking and failing to find a solution would've been better than looking back on the past two years that he spent blissfully ignorant and knowing that while he was enjoying their time together (and eventually left Quiz in Skyhold to go to Tevinter, thinking they had all the time in the world!) his lover was slowly dying. And of course there's the kick in the teeth that is that Quiz isn't even how he found out; it's Leliana who informs the companions, not Quiz. Bioware why wasn't it Quiz, Quiz should've told the companions, where is my cutscene where Quiz tells the companions what's happening, I want my angst.

And that "I knew you'd break my heart, you bloody bastard" is like... yeah! Dorian more than any other LI possibly across the whole series is very aware that even if Quiz never willingly leaves him the role of hero is an incredibly dangerous one. But by Trespasser he seems to have settled on that front; he's talking about leaving for Tevinter for the foreseeable future and while he's clearly not happy about it there's no sense that he's bracing himself to lose Quiz! So he finally starts to get past the fear of Quiz breaking his heart by leaving or dying, and that's when this happens! Dorian always knew the odds that falling for the hero of the story would end in heartbreak, and just as he's beginning to think that maybe they're getting past that danger he learns that Quiz is dying, and was quite possibly aware he was dying the whole time they were together. Although of course the biggest tragedy is that we don't get to really get into that because this is all we get because Bioware didn't bother to include even a cutscene where Quiz tells just their LI what's going on- I am just never going to be over that okay.

Also Blackwall is here. I actually like him so much more than I did having been using him as my primary warrior this run (I'm actually kind of tempted to change my planned order and do a Blackwall romance next, I'm thinking mage Trevelyan for that?), and I do love how he's very much down to business about the situation. His friend is dying, but before that they have one last fight to get through. If this is the last time he'll be able to fight alongside his dear friend and comrade in arms, the person who gave him another shot at life after everything he did, someone he respects above all others, he's going to make it one hell of a last fight. He can't save them, but he can give them the send-off they deserve, and dammit he is going to do it.

[chthonicgodling]

okay so I don't know if this is in the realm of what you're in the mood of talking about BUT seeing that Loki was responsible for exploding thanatos (lol) I'm curious how well they knew each other ?? *if* they knew each other ??

ohHhhHh MARS LIKE I SAID I AM SO… SO GLAD YOU ASKED THIS

this is going to be very, very, very long but before I jump behind a cut and answer your actual question, allow me to share & recap some crucial background information to paint the scene first for where we were - this was many years ago . Hmmm even this preamble is stupid long. I’m so sorry.

(OoC, around the year 2013 BUT our in-canon 5 year jump ahead took place in the middle of this duration so the actual in-canon year no longer matches up or— whatever)

the important refresher facts (and new info?) are, of course Loki falls into Elysium, the gang rehabs him, Loki comes around, sleeps around with the palace, ends up knocked up by Laphi with Fjöer; despite Loki briefly disappearing in panic he does eventually return (with… with an egg lmao) and this is NOT a crisis because Loki is learning to trust his new friends; Fjöer’s born —

Fjöer gets kidnapped to the mortal world. Loki relapses straight back into supervillainy and goes absolutely ballistic, torturing and almost murdering A Certain Key Player of A Certain Superhero Team while convinced he had something to do with it. He did not. Tory gets Fjöer back. To keep the peace in the mortal world, he promises that Loki will never, EVER leave the underworld again. To make this happen, Tory tricks Loki into eating the food of the dead, thus damning him to the Underworld in accordance with ancient magic laws. Loki (though feeling incredibly guilty) is horrified and enraged at this betrayal.

Loki proceeds to hack into the entire magical grid of the Underworld and recenters its magical essence TO HIM, now holding all the power of the whole realm in his very being and becoming the vessel for all those ancient magic binding rules so… now he can resume going wherever he pleases. This is SO dramatic that Tory fuckin rolls his eyes and gives the fuck up okay FINE LOKI YOU WIN just please don’t try to kill anyone again. ok deal:)

then our in-universe five year jump ahead takes place… now, approximately six and a half years after Loki first fell to Elysium —Loki’s just given birth to baby Rane; Tory is now heavily pregnant with his and Loki’s oopsie twins Eisa and Einmyria, it’s a high risk pregnancy made none the easier of the drama of that whole situation (long separate story). here we are. got it? good.

Now, your actual answer.

When Loki had first entered Elysium and was ~*bonding*~ with everyone, and unpicking the pieces of the trauma he’d gone through, slowly one by one the residents of the palace began to open up in very limited bits and pieces to Loki about their own tragic backstories. Curiously enough, EVERYONE’S tragic backstories centered mostly around this ONE individual, a mysterious evil god Thanatos who, Loki was informed, was currently imprisoned in Tartarus for the crime of kidnapping baby Neo, just before Loki had arrived.

Though everyone was kinda hesitant to share all the gory intimate details with this uhh, hostile stranger, as time went on and Loki opened up himself and everyone became friends Loki gathered more and more bits and pieces of info and found himself learning quite a bit about Thanatos. More than anything, Loki was taken aback by how much of an influence he’d had on so MANY lives, how much terror and fear he’d inflicted upon all these lovely people Loki had just met and kindave liked . Loki also was very alarmed by the thought of having such an alleged huge threat living in a jail cell like. Just next door. hello?!!! And… finally….. he also… didn’t really believe it was possible that one singular god could be so dangerous? Like, they’d successfully arrested him, soooo. What was even the big deal.

Cocky as ever, needing to have the upper hand, perhaps taking sick pleasure in the fact that everyone would be really, really mad if they found out what Loki was doing, BUT just mostly, curious like a feral horrible little cat - Loki snuck into Tartarus. He introduced himself to Thanatos, who seemed to be slightly delirious under the influence of Epi’s poison nightmares. Assessing the big scary legend of Thanatos before his eyes as not much of a threat at all, Loki decided to become fascinated with the thought of picking through his head…. And he figured it was best and harmless to do this under the guise of socializing. Loki FUCKING MADE FRIENDS WITH HIM.

He proceeded to secretly visit him in Tartarus about once a week for FIVE ENTIRE YEARS OF THAT JUMP.

What was the harm anyway? Though annoyed that Loki kept bothering him, Thanatos clearly had been put thoroughly out of commission and he didn’t really seem to have a real grasp on where he was or that Loki was not some sort of hallucination. Still, to be safe, eventually when Loki got pregnant with Rane, he temporarily stopped his visits, resuming them but briefly after she was born, before pausing again to deal with Tory’s pregnancy. In the meantime, through those gaps…

Loki’s cocky underestimating of Thanatos was in fact a fatal mistake, because the entire time they’d been together Thanatos had faked his delirium. Only ever saying just enough to keep Loki from detecting his whole ruse was a lie, while Loki was having fucking picnics Thanatos was studying the HELL out of him.

All that Underworld magic tangled up within him was accessible to Thanatos due to his own standing realm as God of Death, enmeshed into the Underworld himself - and without Loki detecting a thing, Thanatos spent five years discreetly SIPHONING out the powers to control the realm that Loki had amassed. Slowly but surely. Little bits, so that Loki wouldn’t notice.

During the double maternity leave, Thanatos from his jail cell managed to get ahold of Chal, who (VERY PRE EVERYTHING THIS WAS LIKE THREE YEARS BEFORE HER WHOLE THING) was loose in Tartarus trying to escape Ker again. Thanatos had now collected enough of the Underworld’s magic to track down the information about how to get the keys or whatever that locked him in. He sent Chal off to find that key and break him out. Eventually - Chal ✨did this.✨ Thanatos was now LOOSE, and they escaped together off the grid.

The palace discovered Thanatos was loose because, (secretly at this point), he now had a whole litany of magic abilities and he just started APPEARING in television screens and mirrors of the palace that November to give villainous speeches - clearly out of prison, clearly of his usual “sound mind”, and clearly making HUGE THREATS. The palace went into FULL LOCKDOWN panic and Epi and Loki - Tory was way too pregnant! - split up to go find him.

Loki found him (and Chal - what the fuck this was Thanatos’s kid??! This wobbly teenager?! Loki made a mental note to do something about that much later👀) immediately. In this confrontation, Thanatos played delirious again and Loki STILL WILDLY UNDERESTIMATING HIM, but slightly shaken at how panicked his friends at the palace were, made Thanatos promise to leave the palace alone in exchange for Loki not ratting him out and turning him in. Batting his eyelashes, Thanatos agreed. His own secret shield of magic he’d built successfully blocked out Loki’s built in lie detector - and, crucially, unwise to the tips and tricks of the Underworld, Loki did NOT make him swear an unbreakable oath. He,, took him at face value?!?! And flounced back to the palace to announce that he couldn’t find him but he probably would not cause any trouble.

And then Thanatos began to project himself into the palace.

You know Loki’s little clones? Haha since fucking when did Thanatos know how to do that?! Though these clones were not solid and he couldn’t lay a finger on anyone, he began to terrorize verbally everyone hiding within the palace, all the people he’d hurt - Maci. Eury. Hypnos. Hess. Bullied away again and again by Epi and Loki - keeping Tory far away, who again ahhhhh high risk pregnancy! - but coming back more and more, just over the span of mere hours, days, the palace began to break down into psychological torment - and the more time these Thanatos clones spent around Loki - the more he began to draw from him and. Oh god. Oh no. FEELING THE CHANGE, Loki realized what was happening. He realized what he’d done and enabled. In a rare moment of respite, He confessed. EVERYONE WAS FUCKING FURIOUS, just at his show of cocky hubris especially now that Loki, in increasing panic, was admitting that he’d grossly underestimated the danger of Thanatos and - LOKI, OH MY GODS, YOU DID THIS, FIX IT BEFORE SOMEONE GETS HURT. Thanatos was growing too powerful and Loki could no longer locate him oh my god oh my god oh nNOOO—

Unsure if Thanatos was copying his magic or fully DRAINING it away and, in horror suspecting the latter, Loki quickly began to formulate a plan with Epi. The Underworld magic he held within himself was meant to protect him and if he could somehow trigger that Defense mode into action, then surely that would be powerful enough to knock Thanatos out enough to— idk, figure it out from there? But how to trigger that? He and Epi began testing by fuckin attacking the shit out of Loki (after all this, Epi was more than happy to do this 😌) and letting that power indeed force field him back in retaliation so now it was just a matter of honing that to be stronger.

Before he could perfect it, Thanatos figured out how to make a partially solid clone, and straight from the balcony of the palace, kidnapped - um. a certain nymph of great importance to Loki (staring directly at the camera bc…. you know,, but this, is in progress due to Circumstances and may change, not important who this is rn!) OKAY WELL NO MORE TIME TO WASTE GO GET THIS FUCKING BASTARD NOW — Epi used dreams to find where [redacted] was being kept and they went on the attack.

But this was a trap - luring Loki there was all according to plan, because what Loki didn’t account for in his tests was how his defense magic would react to going up against ANOTHER budding vessel of the Underworld. And when Thanatos - who HAD figured this out - attacked him, that power rushed back — and Thanatos caught it.

AND TOOK IT.

draining Loki of almost everything within him and ✨also stabbing him✨ Thanatos now fucking controlled all the magic of the Underworld AND THAT INCLUDED THE ELYSIUM BARRIER. He collapsed the barrier that kept him physically out of the palace and went straight there, Epi tearing after him, Loki weakened and dying and collapsed in a heap. He broke into the palace - trapped Epi into a little bubble barrier of magic that he couldn’t get out of - and in a scene of utter chaos proceeded to get to attack Maci, Hess - Icy in the playroom before Meli managed to shield the rest of the kids away - Eury, in front of Epi - Tory, pregnant and hidden away was next once he found him and —

Loki reappeared.

The Underworld’s magic had bound himself to HIM. It was intwined within his bones, his genes. He’d done the work, laid the spells, it was loyal to HIM and not the leech who’d torn it from him.

Thanatos uncontrollable and unstoppable, his full unhinged reign of carnage, in his absolute peak hysterical villainy - it had been so long, so many attempts, he was completely insane unraveled by this point - screaming and GLOATING and grinning and advancing - stopped suddenly in his tracks as Loki staggered in the hallway and reached out to him. Bleeding out, Loki understood very very well now the threat that Thanatos really was and always had been.

The Underworld’s magic felt Loki reach for it with a snarl. And it stretched out to return to the vessel it properly belonged in…… all at once.

Thanatos exploded.

*twirls hair* and so Umm. in short..,,, um. yeah.

they knew each other. :)

[cyanophore-fiction]

Hunting Trip

Good old Hez. He’s an alien called a Paqeru, and he’s been congregated for over two fucking millennia. From his memories, I know a little bit about his people. They’re like a cross between a crocodile and a grizzly bear, tough as nails and their homeworld still kills them off in droves. They’re pre-industrial, because apparently there isn’t much time for science and engineering when you have to spend all your time hiding from hurricanes. Or they were pre-industrial, at least, when Ramiel came to visit them two millennia ago.

In any case, Hez didn’t have a very nice life as a mortal. He spends a lot of time away from the Congregation, so we tend to run into each other in the margins. Not that he hates it here or anything, Ramiel pulled him out of hell. He just needs to go back to hell every so often to feel like himself. Great guy to commune with when he’s not out in the Fever. Usually, it’s even better to just talk with him and hear his stories without any neural connection. 

Apparently, he just goes out into the Deep Fever and looks for trouble. Then, he comes back and shows everyone what’s brewing out there. It’s always bad, but never anything worth panicking over. 

I’ve only been out there a few times myself. The first time, Ramiel would only let me go with an armed escort, and only to a depth of one hundred meters outside the beacons.

Got to see a little bit of weird shit. Took a close look at an ant—it turned out to be a cluster of little humans, all stuck together, just mimicking an ant. Mirrors in the sky, reflecting a giant mouth eclipsing the sun. Can of tomato soup rolling around on its own over the dunes. Nothing really dangerous, just off-putting. That’s the sort of stuff you get at a hundred meters deep. That, and glimpses of some really interesting things moving on the horizon, so far out in the desert that you can barely make out what you’re looking at. 

I said I wanted to get a closer look, and my escort said it was time to go. Next time we went, I ditched the escort. Slipped into my old Quetzal avatar and took off over the dunes. Left a trail of feathers behind so they could find me. Exactly what I was thinking, I’ll never know. Probably that it was all just software and it couldn’t actually hurt me.

Apparently, I cleared two kilometers before coming across whatever it was that got me. I’ve still got a few memories of what I saw, lodged so deep that even Ramiel couldn’t clear them out. There was something that looked like a human, but it moved in these little stutters. Then it bloomed. I don’t have another word for it. There’s a painwall in my mind when I try to recall exactly what it looked like.

Hez was the one that found me and dragged me back. Through his memories, I’ve seen how I looked, thrashing and screaming and raving. Twisting myself into knots, my scales melting into sand. Becoming homogenous with the desert. 

It took the Congregation hours to shear all the trauma from my psyche and hurl it all back to the Fever. Days of recovery time, separating myself from the bad inputs. There was pain—physical, emotional, other kinds that I can’t put into words. Hez told me that I’m lucky to still have a coherent soul.

So, yeah. You don’t fuck with the Fever. But Hez does, and he does it by choice. After I recovered, he offered to take me on a little outing. He figured that I’d go back eventually, and doubted he’d be able to stop me, so I might as well learn how to survive.

We went for three days. I followed his instructions to the letter, and we came back fine. Not to say we didn’t run into trouble—that’s the whole point of Fever-wandering, getting so bored of utopian life that you’re willing to risk your soul for a little uncertainty. The trouble mainly consisted of me hiding behind him while he put rifle slugs into living fractals and golems made of chicken bones held together by crystallized urine. 

We killed a day and a half—which feels like a lot longer because the sun never moves from noon—before Hez scoped out a wild construct weak enough for me to take on alone. It looked like a mechanical tarantula with hypodermic needles at the ends of its legs. Looked terrifying, but Hez insisted that he knew what it was capable of. Just some human’s distant childhood fear of getting shots fused with some arachnophobia. Strong visual associations, but very little substance. The whole construct was centered on an instinctual foundation just firm enough to keep it from dissolving. 

Hez had me hover directly above it and whittle its body away with bursts of pulse laser fire. Since the Quetzal avatar doesn’t have any limbs, the gun is mounted on its tail. Tricky to aim, but Hez made me swear that I wouldn’t switch to a different avatar for any reason. Whatever body you have the closest connection to is the one you want to wear in the Fever. 

Each hit made the thing shriek like shards of glass in my brain, and it could jump a little higher than I liked. Still shredded it into little metal filings, and when it finally fell to dust, it felt good. Unnaturally good. Hez tells me that there’s a kind of built-in emotional reward associated with destroying certain constructs. Something about stepping into the heroic role. In any case, he must have gotten a dose of the reward, too, because we just sat there in the middle of the desert and bullshitted for a little while, laughing while joy bled back and forth between us. 

I want you to picture this: a ten-foot tall crocodilian, built like a tank with jagged teeth and claws, who is immortal and older than Christianity and hunts the literal stuff of nightmares just because he can’t imagine a life without conflict. He throws back his head, chuckles, and puts his arm around you, chatting like a pleasant old uncle while radiating warmth through your neural link. At the edge of his mind, you catch glimpses of bones cracking and stone spears and paleolithic terror of starvation, but none of that shit matters anymore.

Unbelievable. Right now, the old me is still back on Earth, a spirit hosted on hardware sitting in a building somewhere in Norway. The closest thing that version of me has ever had to psychic contact is a good conversation. That version of me doesn’t even know that there’s life beyond Earth. And I’m immortal. 

I don’t need to speculate, because I was tuned in to his thoughts: Hez knew exactly how much I needed a victory. Everything and everyone in the Congregation was ancient, vast, overwhelming. I’d spent the last week having my soul stitched back together after an indescribable maiming. After about thirty seconds, I was coiled around his arm, sobbing. 

Since then, I’ve been back, but I haven’t gone beyond the beacons. The shallows are good for getting some alone time, and that’s what most of the Congregation uses it for. 

Eventually, of course, I’ll go out past the beacons again. Probably with Hez, maybe not.

_________________

Dusting off a very old concept and set of characters with this one. Never wrote a proper story for it, but I’ve got a ton of setting notes that I think I’ll start putting back together. Thanks for reading!

[snarkylinda]

No no, is quite simple you see:

-Spencer felt the need to put to memory Derek's heatrate, and this mf doesn't find that strange at the sightlest.

-Also after Spencer reveals there might be a God and he might had looked him at the eye when he died, Derek's response was literally"why didn't you tell me that? :("

-Derek's whole family, including his dead dad a d newborn son, knows Spencer by name AND quirks, also during this conversation, when dead dad compliment Spencer, Derek's only response is a sober "will I ever see him again?"

-Spencer was reciting an old proverb about soulmates that are together for a bazillion yearsto their newest friend, only to make it about Derek for some reason. Again- Derek isn't fazed by this shit at the sightlest.

-J.J, someone almost as young as Spencer, was almost mauled to death for rabid dogs and saw an woman ACTUALLY mauled by them- but fuck her apparently because pretty boy isn't safe (this is still so funny, specially because of what happened two seasons later lmao Amplification really said Karma is a bitch)

-Spencer who mostly stays at the station cause he is a sad Twink gave the most embarrasing tackle known to man to save Derek for the ass whooping of his life- this didn't work, Spencer was hit but that became Derek's motivation to clock this guy's ass with an telephone. Reminder- until this point, he was getting beaten- Spencer being hit ONCE gave him shonen superpowers.

-At the SAME FUCKING EPISODE Spencer felt the need to mention his co-worker well sculpted abs. Later that day, that same co-worker felt the need say (Spencer) had a pretty face.

-Again, Spencer who is an poor victorian Twink was able to run past trained agents while playing softball because Derek was waiting for him at the base. This all started because Spencer owned him a favor- and despite the fact they literally say each other more than their pets see them, Derek decided that that favor would be spending more time with him- alone.

-When Spencer was forced to confess the delicate state of his only family, despite the whole team hearing him, the camera felt the need to show an close up of Derek looking really really sad.

-Later that same evening, we had the longest hug in this stupid's show history. That thing lasted 2 minutes- and I know this was the season where one of them leaves so the line between the actors and the characters is blurred but this thing has a director and they didn't say fucking cut.

-Also also this scene ended with an pragmatic "I love you" that was downright spelled out 5 episodes later.

-The Angsty "someone is in mortal danger and the other person is behind a literally door glass helplessly staring at their sorrowful eyes" trope. What the fuck was that. The "someone wakes up at the Hospital and the other person is right besides them" Trope. At the same fucking episode. This literally do s nothing for the plot they literally just wanted to whump Spencer on Derek's face for the love to the game.

-Speaking of whump- both of this characters had a scene where they were getting loaded to an ambulance and the other is hovering over them hearing what could potentially be their last words (9x24 and 11x15 respectly), in the case of Spencer they had an WHOLE scene dedicated to it ON the ambulance- this time it wasn't purely for the love to the game since whatever Spencer said was relevant to the case- but is still really funny how they just REALLY love to have scenes of the camera focused at the fact that Derek is super super worried and hurt over the fact Spencer got hurt in front of him (again)

-This seems to be also acknowledged by other characters, as when Spencer was acting strange in Corazon, Hotch confronted Derek and asked him if Spencer was doing ok. Rossi did the exact same thing on Nelson Sparrow, Alex did it after Maeve's murder. Derek is just the one assigned to watch over Spencer cause the last time they didn't talk Spencer was doing heroin.

-Spencer seeming offended that Derek didn't want to share a room with him.

-Everyone was fucking weird about Spencer being on a relationship- but Derek felt the need to have an one to one with Spencer and for some reason confort him over the fact that even if they didn't talk much now cause adult life they will always be friends- seriously where did that even came from lmao Spencer has one secret and Derek suddenly feels they are drifting away forever.

-But Spencer is even weirder because ok- he has pre-fabric abandonment issues since he was born, is not weird he would react badly to Derek leaving his side- what is fucking weird and funny af is that after this man went to JAIL and they really really really try to convince us he is oh so jaded now- not even five minutes after meeting with Derek again, an serial killer mentions his name and he looks ready to cry. In ANOTHER instance before this ANOTHER serial killer clock his ass telling he has sad eyes and he downright says he grieving the lost of his friend. He can call him.

-But going back to Derek being the one to keep tabs on Spencer- now is not only for the other members benefit but for the audience benefit as Spencer hadn't been gone for a day but Derek felt the need to tell us Spencer is trying really hard to learn how to text just to tell him he misses the team and that his mom is doing ok. J.J was the one to tell him he should visit her mind you.

-Spencer isn't a big fan of touch with the exception of a emotionally charged hug/handhold/etc from his family in certain times- but he is very chill with Derek casually putting his arm around his shoulders in more than one ocassion for literally no reason.

-Reminder that these people spend most of their lives together cause of the job- on vacation Derek felt the need to drag Spencer with him and Elle. We don't see him extend this invitation to anyone else.

-Spencer wasn't really doing anything useful as Derek deactivated an bomb- so Derek tells him to step back. Spencer refused cause an world where Derek wasn't in wasn't a world worth living in.

-"I am sorry I can't stay by your side" "I just can't imagine that room without you"

-Spencer has a night terror, both in dream and irl he does nothing but yell for Derek to save him.

-Derek do math, Rossi makes a quip about Spencer, Derek smiles fondly to himself.

-SPENCER KNOWS HIS FUCKING HEART RATE-

They are friends :)

"pronouns are confusing" bro what in the fruit FUCK is going on between spencer reid and derek morgan

[purpleandstarlight]

@hateweasel

-Me: Lilith says she is doing this to get Ciel back to his family because she may have lost hers forever but his is still in reach. Idk if she's saying the entire truth but i believe her...

Still me literally 2 minutes after: NO!! I WAS PLAYED LIKE A FIDDLE, SHE BLAMED HER CRIMES ON CIEL!! Oh well, what can I say if not gaslight, gatekeep, girlbos? Still like her more than the other bad guy. At least she's smart...

-Hey Hate, you know that big moment where you revealed that next to Ciel, as they were caged, was another person? And you built it up with Ciel's shock and even ended the chapter with the person's name for maximum plot twist effect? It was Goddard, first introduced as a villainous angel, now back as a good grim reaper after his death. It would have been a great shock! ...if only I remembered who the fuck Goddard even WAS back then. It took me 26 minutes to get it - I counted it now with the time stamps on the messages.

In my defense, Goddard appears before Cielois even gets together. Cielois gets together somewhere between chapter 50 and 56 if i remember correctly. I was now 400+ chapters in. I CANNOT remember everything with my terrible memory, especially names...

-My friend, upon finding out that Dan was right all along and Cielois actually was getting it on like he thought all those chapters ago: Imo we undervalue Dan. Especially when it comes to gay stuff. He has a radar.

Me: Secretly, when it comes to gay stuff, he's as smart and perceptive as Travis is with everything...

-Me like 13 minutes laters: Dan is an idiot. Like, when it comes to non-gay stuff I mean.

My friend: And up to this we're not at all surprised

-Me: Seriously, I understand wanting to help rescuing his friend, but it's such a dumb idea! You're all humans, don't have any training in fighting, and that is an extremely dangerous place full of demons! You'll only get killed and upset your demonic friends who will blame themselves even though it's not their fault!! STAY PUT!!

Me like one minute after ending the rant: Nvm Oliver's here bc Dan called him. LIGHT OF MY LIFE!! MY SON!! We hadn't seen him in too long...Suddently I'm okay with this whole Rescue Mission.

-I had spoiled myself from your tumblr blog long before that Dan would be with someone other than Kris in the future. I wasn't 100% sure but it was only wishful thinking for my friend who was shipping them hard since the Ferris Wheel accident. Because of that, and since we were nearing the end of the fic, I feared Kris would die as an ending twist

-Me after Integra calmed Alois down after he snapped at Dan for putting the rest of their friends in danger: Alois is crying :( Dan is crying :( Oliver and DaffyDuck are almost crying (who gives a shit about DaffyDuck?) :(

-Me: You know...Daffyduck stopped being a creep after getting together with Cameron...still, watch me hold a grudge and hate on him for my own pride 💀 (As it turns out with future knowledge, I was right to do so uwu)

Me: So, Kris and Dan are together again. Dan jumped on him to hug him i think? ...OKAY NO I GREATLY MISCALCULATED THAT WAS A KISS-

-Me, after copypasting the DanKris kiss scene and some of the post kiss scene for my bestie who shipped them, finally going back to simply recapping: ...And then Integra interrupted them saying they had more important business to attend to.

My friend: Leave them to it, Integra!!

Me: CIEL COULD LITERALLY DIE AT ANY MOMENT THO?!

My friend: WHATEVER!

-Something that's funny reading it later on with a fresh mind: I was sad about Preston being mortally hit and said it to my friend, who -since I apparently never really mentioned Preston, especially by name- asked me who it was. It's ironic that the first time I ever thought to tell my friend about him was when he was mortally wounded? And then I just talked about him more in DLTP, wich...yeah.

[theveryworstthing]

So over on patreon Trevor asked for my take on the Addams Family and I grew up LOVING the Addams family movies so here we are. Instead of doing a straight up style interpretation, I decided to do a full on design challenge, using the characters as bases to make a black southern gothic Addams au. I actually drew the kids first, using the character bases of Wednesday and Pugsley to create some delightful kiddos I'm calling Sunday and Blanche. I of course then redesigned Gomez and Morticia into Carlisle and Mortesha.

The Addams have a very specific high aristocratic goth aesthetic (they've got a butler and nobody really works among other things) so in this re-imagining I wanted to go with vibes that run a little more middle class/upper middle class.  I thought it would be interesting to think about what would be considered weird and off-putting in an entirely different culture, and how being a big ol' goth is way less controversial than it used to be.

I tried to keep this short (HAHAHAHAHAHA) so I didn't spin off into an essay about villain coded families, black people in the horror genre, and normalcy as it pertains to social survival, but just...bits of that are in these designs and lore. Keep that in mind.

Also I made the kids twins because they've flip flopped in age so much in different media and also twins run in my family (i'm the daughter of one). And let's face it, I'm pulling a lot of their southern gothic traits from living as a southern goth so *shrug*.

10 thousand pounds of lore incoming loooooooooool.

The Parents

From the moment he saw her he knew that there was a 50/50 chance of him either never making it out of that swamp alive or marrying the figure that was creeping out from under the distant willow tree in a black cocktail dress. The third time she found him trussed up in one of her traps, he complimented her rope work and asked if she'd like to go out sometime after his head wound stopped bleeding.

Or while it was still bleeding.

If she was into that.

Some kids and a mysteriously burnt down Piggly Wiggly later, their love is still as strong and inescapable as a bear trap in a sink hole.

Carlisle Guillermo (now Addams through marriage but I wanted to give him two first names for a name since Gomez has two last names) makes a vaguely described living practicing ‘law’ around town. A loophole king, people come to him from miles around with contracts signed in blood, fights over chunks of hair buried in their rivals’ yard, dehydrated primate hands, memories that seemed like dreams until the evidence of their happenings became too real, and other regular Legal Items asking for counsel which he is all too happy to give. For a price. Sometimes that price is a homemade pie and sometimes it’s a million dollars, depends on who you are. Whatever you’re asked to pay it’s worth that price, and if you try to scam him out of work or he just plain doesn’t like you? Well. He knows how to twist a contract better than anything at the crossroads.

And he always gets his due.

He doesn’t just serve the local (living)humans though, there are many things that need proper legal representation in this day and age. You wouldn’t believe how many city councils try to build on sacred burial grounds even after he lets them know that his ghostly clients are totally gonna haunt the FUCK out of the ensuing shitty condos and curse their families for all eternity. At least 50% of his energy goes towards dealing with real estate bullshit.

Carl is an excitable and good natured(?) man who loves his family, cigars, dancing, and his many knife-based hobbies. People find him very charming once they get past the feeling that they’re talking to a sultry gator badly disguising itself as a human. I didn’t put a ton of deep thought into designing him, mostly I wanted to make a middle aged dude who looked like he would have been voted ‘most likely to smooch the literal devil’ in high school. Tbh he probably has, but no demonic ex’s can compare to his lovely wife~

Mortesha Addams(her name was already perfect so I just tweaked it)is a woman of many talents. A self proclaimed homemaker, she prides herself on a greenhouse full of Concerning Foliage, a beautiful wasp apiary, and a coop full of what are probably chickens that she keeps for what are probably eggs. She’s also an avid creator of the outsider art that can be seen around the estate. She has taken on the family business of selling her homemade goods in a little stall by the road just outside the swamp with her mom, and makes pretty good money doing so. A surprising amount of poison gets bought in quaint southern towns.

Speaking of poison, people who come out to the edge of the swamp to buy it are usually carrying a lot of secrets around, and Mortesha knows most of them. It’s not like she pries the truth out of people, it just so happens that many nervous hellos eventually turn into the tragic backstory power hour if she’s alone with a client for long enough. She supposes that’s just how people are. Despite the fact that the Addams are very active in the community (whether the community likes it or not) she especially, as a direct descendant of the first Addams matriarch, is seen as…Well not an outsider because the community feels A Certain Way about outsiders and despite it all the Addams are their people, but maybe something like an exception. They feel like whatever weirdness they’re hiding can’t be weirder than any given Addams, so they get a little loose with their words.

This is amusing to her, since Addams’ don’t naturally keep the kind dramatic secrets that their surface level prim and proper neighbors do. It’s much more fun to openly talk about those things.

Do they have a sadly decrepit yet terrifying grandma up in the attic? Yeah, like three. They got a tv, all the creepy porcelain dolls they could want, and they’re close to family. Where do you keep your gram-grams?

Any bodies buried on the property? Yeah some, but most are thrown to the gators.

Any creeping through the balmy summer night with ill intentions? Yeah dude, everyone loves a nice family stroll.

What about dangerous forbidden love? If an adult Addams isn’t incorporeal then they’re either queer or in a torrid romance with some person/thing mysteriously drawn to that awful swamp. Sometimes both at the same time. Most times actually.

Mortesha would know.

The current head of the Addams family is just as outgoing as her husband but a lot quieter and harder to read. She never really seems to get mad about much and always has a genteel smile for everyone whether they deserve it or not. A seven foot tall human shaped “Oh, bless your heart”. A perfectly composed Lady even when she’s, oh I dunno, burning down a Piggly Wiggly. You know. A regular southern mom. Chat her up at the hair salon for 50% off a jar of wasp honey with your next purchase of a mysterious but foreboding packet of herbs.

Designing her was pretty easy because I just drew a lankier Grace Jones and called it a day. I had some problems with her outfit simply because if we were going HARD southern gothic then she’d probably be wearing a white/cream dress with a fuller skirt but I thought keeping the silhouette and the black was more important. She’s supposed to be an anti southern gothic southern gothic character anyway. A woman who looks like she has a million secrets who is actually the most open person you could meet. For better or worse. The red hair came from a coloring error that I really ended up liking (my mom had red hair her whole childhood that only darkened up in high school so I can buy that an Addams can be naturally fire engine red) and the veil was to get more of that classic Morticia silhouette in there.

The Children

Sunday and Blanche are the twin children of Carlisle and Mortesha Addams. Some say the Addams clan got their cursed homestead when a wealthy local businessman made a deal with the devil and lost, leaving his grand mansion to his least favorite maid and cutting his losses once he realized that the swamp would do everything it could to drag the house into the water and take what was owed with its horrible curse. Others say that the family has just always squatted there and no one really cares because man, fuck that particular swamp. Have you been in there? Absolute horror show.

Anyway.

Blanche is the more outgoing sibling and quite the engineer/mad scientist in the making. He started going grey at 2 weeks old but considering he was also rocking some extra fingers, toes, and a tiny tail (he takes after his dad), his parents just put it on the 'not life threatening' pile and decided not to worry about it. He's the kind of smart that teachers find utterly infuriating, less a dog eagerly learning and obeying commands and more a hyena who keeps teaching itself how to pick locks. He has a few friends in his school's robotics club (which they honestly allowed him to make so the school could contain his... creations) but mostly hangs out with his sister exploring the swamp. They find all sorts of neat things in there! wedding rings, suspiciously lumpy garbage bags, cloaked cultists who can't read private property signs, it's an adventure every day!

Blanche is all about experimentation with his creations, his look, and his tether to this mortal coil. Is lipstick a cool thing to try? Let's find out. Can he get out of a strait jacket fast enough after being pushed into the depths of the swamp by his sister? let's find out. He's not dead yet and confused local doctors can attest to the fact that he's rarely attained more than a bad bruise so he's pretty set on continuing to kiss rattlesnakes on their cute little heads and have his sister practice her knife throwing at him until that fact changes.

Blanche is very much a country goth. Cowboy boots (customized by his mom), knife, and lighter are daily accessories. He likes to wear the crusty swamp jewelry they find (the rust adds a splash of color!) and despite appearances he does try to keep himself neat. He's just got  natural Grunge Colors and a tendency to wear clothes he likes until they fall apart. Pugsley always seemed the most modernly styled to me (which might just be because little boys clothes have been the same for a long time) so I wanted Blanche to be the most purposely fashionable Addams. Everyone else is goth by nature, but he's the only one truly familiar with goth as an alternative fashion.

I got really into designing Blanche because honestly, I find Pugsley to be the most boring member of the family. And he was hard to design! I had to mess with his vibe a lot to get him looking how I wanted. I know he's supposed to evoke an " 'evil' little boy next door who's parents never reign him in", but that's just goth Dennis The Menace.  I's 2020. We can at least go queer goth Calvin.

Sunday was much easier to design. Wednesday was my favorite as a child (of course) and I really wanted to keep the spirit of her look while adding things like billowy sleeves (it gets HOT down here), big poofy twists instead of braids, and a nice tie. She's a professional after all, been running the local pet cemetery since she was 6 and the previous groundskeeper met with an unfortunate accident after telling her that tarantulas don't have souls. Her specialty is creating beautiful naturalistic animal funerals similar to those that Maquenda (https://linktr.ee/artofmaquenda) makes, and she takes pride in creating miniature dioramas of her subjects after each burial which she uses as a kind of 3D catalog for future clients.

She really wants to try out her skills on humans one day. Well. Publicly try out her skills. Lotta random bodies float into the swamp. None of them have turned down her requests for diorama models so far. Most seem downright flattered. Plus, she usually figures out which graveyard/crime scene they floated over from and gets her parents to give them a lift back. She'll even help enact terrifying revenge from beyond the grave on whoever put them there if she's not, y'know, busy.

Besides arts, crafts, and pet based funerary arrangements, Sunday is an avid lover of archery (any ranged weapon really), books where little fantasy adventure animals die dramatic deaths, and history. She is That Kid who eagerly raises her hand when asked who Christopher Columbus was and ends up being sent out of class after 15 minutes for making 'a scene'. Her favorite party trick is just picking an item in the room and talking about how it relates to either some obscure historical figure with a buck wild life or a horrible disaster. At least one charity pancake breakfast ended with children in tears after her vivid description of the Great Molasses Flood of 1919.

Social-wise, while Wednesday is the girl that people ask to smile because they think she'd, "look so pretty", Sunday is rarely asked anything at all. People just kind of assume from her quiet nature (in between horrible history facts) that she's angry all the time and that she hates everyone. This is untrue. She hates some people but she's ambivalent to most everyone else and even downright friendly if you bother to talk to her like a person instead of a terrifying cryptid. Like, she IS a terrifying cryptid but she's also a little girl.  

That’s about it for now. One day I might do the other family members but for now I’m happy with the four I’ve redesigned. Making an au! Lurch in a family that doesn’t do butlers could be interesting. Over on patreon I put forth that he could just be Motesha’s mute little brother (similar bone structure) but Amy Crook had the nice idea of quote: “ a mysterious "cousin" that "helps around the house" whose origins are both long in the past and faintly unsettling. He's good for lifting heavy things, like that tank of propane you're about to throw into the burning Piggly Wiggly... “ which i now consider canon. Who's kid is he? How old is he? Not important. Anyone willing to commit arson with you is family.

Annnnyway.  This challenge was a lot of fun! I love indulging in AU’s.

[c-is-for-circinate]

The story creates the story tells itself. That's it, that's what this is, it's the thing I always end up saying when Critical Role hits me right in the solar plexus, because stories are how we make sense of events after they've already happened. The story is not a thing in the moment it is created, it is a thing you can only know the shape of once it's over with, and then you look at it and you say, yes, of COURSE, it only ever could have been this from the first, couldn't it?

Seven miserable loners and outcasts and reckless illegitimate rebels meet in a tavern with no desire whatsoever for heroism. Their morals are quickfire and slapdash, casual and arbitrary, we'll help out these people, those people aren't our problem, we dislike those fucks over there. There is a war brewing and they want nothing to do with it. Fuck fame, fuck fortune, we'll keep to ourselves and play fast and loose with crime and take care of our own and maybe some lucky randoms we meet along the way. We'll fight and scrap and tussle amongst ourselves because none of us even entirely understand our own morals, let alone how to reconcile them with any of these other half-assed motherfuckers we apparently have to care about now.

They fuck up. One of their own dies.

They drown in rage and fury for just long enough, until they can stop gasping and growling for vengeance to take a breath. Then they run.

They run, because they do not care to stand and fight: not against evil or dragons or tyrant kings, not against their own grief. They flee the country. Nobody is chasing them, but they flee anyway, to avoid shackles, to avoid control, to avoid being set to anyone else's purpose, to avoid their own loss and their own sins. They run to the sea. (They find danger, and shackles, and control, and somebody else's purpose there again. The world is full of shackles and those who would wield them.)

They grieve. They avoid their grief. They sanctify their fallen comrade. They do not aim to be anything, this ragtag group of miserable loners and outcasts. The only thing they know themselves to be is each other's. They do not know themselves at all, but this grief, this loss--they know it, at least, know it together, an iron band binding them all heart to heart. It is the first truth they have to hold on to, the thing that lets them see each other as the only thing that matters, the only thing that's really real.

They face down a cult and win, because the other option is shackles or death. They face a demigod and flee, again, again, again. Always they flee.

They flee towards home and home is burned. They have seen loss and they have seen death and it finds them no matter how they run away, so maybe it's time to change direction. Maybe it's time to run towards. It's still running, still half-mindless directionality, it's still familiar. They are not heroes, they are not somebodies, they have never wanted to be somebody. This group has never wanted to be anybody, not as a group, not when they're whole. They're nobodies, trying to take care of themselves, take care of their own, to grow past their grief that they pretend they're gone from now, mostly, most days, when they can. (Pretend it's not the grief that made them each other's in the first place, like none of the fighting and scrapping and scrabbling along beside one another ever had in the first place.)

They bulldoze and trip and stumble and run towards instead of away, for once, just this once, the very first time they've run towards a thing since that last time, the only time, when they temporarily lost three of their own and then broke themselves trying to chase them (trying to chase vengeance). Towards is so much more dangerous than away. Run towards something hard enough, you might actually find it. You might have to become somebody when you get there, instead of just not-being somebody else.

They're somebody now. This rag-tag, broken, mismatched knot of nobodies, not even mercenaries because they're too skittish to even really look for paid work, they're somebodies now, or so Someone Important says. It fits like an ill-tailored coat that they've been forced into without ever making a choice. Without ever realizing, entirely, how much they never made a choice. The world said congrats, you're heroes now, and these killers and thieves went, well, fuck.

And then they tried to be heroes anyway. Not because it fit, not because they knew what to do, but because the mess of them, the seven of them, barely knew who they were to begin with. If the world was shouting HEROES! YOU'RE HEROES! BE HEROES! at them this very loudly--then don't they have to wear the coat that's being given to them? Don't they have to be, have to find some way to become, the heroes they've tripped and stumbled into appearing?

They don't know themselves. All they've done so far is run from themselves--from parents and children and their own crimes, from chains and challenges, limits and labels. They only barely know who they're not. They couldn't know who they are. How do they know they aren't heroes? The one thing they know, the only thing they have, the only thing they've ever run towards, is each other. The one thing they know for absolute sure and certain that defines and binds them is that steel band of grief, that first loss, the thing that broke and forged them to begin with.

So they look for answers in their grief, in what they've lost, because if it's the first true thing about them as a group, them as a whole, then it must be able to tell them who they have to be now. They sanctify their fallen, twist meaning and moral out of conversational confrontational casualness, make a mission statement out of leave every place better than you found it. They forget who he was, petty and venal and mortal and flawed. (They try to convince themselves that they don't have to be petty and venal and mortal and flawed.) They cling to what he meant.

And they fail. God, looking back on it all, with the shape of the story and the shape it's become, is it any wonder they failed? Petty and venal and moral and flawed, these rough-edged rabble-rousers, not even mercenaries because they don't even know how to take orders besides their own. Trying to be heroes. Trying to stop a war, because that's their job, right? It has to be. That's the shape of the coat they're trying to wear, that's the shape of leave every place better than you found it, that's the thing they crashed straight into while they were running, running, running the way they've always run, run, run. So they look for answers everywhere, because they have to have the answers to everything, and they scry and they spy and they play sides. They meet with queens. They turn to each other on the streets on the way out of the palace and ask in horror, "What did we just do?"

They run and they run and they trip and they fall and they unleash more evil than there was to start with. They lose one of their own, again. They sit in shattered shards, and what just happened? How could we have seen this coming? What did we just do?

They don't know themselves. They've been running from themselves, trying to run towards misty shapes they can't define in a too-big coat and too-small shoes, without any real practice in running towards to begin with. They don't know themselves, but they need to move forwards. They need to be whole again, the six, the seven (the eight, the nein). How can they do that if they don't know themselves?

And--finally, finally, they learn.

They learn. They throw a sword in a volcano and forge a sword anew. They rediscover their own mind, their own heart, covered in blood with each other's blood on their hands. They walk into their abusers' homes and then walk back out again alive and un-alone and unchained. They recover bodies. They recover families. They find themselves.

(And the selves they find are mortal and flawed, because they have always been mortal and flawed, because they are built to be mortal and flawed, because they are still the same misbegotten messes they have ever been. But they are stronger for having sought themselves out, for what they have found. They are the stronger for those threads of heroism they tried to, managed to keep.)

They stop a war, incidentally. In the end it's not even all that much due to them. They sit, nobodies on a ship in the middle of the ocean, and watch in silence. It chafes a little, not to be in the center of things, to be able to be the heroes it felt like the world told them they had to be. (It feels a little like relief.)

They find themselves. They find themselves, and they find another lost and broken man, miserable outcast loner, petty and venal and mortal and flawed. They only start to realize how they know themselves now when they see how much he doesn't.

(The peace treaty happens, happened, is/was/will be happening, because they tripped and trembled and tried their way into it, but in the end a thousand chess pieces moved to make it so, and it is signed on a boat where we do not even set foot. The culmination, the crowning glory, the true victory of that whole middle story, is a perfectly-dressed man in chains in the hold of a boat, admitting to his own sins. It is secret and it is individual, and it is the concrete proof above all proofs that our nobody unknowns are finally their own very-known selves. Because they were Essek, once--but know they know their own mirrors well enough to look at him and recognize that.)

They know so much, now, about who they are and who they are to become. They have looked at their pasts and, yes, flinched away, but they've seen, and they know, now, as much as they can handle. In the end, the one thing they don't know the true shape of, the one thing left to seek that must be sought, is of course (of course, of course) that very first thing they thought they knew to begin with. The one thing left to face is their grief. The one thing left to discover is what shaped it from the very start.

So they run, like they have always run. In amongst the snow it is the very distillation of running, towards and away, away and towards, chasing and fleeing and fleeing and chasing, are we in front or are they? It's every mistake they ever made all over again. It's every new lesson they've ever learned.

They don't ask any more, what's the right thing to do. They don't need to ask. They know, already, swift and sure and confident as they once stumbled and dodged. This is a thing that must be stopped. It is ours to stop it. Yes, it is a heavy, clumsy coat to wear, but it fits us out here in the snows where we're not trying to prove our heroism to anybody any more, for good or for evil. Yes, it weighs on our backs and tangles our legs, but it fits as well as any role we've ever tried to wear. It fits us more than it could ever fit anybody else. It's our role. It's our coat. It was forged of our choices, our pieces, our fights. It was forged of our grief.

Nobody else is here with us, to watch, to know. Just like when we were seven shiftless, aimless, worthless nobodies wandering through a circus tent on the way to nowhere (everywhere) else. There's us and the demon born from our grief, the demon who sprang up and died and is the only reason we any of us ever met. Just us, just the nine of us, three and three and three. The three who were dragged off in chains and gave us something to run towards, that very first time. The three who chased, and watched their companion fall, and faced their grief head on, and ran. And Lucien, and Caduceus, and Essek, beginning and middle and end: The man whose demise allowed us to come together, reborn from the loss that bound us. The man who found us and told us that grief is inevitable and passing, that we must continue with it, that we still had such a long way to go. The man who we found like a reflection in an aging mirror, reflecting our own progress back at us, showing us how far we've come and what we've learned how to be.

Of course it had to end this way. (There were so very many other ways it could have ended, once. Of course there were none at all.) Of course it would be nine and nine in the end. Of course it would be this final perfect marriage of heroism and anonymity, for this group that's finally figured out their selves, past and future and right-the-fuck-now, saviors and heroes and petty nobody fucks. Of course it would be this.

And of course, of course, of course it had to go like this. Of course, after everything, the first six of them would try to reverse that grief that forged and tied them. Of course they couldn't. Of course they couldn't, of course, of course--(and was it fate, that 1-in-20 chance, that 5% chance, that 1 on a die? was it fate like the dice are always fate in every game, rolling out poetry with every throw, because all the rolls that aren't quite poetic enough get forgotten?) Of course it was a 1, not some other number, not some sheepish failure of a 4. Of course the universe itself would speak to say no.

No, says the universe, that is not how this story goes--because the road is full of shattered shards, and our heroes only learned to be heroes by discovering how bloodily bad at it they were, by nearly causing the apocalypse before wrestling it back again. Of course the universe itself says that after all this time, after changing so far and discovering so much, this the inciting thing from the very beginning that bound this group in steel must not be changed. Of course, with all their pleas, the six people who knew him cannot bring him back.

Of course that's how the story would go. And of course there's Essek, the man who met this party so long after their throes of mourning that it had sunk into their bones and grown quiet before they ever knew him, who cannot accept this outcome. Of course it's Essek, who never met and has barely heard of this man, this grief--Essek who has not yet grown into the quiet acceptance of his own grief, who does not yet know his own mirror, who has only just barely begun to understand running to instead of from and still doesn't know the shape of what he might eventually choose to chase--who seethes in rage. Who cries about not fair.

Of course it's Caduceus who takes the inspiration of that anger, that grief, and changes it all. Of course it's Caduceus, who the group only even found out of their grief. (They tracked him down to beg to know if he could raise the dead in the first place. Do you remember? One, two, three, Caleb and Beau and Nott, finding him in his graveyard to beg him to help.) Of course it's Caduceus, created to serve and to heal and to make so, so very sure that everyone understood that death could be necessary and final. Of course it's Caduceus, who stood over Mollymauk's grave by the roadside and put a hand in the dirt and cast decompose, because what is dead should be allowed to stay that way until it grows into something else. Of course it is. Because Caduceus has learned his own shape by now, too--and it is still full of devotion, of dedication to the dead remaining dead, but it is steadfast and selfish sometimes too, forged in friendship, full enough of love to try, just this once.

Of course Caduceus gave the diamond but didn't try to perform the ritual, at first, at first. Of course he's spent so very long so very gently urging his friends to reconcile themselves to their loss, to letting their loved one sleep. Of course, in the end, in the very end, he weighed all his faith that once held so firm and final and without exceptions, with this grief before him, and found just this once, maybe, within it.

Of course when he tried, the man who lives to put things in the ground (to put Molly in the ground), even after the fates and the gods and the universe had spoken--when, just this once, against the will of the natural order and the universe and the power of destiny, he asked, just once, for the path of things to reverse--of course. Of course he was the voice that needed to speak for the story to listen.

Of course Molly would end the campaign. Of course this had to be the finale of it all. Of course this ritual--not this fight, not this mission, not even this apocalypse, but this ritual, this resurrection--must be the end of things. Of course it's the end of the story. You can't go any farther than this.

There can never be nine of us. It won't be ironic any more. But irony, after all, is just a way of running from sincerity, sometimes running away from sincerity so hard and fast you crash back into it from the other side. Like running from being a person, from being that person, from letting things matter, from mattering. Like running so far and fast from being found that eventually you have no choice but to find yourself. Irony's a shield against having to know the truth.

There's nine of them. It's not ironic. It's perfect, but it's not ironic. It's just the truth. They know who they are, now. Not who they were running away from being. Not who they tried to be for the sake of anyone else. Who they always are. Always were.

This story could have been a hundred thousand different things, when it started. Of course it was always fated to end with nine.

[benbamboozled]

@faiasakura

YES!!! YES!!!!

EXACTLY THIS!!!

Like—

They jump into danger EVERY NIGHT for STRANGERS.

So that what happened to Bruce doesn’t happen to anyone else.

AND YET!

Jason gets treated like a big dumb idiot loser FOR DOING EXACTLY WHAT HE WAS TRAINED TO DO when he THOUGHT HIS MOTHER WAS IN DANGER.

Also like…it pisses me off that no one REALLY goes at Bruce for Jason dying. Everyone spends pages and pages telling him it’s not his fault, Jason was reckless/angry/drank milk directly from the carton/WHATEVER.

But with all the shit Bruce gets into with his family, nobody ever goes, “What, you just…told him to stay? And you expected him to listen to you? Based on…what exactly? You said his mom was in danger? And, again, you just expected him to stay put?”

This is how you know writers are consistently on Bruce’s side—Jason will get the most vile, victim-blaming bullshit thrown at him from his family because he had the audacity to get murdered by a notorious serial-killer-slash-mass-murderer-slash-TERRORIST-WHO-TRIED-TO-GAS-THE-ENTIRE-FUCKING-ACTUAL-UNITED-NATIONS…

But nobody ever even QUESTIONS Bruce about why he would leave a teenager to “stay put,” as if any teenager has ever done that in the history of forever. AS IF THE ENTIRE ACT OF VIGILANTEISM ISN’T, YOU KNOW, DOING THE OPPOSITE OF THAT.

And yes, I know, Bruce had to fly off in the Batcopter that only seated one to stop nuclear weapons—god I feel stupid typing that—BUT YOU COULDN’T AT LEAST HAVE JASON FOLLOW IN THE JEEP?!? HUH, BRUCE? YOU JUST FLEW AWAY AND LEFT HIM WHILE THE KID’S MOTHER—THAT HE JUST FOUND—WAS (seemingly) IN MORTAL DANGER?!

Bruce never even THINKS ABOUT what he could have done differently! The closest we get is him musing about how he shouldn’t have made Jason Robin…WHICH IS JUST BLAMING JASON WITH EXTRA STEPS.

FUCK. This pisses me off.

And, again, if this were portrayed as a character flaw of Bruce’s—because choosing to victim-blame your teenage son for his cold-blooded murder is something I would consider to be a flaw—then fine!

I don’t like it, but at least I would know that the writers knew it was fucked up.

BUT IT.

IS.

VERY MUCH NOT portrayed as a perception or belief of Bruce’s that is actually inconsistent with The Truth.

Not to mention that A Lonely Place of Dying has Tim doing exactly what everybody claims got Jason killed—defying orders and inserting himself into a dangerous situation without ANY TRAINING AT ALL—

And he gets fucking hired as the new Robin!

So it starts to feel less like something Jason did and more that it was JASON who did it.

And, really, that’s what the whole thing boils down to. Jason got blamed for his own death because the writer who was hired to write for him didn’t like him and campaigned for him to die and then he got his wish.

Meanwhile, the other Robin That Nobody Liked, Steph, ALSO was killed off ignobly—and was in fact not even supposed to BE Robin before she died—and was held responsible for her own death, because DC as a company loves the same revolving door of petty and bullshit plot points.

Oh, what about Dick and Tim and Damian? Yeah, the Special Boys Club got to be written as Robin by writers who actually liked them, and so Dick and Tim were both able to escape the Plot Mandated Petty Death, and when Damian died EVERYONE was so sad, so very very sad about it. (Oh yeah, and everyone also forgot that Jason was ALSO BRUCE’S SON, LIKE, LITERALLY, and so it was treated as SO SAD THAT BRUCE WAYNE LOST A SON FOR THE FIRST TIME HOW TRAGIC. Because, you know, Damian was a BLOOD SON, and that is THE MOST IMPORTANT THING EVERRR—Ben said, acid dripping from their tongue.)

Jason Todd the final chapter

Gotta end with this as a completist. Also because apparently rereading this shit makes me want to rant FORGET THE CUTE, NOW WE’RE GOING GRIM AND GRITTY!!! Aka Jason Doesn’t Like Domestic Abuse and Jason Probably Pushes a Rapist Who Was Going to Get Off Scott Free to His Death and somehow we are supposed to be mad about this.

And then the stunning sequel, Jason Tries to Save His Mom and Dies, which is somehow turned into “Jason was just a reckless kid who died because he wanted to prove something and it was his fault” in the years afterward because DC Comics is a victim blaming piece of shit.  Example of this, also  co-starring a prelude to the eventual victim blaming of Stephanie Brown, another Robin who would be blamed for her death. 

There’s a two part essay on this subject.

Yeah, so  here’s where the binge got into Bad Comics and man most of these were so bad I forgot how bad. Basically Jason is the best part bc he  actually reacts to things like a human being with feelings-even though we were probably supposed to be tutting at him about it.

They’re really racist? Mostly Death in the Family but the rapist issue is on thin ice too. The Joker becomes ambassador to Iran????? because those wacky Iranians are just the type, aren’t they! Yeah it’s awful. Anyway.

First we learn that Jason gets really mad about violent abuse of women, like any true bad seed. It is honestly really interesting that it’s domestic abuse situations (I dunno if that would exactly describe it since the first one is a pimp abusing a sex worker…idk)/violence against women that set Jason off the most. 

This probably just because abuse of women is SUPER EDGY GUYS and writers can never ignore any opportunity to victimize women to move the narrative forward, but in an in-universe sense, it makes me wonder if he might have personal experiences. We don’t know much about the relationship between his parents, or what he might have seen where he grew up. 

Anyway, the comics under the cut. These deal (badly) with abuse of sex workers, rape, suicide and the brutal murder of a child. The rape wasn’t shown and I’m not posting the suicide panels (just mentioning it when it happens)  or the parts where Jason is beaten, but I will show a couple things he does in the aftermath when he’s dying, so. 

There’s some underlying racism in them too, I skipped over all the overt shit in the Death in the Family storyline though so you are spared that!

Keep reading

[holistic-alcoholic]

It’s All About Love

my stony 2012 fic :D

rating T, humor and pining, minor Sam/Nat, Steve's a disaster, Tony's oblivious, and Sam's the only one with a braincell. For stb-bingo prompts prompts Verbal Bondage, Frenemies to Lovers, Coulson Lives, Roommates, and Dog Park.

read here or on AO3

Steve knocks at Sam’s door, feeling exhausted. He’s an image of a dried seal who hasn’t seen the water in weeks, only more pathetic. 

Sam opens after a couple of knocks and doesn’t even judge him too much. He mostly looks amused, to be honest. 

“Rough day?”

“Yes. Sorry to barge in, but—”

“It’s okay, man. We had plans, you knew I was home, I told you — many times — that it’s fine. Mi casa su casa.”

Steve smiles, a wave of gratitude for Sam’s existence hitting him in the chest. Sam’s great. And the day was rough. 

He hadn’t got much time to rest since the end of the mission, and the sleep always has troubles coming to him; he barely got an hour of shut-eye before the press conference. And he hates those ones. Even the easy ones like today, when SHIELD parades them — mostly him, but Natasha and Clint are recognizable, too, after the battle of New York — showing that they have the world’s safety under control. The politics of it makes Steve’s skin crawl. 

They asked all types of questions, today, and it seemed that the reporters cared more about his personal life than the recollection of actual events they were supposed to talk about. Natasha said to him, after, voice gentle, that it’s just how they are now. He was pretty annoyed. He knows it’s how they are. But it doesn’t make it right. Logical. Doesn’t make any sense. 

The end of it was... interesting. A young guy — he sounded nervous, but they all usually did in the face of the uniform, or maybe just more polite, more reserved — asked what he thought of transgender rights. Not so blunt, of course, the question was veiled, but Steve perked up, ready to answer — he wanted to answer that. He had a lot of thoughts on the matter.

His awe in the early days of learning about the bright new future matched the resentment that came later. How he despised the fact that people were still hurt, still marginalized, that there was still an argument about the right to exist. How he despised that argument because, honestly, do not change your God-given body? They didn’t say that about him, did they? It was nothing about faith and all about bigotry. He was Catholic, he fucking knew that. 

Yes, Steve had a lot to say. He started, mournfully, with his disappointment over the fact that in seven decades there has been not enough progress — not enough acceptance. He said that he found the whole argument so ridiculous, so undeserving of thought: there shouldn’t be any doubt about a person’s life, person’s decisions, identity, freedom. He talked about his body issues and the hypocrisy of men who praised him but drew the line at more misfortunate. 

Steve was about to finish with an accentuated ”Fuck transphobes” when Natasha cut him off. 

She sounded in agreement with him, and she made the transition flawless, but it still felt like she undermined him a little. 

Steve’s tired of it. 

Natasha keeps doing it — changing the narrative of his conversations with the press whenever she feels the need. It began after the time when Steve was asked whether he had troubles with technology — for a millionth bloody time — so he told in his best deadpan voice about the mortal dangers of email. It was supposed to be funny. 

Nobody got the joke. Not when he was dressed in red, white and blue — not when he was wearing a symbol, a hero, a story atop himself. Captain America doesn’t joke. Captain America doesn’t know what email is. 

They only mocked SHIELD about its tech support for a week, so since then, Natasha plays the moderator. Steve doesn’t really know whether she gets his jokes — or honest opinions that have too much of Steve Rogers in them, not Captain America. Natasha is hard to read, but he hopes she understands at least part of it. She’s a friend. Friendly. Closer to him than anybody else at SHIELD, more informal to him. Even if that mostly shows in her futile attempts to set him up (although, always with women). That’s probably the reason he lets her: Steve genuinely likes her.

And he has a bit of a habit to yield to strong women in his life.

But, well. It’s fine. It’s ridiculous, to be bothered by a friendly gesture. Steve doesn’t let himself be bothered. 

He comes to Sam, Sam doesn’t ask more than that first question, and they play video games for a little while — until Sam swears at him and tells him to go away and stop preventing him from doing some real-life adulting. 

“Maybe one last match?” Steve asks, his face a picture of innocence. “You haven’t won once today.”

“Fuck you, Rogers,” Sam grumbles and goes to his paperwork, but at least he doesn’t kick Steve out of his apartment. 

Sam’s great. 

Steve stays on his couch. It’s peaceful. Steve likes it way more than his own house — provided by SHIELD, furnitured by SHIELD with all the discomfort of his past but none of the real memories. Sam is the first real friend Steve made in the future, a first one who isn’t a work friend (who doesn’t know about Captain America, only Steve Rogers, a bit of a dork and a little shit who works in something incredibly confidential). Sam’s place is a safe haven. 

In a while Steve grows bored watching Sam being a responsible adult, and since Sam forbade him both from helping around the flat (stop it, don’t touch my stuff! You don’t live here, man, you’re a guest, no house duties for you) and from cooking (Steve, look, I love you and I value your friendship, but if you boil anything in my kitchen ever again—), Steve gives up himself to the horrors of the internet. 

He checks Twitter first and spends a peaceful minute checking out the new pieces from several artists he follows — it’s really beautiful, and he’s amazed still that it’s so much easier now to learn, to show your work, to be part of a community that transcends the physical distance, with people all over the world. Then, not wanting to delay the inevitable, he checks what’s trending. Captain America is in third place. Several first popular tweets say “Cap accidentally supports trans rights”.

Accidentally.

Steve looks at his phone with despair. He wants to throw it at the wall. He wants to throw himself at the wall. He wants to put on the uniform back and go to the Times Square and yell I fucking support every fucking human right at people, but at this point, everyone would probably think him to be a fake Cap or something. 

Steve grimaces at one of the most annoying tweets and can’t stop himself from replying with a sarcastic “or, maybe, a person whose whole deal is punching injustice in the face wants to punch injustice in the face”. Then he closes the tag. Online fights are draining and pointless. 

Should he punch some senator in the face? That might help. At least help him to feel better. 

Steve slumps at his coach. The world’s very sad. He grows restless soon and opens his feed again, but nothing catches his attention. He needs something else to raise his spirits. Something... 

With a face heating a little like it always did whenever he felt guilty as a kid, he taps a search bar and types Captain America Iron Man in it. Glancing at Sam, as if Sam would care what he does on his phone. Steve scrolls, pausing at pictures. Most of them are photos from the battle of New York — reporter photos, blurry amateur ones, and the actual art of them — of him and Tony. Sometimes with others, too. The captions always use the codenames, even for Tony — the only one of them known to the world. Some photos are from the press conferences they had together: everyone clean and presentable, Tony without the suit — or, well, in the other kind of suit — rolling his eyes at something or in the middle of saying something probably sarcastic or genius. 

The amount of time Steve spends staring at those ones is strictly between him and his phone. 

80% of the art is recapturing moments from the battle or comics about daily superhero life. Captions proclaim them frenemies. That word comes from some of the interviews when they had to play the opposite roles, of sorts, Steve realizes, and has nothing to do with their actual team dynamics, unknown to the public, but he still feels the discomfort, remembers the way Tony and he clashed at the first meeting, the way they were awkward and distant after. He scrolls down. 

The other 20% of art is, well, porn. 

Steve’s still getting used to the whole concept. 

(He saves a couple of well-drawn pictures.)

In twenty minutes he gets a reply to his what if Captain America actually meant what he said tweet. It reads: “and I care about your fucking opinion so much user tonystarkstan1918”.

Steve frowns at it. 

He thought he figured out the typical pattern of choosing a nickname. 

Sam turns to him. 

“You okay? You’ve been sighing at your phone for a while now.”

Steve grimaces. He doesn’t want to complain — his problems are pretty stupid. It’s nothing big. He tells Sam so. 

“Is it about your guy?” Sam asks in a second, voice gentle. 

When Steve came out to him — not that far ago — he said he liked someone, but nothing more. It’s still odd, still scary and nerve-wracking to talk about it. To know he’s allowed to talk about it. But it’s also pretty amazing. 

And, well. He was staring at Tony’s face and feeling sad for himself and his (non-existent) chances. 

“Partly, yes,” Steve admits. 

Sam lifts his head, inviting him to speak. 

“He’s just... so great,” Steve says and blushes, and then doesn’t know where to put his arms. He’s bad at this. “But he’s so out of my league, it’s not even funny.”

“Come on. Steve. You’re great. And objectively very attractive.”

Steve scoffs. 

“But it’s not really what matters, is it?” He shrugs. “And we had a bad start.”

“Uh-huh?”

Steve sighs, frustrated, not sure how to explain the endless distance between him and Tony without giving out their identities. 

“Look. Imagine you have a, a celebrity crush. And it’s someone big, I don’t know, a princess or something. And they’re not only famous but genuinely an amazing person. Using the status that they have to actively change the world. Succeed in it.”

“Okay, I’m crushing on Princess Diana, sure.”

“I guess. And you can’t even — can’t compare to them in any way, so you could only watch them from a distance. But you actually know this person — meet this person regularly.” Steve winces and looks directly into Sam’s eyes to continue. “And they fucking hate your guts.”

Sam stares at him for a while. 

“Right. Firstly, I think you’re being a little overdramatic — I said a little, I believe it’s a serious problem, but the amount of spectacle in that last delivery was too much — and secondly, Steve. He might be great, and you guys might have a strained relationship now, but it’s not the reason to diminish yourself that way, okay? Not the reason to compare anything. You’re an amazing person. Love yourself. And while you do that, I can give your a shoulder to cry about the greatness of Mr. Right or some advice or whatever, but don’t forget step one.”

Steve nods, a little bit choked. Then he takes on the invitation and gushes about Tony. After a while, Sam looks like he regrets his suggestion, but he doesn’t say anything. Sam’s great. 

It’s 9am on a Monday, and they have the Avengers meeting. It’s pretty boring. Clint doesn’t hide that he’s sleeping. Natasha had the same blank expression for 15 minutes at least; Steve thinks she’s asleep, too. Thor didn’t show up on account of not being on the planet, and so did Bruce — on account of nobody willing to make him. 

Tony sauntered in twenty minutes late. He hasn’t stopped complaining about the ordeal since. 

His tie has little Iron Mans on it. It’s very cute. 

Steve told him “hello”, and “nice tie”, and managed not to blush or stumble over himself. He’s counting it as a win, even though the tie comment got him a frown. 

Suddenly the room freezes. It happens like this: Tony stops talking, his face changing into a shocked expression, there is a sound of something falling from Clint’s direction, Maria Hill — standing in front of them — tenses in the corner of Steve’s eye, Steve turns, Steve sees it. 

Agent Coulson walks inside the room. 

He looks exactly like the last time Steve saw him. A non-descriptive suit, polite smile, a tablet in hand. 

Alive.

“What the fuck?” Tony says in the silence. 

“I second that,” Clint echoes faintly. 

Natasha just looks murderous. 

“Third,” Steve adds. 

“Hello,” Coulson says. “Excuse me for interrupting, I have news for all of you about the future structure of this team.”

He waves a hand with the tablet. 

“What the fuck is going on,” Clint says, voice slightly hysterical. “How the fuck. You were dead. I saw your body.”

“Are you a shape-shifting alien? Are we sure he’s not a shape-shifting alien?”

“You have received the instructions on your emails about the changes.” Coulson continues. Steve feels a little dizzy. “The main problem, however, is the housing. For the most effectiveness of the team, you should have a common headquarters. Preferably, live near each other. Mr. Stark, if your offer to allocate several floors of your Tower to it is still on the table, this conversation is finished.”

He pauses and waits for a nod from Tony. 

(Floors of the Tower?...)

“Great. Any more questions?”

They’re all silent. It’s the shock. 

“All right. Then the meeting adjourned,” Coulson nods to Hill, who turns off the presentation. 

They are still all staring. Steve feels like he has a concussion. He’s probably not the only one. 

“It’s great to see you again,” Coulson says after a second. It’s quiet, soft, with more emotion than he let on before. 

It’s a mix of a greeting, an apology, and a dismissal. Then he leaves. 

Later Steve’s at VA — Sam needed some brawn to help carry around furniture — and he’s still reeling with shock. Sam finished telling him all his job-related anecdotes and now looks at him with suspicion. It’s justified: Steve usually talks more. Recently, since Sam is okay with talking about his feelings for Tony, Steve talks a lot.

Now, well, now it’s harder. A person I knew and admired was thought to be murdered by an insane alien, which was a pivotal moment for me and other people starting a superhero team, and today we found out he’s alive.

Way too complicated. 

In the end, Steve just says there have been big changes at work, and that he will soon move to a place that’s being organized for them — to live around each other. 

“Does this living with each other thing include your crush?” Sam asks immediately, astute as always.

“Yes,” Steve admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “But it’s not really— it’s just the same building.”

“Oh no, don’t give me that. You’re gonna be roommates,” Sam sing-songs, obnoxious. 

Steve swears at him. 

He repeats the word afterward, alone: roommates. Says aloud, trying it out: they’re going to be roommates. It sounds pretty happy to him. 

Also: really fucking nervous. 

The living arrangements are these: Tony made them apartments in the Tower. Everyone gets a floor. 

(A literal fucking floor, Steve’s so not okay with this.)

Moving is a process. Tony gets them all to come together so he can show them around at once. He doesn’t explain beforehand why, so both Steve and Clint show up in uniform (they look ridiculous). Several floors (several fucking floors) are common: gym, kitchen, all the strange equipment (Steve’s pretty good at SHIELD-level tech, not Tony-level tech). Up from that come the personal ones. Tony herds them into the elevator and kicks out one person on each floor. The last one is Steve’s. Tony walks out with him. 

Steve is being so normal about it. 

It takes him a second to distract himself from thoughts of Tony and actually look around. He stops. 

“Is that...” Steve knows these things. 

An old radio Bucky found and fixed to bring it home. A stack of journals, old snd battered and familiar. The bag that contained clothes too small to fit him the last time he saw it. Oh. His mother’s photograph. 

”Tony,” he says, strangled. 

“Uh, yeah. That, I think, is everything yours that was stolen by the government. They were very annoyed about giving it back, mind you. But honestly, what are they — the British museum?”

”Thank you.” Steve thinks he is going to cry right here. 

Tony looks very uncomfortable and avoids Steve’s eyes. Fuck, of course, he does — Steve is on the verge of — Steve needs to calm down. 

“Eh. Wasn’t a hardship. I needed to have something here, considering I barely made anything for you.”

Only then Steve’s attention, so thoroughly zeroed on his things, widens: the rest of the room is half-empty. 

“There’s a gym fitted for your needs, the kitchen is fully stocked, bathroom, etcetera, but I need your input for the actual living space. Draw something you like, show JARVIS, and it will be done.” Tony points to a red light on the ceiling, probably meaning a camera, then turns and finally looks at Steve. 

Steve feels a little light-headed under the full weight of his attention. 

“Didn’t know what you’d like best.”

It’s said like a concession. A suggestion to move forward, to advance: Tony Stark showing he didn’t know something. Showing vulnerability with a smile. A clear step toward. 

“Am I a hard man to understand?” Steve answers with a similar smile on his face. Trying to match Tony’s move. “Everyone seems to know more about my life than I.”

“Captain America — maybe not so hard. But that,” Tony waves at the room, “is the place for Steve Rogers. Him, I don’t know yet.”

If Steve hasn’t been in love before. 

It’s a little bit awkward after that. Mostly because Steve’s touched about his things, part of his life, and the yearning for Tony inside of him grows and grows and becomes too much, and he can’t do anything but stare at the man’s face wordlessly and try not to cry. It’s ridiculous. Tony fidgets under his eyes.

He probably waits for the moment to go. He doesn’t want to spend time with Steve. 

But he gave me this, Steve thinks. It has to mean something. And he doesn’t want to let go yet, wants to bask in Tony’s presence some more, to look at him here, so close, with defenses brought down. He wears a simple T-shirt and ratty jeans, so unlike those pristine suits he wears at his interviews (that Steve spends a normal amount of time watching). Tony looks approachable, for once. Steve doesn’t want to lose it. 

But he doesn’t know what to do to make Tony stay. 

“Alright,” Tony says at last, a crooked smile on his face, “that’s more or less it. Ask JARVIS for anything you might need. And, oh, come here—”

Suddenly Tony is so close, and his arm is around Steve’s shoulders, and there’s a sound of a camera clicking. 

“Great. Very patriotic. I would ask for an autograph, but I don’t have a pen with me. Send it to Coulson, J, make him know we’re all happy roomies now.”

“Me too, um, JARVIS.”

Tony lifts his eyebrow at that, but doesn’t say anything, waves his hand in goodbye, and goes away. 

Steve needs to lie down for a while. 

Steve goes to Sam’s place the same day. They were planning to catch a movie. 

(Looking at his schedule, Steve begins to realize he doesn’t have many friends.)

Steve barges in with a huge smile on his face. 

“Sam,” he says with feeling, “Sam, he doesn’t hate me.”

“Uh-huh. Told you so. How’s being roommates going?”

“It’s great. I guess. Don’t know, haven’t really moved in yet. But Sam. He found my lost things. He made me an apartment. He thinks— he took a selfie with me, look! He was so close, and he smelled so nice, it's the best day of my life.”

Steve shows Sam the picture, then faceplants on his couch. He’s overcome. 

Sam doesn’t say anything for a while, which is pretty weird for him. Steve doesn’t care. 

“It was so great.”

“Uh-huh.”

“He’s so amazing.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you think it means something that he showed only me my place? Not anybody from the others?”

“Sure.”

Sam’s voice sounds farther away. Steve stands up and follows him to the kitchen. 

Sam has a glass on the table, and he’s pouring pure vodka in it. It’s 5pm. His face shows great focus. 

“Are you okay?”

“Fine. Great. Peachy.”

His voice sounds a little off. 

“Are you sure?”

“Just currently rethinking all the choices I’ve made in my life. Especially concerning choosing childhood idols. Nothing serious.”

Steve stares at him. 

What. 

“Are you—?”

“It’s fine, Steve,” Sam continues in a normal voice. “I just wanted a drink. Go on.”

He still looks a bit disturbed, but clearly doesn’t want to discuss it more. Steve lets him drop it. 

He goes on. 

Sam quickly returns to his normal state, so Steve doesn’t worry about it. 

In a while, though, when Steve has a little break in his gushing-about-Tony, Sam makes an awkward face and says:

“Look, Steve, can I say something?”

He sounds uneasy. Steve nods. 

“It’s just — I fully support you, and your love life is very amusing, I mean it, it’s basically your regular soap opera, only with more twists. But sometimes it’s just — I’m not your therapist, okay? And I say that in the most loving way possible. I just don’t have the strength to be a good listener sometimes. And maybe, you know, let’s talk about my love life sometimes, or I’m starting to feel like one black guy in a rom-com.”

Steve’s immediately horrified. He spends the rest of the evening ashamed and apologetic. But they talk about it, and Sam’s very right to begin this talk. They agree to communicate better. They watch a movie they were planning to. 

Steve asks about Sam’s love life, but it hasn’t changed since Sam’s last date, which Steve remembers the horrifying story of, but Sam talks more about the fear of opening up to the new people and not meeting anyone new. Steve listens. 

(Steve also strategizes. But doesn’t say anything yet.)

It’s a good evening, still, a great day. For the following week Steve stops himself from venting to Sam about anything and gets an exasperated text about it after. 

In the end, they find their balance. 

Steve moves to the Tower. 

He finds out — to his own surprise — that he likes the new apartment, even if it feels too big sometimes. It’s so much better than the SHIELD’s one. 

He works. He makes friends with JARVIS. He sees the others, sometimes. Life finds its routine. 

There’s Bruce making coffee and offering to share. There’s Clint, inexplicably jumping from the ceiling vent. 

There’s Natasha, who shows up at the common kitchen at weird times, and sometimes knocks at Steve’s door and spends time on his floor. 

She still holds herself close to the chest, but Steve calls them friends now. She doesn’t try to set him up anymore. It may be connected to the fact that the last time she did it, he said only if you agree to go out with my friend.

Steve thinks she agreed mostly out of surprise. Or curiosity. 

He asked Sam later that night, more seriously, of course, and told him he has this great friend, that they could find some common interests, get on well, and it doesn’t have to be romantic. 

They’re dating now. Sam doesn’t shut up about her. 

Steve fucking won this matchmaking thing. 

And, of course, there’s Tony. Steve almost got used to his presence, or so he says himself. 

He’s still nervous around the man sometimes. Clammy hands, fast heartbeat. It’s ridiculous. But also pretty great. 

There are nights like this. Steve can’t sleep — sleep problems are something everyone in this Tower has in spades — and he reads, lying on the couch of the common floor. He tends to gravitate here whenever he feels too lonely, to the place where his teammates spend more time, where he feels the connection to him. Tony appears at the doorstep. He looks tired, but slightly manic. 

“Hey,” Steve calls out quietly, something about the night not letting him speak in full voice. “can’t sleep?”

Tony jumps as if he hasn’t noticed him before. 

“Cap. Hi. Yep, no sleep for the wicked. You too?”

Steve nods. Waves for Tony to sit with him, and he complies, which is a gift in itself. 

They’re silent and tired, not used to conversations away from the field. 

“How’s the book?”

“Eh. Pretty boring.”

“But you’re still reading it.”

“Thought it could lull me to sleep.”

They both laugh at it. Then it’s silence again, but less awkward, now. 

It’s strange, Steve ponders, the reason for them to lack a conversation topic is that all is well. It’s unfamiliar. Pleasantly so. 

They talk about SHIELD’s latest idiosyncrasies, Clint’s hijinks, and the mean curry Bruce made last week and shared with everybody. 

“A perfect roommates experience,” Tony snorts. “Are we to have a cooking schedule? Friday movie nights? God, it’s been a while for me. I graduated — what, twenty years ago? More, actually.”

“Not sure I’d trust you with the cooking. I can see you blowing up everything.”

“You wound me, Spangles. Cooking is just chemistry, I’m great at it. And all my explosions are deliberate.”

“It’s settled then, you’re on kitchen duty for the movie night,” Steve says in his team leader voice, then can’t stop himself and smirks at Tony’s dumbfounded expression. 

It’s great. 

At some point, Tony has Steve reminiscing about his childhood, even — something he tries not to do, as a rule. But it’s different, now. The pain’s not too loud, and he smiles, telling a particularly ridiculous story about him, a yard dog, and an angry baker left without his meat pie. 

“I wanted to bring her home, you know. So much. I was nine, I think, the perfect time for dragging every cute animal home. But I had an allergy, and my ma’d never let me. Even if I wasn’t allergic — another mouth was hard to feed. It did well, though. The dog. I’ve seen it around the place years later. People were kind, everyone in our neighborhood was. Looked for each other. For the dog, too.”

Tony’s answering smile looks bittersweet. Steve feels like his is too, as well. 

“Did you have a pet as a kid?” He asks.

“A robot one,” Tony says, and of course he did. But he doesn’t elaborate. 

There’s no robot pet of any kind living with them now. Steve feels like it wouldn’t be by Tony’s own decision. 

They almost fall asleep like that, on the couch. 

Steve spends the next day with the widest smile on his face.

 Three days later Steve comes home after his morning run, and Tony’s sitting in his living room with a dog on his lap. 

Steve stops. The back of his brain says that he looks laughable in his sweaty t-shirt and shorts, but the insecurities are silenced by the main thought: dog!

A real, alive dog. In his living room. Looking at him, its tails moving. 

Steve stares at the dog. The dog stares at Steve. Tony also stares at Steve, but somewhere below the head (does he have dirt on his shirt?).

The dog is the first one to break the silence.

“What?” Steve asks after it barks. 

“I brought you a dog?” Somehow it sounds like a question. 

“You brought me a dog.”

“Yep. From the dog shelter. She’s very nice, they say, and trained, although she has anxiety.”

Steve keeps looking at the dog. She seems glad to meet him, not anxious, or at least not visible. 

Holy fuck, Tony got him a dog. 

“I feel like I have to point out,” Steve begins slowly, “that when I mentioned the other night that I liked dogs, and wanted one as a kid, I didn’t mean— that I wanted you to get one.”

Tony starts to look sad, and Steve curses himself. Backtrack!

“I love the dog!” He adds hastily. “Don’t get me wrong, the dog’s amazing. But. Please don’t get me anything I ever happen to mention?”

Tony snorts, schools his face, and nods solemnly. 

“I can’t promise you anything, but I will try.”

After giving him all the details on the dog — her name’s Daisy, she needs special food and meds and walks — Tony tries to shuffle toward the exit. 

“Wait,” Steve says, an opportunity arising in his mind. “We’re roommates, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And you got me a dog.”

“True, yes.”

“And we’re co-leaders of the team, and you’re technically the landlord—”

“What are you saying?”

“That means Daisy’s our dog.”

“Um, Steve—”

“Oh no, you don’t get to get out of it after bringing me her without a warning. And look at her! You wouldn’t leave her in an incomplete family, would you? Daisy needs both her dads.”

Both Steve and Daisy make puppy eyes at Tony. Steve sees the moment when he breaks. 

“Fine, but—”

“See you at the dog park tomorrow!”

The dog park is great. They got one not far from the Tower, so it’s convenient. Daisy loves it. 

The first few days leave a trail of paparazzi photos — Steve looking happy, Daisy cautious, Tony uncomfortable. After that they seek more secluded spots in the park, come at odder times — to help Daisy feel more at peace. At least they both have a horrible enough sleep schedule for it not to be a hardship. 

Daisy falls into the routine pretty soon. Tony — not so much. He looks like he wants to be somewhere far, far away in the first two weeks — even though when Steve asks if he’s good with coming with them, he frowns and says he won’t miss it for the world. 

After these weeks he makes a 180. Daisy gets a new collar and leash, insane robot toys, a playroom, and several clothes that are both perfectly safe for a dog and can probably withstand a bullet. Tony himself suddenly throws himself into playing. It’s amazing to see him like that. He smiles more, at Daisy, at the world, at other dogs. 

At Steve. 

It’s a happy smile, a real one, a bit crooked and mischievous and beautiful, and Steve’s heart aches looking at it. It’s a privilege to be looked at like that. 

Sometimes Steve feels like he’s living on borrowed time, has these moments of happiness, bliss, Tony. Undeserving and precious. But sometimes, sometimes, when Tony grins at him while petting Daisy, both of them playful and full of joy, Steve feels hope. 

Recently, the latter starts to win. 

Natasha’s lying on Steve’s couch, snuggling with Daisy. She looks effortlessly elegant for someone who just traded kisses with a dog. Steve doesn’t know when she got here. 

“You should ask him out,” she says out of the blue. 

Steve chokes. 

Out of surprise to hear her voice behind him, not the words — that’s nothing new. Natasha is dating Sam, of course, and since Sam is Steve’s number one go-to about all things connected to Tony, it was hard to keep it from her. 

Natasha’s insistence to see Steve happy in a relationship came back, enlarged, since then. But now, instead of trying to find a partner for him, she pokes him unexpectedly and says stuff like that. Like a matchmaking ghost in a horror movie. 

(Steve’s pretty sure Natasha mostly does it to get back at him for successfully setting her up on the first try. Sam says that they are weird fucking people, and he’s worried about the safety of the world.)

“Go away,” he tells Natasha. 

She pokes him again. Daisy sees an unknown game and imitates Nat by jumping on Steve’s leg. 

“I just need a perfect moment,” Steve whines at them after a while, when it becomes clear the two of them have more patience than he does. “What am I supposed to do, barge in the workshop and say Tony, want to go out with me?”

He’s coming around to the fact that he’s doing it in general. It’s just. It’s scary, still. And too important. 

“Great plan, let’s go with it,” Natasha says and kicks him out of his own apartment. 

“You’re bullying me!” Steve yells at the closing door. 

“I know!”

Well. Nat doesn’t seem like she wants to let him back. He goes to the workshop. Maybe Tony isn’t there. 

Tony is inside. Tony turns around, noticing Steve, and grins at him. Steve automatically grins back. Then stops. 

Tony’s wearing a tank top. 

Steve doesn’t say anything. 

Natasha throws a dog toy in his face. 

“Why the fuck didn’t you do it?”

Steve hides his heated face in his hands. 

“Biceps,” he says with feeling. 

Natasha calls him a useless dumbass. She may be right. 

Tony wanders into Steve's living room when Steve and Sam are playing Mario Kart. 

It’s a little bit embarrassing. Steve hurries to get up (and subsequently loses, to Sam’s unholy glee) and manages to introduce them. They make awkward three-way conversation until Daisy comes to say hello to Tony. Tony bends to her level and scratches her head, telling her soft endearments. Steve tells himself he isn’t jealous of his dog. Sam looks at Steve with a smirk that says he knows exactly what Steve’s thinking. 

Tony stands back up, oblivious to their hijinks. 

“Right. Well, that was my daily dog time. I probably should go. Leave you kids to your own... thing. Nice to meet your, uh, friend here, Cap.”

He sounds weird. Uneasy. His face is unreadable, no matter the smile, and his eyes are focused on Daisy, who lies down at Sam’s feet. 

Steve is about to ask him what’s wrong, but Sam gets ahead of him. 

“I’m dating Nat, by the way. And I’m straight.” Steve looks at him with surprise — what the fuck is this about. Does he want Steve to come out or something? “Just providing the information. Also, speaking of my girlfriend, I need to go see her. We had plans— hey, Steve, don’t you get that thing you wanted to ask Tony? The one you and Nat were talking about.”

All those times when Steve thought Sam was a great friend? Lies. He’s going to strangle him. 

And he and Nat didn’t have any plans. Bastard. 

But before Steve can kill Sam with his eyes, he goes away. At least Tony looks more cheerful, and even says his goodbyes in a much more sincere voice, telling Sam to relay something to Natasha. 

“So, what was it?”

“Hm?”

“The thing you wanted to ask me?”

Oh. Steve freezes.

It’s not a perfect moment by far. It’s not romantic, it’s daylight, Daisy makes ridiculous noises in the background, and Steve doesn’t look in the least presentable (it’s not that important, he knows, but there’s still this idea in his head, this image of how it should be: a nice suit, flowers, perfect manners). But. He looks at Tony, and Tony looks back, open and at ease and here. It doesn’t matter. 

And Steve’s not a coward. He’s not going to lose his chance. 

“Do you want to have dinner sometime?”

(It comes out so sure. Soft, but confident. Steve’s surprised at himself.)

“Oh. Okay. Do you mean like a, a team thing or—?”

“I mean as a date. A romantic one.”

The moment stops. It’s nerve-wracking, but also calm. Steve doesn’t freak out. He knows in his heart that even if Tony doesn’t— even if it’s a no, they’re going to be alright in the end. His heart doesn’t believe Tony can ever truly hurt him. 

He watches as Tony’s eyes widen, and he’s — he didn’t expect that, sure. But it’s not necessarily a bad thing. 

“Um,” Tony says, and fidgets, and oh. He’s flustered. Steve’s heart starts beating faster. “Okay. Um. Yes. Let’s do this. Sure.”

“Friday?”

“Uh-huh. Friday’s great. After seven?”

Steve nods. He grins so hard his cheeks hurt. 

Tony nods too, and he still looks like he’s not sure what’s happening, eyes wide and astounded and beautiful. But he smiles back. It’s a bit shy. Steve’s in love, in love, in love. 

After Tony’s gone he has to lie down for a while. He sends a text to a group chat with Sam and Nat, telling them the news. They sent a lot of emojis back. It’s ridiculous how happy he is. 

Their first date’s a little awkward. The knowledge of it being a date hangs over their heads, making them both unsure of how to proceed. 

They meet at the Tower, of course, what with the both of them already living here, and the ride to the restaurant is silent and giddy. Steve steals little glances at Tony, who’s wearing a very him combo of jeans, a t-shirt and a suit jacket. The jeans are very fitting. Steve blushes thinking about it. 

(Steve himself spent a better part of his day suffering in front of the mirror with Natasha mercilessly bullying him. Her efforts are not for nothing, though: he thinks he looks alright.)

Happy — he’s driving — kicks them out at the restaurant door and tells them have fun, kids in an obnoxious voice, to which Tony protests, but Steve just laughs, and it’s a start of a conversation. It runs more or less smoothly from that moment on, after they remember that they are friends, too, and actually enjoy talking to each other. There are some bumps in this smoothness, of course, attached to their new status, but they’re mostly enjoyable. 

While Tony shares some SI anecdotes, lively and hilarious, Steve can only think how beautiful he is, so engrossed in the story, and he realizes, suddenly, that he can actually say that aloud. So he does. 

Tony drops his fork and loses his train of thought, then sits there for a second, staring at Steve with a see what you did expression, but comes back at him without abandon, making Steve blush so hard he wants to hide under the table. He doesn’t hide, but he does keep silent for a while, overwhelmed, hands covering his very red face. 

“Steve? I’m sorry, was that too much?” Tony does sound genuinely sorry. 

“I’m fine. I’m fine. You’re just so— give me a second,” Steve takes a breath. “That’s why it was so intimidating to ask you out, you know. You, with your... verbal bondage thing.””

“Verbal— oh my god, Steve. How the fuck do you even know this phrase?”

“Oh, it’s this site — urban dictionary!” Steve perks up, embarrassment forgotten in the face of a more comfortable topic. “Such a great resource, all the modern slang I didn’t know. Really helpful. Especially with all the sex stuff.”

“Wow.”

“I’m not that comfortable with the concept, I think — outside of joking. Of verbal bondage, I mean. It’s complicated, and sounds too close to manipulation... very different from the usual type of bondage — so much more straightforward. And the whole concept of a safeword? It’s great. Just — it’s wonderful, how people try so seriously to mind the boundaries, consent, be more ethical, you know?”

“Uh-huh. No, yes, I agree with you, I’m just still processing your whole— saying those words in that order.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play innocent with me, Rogers, you’re the one casually bringing bondage in conversation. And you say the compliments are too much.”

“Just because I lost a battle doesn’t mean I’m not winning the war,” Steve says, Tony laughs, surprised, and it’s on.

Competitive flirting is not your typical first date activity, maybe, but it’s very them. And it’s great. 

They walk back home. It’s already dark, quiet and warm. Tony’s hand finds Steve’s, and they lock up until the Tower. Steve walks Tony to his floor — he is a gentleman, after all, and it’s just manners, which he tells Tony in his best serious voice. 

“And here I thought you were aiming for a goodnight kiss,” Tony teases in answer. 

“Those are not mutually exclusive.”

Tony snorts but then reaches for him. His hand finds itself on Steve’s face, and he’s so close. Steve’s brain captures the moment, never to forget. The kiss is short and chaste and tender, but Steve has to stand there, afterward, eyes closed, for a second to come back to himself. When he opens his eyes, Tony smiles, wide and happy and like everything’s right with the world. 

Hours later Steve can’t fall asleep. 

It’s nothing new, but today instead of worries and loneliness his mind focuses on the memories of the evening. He’s still giddy, happy. It’s a good change. 

After a while he gives up and wanders to the common floor — a place for the sleepless, a trove of good memories. He threads silently but stops at the doorstep as he sees Tony on the couch with a tablet in hand. 

“Hey there,” Tony lifts up his head, “can’t sleep, huh?”

Steve hums his yes and sits near him. 

“What’s keeping you up?” 

He loves this version of Tony: relaxed, homey, voice tender and the look so soft when he asks his question. 

“Pent up energy, I think. It’s been an eventful day.”

“In a good way, I hope?”

“The best. Had a great date.”

Tony smiles. 

“Me too.”

It’s easier, feels more right like that. Together. 

The next day Steve comes to Tony’s office to give him a giant bouquet of flowers. They are red and gold. Steve saw them at the flower booth by accident and couldn’t help himself. Tony stares at him for a second, at the flowers, dumbfounded, then yanks them from Steve’s hand and tells him to go away, because he’s a serious businessman and has work to do. 

“Uh-huh,” Steve replies. “See you in the dog park this evening.”

Pepper snickers at them in the background. 

When Steve leaves, he hears — superhearing — how behind the closed door Tony says:

“He can’t do that. That’s not allowed. Seriously. Stop laughing. I can’t deal with it. This is unfair,” but he sounds like he grins all the same, so Steve doesn’t worry about it. 

In yet another SHIELD press conference, Steve and Natasha at its front, decked in uniform, a rather unpleasant-looking reporter asks Captain America about his previous statement that can be read as the support of transgender privilege.

“I don’t know how else it can be read as,” Steve answers. “And since when are we calling basic human rights a privilege?”

The reporter scoffs. He produces some ridiculous hateful rhetoric that he finishes, cheeky, with the question “Would you sleep with a so-called woman if she had a dick, Captain?”.

Steve looks at him for a while, feeling oh so tired of this bullshit. 

“Your silence is an answer in its—” the reporter starts. 

“My silence is contributed by the fact that it’s an incredibly stupid question,” Steve says. The room grows silent as a graveyard. “But if you insist. I do not, in fact, choose my romantic partners by the look of their genitals. And, hypothetically, were I to have romantic for a woman who happened to be not cis, I wouldn’t mind. However, practically I am in a committed relationship at the moment that I don’t see ending, so your question isn’t relevant here. I also have no desire to disclose what’s in my boyfriend’s pants.”

There’s silence. Then:

”He would, though,” Natasha says in her mildly amused voice. 

“Yes, he has no qualms about taking his clothes off to make a statement,” Steve grins. “I love him so much.”

That last bit is said with a decidedly Steve Rogers voice, not Captain America one, happy and giddy and awkward. 

The room breaks. Natasha declares the event to be over, not even trying to placate the crowd. She looks very proud of Steve. 

At home, Tony greets him with a hug and a kiss. 

“Besmirching my honor on live TV. Am I a bad influence on you, darling?”

“You’re proud of me, really,” Steve tells him, unrepentant. 

It gets him another kiss. 

They turn off the news and social media for the evening, all the speculation and gossip and uproar banned from their little world. Daisy, so grown already, falls asleep on both their laps. 

[eligaxy]

Wind

☆ℜ𝔢𝔩𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰𝔥𝔦𝔭 : Venti x gn!Reader

☆𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 : near death experience, you’re confused asf about everything, bad writing cause i suck, spoilers for the we will be reunited quest!! And also for venti’s backstory, venti is serious for once (yes it’s a legitimate warning🤚)

☆𝔊𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 : Some angst, some fluff? Idk bye🤨

☆𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶 : "It's okay, it's over now" he kneeled to be at your level, his arms still wrapped around you, and you didn't have the energy to fight your urge of nuzzling into him. "I'll always be here for you, wherever there is wind, remember I'm here too. You only need to ask." (2.8k words)

♪𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔰 : i’m an idiot simp, i did this in one sitting and half asleep, english isnt my first language BLA BLA IM SORRY FOR MY POOR WRITING BUT HAVE THIS

basically you don’t know if you can trust venti or not, head says no, heart screams yes

Also, I was listening to stormterror’s lair ost while writing it, just because its fucking amazing, you might wanna listen to it too

I’m nervous to post this?/&:! This is the second fic i’ve ever finished in my whole life

i love venti and he’s hot in his god outfit i don’t make the rules

KAY ENJOY <3

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

"Please, anybody... Just help me."

Saying you were exhausted would have been an understatement. After reuniting with your sibling, you had been frantically searching for clues about khaenri'ah and ways to Inazuma. With no luck, you couldn't find any traces of Dainsleif or of your twin. The ruins had been sealed and you had no idea what happened to the inverted statue or the corpse you had found there. Desperately, you clung into every little information you had, you would have turned every rock on this archon damned continent if you had to, which is what led you into those ruins near Guilli plains.

Walking along the destroyed buildings your eyes caught sight of a dandelion and you froze. You missed them so much, why couldn't they go back home with you? All you ever wanted was to be by their side why, why were they running away from you?

You remembered your travels, the moments you shared together, their protectiveness over you, the fondness in their eyes when you smiled at them. You remember the times you got hurt and healed one another with your now missing powers. You remember sleeping by their side and being grateful to the universe to let you keep your ray of sunshine everywhere with you. How ironic.

What had they meant 'once you reach the end of your journey' ? What does that even mean? Stupid twin, if they knew you were here the whole time, why hadn't they come to you? Why were they always leaving just when they were within your grasp? Why? Did they know how much you missed them and how much your heart broke when you finally saw them? Did they?

You only realized you were crying when a small gust of wind had your wet cheek react to the cold, breaking your train of thought. Wind.

The wind is everywhere, you think, free as a bird, always accompanying every citizen of this world, never truly alone. With this in mind, you resumed your exploring, slower this time.

A sigh escaped your mouth. You didn't want to admit it, but the wind did comfort you a little. Almost as if he was here. God of freedom and of the breeze, he was more a singer than a protector and you couldn't bear to think about him. Was it true? What Dain said... Did he destroy this nation? Was he the cause of the scenery that still haunted your nightmares up until 500 years later? Your brain simply couldn't accept that Venti, your Venti, you catch yourself thinking, could have made such an act of wrath. He was the epitome of freedom, why would he take the very thing he based all of his existence on from mere mortals? Barbatos simply couldn't be afraid of being overpowered, he didn't even care about power. All he wanted was freedom and happiness for his people. Surley this couldn't be right?

But then again, who were you to deny the wipe out of an entire nation? The gods did it. They were afraid that Celestia would be overthrown by the pride of humankind, the destruction of khaenri'ah by divine beings was a fact. There was no misunderstanding about this. That was the one thing you were sure of. So why did you feel like crying even more now?

The mere thought of a gentle soul such as Venti committing innocent people to an eternity of suffering didn't sit right with you. Even when his dearest friend Dvalin had turned against him, he didn't try to stop him, didn't even ask the dragon to save him. He healed and helped him, gave him a choice.

'What is freedom if demanded of you by a god?' was the same person that asked this question the same one who committed mass murder? Genocide?

Did the little wine-lover bard you had grown fond of destroy all hopes and light your kin had?

You remember that night when he freed Stanley from his burden, freed his and his friends' spirits. You had marveled at his action, in that instant he was a god, and he definitely hadn't struck you as a murderer. You remember that look of silent pain and grief in his eyes when he sang the tales of the nameless bard he had taken the appearance of. You knew he trusted you enough to share his story, something so personal, you could almost feel the war that took down the tyrant of Mond. Oh how much you cherished that evening, treating him to some well deserved dandelion wine afterwards, his favorite, and asking him to sing you more about the time where was nothing but the spirit of a breeze.

Your heart broke a little, remembering his rosy cheeks and drunk smile, you wish you could talk to him, ask him what happened. What did he do, was he really as dangerous as you had been told? If so, then why did you feel so good around him? Why did you feel like you could give hi-

You stopped walking upon seeing a ruin guard up ahead in the distance. You're so stupid, you think. Feeling this way is not gonna get you anywhere, especially with how the bard had been missing for a few weeks now. Ever since you had last seen your sibling.

Where was he, where was he wandering off to? You walk towards the disabled ruin guard, not really paying any mind to it, still thinking about the god you longed to meet with. If you could see him, what would you even say? Would he even answer your questions? Why did your stomach feel so light and funny when you thought about seeing him, why aren't you angrier?

You're almost at the killing machine's level now, so lost in your thought you don't notice the five other similar robots hidden behind a wall next to it. You notice them only when it's too late and you've already turned them on while thinking about examining them and collecting their serial numbers. When you hear the familiar tick of the mechanism turning on, you internally panic and think about running away only to calm down moments later and think to yourself that you can simply beat it and take what you came here for. Even if you are emotionally and physically tired, you can manage, you think.

That was before hearing five other consecutive ticks right after it, and all around you.

Turning around, your gaze falls upon the small army of field tillers. Fuck.

Paimon wasn't with you today, you had asked for some time alone which she hesitantly accepted, so you couldn't ask her to go fetch help. You would have been worried if you had all your capacities but with the state you were in, you were wondering how you were going to survive this fight. You were alone, none of your companions with you, and deeply weakened by the busy day you had and the few hours of sleep you had managed to steal away from the night. Was it today you would meet your doom, with all your questions and uncertainties unanswered?

You tried your best to fight with the strength you had left, but quickly grew desperate after what felt like hours of efforts to swing your blade and being able to only take one monster down out of the six. It didn't help that you got injured along the way, their blows becoming harder and harder to dodge. After being thrown on the grown for the third time, you understood you had at least two broken ribs and that your shaking legs would soon fail you as well.

Fear crept upon you, you would die here today, alone. Alone. You couldn't talk to your sibling after all, couldn't understand. You didn't even get to talk to him one last time. Him... You would die without the knowledge of the truth about your bard. You would die alone. You didn't want that, you couldn't look death straight in the eye.

"Please, anybody... Just help me."

-

In Mondstadt, there was a musician, a weird singer everyone had heard about at least once. He lived off of his songs and was mostly known for having a great story-telling and being an alcoholic.

The number of people who knew the true nature of his identity were few and he was perfectly content with that. He didn't wish to be a god anymore, his gnosis had been taken away anyway and it's not like he had any power over the city of wind nowadays. Even if his people still worshipped him as Barbatos, it didn't sit right with him to be called a god anymore. It actually never did, he thinks to himself with a smile, he never really took any responsibilities that came with the divine title which is why he was so weak today. But it didn't matter to him, his smile turns into a soft giggle.

Sitting on a mill that was once born from his steps he looks fondly over the city he founded. Even if they were godless, the citizens were still thriving and free. He cared oh so very deeply about the place even if he rarely, if not never, showed the affection within his heart. He remembers the day he grew strong enough to dispel the storms over his actual Mondstadt, and made the weather gentle enough so that there was no need for fireplaces. Nowadays, he loves watching birds nest into the chimney tops and seeing them found their own home. It gave him a sense of belonging like no other, not above his people, but walking among them and watching them nest into this cocoon he created. He was proud of what happened to his land and would do it all over again if he had to.

Especially since it led to him meeting you. This thought doesn't catch him off guard, you often roamed around in his mind after all, and it's not like he didn't write at least three songs about you and your feat, your smile, your courage...

Ah there he goes again, rambling about you in a whisper. He turns around to the statue of him his people erected in his honor, chuckling at how they never made the connection with his signature braids. His, but not really his, since he had stolen this form from someone who was much more deserving of this power than him. Seeing his friend being honored with the statues of the seven around the land made him happy, he hoped that it was a good enough thank you gift in return for everything that the bard whom he couldn't even remember the name of anymore did for him.

Upon gazing at the statue, he remembered telling you of his long gone friend. It was the first time he had talked about him to someone else, he didn't even mention it to Venessa, she who made him believe in himself again. He could ask himself why, but he simply knew that you had something different, more than meets the eye. Perhaps it was because you weren't from Teyvat, or perhaps it was just you being as simple as your natural self but he was simply and utterly captivated by your being. You inspired him to no end, at first he thought it was because he had never met someone like you and he loved new things! But as time grew and he got to know you, he understood quickly the meaning and depth of his passions. He thought of it with a light chuckle, content with your presence alone. He really did need and want you around.

So why did he purposely avoid you like the plague?

The wind had brought to his ears that you had met with Dainsleif.

And your twin.

His first reaction was to search for you, talk to you, he wanted to be here to know what happened! You had searched so long, he couldn't contain himself, still listening to what the wind told him, he started running with excitement but... But wait, Dainsleif was... He told you what?

Oh.

So you heard about Khaenri'ah. He had stopped dead in his tracks and turned back, only sending a warm current of wind your way, hugging you from afar.

He wasn't ready to talk about this yet, not ready to face you and absolutely not ready to answer your questions. He was a coward, he thought, running away like that but what else could he do, really. It was only natural for him to be as uncatchable as air.

A sorry excuse to avoid the fact that even if his past had marvelous story like the one of the nameless bard, it also had its share of darkness, something he wasn't ready to dive back into. Especially not now when your arrival has been shaking this world up like it hasn't been since at least 500 years.

But oh, how he longed to see your face or to hear your voice. So he asked a breeze to report to him what you were up to, and where you were. Just in case! he tells himself, what if you needed help ehe? But he knows you're competent and you won't need the help of a weakling coward like him anytime soon. Or so he thought.

Because when the breeze only gives him a few words back, his blood runs cold.

"Please, anybody... Just help me."

-

As you murmured these words in your desperate state, not really for anyone but yourself as a last resort, a prayer of some sort, you tried to stand by leaning yourself on your sword and failing miserably. You didn't dare look up as you heard the loud footsteps of the metal giants coming your way. It was over, and you barely managed to accept it.

As you rested your forehead against the cold handle of your sword, you closed your eyes, tears starting to make their ways out of your closed eyelids. All you could feel was remorse.

A soft breeze moved your hair slightly and your chest felt like a black hole had taken place where your heart used to be, regretting to not have been able to meet him under the tree at Windrise one last time.

The breeze quickly grew stronger, until it felt unnatural and you looked up from the ground, only to close your eyes again immediately when you realized the wind was too powerful for you to keep them open. If you had struggled to see though, you would have been blinded by the white light that soon illuminated the whole ruins. You didn't have enough time to register the situation when you felt a hand being laid atop your shoulder, snaking around your collarbones and pulling you back into... nothing? Another arm circled your weak form and a voice you immediately recognized said

"I've dealt with things worse than you, now crumble."

You realized that if you couldn't feel a chest behind you while still being embraced by his arms, it was because he was floating above you, and not standing behind you. A look in his direction confirmed your suspicions but what stunned you wasn't the fact that he was flying, but the attire he wore. Barely covering his body, a white set made of materials that seemed like clouds and liquid gold contrasted perfectly with his regular green clothes. His hair was glowing green and his eyes that were focused on the ruin guards up ahead had a marvelous shine that you had never seen before. He had that same aura he did the night he freed Stanley, but there was also something different about the way his hands gripped you a little too tightly or the way his voice sounded.

"Venti.." You muttered his name, relief and affection flooding you all at once, in his presence you felt as if nothing bad could happen to you. How foolish could you be, just a few hours ago you were speculating wether or not he had wiped out an entire civilisation and now here you were, being saved by him and feeling safer than you had in months.

"Close your eyes, I don't want give you a headache" he said, slowly floating legs first towards the ground. His unusually serious voice surprised you (and him) but you did as he told you. Letting go of your sword and leaning back into him, you let him deal with the monsters ahead of you.

"It's okay, it's over now" he kneeled to be at your level, his arms still wrapped around you, and you didn't have the energy to fight your urge of nuzzling into him. "I'll always be here for you, wherever there is wind, remember I'm here too. You only need to ask."

Being protected by a god really didn't feel that bad. Especially when you were in love with said god.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Thank you so much for reading whatever this is until the end :’)

Don’t hesitate to comment or reblog, tysm <3

Ps: venti loves u and so do i do pls take care of urself mwah

[princehrry-writings]

Y/n's a witch and Harry's her soulmate

I'VE LITERALLY BEEN WORKING ON THIS FOR 2 MONTHS!!!

lanfvksbkvjbs I hope you guys like it because I poured my whole soul into this!!!! I wanted it to be over 10k but I felt like I was just dragging it on and the ending isn't great but it's ok.

I switch between present and past tense without meaning too- oops :)

wordcount: 9911

warnings: uhhh, swearing, google translated latin :) catcalling and unwanted male attention (with a bad witch moment... see what i did there😏), a little bit of violence, very lightly edited lmao

She didn’t quite understand what was going on. Was this another witch? No, she would have felt that energy differently. So he had to be a mortal. But why did it feel like she had just been set on fire in the best way possible.

“Thank you…” He muttered, eyes glazed over. “M’Harry, by the way.”

Harry.

What a magical name, she thought.

or

Harry walks into Y/n’s shop one day, sees the brooms sweeping by themselves and gets a little curious.

.

.

.

“Althea, get your claws out of there. You’re gonna get hair in the muffins!” Y/n shrieked, quickly shooing the troublesome feline away from the open bowl of batter sat atop the counter. The cat just meowed at her, unbothered by her person's shrieking. Thea was quite the diva. She couldn’t give a flying fuck even if she tried.

“Oh Stars, look what you’ve done!” Y/n continued, cleaning up the trail of paw prints left in the flour on the table. “How many times do I have to tell you to stay out of the kitchen when I’m baking Thea! Why don’t you ever listen!”

Y/n has been a little strung up lately. That’s probably the understatement of the century. Maybe if she hadn’t been put in charge of the shop for the first time by herself while her mother went to gather supplies and place orders for said shop, she wouldn’t be so stressed. She’s only 22 years into her eternal lifetime. She’s yet to learn the virtue of patience, her mind never ceasing to run with ideas and thoughts and feelings.

Her mother always griped about how she needed to take a deep breath and let go of the tension in her shoulders because now that she had stopped ageing- she had all the time in the world (literally) to do everything she was worried about. Y/n would argue that she’s not worried so much as eager. She’s just very excitable.

“Why do I even bother yelling at you anymore.” Y/n grumbled, flicking her wrist in the direction of the broom closet. The broom and dustpan came floating out and got to work sweeping up the bits of flower seeds and petals that had dropped off the table instead of into the mortar like she had planned.

Y/n’s never been known for her cleanliness.

Out of the blue, the hair on the back of her neck and arms stood at full attention, a warm shiver shooting down her spine. What the hell? She thought to herself. Thea didn’t seem bothered by whatever energy was coming closer so she knew it wasn’t any danger, but it was something. Y/n flicked her wrist once more, quickly sending the broom away and going to hide behind a wall where whoever this was couldn’t see her.

The little bells above the door chimed, alerting anyone inside that someone had just arrived. In walked, who Y/n thought to be, the most beautiful boy she thinks she’s ever seen. Chestnut curls shielded by a knit beanie, sea glass eyes, broad shoulders, a kind smile on his face. He looked as ethereal as she was.

She felt the earth shift under her feet, her heart speeding up slightly in his presence. He was magnificent, she thought. The shiver she felt was steadfast and unchanging, finding a home in the goosebumps covering her whole body. She had never felt like this before.

The witch watched from behind the wall as the man gazed about the shop, his hands rested behind his back. In a pair of black jeans with a rip in the knee and a white tee shirt with a cardigan thrown over it, he shuffled about.

Y/n took a deep breath, collecting herself before making her presence known. She walked out from behind the wall, stepping behind the main checkout counter and clearing her throat lightly.

“Welcome in! I’m Y/n, let me know if you need any help!” She said, trying not to cringe at how scripted that sounded.

His head popped up, eyes connecting with hers and that’s when they both felt the energy in the room grow. Thea came sauntering out of the kitchen area in the back, Y/n made a mental note to check the muffin batter for cat hair later, no doubt at the electrical charge of the room.

She didn’t quite understand what was going on. Was this another witch? No, she would have felt that energy differently. So he had to be a mortal. But why did it feel like she had just been set on fire in the best way possible.

“Thank you…” He muttered, eyes glazed over. “M’Harry, by the way.”

Harry.

What a magical name, she thought.

There was a pause, where neither of them wanted to move, in fear of this moment passing and never getting to feel like this ever again.

It felt like having a picnic on a warm summer day, where it’s not too hot but just right. It felt like the first breath of fresh Spring air, like hearing a baby giggle. She felt fuzzy and warm. Like she was wrapped in a hug. Y/n felt… peaceful. She felt all of her anxiety about the shop melt away, as if it had never been there.

Harry smiled at her, a pink tinge coating his skin, and pulled his eyes away (he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable by staring), continuing on with his peruse of the shop. He had no idea why he was here, truly. Didn’t realize where he was until he pushed through the door. He doesn’t even know what any of this stuff is, he’s just looking so it seems like he knows what he’s doing.

He felt something brush his ankle, looking down and seeing a fluffy snow white cat with striking green eyes (just like his!), and cooed at her.

“Is it alright if I pet her?” He asked, looking back up at Y/n. He would take any chance he got to look at her. She was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. With her shiny hair and kind eyes, a smile that made you want to hug her. She looked so welcoming. He felt… oddly peaceful.

“Yeah of course! She’s my little attention whore, aren’t you Thea?” Y/n giggled and Harry thought his heart would stop right there. Her little giggle was the most glorious sound he’d ever heard, he decided.

She got up from her little stool behind the counter and floated over to him, using her cat as an excuse to get closer. She just couldn’t figure out why she had such a pull to him. It didn’t make sense to her. Maybe he was a witch and was just masking his energy really well, maybe he was some sort of other creature, or maybe… no, that can’t be it.

Well…

Maybe… he’s her Flame. Her Twin Flame… Her Soulmate.

No. There’s no way. It’s so rare for witches to find their flames. And especially at such a young age. Y/n’s parents didn’t find each other for almost 75 years, and here she is at just 22, stumbling upon some magical happenstance where her Flame just saunters into her family’s shop.

Harry scratched behind Thea’s ear, a motor-like pur erupting from her little belly. She nuzzled into his touch, and then sprung up onto his shoulder from the table, startling the man. Y/n giggled at the look on his face, reaching up to scratch just above Thea’s tail, her favorite spot.

“She does that when she likes someone.” Y/n explained. A blush appeared on his face at this.

She likes him.

“So was there anything in particular you were looking for?” Y/n continued, hoping to make more conversation with him. Her fingers are buzzing, wanting to reach out and hold his hand or touch his arm, anyway she can get her hands on him really, but she knows that would be inappropriate so she refrains (however difficult it may be).

Harry was in the same boat. He felt the need to wrap her up in his embrace and never let her go. It was the strangest thing he thinks he’s ever felt.

“Honestly, no. I don’t really know what any of this stuff is… I didn’t even realize when I walked in but I didn’t want to look like a psycho just walking in and out of shops randomly.” A shy smile displays on his features.

Y/n chuckled. This furthers her hunch that he is, in fact, her Flame. Getting a random urge to come in here could only mean that the invisible string tying them together was leading him to her. Pulling them closer and closer everyday until this very moment, when they were fated to meet. Written in the stars to know each other, whether that be for love or friendship only time would tell.

She really hopes it’s love.

“Ok… We’re kind of just a general shop. We carry crystals, herbs, spices, oils, candles, and my mother does a lot of crafts, so we sell those here too.” Y/n went on to explain, Harry’s eyes flitted around to all the things she mentioned. He saw glittering crystals, by themselves but also made into jewelry like rings and necklaces, he saw bundles of different flowers and vials of liquids he assumed were the oils she mentioned.

“What is all this stuff for?” He questioned. He had never heard of anyone suddenly needing Oxeye Daisies or black onyx crystals, but he’d never been one to judge.

Y/n paused, thinking of the best way to explain everything. Practising “witchcraft” wasn’t an unusual topic to humans, but they didn’t know that witches with magic that was (semi-inaccurately) portrayed in movies and tv shows actually existed.

“Uhm, anything in the shop can be used for a number of things. Apothecary, gardening, herbal remedies, manifestation.” She explained. He nodded along with her words, doing his best to focus on what she was saying rather than just her. His body was tingling the closer she stood. He never wanted this feeling to go away.

Whatever this feeling was.

Harry looked around, his sights landing on a shelf full of colorful candles. His eyes lit up, trotting over to them, picking up one that was a light lavender color. He didn’t know he was drawn to this one in particular, but something had pulled him to grab it. Something was telling him to buy it, bring it home, and burn it on his bedside table, right next to his head every night.

It was Y/n’s favorite color.

The girl's cheeks burnt when she realized this was the one he had picked out. The occurrence might seem random to anyone passing by, anyone who didn’t know two halves of a soul had just been reunited with one another after being apart for however many years. But Y/n knew, and hopefully Harry would know soon.

She didn’t want to scare him though. He would think she was crazy. Imagine a random stranger that you’ve never seen before in your entire life tells you that you’re meant to spend the rest of your life together. He would run away screaming.

So she has to start slow.

“Think I might get a few candles…” Harry trails off, looking around at all the different shapes and sizes of colored wax sitting before him. Y/n smiles at this and nods, letting him know she’ll be at the counter if he needs anything.

Please need something, she hopes to herself.

He didn’t end up needing anything, but he ended up purchasing 3 candles, all of them being that same lavender color.

* .

. * .

It was a few weeks later when Y/n felt a familiar tingle run down her spine. Harry must be near, she thought.

She had spent the last fortnight and then some moping about the shop and her flat, hoping her Flame would turn up again. Her mother, Asteria, had been ecstatic when she heard that her daughter had found her Flame, and empathised with her pain, understanding that he was a mortal and it was difficult to form bonds with them quickly. The woman always found it interesting how the most indefinite creatures took the longest to form their bonds. But then she remembered they had no knowledge of Twin Souls and often settled for one not fated to them.

“Mama, he’s close. I can feel him!” Y/n cried, tidying her appearance in the reflection of the window. She hopes to the Stars that he’s coming to see her and not just passing through.

Waving away the brooms fluttering around the shop, she busies herself restocking shelves. Asteria had just finished a new batch of candles that needed shelving. The mother had been trying new recipes lately and was excited to see how they would fare.

Y/n almost misses the little chime of the bells signaling that someone has just entered. If it weren’t for the energy in the room skyrocketing and all the hair in her body standing at attention, she wouldn’t have noticed it at all. Turning, her gaze falls upon a familiar set of sea glass eyes and chestnut curls that have enchanted her mind every passing second since the first time they met. She tried her damndest to hide her grin, but had to turn away so he wouldn’t be able to see it.

Harry looked around the shop before his gaze fell upon the girl he hadn’t stopped dreaming about since he last was here. There she stood, back turned to him, with her shiny hair and adorable outfit. In a lavender colored sundress, hair pulled back by a white scarf, she fussed about the candle shelf that Harry had searched the last time he came.

Everytime he burned that candle, he thought of the way her eyes sparkled when she talked about the different items in the shop and how she smiled at him when he asked her a question.

Harry had never been one to jump into things quickly. He was the kind of guy that liked to get a feel for a situation before he really dived into it. But there was something about this girl that made him want to jump in head first, fearless. He hadn’t stopped thinking about her, daydreaming about little scenarios that he wished would happen between them.

He knows he sounds crazy, but he has a crush on her. And he’d only met her once! That is so not like him at all.

Y/n turned once again, sure that she had calmed the burning in her cheeks, greeting Harry as if she hadn’t thought of him in weeks.

“Welcome in,” she says, wondering if it would be weird to him if she remembered who he was, she decided she doesn’t care, “Oh, hi Harry!”

“Hello Y/n!” He smiles. Y/n felt her heart stutter in her chest when her name fell from his lips. As if she was floating (she had to check to make sure she actually wasn’t), she followed the sound of his voice, going to stand before him. Her first instinct was to hug him, and she was very sad that she had to stop herself.

“What brings you back?” She asked, itching to reach out and hold his hand. His gaze flits around for a few seconds before landing back on her face, a rose tint now on his cheeks.

“I- uh, I don’t really know. I just felt like I needed to come back…” He stuttered. A smile graced her lips, causing an identical one to grow on his own. Asteria watched from behind the counter, beaming at the couple.

“Y/n dear, who’s this?” The witch called. Y/n snapped out of her love-drunk haze, looking to her mother.

“Mama, this is Harry. He came in a few weeks ago while you were away.” She answered, giving her a look that said “please don’t say anything.” Asteria had a tendency to butt into her daughter's life, and Y/n needed to figure this out on her own.

Thea came flouncing out from whichever corner she had burrowed herself into and nosed at Harry’s feet before launching herself onto Y/n’s shoulder and staring at Harry from her new height advantage.

“Well look at you Thea, sittin’ all pretty up there!” Harry reached out to scratch behind her ears. Thea began purring loudly, louder than she did when Y/n petted her (Y/n did her best not to roll her eyes at her attention whore cat). The one thing the girl loved about this was now she had a reason to step closer to the boy before her. He smelled like citrus and woods, with a hint of weed (she’s not judging, she just wouldn’t peg him for a stoner so it’s a little surprising). She let it take over her senses until all she could think about was HaryHaryHary, having to stop herself from purring just like the cat.

“Well, whatever led you back here, it’s nice to see you again!” She blushed, deciding to let her affection for him shine through lightly. Y/n realized she didn’t really want to waste time dancing around mortal niceties. She didn’t want to scare him off but she wouldn’t feign disinterest. The witch wanted to make it clear she was smitten with him. So this was her way of starting slow, letting her blushes be seen, maybe resting a gentle hand on his bicep if he says something that makes her laugh, letting her longing gazes be caught before she looks away.

Like she said before, she’s going to start slow.

“I am too…” Harry wondered if maybe she felt the things he was feeling too. If she couldn’t stop thinking about him the way he couldn’t stop thinking about her. He wondered if it would be weird to ask her out. See if she wanted to get dinner with him, or have a picnic in a park on a sunny afternoon while he stared, as uncreepily as he could, at her bright smile and star-stricken eyes.

Very quickly, like it almost didn’t happen, Y/n saw a blush pink haze surrounding the boy. He was feeling love. The heat in her cheeks rose, fluttering of her heart increasing.

Now she knew for sure, he was her soulmate for love- not friendship. Thank the Stars!

* .

. * .

The next few weeks, Harry would come in every few days just to see Y/n. After realizing that she might be feeling the way he was, he wanted to make it clear to her that he was smitten. So he’d come in after he got done with whatever he’d been doing that day, bring her flowers or a blue-raspberry red bull italian soda (he saw her drinking one one day when he came by) and they would talk and sometimes he’d bring food if it was late and they would eat at the counter in the back kitchen. It became a routine, and he started showing up almost everyday. On slower days, she would close up early, so as not to have a single distraction from her Flame.

The two would talk about the most obscure things, not giving a rat if others heard them cackling at each other's jokes and misspeakings (Y/n stumbled over her words quite a bit when she was tired, he came to realize. He thought it was adorable).

In return for the beautiful flowers and the delicious drinks he’d bring her, Y/n would give him little spell jars or charmed items to make his life easier. He didn’t know they were spelled or charmed, but he thought it was cute how she gave him a lavender colored pen and told him he would think of her every time he wrote anything down (she had charmed it to always spell things correctly) or a little jar filled with lavender and chamomile buds, a few drops of lavender oil and a small amethyst crystal sealed in white wax to help quell the anxiety he’d been feeling with his job lately.

He appreciated them more than any material thing she could have purchased for him. He liked that she wanted him to think about her or that she wanted to do away with his ailments. He came in with a cold once and she spent the better part of an hour fussing over him, telling him all these little tricks to clear his sinuses and giving him different blends of herbs and spices that should clear this up in no time! He thought she was very adorable, worrying over a little cold and wanting to make him better.

Harry found that each time he left her, the force that pulled him to her grew stronger. He wanted to be in her presence more and more every time he walked out the door of the shop. The boy still didn’t really understand what it was about her, but he’s long since stopped asking questions and was just rolling with the punches.

Speaking of things Y/n did that Harry thought was cute- the things she said enamoured him, rendered him so speechless sometimes all he could do was sit there and look at her, (ironically) wondering what magical force brought her to him. He had no idea that the Universe herself was the one who chose his favorite girl.

“Oh Stars Thea! Get out of the nettle! It makes you sneeze, silly cat!”

“Stars forbid you ever listen to me, mother.”

“Althea Rose get your furry ass away from that hot wax before I feed you to the hellhounds!”

He loved how she was always saying Stars where he would normally say Jesus Christ. He never was one to be into religion but it was just something people around him said.

As the weeks went by, they began to sit closer and closer to each other. What started as across the table from one another, began to turn into her at the head and him on the corner next to her, then both of them sitting on one side but a bit of space between them, and then side by side, thighs touching, on the bench seat. Eventually, Y/n would lay one of her legs over his and he would rest his hand innocently on her skin, his thumb absentmindedly brushing back and forth, tapping his fingers to an imaginary beat as she told him a story about a kooky customer that came in.

That was another thing he loved that she said a lot: kooky.

Their goodbyes had grown more and more affectionate over time as well. From a little wave and a shy smile to a little hug, to a bear hug with a kiss on the temple from Harry.

Things were moving very swimmingly. Y/n was happy with the progress the two had made in getting to know each other. She had learned that he worked at a marketing firm but his passion was music, that he was in a band when he was in high school, and he’s from a village in Manchester.

Harry learned that Y/n has a degree in herbology and really likes the woods, and the show The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (despite the inaccurate depiction of witches, she thinks the characters are pretty).

Y/n has been trying to figure out the best way to tell Harry about her… lifestyle. It’s going to be a big shift in his reality and she worries that she’s going to overwhelm him. Her parents didn’t have this problem because they were both witches, but she had been fated to a mortal, which she’s not complaining about because loves Harry and all his human afflictions (loves!), but it’s quite a task keeping him in the dark until she’s ready to shed light on everything.

Especially on a day like today.

Her mother is out again, leaving her in charge of the store, again! And as previously mentioned, Y/n gets a little strung up when she’s left in charge. She’s forgetful, her mind flying all over the place. Her messiness gets worse, leaving different things all over the place (she somehow left a grimoire in the refrigerator at home), losing things… Basically, Y/n’s not doing so hot at the moment.

A busy spell had just finished, she had like 7 different customers in at once, all of them needing her for different things and all the chamomile and lavender oil rubbed behind her ear in the world couldn’t calm the anxiety flowing through her at the moment. She’d been so strung up that she hadn’t noticed the warm golden shiver running down her spine or all the hair on her body raising to attention or the jingle of the bells on the door when Harry walked in.

Walked in to see… the brooms sweeping up by themselves? And different pots and pans flying back into place… with no one carrying them. And Y/n muttering words he didn’t understand while her fingers wiggled, making the pestle inside what he learned to be called a mortar, moving by itself.

To say the least, Harry was very confused. And a little scared. Was he dreaming? Did today even happen? Was he still at home lying in bed?

The only thing that makes him realize he’s not is the shriek Y/n let’s out when she sees him standing frozen in the doorway, eyebrows pulled together in confusion (and a little bit of terror), mouth agape like he wanted to say something but didn’t know where to start. All at once, every moving item ceased and dropped, including the pots and pans which made a very loud noise, scaring Thea so much that she did the loud “meow!” that you only hear cats do in movies, and Y/n let out a quiet“Shit!”

“Harry…” She muttered, standing up slowly and treading towards him.

“Um… Y/n. What- what the fuck… was all of that?” He stuttered, and she continued to walk to him.

“Love, why don’t we go sit down and I’ll explain everything to you!” Y/n said slowly. She had taken to calling him Love lately, not being able to stop herself. They had yet to really “confess their feelings” to the other, but it was like a silent thing that no one said but they both just knew. So the name didn’t surprise him. Actually in the midst of all this craziness (and how his whole world had just seemed to be flipped in a matter of 5 seconds) he was clinging to the familiarity of the pet name.

He nodded, his eyes glazing over as he tried to wrap his head around what he was seeing. Y/n waved her wrist, everything that had dropped seeming to come to life again and be put back into their rightful places. Harry stared in amazement. Seeing it for the second time really drove the nail into the coffin that holy shit this is really happening…

They sat down side by side on the bench where they normally did but Y/n didn’t put her leg over his like they had grown used to. She missed the contact but figured a little space while she explained everything would be best for her Flame. Harry didn’t agree and tugged her closer to him. She didn’t fight it.

“Ok,” She sighed, cracking her knuckles as she took a deep breath, “Harry… my darling Harry. I need you to keep an open mind while I tell you all of this ok? It’s gonna be a lot for you to take in and I don’t want you to get a headache.” He nodded, and she took his hands in her own, running her thumb over his palm and channeling positive energy between the two of them. She saw Harry relax a little, letting her know it worked. He was ready (as ready as he could be) to hear what she had to say.

“Love, I’m a witch.” She says, letting it sink in for a moment. Harry doesn’t say anything for a moment. Y/n wonders if he’s even breathing. The strong pulse thumping in his wrist is a steady reminder that he’s ok, just shocked. (Very, very shocked).

“I come from a very long line of very powerful witches. I have magic, kind of like you see in movies and tv shows except I don’t worship the devil or eat children. None of us do. We’re usually very gentle creatures, unless we’re put in danger. Witches don’t use magic to hurt others, quite the opposite actually.”

“So… you cast spells and stuff?” He asks quietly. She breathes a laugh through her nose, nodding her head, continuing to channel him by rubbing her thumbs over his palms.

“I do, that’s what you saw me doing at the counter. I was actually strengthening the anti-anxiety jar I gave you a few weeks ago, because you told me you had a big project coming up and I didn’t want you to get too stressed out.” The girl said.

Harry couldn’t really focus on one thing for too long, letting his gaze flit around the kitchen area. He felt oddly… calm.

“Why do I feel so calm right now? I feel like I should be freaking out a little bit more than I am…” He voiced, finally looking into her eyes.

“I’m channeling you… look.” She said, pointing her gaze to their hands. He sees her thumbs rubbing gentle circles into his palms and looks back into her eyes.

“You’re casting a spell on me right now?” Harry wonders out loud.

“Channeling isn’t necessarily a spell, I’m just focusing and directing positive energy onto you right now, to help keep you calm. Like I said, I don’t want you to get a headache or pass out on me. I can stop if you want me to though!” She added quickly at the end but he shook his head.

“No, don’t stop…” He almost cried, pulling her closer to him.

“Ok, I won’t. It’s ok!” She shushed him, letting one of her hands float to his cheek, brushing over his cheek bone and pushing a fallen curl out of his eyes, before her hand found his again.

“Was it a spell that made me want to come in here that first day?”

“No baby, that’s actually a little different. This might be a little much so you gotta bear with me ok?” She explained and he nodded, heaving out a heavy breath.

A beat of silence passes and Y/n lets her eyes lock with his.

“We’re Twin Flames… or what you would know as Soulmates. We were fated to be together. That’s why you felt a pull to come in here. We were… destined… to meet each other.”

Harry doesn’t say anything and Y/n feels like her heart is about to beat out of her chest. She knew he was going to find out someday, but really didn’t expect that day to be this one. This crazy long day where everything had seemed to just bubble over and explode. She should have known something was going to happen when this morning, the flame on the candle she had lit for Harry on her altar was taller than it ever had been. She had written it off to him just thinking about her or something (if this was the case, it would be to the ceiling all day everyday because he never stops thinking about her), but she should have known. And now, here she was, terrified that Harry was going to walk away from her. She would understand if he did, it’s a lot to take in, and having your whole world flipped on its head is a bit much.

It would still break her heart though.

“So… this is normal?” Harry broke his silence.

“Is what normal?”

“That I want to be around you all the time? That I think about you all the time? What I’m feeling is normal?”

Y/n’s face softens. He’s so cute, she thinks. She could just wrap him up in a little bow and keep him all to herself for the rest of time.

“Yes, baby. It’s normal! I’ve been feeling the same things as you ever since we first met!” Harry’s mind is a little clearer now, so he picks up on the new pet name. Baby. He likes it, he decides.

“You feel this way too?” He looks like a little puppy right now, Y/n could just cry. She nodded her head, scooting impossibly closer to him, practically sitting in his lap. It seemed now that he was even calmer than he had been before, even without her channeling. She stopped for a second to test his reaction and he was ok. He didn’t tense up, eyes didn’t well in tears, didn’t lose consciousness. So she moved her hands to cup his cheeks now, feeling him lean into her touch.

“You’ve been the only thing on my mind since before you even walked through the door that first day. You’re in my dreams every night, I see you every time I close my eyes, I’m completely taken with everything you do.” Y/n confesses, feeling a weight lift off her chest.

“I know it seems fast to you, as a mortal. Your kind usually takes this kind of thing slowly, really learns a person before you become vulnerable. Out of fear for being judged or whatever it might be, but I would never judge you. I want you to know it’s ok to let your guard down with me. Whatever you're comfortable with! I don’t want to overwhelm you in any way, and I know all of this is so so much to take in. I just want what’s best for you, my Love.”

It’s not lost on Harry that she adds my before Love. He feels his heart flutter.

“I’m taken with everything you do too. Absolutely everything.” He whispers, if he speaks too loudly the moment might be lost.

They stare into each other's eyes, feeling the energy in the room grow. Flames from the lit candles around the room grow tenfold, reflecting the rising energy. Harry has half a mind to break his gaze from the girl before him, seeing the tall flames before bringing his eyes back to hers. He sees her gaze drop to his lips repeatedly. He doesn’t think she even realizes that she’s leaning in to him, but he’s not going to stop her.

When she’s so close he can feel her breath fanning over his face, she pauses, looking back up to his eyes, silently asking for permission. With her hands still cupping his cheeks gently, she closes the distance between them, pressing her lips delicately to his. Harry places his hands in two places: her waist and her neck. He pulls her in closer, pressing their lips together more firmly. A wildfire spreads from head to toe on both of them. It seems as though time has paused for this very moment, and again the earth shifts. A piece of the universe has just been restored, two halves of a soul reunited.

Harry’s fingertips send sparks flowing down her spine, she hums against his lips. The kiss is simple, just two people getting to know each other, learning the other's body, but it’s long. It’s not just one peck. Harry presses his lips against hers multiple times, slotting her bottom between both of his.

When Y/n pulls back to catch her breath, Harry chases after her, not ready to end this moment yet. She chuckles and grants him a few more kisses until she really is about to pass out because she needs to breathe. Pushing him gently, she breaks the kiss and rests her forehead against his, keeping her eyes closed.

She so badly wants to let the three words sitting on the tip of her tongue go, but doesn’t want to overwhelm him with too much all at once.

“Do you feel that?” He whispers, pulling her to sit astride his lap. She moves pliantly, letting him take control of the situation.

The air feels charged, thick, like it should be hard to breath but it flows, smooth as water, into their lungs.

Y/n’s head feels heavy, like she’s high on every drug there ever was, her mind fuzzy, unable to think outside of this moment. Outside of this little wrinkle in time where Harry is the only other thing that exists.

“Yeah,” She whispers back, reconnecting their lips, slotting them together over and over until their lips are puffy and red. Harry slides his hands around her waist, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her flush against him, not even a slip of paper would fit.

Pulling away, Harry heaves in a deep breath, squeezing Y/n’s hips.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for so long…” He says, nudging his nose against hers. She smiles, letting his affections wash over her, warming her eternal soul.

“This doesn’t freak you out?”

“Oh, I’m so freaked out but I'm kind of just going with it, living in the ambiguity and all that shit.” He heaves a laugh through his nose, pressing kisses to her cheek and down her neck, smoothing his hands up and down her back.

This was the best possible outcome of the situation, if Y/n had to be honest. It could have gone so many ways. Harry being freaked out but rolling with it… she’ll take it.

“How about we make dinner and you can ask me any questions you have?” She suggested and he nodded.

So they did just that. But Y/n closed the shop early and they went back to her place. Hand in hand they walked the few blocks, side glaces of reassurance and little squeezes of the hand, letting the other know they were there, and they weren’t going anywhere, with Thea in her little travel backpack (that she was absolutely in love with surprisingly).

They came upon an unsuspecting alleyway. Harry thought they were just passing through as a shortcut but Y/n stopped walking in the middle of a blank brick wall and muttered a few words she didn’t understand while waving her hands. He started to realize maybe this wasn’t just a shortcut.

Before his eyes, a door appeared. His brows shot up in surprise (he’s gonna get worry lines on his forehead if he doesn’t stop doing that, he realizes). Y/n looked over her shoulder at him, trying to hide a smirk but the look on his face was too good.

“Pretty wicked huh?” Harry didn't say anything, just chuckled and nodded, following her when she opened the door and a set of stairs appeared. Walking up the dimly lit hallway, they come to another door with the cheeky The Witch Is In sign.

“Cute.” Harry smirks at her and she laughs, opening it and letting him walk through first.

“Make yourself at home! I’ve got records on the shelf over there, you can pick one if you want. I’m just gonna feed Thea and get her all settled and we can get to making dinner.” Y/n explained. Harry ventured off into her living room, seeing the shelf she was talking about and browsing through. There were many different artists from Fleetwood Mac to Taylor Swift to Weezer. He picks out Hozier's self-titled album and puts it on, the beginning of Take Me To Church crackling through the speakers.

“Good choice,” He hears from behind him and smiles, turning around to see the girl he was apparently destined to spend the rest of his life with standing before him.

“Jackie and Wilson has been stuck in my head the last few days so,” He said, sauntering over to her and snaking his arms around her waist.

Taking a look around, he sees many different trinkets and items similar to what was in the shop. A lot of jars filled with different things, candles of all different colors, crystals, a broom (he didn’t realize witches actually had brooms but ok), among other things that he didn’t know the purpose of.

“Wait… how are there windows in here? I didn’t see any outside.” He asked, pulling back from the hug and looking at her.

“Well, there aren’t any windows in the alley. But there’s also a glamour spell on this building so nobody can see my apartment. That’s why you can’t see the door until I do the little thing you saw me do.” She answered. A sheepish smile broke onto his face.

“Oh,” he said and she laughed from her chest, petting a few fallen curls back from his forehead. She could get used to this, she thinks as she stares into his eyes, green as the forest and wide with wonder at everything he’s discovered today.

Who knew the girl he was falling in love with would be a witch… with actual powers.

* .

. * .

“Wait so, if no one can see your front door… how do you get mail?” Harry asked, reaching around Y/n for the salt.

“At the shop,”

“Oh,” He says. She laughs, kissing his cheek and continuing on cutting up veggies for the salad they're making.

“Have you always been able to do magic or was it something you grew into?” Y/n thought back to when she was little, remembering how she struggled to harness her powers for a few years before she started getting the hang of things.

“I always had powers, but imagic isn’t something you just wake up and know how to do so it took a while for me to really settle into and control. Magic is a skill, same as reading and writing, so I had to be taught and I had to work on it. Does that make sense?” She pauses while she explains, looking into his eyes. Harry nods, but his light hearted curious expression turns into one of embarrassment and she doesn’t understand why.

A rosy red color surrounds him, telling her he was feeling… embarrassed? Why did he feel embarrassed?

“Baby? What’s going through your head?” She asks, wanting to help him feel better.

She doesn’t like when he’s feeling anything other than happy!

“I just… I feel like I’m asking you so many questions about all of this stuff and it’s just tough to wrap my head around I guess.” She puts the knife down and sets her hand on his wrist, stopping from what he’s doing. She places her other hand on his shoulder, coaxing him to face her.

“Harry, this is a lot to take in, yeah? It’s not something you can just find out and move on from. It’s gonna take time to process. You’re gonna feel a lot of emotions, and that’s ok! I would be worried if you weren’t feeling a little off, as much as I hate that you’re not feeling 100%.”

She places a series of gentle pecks on his lips, doing her best to soothe him in any way.

“Ask all the questions you want! You don’t have to worry about being judged or saying something wrong, you have a right to be curious.” She feels him relax in her hold which in turn makes her relax.

“Thank you for being patient with me,”

He’ll get used to this, he thinks. He’ll get used to the fact that real witches actually exist, he’ll start to understand the words she mutters when she waves her hands, he’ll get it eventually. But right now, he doesn’t really get it, he’s not really used to it. But she’s worth it. She’s worth more than everything.

“I think you’re the one thing I know how to be patient with,” Again, she wants to mutter those three words on the tip of her tongue, but he’s already been through so much today, she doesn’t want to overwhelm him any more than he already is. So she’ll wait, because one day (hopefully soon) he’ll be ready to hear them.

“Can you do a spell? I kind of want to see how they work…” Harry asks after a moment of them just enjoying the silence that only really comes when two people understand each other.

She chuckles and nods, telling him she will show him a few spells after dinner. He agrees and they go back to making their meal, dancing around each other and laughing just like they always did and it felt good. Felt like this would be ok. Y/n was still scared because he could still decide to leave, that this was too much for him. That she was too much for him.

But for right now, things were ok.

* .

. * .

“Amoris et lux sum ego ipse, et carorum beatum facere potest, per potentiam solem et lunam, ut superius, et inferius.”

(I am love and light, I bring happiness to myself and my loved ones, By the power of the sun and moon, as above, so below)

Harry doesn’t think he’s ever heard anything weirder in his life...and his college roommate freshman year was a conspiracy theorist.

As Y/n spoke the words, she stirred a brew of tea infused with different herbs clockwise. He watched from beside her as she did this, his hand placed on her thigh so that his energy could be used in the spell along with hers.

Before she said the spell, she told him to set an intention and he had no idea what that was so she did a little lesson after reassuring him that his question was valid. (He’s still feeling insecure about not understanding anything she was talking about.) She told him to “close your eyes, take a deep breath, and clear your mind. Think of something you want in life that isn’t material.”

His immediate thought was that he wanted to spread kindness and love in the world (Y/n did her best not to tear up at her Flame’s pure intentions) so she nodded, telling him to think about that and only that, and set her intentions to the same thing so the spell would work. Mixing lavender, rose petals, and chamomile in a large mug, she pours in hot water to steep the herbs and, as previously mentioned, stirs it clockwise (something about clockwise being for manifestation), , rubs her palms together and snaps her fingers, and snuffs out the candles she had lit.

When all is said and finished, Y/n pulls Harry into a sweet kiss, and then has him take a sip of the tea telling him be careful my Love, it’s still hot. He kisses her back, taking a sip of the tea (he’d never been one for lavender things but this was actually really good. He wonders if it has anything to do with the fact that Y/n made it).

“So we just drink this and then what?” He asks, handing her the mug.

“We sacrifice an animal,” She says, not skipping a beat and taking her sip. Harry chokes on his spit, gasping for a breath of air before the girl bursts into a fit of giggles.

“I’m just kidding, baby. That’s it. That’s the whole spell. You just have to honestly believe it for it to work.” She says and he heaves a sigh of relief.

“Don’t joke like that!” He whines, more giggles escaping from Y/n’s throat.

“I’m sorry bub, I won’t do that anymore.” She says, still fighting off laughs. They continue to sip the tea, Y/n telling Harry about different things she did during the day.

Harry looked upon her as if she hung the moon just for him, and was telling him all about how she did it. Without even realizing it, he started to feel warmer and like a buzz was coursing through his veins.

“I feel weird…”

“What do you mean you mean you feel weird?” She voiced, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead and then feeling his pulse. Both were normal.

“I feel warm and like I’m buzzing… Kind of like I’m high…” He explained and she nodded her head, a small sigh of relief escaping her.

“That’s the spell working baby. You’re ok!”

“Oh, ok. It just worried me a little,”

“You’re ok! I want you to tell me when something worries you or feels different or off.” She says, and places a hand on his thigh. Harry agrees and they continue with their conversation.

When they both took their last sips on the tea, they cuddled up on the couch, an incense stick and candle lit on the coffee table.

Y/n sat, manipulating the smoke and flame simultaneously while Harry watched with a wide eyed gaze. She had explained how this was something he would be able to learn if he wanted to, and that she had been practicing for years to be able to do both things at the same time.

“I started when I was… I want to say 5. It’s a simple skill that promotes concentration. You have to stay extremely focused to even manipulate one element at a time. It’s only been these last few years that I’ve been able to concentrate enough to do both.” She explained, taking a break. As much as she loved showing Harry all these different things, it took a lot of energy out of her and it had already been a dreadfully long day.

“How about we go to sleep and I’ll show you more tomorrow? I’m pooped!” Harry hums an agreement, lifting his head from her lap and letting her lead the way to her bedroom.

Light lavender walls adorned with shelves full of plants and different nicknacks, and a desk with more candles, herbs, and other eclectic items sat atop it.

“What is all of this?” He sifts through all the things on the desk, not touching as Y/n had explained to him at some point today, I know you don’t have any ill intent, but a lot of this stuff absorbs other people's energy which can mess up what I use it for, so look and don’t touch. If you want a closer look, I’ll pick it up. There are different colored stones of varied shapes and sizes and many candles. One in particular catches his eyes. A green one with a very tall flame with something carved into the side of it. “What’s up with this green candle?”

“This is my altar, and the green candle is the one I have lit for you. I’m assuming that because you’re here, it’s going a little crazy. Nothing to be afraid of! I’m actually going to put it out since you’re here with me.” She explained quickly, reaching towards the flame with her finger and snuffing it out.

“Wait, you had a candle lit for me?” His eyes rounded, a shy smile coming onto his lips. An identical smile graced her features as she turned to look at him.

“Yeah, I’ve had one lit for you since the day we met. I made a sigil and carved it into the side and keep it lit day and night as an extra layer of protection for you.” She explained. Harry felt his heart melt at this.

She couldn’t get any cuter, he thinks.

A candle lit for him… to keep him safe. That’s adorable.

He leans in and places a gentle kiss on her lips, brushing the little hairs away from her face.

Y/n led him further into her room where her ensuite bathroom was, giving him a tooth brush and letting him know he could shower if he wanted to. When he came back into the room after getting ready, Y/n laid out on the bed in a sports bra and shorts. He just wore his boxers.

Climbing into bed next to her, she cuddled up to him right away, his arm finding a home around her body and her head laid on his chest, listening to his heart beat.

“Been dreaming about this moment my whole life,” Y/n mumbled, cheek smushed against his skin, making her look all cute and cuddly. Harry had to hold back a coo at the sentiment.

“Me too Moppet, me too,” He sighed, and they both drifted off into warm, fluffy, dream-like states, wrapped in the safety of each other's arms.

* .

. * .

Walking down the street at night isn’t the best idea for normal women, Y/n had learned over her 22 years of life. But Y/n is not a normal woman. She’s a witch.

And while most women carry their keys between their knuckles and have tasers or pepper spray or mace at the ready, Y/n didn’t really need that. This was one of the only instances where she would use her magic to harm anyone. Like she’d said before- only when she’s put in danger (or someone else around her is put in danger).

So when a prick who reeks of whiskey starts tailing her, she waits for him to take the first blow. Waits for him to get a little too close, so she can turn around and unleash her wrath on him. All the while making it seem like it’s not her doing. Like causing a brink to fall off the roof above her and hit him in the head. She wouldn’t actually do that but a witch could dream.

No, she’ll trip him up without turning around and if he still insists on gaining her attention, she’ll spin around quick, flick her wrist and send him into an unconscious daze and let him sleep off his inebriation on the lovely warmth of the concrete sidewalk.

That’s exactly what she does.

“Hey sweetheart, where you goin’?” He slurs, beginning his trek behind her. She’s unresponsive which leads him to believe she’s playing hard to get because his fragile little man ego can’t fathom that a woman would ignore his attention.

“Oh c’mon baby don’t be like that!” He speeds up, already wobbling but this only serves to make him clumsier.

She does her thing, flicking her wrist in his direction (discreetly) so he trips, but this doesn’t stall him. He reaches out, effectively grabbing her arm. She whips around to face him, cheeks growing red hot with anger. Ripping her arm out of his grasp and twisting his arm around, she gets close to his face.

“Touch me again, I fucking dare you!” She snarls, doesn’t even realize her grip is burning into his flesh- her magic gets a little crazy when she’s mad. Releasing him (tossing his arm away from her in a rough manner), she flicks her wrist once again and mutters a quick “et obliviscere somnum*”, watching him fall to the ground, unconscious. She looked around to see if anyone was watching the scene go down but no one was sober enough to pay attention to some drunk bloke harassing a young woman.

*(forget and sleep)

She shakes off her frustration as she comes to a stop in front of an unfamiliar building. Where her Flame lives.

She had agreed to let him make her dinner at his house, so she packed an overnight back and made her way further into town. He had given her an address and while, yes she did use it, she also let their bond lead her to him. She just kind of knew where to go, it seemed. Harry had expressed that he felt something similar the first time he went into the shop, though he didn’t understand why he wanted to walk in- just felt like he had to.

Making her way up the stairs, she let’s Harry know she’s there, beginning to feel the familiar tingle rush down her spine. She hadn’t seen him for a week and a half since he's been busy with a project at work- a client wasn’t happy with all the work he and a coworker had done so they had to quickly re-do an entire proposal to meet the client's deadline. Needless to say- the little anti-anxiety jar she made him was coming in real handy lately. Y/n had also had him put citrine and amethyst points on his desk while he worked to help him focus and stay calm so he didn’t stress too badly.

She always had a little something to make his life easier, whether it be a stone, or a jar of different things (a spell jar, he’d learned), or whatever it may be- she always had something to help.

When she made it to his floor, he was standing there waiting for her with open arms. She ran to him, jumping into his arms and holding onto him tight.

“I missed you, my wild girl,” He muttered into her neck, spinning her around. Her face flushed without fail, her arms wrapping tighter around him.

“Missed you most,” She sighed, nuzzling into him.

“Don’t think that’s possible.”

She hummed in disagreement while he walked them inside, Y/n still wrapped around him like a koala bear. His house smelled of peach and mango. It’s sweet- just like him. The thought made her smile.

Giving him a big smacking kiss on the cheek, she pulls back to have a look at his face, seeing he’s smiling like an idiot. It warms her heart to see him smile, butterflies breaking out of their cocoons and fluttering about her tummy.

“What’re you smiling for?” She voices, giggling at him.

“M’ happy you’re here,” He sighed, “Don’t like not seeing you.”

“I don’t like not seeing you either,” She frowned, petting his wild curls back and placing little pecks all around his face.

His cheeks flushed at her affection.

Harry set Y/n down on the kitchen counter, standing in between her legs, hands resting on her hips. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to hers lightly, before slotting them together, fully indulging himself in his girl. She responds immediately, letting her hands rest around his neck.

She will never not be amazed by how soft his lips are. Kissing him feels like floating through clouds, like laying down in bed after a long day on your feet. Kissing him is like the first breath of warm summer air after the longest winter. Kissing him feels like coming home.

Y/n’s heartbeat picks up as the kiss becomes more needy, leaning into him further. Harry pulls her closer, his hands ghosting up the bare skin under her shirt and fiddling with the band of the bralette she’s wearing. A gasp escapes her lips when he pulled the fabric up, letting it snap back to her skin causing a smirk to grow on his face- struggling to keep up with her lips.

He kisses her breathless before pulling away, watching as her eyes flutter open and she heaves air into her lungs, her cheeks flushed and supple.

“Don’t want the food to burn,” He smirks again, hands falling away from her body, moving the pots and pans on the stove around to the counter so he could plate their dinner.

“Asshole,” He hears her mutter.

Harry could get used to this, having Y/n around. Being able to come home to her, make them dinner, make out in the kitchen, fall asleep together. He can’t believe he ever thought he loved anyone before she came along. There was just no way. Y/n came into his life and took over every aspect and now he couldn’t imagine a world without her in it. He hopes to the Stars he doesn’t have to.

Yeah, she’s got him praying to the stars now.

[stardustprompts]

the poppy war - r.f kuang   sentence starters change tenses/pronouns as needed !!  some lines have been edited for clarity / length / ease of roleplaying tw :   drugs , death , murder , nsfw , prostitution mention , language

‘take off your clothes.’

‘why would anyone drug themselves before a test?’

‘you’re about to be a very lucky girl, sweet.’

‘wow that’s great. really great. Terrific.’

‘your folks are assholes.’

‘well fuck the heavenly order of things.’

‘don’t you have actual responsibilities?’

‘I don’t want to get on _____ ‘s bad side.’

‘you would make a terrible prostitute. no charm.’

‘what is so wrong with getting married?’

‘do you want to die?’

‘everything is spilling out of my head as quickly as I put it in.’

‘please do not commit spousal homicide.’

‘give me a way out of this shithole.’

‘hello, I’m praying.’

‘I seduced him with my nubile young body. you caught me.’

‘you can’t scare me into a confession, because I’m telling the truth.’

‘and that means you’re shit at your job.’

‘if you cross them—- if they even think you’ve looked at them funny—- they can and will hurt you.’

‘it’s easy to lose a language when you never speak it.’

‘you’re offending them with your very presence.’

‘they’ll make you an outsider, because you’re not like them.’

‘no matter what they say, you deserve to be here.’

‘I’ll kill you. I will fucking kill you.’

‘I went out in the sun once. you should try it sometime.’

‘oh, you’re the one ____ hates.’

‘you’d be a prick too if your family was both rich and attractive.’

‘honestly? I think he just comes in here to get high.’

‘I think you’re flattering yourself.’

‘unless you’ve got a weapon, don’t aim for the face. the neck’s a better target.’

‘we aren’t here to be sophisticated. we’re here to fuck people up.’

‘this is the only kick you’ll ever need, really. a kick to bring down the most powerful warriors.’

‘power dictates acceptability.’

‘he hasn’t done anything to earn my respect. all he’s done is act high and mighty.’

‘you’re nothing. you shouldn’t even be here.’

‘consider me bullied and intimidated, just let me sleep.’

‘he’s playing with her. he’ll end it soon.’

‘they’re good at fighting, but not much else.’

‘spend a lot of time looking at ____’s eyes do you?’

‘a betrayal of that sort would not have been out of character.’

‘come on, you belong here too.’

‘they’re not going to get rid of me like this. not this easily.’

‘I’m calm! I’m extremely calm!’

‘you’d rather kill your own people than let the opponent’s army walk away?’

‘you don’t let an enemy walk away if they’ll certainly be a threat to you later.’

‘he can’t stop raving about you.’

‘oh, don’t pretend to be bashful. you love it.’

‘you’re a walking disaster.’

‘anyone this obstinate deserves some attention, if only to make sure you don’t become a walking hazard to everyone around you.’

‘I heard he got drunk on rice wine last week and pissed into ____’s window. he sounds awesome.’

‘it’s me, your favorite person in the whole wide world.’

‘I do not have a problem. you are making up this problem for reasons unbeknownst to me.’

‘you’re killing the mood.’

‘they were weak as shit. scrawnier than you, even.’

‘you’re a real asshole. you know that right?’

‘your state of mind is just as important as the state of your body.’

‘sometimes you must loose the string to let the arrow fly.’

‘because I want to break his stupid face.’

‘he’s the most dangerous when he’s desperate.’

‘from this point on you’re just going to be a danger to yourself and everyone around you.’

‘you’re too reckless. you hold grudges, you cultivate your rage and let it explode, and you’re careless about what you’re taught.’

‘I knew I was the only one that could help him.’

‘they honed his rage like a weapon, instead of teaching him to control it.’

‘one urinating statue for my easily entertained friend.’

‘I don’t believe in gods. but I believe in power.’

‘one might say you’ve been obsessed with ____.’

‘don’t look to your left. pretend you’re taking to me.’ / ‘I am talking to you.’

‘we’re studying very weird things.’

‘I don’t actually know what I’m getting into.’

‘here is what happened: you called a god, and the god answered.’

‘you know that if you don’t get answers now, the hunger will consume you and your mind will crack.’

‘you’ve glimpsed the other side and you can’t rest until you fill in the blanks.’

‘supernatural is a word for anything that doesn’t fit your present understanding of the world.’

‘I’m supposed to take it as true that you’re a god?’

‘I’m not a god. I am a mortal who has woken up, and there is power in awareness.’

‘are we getting high? oh, wow. we’re getting high.’

‘ah. the law. so inconvenient. so irrelevant.’

‘we are not madmen. but how can we convince anyone of this, when the rest of the world believes it so?’

‘the price of power is pain.’

‘I understand the truth of things. I know what it means to exist.’

‘prey do not question the motives of the predator. the dead do not question the living. mortals do not challenge the gods.’

‘I killed for you. I would have done anything for you.’

‘I have seen the end of things. the shape of the world has changed.’

‘war doesn’t determine who’s right. war determines who remains.’

‘it’s alright. I know what you are.’

‘I thought I was the only one left.’

‘we have developed the power to rewrite the fabric of this world. if we don’t use it, then what’s the point?’

‘I don’t mess with that shit. it screws you up.’

‘I understand the appeal, I really do, but I like having my mind to myself.’

‘he’s a charmer. like a new puppy. you think he’s adorable until he pisses on the furniture.’

‘there’s no routine. no discipline. nothing you’re used to. am I right?’

‘so you’re the last of your kind. that’s sad.’

‘If you hold the fate of the country in your hands, if you have accepted your obligation to your people, then your life ceases to be your own.’

‘____ feared, and so he held you back.’

‘great danger is always associated with great power. the difference between the great and the mediocre is that the great are willing to take that risk.’

‘don’t ever let go on that anger. rage gives you power. caution does not.’

‘don’t give in... you’ve been so brave... but it takes more bravery to resist the power.’

‘the nature of this god is to destroy. the nature of this god is to be greedy, to never be satisfied with what he has consumed.’

‘so. screaming at rocks. is that, like, normal behavior here?’

‘fix this. prove your worth. do your fucking job or get out.’

‘I saved your life. doesn’t that make us at least a little square?!’

‘I was scared of you. and I lashed out.’

‘I thought I was better than you, and I’m not. I’m sorry.’

‘when I killed it, it felt like murder.’

‘look, I’m happy to discuss this, really, but I’m currently leaking life out three different wounds and I think I may pass out. would you give me a moment?’

‘well maybe ____ should get his head out of his ass.’

‘ ____ is more fragile than you think.’

‘look, asshole, I don’t need you to tell me what to do.’

‘they say he can read the future. shatter minds.’

‘you misunderstand the nature of our relationship. I am not your friend.’

‘he’s not human. he—- I don’t know what he is.’

‘but ___ was never allowed to be human.’

‘do you trust me?’ / ‘no. but that’s irrelevant.’

‘you don’t know what true suffering is.’

‘I have seen more than my fair share of suffering.’

‘that boy is beyond redemption. that boy is broken like the rest.’

‘I don’t want to be saved! I want power!’

‘that power will destroy everything you’ve ever loved. you will defeat your enemy, and the victory will turn to ashes in your mouth.’

‘we’ve missed something. something’s been laid out for us, but we can’t see it.’

‘fretting won’t make the dead come back to life.’

‘there was nothing human in those eyes.’

‘It was a nightmare, and I couldn’t wake up.’

‘I don’t need your pity. I need you to kill them for me.’

‘whatever it takes. swear it on your life. swear it for me.’

‘I won’t judge him. I don’t dare, because I don’t have the right. and neither do you.’

‘you asked me why I wouldn’t stop him. now you understand. you can’t stop an avenger. you can’t reason with a madman.’

‘I am afraid of what he might do in his quest for vengeance. and I am afraid that he is right.’

‘I am about to do something terrible. and you will have a choice.’

‘they give nothing to the universe, and the universe owes them nothing in return.’

‘you cannot survive my death.’

‘you’re trying to deceive me. you don’t get to deceive me.’

‘this is not the way. this path leads only to darkness.’

‘when are you going to stop being such a damn coward? what are you running from?’

‘you will turn the world to ash, and only demons will live in the rubble.’

‘you dress up your crusade with moral arguments, when in truth you would let millions die if it means you get your so-called justice.’

‘you have not cared about anything for a very long time. you are broken.’

‘I am terrified. but only because I’m starting to remember who I once was. don’t go down that path.’

‘your country is ash. you can’t bring it back with blood.’

‘I’m so sorry. I tried to warn you.’

‘you know the worst part? we’re so close to home.’

‘did you miss me? did you miss this?’

‘I just gave him some of his favorite medicine.’

‘resistance here means suffering. there is no escape. no future.’

‘you have nothing to fight for anymore’

‘what are you defending? you owe ____ nothing.’

‘we were disposable. we were tools. tell me that doesn’t make you furious.’

‘I am sick with fury.’

‘I will die on my feet. I will not die a coward. and neither will you.’

‘we could stay here. we could stay here forever. we wouldn’t have to go back.’

‘you’ll have to live with the consequences. but you’re brave ... you’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.’

‘I have lost everything I care about. I don’t want peace, I want revenge.’

‘I don’t need to sleep. I need to feel nothing.’

‘do you want forgiveness? I can’t give you that.’

‘we avenged him. he’s gone, but avenged.’

‘you have to believe that it was necessary. that it stopped something worse. and even if it wasn’t, it’s the lie we’ll tell ourselves, starting today and every day afterward.’

‘aren’t you supposed to be a seer? do you ever see anything useful?’

‘we have an enemy whom we love.’

‘I’m going to find and kill everyone responsible. you cannot stop me.’

‘oh I’m not going to stop you.’

[effei-s]

real unpopular opinion time!

ignite-me adam is the best adam (and he is exactly what imagine-me warner tries to be and fails miserably).

i’m absolutely in love with the fact that he’s unapologetically batshit crazy there and no one babies his ass because of it.

ignite-me adam and imagine-me warner actually have the same plot arc: dude looses his love interest and starts to act crazy because of this /actually the entire second trilogy really feels like a bad retelling of the first trilogy (where warner becomes adam and anderson becomes warner and yada-yada-yada) but it’s a conversation for another day/.

the end results in ignite me and imagine me, however, are drastically different.

ignite-me adam is:

rude;

crude;

constantly antagonizes people around him that supposed to be on his team;

very pragmatic to the point of being fatalistic about the world;

violent over all;

prone to physical violence (!!!);

doesn’t believe in a good cause and revolution;

has gigantic anger management issues;

doesn’t give a flying fuck about people’s opinions and wishes;

doesn’t really cares for anything and anyone except for james;

gets into fights;

criticizes juliette and her choices (and for a good fucking reason, at the end of the day juliette’s stupid-ass plan “works” only because ANDERSON ALLOWS IT (but it’s again a conversation for another day));

and i can use the same exact criteria to describe imagine-me warner (except for the last part, but warner’s inability to even allow himself to think about her as anything but CAPABLE of everything results in juliette being kidnapped two times in a row and being put in mortal danger because he fails to protect her, so his I BELIEVE IN YOU doesn’t mean shit at the end of the day).

so what’s the difference here? why adam as a nuisance to society works and warner doesn’t? the difference is: adam has flaws and they are intentional.

adam gains depth thanks to being a dickhead. he never really was this goody two-shoes guy in the first place, but he was pretty standard ya love interest that didn’t have much personality outside of I’VE LOVED (obsessed over) YOU MY WHOLE LIFE. although even then (in first two books) his stubbornness and anger and stiffness and abandonment issues were present, they just weren’t amplified that much. i would still have more than enough interesting ingredients to work with (his disregard of the authority with castle in unravel me, his ability to fuck over warner and steal from him in shatter me, him beating up and bulling bullies when he and j were in school, etc.). but in ignite-me his crazy-ass attitude adds a shit tone of flavor to the dish. because his actions actually have impact on the way people behave around him, the way people view him. when he does bad shit people go wtf??? as they should. the reasoning behind him becoming this vile (to make sure that warner is the better suited love interest blah-blah-blah) is lazy writing, i don’t like it at all. so i would rather prefer to look at this as adam showing his true colors/his inner anderson awakening/him getting one step closer to the dark side etc,.

(adam had the potential to become such a cool villain thanks to his ability, can you tell that i’ve waited for him to show up in imagine-me as RE’s weapon and fuck shit up??????? that i wanted him to be the rat all this time??? it would make SO MUCH SENSE??? can you see??? can you???

like, come on, 99% of the fandom already hates him, just let him go apeshit because we all know that he will prioritize james OVER EVERYTHING and he will gladly let all of omega pointers die if it means that james is safe)

long story short: those flaws make him (unintentionally) second most complex character in the series (right next to the shatter-me juliette, because shatter-me juliette IS THE REAL SHIT, SHE IS A POP IDOL, SHE IS THE FOURTH INCARNATION OF GOD, SHE IS A CONVICTED CRIMINAL, SHE CAN NEVER DIE *sorry, fangirl-mode off*).

second-trilogy warner is the exact opposite of what happens to adam: book by book he loses his depth and becomes a A-class example of a marty sue. outside of the fact that he doesn’t have a personality of his own anymore: everything revolves around Juliette (and trust me when i say ‘i hate everyone but you’ trope works ONLY WITH VILLAINS, the moment you try to pull it with the protagonist you sign them a death sentence in terms of character development; there’s no way you can make a well-rounded protag when their only personality trait is ‘i love you’, sorry), the flaws are also non-existent. his actions have no impact on anyone whatsoever:

first and foremost he’s 100% responsible for the fact that Juliette got kidnapped. because he does NOTHING FOR DAYS to actually protect her. he loses her because instead of doing something he sits there and stares at her, and after she’s gone he roams around covered in blood and brooding about how miserable he is.

(i know i’ve talked about it 302842348032 times already, i know, but i’m still angry, like…. WHAT AN ACTUAL FUCK??? anderson took her and instead of going instantly after him he decides to spend his time being rude to people. and if you think it can’t be worse. well warner FUCKING KNEW WHERE ANDERSON WAS!!!!! WHILE ANDERSON WAS STILL INJURED!!! AND CHANCES TO DEFEAT HIM WERE HIGHER!!! but still he decided to stay and… do nothing for THREE DAYS.)

people around him drool not because he shows some incredible personality or character growth but only because of his looks.

him being ready to betray them all and allow RE to win could’ve been his flaw but everyone around acts like it never happened and after they decide to create a fucking fan club (because he’s hot);

i don’t care how many people he kills with the machete or whatever because he still fails to protect juliette;

what it the point of showing him and kenji killing that girl if people take his side immediately? they not even angry at him? A GIRL SUPPOSED TO BE A PART OF THEIR TEAM? along with dozens of others that were lost days before. well, she was always a little bit crazy so it’s her own fault! oh, how convenient!

mafi tries so HARD to make warner look cool that result is complete opposite. she can’t really commit to making him really bad and doing bad things because he’s the love interest now, therefore we end up with the stupid as fuck NO SHOW ALL TELL flavorless pathetic excuse of a character that fails at everything he tries to do (poor shatter-me warner, if only you knew where you’re gonna end up).

to put it simple:

warner from the first trilogy: shit ton of flaws = terrible human being = awesome character;

aaron from the second trilogy: no flaws whatsoever = marty sue = walking dildo.

the difference between show and tell.

show:

when kenji pisses ignite-me adam, ignite-me adam goes straight up to KILL ANNOYING MOTHERFUCKER mode.

“You know what?” Adam says, his anger taking over. “You’re so obsessed with her—jumping to her defense all the time, getting involved in our conversations all the time—you like her so much? Fine. You can have her.”

Adam grabs Kenji’s bare hand and presses it into my empty one.

For just long enough.

“What in God’s name is wrong with you?” Kenji’s voice is soft but deathly sharp, his right fist still clenched. “Were you trying to get me killed?”

Adam rolls his eyes.“I knew it wouldn’t kill you. Not that quickly. I’ve felt it before,” he says. “It just burns a little.”

“Pull yourself together, dickhead,” Kenji snaps. “You’re acting insane.”

Adam says nothing. He actually laughs, flips Kenji off, and heads in the direction of the locker room.

oh like, come on, did anyone believe him?

a) the last time it didn’t ‘burned a little’, he ended up almost dying;

b) adam has an ability that can protect him, kenji – hasn’t;

c) he knew it gonna kill kenji. he knew. there's no way he didn't. he wanted him dead. he thought about it – he acted on it.

it’s that simple.

tell:

when kenji pisses imagine-me warner, imagine-me warner just talks and talks and talks more about how he wants to kill kenji.

Warner reappears so close to my face I nearly scream. I take a sudden, terrified step backward.

“If you value your life,” he says, “don’t come near me.”

I’m about to point out that he’s being dramatic, but he cuts me off.

“I didn’t say that to be dramatic. I didn’t even say it to scare you. I’m saying it out of respect for Ella, because I know she’d rather I didn’t kill you.”

I’m quiet for a full second. And

I’m quiet for a full second. And then I frown.

“Are you fucking with me right now? You’re definitely fucking with me right now. Right?”

Warner’s eyes go flinty. Electric. That scary kind of crazy.

“Every single time you claim to understand even a fraction of what I’m feeling, I want to disembowel you. I want to sever your carotid artery. I want to rip out your vertebrae, one by one. You have no idea what it is to love her,” he says angrily. “You couldn’t even begin to imagine. So stop trying to understand.”

he wastes time on this while juliette is out there being anderson’s fave pet.

oh, his priorities!

dude, really, can you move the fuck on from ‘woah is me’ pity party and do something? anything? instead of useless talking that goes nowhere? i’m falling asleep here.

/everything is just like anderson said: so much talk and not enough follow through; it’s embarrassing how well anderson actually knows him/

at the end of the day it comes down to this:

ignite-me adam: acts.

imagine-me warner: talks.

and actions always speak louder than words.

therefore i will choose batshit crazy adam over useless walking dildo any day of the week any time of the year.

[sserpente]

A/N: Requests from @watermelon1568, @lokisgirl5, @cocoamoonmalfoy and anon. This is so fluffy and maybe a little silly, but in a good way! Enjoy everyone and have a good Christmas Eve! ♥

Words: 2635 Warnings: so much fluff, mentions of blood, implied smut

Additional NSFW warning: This Imagine contains implied period sex, just in case this is something you are uncomfortable with.

Loki might be a tiny tad OOC in this one because the requests were just so fluffy but I did my best! Enjoy!

-

Loki sighed. There you were again, running around with a list in hand looking much like the one Santa Clause had been carrying in that Christmas film Thor had forced him to watch. For the past few days, weeks almost, actually, you had been collecting everyone’s Christmas wishes like a squirrel collecting nuts for the winter. Even he knew everyone’s Christmas wishes by now. You had truly asked everybody, even the cleaning women who came to tidy up the entire Avengers facility once a week.

Loki could not quite put his finger on what it was that fascinated him so much about you—all he did know was that he too wanted to get you a Christmas present, if only just to see the surprised look on your face. He almost snorted. It was disappointment he felt, disappointment and envy because he longed to be the one to put a smile on your face on Christmas Day—and he didn’t even celebrate Christmas, not really.

Furthermore, he had not failed to notice how you avoided his presence like you were playing cat and mouse. You had, much to his surprise, asked him for his Christmas wish too the other day, all timid and unable to look him in the eye and Loki had been so taken aback he had not known an answer. The God of Mischief was many things but he was not blind and not stupid—he was perceptive. Villain or not, you were into him—and he was going to get your confession.

Smirking to himself, and determined to put an end to playing tag, he followed you into the empty hallway on your way back to your room, pushed past you and then unceremoniously blocked your way.

“O-Oh… hey, Loki.” You chirped.

“Are you in a hurry?”

“I, uh, actually, um… n-no?”

“Well, you did ask me what I wanted for Christmas, did you not?”

“Oh!” Your face lit up. “Oh, yes! Yes, what would you like?”

Loki thought about it for a moment. He needed an answer fast to not look like a moron now.

His lips parted. “I do miss writing with a quill and ink. Could you acquire a set for me? Surely, they are still being used on Midgard.”

Geez! How had you not thought about that? Loki truly was a scholar with all those books in his room, and that was a marvellous idea. “Y-yes, of course!” You responded, nodding eagerly in the process. But when you moved forward, Loki, instead of letting you pass now, put his hand against the wall so you were trapped.

“Hmm… Is there a particular reason you always get so nervous in my presence?” He asked. Your eyes widened. Fuck.

“Y-you… you tried to… you almost took over t-the p-planet, you k-know.” You lied quickly.

“Ah, yes. Of course… that must be it.” He responded with a knowing smirk. Oh, fuck. Did he have to be so god damn gorgeous?

“You never said what it was you want for Christmas, my dear.” He said then, blue eyes locking with yours. Your heart skipped a beat—no, actually, you were wondering whether it was still beating at all. You did have a Christmas wish, of course and you wanted to do backflips all across the hallway that Loki of all people took an interest in what you’d like—or maybe he just wanted to make conversation. Keep calm.

“Oh… it’s silly. Not really possible.” You replied sheepishly, gasping when he hooked a finger under your chin to gently force you to look up at him. He was definitely going to be the death of you.

“Tell me.” He urged you on.

“The only thing I… I’ve always wanted to have a dog. A loyal non-human companion, someone to cuddle with when it’s cold and who will never judge me but love me just the way I am… and they are just so cute! But that’s not possible,” You repeated quickly. “Imagine an innocent little puppy when everything’s on fire and another alien race attacks the planet!”

Loki hummed. Dogs were not common on Asgard. He himself had had a pet snake growing but released it into the wild after Thor and his friends had repeatedly stolen it to play silly and dangerous games. He could see why you kept that wish to yourself. Living among the Avengers, a dog might get in the way during missions—he did not doubt it would be helpful and capable of tearing off their enemies’ faces but your worry for it would distract you from a fight.

Still… perhaps there was a way. A smirk grew on his lips and your flustered reaction to it pleased him, making it grow wider.

-

It was early Christmas morning when Loki returned. It had taken him all of his wit and cunningness to leave the Avengers facilities unattended and without anyone asking suspicious questions but he had succeeded. The wooden box he was carrying—with many holes in them so the little creature could breathe—Loki sneaked across the hallway and past your room to hide his present for you in his own, already imagining your priceless reaction… was he hoping for a hug? Oh, he was. When was the last time anyone had hugged him? Perhaps you would, upon receiving the fluffy little creature in the box.

The dog winced. “Shh! Quiet, you silly little creature, you are going to wake up your mother!”

It was then he heard an ear-piercing scream coming from your room. He nearly dropped the box, turning on his heel to storm into your room like a tornado annihilating everything in its path. Your bed was empty, the sheets ruffled. There was a small beam of light coming from your bathroom—the closer he came, the more he could make out the rustling of fabric.

“I bloody hate being a woman…” You murmured to yourself, making the God of Mischief frown. Alarmed, he stepped closer and entered the bathroom without knocking—he barely remembered to set the box aside to draw his daggers if need be.

You were sat on the toilet, your white Christmas pyjamas with candy canes and gingerbread men on them soiled with blood. Loki’s eyes widened. There was blood on the floor too… and on your fingers.

His fingers were itching to materialise his weapons, yet he could see no enemy who could have attacked you. You gasped when he barged into the room, concealing your nakedness from the waist down with some toilet paper.

“What in the nine happened to you?” The amount of blood was almost concerning for a mortal. Had someone surprised you in your sleep? Who had managed to break into the Avengers facilities in the first place?

“How did you get in here? No wait, you’re awake already? Umm… Merry Christmas?” You swallowed. Talk about embarrassing yourself in front of the God of Mischief.

“We need to get you to a healer… a doctor, that is what you call them here?” You stared at him for a moment.

The last thing he expected was for you to burst out laughing. The whole situation was so hilarious you even forgot to be nervous around him for once.

“Oh, Loki… I’m okay, I’m not dying, I promise. I got surprised by my period, is all.”

“Your… period? Your period… as in your menstruation cycle?”

“Yes. Do women on Asgard not have that?”

“They do but… not like this.” Heavens, he felt stupid. He had thought you were dying, openly shown his concern… and you had laughed.

“Loki…” It was like you had heard his thoughts. “Thank you for checking on me. I was just being frustrated but I promise I’m okay.” You had probably disturbed his sleep but the fact that Loki cared enough to come to your help, admitting that just perhaps… he actually liked you. “W-would you mind?” Loki raised his brows, his lips parting.

“Yes, of course.”

He turned around for you to get dressed again (never before had you been more grateful for the pile of more or less dirty laundry on the floor next to your toilet) and nodded, only realising now that he had indeed just proved that one way or another, he had taken a liking into you. It was then the dog winced again just outside the bathroom door.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. In fact, I shall leave you… how did you get out of that box?” Eager and curious, the puppy must have somehow knocked its wooden box over. When Loki looked behind him, he found the lid on the floor, the young dog hurtling towards you.

“Oh my god! Hey there, little guy! Where did you come from?” You giggled when the dog attempted to jump up on you. You picked it up, grinning when it licked your face. “Aren’t you adorable?”

Loki pursed his lips. Oh, great. Now he was getting the hug. He furrowed his brows. Heavens, this was an innocent little puppy. Against all reason, he already loved the little guy with all his heart himself, how could he possibly feel jealous?

“You were not supposed to see it yet. I was going to put the box under the Christmas tree.”

“R-really? You mean… he’s for me? Oh, Loki… but h-how? I mean… I love him. But how can I keep him safe here? Is that really a good idea?”

“Well… he is, in fact, not a normal dog.” Loki remarked.

Your eyes widened. “What does that mean?”

“Dogs are rare on Asgard but there are indeed a few traders who raise them. This unprepossessing creature has a life expectancy five times as high as Midgardian dogs—not to mention it is stronger, more intelligent and much like Thor and me, more resistant to pain and injury.”

“You’re a superdog then, aren’t you? Yes, you are, such a good boy. I need a name for him.” You announced. Loki raised his arms. That would be your decision. His pet snake had never had a name. “I’ll think of something.” Smiling, you stepped forward and kissed Loki on the cheek whose lips parted in surprise.

“Thank you so much. I didn’t think you would… why did you?” He said nothing in response. He couldn’t possibly tell you that he wanted a hug and that the only person he wanted it from was you. Your lips on his face had already felt like liquid fire, warming him from the inside out. Heavens, what was wrong with him? You were a mortal. He couldn’t possibly like you this much.

“You should go back to bed.” He said after a while, clearing his throat. “It is still early.” You nodded. He was right. Besides, you and your little puppy needed to get to know each other.

Needless to say, however, you couldn’t fall asleep again after you had gotten changed into new pyjamas and then cuddled with your new pet. Loki had gotten you a dog. Why? He owed you nothing, and quite on the contrary, you highly doubted Loki would even bother to get the rest of the Avengers a Christmas gift.

-

In the meantime, Loki himself returned to his room, shaking his head in the process. He was being ridiculous. The other day in the hallway, he had still managed to remain composed but the more time he spent around you, the softer he became for you.

He had been worried for you upon seeing all that blood and it had scared him. Love and affection weren’t exactly emotions he got to experience a lot and then for a human of all species…

He realised with a start just what it was that was happening to him. He was courting you, wasn’t he? He had not done anything alike in years, the last time for a beautiful Asgardian woman who had turned out to take more interest in Thor than him.

Loki was no expert on dating. He had never had the need for it… not until you. A growl escaped his lips. How dangerous for his already shattered heart would it be to give in to his desire and make you smile again? To feel your lips against his skin once more?

Another growl. He was addicted to you already. Jumping up from the bed, he left the facilities again, this time to head a few miles west. Frigga had always said that love goes through the stomach. He might as well try that strategy out.

-

About two hours later, there was a soft knock on your door. You stirred, eyes fluttering open. Your puppy—you had still not thought of a name for it—had curled up in your arms, still sleeping soundly.

“Yes?”

The door opened to reveal Loki. With a smirk, he produced something from behind his back—a box with the logo of your favourite pancake shop on it. Your jaw dropped.

“Merry Christmas.” He announced.

“Oh my goodness… Loki, you are so sweet.”

The God of Mischief raised an eyebrow. “Sweet is not exactly what I was hoping for.” He replied, albeit smiling.  You sat up carefully to not wake the puppy, accepting the pancakes all the while licking your lips hungrily. Now that was one way to start Christmas Day.

“How about considerate?” You tried again, smiling up at him sweetly. Loki smirked, hands clasped behind his back. He almost appeared a little… awkward.

You longed to ask him why he was doing all this but then again… you could think of only one answer. It couldn’t possibly be, no?

“Care to share? They are really good.”

“It appears so. The entire restaurant smelled like a sugar realm.”

“Is that a thing?”

“No.”

“Oh… pity.” He chuckled.

Twenty minutes in which you silently ate with relish went by, the puppy still sleeping peacefully in your bed, with you unable to stop petting it all the time. Once you had finished the very last bite, you simply dropped the empty takeaway-packaging on the floor.

“Thank you so much, Loki. I couldn’t have imagined better Christmas presents.”

He nodded, watching your every move as you moved in to give him another kiss on the cheek.

This time though, in just this moment, Loki turned his head to face you again, your lips landing on his instead. You gasped, even more so when he deepened the kiss, moving his mouth gently against yours, tongue slipping between your lips to taste you. Oh my god. Loki was kissing you. Loki was kissing you!

It felt like a demon from Muspelheim had set his body on fire, from the inside out. Loki was ablaze. Unable to stop himself, his arms came up to pull you closer into his body until you were straddling him, your fingers digging into his clothes. You both knew where this was going.

There was no doubt you were going to wake up the little dog when you pushed him back on the mattress, overcome with a sudden confidence and hunger that made you feel invincible. Loki did not object. The only reason you hesitated was the fact you remembered just then that you were on your period. Reluctantly, you pulled away.

“Loki… maybe we should do this… another time. My… period, remember?”

“A little bit of blood will not stop me from ravishing you, my dear.” Your heart skipped a beat.

“A-are you sure?”

Loki nodded slowly and intimately, his blue gaze never leaving yours.

Next thing you knew, the both of you lost all of your layers of clothing one by one. Scratch making a list for Christmas presents for your friends to make them happy… you couldn’t quite believe that Loki actually reciprocated your affection for him. This certainly was the most amazing Christmas yet.

-

A/N: If you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate it so much if you considered supporting me on Kofi! It’s either for caffeine or red wine, I’ll take both. ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥